Kant's Critical Religion

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

Examining a broad range of Kant's philosophical writings, this book presents a fresh interpretation of Kant's views on theology, religion and religious experience. Applying the new 'perspectival' method of interpreting Kant expounded in Palmquist's earlier work, Kant's Critical Religion makes a substantial contribution to Kant-studies. The book is divided into four parts Kant's systematic foundations for interpreting religion; his Critical theology; his Critical religion; his Critical mysticism. Palmquist defends a number of innovative theses, including how: religious and theological themes form the backbone of Kant's mature philosophical System; Kant's treatment of organized religion provides the basis for a living and symbolic form of religious practice, compatible with the core teachings of Christianity; and the claims of mystics and others to have 'experiences of God' are philosophically justifiable provided they are viewed solely from a judicial standpoint. Presenting Kant as a sympathetic reformer of religion in general and of Christianity in particular, this book explores the development of Kant's Critical philosophy, provides a detailed examination of an extensive range of secondary literature, assesses numerous interpretations and controversies surrounding his work, and looks at the implications for contemporary theological and philosophical debates.

Dedicated to Daniel Stephen whose awesome birth, coming on the same day as the acceptance letter for my first publication, helped me put my scholarly calling in its proper perspective; as firstborn, you are always one step ahead... May God be your only judge!

Kant's Critical Religion Volume Two of Kant's System of Perspectives

STEPHEN R. PALMQUIST

Ashgate Aldershot • Burlington USA • Singapore • Sydney

P.3 © Stephen R. Palmquist 2000 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. Published by Ashgate Publishing Ltd Gower House Croft Road Aldershot Hants GUI 1 3HR England

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British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Palmquist, Stephen Kant's critical religion. - (Kant's system of perspectives ;v.2) 1. Kant, Immanuel, 1724-1804 2. Religion - Philosophy I. Title 210.97 Library of Congress Control Number: 92-33937

Printed and bound by Athenaeum f'tess, Ltd., Gateshead, Tyne & Wear.

LIBRARY

Kant's critical religion / Stephen R. Pali

Ashgate website: http://www.ashgate.com

ISBN 0 7546 1333 X

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Table of Contents List of Figures List of Tables Note on References

ix xi xiii

PART ONE: THE SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS OF KANT'S SYSTEM I. Kant's Theocentric Metaphysics 1. Kant: Destroyer or Preserver of Metaphysics? 2. Metaphysics in Kant's Philosophical Writings 3. The Theocentric Orientation of Kant's Philosophy 4. The Scope of This Volume

2 5 7 13

II. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism 1. The Traditional Myth of Kant's'Awakening' 2. Kant's Criticism of Swedenborg's Mystical Dreams 3. Kant's Four Major 'Awakenings' 4. The Dream of a System of Critical Philosophy

17 21 32 41

III. Kant's Critical Philosophy: An Overview of KSP1 1. The General Structure of Kant's System 44 2. The Epistemological Underpinnings of the Critical Philosophy . . . 48 3. The Structural Elements of Kant's Three Systems 54 4. God and Religion in the Context of Kant's Metaphysics 61

PART TWO: KANT'S PERSPECTIVAL FOUNDATION FOR CRITICAL THEOLOGY IV. Theistic Alternatives to Proving God's Existence: Kant's 'Appropriation' of Lampe's God 1. The Problem of Transcendental Theology 2. Hypothetical Theology. God as a Regulative Idea 3. Physicotheology: Judicial Evidence for the God-Hypothesis . . . . 4. Moral Theology: The Ultimate Rationale for Theistic Belief . . . .

64 68 73 75

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God 1. God's Transcendence: Human Reason vs. Divine'Reason' 2. Philosophical Theology and the Symbolic Immanence of God . . . 3. Reason's Theological Need: Architectonic Perspectives on the Perspectiveless Ground of Being 4. God's Trinitarian Nature: Holiness, Benevolence, and Justice . .

96 106

VI. Religion as the Synthesis of Theology and Morality 1. Kant's Reductionism: Explanatory or Eliminative? 2. Prolegomena to Kant's System of Religion 3. A Preview of Kant's System of Religion 4. Raising Morality to the Status of Religion

114 117 128 135

86 90

vi

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

PART THREE: KANT'S PERSPECTIVAL FOUNDATION VII. Kant's System of Religious Perspectives 1. The Four Stages of Religion in General 2. The Conditions of Religion in the Moral Individual (-) A. Radical Evil (-) B. Conversion to the Good (+-) 3. The Conditions of Religion in the Moral Community (+) A. The Founding of a Church (-+) B. Service of God (++) 4. An Analytic Summary and a Synthetic Model VIII. Christianity as the Universal Religion 1. Kant's Copernican Perspective on Religion 2. Kant's Assessment of Biblical Religion A. The Creation Story and the Fall of Adam B. The Gospel Story and the Nature of Jesus 3. Kant's Assessment of Christian Tradition A. The Universal Church and its Scriptures B. Serving God: Clergy vs. Conscience 4. The Harmony between Systemic and Systemr.m IX. A Kantian System of Biblical Theology 1. The Biblical Theology of a Kantian Christian 2. Christian Practice: The Greatest Commandment A. Worship and the Love of God B. Fellowship and the Love of Human Beings 3. Christian Belief: Preaching and Teaching the Word A. Evangelism and the Gospel of the Kingdom B. Doctrine and the Authority of God's Revealed Word . . . . 4. A Christian Critique of Kant's Critical Religion

FOR CRITICAL

140 149 160 165 175 183 189 202 207 216 229 235 246 251 258 267 275 283

MYSTICISM

X. Reason's Birth in Immediate Experience 1. Mysticism and Religious Experience 2. Kant's Apparent Rejection of Mysticism 3. Kant's Disclosure of Critical Mysticism 4. Meditative Metaphors and the Shaping of a Mystical World View

298 300 307 317

XI. The Tantalizing 'Gap' in Kant's System 1. Forster's Riddle: What Prompted Kant to Write Kt9? 2. The Tantalizing Content of Kt9 3. Kt9 as the Grand Synthesis of Kant's System 4. What was'Tantalizing'about Kant's Final Dream?

324 329 334 343

Table of Contents

vii

XII. Transition to the End of All Philosophy 1. Kant's Return to Immediate Experience: The Three Transitions. . 2. God: The Categorical Imperative as Philosophy's Moral End . . . 3. The World: Matter's Living Force as Philosophy's Technical End 4. The Ideal Human: Christ as Philosophy's Highest Religious End

348 356 367 374

AI. The Story of Kant's Critical Religion

388

AIL Kant, Swedenborg, and Kantian Mystics 1. Kantian Mystics—Old and New 2. Laywine's Account of Swedenborg's Influence on Kant 3. Florschiitz's Account of Swedenborg's Influence on Kant . . . . 4. Johnson's Account of Kant on Swedenborg in Kt25

393 395 399 400

AIII. Further Reflections on KSP1 1. Three New Maps of Kant's System 2. Responses and Rejoinders to Critics of KSP1 3. Textual Review of Kant's Conception of Architectonic 4. Minor Corrections to KSP1

402 404 412 419

ATV. How To Be a Theist without Proving that God Exists 1. Kant's Critique of the Traditional Theoretical Arguments 2. Recent Attempts to Revive the Ontological Argument 3. Clarifications of the Nature and Status of Kant's Moral Argument 4. Kant's Alleged Atheism: Can a 'Fiction' Replace All Theoretical Proofs?

434

AV. Jesus and Kant: Four Perspectives on Moral Judgment 1. A Model for Kant-Based Dialogue between Philosophers and Theologians 2. The Transcendental and the Logical Perspectives 3. The Empirical and the Hypothetical Perspectives 4. An Analytic Map of the Four Perspectives on Moral Judgment . .

440 443 445 449

420 429 432

AVI. Faith in the Face of Evil: Kant's Solutions to Five Standard Theological Problems 1. Critical Theodicy and the Problem of Evil 453 2. Critical Soteriology and the Problem of Atonement for Sins . . . 458 3. Critical Eschatology and the Problem of Assurance 464 4. Critical Redemption and the Problem of Good Works 468 AVII. The Four Parerga: Reason's Need for Divine Assistance 1. Workings of Grace (Gnadenwirkungen) 2. Miracles (Wunderri) 3. Mysteries (Geheimnissen) 4. Means of Grace (Gnadenmitteln)

472 474 478 479

viii

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

AVIII. Kant's Critical Hermeneutic of Prayer 1. Prayer in Perspective: The Copernican Revolution in Religion . . 483 2. The Moral'Spirit'of Transcendental Prayer 485 3. The Paradoxical 'Letter' of Empirical Prayer 488 4. Contemplation and Critique: A Framework for Assessing Prayer . 493 AIX. Kantian Christianity: 95 Theses and a Critical Catechism 1. Kantian Christianity as a Catholic-Protestant Synthesis 2. Kant's 95 Theses for Religious Reformation 3. A Catechism Based on Kant's Critical Religion

498 499 502

Bibliography Introductory Note Part One: Kant's Works (Kt) I. Primary Systematic Works II. Other Publications and Lectures 1. The Theoretical Standpoint 2. The Practical Standpoint A. Ethics and Politics B. Philosophy of Education 3. The Judicial Standpoint A. Philosophy of Nature B. Philosophical Anthropology HI. Unpublished Writings 1. Letters 2. Handwritten Notes and Essays 3. Reconstructions of Lectures IV. Collections of Translations Part Two: Other Sources

516 517 517 518 518 520 520 521 521 521 523 524 524 524 525 525 529

Glossary of Technical Terms Relating to Kant's Theology and Philosophy of Religion

542

Index of Citations, Names, and Selected Subjects Scripture Citations Kt (Kant Text) Citations Names and Other Sources Cited Selected Subjects

547 550 551 558

List of Figures 111.1 The Standard 2LAR Cross 111.2 The Standard 1LSR Triangle 111.3 The Standard 12CR Circle 111.4 Kant's Four Reflective Perspectives on Experience 111.5 Kant's Six Object-Terms, Progressing Synthetically 111.6 Schematic Analysis of Systemt 111.7 Schematic Analysis of Systemp 111.8 The Three Revolutions of Kant's Critical Philosophy

47 47 48 51 53 58 59 60

IV.l Three Types of Teleological Proof

75

V.I Possible Sources of Physical Ends V.2 Four Basic Types of Theological Disposition V.3 The Transcendence and Immanence of God in Relation to Kant's Three Ideas of Reason V.4 God's Nature and the Types of Rational Theology V.5 God's Three Moral Attributes V.6 Theological and Religious Errors

98 99 102 104 109 110

VI. 1 The Standpoints of the Three Critiques VI.2 Theology, Morality, and Religion

122 126

VII.l VII.2 VII.3 VII.4 VII.5 VII.6 VII.7 VII.8

Kant's Two Experiments in Kt8 The Four Stages in Kant's System of Religion The Four Parerga to Universal Religion The Three Aspects of Human Nature as Corrupted by the Evil Propensity The Archetypal Characteristics of the Invisible Church Origin of Kant's Definition of Religion in Stage Three Schematic Analysis of Systemr Kant's Circle of Religion

VIII. 1 Three Aspects of the Religious'Person' VIII.2 Schematic Analysis of the Illusory Version of Systemic VIII.3 The Circle of Christian Religion as Speculative

143 .145 148 153 171 177 185 187 196 236 237

IX. 1 Systemr.m and Systemr.s as the 'Pillars' Supporting the Systemic 'Bridge' IX.2 Four Cornerstones of Biblical Theology IX.3 The Empirical Perspective on Religion and Morality

247 250 286

X. 1 Four Basic Metaphors of Critical Mysticism

322

XI. 1 Kant's Four Divisions of Metaphysics XI.2 General Metaphysics as Filling a Synthetic Gap

335 345

x

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

XII. 1 The Original Synthesis of Ideas in Immediate Experience XII.2 The Unity of Transcendental Philosophy in Kt9

354 375

AIII.l Three Intersecting Circles as a 3LAR AIII.2 The Standpoint-Perspective Relation

402 403

AIII.3 An Architectonic Justification for Kt7's Two Parts

404

AIV.l The Four Types of Theoretical Argument for God's Existence . . 421 AV.l The Four Moral Principles as a 2LAR AVI. 1: Three Types of Evil as Challenges to God's Nature AVI.2 Time-Frames for the Difficulties as Correlated to Kant's Trinity of Divine Attributes AVII.l Parerga as Rational By-Products of Moral Religion AVII.2 The Four Means of Grace

451 453 467 472 480

AIX.l Kantian Christianity as a Catholic-Protestant Synthesis

498

Unlabeled diagrams in footnotes: noteVII.3 note XII.8

141 351

List of Tables 111.1 Basic Perspectival Relations in Systemt 111.2 Basic Perspectival Relations in Systemp

55 57

VII. 1 Analysis of the Table of Contents of Kt8 VII.2 Basic Perspectival Relations in System,-

144 146

XI. 1 Methods and Standpoints in Kant's System XI.2 A Comparison between the Three Books of Metaphysics AVI.l Nine Types of Failed Theodicy AVI.2 Standard Solutions to Kant's'Difficulties'

337 342 456 467

Note on References Most of the nearly six hundred footnotes and nine appendices in this book can be briefly skimmed or even skipped by readers who are not interested in examining the finer points of Kant-interpretation. There would be far more footnotes, were it not for the fact that I normally include abbreviated references in the main text. (References are included in the footnotes when they are accompanied by nonessential material such as quotations or critical comments relating to technical points of interpretation.) Each reference begins with a letter-number abbreviation, usually consisting of the first two letters of the author's surname and the last two numbers of the publication year, as listed in the Bibliography. Where relevant, this abbreviation is followed by a colon and the specific page number(s) from the text being cited. When a reference is to the same work as that of the reference immediately preceding in within the same paragraph of text, only the page numbers are cited. Part One of the Bibliography lists Kant's works. The number designating each book is preceded by 'Kt'. The logic governing the order of the Kt num¬ bering is explained in volume one of this series, Kant's System of Perspectives (abbreviated KSP1) [see II.4 and III.4, especially Fig. II. 1 and Fig. III.9]. The book that forms the logical starting-point of Kant's System, his Critique of Pure Reason, is referred to as 'Ktl'. Page numbers in references to Ktl cite the second German edition ('B'), except when preceded by 'A' to denote material unique to the first edition. Page numbers for Kant's other works (aside from Ktl) correspond to the Berlin Academy edition, or 'Akademie Ausgabe' (listed as AA in Part Two of the Bibliography), and are followed in curved brackets by the pagination of the English translation whenever that translation does not specify the German pagination in its margins or if the translation used is not the one specified as standard in the Bibliography. (The texts used for Kt35 and Kt70 are not included as such in AA, so only the translator's pagination is given, in brackets.) For translations of works not written by Kant, only the English pagination is cited (without curved brackets). Any deviations from these norms are specified in the corresponding Bibliographical entry. Such textual references should simply be skipped over by anyone not interested in following up on the nuances being addressed. To minimize the obtrusiveness of such references, I use these abbreviations: A alt. cf.

= Appendix in this book or KSP1 (when prefixed to an upper case roman numeral); or, material unique to the first edition of Ktl, as mentioned above = translation altered = compare (when a comparison is not being made explicitly in the text, this usually indicates a reference to an opposing argument or opinion)

xiv Ch. e.a. e.g. f Fig. Figs. i.e. n q.a. q.i. s.a. s.e. t.b. viz.,

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Chapter emphasis added for example and following (pages) Figure Figures that is (normally used to restate the point in other words) note quoted above (i.e., earlier in the same section, unless specified otherwise) quoted in see also (usually indicates another text citing the same or similar view) see especially (usually indicates the best of numerous relevant references) translator's brackets (indicates that comments added to a quote are not mine) namely (used to specify the precise item(s) being referred to) text omitted from a quote where the last word quoted does not end a sentence text omitted from a quote where the last word quoted does end a sentence .' the quoted sentence ends at this point (i.e., punctuation after a quote always comes outside the close quote mark, unless the punctuation mark is part of the source text) ['...'] = imbedded in a quote to designate text that is being quoted from the immediate context of the main quotation, usually having a direct grammatical connection

Quotes reproduce the exact wording of the original, with the following two exceptions: (1) changes in translation are sometimes made, but only when the rationale is explained in the text (as with the term 'perspective', discussed in KSP1:II.3) or when the abbreviation 'alt.' appears after the page number; and (2) italics and capitalizations are occasionally omitted if their original purpose is obscured by the brevity of the quote. When quoting from works in foreign languages for which no translation is cited in the Bibliography, translations are either my own, or else are taken from some other secondary source (which is then specified in brackets after the page number of the original reference). More important than the footnotes are the nine Appendices. They deal with topics that would significantly interrupt or belabour the main argument if included in the main text, so I have grouped them together at the end of the book, even though each corresponds most closely to the chapter that bears the same number. Readers who wish to be thorough may prefer to read each corresponding Appendix before going on to the next chapter. Appendix I, for example, consists of what would normally appear in the Preface and Acknowledgments. I relegated these to an appendix in order to encourage readers to enter as directly as possible into the arguments of the main text, consulting this and other appendices only as time and interest allows. Any readers who would prefer to read about the background of this book before reading the book itself should turn to Appendix I now.

In the universal silence of nature and in the calm of the senses the immortal spirit's hidden faculty of knowledge speaks an ineffable language and gives [us] undeveloped concepts, which are indeed felt, but do not let themselves be described. — Immanuel Kant, Universal Natural History and Theory of the Heavens

THE SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS OF KANT'S SYSTEM 'Come now, let us reason together', says the LORD. [Is. 1:18a] See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the basic principles of this world rather than on Christ.... Therefore do not let anyone judge you by what you eat or drink, or with regard to a religious festival, a New Moon celebration or a Sabbath day. These are a shadow of the things that were to come; the reality, however, is found in Christ. Do not let anyone who delights in false humility and the worship of angels disqualify you for the prize. Such a person goes into great detail about what he has seen, and his unspiritual mind puffs him up with idle notions. He has lost connection with the Head, from whom the whole body, supported and held together by its ligaments and sinews, grows as God causes it to grow. [Col. 2:8,16-9] As concerns metaphysics, it seems as if we had become perplexed in the inves¬ tigation of metaphysical truths. A kind of indifferentism is shown toward this science, as one seems to take honor in speaking contemptuously of metaphysical investigations ... And yet, metaphysics is actually the true philosophy! Our age is the age of criticism, and it remains to be seen what will come of the critical attempts of our time in respect to philosophy and to metaphysics in particular. [KtlO:32-33(37)]

Chapter I Kant's Theocentric Metaphysics God, freedom, and immortality of the soul are the problems at whose solution all the apparatus of metaphysics aims as its ultimate purpose. [Kt7:473]

1. Kant: Destroyer or Preserver of Metaphysics? Does Kant's Critical philosophy destroy the possibility of theology? Is his System of Perspectives1 meant to undermine the legitimacy of theological reflec¬ tion, or to limit our knowledge of God to a merely negative path by abolishing its metaphysical foundation? Is there any alternative to the view that regards Kant as aiming to undermine organized religion by reducing religious beliefs and actions to nothing but morality in disguise? Does Kant substitute for metaphysics a positivistic theory of scientific knowledge that denies ordinary religious believers any hope of experiencing the transcendent? An interpreter's answers to such questions will inevitably depend to a large extent on prior as¬ sumptions relating to what one regards as Kant's main purpose in constructing his entire philosophical System. For this reason, a trustworthy interpretation of what I shall call Kant's 'Critical religion' must be built on the foundation of a prior understanding of his 'Critical philosophy' [see KSP1]. Unfortunately, such questions have been answered all too often in ways that go directly against Kant's own expressed intentions. Many theologians, especially since Ritschl and the 'back to Kant' movement, have tended to give affirmative answers, interpreting Kant 'as an antimetaphysical moralist'.2 On the basis of the 'fact-value' distinction that Kant's philosophy appears to support, such neo-Kantians believed that if theology (like any other form of speculation) is to survive, it must cut all ties with metaphysics and perhaps even, following Barth's lead, with philosophy as a whole. Whatever view of the relation between theology and philosophy a person holds, anyone who interprets Kant in this way is sure to agree with Cupitt that 'we [theologians] 1. The meaning of this phrase will be reviewed briefly in III. 1. below. For a more detailed account, see the first two chapters of the first volume [hereafter KSP1] in the series that adopts this phrase as its title, of which the present book is volume two [s.e. KSP1:1-11,55-65]. 2. Ba72:655. Chapman discusses this tradition in some detail. In a section entitled 'Back to Kant' [Ch92:480-3] he reports that Troeltsch immersed himself in the study of Kant' [480], that Ritschl called Kant the 'first to perceive the supreme importance for ethics of the "Kingdom of God" as an association of men bound together by virtue' [q.i. 481], and that even Barth 'leamt at Berne that "all God's ways begin with Kant and if possible must end there".' During this period of German theology [493] 'Kant... became an unlikely target and an unlikely weapon in the most violent theological polemics.' His philosophy 'was a natural apologetic resource' [508]. Because Kant had profoundly influenced various nineteenth century theologians who in tum directly influenced such thinkers, Green [Gg93:14] calls Kant 'the "grandfather" of... the ecumenical liberalism of the twentieth century.' MacKinnon surveys Kant's similar influence on British theologians in Ma90a.

/. Kant's Theocentric Metaphysics

3

who live after Kant must walk the negative way.'3 Collins adopts this position in Co60a:183 when he portrays Kant as 'destroying every philosophy of God' and as arguing: 'Natural theology has no possibility of providing us with true knowledge about God and should be abandoned.' And Green echoes the sentiments of many Christian readers of Kant when he mockingly exclaims: 'Professor Kant, the destroyer of supernaturalist orthodoxy, has revealed himself to be the apologist for a new, true Christianity! '4 Philosophers too have often agreed in assessing the Critique of Pure Reason [Ktl], at least, as 'the most thorough and devastating of all anti-metaphysical writings' [Wa63b:38], thus making Kant 'the most tremendous disintegrating force of modern times' [BaO3:xvi; s.a. xvii]. Shortly after the publication of the first Critique, Mendelssohn labeled Kant the 'all destroyer', and since then many have followed him in regarding Kant as 'the arch-destroyer in the realm of thought', putting forward 'destructive, world-annihilating thoughts' [He59:109]. Gilson extends this judgment to the whole of Kant's philosophy, maintaining that 'Kant ... had no metaphysical interests of his own' [Gi37:310]. Since 'a new philosophical cycle was to begin' [220] with Kant's thoroughgoing 'rejection of metaphysics' [229], Gilson regards any of Kant's theories or statements that border on the metaphysical as superfluous Cu82:57; s.a. Ma75:141. As we shall see, this common interpretation of Kant's philosophy as having only negative theological implications is a direct result of the tendency to over-emphasize his theoretical philosophy, especially the first half of Ktl. Hart typifies this when he says 'Kant freely admits that there is something theological in his theory of sensibility; that is to say, it is a negative doctrine of the noumenon' [Ha90b:242]. What this ignores is that the positive meaning denied to noumenal reality in Ktl is given new life in Kt4. Gg93:ll. The mocking tone of Green's comment is evident from the context. Green states at the outset [2] that he believes 'historic Christianity cannot survive' the interpretation of religion presented in Kt8; its 'sacrificing of the essential "positivity" of the gospel' is 'a price that the church should refuse to pay.' The question this raises is whether Kant's philosophy of religion might actually point us to an interpretation of Christianity that really is truer or more promising than what orthodox theologians often defend. Green admits [12] that Kant's 'interpreters have not always appreciated the extent to which it is precisely the Christian faith for which he thinks he has made room.' But this allusion to Kant's famous claim that the Critical philosophy will 'make room fox faith' [Ktl:xxx] is taken grossly out of context [see KSPl:V.l-4], rendering it ironically mis¬ leading. For as we shall see in Part Three, Kt8 defines 'faith' as an historical religious tradition based on a set of revealed theoretical truths, as opposed to 'religion' as the pure practical (moral) core of a person's disposition towards God. As such, what Kant is doing in Kt8 is to put aside (i.e., put limitations on) faith in order to make room for religion'. That is, his goal is to bring out the true Christian religion that lies within the historical Christian faith. My argument, both here and more fully in KSP4, will be that thq church need not 'pay the price', if it understands Kant's arguments properly; for Kant's position is that at this stage in human history pure and empirical religions ought to work hand in hand. Thus I shall attempt to realize the potential Despland affirms when he says [De73:252] Kant's 'philosophy of religion ... could be presented as a Christian philosophy... Kant's thought, in spite of the fact that it does not claim to be a Christian philosophy ... is the one philosophy that best approximates it.' Earlier Despland rightly calls Kant 'one of the founders of philosophy of religion in the modern sense' [12] and commends the applicability of his system to anyone interested in the abiding philosophi¬ cal problems relating to religion and religious issues.

4

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

nonessentials that he merely borrowed from 'hearsay' .5 Findlay sums up this tendency rather concisely: 'It is usual nowadays to think of Kant as some sort of incipient positivist, always verging towards a belief in the total nonsignificance of ideas lacking all empirical illustration' [Fi76:3]. Not all philosophers and theologians, however, interpret Kant's intentions so negatively. Findlay himself goes on to say that, even though 'Kant's theory of knowledge... has aspects that can with justice be called "positivist", it is not at all positivist in its account of the necessary underpinnings of such knowl¬ edge' [Fi81:5]; 'Kant's theory of knowledge cannot, therefore, be called posi¬ tivist, though it is quite right to see something like positivism in his account of what we can effectively know' [9]. Barth agrees that it is wrong to view Kant as 'a kind of super-sceptic', or as the 'all-annihilating one'; for his Criticism is always intended as 'an affirmation of reason.... Kant both has and demands an almost unconditional faith in reason' [Ba72:270-l; cf. Wo78:16]. Indeed, 'it would have surprised Kant', says Paulsen, 'to hear that he had destroyed meta¬ physics. Certainly nothing was further from his intention than that.'6 England adds that Kant denies 'only the validity of a certain type of metaphysics' [En29: 207], for 'what is really implied in the critical position is... the substitution of an immanent metaphysics for the older transcendent metaphysics' [113-4; s.a. 208-9]. And Wood goes so far as to suggest that 'Kant himself was in many ways ... an "existentialist" theologian' !7 5. Gi37:310. This view was popularized in Germany by Vaihinger [Va81], and in Britain by Kemp Smith [Ke23], both of whom 'take a Kantian doctrine to be "critical" in proportion as it involves a rejection of the metaphysics of Kant's rationalist predecessors' [Wo78:59]. I demonstrated the inadequacy of this anti-metaphysical interpretive method throughout KSP1, especially in Part Four. 6. PaO2:241; s.a. De94:173. After summarizing five common ways of (mis)interpreting Kant [PaO2: 114-8], Paulsen settles on the one that best elucidates the constructive character of Kant's System, particularly with respect to the validity of believing in a 'supersensuous world' of human souls [119-20]. In Chapter II we shall focus in more detail on Kant's interest in the latter theme. 7. Wo78:150. Along these lines, Collins calls Kant's 'moral-religious' rationale for believing in God 'an existential ... truth' [Co67:209n] and Davidovich points out that 'Kant anticipates existentialist thought that finds in sin the mark of the individual' [Da93a:35]. In Wo70:2 Wood portrays 'the critical philosophy itself as a religious outlook, a profound conception of the human condition as a whole, and of man's proper response to that condition.' After voicing his agreement with this position [Mi79:21-2], Michalson adds [49] that Ktl 'is the foundational step in a religious philosophy, rather than a self-contained epistemological program.' Later [166-7], in dialogue with Yovel, he affirms that 'God' plays 'the key metaphysical role... in Kant's philosophy.' (Unfortunately, Yovel interprets this role in an overly anthropocentric way: 'At most, God helps us to help ourselves' [Yo68:103].) Agreeing that '[a] religious outlook is doubtless present' in Kant's Critical philosophy, McCarthy traces this emphasis back to the German theologian, Hermann Noack [Mc86:57]. Like Wood, he claims that Kant (especially in Kt8) 'anticipated Bultmann and demythologization..., as well as Tillich's existential interpreta¬ tion of Christianity.... Kant believed that he was uncovering the deeper truths of Christian doctrine' [69]. Many other writers aver similar views. Paulsen [Pa02:339] says Kant's moral theory 'stands in close connection with ... the original spirit of true Christianity.' Ward likewise regards Kant's ethics, at least, as 'deeply religious' [Wa72:167]. Quoting Ward [Cr94:134-5], Crosby makes this

/. Kant's Theocentric Metaphysics

5

Numerous of Kant's own comments can be construed as defending a positivism of some sort. For example, he urges us 'to believe that we have ap¬ proximated to completeness in the empirical employment of [a] principle only in proportion as we are in a position to verify such unity in empirical fashion' [Ktl:720, e.a.]. If this is positivism, however, it is far from straightforward; for he continues with the caveat: 'a completeness which is never, of course, at¬ tainable.' Moreover, when Kant turns away from such empirical considera¬ tions, his position becomes explicitly nonpositivistic. For example, he argues against skepticism in the same way one could argue against the use of the (unverifiable) principle of verification as the basis of positivism. To assert 'that there is and can be no a priori knowledge at all', chides Kant, 'would be like proving by reason that there is no such thing as reason' [Kt4:12]. The fre¬ quency of such comments in Kant's writings casts a shadow of incredulity upon any skeptical or anti-metaphysical interpretation. But in order to pass from this negative conclusion, that Kant was not attempting to destroy metaphysics, to its positive counterpart, that he was actually attempting to preserve a form of metaphysics, we must take a brief look at the way Kant himself portrayed the role of metaphysics in his major philosophical writings. 2. Metaphysics in Kant's Philosophical Writings A popular myth concerning Kant's development, which helps breed the above-mentioned misconceptions about his true attitude towards metaphysics and theology, is that he started out as a typical Wolffian rationalist, and only began formulating his 'Critical' principles after being jarred by Hume out of his rationalist complacency. Yet a careful and open-minded reading of Kant's early view even more specific, claiming 'Kant's moral theory is deeply influenced by Christianity' [118]. He traces '[f]our fundamental themes' that reveal just how extensively Kant's moral theory is 'rooted in religious presuppositions'. Crosby has a number of interesting insights, in spite of his unfortunate neglect of the Copernican character of Kant's thinking. But his overall argument, that the existence of historical influences or developments is sufficient to prove that the theory itself is not 'pure', is grossly misplaced. Kant never claims to have created his theory out of thin air, with¬ out any influences. His rebuttal would be that the truth or falsity of his assertions is based not on these influences, but on the logical and/or transcendental arguments he marshals in their support. In Ku85 Kuehn offers a thorough critique of the position supported by Wood in Wo70 and Wo78, by Ward in Wa72, and by Walsh in Wa63a and Wa75:229-241, all of whom 'consider Kant's "moral arguments" as "an integral part of the critical philosophy'" [Ku85:155, quoting Wo70:9]. Kuehn claims 'it is highly misleading to say that Kant wanted to justify a "personal" faith' [Ku85:168]. His main worry is that by 'interpreting Kant's rational faith as a personal commitment ..., they turn Kant's enterprise, which consisted in showing the rationality of religious faith, upside down' [169]. However, neither of these extremes on its own does full justice to Kant's intentions, which were indeed to justify a kind of personal faith, but to do so not by appealing to its existential baselessness, but by demonstrating how it is based on impersonal (i.e., objective, rational) grounds. (Kuehn's interpretation of the specific purpose of Kant's moral argument suffers from some unfortunate difficulties, to be discussed further in note IV. 15.)

6

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

(so-called 'pre-Critical') works8 yields quite a different impression: 'From the beginning he made no attempt to hide his dislike of the compact mass of Wolffian doctrine' [V162:3]; instead, his lifelong goal was to discover and follow 'the correct philosophical method and by means of it to construct an eternal meta¬ physics' [2; s.a. Go71:63]. One of the many examples of a text that supports such a view comes in Ktl5:71(229), where Kant announces (in 1763) that he has 'sought in vain from others' for an adequate philosophical method to replace 'the imitation (or rather the aping) of the mathematician', which 'has on the slippery ground of metaphysic occasioned a multitude of... false steps'. Moreover, as we shall see in II.2, by 1766 (fifteen years before the publication of Ktl) Kant shows an awareness (in Ktl8) of the crucial difference between 'speculative' and 'Critical' metaphysics, and announces his intention to concen¬ trate his attention on the latter. His philosophical 'panacea', then, 'was not discovered by a sudden stroke of intuitive genius but [was] allowed slowly and painfully to reach ripe elaboration' [V162:3; s.a. Ma55 and Wa72]. Kant expresses his true attitude towards metaphysics quite clearly in a number of explicit statements throughout his writings, a typical example being the quote given at the beginning of this chapter. In an equally explicit passage written in 1766, he confesses [Ktl8:367-8(112-13); cf. Ktl:878]: Metaphysics, with which it is my fate to be in love, although only rarely can I boast of any favours from her, offers two advantages. The first is that it serves to solve the tasks which the questioning mind sets itself when by means of reason it I inquires into the hidden qualities of things. But here the result only too often falls below expectation... The other advantage is more adapted to human reason, and consists in recognizing whether the task be within the limits of our knowledge and in stating its relation to the conceptions derived from experience, for these must always be the founda¬ tion of all our judgments. In so far metaphysics is the science of the boundaries of human reason. And... this use of metaphysics ... is at the same time the least known and the most important, and... is obtained only late and by long experience.

In a letter written at about the same time, Kant reveals a similar position: I am far from regarding metaphysics itself, objectively considered, to be trivial or dispensable; in fact I have been convinced for some time now that I understand its nature and its proper place in human knowledge and that the true and lasting wel¬ fare of the human race depends on it... [AA10:67(Zw67:55)].

The significance of this early stage in Kant's development, and the nature and extent of Hume's influence, will be discussed further in II. 1-4. For now it will suffice to say that Kant saw Ktl not as a denial of his love of metaphysics, but as its truest and most secure foundation. For in a letter written just after its 8. I shall explain my reasons for avoiding the common phrase 'pre-Critical' in II. 1.

/. Kant's Theocentric Metaphysics

7

publication in 1781, he claims Ktl 'includes the metaphysics of metaphysics.'9 These are just a few of the many passages where Kant quite clearly views his contribution to metaphysics in terms of neither positivistic empiricism nor strict 'rationalism';10 instead, he sees himself as offering—to borrow one of his own favorite expressions—'a third thing'. A label often used to denote his synthesis between empiricism and rationalism is the easily misunderstood title, 'transcendental idealism'. But since this phrase properly refers to just one of his many philosophical doctrines [see KSPl:173n], I have suggested an alter¬ native title in §11.3 of KSP1. Interpreting Kant's philosophy as a 'System of Perspectives' enables us to account for the potentially confusing recurrence of both rationalist and empiricist (as well as both metaphysical and anti-metaphys¬ ical) elements in his writings. This in turn enables us to see how Kant's System 'restores metaphysics' [Ak91:70]; as Akhutin observes, 'it turns metaphysics into philosophy.' And Kant himself [Kt69:281] says the third (highest) stage of progress in metaphysics (i.e., the practical, as it passes beyond the dogmatic and the skeptical) corresponds to Critical theology surpassing ontology and cosmology. Exploring Kant's metaphysical idea of God in this volume will thus give us ample reason to affirm Akhutin's appraisal [Ak91:70]: 'It was not meta¬ physics that Kant is striving to eliminate, but the metaphysical idol of reason.' 3. The Theocentric Orientation of Kant's Philosophy If Kant is neither a straightforward positivist nor a traditional rationalist, the question yet remains how he intends his philosophy to relate to theology. As far as methodology and terminology are concerned, Barth is largely correct to say Kant is 'purely a philosopher and his philosophy is not in the least dressed in the garb of theology.'11 Indeed, as Sykes points out, 'the whole 9. AA10:252(Zw67:95). This claim does not contradict Kant's assertion in a later letter (1783) that Ktl 'is not at all metaphysics ..., but a whole new science..., the critique of an a priori judging rea¬ son' [10.318(102)]. The latter can be regarded as Kant's explanation of what the phrase 'meta¬ physics of metaphysics' actually means. In Kt69:316 Kant explains that metaphysics proper is 'the science of proceeding from knowledge of the sensible to that of the supersensible.' The same order is, in fact, adopted in Ktl, from the Aesthetic to the Dialectic; the difference is that the Dialectic concludes not with knowledge of the supersensible, but with an explanation of why such knowledge is impossible from the theoretical standpoint [see KSP1:VII.3.B]. 10. See e.g., Om06:188 and Ba72:345. Barth notes that for Kant such 'rationalism' refers only to 'practical reason' [281]. But even taken in its practical sense such a lat?el is misleading, since (as we shall see) it highlights only one side of Kant's philosophical interest. ! ' • Ba72:339. For this reason, Werkmeister's apparent attempt to hide the theological orientation of Kant's philosophy cannot succeed. Although Kant studied in the theology faculty at the University of Konigsberg, Werkmeister says 'he was interested primarily in the humanities' [We80:l, e.a.j, quoting Borowski (Kant's official biographer) as saying: 'Theological investigations of whatever kind... did not interest him.' The latter fact, however, is irrelevant to the point I shall make about Kant's philosophy. I regard Kant not as a closet theologian, but rather as a philosopher who constructed a System with a basically theocentric orientation. It does not follow from a person's

8

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

object of [Part I of Kt65] is to demonstrate the necessity of an institutionalized rivalry between theology and philosophy' [Sy82:100]. But 'theology' in such contexts refers for Kant only to what is more accurately called 'biblical studies' or 'revealed theology' [see Kt8:8-11(7-10)]—disciplines Kant himself never practiced. Yet if the meaning of'theology' is widened to include any serious, scholarly study of God, religion, and related subjects, his philosophy can be seen in many respects to be 'theocentric' in orientation. 'Theocentric' here does not mean Kant requires human knowledge of God to serve as the basis of or center for all other types of knowledge. On the contrary, it means the problems surrounding our understanding of the nature and reality of God serve as the central driving force of his philosophy.12 Prior to Kant most philosophers used theology—especially the implications of God's existence (which many believed they could prove)—to bridge gaps they could not bridge by purely philosophical means. Two obvious examples are Descartes' assumption that God's existence guarantees that, 'regarding lack of interest in reading theology as such that the person is therefore not interested in doing philosophy in a theocentric way. Along these lines, Loades aptly acknowledges Kant's 'sensitive appreciation of the Lutheran tradition' [L081:298]; for 'although in some ways a humanist par excellence, Kant was far from hostile to religious belief.' Indeed, his philosophy presents 'one of the forms of theism compatible with humanism.' Alluding to a famous quote from Goethe [see note VI.25, below], she adds [306] that, even in his humanism, Kant's 'philosopher's cloak bears the stains if not the stench of theism.' Shortly before completing the manuscript for this volume I came across a recent book that appears to defend precisely the point rejected above. Using the term 'closet theologian' in the very subtitle, Galbraith argues that Kant's approach in Kt8 should be regarded as that of a theologian rather than a philosopher [Ga96:62-7]. My position is that Kant never intends to be a biblical the¬ ologian, inside or outside of his 'closet'; but if 'theologian' includes what he calls a.philosophical theologian, then Kant adopts this Perspective openly in Kt8. So Galbraith's claim is misleading for two reasons: she downplays Kant's all-important qualifying term, 'philosophical'; and her term 'closet' wrongly implies that Kant was hiding or covering up his true intentions. Nevertheless, she is correct to assert that Kant's 'preoccupation... with belief in God went far beyond his moral argu¬ ments' to the point of 'actively engaging in theology' [Ga96:xiii-xiv], that in Kt8 he was to a large extent 'advocating his own theology' as 'an apologist for belief in God' [xv] and as himself 'a believer' [e.g., 51], and that in Kt9 'God... becomes the key to his entire philosophy' [vi]. One goal of the present book is to put meat on the bones of such claims, while showing that Kant's theo¬ centric orientation does not prevent his philosophy from remaining thoroughly philosophical. 12. Manolesco observes that 'God was [Kant's] major problem'—a problem he seems to have been 'destined' by his very name (i.e., Immanuel, meaning 'God with us') to carry with him throughout his life [Ma69:28]. Manolesco continues: 'Even in historical philosophy Kant had no doubt that this concept of God was indispensable as the ultimate ground of all reality' and that we are 'compelled to posit a real object corresponding to the Idea.' We shall see the extent to which this is the case in the fourth volume of this series, Kant's Critical Politics [KSP4]. MacKinnon reaches a similar conclusion, claiming Kant was aware 'of the need of Christian faith always to be theocentric' [Ma90a:358]. If Despland is correct to say 'Kant believed himself to be a Christian' [De73:246; s.a. 251-2], or McCarthy, that 'Kant would personally consider himself a Christian' [Mc82:204] or White, that 'Kant's starting point is within the Christian tradition' [Wh90:4]—and I believe each is entirely accurate—then MacKinnon's comment implies that Kant's own world view was theocentric. I have gone one step further than MacKinnon, though, by claiming not just Kant's view of Christianity, but his entire System to be theocentric.

/. Kant's Theocentric Metaphysics

9

objects which are clearly and distinctly represented..., I can never be deceived' [De70:4.119], and Berkeley's theory that objects not currently being perceived by any human subject can be said to persist only insofar as they are being perceived by God. Kant, however, flatly rejects such approaches: To have recourse to God... in explaining the arrangements of nature and their changes is... a complete confession that one has come to the end of his philoso¬ phy, since he is compelled to assume something of which in itself he otherwise has no concept in order to conceive of the possibility of something he sees before his very eyes. [Kt4:138]

This removal of the concept of God from its traditional place in the 'gaps' of philosophical inquiry is commonly interpreted as an example of Kant's positivistic and anti-theological disposition. What tends to be ignored by such inter¬ preters is that Kant replaces this traditional assumption with that of his famous, or infamous, concepts of the 'thing in itself [see KSP1:VI.2] and 'noumenon' [see note 1.3, above]. He has a number of reasons for doing so [see KSP1: V.l-4], among them being the preservation of the integrity of philosophy and the protection of theology from its skeptical and agnostic critics.13 For he regards the thing in itself as the unknowable question mark of philosophical inquiry [see KSP1:AV]; God is freed to play a far more important and determinant role [s.e. Chs. V-VI, below]. In one sense, as we shall see, God transcends even the thing in itself, and so, for Kant, is radically unknowable. But in another, equally important sense, God is immanent; indeed, this rich concept of 'a living God' [Ktl:661] forms the very heart of Kant's entire philosophical project. In other words, a real (though mysterious) God—not just an 'idea' of reason—is the central focus towards which every strand in Kant's System points.14 The interplay between these two aspects of his concept of God constitutes a valuable contribution to philosophical theology, for which he has rarely, if ever, been given full credit. 13. A widely accepted caricature of Kant sees him as an agnostic deist, concerned only with a fanciful concept of God as nothing but an abstract idea of reason, a concept that is then criticized as dry, theologically uninteresting (or even repugnant), and scientifically untenable. Several scholars, most notably Wood, Collins, and Despland, have done much to dispel this misconception. Wood interprets Kant's theology as 'rich, precise, philosophically sophisticated' [Wo78:151; s.a. Wo70:164]. Despland asserts that 'Kant's doctrine of God... is the most important part of his doctrinal metaphysics' [De73:135]. Although in Co67 Collins retracts his own previous assess¬ ment of Kant's theology as entirely destructive [see Co60a:183], even in Co60a he had suggested that Kant's 'preoccupation with the problem of God' [166] results in the fact that 'his stand on God partly determined his philosophical position at any given stage' in his development [162]. By placing Kant's theology in its proper philosophical context I shall attempt in the present volume to further this recent trend by eradicating once and for all the mistaken caricature mentioned above. 14. This will be argued more fully in Part Four, below. For now, it is sufficient to note with approval Rossi's point [Ro89:370] that Kant's philosophy of religion deals with issues that are 'central to the unity and the coherence of the overall Kantian critical project.'

10

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

Although it is true that Kant always writes primarily as a philosopher, it is also true that 'the Critical philosophy left his basic beliefs untouched' [Wa72: 143; s.a. PaO2:263] and that the three 'ideas' guiding his entire philosophical endeavor—viz., 'God, freedom, and immortality' [e.g., Ktl:xxx; Kt4:3-4; Kt7:473]—are all primarily theocentric in their orientation. Thus it should come as no surprise that the concept of God 'was constantly recurring throughout the various stages of [Kant's] intellectual development' [He57:13; s.a. En29:2089]. The inordinate attention interpreters usually give to the arguments in Ktl's Transcendental Analytic ironically veils the fact that Kant intends the book 'to clear the way for a positive account of what he regards as the correct theology for human beings' [Ax89:310]. Even Heine, who views Ktl as 'the sword that slew deism in Germany' [He59:107], agrees that Kant's criticism of the tradi¬ tional proofs for the existence of God 'forms one of the main points of [Ktl]' and that we ought to 'recognise everywhere visible in [Ktl] his polemic against these proofs' [He59:115-6]. Unfortunately, he believes Kant was trying to prove that 'this ideal... being, hitherto called God, is a mere fiction' [115]—a view I shall reject in Part Two, and throughout this volume. Wood is one of the few interpreters prior to 1989 (Pa89 being an early synopsis of the approach taken here) to acknowledge and develop the construc¬ tive, theocentric tenor of Kant's philosophy [see notes 1.7,13], He says:

.

Kant is fundamentally unable to conceive of the human situation except theistically... For Kant's real aim is not to destroy theology, but to replace a dogmatic theology with a Critical one: to transform rational theology from a complacent speculative science into a critical examination of the inevitable but perpetually insoluble problems of human reason, and a vehicle for the expression of our moral aspirations under the guidance of an autonomous reason. [Wo78:17]

He claims, quite rightly, that 'there is widespread misunderstanding of Kant's ideas' concerning his Criticism of the proofs for God's existence [10; see below, Ch.IV and AV.1-3]. Moreover, Kant's Lectures on Philosophical Theology [Kt26] show, according to Wood, 'that [even] the traditional theology was to a large extent compatible with Kant's critical philosophy' [Wo78:149]. Indeed, Kant's concern for and influence on theology was extensive: not only does Barth credit him with having 'understood what the idea of a Church was' and as having also 'understood what grace was' [Ba72:339], but Sykes regards him 'as one of those who prepared the way for the fragile advances of the Second Vatican Council' [Sy82:103]—three theological accomplishments of no small merit!15 15. Perhaps it is not without reason that Niebuhr calls Kant 'that philosopher who is most Protestant of all philosophers' [Ni70:116; s.a. Cr94:128; Wo70:127-8]—though I would add that, despite his reputation as 'the philosopher of Protestantism' [Ch92:481; Gg93:l; Ma9Oa:35O], Kant could also

/. Kant's Theocentric Metaphysics

11

Kant himself openly and repeatedly affirms the theocentric orientation in his understanding of metaphysics. In 1763 he upholds 'THERE IS A GOD' as 'the most important of all our cognitions'—so important that it is in no danger of being refuted by metaphysical speculation [Ktl5:65(219)]. In a 1770 letter to his friend Lambert, Kant explains that the purpose for fixing the principles and limits of knowledge is 'so that these principles could not be confusedly applied to objects of pure reason' [AA10:94(Zw67:59)]. That these 'objects' are the ideas of God, freedom, and immortality is repeatedly stressed by Kant: 'Meta¬ physics has as the proper object of its enquiries three ideas only: God, freedom, and immortality' [Ktl:395n]; 'metaphysics has engaged so many heads up till now and will continue to engage them not in order to extend natural knowledge ..., but in order to attain to a knowledge of what lies entirely beyond all the boundaries of experience, namely, God, freedom, and immortality' [Kt3:477]. And he emphasizes the theocentric orientation of all metaphysics even more explicitly as late as Kt69:292: 'The supersensible in the world (the spiritual nature of the soul) and out of the world (God), hence immortality and theology, are the ultimate ends towards which metaphysics is directed.' Kant also makes it clear in numerous places that his own task is ultimately constructive with respect to theology and religion, just as it is for metaphysics in general. His famous claim 'to deny knowledge, in order to make room for faith' [Ktl:xxx] certainly implies something of this sort, especially when it is seen in context [see KSPl:V.l]. For a large portion of the second edition Pref¬ ace to Ktl is devoted to clarifying that 'all objections to morality and religion' have been 'for ever silenced' by this Critique of reason's powers.16Elsewhere be regarded as the most Catholic of all philosophers! (The relevance of Catholic theology to Kant is affirmed in Gg93:2 and Ma90a:351.) As we shall see in Part Three, his protest against false religion is more radical than that of most Protestants, yet his affirmation of the universality (i.e., 'catholicity') of all true religion is more unreserved than that of most Catholics. 16- Ktl:xxxi; s.a. 781-2. Kant makes a similar remark to Herz as early as 1773, when he confides: 'I reveal to no one but you: the hope that by means of this work [i.e., Ktl] philosophy will be given a durable form, a different and—for religion and morality—more favorable turn' |AA10:137(Zw67:78); s.a. En29:79]. Earlier still, in the preface to Kt43, Kant reveals the importance he placed on the consistency of his own ideas with religion when he stresses his confidence in the 'harmony... between my system [of cosmogony] and religion' [222(82)]. An emphasis on the centrality of the 'ideas of reason' (especially God) might appear to contradict a remark Kant makes in a famous letter to Garve (1798): 'It was not the investigation of the existence of God, immortality, and so on, but rather the antinomy of pure reason... that... first aroused me from my dogmatic slumber and drove me to the critique of reason itself, in order to resolve the scandal of ostensible contradiction of reason with itself [AA12:255(Zw67:99n)]. But if we remember that Kant is here making an assertion about his own historical development, not about the essential nature of metaphysics or of his own philosophy, then the discrepancy disappears. The antinomies may have been the historical occasion for Kant conceiving of the idea °f a Critique of reason, but when he finally carries it out, he does so by directing the focus of the System itself to the task of understanding the proper place of the three (theologically oriented) ideas of reason. It is relevant to note here that in a much earlier letter to Garve (1783) Kant explains

12

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

in Ktl he explains that theology, morals, and religion, which correspond to these three ideas, respectively, are 'the highest ends of our existence' [395n; s.a. 494,656]. And in the last few pages of the Critique he concludes that, 'although metaphysics cannot be the foundation of religion, it must always continue to be a bulwark of it', and that a Critical metaphysics 'prevents the devastations of [speculation]... in the field of morals as well as in that of reli¬ gion' [877]. His Critique of Practical Reason [Kt4] continues the task of insuring against 'the possibility of making theology merely a magic lantern of phantoms' [141]. His seminal doctrine of the primacy of practical reason17 represents the culmination of this line of thinking: an anthropocentric System would give primacy to theoretical reason, treating human knowledge as its central feature; Kant denies such knowledge only in the sense of rejecting its centrality, because his System puts the theocentric faith of practical reason in its place. Even at the end of his life, Kant was intent on emphasizing the theocentric orientation of his philosophy: 'The highest level of the transcendental philosophy... lies in this twofold task: 1. What is God? 2. Is there a God?' [Kt9:22.63(Su71:119)]. Moreover, if Kant's own testimony is not evidence enough, 'his friend and biographer, Jachmann' informs us, as Greene notes, 'that, in private conversations with his friends "the philosopher and the man spoke out in undeniable testimony to an inner feeling and a genuine conviction [of God's existence]"; and that "in the true sense of the word he was a wor¬ shipper of God.'"18 This interpretation goes directly against the view that has prevailed among most English-speaking readers of Kant, that Kant's System is anthropocentric. This myth's long life has been largely the result of Greene's seminal defense of that the solution to the problem of the antinomies 'consists in this: that all objects that are given to us can be interpreted in two ways: on the one hand, as appearances; on the other hand, as things in themselves' [AA10:320n(Zw67:103n)]. In other words, the key he discovered entailed the proper implementation of what I have called Kant's 'principle of perspective' [see KSPl:II.l]. 17. Kt4:119-121. Paulsen portrays this 'doctrine of the primacy of the practical reason' as 'the copingstone of the Kantian philosophy' [PaO2:341]. Although the importance of this doctrine is well recognized in the literature, few commentators realize it is not so much an absolute doctrine as an expression of the principle by which the judicial standpoint adjudicates conflicts between the other two. The judicial standpoint, as we saw in KSP1:AII, just is the standpoint of Critique as such; it 'is the keystone of the architectonic' [Fe90:106]. In issues where a potential conflict arises between the practical and theoretical standpoints, the doctrine of 'primacy' stipulates that the practical standpoint is to be given more weight than the theoretical. But it does so without compromising the fact that the judicial is the middle way that characterizes all Critique. 'Practical reason has primacy over theoretical', therefore, means 'an explanation directed towards our moral experience carries more weight than an explanation directed towards speculation' [cf. Fig. IX.2 of KSP1], 18. Gr34:lxxvii-lxxviii (Greene's brackets). Copleston's description of 'transcendent metaphysics' as 'the expression of a religious quest' [Co74:9] applies equally well to Kant's nontranscendent, Crifica/metaphysics. Foras we shall see in X.2-3, 'Kant was a profoundly religious man' [Ra63:vii; s.a. Re88:2]. Reardon adds 'in his own moralistic way' [2], but Axelsen [Ax89:312] clarifies: 'Kant always saw his philosophical task as fostering faith, not merely as identifying the demands of duty.'

/. Kant's Theocentric Metaphysics

13

such a position in his introductory essay to the standard translation of Kt8. In stressing Kant's supposed 'absolute insistence upon the reduction of true reli¬ gion to morality'—an interpretation we shall have reason to reject in Chapter VI and throughout Part Three—Greene characterizes Kant's 'whole religious theory... [as] anthropocentric, not theocentric' [Gr34:lxxvi]. But what Greene takes as evidence of an anti-theocentric approach to religion is best conceived as being a Critical response to both the anthropocentric and the theocentric ap¬ proaches taken by most previous philosophers. Allison rightly points out that Kant's rejection of 'transcendental realism' in Ktl amounts to a rejection of a 'theocentric model of knowledge' [A185:27; s.a. A176]. Kant's epistemology, in other words, is admittedly anthropocentric: what we can know is limited to the phenomenal realm of human experience.19 In this sense alone is Gulyga right to say [Gu87:61] 'man is at the centre of Kant's philosophical interests.' Yet Kant's epistemology is only meant to prepare the way for a proper (hypo¬ thetical/practical) approach to theological issues. In each Critique the traditional way of being theocentric or anthropocentric is rejected in favor of a limited anthropocentricity that leaves room for a proper theocentricity. In this sense, we could qualify the foregoing arguments by saying the overall orientation of Kant's System is Critically theocentric—i.e., it balances the purely anthropo¬ centric and theocentric approaches to philosophy with an approach that does justice to both.20 4. The Scope of This Volume We can now offer a tentative answer to the question posed at the outset of this chapter: Kant destroys not so much the possibility of theology as that of the one-sided rationalist spirit of the Enlightenment, in the midst of which he him¬ self was nurtured. His genius is to have done this without going to the opposite extreme of embracing positivism. In the process of working out his 'Critical' approach, he proposes numerous theories that are highly relevant to theologians and philosophers of religion. Unfortunately, many of these are imbedded so deeply within the intricacies of his philosophy that they are easily neglected or misunderstood. On the basis of the systematic analysis of the architectonic form and content of Kant's Critical philosophy completed in the first volume of this 19. Michalson is correct to say Kant's epistemology is neither theistic nor atheistic [Mi79:40-l]. 20 U n f o r t u n a t e l y> h e d o e s n o t acknowledge that Kant's metaphysics is theistic none the less. "• In KSP1:X.2 I expressed this balance by saying Kant's metaphysics is theocentric even though The Critical philosophy on its own .. is anthropocentric' This could be misleading, because the theocentric focus actually takes precedence in the Dialectic of each Critique, not only in the properly metaphysical works. It is still appropriate, however, inasmuch as the Dialectic is the section of each Critique that deals explicitly with the metaphysical ideas.

14

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

series, we are now prepared to investigate in detail the most important of his System's religious and theological implications. To help readers recognize the systematic connection between the remaining chapters, I shall conclude this first chapter with a summary of this volume.21 Part One sets the stage for the entire study in three distinct ways. Here in the first chapter we have demonstrated that, despite common assumptions to the contrary, Kant's mature philosophy (or 'System of Perspectives') has a radical¬ ly theocentric orientation, promoted by the three metaphysical ideas. Chapter II takes a close look at Kant's early (and often neglected) book, Dreams of a Spirit-Seer, Illustrated by Dreams of Metaphysics [Ktl8], arguing that it fore¬ shadows with amazing accuracy some of the most basic tenets of the Critical philosophy. Its treatment of mystical visions ('dreams') directly parallels the treatment of metaphysical speculation in Ktl. A detailed overview of this text will not only reveal some rather surprising influences on Kant's thinking, but will also provide an indispensable context for interpreting the religious and theological orientation of his mature System in terms of his long-held interest in constructing a legitimate philosophical foundation for mystical experience. The third chapter then takes a step back and reviews the fundamental elements and metaphysical implications of Critical philosophy, as set forth in KSP1. (Those who have recently read KSP1 may therefore wish to skip Chapter III.) Part Two examines three key aspects of Kant's Critical theology: his reasons for believing in God's existence; symbolic ways to understand God's nature; and the relationship between theology and morality. Chapter IV explains the problem of transcendental theology (namely, that there is no way to prove God actually exists) and how Kant attempts to solve it. The first Critique introduces the regulative employment of the idea of God to demonstrate how this notion can be useful even though its objective validity cannot be absolutely confirmed. The third Critique presents physicotheology as providing empirical evidence for the God-hypothesis—evidence that is compelling, provided we do not pretend it constitutes an irrefutable theoretical proof. And the second Critique gives the ultimate rationale for belief in God: preserving the role of morality for properlyfunctioning human relationships necessitates a God-postulate. The next chapter begins with a description of God's transcendence, in light of the Kantian 2 1 . The architectonic structure of the chapters constituting the present volume is intended to correspond, more or less directly, to that of the chapters in KSP1. In both cases Chapter I is introductory, Chapter II presents some groundbreaking textual analysis, Chapter III outlines the architectonic plan, Chapter IV sets up the basic conceptual framework, Chapter V examines what results for those who take a step of faith, Chapter VI foreshadows Part Three by showing the relation between some of its central terms, Chapters VII-IX detail the elements of the system(s), and Chapters X-XII discuss metaphysical/mystical implications of the first nine chapters.

/. Kant's Theocentric Metaphysics

15

opposition between human reason and divine understanding (or 'intellectual intuition'). An account of the symbolic nature of all descriptions of God is followed by a series of suggestions as to how Kant thinks we should form theological and moral models of God's nature, once we are committed to believing in God's existence. Chapter VI raises the question as to whether Kant's well known emphasis on the centrality of morality for all genuine religion constitutes a total reduction of religion to morality. This common view is shown to be incorrect: Kant's own statements clearly indicate that he regards genuine empirical religion as a synthesis between morality and theology; morality on its own does not suffice and must therefore be raised to the level of religion by integrating it with a Critical theology. Part Three examines Kant's system of religion, as laid out in his Religion within the Bounds of Bare Reason [Kt8] from three points of view. Chapter VII summarizes Kant's rational system of religious perspectives (systemr) in terms of a twelve-step argument that follows the same architectonic form as the first two Critiques [see Part Three of KSP1]. Each of the four 'Books' estab¬ lishes one of the four 'stages' in Kant's argument: radical evil, conversion to the good, founding of a church, and service of God. Chapter VIII shows how Kant regards Christianity as the best historical manifestation of the universal reli¬ gion of reason established by systemr. Kant's interpretations often provide richly symbolic ways of interpreting the Old Testament's creation story, the New Testament's gospel, and numerous church doctrines and rituals. Rather than being reductionistic, system,- leaves a space for something outside the boundaries of human reason. Following a hint Kant gives in the Preface to Kt8, Chapter IX takes up the Perspective of the biblical theologian: the Greatest Commandment and the Great Commission are used to construct a systematic biblical theology that is surprisingly consistent with Kant's general approach to theology and religion. The one crucial element that still seems to be missing from Kant's System up to this point, rendering it apparently inadequate for use in the context of any real, lived religion, is a place for religious experience. The task of demonstrating that Kant's System of Perspectives actually provides the means of solving this final problem is taken up in Part Four. After some initial reflections on the nature of mysticism and religious experience, Chapter X explains why most interpreters believe Kant rejects even the possi¬ bility of mystical experience. As long as mystical experiences are not regarded as conveying empirical knowledge, and as long as they do result in an im¬ provement or strengthening of the person's moral outlook, a refined or 'Critical' form of mysticism can be seen to fit quite comfortably into Kant's System. A wealth of textual evidence is amassed to show that, in fact, Kant was no

16

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

stranger to mystical ideas and metaphors. Chapter XI enters into a debate over the issue of what Kant meant when he wrote, towards the end of his life, that a 'gap' still remained in his System. In contrast to a rather unlikely conjecture made by Forster, I defend the view that Kant's final, unfinished book (Opus Postumum [Kt9]) was intended to be the 'Grand Synthesis' of his metaphysical works, and that the gap was 'tantalizing' precisely because of its mystical char¬ acter. The final chapter examines the textual evidence for interpreting Kt9 as an extended defense of the Critical mysticism that Kant's entire System was de¬ voted to developing. Kant's treatment of our immediate awareness of the cate¬ gorical imperative as the 'voice of God' in our hearts and his corresponding treatment of ether or the caloric as an invisible 'hand of God' in nature reveal the purpose of Kt9 to be that of establishing the twofold foundation of Critical mysticism, culminating in the ideal God-man (i.e., Christ) as the final philo¬ sophical justification for a religious and theological outlook on life. The purpose of this first sequel to KSP1, then, is to replace the typical in¬ terpretation of Kant's theology and philosophy of religion as an austere, deistic agnosticism and moral reductionism with a more accurate interpretation, reveal¬ ing aricherand more viable, theocentric System. My hope is to unveil the heart of what Cassirer aptly calls 'the critical philosophy's new theoretical [i.e., philosophical] perspective on the world and on life' [Ca81:38]. After gaining a new appreciation for the crucial role religious experience has in authenticating, or 'bringing home', the reality of the Kantian God, who otherwise risks being merely an idea in our mind, we shall examine in a series of nine Appendices various finer points of detailed interpretation. However, the last two, on prayer (AVIII) and Kantian Christianity (AIX), should be of more general interest. My conviction in writing this book is that the theocentric orientation of Kant's philosophy not only serves the crucial philosophical role of unifying, and in a sense even completing, his System, but also provides philosophers and theologians with a rich and practicable framework for structuring our thought. The important task of bringing together the philosophical and theological strands in Kant's System [cf. AV, below] will be facilitated throughout the book by the use of geometrical figures as 'models' [see KSP1:I.2 and 111.3]; for they convey a clear and precise picture of what might be called a spiritual guiding-thread running through every aspect of his philosophy [cf. Ma68:24 and Kt7:389], forming the very heart of the System. When their significance is grasped, philosophers and theologians alike should agree that Kant's System of Perspectives, far from being philosophically inconsistent or theologically aversive, establishes a context that is satisfactory for both and can therefore serve as common ground for interdisciplinary dialogue.

Chapter II Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism Human reason was not given strong enough wings to part clouds so high above us, clouds which withhold from our eyes the secrets of the other world. [Ktl8:373(121)]

1. The Traditional Myth of Kant's 'Awakening' Kant's life is traditionally portrayed as falling into two rather distinct peri¬ ods. The years prior to 1770 form the 'pre-Critical' period, while those from 1770 onwards form the 'Critical' period. The turning-point is placed in the year 1770 because this is when Kant wrote the Inaugural Dissertation for his newly gained position as Professor of Logic and Metaphysics at the University of Konigsberg. In this work, entitled On the Form and Principles of the Sensible and Intelligible World [Ktl9], he proposed for the first time that space and time should be regarded as 'forms of intuition' that human subjects read into experience, rather than as self-subsisting attributes of nature that we read out from the objects we experience. The typical 'textbook' account of Kant's life usually declares that the 'pre-Critical' Kant was a Leibnizian dogmatist, trained in the school of Wolffian rationalism, and was interested as much in natural science as in philosophy, but that sometime around 1770 Kant was suddenly 'awakened' from his 'dogmatic slumbers' by his reflection on David Hume's philosophy.1 Some commentators, such as Kuehn [Ku83:191], go so far as to say not only that 'Kant and Hume aim at the very same thing', but that 'all the specific doctrines of Kant's critical enterprise are intimately bound up with Hume's influence on Kant.' Although it is difficult to determine the exact nature and date of this dra¬ matic awakening, there is no doubt that Kant was familiar with Hume's ideas by the early 1760s; indeed, so the story goes, in 1766 he published a book that adopts Hume's empiricist standpoint almost completely.2 This book, entitled 1. The latter is based on Kant's own account of the matter in Kt2:260(8): 'I openly confess my rec¬ ollection of David Hume was the very thing which many years ago first interrupted my dogmatic slumber and gave my investigations in the field of speculative philosophy a quite new direction.' 2. Beck suggests that 'Kant had probably read Hume before 1760, but only much later (1772?) did he begin to follow "a new direction" under Hume's influence' [Kt2:(8n)]. Beck defends his position in Be69:465-7 [s.a. Wo60:117-23]. In Ktl9 and as late as 1772, in a letter to Marcus Herz, Kant shows no awareness that Hume's skepticism challenges his own conception of causality as an intellectual principle. The supposed reason is that Kant was familiar only with Hume's Enquiry (1748), with its relatively modest skepticism, until he read Beattie's Essay on the Nature and Immutability of Truth (1772), which contains translations of long passages from the more radically skeptical text of Hume's Treatise (1738). In Be87:405-8 Beck confirms his acceptance of this explanation despite more recent conjectures that Kant's friend, Hamann, who translated part of the Treatise in 1771, may have shown his translation to Kant as early as 1768. Paulsen affirms that Kant 'did not receive the impetus to his work [i.e., Ktl8] from the English writers, and especially from Hume's epistemological investigations' [PaO2:87-8]. The

18

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

Dreams of a Spirit-Seer, Illustrated by Dreams of Metaphysics [Ktl8], is typical¬ ly interpreted as a minor work of an exceedingly skeptical nature, and of rela¬ tively little importance in understanding Kant's mature thought. This 'strangest and most tortured of Kant's writings' [Wa72:34] is, at best, a stage he passed out of as quickly as he passed into it, and at worst, an embarrassment for Kant and Kant scholars alike. The embarrassment could come not only as a result of the rather unorthodox subject-matter (visions and other mystical experiences), but because of the flippant attitude Kant adopts from time to time throughout the book [see note 11.13]. Indeed, regardless of how we interpret the philo¬ sophical content of this book, the psychological disposition of its author, who had recently entered his fifth decade, would appear to be that of a man in the midst of what we might nowadays call a mid-life crisis.3 The traditional account contains at least as much error as truth. While it is true that Kant never mentions his mature theory of the transcendental ideality of space and time before 1770, it is not true that he owes the theory to Hume (whose theory of space and time bears little resemblance to Kant's). Nor is it legitimate to equate this doctrine (expounded in its official form in the Aesthetic of Ktl) with the term 'Critical', as is implied by the dating of the Critical period from 1770. On the contrary, Kant associates his 'new method of thought, namely, that we can know a priori of things only what we ourselves put into them', not with the Critical method, but with the new 'Copernican' insight he believes will enable him to revolutionize philosophy [Ktl:xvi-xviii]. His de¬ scription and use of criticism as a philosophical method is quite distinct from its application to problems in metaphysics by means of the Copernican hypothesis. Thus, when Kant instructed the editor of his minor writings to ignore all those written before 1770 [see Se00:x], he was not defining the starting point of his application of the Critical method, but rather that of his application of the Copernican hypothesis to the task of constructing a new philosophical System. influence of Hume, he argues, came mainly in the early 1770s 'as furnishing an incentive to turn towards his original [i.e., Kant's own unique] position' [93-4], and to a lesser extent, just prior to the writing of Ktl9 in 1770 [97-99]. This supports the view I shall defend in II.3, that Hume's 'awakening' refers primarily to the change from Ktl9 to Ktl. Both these suggestions account only for Kant's recognition of the need for a more adequate defense of the philosophical principle of causality. They say nothing positive about the source of what I take to be the two most fundamental aspects of Kant's mature philosophical System: his Critical method and his 'Copernican' assumption. Moreover, they also fail to account for the unique (Humean?) character of Ktl8. In II.3, I shall propose an alternative explanation of Kant's development, which makes up for these and other inadequacies of the traditional view. 3. This conjecture is supported not only by Kant's age (early 40s), but also by his cynical dissatisfac¬ tion with the status quo. Manolesco treats 'Kant's sudden hatred for speculative metaphysics' as 'a deep psychological change due to unrequited love, not by metaphysics but by Swedenborg himself for not replying to Kant's queries [Ma69:14-5; cf. Bu84:71-3]. Moreover, Kant was involved in at least two failed love affairs at around this time [K152:39-41; Wa01:44-5; s.e. Gu87:54-5].

//. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

19

If we must divide his life into two periods at 1770, we should therefore avoid using the term 'pre-CriticaT (as others have advised, but without giving a vi¬ able alternative [Be92:36; De94:174]) and refer instead to the 'pre-Copernican' and 'Copernican' periods. Adopting this new label will protect us from making inconsistent statements such as Gulick's [Gu94:99], implicitly conflating these two forms of revolution: 'Kant's self-designated Copernican revolution ush¬ ered in his critical period.' Since Kant exhibited 'Critical' tendencies through¬ out his life, his mature years should be named the 'Copernican' period. Before we proceed it is crucial to have a thorough understanding of Kant's mature conception of 'criticism' or 'critique' (Kritik), as elaborated in Ktl. In the first edition Preface, Kant describes his era as 'the age of criticism', during which reason accords 'sincere respect... only to that which has been able to sustain the test of free and open examination' [Ktl:Axin]. But this enlightened 'habit of thought' can be trusted only if it submits to its own 'tribunal' of criticism [Axi-xii]. Thus 'the subject-matter of our critical enquiry' (i.e., of the entire Critical philosophy) is reason itself [Axiv], and its 'first task' is 'to discover the sources and conditions of the possibility of such criticism' [Axxi]. This means the questions addressed to reason cannot be answered by means of a dogmatic and visionary insistence upon knowledge... that can be catered for only through magical devices, in which I am no adept. Such ways of answering them are, indeed, not within the intention of the natural constitution of our reason; and ... it is the duty of philosophy to counteract their deceptive influence, no matter what prized and cherished dreams may have to be disowned.4

Instead, only by first examining 'the very nature of knowledge itself can we answer reason's questions in such a way as to provide solutions to the prob¬ lems of metaphysics [Axiii-xiv]. In the second edition Preface Kant not only describes more fully the subject-matter of the particular type of critique he plans to engage in, but also explains more clearly the nature of the Critical method. Metaphysics will be 'purified by criticism and established once for all': the purification is 'merely negative, warning us that we must never venture with speculative reason be¬ yond the limits of experience'; but the establishment is positive inasmuch as it 4- Ktl:Axiii, e.a. The emphasized words indicate that Kant was still mindful of his earlier work in Ktl8, which, as will become apparent in this chapter, adopts the same point of view expressed in this quote. In fact, Kant uses terms referring to this sleeping/dreaming/awakening metaphor 27 times in Ktl [see Pa87a:34,109,347], most of which echo quite clearly the attitudes adopted in Ktl8. The most significant references are Ktl:Axiii,503,519-21,785,792 [but s.a. Axin, xxxvi,l, A112,217,247,278,A376-7,A380,A390,434,452,479,652,808]. Such texts should not, however, be taken as evidence that Kant was completely against all mysticism. Rather, they restate the same problem posed in Ktl8—viz., how one's 'cherished dreams' can be preserved, if not by dogma and/or magic. Kant's solution will be examined most fully in Part Four of this volume.

20

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

'removes an obstacle which stands in the way of the employment of practical reason' [Ktl:xxiv-xxv]. In other words, the scope of reason's speculative (i.e., theoretical) standpoint is narrowed by tying it to sensibility, but this frees meta¬ physics to be established on the firmer foundation of reason's practical stand¬ point—i.e., on morality [xxv]. The Critical method, therefore, is intended to establish limits, but to do so for both negative and positive purposes. The for¬ mer can be seen when Kant refers to 'our critical distinction between two modes of representation, the sensible and the intellectual' and immediately adds 'and of the resulting limitation ...';5 likewise, he argues that noncontradictory doctrines of freedom and morality are 'possible only in so far as criticism ... has limited all that we can theoretically know to mere appearances' [xxix]. The positive benefit of such limitations is that they enable us to avoid 'dogmatism' (defined here as 'the preconception that it is possible to make headway in meta¬ physics without a previous criticism of pure reason'), which 'is the source of all that [skeptical] unbelief... which wars against morality' [xxx]. Indeed, Kant goes so far as to say that 'all objections to morality and religion will be for ever silenced' [xxxi], because his critique will 'sever the root of materialism, fatal¬ ism, atheism, free-thinking, fanaticism, and superstition... as well as of ideal¬ ism and scepticism' [xxxiv]. Throughout the rest of Ktl Kant repeats many of these same claims about the nature of criticism in its special, philosophical form. In most of their occur¬ rences the words 'critical', 'criticism', and 'critique' are used in close connec¬ tion with some mention of the limitations of knowledge.6 The only interesting exception is that on several occasions he adds that criticism serves as a middle way between the opposite extremes of dogmatism and skepticism [Ktl:22-3, A388-9,784-5,789,797]. Indeed, this epitomizes Kant's association of the Critical method with synthesis, which he claims always takes the triadic form of '(1) a condition, (2) a conditioned, (3) the concept arising from the union of the conditioned with its condition' [Kt7:197n]. And of course, the most basic example of his use of this pattern is his exposition of the Critical philosophy in the form of three Critiques. This brief analysis of Kant's understanding of the Critical method reveals that he never associates it directly with the Copernican hypothesis, but instead, with several key distinctions. The Critical method is, for Kant, the method of striking a middle way between two extremes ('a third step', as he calls it in Ktl:789 [s.a. 177,194,196,264,315,760-1,794]). It operates by trying to 5. Ktl:xxviii. These two modes of representation are similar, though not identical, to the distinction I make between 'immediate experience' and 'reflective knowledge' in KSPl:IV.l [s.a. III.2, below]. 6. See e.g., Ktl:352,A395. Pa87a:86 lists 168 occurrences of these three words in Ktl.

//. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

21

locate the boundary between what can be known (and proved) and what can never be known (yet remains possible)—the boundary line being defined in terms of 'the limits of all possible experience' [e.g., 121]. Thus it is closely associated with 'the distinction between the transcendental and the empirical' [81], as well as with that between speculative (theoretical) and practical (moral) 'employments of reason', or standpoints.1 Although certain apparently skeptical claims have to be made on the way, the ultimate purpose of criticism for Kant is positive: to provide a means of constructing the foundation for metaphysics upon solid (nonspeculative, moral) grounds. A careful reading of Kant's works reveals that traces of this Critical way of doing philosophy are evident throughout most of his writings, from the earliest essays on metaphysics and natural philosophy to the latest essays on religion, political history, and other subjects.8 Indeed, the fact that he uses this method to develop and expound the implications of his Copernican hypothesis is what gives lasting value to the theories that arise out of it, and not vice versa. There is no need to provide here a thoroughgoing proof of the ubiquity of the Critical method in Kant's writings [but see KSP1:32,39 and passim]. Instead I shall concentrate on Ktl8 because, in proportion to its importance, it is the most neglected and/or misunderstood book in the corpus of Kant's writings. The next section sketches the contents of this book, after which I shall draw attention in II.3 to its Critical character and discuss its role in Kant's discovery of the Copernican hypothesis. Finally, I shall offer some brief suggestions in II.4 as to the relation between Ktl8 and Kant's mature System of Perspectives. This will prepare the way for a proper understanding of Kant's views not only on theology and religion (Parts Two and Three), but also on mystical experi¬ ence itself. In Part Four I shall therefore return to this theme and consider in more detail the possibility of viewing Kant's entire System as the elaboration of a 'Critical mysticism', first envisaged in Ktl8 and (nearly) brought to full fruition in Kant's last, uncompleted work, Kt9. 2. Kant's Criticism of Swedenborg's Mystical Dreams In Ktl8 Kant examines the nature and possibility of mystical visions, paying special attention to the claims of a Swedish writer and accomplished 1- Indeed, as I have argued throughout KSP1, the making of such perspectival distinctions is the key task of the Critical philosopher [s.e. KSPlrII.1]. 8. In the earlier works, of course, the traces are evident retrospectively even though Kant himself would not yet have been conscious of the significance of the naturally Critical tendencies of his way of thinking. In fact, becoming conscious of what was already there seems to be one of the im¬ plications of his much-used metaphor of sleeping/dreaming/awakening [see note II.4]. Otherwise a metaphor such as 'coming alive' or 'giving birth' would have been more appropriate.

22

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

scientist named Emanuel Swedenborg.9 Kant examines these visions not only to explore the limits of his own commitment to a belief in the spirit world,10 but also (and more importantly) in order to draw attention to the dangers of specu¬ lative metaphysics by comparing it with fanatical mysticism. This analogy, present as it is in the very title of the work, will prove to be of utmost im¬ portance in understanding how Ktl8 relates to the later development of Kant's System. As noted earlier, Ktl8 is commonly interpreted as evidence of a radically empiricist stage in Kant's development, where he is supposedly adopting something of a Humean position. But his actual intention, as we shall see, is to encourage a Critical attitude: while he comes down hard on the misuse of reason by spirit-seers and metaphysicians when they regard their respective dreams 'as a source of knowledge' [see Se00:146], he expresses quite clearly his own dream that a properly balanced approach to both mysticism and meta¬ physics will someday emerge.11 A detailed examination of Ktl8 can therefore provide some helpful clues as to Kant's motivations for constructing the Critical philosophy itself. The mystical experiences considered in Ktl8 are not experiences of the presence of God (i.e., 'of infinite spirit which is originator and preserver of the universe' [Ktl8:321n(44n)]), but experiences of lower spiritual beings, who are supposed to be able to communicate with earthly beings in visions and ap¬ paritions. Although Kant ridicules those who have such experiences at several points in Ktl8, he reveals his private view of such experiences in two impor¬ tant letters. In a letter to Charlotte von Knoblock (dated 10 August, probably 1763) he admits he 'always considered it to be most in agreement with sound 9. Swedenborg (1688-1772) was not only the founder of crystallography, but also made significant advances in a wide range of scientific, technological, and economic fields. For an account of such accomplishments, see F193b:I.l.l and La93:57-8. 10. Kant's interest in the spirit world is almost always neglected, if not outright denied, by Kant scholars nowadays. Yet throughout his life he repeatedly affirmed a belief in its reality. Even in Ktl he uses 'spirit' and its cognates 16 times [Pa87a:353}, affirming his commitment to a surprisingly Platonic view of the eternality of the human spirit [Ktl:8O7-8]: 'we can propound a transcendental hypothesis, namely, that all life is, strictly speaking, intelligible only, is not subject to changes of time, and neither begins in birth nor ends in death; that this life is an appearance only, that is, a sensible representation of the purely spiritual life, and that the whole sensible world is a mere picture which in our present mode of knowledge hovers before us, and like a dream has in itself no objective reality; that if we could intuit ourselves and things as they are, we should see ourselves in a world of spiritual beings, our sole and true community with which has not begun through birth and will not cease through bodily death—both birth and death being mere appearances.' 11. The subtle difference between this and the usual interpretation can be illustrated by quoting Werkmeister's claims that in Ktl8 Kant concludes 'that metaphysics ought to abandon its dogmatic speculations about God, the life hereafter, and similar topics' [We80:64]. This is correct, provided we understand (as Werkmeister himself hints elsewhere [cf. note 11.13]) that abandoning dogmatic speculation does not entail altogether abandoning belief in God, etc., as is assumed by those who regard Ktl8 as the work of a skeptic. Kant abandons speculation not in order to swing over to the skepticism of unbelief, but in order to make room for a Critical reformation of his beliefs.

//. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

23

reason to incline to the negative side..., until the report concerning Swedenborg came to my notice.'12 After recounting several impressive stories, Kant tells how Swedenborg was once able to describe in precise detail a fire that 'had just broken out in Stockholm', even though he was fifty miles away in Goteborg [SeOO:158]. He says this 'occurrence appears to me to have the greatest weight of proof, and to place the assertion respecting Swedenborg's extraordi¬ nary gift beyond all possibility of doubt.' In a subsequent letter (8 April 1766) to Mendelssohn [q.i. 162] Kant explains that he clothed his thoughts with ridicule in Ktl8 in order to avoid being ridiculed by other philosophers for paying attention to mystical visions (hardly taken seriously by most philoso¬ phers in the Enlightenment [see Ktl8:353-4(91-2)]). He admits: the attitude of my own mind is inconsistent and, so far as these stories are con¬ cerned, I cannot help having a slight inclination for things of this kind, and indeed, as regards their reasonableness, I cannot help cherishing an opinion that there is some validity in these experiences in spite of all the absurdities involved in the stories about them...

Elsewhere in the same letter he draws a Critical conclusion: 'Neither the pos¬ sibility nor the impossibility of this kind of thing can be proved, and if some¬ one attacked Swedenborg's dreams as impossible, I should undertake to defend them.'13 Clearly, Kant believed something significant is happening in such 12. Se00:155. On the dating of this letter, see SeOO:16O, Br53:117-8 and Ra63:74. 13. Cited in Ra63:74. A good summary of the first three visions Swedenborg made public, each mentioned in Kant's letters, is given in La93:60-l. Kant's tendency in Ktl8 to ridicule views towards which he was in fact sympathetic may be what led him to suggest this book be excluded from his collected minor writings [see SeO0:x; Ma69:7]. Paulsen admits that the 'spiritology' in Ktl8 'is not intended [by Kant] to be entirely without seriousness', inasmuch as it foreshadows the important 'two worlds' doctrine later propounded in Ktl [PaO2:84]. Later he relates this to 'Kant's Platonism', already evident in Ktl8: 'an ethical and religious view of the world on the basis of objective idealism' [310]. Mendelssohn captures the strangeness of Kant's mood in Ktl8 when he writes in a book review [q.i. We80:43]: 'The jesting profundity with which this little work has been written leaves the reader at times in doubt as to whether Mr. Kant intended to make metaphysics ridiculous or spiritism (Geisterseherei) plausible.' The answer, as we shall see, is both and neither: making uncritical approaches to both issues look ridiculous prepares the way for the Critical method to reveal the plausibility of both. For Ktl8 adopts an entirely Critical method, and so first poses the problem (though somewhat obscurely) that is to be solved by Kant's mature philosophical System. That Kant is intentionally using Swedenborg's visions as a test case for the application of his well-formed Critical method, before launching into its application to all of metaphysics, is indicated in his 1766 letter to Mendelssohn [q.i. Ma69:154-9], where he calls attention to the 'important conclusions which are meant to determine in a strict manner the methodology of [the new metaphysics]', and then invites Mendelssohn to use this new (Critical) method 'to draw up a new master plan for this science' [1567, e.a.]. See also La93:72-100 and We80:44,84 for similar views of the prefiguring role of Ktl8. Werkmeister [We80:45] quotes Borowski's biography of Kant as saying 'the attentive reader found already here [in Ktl 8] the seeds of the Critique of Pure Reason and of that which Kant gave us later.' Unfortunately, he gives no details as to just which aspects of Ktl8 constitute these 'seeds'. After using the same metaphor (Ktl8 'contains... many of the seeds of Kant's Critical Philosophy' [Ma69:13]), Manolesco lists some examples [17-8]: Kant's 'theory of spirits is almost an exact replica, expressed in philosophical language, of Swedenborg's own thesis ... Swedenborgian

24

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

experiences—significant enough to merit a comparison with the tasks of meta¬ physics, 'the dream science itself [AA10:67(Zw67:55)], to which he admits to being hopelessly 'in love' [see 1.2, above]. The problem this set for him was to describe 'just what kind of a thing that is about which these people think they understand so much' [Ktl8: 319(41)]. In the Preface to Ktl8 Kant hints at the Critical nature of his inquiry by asking two opposing questions, but offering a 'third way out': he asks (1) 'Shall [the philosopher] wholly deny the truth of all the apparitions [eye¬ witnesses] tell about?'; or (2) 'Shall he, on the other hand, admit even one of these stories?'; and he answers that (3) the philosopher should 'hold on to the useful'.14 The treatise itself consists of seven chapters, grouped in two parts: Part One contains four 'dogmatic' chapters and Part Two contains three 'historical' chapters. The correspondence between these two parts and the structure of the System he was soon to begin elaborating is evident by the fact that Part One ends with a chapter on 'Theoretical Conclusions' and Part Two ends with a chapter on 'Practical Conclusions' [348(85),368(115)], thus fore¬ shadowing the division between the first and second Critiques. The theoretical part begins in Chapter One, under the heading 'A compli¬ cated metaphysical knot which can be untied or cut according to choice' [Ktl8:319(41)], by discussing what a spirit is or might be. Kant confesses: I do not know if there are spirits, yea, what is more, I do not even know what the word 'spirit' signifies. But, as I have often used it myself, and have heard others using it, something must be understood by it, be this something mere fancy or reality. [Ktl8:320(42)]

To this rather Wittgensteinian remark he adds that 'the conception of spiritual nature cannot be drawn from experience', though its 'hidden sense' can be drawn 'out of its obscurity through a comparison of sundry cases of applica¬ tion' [320n(42-3n)]. He then argues that a spirit must be conceived as a simple, immaterial being, possessing reason as an internal quality [320-1(43-5)]. After considering some of the difficulties associated with this concept, he adopts an entirely Critical position: "The possibility of the existence of immaterial beings doctrines ... provided him with fundamental metaphysical starting points for his later views on the soul, on the dualism of mind and matter, on his conception of noumena and phenomena, on inner sense and its connection with the unity of apperception.' Such parallels are discussed in II.3. 14. Ktl8:317-8(38). McCarthy makes the interesting suggestion in Mc82 that Kant's mature philoso¬ phy replaces 'Christus' (Latin for 'anointed') with 'Crestus' (Latin for 'useful'). If so, Kant's third point can be regarded as a foretaste of what is to come. We must be keep in mind, however, that 'useful' for Kant means 'useful in bringing about goodness'; it is not a sudden leaning towards utili¬ tarianism [cf. Kt25:29.846(204)]. McCarthy shows his implicit awareness of the moral aspect of the Kantian 'useful' when he says his (like Kant's) concern is with 'the role of Jesus the (morally) "Useful"' [Mc82:192]. What McCarthy seems to ignore is that the 'Crestus' need not exclude the 'Cristus'; as we shall see in Part Three, both can (and should) work together as complements.

//. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

25

can... be supposed without fear of its being disproved, but also without hope of proving it by reason' [323(46-7), e.a.]. If one assumes 'that the soul of man is a spirit', even though this cannot be proved, then the problem arises as to how it is connected with the body [324-5(48-9)]. Kant rejects the Cartesian focus on a mechanism in the brain in favor of 'common experience':15 Nobody... is conscious of occupying a separate place in his body, but only of that place which he occupies as a man in regard to the world around him. I would, therefore, keep to common experience, and would say, provisionally, where I sense, there I am. I am just as immediately in the tips of my fingers, as in my head. It is myself who suffers in the heel and whose heart beats in affection.16

The chapter concludes with the confession 'that I am very much inclined to as¬ sert the existence of immaterial natures in the world, and to put my soul into that class of beings' [327(52)]. Although he concedes that the various questions concerned with such a belief are 'above my intelligence' [328(54)], he does suggest in Ktl8:327n(52-3n) that 'Whatever in the world contains a principle of life, seems to be of immaterial nature. For all life rests on the inner capacity [cf. freedom in Kt4] to determine one's self by one's own will power.' After confirming the metaphysical possibility of (and his personal belief in) spirits, Kant presents in Chapter Two 'a fragment of secret philosophy aiming to establish communion with the spirit-world' [Ktl8:329(55)]. He begins by positing an 'immaterial world' that is conceived 'as a great whole, an immea¬ surable but unknown gradation of beings and active natures by which alone the dead matter of the corporeal world is endued with life.'17 As a member of both 15. Kant notes in Ktl8:325n(5On) that this 'prevalent opinion which assigns to the soul its seat in the brain, seems to originate mainly in the fact, that we feel distinctly how, in deep meditation, the nerves of the brain are taxed. But if this conclusion is right it would prove also other abodes of the soul. In anxiety or joy the sensation seems to have its seat in the heart. Many affections, yea most of them, manifest themselves most strongly in the diaphragm. Pity moves the intestines, and other instincts manifest their origin in other organs.' Here we see a good example of Kant's awareness of and concern for the condition of his own body. Unfortunately, interpreters tend to excuse this con¬ cern as stemming merely from his eccentric ideas about how he could maintain his own health through sheer will power and self-determination [see e.g., Kt51 and Part III of Kt65]. Yet it seems also to reveal the importance he placed on fostering a meditative awareness of his immediate experience: philosophy for Kant is ultimately not an abstract function of the mind or brain, but a discipline in which the whole body participates as well. !6. Ktl8:324-5(48-9); s.a. AA28:146-7 and La93:52,159. Laywine makes a good case in La93 for viewing soul-body interaction as the chief philosophical concern around which most of Kant's preCopernican writings revolved. She argues that, prior to Ktl 8 Kant was (at least implicitly) committed to a theory of 'physical influx', whereby the soul has quasi-material characteristics, such as impenetrability, and that in the process of grappling with Swedenborg's vulgar version of the same view, Kant recognized the need to give it up. I summarize and assess La93 in AH.2. 17. Ktl8:33O(57). 'The relation [of these 'incorporeal substances'] by means of things corporeal is consequently to be regarded as accidental' [330(56-7)]. Since an 'undoubted characteristic of life' is 'free movement' (including growth), Kant suggests that both plants and animals may also have an immaterial nature [330(57)]. In order to show the close connection between plants and animals Kant mentions Boerhaave's view: "The animal is a plant which has its roots in the stomach (inside).'

26

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

the material and the immaterial world, a human being 'forms a personal unit' [332(60)]. Kant conjectures that purely immaterial beings may 'flow into the souls of men as into beings of their own nature, and... are actually at all times in mutual intercourse with them', though the results of such intercourse cannot ordinarily 'be communicated to the other purely spiritual beings', nor 'be trans¬ ferred into the consciousness of men' [333(61)]. As evidence for such a com¬ munion of spirits, Kant examines the nature of morality. Using one of his favorite geometrical metaphors (that of intersecting lines), he says in Ktl8: 334-5(63): 'The point to which the lines of direction of our impulses converge is ... not only in ourselves, but... in the will of others outside of ourselves.' The fact that our actions are motivated not only by selfishness, but also by duty and benevolence, reveals that 'we are dependent upon the rule of the will ofalV [335(64)]; and 'the sensation of this dependence'—i.e., our 'sense of morali¬ ty'—suggests that 'the community of all thinking beings' is governed by 'a moral unity, and a systematic constitution according to purely spiritual laws.' Thus, 'because the morality of an action concerns the inner state of the spirit', its effect can be fully realized not in the empirical world, but 'only in the im¬ mediate communion of spirits' [336(65)]. In reply to the possible objection that, given this view of the spirit-world, 'the scarcity of apparitions' seems 'extraordinary', Kant stresses that 'the con¬ ceptions of the one world are not ideas associated with those of the other world'; so even if we have a 'clear and perspicuous' spiritual conception, this cannot be regarded as 'an object of actual [i.e., material] sight and experi¬ ence.'18 However, he freely admits that a person, being both material and im¬ material, can become He then opines the converse is also true: 'The plant is an animal which has its stomach in the root (outside).' But he warns that 'such conjectures... have the ridicule of fashion against them, as being dusty antiquated fancies'; 'the appeal to immaterial principles is a subterfuge of bad philosophy', so he will 'not... use any of these considerations as evidence' [331(58)]. 18. Ktl8:337-8(67-9). Kant conjectures that the spiritual conceptions that arise in the deepest, dreamless sleep 'may be clearer and broader than even the clearest in the waking state. This is to be expected of such an active being as the soul when the external senses are so completely at rest. For man, at such times is not sensible of his body.' When dreaming, by contrast, a person 'perceives to a certain degree clearly, and weaves the actions of his spirit into the impressions of the external senses.' Unfortunately, Kant does not acknowledge the importance of this connective function of dreams, so instead of regarding them as revealing profound symbols of spiritual conceptions (as Jung, using Kant as his philosophical springboard, has since suggested [see AII.l)), he ridicules them as being 'only wild and absurd chimeras' [338n(68n)]. Du Prel develops an elaborate theory of 'somnambulism' (including hypnotism) based explicitly on Kant's philosophy [see e.g., Du89: l.xxvi,5-7,62,71, etc.; s.a. note II. 1]. He also agrees with Kant on many specific points [see e.g., 1.57-8]. For example, in Du89:1.44 he says: 'With the deepening of sleep must diminish the confusion of the dream.' In arguing for 'the scientific importance of dream', he claims this clarity can be explained best by assuming that in deepest sleep the center of control changes from the brain (the focus of consciousness) to the solar plexus (the focus of the unconscious), and that the more control exercised by the latter, the more significant the dream will be [1.27-44,68-9].

//. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

27

conscious of the influences of the spirit-world even in this life. For spiritual ideas ... stir up those pictures which are related to them and awake analogous ideas of our senses. These, it is true, would not be spiritual conceptions themselves, but yet their symbols.... Thus it is not improbable that spiritual sensations can pass over into consciousness if they act upon correlated ideas of the senses. [338-9(69-70)]

Even 'our higher concepts of reason' need to 'clothe themselves' in, 'as it were, a bodily garment to make themselves clear', as when 'the geometrician represents time by a line' [339(69-70)]. An actual apparition, which might 'indicate a disease, because it presupposes an altered balance of the nerves', is unusual because it is based not on a simple analogy, but on 'a delusion of the imagination', in which 'a true spiritual influence' is perceived in imagined 'pictures... which assume the appearance of sensations' [340(71)]. Kant warns that in an apparition 'delusion is mingled with truth', so it tends to deceive 'in spite of the fact that such chimeras may be based upon a true spiritual influence' [340(71-2), e.a.]. In truly Critical fashion Kant now adopts the opposite perspective in Chapter Three, presenting an 'Antikabala'—that is, 'a fragment of common philosophy aiming to abolish communion with the spirit-world' [Ktl8:342 (74)]. Here Kant first states the analogy between metaphysicians ('reasondreamers') and visionaries ('sensation-dreamers'): in both cases the dreamer imagines a private world 'which no other healthy man sees', yet 'both are selfcreated pictures which nevertheless deceive the senses as if they were true objects' [342-3(75)]. In order to help such dreamers 'wake up, i.e., open their eyes to such a view as does not exclude conformity with other people's com¬ mon sense' [342(74)], he proposes an alternative description of what is hap¬ pening in an apparition. The problem is to explain how visionaries 'place the phantoms of their imagination outside of themselves, and even put them in re¬ lation to their body, which they sense through their external senses' [343-4 (77)]. He suggests that in external sensation 'our soul locates the perceived object at the point where the different lines, indicating the direction of the impression, meet', whereas in a vision this 'focus imaginarius' is located not outside of the body but 'inside of the brain' [344-5(77-9)]. The difference between the fantasy of a sane person [see 346n(81n)] arid the delusions of an insane person is that only the latter 'places mere objects of his imagination outside of himself, and considers them to be real and present objects' [346 (80)]. So 'the disease of the visionary concerns not so much the reason, as a deception of the senses' [347(82)]. Kant concludes that this simpler interpre¬ tation 'renders entirely superfluous the deep conjectures of the preceding chapter... Indeed, from this perspective, there was no need of going back as

28

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

far as to metaphysics'.19 The fourth and final chapter of Part One presents the 'theoretical conclu¬ sion from the whole of the consideration of the first part' [Ktl8:348(85)]. Kant begins with a penetrating description of his own method of philosophizing (i.e., the Critical method), according to which 'the partiality of the scales of reason' is always checked by letting 'the merchandise and the weights ex¬ change pans' [348-9(85)]. He uses this metaphor to make two points. First, it suggests the importance of being willing to give up all prejudices [349(85-6)]: I now have nothing at heart; nothing is venerable to me but what enters by the path of sincerity into a quiet mind open to all reasons ... Whenever I meet with something instructive, I appropriate it.... Formerly, I viewed common sense only from the standpoint of my own; now I put myself into the position of a foreign reason outside myself, and observe my judgments, together with their most secret causes, from the standpoint of others.

Kant's exposition in Ktl8 exemplifies this Critical (perspectival) shift by op¬ posing the merchandise of his own prejudices concerning the spirit-world (Chapter Two) with the dead weight of a reductionist explanation (Chapter Three). The second point of the analogy is, however, the crucial one: we must recognize that 'The scale of reason is not quite impartial' and so move the mer¬ chandise from the speculative pan to the pan 'bearing the inscription "Hope of the Future"' (i.e., from the standpoint of the first Critique to that of the third [cf. KSPl:37n,307]), where 'even those light reasons... outweigh the specula¬ tions of greater weight on the other side' [Kt 18:349(86)]. Here at the threshold of his mature philosophical System, then, Kant stresses the overriding importance of what I call the 'judicial' standpoint [see note 1.17]: 'This is the only inaccuracy [of the scales of reason] which I cannot easily remove, and which, in fact, I never want to remove' [349-50(86)]. On this basis Kant concludes that, even though 'in the scale of speculation they seem to consist of nothing but air', the dreams of spirit-seers (and meta¬ physicians!) 'have appreciable weight only in the scale of hope' [Ktl8:350(867)]. While admitting 'that I do not understand a single thing about the whole matter' of how the immaterial can interact with the material, he claims 'that this study... exhausts all philosophical knowledge about [spiritual] beings... in the 19. Ktl8:347-8(82-3), The concluding paragraph of Chapter Three, containing these comments, also includes some harsh ridicule of those who adopt the perspective of Chapter Two. He suggests, for instance, that although visionaries are not necessarily insane, 'insanity [is] a likely consequence of such communion.... Therefore, I do not at all blame the reader, if, instead of regarding the spiritseers as half-dwellers in another world [the view Kant himself seems to prefer], he, without further ceremony, dispatches them as candidates for the hospital' [348(83)]. No doubt this is one of the embarrassing remarks in Ktl8 that led Kant to suggest in later life that it be excluded from his collected minor works [see SeOO.x].

//. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

29

negative sense, by fixing with assurance the limits of our knowledge' [349-50 (88-9)]. The assumed spiritual principle of life 'can never be thought of in a positive way, because for this purpose no data can be found in the whole of our sensations' .20 He is therefore constrained by ignorance to 'deny the truth of the various ghost stories', yet he maintains 'a certain faith in the whole of them taken together.'21 As I have argued in KSPl:V.l, this subordination of specu¬ lative knowledge to practical faith is the key to the justification of the Copernican Perspective itself. Thus, when Kant concludes Part One by saying 'this whole matter of spirits' will 'not concern me any more', because 'I hope to be able to apply to better advantage my small reasoning powers upon other subjects' [352(90)], he may be hinting that he is already beginning to formulate a plan for constructing a System of Perspectives based on Critical reasoning. Having promised not to philosophize on spirits any longer, Kant recounts in the first chapter of the second ('historical') part three stories concerning the spiritual powers of Swedenborg, 'the truth of which the reader is recommended to investigate as he likes' [Ktl8:353(91)]. He claims 'absolute indifference to the kind or unkind judgment of the reader', admitting that in any case 'stories of this kind will have... only secret believers, while publicly they are rejected by the prevalent fashion of disbelief [353-4(92)]. In the second chapter of Part Two Kant provides a summary of Swedenborg's own explanation of his 'ecstatic journey through the world of spirits' [Ktl8:357(98)] and notes its similarity to 'the adventure which, in the fore¬ going [i.e., in Part One], we have undertaken in the balloon of metaphysics' [360(102)]. The position Swedenborg develops 'resembles so uncommonly the philosophical creation of my own brain', Kant explains, that he feels the need to 'declare... that in regard to the alleged examples I mean no joke' [359(100)]. To cover up his own interest in Swedenborg's work, Kant ridicules his 'hero' for writing an eight-volume work 'utterly empty of the last drop of reason' [359-60(101)]—a good example of the occasional harsh or frivolous statements that later embarrassed him [see note II. 13]. The extract turns out to be so close to the views Kant had expounded in Chapter Two of Part One that he concludes his summary by reassuring the reader that 'I have not substituted my own fancies for those of our author, but have offered his views in a faithful extract 20, Ktl8:351-2(89). This position has an obvious affinity with the doctrines of the positive and nega¬ tive noumenon developed in Ktl [see KSP1:VI.3]. 21. Ktl8:351(88). Thus, Kant notes [350n(87-8n)] that our speculative ignorance 'does not at all invalidate the confidence that the conceptions thence evolved [i.e., from hope] are right.' For ex¬ ample, the 'inner perception* that death is 'only a transformation' leads 'to that point to which rea¬ son itself would lead us if it were more enlightened, and of a greater scope.' Kant is saying our immediate experience can provide existential certainty for a position that cannot be proved theo¬ retically. This existential certainty is grounded in what Kant calls 'rational faith' [see note IV.15].

30

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

to the comfortable and economic reader who does not care to sacrifice seven pounds [closer to seven hundred these days!] for a little curiosity' [366(111)]. The chapter ends with an apology for leading the reader 'by a tiresome roundabout way to the same point of ignorance from which he started', but adds that 'I have wasted my time that I might gain it. I have deceived the reader so that I might be of use to him' [Ktl8:367-8(112-3)]. After confessing his unrequited love of metaphysics, Kant insists that metaphysics as a rational inquiry 'into the hidden qualities of things' (i.e., speculative metaphysics) must be clearly distinguished from 'metaphysics [as] the science of the boundaries of human reason' (i.e., Critical metaphysics) [368(114)]: Before... we had flown on the butterfly-wings of metaphysics, and there conversed with spiritual beings. Now ... we find ourselves again on the ground of experience and common sense. Happy, if we look at it as the place allotted to us, which we can leave with impunity, and which contains everything to satisfy us as long as we hold fast to the useful.

:

'

Far from indicating a temporary conversion from dogmatic rationalism to skep¬ tical empiricism, as is usually assumed about Ktl8, this passage, interpreted in its proper context, reveals that Kant already has a clear conception of the Critical method, and is nurturing the seed that was to grow into his complete philosophical System. Any doubt about the Critical character of Ktl8 is dispelled by the 'practical conclusion from the whole treatise' given in the final chapter of Part Two [368(115)]. Kant begins by distinguishing between what science can under¬ stand to achieve knowledge and what reason needs to understand to achieve wisdom—a distinction that pervades the entirety of his mature System. By de¬ termining what is impossible to know, science can establish 'the limits set to human reason by nature', so that 'even metaphysics will become... the com¬ panion of wisdom' [368(115-6)]. He then introduces (what I call) the principle of perspective as the guiding principle of this new way of philosophizing: once philosophy 'judges its own proceedings, and... knows not only objects, but their relation to man's reason*, thus establishing the perspective from which the object is viewed, 'then ... the boundary stones are laid which in future never allow investigation to wander beyond its proper district' [368-9(116), e.a.]. This is followed by a warning against the failure to distinguish between philo¬ sophical relations (i.e., those known by reflection) and 'fundamental relations' (i.e., those that 'must be taken from experience alone')—the distinction that forms the basis for all other Critical distinctions.22 That Kant is here referring to 22. For a fuller explanation of this fundamental distinction between immediate experience (which, as such, produces no knowledge) and the various reflective forms of experience (which do produce

//. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

31

immediate experience, not to empirical knowledge, is evident when he says 'I know that will and understanding move my body, but I can never reduce by analysis this phenomenon, as a simple [immediate] experience, to another experience, and can, therefore, indeed recognize it, but not understand it' [369 (117)]. He reaffirms that our powers of reflection provide 'good reason to conceive of an incorporeal and constant being'; but because our immediate ex¬ perience as earthly beings relating to other earthly beings depends on 'corporeal laws', we can never know for certain what 'spiritual' laws would hold if we were 'to think... without connection with a body' [370-1(117-8)]. The possi¬ bility of establishing 'new fundamental relations of cause and effect'—i.e., of having an immediate experience not of corporeal nature but of spiritual nature— 'can never... be ascertained'; the 'creative genius or... chimera, whichever you like to call it', which invents such spiritual (later called noumenal) causality cannot establish knowledge (much less scientific 'proof') precisely because the 'pretended experiences' are not governed by corporeal (later called a priori) laws, which alone are required for a knowledge-claim to be 'unanimously accepted by men' [371-2(118-9)]. This final chapter of Ktl8 ends with a concise (and entirely Critical) explanation of the positive aspect of this otherwise negative conclusion. The fact that 'philosophic knowledge is impossible in the case under consideration' need cause no concern (neither for the metaphysician nor for the mystic) as long as we recognize that 'such knowledge is dispensable and unnecessary', because reason does not need to know such things [372(120)]. "The vanity of science' fools us into believing that 'a proof from experience of the existence of such things' is required. 'But true wisdom is the companion of simplicity, and as, with the latter, the heart rules the understanding, it generally renders unnec¬ essary the great preparations of scholars, and its aims do not need such means as can never be at the command of all men.' The true philosophy, which Kant always believed would confirm common sense and therefore would be attain¬ able for everyone (unlike a speculative dependence on theoretical proofs or mystical apparitions, each available to only a few individuals), should be based on 'immediate moral precepts'—that is, on a 'moral faith' that 'guides [the 'righteous soul'] to his true aims' [372-3(120-1)]. Thus he concludes [373 (121)] by defending the position later elaborated in his practical and religious systems, that it is more appropriate 'to base the expectation of a future world upon the sentiment of a good soul, than, conversely, to base the soul's good conduct upon the hope of another world.' knowledge), see KSPl:IV.l and the summary of that section, given in III.2, below.

32

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

3. Kant's Four Major 'Awakenings' In the preceding section we have seen that all the main characteristics of Kant's Critical method, together with anticipations of several of his mature doctrines and distinctions, are present in Ktl8. The method of choosing the middle path between two extremes is exemplified by Kant's advice in the Pref¬ ace to 'hold on to the useful'—though this is not exactly how he would later describe his Critical means of steering between the extremes of dogmatism and skepticism [but cf. note II. 14, above]. The Critical distinction between the theo¬ retical and the practical, whose most obvious application is to the distinction between the first two Critiques, is foreshadowed by the conclusions to the two parts of Ktl8, the first being theoretical and the second, practical. The attitude expressed in the first chapter, that 'spirits' are theoretically possible but can never be proved to exist, is reminiscent of the hypothetical perspective adopted in the Dialectic of Ktl, where all 'ideas of reason' are treated similarly.23 Even the second chapter, where Kant is letting his metaphysical imagina¬ tion run wild, contains an interesting parallel: Kant's suggestion that the inner state of spirits is primarily important in its connection with morality is entirely consistent with his later decision to regard morality as the proper foundation for metaphysics. (The same point is emphasized in the last chapter, where the true basis for belief in spirits is said to rest on morality rather than speculation.) And the skepticism Kant adopts in Chapter Three is not unlike the version he sometimes adopts in the Dialectic of Ktl (in both cases as a temporary measure to guard against unwarranted speculation).24 The subordination of the theoret¬ ical (i.e., speculative) to the practical and the judicial [see note 1.13], as hinted by Kant's expressed preference for the 'useful', is forcefully emphasized by his reference to the 'scales of reason' in the fourth chapter. His use of this analogy to emphasize the philosophical legitimacy of hope for the future in spite of our theoretical ignorance foreshadows both Kt7 and Kt8.25 Throughout Part 23. This emphasis on the useful in Ktl8 may have arisen to some extent out of Kant's Wolffian education. For Wolff himself stressed the importance of 'the useful' [see e.g., Co60b:l 12]. Kant did not abandon this emphasis in his mature writings, but rather transformed it into the hypothetical perspective in systemt and into the practical standpoint of his overall System. In the final chapter of Ktl 8 the same strategy is employed to address the issue of the possibil¬ ity of a spiritual influence on the body: such influences are possible but cannot be proved because they are not governed by corporeal laws. This is directly parallel to Kant's mature attitude towards 'noumenal causality', which cannot be regarded as knowable because it does not fall under the a priori principles of the possibility of experience. 24. Indeed, Kant even uses the analogy of awakening in the skeptical chapter of Ktl 8 [342(74), q.a. in II.2], thus indicating that in 1766 he was already thinking of skepticism as a useful tool for stimulating philosophers to reconsider their dogmatism. This fact, as we shall see later in this section, raises serious questions about the traditional view that Kant's 'awakening' by Hume did not happen until 1768, or perhaps even 1772 [see note II.2]. 25. Moreover, Kant uses the same analogy in Ktl:795, where he refers to 'the assay-balance of

//. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

33

One, and again in the second chapter of Part Two, Kant describes his new view of the first and foremost task of metaphysics in exactly the same terms as he would use some fifteen years later in Ktl: metaphysics must begin as a negative science concerned with establishing the limits of knowledge. And in the book's final chapter we meet not only the distinction between immediate experience and reflective knowledge, which is so crucial to Kant's System [see note 11.22], but also the equally important notion that reason does not need to have a theoretical understanding of mystical experiences (or metaphysical proposi¬ tions), as long as we take into consideration the common moral awareness of all human beings. If Kant was in full possession of the Critical method by 1766, why, it might be asked, did he take fifteen more years to write Ktl? This is particularly perplexing in light of the fact that after 1781 Kant published at least one major work nearly every year until 1798. The typical explanation of Kant's develop¬ ment renders this problem slightly less difficult, because the 'Critical awaken¬ ing' is regarded as not happening until the late 1760s or early 1770s. On this view Kant had a great deal of trouble formulating his ideas for Ktl, yet after it was completed he suddenly realized the need for a second Critique, and after that, the need for a third. However, the fact that Kant could apply all the Critical tools in 1766 to write Ktl 8 makes it very difficult to believe that he would fumble around for fifteen more years, and then suddenly turn into a pro¬ lific genius. Rather, it suggests Kant may well have wanted to have the basic (architectonic) plan for his entire System more or less complete in his mind be¬ fore even starting the long task of committing it to paper. The need for a fifteen year gap (including his long 'silent decade') between Ktl8 and Ktl becomes more understandable if we regard Kant as formulating in his mind during this time not just Ktl, but his entire System—though obviously, the details con¬ cerning the precise form it would take had not entirely crystallized by 1781.26 The traditional view fails to take account of the fact that writers do not always say everything they know about their plans for future undertakings, and also ignores the importance of Kant's emphasis on establishing and maintaining criticism' [s.a. Ktl:617,811]. And he uses the corresponding metaphor of 'weighing' two oppos¬ ing arguments in Ktl:A388-9,615,617,665,778, as well as in Kt4:76. 26. As early as 1764 Kant recognized a special relationship between metaphysics, moral philosophy, and philosophy of religion [see Kt57:246n(63n)]. In June of 1771 Kant affirmed in a letter to Marcus Herz that his project would have to address the topics of metaphysics, morality, and aes¬ thetics. And his letter to Herz in February 1772 shows he already conceived of his task as including work on 'the principles of feeling, taste, and power of judgement' in addition to its theoretical and moral aspects [AA10:124(Zw67:71)]. Although he apparently had not yet decided to devote a separate Critique to each subject, he had already thought of the title 'Critique of Pure Reason' [10.126(73)]. For a concise summary of the importance of these two letters, see Co60b:203-7.

34

PART ONE: SYSHHEMATHE FDUNBA11ONS

specific architectonic patterns.27

" ; ;

- ;; v

;

•.;

The one aspect of Kant's transcendental philosophy that is conspicuously absent in Ktl8 is the cornerstone of the whole System, the Copernican hypoth¬ esis (i.e., the assumption that a posteriori objectivity is based on a priori subjectivity, rather than vice versa [see KSPl:III.l]). And this had begun to dawn on him by 1770, when he wrote Ktl9, where he regards time and space as 'forms of intuition' not inherent in the object itself. Thus the crucial question is: if 'criticism' was the original distinguishing character of Kant's life-long philosophical method, what was the source of the sudden insight he later called his 'Copernican' hypothesis? Copleston conjectures that the new insight might have come as a result of his reading of the Clarke-Leibniz Correspondence, newly published in 1768 [Co60:196]. Others would cite Hume as responsible for all such major changes in Kant's position [see e.g., note II.2]. What has long been ignored in English Kant-scholarship is the significant extent to which some of the details of the Critical philosophy, not the least being the Coperni¬ can hypothesis itself, actually correspond to the ideas developed by Swedenborg. Kant himself acknowledges this correspondence to some extent in Ktl8, but repeatedly emphasizes that the ideas he presents as his own were developed independently of his acquaintance with Swedenborg's writings [Ktl8:359 (100),360(102),366(lll)]. However, the extent of the parallels between his subsequent theories (especially those in Ktl9) and Swedenborg's is sufficient to merit the assumption that, in spite of his ridicule in Ktl8, Kant actually adopted much of Swedenborg's 'nonsense' [360(101)] into his own thinking [357-8(98-9); cf. SeOO: 24-7,31-3]! A good example of the similarity between Kant's mature views and Swe¬ denborg's ideas is brought out in Kant's summary of Swedenborg's position, highlighting the distinction between a thing's true or 'inner' meaning and its outer manifestation. How closely this coincides with the position Kant eventu¬ ally defends in his writings on religion becomes quite clear in Ktl8:364(108) when he says: 'This inner meaning... is the origin of all the new interpretations which [Swedenborg] would make of the Scripture. For this inner meaning, the internal sense, i.e., the symbolic relation of all things told there to the spiritworld, is, as he fancies, the kernel of its value, the rest only the shell.' As we shall see in VI.2, Kant uses precisely the same analogy in his own investigation of 'pure religion' in Kt8, except that the 'inner meaning' is derived from practical reflection (the Critical mode of dreaming?) rather than from visionary 'dreams' about the spirit-world. 27. I examine the details of the architectonic structure of Kant's System in KSPl:III.3-4. A brief summary of those sections is given in III. 1, below [s.a. AIII.l].

//. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

35

A more detailed examination of Swedenborg's epistemological distinctions would reveal numerous other corresponding theories. For example, the Copernican assumption itself, which marks the main difference between Ktl8 and Ktl9, has its roots at least partially in Swedenborg. For, as Vaihinger puts it, the relationship of Kant's 'transcendental subject... to the Spiritual Ego of Swedenborg is unmistakable' [q.i. SeOO:25]; indeed Kant may well have taken his 'doctrine of two worlds from Swedenborg direct' [24; s.a. 12-4]. Thus there are good grounds for regarding Swedenborg's 'spiritual' perspective as the mystical equivalent of Kant's transcendental perspective in metaphysics. Such a perspectival relationship is hinted at by Sewall in SeOO:22-3: 'Neither of the two great system builders asks the support of the other.... As Kant was necessarily critical, this being the office [or Perspective] of the pure reason itself, so was Swedenborg dogmatical, this being the office [or Perspective] of experience.' Sewall appends to the 1900 translation of Ktl8 various extractsfromSwe¬ denborg's writings,28 revealing that Swedenborg's ideas often anticipate (from his own mystical perspective), and therefore may have influenced, many of the key ideas Kant develops in his transcendental philosophy. The roots of Kant's transcendental idealism can be seen in Swedenborg's spiritual idealism: 'spaces and times... are in the spiritual world appearances' [SeOO:124]; 'in heaven ob¬ jects similar to those which exist in our [empirical] world... are appearances' [125]; 'appearances are the first things out of which the human mind forms its understanding' [126]. The roots of Kant's view of the intelligible substratum of nature are also evident: 'nothing in nature exists or subsists, butfroma spiritual origin, or by means of it' [131]; 'nature serves as a covering for that which is spiritual' [132]; 'there exists a spiritual world, which is... interior... to the nat¬ ural world, therefore all that belongs to the spiritual world is cause, and all that belongs to the natural world is effect' [132]; 'causes are things prior, and ef¬ fects are things posterior; and things prior cannot be seen from things posterior, but things posterior can be seen from things prior. This is order' [133]. Even views similar to Kant's 'analogies of experience' in Ktl are devel¬ oped by Swedenborg: 'Material things... arefixed,because, however the states of men change, they continue permanent' [SeOO:125]; "The reason that nothing in nature exists but from a spiritual origin or principle is, that no effect is pro¬ duced without a cause' [132]. The parallels extend beyond the theoretical to the practical and judicial standpoints as well: 'the will is the very nature itself or disposition of the man' [138]; 'heaven is ... within man' [135]. Moreover, 28. Sewall translates these extracts in SeOO:123-54 (Appendix I in Ktl8).

36

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

Kant's criticism of mystical visionaries as wrongly taking imagined symbols to be real sensations cannot be charged against Swedenborg, who warns: 'So long as man lives in the world he knows nothing of the opening of these degrees within him, because he is then in the natural degree...; and the spiritual degree... communicates with the natural degree, not by continuity but by correspondences and communication by correspondences is not sensibly felt' [135; s.a. 141]. Of course, Kant's use of such ideas often differs in important respects from Swedenborg's, as when Kant argues for the importance of phenomenal causality as being the only significant causality from the standpoint of knowl¬ edge. Nevertheless, given the fact that before reading Swedenborg he did not write about such matters, whereas afterwards such 'Copernican' ideas occupied a central place in his writings, it is hardly possible to doubt that Swedenborg had a significant influence on Kant's mature thinking. I am not claiming that Kant owes his recognition of the importance of the Copernican hypothesis to Swedenborg alone, but only that his influence has been much neglected, and merits further exploration.29 If Swedenborg did exercise an important influence on Kant, then why does Kant seem to give Hume all the credit, for instance, in the oft-quoted pas¬ sage from the Introduction to Kt2 [see note II.l]? Swedenborg was far from being a philosopher, so perhaps Kant did not feel constrained to acknowledge his influence—indeed, 'felt embarrassed' might be a more appropriate expres¬ sion, since Swedenborg's reputation was hardly respectable among Enlighten¬ ment philosophers. Kant's request that his writings prior to 1770 not be includ¬ ed in his collected minor writings [see note 11.13] would therefore reflect his desire to protect his reputation from too close an association with the likes of Swedenborg. In any case, Kant's claim that the ideas he expresses in Ktl8 predate his reading of Swedenborg leaves open the possibility that Swedenborg stimulated him to think through his own ideas more carefully, and in the process to adopt some of Swedenborg's ideas, or at least to use them as a stimulus to focus and clarify his own. Does the Kt2 passage therefore represent a false 'confession'? By no means. But in order to understand that passage properly, and so to give an accurate answer to the question of the relative influence of Hume and Sweden¬ borg on Kant, it will be necessary to distinguish between four aspects of Kant's development that are often conflated:

29. Laywine makes significant headway in this direction in La93 [cf. note 11.16], though she reaches some rather questionable conclusions. For a detailed discussion of her interpretation, see AII.2.

//. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

37

(1) The general Critical method of finding the limits that define the 'middle way' between unthinking acceptance of the status quo (dogmatism) and unbelieving doubt as to the validity of the entire tradition (skepticism). (2) The general Copernican insight that the most fundamental aspects of human knowledge (the ones making it objective) have their source in the human subject as a priori forms, not vice versa. (That is, time, space, etc., are not absolute realities rooted in the object, as philosophers had previously assumed.) This, of course, was the seed that (when fertilized by the Critical method) gave rise to the entire System of 'transcendental philosophy'.30 (3) The particular application of (1) to itself (i.e., reason's criticism of reason itself). (4) The particular application of (2) to the problem of the necessary connection between a cause and its effect.

As stated above in II. 1, we can see (1) operating in varying degrees in almost all of Kant's writings [see note II.8]. Indeed, his lifelong acceptance of (1) is clearly the intellectual background against which alone his great philosophical achievements could have been made (and as such, is the source of his genius). Although his ability to make conscious use of this method certainly developed gradually during his career, receiving its first full-fledged application in Ktl8, neither Swedenborg (the dogmatist) nor Hume (the skeptic) can be given the credit for this. The Critical method is not something Kant learned from these (or any other) philosophers, but is rather the natural Tao through which Kant read, and in reading, transformed, their ideas.31 If anyone is to be thanked, it 30. This distinction between Kant's Critical method and the transcendental orientation of his phi¬ losophy is often ignored by Kant-scholars, who tend to conflate the terms by talking about Kant's 'transcendental method'—a phrase Kant himself never uses. This type of interpretive error lies be¬ hind Ernst Cassirer's claim that in Ktl 'Kant is presenting a completely novel type of thinking, one in opposition to his own past and to the philosophy of the Age of Enlightenment' [Ca81: 141]. This notion of a complete 'opposition' between Kant's past (wherein he is portrayed as being unknowingly duped by his dogmatic upbringing) and his Critical outlook (which is supposed to have sprung as suddenly as the ringing of an alarm clock from his reading of Hume) typifies the mythical account of Kant's development against which I am arguing in this chapter. In Ktl Kant is not negating his past, but pressing it to its proper limit; he is separating the wheat from the chaff of his own background and of his Age [see e.g., Ktl:Axin] by bringing into full view the Critical method that had characterized his way of thinking from the start of his career. One exception to the above is J. Fang, who calls attention in Fa67:112-3 to the mistake of regarding Kant's method as transcendental. He also recognizes the importance of distinguishing between the Critical method and the transcendental character of Kant's mature philosophy: the 'critical method' is already 'partially revealed' (i.e., applied) in 177Q, but 'concerns itself with "limits" alone... and not yet with "sources'", as it does in its transcendental application [118-9]. With intimations of Einstein, he then suggests [121] that 'the special critical method of 1768-69, viz., "to determine the validity and bounds of intuitive principles", had to be generalized, and when it was finally "broadened", the general critical method was to discover and justify ... the sources, the extent, and the limits of the human faculty of knowledge or metaphysic in general—the main task of the Critique.' Unfortunately, Fang does not work out in any detail the significance of this distinction (which relates more to Kant's gradual application of his Copernican insight than to the Critical method as such), nor does he mention Ktl8 as relevant to the development of Kant's Critical method. 3 ' - This implies that the traditional view of Ktl8 as a temporary excursion into Humean skepticism [see II. 1] is entirely unjustified, based as it is on a shallow reading of the text and a neglect of the

38

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

! should be his parents, and in particular, his mother.32 • » Kant's recognition of (4) as one of the crucial questions to be answered by his new philosophical System, is, by contrast, clearly traceable to Hume's in¬ fluence. In fact, his discussion of Hume's impact on his development in Kt2: 260(8) undoubtedly refers primarily (if not solely) to this narrow sense of 'awakening': Kant is probably telling us nothing more than that his 'recollec¬ tion' of Hume helped him recognize that causality cannot be treated as a purely intellectual principle (as he had done in Ktl9), but must be justified (if at all) in some other way (viz., as a transcendental form of knowing, just as were space and time in Ktl9). The fact that Kant uses the term 'recollection' indicates a fairly late date (probably 1772 [see note II.2]) for this dramatic event. For Kant is suggesting that (4) came to him as a result of remembering the skepticism of Hume ('the first spark of light') that had begun influencing his thinking about ten years before. However, if Kant's famous 'awakening' is only a dramatized account of his discovery of (4), then such references to Hume do not answer the more fundamental question, the answer to which we have been seeking here: Where did Kant get the idea of using (2) as the basic insight for solving all such philosophical problems? Kant's discovery of (2) came in several fairly well-defined steps, mostly from 1768 to 1772. Prior to 1768 there is little (if any) trace of such an idea. Between 1768 and 1772 he applied the insight to intuitions but not to concepts. In 1772 he realized that concepts too must be regarded from this Copernican (Transcendental) Perspective. As a result of this somewhat unsettling discovery (unsettling because in early 1772 he believed he was within a few months of completing Ktl), he spent nine more years (from 1772 to 1781) working out in his mind the thoroughgoing implications of this insight for his entire philosophical System. It is plain enough to see how Hume's ideas could have caused the final (and crucial) change in the extent of Kant's application of (2) in 1772, because Hume employs some of his most powerful arguments to support his skepticism regarding the a priori basis of the idea of necessary connection. Kant's realization in 1772 of the full force of these arguments awakened him to an awareness of the incomplete nature of his application of (2) in Ktl9, and gave him the idea of applying (2) to concepts as well as to intuitions. But where did (2) come from in the first place? It could not have come

ubiquity of the Critical method in Kant's writings. Hume's influence on Kant in the early 1760s was only one of many influencing factors acting together as grist for the Critical mill. Interestingly, neither Hume nor Swedenborg is included in Werkmeister's description of 'the complexus of ideas which is the basis for all further development of Kant's philosophy' [We8O:15]. 32. Kant's biographers consistently report the strong influence he felt his mother had on his general personal and intellectual development. Her influence is discussed further in X.4.

//. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

39

from Hume, inasmuch as nothing like it appears in Hume's doctrines of space and time (or anywhere else in Hume's works). Hume's explanation for our belief in all such 'objective facts' is always to reduce them to logic and/or an empirical kind of subjectivity (as he does in the final paragraph of his Inquiry); he never so much as hints at the possibility of any third way, such as is given by Kant's theory of transcendental subjectivity. There are, to my knowledge, only two likely explanations, both of which probably worked together to awaken Kant to his Copernican insight sometime between 1766 and 1768. The first is his reading of Swedenborg's writings, especially his massive work, Arcana Coelestia, which he read in 1766, just before writing Ktl8 [see Ktl8: 318(39) and Se00:14n]; and the second is his reading of the Clarke-Leibniz Correspondence,33 together with his consequent discovery of the antinomies of reason [see below]. If this account of Kant's development during these porten¬ tous years is correct, then Kant's description of (4) as an awakening from dogmatic slumber is a somewhat over-dramatized account, whose purpose is not to emphasize a sudden break from lifelong dogmatism [cf. note 11.31], but only to explain how Hume saved him from settling for the half-baked form of (2) that he had originally distilled from the ideas of two thinkers whom he re¬ garded as dogmatists (Leibniz and Swedenborg). Thus, if we look at the overall picture, we see that Hume's influence has, in fact, been overrated; it fulfills only one specific role in Kant's long process of development. This interpretation of Kant's development gives rise to two further ques¬ tions regarding Kant's use of his sleeping/dreaming/awakening metaphor. For he uses it not only in relation to Hume's influence, but also in many other con¬ texts. In a letter to Garve (21 September 1798), for instance, he confides that his discovery (c.1768) of 'the antinomy of pure reason... is what first aroused me from my dogmatic slumber and drove me to the critique of reason itself ,34 How can this account of Kant's 'awakening' be made compatible with his (better known) references to Hume? Although interpreters have often struggled with this question, the answer seems obvious once we distinguish between the four aspects of Kant's development listed above. Kant's comments must refer to different experiences of awakening: the awakening by Hume refers to (4), while that for which the antimony is responsible refers to (3). Accordingly, 33. In fact, the influence of Swedenborg is quite compatible with the influence of Leibniz. For Swe¬ denborg himself studied Descartes, Leibniz, and Wolff, much as Kant did in his early years [see Jo67:47]. (In §335.7 and §696 of The True Christian Religion Swedenborg even describes his visions of Aristotle, Descartes and Leibniz, together with nine of their followers, among whom was Wolff.) Thus, Kant's reading of Swedenborg may well have worked together with his reading of the Clarke-Leibniz Correspondence to point him towards the Copernican hypothesis. 34. AA12:255(Zw67:252). See note II.4 for a list of references to the this metaphor in Ktl.

40

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

Kant says the antinomy showed him the need for a critique of reason, whereas he says Hume's stimulus gave a 'new direction' [Kt2:260(8)] to his speculative research (thus implying he had already begun working on that critique). The tendency to regard these as referring to the same experience arises only because he uses the same metaphor to describe both developments. The second question arises once we recognize the obviously close connec¬ tion between Kant's metaphor of being awoken from sleep and the metaphor of dreaming that permeates the entirety of Ktl8 (even its title). Whether Kant's awakening really happened only in 1768 (via the antinomies) or only in 1772 (via Hume's skepticism)—or even at both times—Kant's comments would seem to imply that Ktl8 itself dates from the period of 'dogmatic slumber' from which he only later awoke. Yet even those who do not fully appreciate the Critical elements in Ktl8 agree that it is not the work of a sleeping dogmatist! So how could Kant's metaphor apply to anything that happened after he wrote this book? Without presuming to give the final answer to this difficult question, I shall venture to offer a plausible suggestion, based on the account of Kant's development given above. Criticism is the middle path between dogmatism and skepticism. It is the tool Kant believed he could use to preserve the truth and value of both methods and yet do away with the errors into which each inevitably falls. The Critical mind will therefore always allow itself to be 'tempted', as it were, by the two extremes it ultimately seeks to overcome; but in the process of becoming more and more refined, it will appear at one moment to be more dogmatic and at another to be more skeptical (just as we observed Kant's mind to be in the text of Ktl8). In other words, the Critical method does not do away with skeptic¬ ism and dogmatism, so much as use them as opposing forces to guide its insight further along the spiral path towards the central point of pure critique. Now, in order to stay healthy a human being needs both sleep and waking; and in the same way, we could develop Kant's analogy one step further by saying the healthy (Critical) philosopher needs regular doses of both dogmatism and skepticism. Skepticism functions like an alarm clock to remind philosophers when it is time to stop their dogmatic dreaming and return to the normal waking life of criticism. The Critical philosopher will naturally have many experiences of this type, just as a normal person is often surprised to wake up in the middle of a dream, yet will dream again the next night. Thus, the confusion caused by Kant's various references to his awakening from dogmatic slumbers may be best explained by regarding each as equally legitimate and equally important milestones in his development. We have seen that Hume's influence was never such as to convert Kant to

II. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

41

skepticism, but served only as 'the first spark of light' [Kt2:260(8)] to kindle his awareness of the need to reflect on the rationality of his cherished beliefs. This limited view of the influence of Hume on Kant comes out quite clearly in almost all Kant's references to Hume or skepticism. In Ktl:785, for example, Kant again uses his favorite metaphor to describe the relation between dogma¬ tism, skepticism, and criticism: 'At best [skepticism] is merely a means of awakening [reason] from its dogmatic dreams, and of inducing it to enter upon a more careful examination of its own position.' Kant's attempt in Ktl8 to ex¬ amine mysticism and metaphysics with a Critical eye should therefore be re¬ garded as resulting from one of his first major awakenings (perhaps largely as a result of his initial reading of Hume, probably in the early 1760s). Ironically, although he disagreed with the dogmatic use to which Swedenborg put his ideas, Kant seems to have recognized in them some valuable hypotheses that could be purified in the refining fire of criticism. The antinomies awoke him (in 1768) to the realization that reason's Critical method must be applied not only to objects of possible knowledge (such as mystical experiences and metaphysi¬ cal theories), but also to reason itself. And just when he thought he was on the verge of perfecting this self-criticism of reason (in 1772), Hume awoke him once again to the realization that his Copernican insight must be used to limit not only intuition but also the concepts arising out of human understanding. We can conclude, therefore, that although Hume was instrumental in awakening Kant to the limits of dogmatism, Swedenborg's speculations were responsible in a more direct way for the initial formation of his Copernican hypothesis. 4. The Dream of a System of Critical Philosophy A clear understanding of the influence of Swedenborg on Kant, and of the function of Kt 18 as a Critical prolegomenon to Kant's mature System of tran¬ scendental critique, makes it not so surprising to hear Sewall say mystics 'from Jung-Stilling to Du Prel' have always 'claimed Kant as being of their number' [SeOO: 16-7,32]. Indeed, Du Prel stresses Kant's positive attitude towards Swedenborg [Du89:2.195-8,243,290], and argues that in Ktl8 'Kant ... declared Mysticism possible, supposing man to be "a member at once of the visible and of the invisible world'" [2.302]. He even suggests that 'Kant would confess to-day [i.e., in the 1880s] that hundreds of such facts [based on mysti¬ cal experience and extra-sensory powers] are proved' [2.198]. This is probably going too far, but so is Vaihinger's conclusion [q.i. SeOO: 19] that 'Kant's world of experience... excludes all invasion of the regular system of nature by uncontrollable "spirits"; and the whole system of modern mysticism, so far as he holds fast to his fundamental principles, Kant is "bound to forcibly reject."'

42

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

Kant is forced to reject mysticism only as a component of his theoretical system (i.e., Ktl); the other systems nevertheless remain open to nontheoretical inter¬ pretations of mystical experiences. Sewall reflects Kant's purposes more accu¬ rately in Se00:20-l: The great mission of Kant was to establish ... [that reason] can neither create a knowledge of the spiritual world, nor can it deny the possibility of such a world. It can affirm indeed the rationality of such a conception, but the reality of it does not come within its domain as pure reason.

As Vaihinger himself admits elsewhere, Kant's apparent rejection of mysticism therefore 'refers only to the practices (of spiritism), and to the Mysticism of the Feelings; it does not apply to the rational belief of Kant in the "corpus mysticum of the intelligible world.'" 35 Kant therefore has two distinct, though closely related, purposes in Ktl8. The first is to reject uncritical (speculative or fanatical) forms of mysticism, not in order to overthrow all mysticism, but in order to replace it with a refined, Critical version, directed towards our experience of this world and our reflection on it from various perspectives. This perspectival element in Kant's mysticism is hinted at by Vaihinger [q.i. Se00:15,18] when he says Kant believes: The other world is ... not another place, but only another view of even this world.... [It] is not a world of other things, but of the same things seen differently by us.... But the wildly fermenting must of the Swedenborgian Mysticism becomes with Kant clarified and settled into the noble, mild, and yet strong wine of criticism.

Unfortunately, the general mystical thrust of Kant's System of Perspectives has been grossly neglected by almost all English-speaking Kant-scholars.36 In Part Four of this volume I shall attempt to set right this neglect by examining the extent to which Kant's critique of mysticism in Ktl8 paves the way for a fullblooded 'Critical mysticism'. Kant's second purpose in clearing from the path of metaphysics the ob¬ structions created by the speculative claims of mystical experiences is to prepare the way for his own attempt to provide a metaphysical System that could do for 35. Q.i. SeOO:25. Kant affirms his belief in the notion of a 'corpus mysticum' at several points even in Ktl, as when he says that 'if we could intuit ourselves and things as they are, we should see ourselves in a world of spiritual natures, our sole and true community' [Ktl:836; s.a. A393-4]. Kant's lifelong belief in a spirit-world is demonstrated by Manolesco in Ma69. 36. SeOO:x {sic; page number should read 'ix') lists several works written between 1889 and 1895 that do focus on Kant's mystical tendencies. The most significant of these is Du Prel's Kant's Vorlesungen iiber Psychologie (1889), which contains an introduction entitled 'Kant's mystische Weltanschauung'. Se00:13-4n translates the following passage from pp.vii-viii of that work: '"Dreams"..,, has been interpreted as a daring venture of Kant's genius in making sport of supersti¬ tion; the accent has been laid on Kant's negations, and his affirmative utterances have been over¬ looked. The "Lectures on Psychology" now show ... that these utterances were very seriously intended; for the affirmative portions of the "Dreams" agree very thoroughly with the lengthier exposition of the "Psychology", and the wavering attitude of Kant is here no longer perceptible.'

//. Kant's Dreams of a Critical Mysticism

43

metaphysics what Ktl8 does for mystical visions.37 For the Critical dream envisaged in Ktl8 was to serve as a seed planted in his reason, which eventually matured into the tree of Critical philosophy; and only when this tree finally bears fruit does the mystical seed that gave birth to the System appear once again (i.e., in Kt9). Accordingly, Kant's Critical labors can be regarded as an attempt to build a rational System that preserves the true mystical dream, thus putting mysticism in its proper place, at the center of metaphysics. In this sense, at least, Kant would agree with Du Prel [Du89:1.70] when he says: 'It is ... dream, not waking, which is the door of metaphysic, so far as the latter deals with man.'

37. I have intentionally presented this as the second purpose, because the text of Ktl8 clearly regards it as such. Nearly all interpreters read into the text their own exclusive interest in Kant's metaphysics, and thereby treat the whole topic of mystical visions as a mere (perhaps ill-chosen) illustration. How easy it is to forget that even the title specifies the main topic as focusing on visionary dreams, and explicitly regards metaphysics as a secondary illustration. Gerding is an exception. He stresses that Kant is dealing with what we now call parapsychological phenomena ('psi'). However, he takes Ktl8 as a 'fundamental denial of psi' [Ge94:141], claiming 'Kant explicitly states that psi phenomena cannot exist.' But this is too strong. Kant's conclusion is that we cannot form such experiences into a science: he openly admits that psi do exist as immediate experiences; the problem is that we cannot understand them. Gerding goes so far as to claim that for Kant 'psi cannot even be hypothetical' [144] and that 'Kant does not allow psi to be even possible.' He suggests we could avoid excluding psi from transcendental philosophy by tracing them to 'an unknown capacity of the human mind' [144-5], but this renders them uninformative: 'Psi information from a transcendent world therefore is not possible.' He defends his position by arguing that a case of ESP, for example, 'has to be verifiable for living human beings' in order to be regarded as genuine [145]. This still leaves the process unknowable: we can know that something happens without knowing how it happens. He thus concludes: 'the Kantian tran¬ scendental philosophy does not exclude paranormal phenomena when they are interpreted as anomalous phenomena, which happen to living human beings.' What Gerding fails to recognize is that a perspectival interpretation of Ktl8 enables us to see this as precisely Kant's own view! The error is to think Kant himself did not recognize that psi can be mysterious yet entirely possible.

Chapter ffl Kant's Critical Philosophy: An Overview of KSP1 If a theory has in itself stability, the stresses and strains which may at first have seemed very threatening to it serve only, in the course of time, to smooth away its inequalities; and if men of impartiality, insight, and true popularity devote them¬ selves to its exposition, it may also, in a short time, secure for itself the necessary elegance of statement. [Ktl:xliv]

1. The General Structure of Kant's System Kant's System of Perspectives is a four volume work that aims to provide a thoroughgoing, architectonically-informed interpretation of Kant's Critical philosophy and its metaphysical implications. Though the first volume [KSP1] was originally published under the title that properly belongs to the entire work, that volume should have been (and in any subsequent editions, will be) entitled Kant's Critical Philosophy. In this chapter I shall provide a brief overview (and slight revision) of the contents of that volume, devoting one section each to the description of its four main parts. Any reader who is well acquainted with the contents of KSP1, and who is in no need of a reminder of the approach to interpreting Kant established therein, can safely skip this chapter and proceed immediately with Part Two.1 Part One of KSP1 sets forth a number of fundamental guidelines for inter¬ preting Kant's philosophy. The first is that we must be careful to attend to its systematic nature. Kant, like so many other philosophers of his day, set out intentionally to construct a philosophical system, rather than merely to defend a number of independent theses. For this reason, his arguments are bound to be misunderstood unless the interpreter constantly keeps one eye, as it were, on the validity of the argument, and the other on its context within the system. As components of a system, Kant's arguments often cannot (and hence, should not be expected to) retain their force if they are removed from their context. The second fundamental interpretive guideline, as suggested by the title of the present four-volume project, is that Kant's philosophy is organized not merely into a single system composed of one set of arguments, but into a com¬ plex System of systems,2 each of whose structure is determined by a set of 1. Such readers may first wish to consult All. 1-4, below, where I respond to various critics and provide some important supplementary material. On the other hand, readers in need of a more basic intro¬ duction to Kant's Critical philosophy than that provided in KSP1 may wish to consult PaOOa [s.e. Lectures 8, 9, 11, 21, 22, 29, 32 and 33]. 2. Throughout this volume, as in KSP1, the 'S' in 'System' is capitalized when the word refers to this overall, higher-level structure, but not when it refers to one of the subordinate systems within the System. The same is true for the higher-level (e.g., Copernican) 'Perspective' as compared to the lower-level 'perspectives'—except that the name 'System of Perspectives' is also capitalized.

///. Kant's Critical Philosophy: An Overview of KSP1 interrelated perspectives. Indeed, the 'principle of perspective', as I call it in KSP 1:11.1, can be regarded as the single idea that governs the whole structure of Kant's System. This principle is 'the universal rule that the truth is always relative to some perspective', where 'perspective' refers to 'the systematic context into which an object (e.g., a philosophical question) is placed by virtue of the method of reflection assumed by the subject' [KSP1:28,3O]. Because of the pervasiveness of this principle in Kant's System, his writing often contains claims which, when taken out of context, directly contradict claims clearly advanced elsewhere. Such apparent contradictions are nearly always due to dif¬ ferences in the perspective adopted, rather than to an outright change in Kant's own views.3 Although Kant himself does not actually use the word 'perspective', he does use a variety of terms that can be taken as equivalent to this term. A search through Ktl reveals that in this book alone Kant uses well over 500 'perspectival equivalents' [see KSP1:II.3]. When these many occurrences of the notion of a perspective are translated as such,4 the extent to which Kant's System is a System of Perspectives becomes clear. The principle of perspective operates on three distinct levels in Kant's System. The first and most general level is the overall Transcendental (or Copernican) Perspective. Kant's whole System requires the assumption, patterned after Copernicus' revolution in astronomy, that knowledge is in one sense determined by the subject rather than the object [see KSPl:III.l]. I distinguish this type of Perspective from all others by capitalizing the 'P' [see note III.2, above]. The second level of perspectives defines the general subject-matter (or 'standpoint', as I call it) for each of the three systems that constitute Kant's System. The three Critiques (along with their supporting works) adopt, respectively, the theoretical, the practical, and 3. By no means is it my intention to suggest that Kant's ideas did not continually develop throughout his lifetime; rather, KSP1 operates on the assumption that in most cases those developments can best be regarded not so much as radical changes, but as the emergence of new levels of thought or application, following upon the previously attained levels as an organic process of growth. My point is to reject the tendency of some interpreters to treat Kant's development as a mere fumbling about with an array of different and often contradictory ideas, with nothing but a fabricated architectonic to keep them together. 4. In KSP1, and throughout this volume as well, I adopt just such a practice, by substituting 'per¬ spective' for the translator's word(s) whenever Kant's text contains one of these perspectival equivalents. This nicely highlights the extent to which Kant used perspectival terminology. The drawback, however, is that, because Kant himself did not use these perspectival equivalents as technical terms, replacing them with a single technical term can give the impression that the word 'perspective' is being used in too many (often nontechnical) ways. In KSP1:II.3, for example, quotes are given where Kant refers to the 'epistemological perspective', the 'conceptual perspec¬ tive', the 'speculative perspective', and the 'human perspective', none of which (as such) play a constitutive role in Kant's System. The reader should keep in mind, therefore, that any ambiguity in the use of 'perspective' in quotes from Kant is due to this convention, rather than to any ambigu¬ ity inherent in the technical meaning of 'perspective' as established in KSP1.

45

46

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

the judicial standpoints.5 And on the third level there arises a set of four per¬ spectives that operate, in turn, within each of the three systems. These perspec¬ tives, the transcendental, logical, empirical, and hypothetical, each serve as the point of view from which one 'stage' of Kant's argument is constructed. (The relationships between the three standpoints and the four perspectives is discussed further in AIII.l.) After a brief look at the nature of the Copernican Perspective and at the divisions present in the tables of contents to the three Critiques, KSP1.III proposes a logical apparatus for clarifying Kant's arguments and 'mapping' them onto a set of simple geometrical figures. No argument in Kant's System of Perspectives depends for its validity upon this apparatus or the accom¬ panying geometrical maps; on the contrary, the latter are intended mainly as heuristic devices to aid in the explanation and clarification of arguments and in¬ terpretations that are worked out independently. This system of mapping logical relations onto geometrical figures is called 'the geometry of logic' and has been thoroughly explained elsewhere [see Pa92a, Pa98, and PaOOa]. For our present purposes, the following brief summary will suffice. The geometry of logic begins by distinguishing between analytic and syn¬ thetic forms of relation. Analytic relations are always twofold, while synthetic relations are threefold. The first-level analytic relation (abbreviated 1LAR) merely distinguishes positivity (+) from negativity (-) and maps this simple relation onto the opposite poles of a line segment. Applying a second analytic division to each side of a 1LAR generates a second-level analytic relation (2LAR), consisting of four possible 'components':6 —, +-, -+, and ++. These can be mapped onto two intersecting line segments, as shown in Figure III. 1. The rules for constructing all such 'standard' maps are to a large extent arbi¬ trary (or rather, conventional, inasmuch as they are based on traditional cor¬ relations). Arrows point away from 'pure' (i.e., like-termed) components and 5. The focus of these standpoints is on what 'is' (cf. 'What can I know?'), what 'ought to be' (cf. 'What ought I to do?'), and what 'should be regarded as being' (cf. 'What may I hope?') true, respectively [Wi90:34; cf. Ktl:832-3; KtlO:25; Kt66:227-8; AAll:414(Zw67:205)]. As noted in KSP1:317 and Pa00a:50-l, Kant's fourth question, 'What is man?' [e.g., KtlO:25(29)] is supposed to encompass the other three. A better version of this question, however—one that matches the form of the other questions far better—is 'Who am I?' Kant's version may be more appropriate for anthropology, but mine is better for psychology [see Pa97]. An important point to recall for our purposes here in KSP2 is that for Kant this third standpoint, the standpoint of hope, is the Critical standpoint itself [see KSP1:AII and note 1.17, above]. Fendt aptly expresses its importance when he says [Fe90:202]: 'Hope is the passion driving the critical project.' 6. A 'term' is any individual + or -, whereas a 'component' is a set of terms that together label one discrete part of a diagram. Each component consists of the same number of terms as the level (e.g., first-level components have one term, second-level components have two terms, etc.), and the number of different components for analytic relations is always 2", where n refers to the number of terms (as well as to the level).

///. Kant's Critical Philosophy: Alt Overview of KSP1

towards 'impure' (i.e., mixed-termed) components. The + labels positions above and/or to the left of an opposing position, while the - labels positions below and/or to the right. Synthetic relations require a third term to represent the synthesis of + and -. The mathematical connotations of the letter 'x' make it a very appropriate symbol for this purpose. The geometrical figure that best repre¬ sents such threefold relations is a tri¬ Figure II I.I: angle, with either its three sides or its Standard 2LAR Cross The three vertices each representing one component, as shown in Figure III.2. The double-headed arrow represents the direct opposition between the + and - components, whereas the single-headed arrows represent the flow from the two basic analytic components to the new, synthetic component that arises out of their synthetic relation. Because of the nature of synthetic and analytic relations, most of Kant's favorite distinctions are either threefold or fourfold. (Kant himself acknowl¬ edges this in Kt7:197n.) The most interesting of all his distinctions, however, is twelvefold. He uses the same twelvefold (3x4) pattern to structure the famous table of categories in Ktl as he does to structure several other similar tables, both in Ktl and elsewhere. I call this important pattern a 'twelvefold com¬ pound relation' (12CR), because it combines analytic and synthetic forms of relation by putting four lLSRs to¬ gether in the form of a 2LAR. The structure of this relation can be depicted in terms of the geometry of logic by dividing a circle into four quadrants, and plotting the com¬ ponents equidistantly along the cir¬ cumference, as shown in Figure III.3. The 12CR circle can be used as a handy map not only for clarifying the relations between the various terms Figure HI 2' The used in any of Kant's categorial

(twelvefold) tables, but also for the

Standard

1LSR

Triangle

*8

PART ONEE SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

step-by-step progression of the basic 'elements' (cf. 'components') in each of the three systems in Kant's System. This, at any rate, is the claim I make in KSPl:III.3-4 and later substantiate in Part Three of KSP1. It will come into —X play again here in KSP2, when we set out to interpret the structure of Kt8's basic argument. When used as a map of systematic progression, Figure III.3 should be read clockwise, starting +-X from the - quadrant ('stage one' of the Figure III.3: system's overall argument) and work¬ The Standard 12CR Circle ing around to the ++ quadrant ('stage four'). The 1LSR that makes up each stage is then referred to as composing the three 'steps' in that stage of the system's development. These three steps all follow the same basic pattern, which Kant often refers to as 'matter' (-), 'form' (+), and 'synthesis' (x), respectively. In addition to explaining some basic distinctions to which Kant applies the above logical patterns, KSP1:III uses a different form of a 12CR (three crosses, arranged in a triangle) to show the relationship between the nine books whose primary purpose was to construct different 'wings' of the System. Each system has a Critique, a supporting work applying the analytic method to the same (or a very similar) subject-matter, and a work developing the implications of the Critique in question for its corresponding branch of metaphysics. This structural relationship between Kant's major works is used to determine the numbering for Ktl-KtlO and, by extension, all Kt entries in the Bibliography. Readers who have not read the first volume may therefore wish to consult Figure III.9 [KSP1:1O1] just to see how this referencing system has been derived. Keeping this pattern in mind will become very important in Chapters XI and XII, when we look more closely at the nature and purpose of Kt9. 2. The Epistemological Underpinnings of the Critical Philosophy Part Two of KSP1 applies the guidelines established in Part One to the task of interpreting Kant's most basic epistemological distinctions, those forming the very backbone of his entire System. Only those distinctions that are both essential to the Critical philosophy and able to be discussed separately from a detailed account of their specific role(s) in the structure of the System

///. Kant's Critical Philosophy: An Overview ofKSPl

49

are included here. A prior understanding of each of these distinctions is neces¬ sary in order to avoid misinterpreting not only the details of Kant's System of Critical philosophy (discussed in KSP1, Part Three), but also his application of that philosophy to metaphysics as such (discussed in KSP2-KSP4). For this reason, any readers who, after reading this section, require a more detailed treat¬ ment of any of the distinctions summarized herein are advised to go (back) to the relevant section(s) of KSP1 before proceeding any further in this volume. Chapter IV begins by defining the most general technical terms Kant uses to distinguish between various sorts of 'knowledge' and 'experience'. A good way to understand the relation between these two terms is to distinguish be¬ tween 'immediate' and 'mediate' experience, where the former is (or at least, can be) one stage in the process of gaining knowledge (akin to what Kant more often calls 'possible experience'), while the latter is a synonym for empirical knowledge itself. 'Empirical knowledge is experience' [Ktl: 165-6] in the sense that it is an originally immediate, intuitive awareness of objects that is mediated by concepts. 'Immediate experience', by contrast, 'refers to an indeterminate, nonreflective encounter of subject and object in the ordinary world' [KSP1: 138]. All the other distinctions examined in Chapter IV relate primarily to the 'knowledge' (mediate experience) side of this distinction; but the immediate experience side will turn out to play a very important role in our assessment of the religious implications of Kant's Critical philosophy [s.e. X.2, below]. After a brief explanation of the difference between 'pure' (sensation-inde¬ pendent) and 'impure' (sensation-dependent) kinds of knowledge, two key secondary distinctions are discussed at length. The first is virtually coextensive with, though not identical to, the pure-impure distinction: 'a priori' knowledge is knowledge the validity of which can be determined independently of any ref¬ erence to particular experience(s), whereas 'a posteriori' knowledge requires such an appeal to experience(s) in order for its validity to be verified. The 'analytic-synthetic' distinction, by contrast, defines the difference between propositions whose truth is rooted entirely in their logico-linguistic structure and those whose truth depends on some fact that must be given in intuition be¬ fore the proposition's truth can be known. Among the numerous other ways of making the latter distinction is to say that, whereas the predicate of an analytic proposition is 'contained in' the subject, that of a synthetic proposition 'goes beyond' the subject. By combining these two secondary distinctions, four possible kinds of knowledge can be discerned, forming a 2LAR. Kant dismisses one of these, the analytic a posteriori, as obviously nonsensical, inasmuch as there is no need to appeal to experience to test the validity of propositions that are known to be true

50

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

by logic alone. I argue, by contrast, that there is a definite place for such a classification, provided we give analyticity a sufficiently broad definition. The analytic a priori is more clearly delineated by Kant: it includes any judgment which, given some previously understood meaning for the terms involved, can be reduced to a logical tautology. Synthetic a priori knowledge is by far the most important for Kant, at least within his Critical philosophy. Such knowl¬ edge is valid independently of any particular experience (a priori) [Ktl:171-2], yet it also supplies new information about the concepts involved (synthetic)— information not deducible by means of formal logic. Finally, synthetic a posteriori knowledge is the least troublesome (but also, for Kant, the least philosophically interesting) of the four classes of knowledge. It is formed by a judgment whose validity is grounded in facts derived from experience (a poste¬ riori), and whose predicate has intuitive content that is not logically implied by the conventional meaning of the word(s) in the subject (synthetic). These four types of knowledge, as it turns out, arise directly out of the four kinds of reflection, or 'perspectives', that establish the basic 'stages' in each of Kant's three systems. As summarized in KSP1:138-9:

-,

To adopt an empirical perspective is to reflect on what 'is true' about one's experi¬ ence without taking note of the distinction between the subject and object of ; knowledge; its goal is to reach synthetic a posteriori knowledge. To adopt a tran¬ scendental perspective involves distinguishing clearly between the subject and ob¬ ject in order to reflect on the subjective conditions which 'must be true' in order for it to be possible for a subject to experience an object; its goal is to reach synthetic a priori knowledge. To adopt a logical perspective involves abstracting completely ,.; from the subject-object distinction in order to reflect on what 'must be true' be¬ cause the logical laws of thought require it to be so; its goal is to reach analytic a priori knowledge. To adopt a speculative perspective involves distinguishing be¬ tween the subject and object, but ignoring the role of the subject, in a fallacious at¬ tempt to reach synthetic a priori knowledge of the thing in itself, even though such , knowledge extends beyond the limits set by transcendental reflection. The hypo¬ thetical perspective replaces the speculative perspective by distinguishing properly between the subject and object as in transcendental reflection, and then reflecting on what we can reasonably treat 'as if true' about both transcendent reality and experi¬ ence in light of the requirements of systematic unity in systemt...; Kant vaguely suggests its goal is to reach the synthetic a priori, but I have argued that he really means its goal is to reach analytic a posteriori belief.

These four perspectives, along with their accompanying methods of reflection, relate together as a perfect 2LAR, as shown in Figure III.4. Having established these fundamental epistemological distinctions in Chap¬ ter IV, KSP1:V then deals with the foremost 'meta-CriticaP question: what is Kant's justification for treating the 'thing in itself as the radically unknowable

///. Kimi's Critical Philosophy: An Overview ofKSPl

51

The hypothetical perspective

rspec tive

60 «

o>

experience^

2

a transcendental reflection

e •g -5

u 'flectio

s:

1

O 1

ca « u P

^•a «c

(synl of wr

empirical reflection

> immediate

i

pene

o

t is ii

rica
a

(synth

"a & V

'a?

o S

nde

'§

§

: trai

/ledge

mm

a.

1

fpothei r eflecti

>ers ectivi

(analytic a posteriori belief as if it is in the object)

H H

>

The logical perspective (analytic a priori knowledge of what must be for thought)

Figure III.4: Kant's Four Reflective Perspectives on Experience starting point of his System,7 and so for engaging in transcendental reflection? Kant himself devotes precious little attention to this question of how Critical philosophy itself is possible. But he does make a number of rather elusive statements about 'faith' that may be related to this issue. Kant's theory of 'rational faith' is typically regarded as applying solely to his practical philoso¬ phy, even though his most famous statement—'I have... found it necessary to deny knowledge in order to make room fox faith' [Ktl:xxx]—appears strategi¬ cally near the end of the Preface to the first Critique. With this in mind, I ex¬ plore the possibility of interpreting Kant's doctrine of rational faith not only as a moral tool used for the systematic justification of the metaphysical ideas of God, freedom, and immortality, but also as a theoretical tool, required in order to open the door to the entire Critical philosophy. This view of faith can help reveal the inadequacies of a purely epistemological interpretation of Kant's doctrine of the thing in itself (as defended, for instance, by Allison). In order for such an interpretation to hold, its proponents '• That the thing in itself must be regarded as unknowable in order to be truly 'Kantian' is argued in AV.1-4 of KSP1. Some possible misunderstandings of the view of faith defended in KSP1:V are clarified in AIII.2, below.

52

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS ,

must virtually ignore a number of explicitly ontological statements Kant makes about the thing in itself, such as when he regards it as the 'non-sensible cause' of appearances [e.g., Ktl:334]. Without neglecting the merits of an epistemological interpretation, an emphasis on the role of faith in Kant's theoretical system, as the tool for opening up a 'transcendent space' outside the field of appearances, can explain how such ontological statements can coexist with Kant's treatment of the thing in itself as a special 'way of considering' ap¬ pearances. Such transcendental faith is required, I argue, in order to defeat the skeptic's need to resort to empirical faith in the reality of the external world. Transcendental faith would be unnecessary, of course, if it were possible to construct a valid transcendental argument for the necessity of presupposing an unknowable thing in itself at the beginning of one's inquiries. In KSP1 :V.3 I therefore explore this possibility, rejecting it as a mistaken use of transcenden¬ tal arguments. Instead, the theoretical (and so also, the practical) aspect of Kantian faith ought to be regarded as Kant's concession to the skeptic. As with all Critical philosophizing, Kant does not merely reject the skeptic's point of view, but incorporates it into a higher standpoint that makes sense out of both it and its opposite (in this case, dogmatic insistence on the knowability of ultimate reality). Chapter V concludes with a discussion of how theoretical faith as the starting point of Kant's System differs from practical faith as the goal it aims to fulfill. The epistemological considerations of Part Two come to a head in Chapter VI, wherein the principle of perspective is applied to Kant's theory of the 'object' of knowledge, in hopes of clarifying two ambiguous sets of terms that often stand in the way of a clear understanding of Ktl, and so also of his entire System. The terms 'thing in itself, 'transcendental object', and 'appearance' denote three distinct ways of viewing the object from the transcendental per¬ spective, while 'positive noumenon', 'negative noumenon', and 'phenomenon' denote three distinct ways of viewing the same object from the empirical per¬ spective. The former perspective is concerned with our knowledge of 'objects in general', while the latter is concerned more with our knowledge of particular objects. After explaining how these object-terms and their corresponding per¬ spectives relate to the major divisions of Kt 1, KSP1:VI elucidates the distinctive meaning of each term in some detail. The progression of Kant's argument in Ktl goes from the most abstract transcendental object-term (thing in itself) to the most concrete (appearance), then moves from the most concrete empirical objectterm (phenomenon) to the most abstract (positive noumenon) [see Fig. III.5]. The transcendental perspective begins by viewing an object as if it were not an object at all, but a mere 'thing' that has not yet been affected by any of

///. Kant's Critical Philosophy: An Overview ofKSPl 1A. The thing in itself

| IB. The positive noumenon

2A. The transcendental object

' 2B. The negative noumenon

I

S3

\

I I 3A. The appearance A. The transcendental perspective

•—>-3B. The phenomenon i

B. The empirical perspective

Figure III. 5: Kant's Six Object-Terms, Progressing

Synthetically

the subjective conditions that make knowledge possible. This is the root mean¬ ing of the infamous 'thing in itself, and explains why it must be regarded as unknowable. From there the transcendental perspective progresses to the bare recognition that things must become objects in order to be known by us. The precise transcendental conditions for becoming objects are not yet taken into consideration, but only the fact that there must be a 'something in general=x' [e.g., Ktl:A104]. This is what I call Kant's 'doorway' concept, the notion of the 'transcendental object'. Once the transcendental conditions (time and space) are taken into consideration, the object can be regarded as appearing to the sub¬ ject, and the possibility of conscious awareness (and eventually, knowledge) of the object first arises. This is the basic meaning of Kant's term, 'appearance', though there are several other subordinate meanings as well [see KSP1:174-8]. The empirical perspective takes over right where the transcendental per¬ spective leaves off, by considering the status of the ordinary objects we experi¬ ence in the world. But now, Kant views the objects not in terms of the general conditions that make them possible, but in terms of already known objects of experience, called 'phenomena'. The key difference between the appearance and the phenomenon is that only the latter has come under the limiting condi¬ tions of the categories.8 Phenomena, in other words, are know objects, where¬ as appearances are one of the main ingredients that make up such objective knowledge. From this point, Kant now begins to abstract from known objects (phenomena) in the hope of determining whether or not it is possible to obtain a Having said this, it is important to note that Kant does not always follow his own technical def¬ initions. Particularly in this case, he often uses the term 'appearance' where we would expect the term 'phenomenon' to be used. At least part of the reason for this, no doubt, is that for Kant the transcendental perspective takes precedence over all other perspectives.

54

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

purely intellectual knowledge of objects. Removing the conditions of appearing (time and space) from the phenomenon, without removing the categorial condi¬ tions (causality, etc.), yields the notion of a 'noumenon'. Kant uses this new notion to explain the difference between a proper and an improper view of pure, intellectual knowledge. The 'negative noumenon' corresponds to the transcen¬ dental object and is a mere limiting concept: it shows us the boundary beyond which our reason cannot establish knowledge. Provided our claims to establish intellectual knowledge relate only to the boundary (i.e., only to the transcen¬ dental conditions of knowing), they are justified. But if we attempt to establish knowledge of the 'positive noumenon', we inevitably fall into illusion (as Kant demonstrates in the Dialectic). Thus, just as the thing in itself is defined as un¬ knowable from the start, the positive noumenon must be regarded as an empty concept, unable to be grasped by any human being searching for theoretical knowledge. KSP1:VI.4 concludes Part Two by providing two versions of a summary of the relationship between the six object-terms described above: one progress¬ ing synthetically, and treating the transcendental perspective as primary; the other progressing analytically, and treating the empirical perspective as pri¬ mary. Since Kant's own emphasis in Ktl is very much on the transcendental perspective, I have reproduced here only the diagram used to depict the former summary [see Fig. III.5]. Part Two closes with an attempt to unite these two summaries in a single map and with a consideration of how Kant's actual in¬ consistencies affect my interpretation of his six object-terms. 3. The Structural Elements of Kant's Three Systems Part Three uses the abstract interpretive framework established in Parts One and Two to construct a concrete, detailed account of the elements of the three Critical systems themselves. Each of the three chapters traces, as far as possible, the step-by-step argument presented in the 'Doctrine of Elements' (or equivalent) section(s) of one of the Critiques. In each case, the exposition proves to be divisible into four main parts (or 'stages'), each governed by a distinct faculty of reason (and its corresponding perspective), and each elabo¬ rated in terms of a three-step argument. Rather than going into the details of each step here, it will suffice merely to describe the four stages in each system, and then reproduce the summaries of the twelve steps, along with the analytic maps, given at the end of each chapter.9 Readers who seek more detail should 9. Kt7 is an exception here, inasmuch as it contains no 'Doctrine of Elements', and so also, no discernible twelve-step argument [see KSP1:IX.4J. Appendix IX of KSP1 suggests some possible solutions to this problem. See also VII. 1-4, below, where Kt8 will be interpreted in such a way as

///. Kant's Critical Philosophy: An Overview of KSP1

55

refer to the text of KSP1. .-.,.•, Ktl [s.a. Kt2] propounds a system based on the theoretical standpoint (the standpoint that takes the logical perspective as its 'governing' perspective). Its short-range goal is epistemological: to establish the necessary conditions for the possibility of empirical knowledge. This goal is accomplished in the Aesthetic and the Analytic. Its long-range goal, however, is metaphysical and is hardly even addressed until the Dialectic: to explain why theoretical knowledge of metaphysical realities (especially the ideas of God, freedom, and immortality) is impossible and how a proper understanding of the nature and purpose of em¬ pirical knowledge can provide an adequate means of coping with our necessary ignorance. Table VII. 1 in KSP1, reproduced here as Table III. 1, provides a comprehensive summary of the relationship between Kant's four fundamental perspectives, the section of Ktl where it is primarily applied, the transcendental forms (or conditions) established therein, the faculty governing those forms (and defining the perspective), and the empirical function normally associated with that faculty.

Table IJI.l: Basic Perspectival Relations in Systemt governing faculty stage section in Ktl perspective (transcendental form) (empirical function) no. sensibility Aesthetic transcen¬ I (sensing) dental (space and time) understanding Analytic of Concepts II logical (thinking) (categories) Analytic of Principles judgment III empirical (principles) (knowing) reason hypo¬ Dialectic rv thetical (inferring/believing) (ideas) KSP1:VII.4 provides the following summary of the four stages in sys¬ , progressing analytically (from the final step, backwards to the initial step): Stage four. The hypothetical perspective (++) is concerned with viewing an experience (a posteriori) as if it is contained (analytically) in a regulative idea of an unconditioned object. Practical belief (x), the legitimate goal of reason's unifying influence on experience, arises as a result of such hypothetical reasoning. (Speculative reasoning, the illegitimate alternative to hypothetical reasoning, is be¬ lieved by speculative metaphysicians to yield synthetic a priori knowledge through ,; a direct apprehension of the unconditioned object, by means of a constitutive idea.) The idea (+), which is the formal aspect of inferring reason, provides a way of see- ' ing the empirical world as a rational unified whole; such unity is inferred to exist on the basis of an idea of the whole. The material aspect (-) is the object as to suggest Kant may have been attempting to make up for the systematic inadequacies of Kt7.

56

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS

unconditioned (and thus, as such, unknown), which itself arises out of the application of the schematism of reason to items of empirical knowledge. In this way reason guides and limits the understanding (stage two) in its formation of judgments (stage three). Stage three. The empirical perspective (-+) is concerned with the real objects (synthetic) presented to us in experience (a posteriori). Empirical knowledge of an object (x) is attained by judging its negatively noumenal (i.e., independently permanent) character. (Speculative reasoning requires the object to be viewed here as a positive noumenon.) Such a judgment is 'objectively valid' in virtue of its con¬ formity to the principles of pure understanding, through which the object first comes to be determined as a phenomenon (+) in space and time. The principles are applicable only to objects which have been schematized—i.e., only to those cate¬ gorized appearances which have been synthesized according to the imagination's inner determination of time. The schematized object (-) can therefore be analyzed into its conceptual (stage two) and its intuitive (stage one) components. Stage two. The logical perspective (+-) is concerned with the conceptual form (analytic) of an object as abstracted completely from experience (a priori). Self-con¬ scious thought (x) arises out of the imposition of the bare T (pure apperception) onto the various concepts a person forms on the basis of his or her experience. These concepts (+) are formed through categorial conception, in which pure cate¬ gories are applied to conscious perceptions (-). The latter, in turn, are produced as a result of the imagination's transcendental synthesis of the sensations presented to it by sensibility (stage one). Stage one. The transcendental perspective (--) concerns that which must hold true of an intuited object (synthetic) before it can be processed (a priori) by the syn¬ thetic functions of the understanding in stages two and three. The object at this point is therefore merely a sensation (x), which is to say, it is a manifold of ap¬ pearances (+) received by the senses. An appearance is an object represented to the inner and/or outer sense through the function of pure spatio-temporal intuition. If it is an appearance of something real, it will be related in this way to the transcen¬ dental object. The transcendental object (-) is the general and totally undetermined original representation of the thing in itself. And the thing in itself (0) is the un¬ represented and thus unknowable form of an object of experience, considered apart from the conditions which enable us to experience it. We can have no knowledge » of it, because there is no perspective from which we can view it as such.

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The '+', '-', and 'x' terms included in this summary refer to the logical status of the step or stage under consideration, according to the principles of the geometry of logic, outlined in KSPl:III.3-4. Chapter VIII applies the same principles to interpret Kt4 [s.a. Kt5], where¬ in Kant constructs a system based on the practical standpoint (the standpoint that takes the hypothetical perspective as its governing perspective). Its shortrange goal is ethical: to establish the necessary conditions for the possibility of moral actions. This goal is accomplished in the three chapters of the Analytic. Its long-range goal, however, is (like that of systemt) metaphysical and does not come into full view until the Dialectic: to explain how practical knowledge

///. Kant's Critical Philosophy: An Overview ofKSPl

57

Table HI.2: Basic Perspectival Relations in Systenip governing faculty section in Kt4 stage perspective (transcendental form) (empirical function) no. free will Analytic Chapter I transcen¬ I (choosing maxims) (practical freedom) dental moral law Analytic Chapter II logical II (humanizing) (categories of freedom) moral judgment Analytic Chapter HI III empirical (acting) (imperatives) Dialectic final end hypo¬ IV (practical postulates) (idealizing) thetical of metaphysical ideas is not only possible, but necessary, because of how intimately bound up they are with the nature and purpose of moral action. Table VIII. 1 in KSP1, reproduced above as Table III.2, provides a comprehensive summary of the architectonic structure of the four stages of system p —one that exactly parallels the summary given above for systemt. KSP1: VII.4 provides the following summary of the four stages in system p , likewise running directly parallel to the one given for systemt: Stage four. The hypothetical perspective (++) in systemp aims to establish the ultimate purpose, or 'final end', of moral action. This end, called the 'highest good' (x), can be conceived to be possible only by setting before oneself an ideal¬ ized 'realm of ends', in which perfect virtue (-) is combined with happiness (+) proportional to each person's virtue. Because humans are not only intellectual but also sensible beings, they do not always act virtuously; and when they do, they are not always rewarded with happiness. We who do not yet live in the ideal realm must therefore adopt a moral faith to postulate the reality of a God who, as a righ¬ teous judge, will insure happiness for the virtuous, and an immortal life in which human beings can gradually attain perfect virtue. Stage three. The empirical perspective (-+) deals with the actual realization of moral action. The real experience of moral action is called duty (x), and it results from a practical judgment impelling us to follow some unconditional rule for ac¬ tion (+). The agent is obligated to obey such rules because they are commanded by the 'categorical imperative', which is the moral law viewed from the empirical per¬ spective. The autonomous choice to obey (-), which signals an agent's adoption of this imperative, is motivated by a feeling of respect for the moral law. (This pro¬ vides an interest in obeying the law which counteracts the agent's natural interest in pursuing happiness through the heteronomous choice to fulfill sensuous inclina¬ tions.) Such respect functions as a schema, synthesizing the moral law (stage two) with free will (stage one). Stage two. The logical perspective (+-) deals with the conceptual form of moral actions, as expressed in the moral law. Because the moral law legislates through human reason, the 'we' of humanity must be regarded as an end in itself, so that all moral ends will be personal ends (x). A personal end can be adopted only

58

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS by someone who can understand the concepts of good and evil (+), as determined by the categories of freedom. The categorial conception of freedom (and so also personhood itself) requires the capacity to universalize a maxim of the will (stage one) in order to produce a moral principle (-). Stage one. The transcendental perspective (--) concerns that which must hold true of an object of desire in order for it to produce material for a moral action. A maxim (x) is the subjective rule of action which results from an agent's choice of an end (i.e., a possible object) from among the manifold of desires (+). The latter arises when the fact of practical freedom is imposed upon a good will (-). This wholly undetermined concept of a 'good will' can be regarded as the original mani¬ festation of a moral agent's transcendent disposition (0), which is the ultimate basis of the agent's desire to act.

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///. Kant's Critical Philosophy: An Overview of KSP1

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The analytic maps of systemt and systemp, given in KSP 1:239,285, are repro¬ duced on this and the previous page, for easy reference and comparison. Chapter IX concludes KSPl's Part Three with an application, as far as possible, of the same principles of interpretation to Kt7. The problem is that the third Critique is far less systematic, far less carefully structured according to Kant's architectonic plan, than the first two [see note III.9, above]. Part of the reason for this, no doubt, is that the standpoint it assumes, the judicial stand¬ point, takes the empirical perspective as its governing perspective (the transcen¬ dental perspective being the governing perspective for the entire Copernican Perspective [see KSP1:III.4]). Another factor is that Kt7 is the only Critique divided into two distinct halves. (I offer a new explanation of the architectonic OS

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60

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUNDATIONS supersensible reality

Figure III.8: The Three Revolutions of Kant's Critical Philosophy basis for this division in AIII.l.) The first half of Kt7 uses the notion of 'subjective finality' to examine the rational conditions under which judgments of beauty (and later, sublimity) are made. Appealing to paradoxical notions such as 'disinterested delight' and 'subjective universality', Kant seeks to es¬ tablish a moral source for such judgments, even though they relate to sensible (and thereby apparently theoretical) objects. The second half, by contrast, achieves such a synthesis by placing more emphasis on the theoretical: the no¬ tion of 'objective finality' is used to examine the rational conditions under which natural objects can be viewed as purposeful ends, or 'organisms'. Part Three ends with an attempt to draw together the systematic relations between all three Critiques. KSP1:VII and VIII use the standard 12CR map [see Fig. III.3, above] as a basis for constructing similar maps of systemt and systemp [see KSP1:242,287], which I have not included here. On the basis of these maps, and in the knowledge that the third Critique is meant to serve as a bridge between the first two, the connection between Kant's three Critiques can be pictured as a spiral [see Fig. III.8]. If we regard each revolution as repre¬ senting a twelve-step system, this map can serve, in an admittedly fanciful way,

///. Kant's Critical Philosophy: An Overview of KSPl

61

as a single picture displaying the architectonic (36-fold) structure of Kant's Critical philosophy—or to use Kant's own words, it can serve as an 'idea of the whole' [Ktl:xliv]. 4. God and Religion in the Context of Kant's Metaphysics Just as each system in Kant's System appears to be complete once step nine has been fully established, so also KSPl appears to be complete at the end of Chapter IX. In other words, just as the elements of empirical knowledge are, strictly speaking, fully elaborated by the end of stage three in systemt and those of moral action, by the end of stage three in systemp, so also the elements of Kant's Critical philosophy as such are fully described by the end of Part Three in KSPl. The fourth stage in each system explains the rational purpose for what has been established in step nine. In the same way, Part Four of KSPl lays bare the purpose of the Critical philosophy in the context of Kant's overall System, explaining the relationship between critique and metaphysics proper. Part Four of KSPl begins by introducing a new, comprehensive way of mapping the entirety of Kant's System. Figure X.I combines features of a number of previous maps, including those representing the two forms of 12CR [see KSPl, Figs. III.6 and III.9], mainly in order to show the complex rela¬ tionship between the Critical philosophy (i.e., the systems elaborated in the three Critiques) and the other aspects ('wings') of the System. This rather fan¬ ciful, four-spiral diagram is the only map in KSPl that is introduced before the elaboration of the ideas it is meant to clarify. The reason for this is quite simple: Part Four is not intended to present any polished arguments, but only to offer up, as it were, a series of heuristic 'ideas' to be elaborated more fully in the three proposed sequels to KSPl. With this in mind, it is clear that a detailed summary of Part Four is not necessary here. Instead, I shall merely point out that each of its three chapters centers on one of Kant's three main ideas of reason—God, freedom, and im¬ mortality, respectively—and that one discrete area of metaphysical 'application' of Critical principles is connected to each idea. Kant's critique of the idea of God gives rise to numerous metaphysical implications regarding religion; his critique of the idea of freedom raises issues relating to the corresponding idea of 'the world', thus paving the way for a metaphysics of science; and his critique of the idea of immortality likewise raises issues relating to the corresponding idea of 'the soul', thus paving the way for a metaphysics of mankind's political history.10 The present, second volume of Kant's System of Perspectives, takes 10. This threefold division can help make sense out of a number of Kant's other distinctions as well. For instance, in Kt65:28(45), he refers to 'clergymen, legal officials, and doctors' as 'the business-

62

PART ONE: SYSTEMATIC FOUMJATTOMS. .tj-

up the first of these three metaphysical themes.'•' : »5> .-:;.'/-: - ,! As suggested in the foregoing summary (and even more so in Chapter X of KSP1), Kant's Critical Religion is concerned not only with religion as such, but with every aspect of Kant's understanding of God. Indeed, it could just as well be entitled Kant's Metaphysics of God. Parts Two through Four of this volume will examine three different aspects of this topic. (The logical relation between these three parts is, incidentally, exactly the same as the logical relation between the three Critiques, though this does not imply that the topics dis¬ cussed therein will necessarily be more closely related to that Critique than to the other two.) First, Part Two will examine Kant's theology, with special attention being paid to his views on the possibility of proving that God exists, on the nature of God, and on the relation between theology and morality. Part Three will examine Kant's view of religion as such, with special attention being given to interpreting how Kt8 constitutes a metaphysical system of religion,11 and how this system relates to Christianity. And Part Four will examine the extent to which Kant actually achieved his goal of developing a Critical mysti¬ cism, as hinted in Ktl8 and explicated in Chapter II, above. Having already laid the groundwork here in Part One for an examination of these three manifestations of the first and foremost metaphysical idea, let us now proceed to look in more detail at how Kant's mature System of Perspectives provides us with a balanced and healthy approach to theology, religion, and religious experience.12

men of the higher faculties' (namely, theology, law, and medicine). These three professions correspond to the metaphysical investigations of religion, politics, and science, respectively. Taken together with the lower faculty (philosophy), this list therefore corresponds exactly (except for the order) to the four volumes of KSP. 11. It is worth pointing out here the difference between referring to Kant's view of religion, etc., as 'Critical' and regarding Kt8 as Kant's 'fourth Critique'. In one sense, the latter is a tempting suggestion: for as we shall see in Part Three, Kt8 follows the twelve-step pattern of the first and second Critiques far better than the third Critique does. This is one reason I suggest in VI.2 that Kant may have intended it not as a fourth Critique—as if his architectonic required such—but as a substitute for the third Critique. However, this too could be misleading, because, as suggested above, religion is for Kant primarily a subject for metaphysics rather than for critique as such. Kant never intended to write a Critique of Religion, any more than he intended to write a Critique of Science or a Critique of Political History. Rather, his essays on these subjects reflect his interest in developing positive metaphysical views thereof—informed by the boundary conditions set out in the Critical philosophy. This is what is meant by entitling a series of books on Kant's meta¬ physics 'Critical Religion', 'Critical Science', and 'Critical Polities'. 12. The textual data for this study come from relevant comments and arguments found throughout most of Kant's writings. The main texts, however, are the three Critiques (the Dialectics), Kt8, Kt9, Ktl5, Ktl7, Ktl8, Kt25, Kt26, Kt35, Kt64, Kt65 (Part One), and Kant's correspondence [Zw67].

KANT'S PERSPECTIVAL FOUNDATION FOR CRITICAL THEOLOGY The fools says in his heart, "There is no God.' They are corrupt, their deeds are vile; there is no one who does good. [Ps. 14:1]

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Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know him, God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe.... For the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man's strength.... We do, however, speak a message of wisdom among the mature, but not the wisdom of this age or of the rulers of this age, who are coming to nothing. No, we speak of God's secret wisdom, a wisdom that has been hidden ... —but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit. This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, expressing spiritual truths in spiritual words. [1 Cor. 1:20-1,25; 2:6-7a,10a,13] ... the inscrutable wisdom through which we exist is not less worthy of veneration in respect to what it denies us than in [respect to] what it has granted [Kt4:148].

Chapter IV Theistic Alternatives to Proving God's Existence: Kant's 'Appropriation' of Lampe's God It is absolutely necessary to convince one's self of the existence of God; but it is not just so necessary that it should be demonstrated. [Ktl 5:163(366)]

1. The Problem of Transcendental Theology Having completed (in Chapter III) our review of the systematic founda¬ tions of Kant's Critical philosophy and examined (in Chapter II) the extent to which the seeds of those foundations were already present in Ktl 8, let us now turn back to the question posed at the outset of Chapter I. Does Kant's System of Perspectives destroy the possibility of theology? We have already proceeded far enough into this study to recognize that the answer must be 'yes and no': Kant's System precludes a certain type of theology, just as it precludes a certain type of metaphysics—viz., any type that ignores the principle of perspective. But it does so only in order to replace such one-sided theology (or metaphysics) with one that takes full account of the difficulties caused by the inherent finitude (and ignorance) characteristic of the human situation. Our examination, here in Part Two, of just how Kant goes about developing this new Critical theology within the framework established by his philosophical principles will be divided into three parts. First, the present chapter will expound Kant's views on the question of God's existence and the extent to which that existence can be proved. Chapter V will then investigate Kant's most basic theoretical assump¬ tions about the nature of God, and explain how this gives rise to certain specific types of 'symbolic' theology. Finally, in preparation for Part Three's thorough¬ going interpretation of Kant system of religion, Chapter VI will set forth Kant's view of the general relationship between theology, morality, and religion. Nowhere more than in assessing Kant's theology is the interpreter likely to be led astray by the misleading caricatures of Kant that have gained popularity down through the years. Indeed, it would be difficult to find a philosopher who has suffered more injustices at the hands of his commentators (friends and foes alike) than Kant. The problem is that various anecdotes are often used surreptitiously to twist Kant's own explicit claims about what he was attempting to accomplish, so that when his writings are read with these stories in mind, misunderstanding is almost inevitable. As an example, we need only think of the tale of the citizens of Konigsberg who became so familiar with Kant's rigid schedule that they used to set their clocks by his daily comings and

IV. Theistic Alternatives to Proving God's Existence goings.1 This may or may not be true; the point is that, unless this anecdote is recounted with a certain degree of skepticism, it is likely to encourage a preju¬ dice whereby the reader of Kant assumes at the beginning that Kant's writings are filled with the unreasonably rigid and formalistic ravings of someone out of touch with the unpredictable passions that punctuate the life of an ordinary person. In other words, such stories are in danger of creating an image of Kant that may have little or no justification in the text. One could cite other examples, such as the story of how Kant, when serving as university rector, would lead the procession of senate members up to the cathedral each Sunday, only to desert it at the door [see e.g., BaO3:lxixn], or Russell's quip that Kant's response to being 'awakened' by Hume was merely to invent a transcendental 'soporific' to help him fall asleep again [Ru46:731; but cf. II.3, above]. In this chapter I shall demonstrate the falsity of a myth that has arisen out of one such anecdote. The myth is that Kant's Critical philosophy simply carries on the Enlightenment project by rejecting the common religious person's belief in God in favor of the typical agnostic deism of his century. The anecdote I am thinking of suggests that, whereas in the first Critique Kant threw God out the 'front door' (of the house of philosophy), in the second Critique he let God in again through the back door [see Ra63:vii]. Along these lines Heinrich Heine suggested in 1882 that Kant's reason for committing such a dishonorable act of trickery must have been that he felt sorry for his poor servant, Lampe, who had faithfully served him for all those years and whose faith in God had been jeopardized by the critique of transcendental theology in Ktl. Kant, unable to bear his servant's suffering at the thought that his master had killed God, revived God 'half ironically' in Kt4 in the form of the moral proof for God's existence.2 'Old Lampe must have a God', Kant is supposed to have thought, lest the servant be unable to continue performing his daily chores. (The absurdity of Heine's conjectures reaches its height when he suggests that Kant may have developed his moral proof 'not merely for the sake of old Lampe, but through fear of the police' [He59:276-7]!) Before demonstrating how mistaken such caricatures are, before explaining why Kant's God is not simply an after¬ thought, a mere 'appropriation' of the God of Lampe or any other 'common 1- E.g., HA52:vi; Da93c:323; Wa90:12. Bax puts this story in context by quoting at length from Jachmann [BaO3:xxv-xxvi]: the extreme regularity of Kant's passing applied mainly to his daily visits to the home of his close friend Green, an Englishman who rigorously imposed a punctual schedule on Kant. Gulyga's account corroborates this [Gu87:53]: 'One could set one's watch when Kant left Green's house.' It happened each evening 'at seven on the dot.' 2. He59:119. Nuyen and Davidovich both mention this story with explicit disapproval [Nu94:121; Da93a:25], whereas Hicks sees some symbolic value in it [Hi74:381]. After citing Erdmann's support for a similarly skeptical view of the seriousness of Kant's claim to believe in God, Kroner provides some good arguments against such a position [Kr56:38-4O].

65

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PART TWO: CRITICAL THEOLOGY

A

man', I shall briefly explain the problem that was supposedly disturbing Lampe in thefirstplace. Kant devotes the first half of Ktl (i.e., three of the four stages in his theo¬ retical system) to the task of solving the problem of how synthetic a priori judgments are possible. In solving this epistemological problem Kant demon¬ strates how transcendental knowledge (i.e., knowledge of the synthetic a priori conditions for the possibility of experience) is possible only when its applica¬ tion is confined to the realm of empirical knowledge (i.e., to experience). He argues that space, time, and the twelve categories form the transcendental boundary line between what we can and cannot know. This 'solution' itself, however, calls attention to an even more significant problem: what is the status of that which lies outside the boundary of possible empirical knowledge? Kant reveals as early as Ktl:xxix-xxxi that this metaphysical problem—viz., how to verify the fundamental human ideas of 'God, freedom, and immortality', upon which he believes all religion and morality depend—constitutes the deepest and most urgent form of the 'transcendental problem'. It should therefore come as no surprise when he devotes all of the largest section of Ktl, the Transcendental Dialectic (i.e., the fourth stage in systemj to the task of solving this ubiquitous perplexity of human reason.3 According to Kant our ideas of God, freedom, and immortality inevitably arise in the human mind as a result of our attempts to unify and systematize our empirical knowledge. In other words, reason naturally seeks for something beyond the limits of empirical knowledge to supply unity and coherence to the diversity of facts that fall within that boundary. The problem is that the transcendental conditions enabling us to gain knowledge in the empirical world are unable to perform their function with respect to such ideas, because the ideas abstract from all sensible content, whereas the transcendental conditions (space, time, and the categories) all require such content. As is well known, Kant devotes considerable effort in the Dialectic to the task of pointing out the implications of this transcendental problem for rational psychology (with its proofs of the immortality of the soul), rational cosmology (with its proofs of transcendental freedom), and rational theology (with its proofs of the existence of God). Interpreters often assume Kant is seeking to demonstrate the total uselessness of all such 'speculative' disciplines, especially 3. Gulick regards 'the notion of Ideas' [Gu94:105] as 'one of Kant's great but most unnoticed con¬ tributions to Western culture.' He rightly observes that the ideas have a 'mysterious power'. Cooke [Co88:317], by contrast, characterizes Kant's treatment of the ideas as 'a kind of facile retreat to agnosticism when the metaphysics becomes troublesome.' But the recognition of ignorance is not a 'retreat' in philosophy [see Part I of PaOOa], but a bold leap forward—even if it be a leap of faith.

IV. Theistic Alternatives to Proving God's Existence when it comes to theology, where he offers his radical criticism of the three traditional proofs for the existence of God. Since Kant's division and negative assessment of these proofs has become common knowledge among philoso¬ phers of religion, I shall here give only a brief review of his arguments. (For a more detailed treatment of Kant's objections to the traditional proofs and of some recent attempts to overcome them, see AIV.1-3.) Kant divides all theoretical proofs for God's existence into three basic types: the ontological type tries to prove the existence of God from the mere concept of a necessary being; the cosmological type argues from the nature of the world in general to the necessity of God's existence; and the physicotheological (or 'teleological') type argues from the nature of specific things in the world (such as designs or purposes) to the need for a God as their creator. Ontological arguments fail, according to Kant, because they mistakenly treat 'existence' as a real predicate that adds some new content when ascribed to a concept; but in fact, the concept of 'a hundred dollars', for instance, is the same, whether it refers to an imaginary hundred dollars or to a real hundred dollars in my pocket. In other words, we must go outside our concepts and appeal to intuitions (i.e., sensible experiences) in order to establish the existence of anything. Cosmological arguments fail because they wrongly assume that laws applying to objects within the world, such as the law of causality, also apply to the world as a whole. We cannot be sure, however, that something must have caused the world to exist, since the world as a whole can never be presented to us as a sensible intuition. Physicotheological arguments are the best of the three types, in Kant's opinion; but the most they can ever prove is that there is a designing power greater than human beings. They can never prove the existence of a necessary being who actually created the material world. In general, all three types of proof fail for the same reason: they all attempt to gain knowledge of the existence of an object that is necessarily beyond the transcendental limitations of our knowledge, because it can never be experienced by us in terms of intuitions that conform to our concepts. This assessment is the 'front door' out of which Kant is supposed to have banished God from the realm of the reasonable. Yet Kant himself thinks this very criticism of the traditional proofs serves a beneficial function in relation to theology and religion. He explicitly states that the failure of the traditional proofs does not settle the issue of God's existence, but poses one of the most important problems for Critical philosophy to solve. Whereas some theologians fear that the demise of traditional rational theology at Kant's hands would have a detrimental effect on the ordinary religious believer, Kant's rejection of such a 'sophisticated' conjecture is clear and to the point:

67

68

PART TWO: CRITICAL THEOLOGY In religion the knowledge of God is properly based on faith alone.... [So] it is not necessary for this belief [i.e., in God] to be susceptible of logical proof.... [For] sophistication is the error of refusing to accept any religion not based on a theology which can be apprehended by our reason.... Sophistication in religious matters is a dangerous thing; our reasoning powers are limited and reason can err and we cannot prove everything. A speculative basis is a very weak foundation for religion... [Kt35:(86-7); cf. Kt7:480-l; s.a. Pa02:207-8].

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The problem, then, is to discover the proper foundation to substitute for the false one offered by speculation. s What is not so well known is that Kant's philosophical System not only as poses this problem, but offers at least four distinct ways of solving it. Thus, even though Kant begins his theology on an essentially negative note, believing he has been able 'to discover the fallacy in any attempt [to prove God's existence theoretically], and so to nullify its claims' [Ktl:667], he nevertheless devotes considerable effort to the task of showing how an honest recognition of the limitations of human reason leaves ample room for drawing affirmative theological conclusions concerning God's existence and nature. In what follows I shall examine each of these affirmations in turn, with a view towards ascertaining Kant's true attitude towards theology.4 This examination will enable us to assess in FV.4 the common claim that these affirmations are in fact merely an appropriation of something foreign into an essentially negative theological position. This, in turn, will prepare us to examine more respectfully in Chapter V Kant's surprisingly affirmative claims about God's nature. 2. Hypothetical Theology: God as a Regulative Idea Kant believes it is important for us to form some judgment on the question of God's existence despite the transcendental limitations imposed on human knowledge. He explains there is 'a real need associated with reason itself [that] makes judging necessary even if ignorance with respect to the details required for judging limits us' [Kt20:136-7]: because we cannot know God as an object of empirical knowledge, we must first 'test the concept [of God]... to see if it is free of contradictions' and then examine the 'relation' between our idea of God and the objects we do experience.5 Kant's rejection of the traditional 4. In PaO2:265 Paulsen refers briefly, and in the same order, to the three theological affirmations on which the following three sections will focus: Kant's 'transcendental theology' on its own 'leads to deism'; his 'physico-theology advances a step further' and 'establishes theism'; his 'moral theology' then serves as the 'crowning-stone' of the theological foundation for Critical religion. 5. Kant continues by explaining that 'the right of a need of reason enters as the right of a subjective ground to presuppose or assume something which it may not pretend to know on objective grounds' [Kt2O:137]. From the theoretical standpoint, this 'need of reason' to 'assume the existence of God' is 'conditional': the assumption only 'needs' to be made 'when we wish to judge concerning the first cause of all contingent things, particularly in the organization of ends actually

IV. Theistic Alternatives to Proving God's Existence proofs is actually designed to fulfill the first of these tasks. It does so by demonstrating that belief in God is not logically contradictory, since God's existence, regarded as a constitutive part of the world, can never be proved or disproved, on the grounds that a conceptualizable intuition of God is in principle impossible. The second task is fulfilled in a lengthy Appendix to the Dialectic [Ktl:671-732], where Kant offers an alternative explanation of the epistemological status of the idea of God—an explanation that is often not treated very seriously by commentators. Kant's first theological affirmation provides an explanation for a commonly experienced paradox, which Kant expresses in Ktl:643 by asking: 'Why are we constrained to assume that some one among existing things is in itself necessary, and yet at the same time to shrink back from the existence of such a being as from an abyss?' Dialectical illusion results only if we try to subdue one of these natural tendencies. Those who try to prove God's existence theoretically are suppressing the latter, while those who categorically deny God's existence are suppressing the former. If the truth that lies behind both tendencies is grasped, however, both errors can be avoided. The situation giving rise to this paradox is that 'I can never complete the regress to the conditions of existence save by assuming a necessary being, and yet am never in a position to begin [such a regress] with such a being' [643-4]. Recognizing the 'merely heuristic and regulative' character of the princi¬ ples underlying each side of this paradox can make the two sides compatible: The one [principle] prescribes that we are to philosophise about nature as if there were a necessary first ground for all that belongs to existence—solely, however, for the purpose of bringing systematic unity into our knowledge, by always pursuing such an idea, as an imagined ultimate ground. The other warns us not to regard any determination whatsoever of existing things as such an ultimate ground ... [Ktl:644-5, e.a.].

Whereas all theoretical arguments about the existence of God are bound to fail in their attempt to establish knowledge of God as a real object (an 'ideal'), these two principles suggest that the concept of God can have a valid use as long as it is regarded, less ambitiously, as an idea of reason. Rather than reviewing the general character of this regulative employment of the ideas [see KSP1:IV.3 and V.4], I shall now proceed directly to a discussion of its implications for our theoretical understanding of the concept of God. present in the world' [139]. But from the practical standpoint, 'the need is unconditional; here we are compelled to presuppose the existence of God not just if we wish to judge but because we must judge' [139]. As Paulsen puts it in PaO2:264: 'The existence of God is the most certain element in [Kant's] metaphysic; an irresistible need of our reason forces it upon us.' The significance of this notion of a 'need of reason' will be considered in more detail in V.3.

69

$0

PART TWO: CRITICAL THEOLOGY

A theoretical discussion of God's existence and attributes, Kant argues, cannot be based 'upon the knowledge of such a being but upon its idea only' [Ktl:729, e.a.]. From the standpoint of theoretical reason our idea of God is postulated only problematically (since we cannot reach it through any of the concepts of the understanding) in order that we may view all connection of the ':-, things of the world of sense as if they had their ground in [it]... In thus proceeding, our sole purpose is to secure systematic unity... [709].

In such usage God is 'an idea which reason is constrained to form as the regulative principle of its investigation of nature' [725]. As such, it is used as a principle for viewing empirical objects from a hypothetical, not an empirical, perspective. (The latter would be a 'constitutive' use of the idea in reference to the world.) Kant explains the proper use of an idea as follows [707]: I think to myself merely the relation of a being, in itself completely unknown to me, to the greatest possible systematic unity of the universe, solely for the purpose of using [this idea] as a schema of the regulative principle of the greatest possible empirical employment of my reason.

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The main purpose of Kant's treatment of the idea of God in Ktl is to establish the right to use this theoretical concept from other, nontheoretical standpoints [see note IV.5]. His criticism of the traditional proofs does this by demonstrating that, although the concept cannot be instantiated in experience, it is at least not self-contradictory. The function of this concept as a regulative idea can therefore be put forward as a reasonable hypothesis (i.e., as plausible, though not provable), even from the standpoint of theoretical reason.6 Far from being an afterthought, this theory is at the core of Kant's theological concern.7 By establishing peace in systemt, the regulative use of the idea of God directs our attention forward to the other Critical standpoints in anticipation of a more complete justification for belief in God. This affirmation of the benefits of the regulative employment of our idea of 6. 'Hypotheses', Kant urges in Ktl:805, are 'permissible only as weapons of war, and only for the purpose of defending a right, not in order to establish it.' They can be invaluable tools, when used 'in self-defence', in order to nullify 'the sophistical arguments by which our opponent professes to invalidate this assertion [of God's existence]' [804-5]. Yet they cannot be used dogmatically, since the skeptic can also produce opposing hypotheses. Since theoretical reason 'does not ... favour either of the two parties', hypotheses can be used 'only in polemical fashion.' So a proper view of hypotheses limits dogmatists by refusing them knowledge, while yet limiting skeptics by upholding the right to believe. These warring parties, Kant explains, both 'lie in ourselves'; and the task of criticism is to remove 'the root of these disturbances' in order to 'establish a permanent peace' [805-6], Once we recognize that hypotheses, 'although they are but leaden weapons', are required 'for our complete equipment' in fulfilling this purpose, we will see that there is 'nothing to fear in all this, but much to hope for; namely, that we may gain for ourselves a possession which can never again be contested.' 7. As Despland points out in De73:146: 'The unique strength of criticism is that "rational" is not restricted in meaning to cognitive. The Ideas of reason can be thought rationally without being objectified into possible objects of knowledge.'

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God is frequently rejected prematurely by Kant's critics. One of the most common criticisms is that science (especially since Darwin) simply has no use for postulating 'the idea of God... as a heuristic device in the empirical study of nature' [Wo78:145]. This criticism is based, however, on a complete misunder¬ standing of the perspective from which Kant is speaking; he never intends the ideas to be used as regulative principles from an empirical perspective, such as that adopted by most natural scientists in their everyday work; for he insists that 'just because it is a mere idea, [the idea of God] is altogether incapable... of enlarging our knowledge in regard to what exists' [Ktl:630-l]. Hence it cannot serve as the constitutive 'ground of the systematic order of the world'.8 Instead, the ideas are to function regulatively only in the context of reason's special hypothetical perspective. To think otherwise is to ignore the fact that metaphysics 'does not need the ideas for the purposes of natural science, but in order to pass beyond nature' [Ktl:395n]. In other words, these regulative principles concern how 'to philosophise about nature' [644, q.a.], not how to investigate nature scientifically. For Kant harshly condemns the latter approach: To have recourse to God... in explaining the [physical] arrangements of nature and their changes is ... a complete confession that one has come to the end of his philosophy [i.e., 'natural philosophy', or science], since he is compelled to assume something of which in itself he otherwise has no concept in order to conceive the possibility of something he sees before his very eyes.9 8. Ktl:709; cf. 724-5. This function is fulfilled on the material side by the thing in itself [see Fig. III.5] and on the formal side by reason's architectonic forms [see III. 1; s.a. Ktl:723-4]. The misunderstanding at issue here is perpetrated by many interpreters who are otherwise well-disposed towards Kant. Wisnefske, for example, states that the regulative use of the idea of God is 'of great importance for the execution of scientific enterprises' [Wi90:30-31]. Unfortunate¬ ly, he neither explains how this usage works nor cites actual texts where Kant supports such a view. 9. Kt4:138; see also Kt26:997(25-6). This seems at first to apply equally to Kant's own assumption of the thing in itself, which he does believe to be philosophically sound. However, he is speaking here from an empirical perspective, in the context of which the thing in itself, as positive noumenon, is indeed superfluous [see Fig. III.5]; Kant's use of the thing in itself does not fall under this criticism because it assumes the transcendental perspective. Hence, when we read Kant warning us that 'a presumptuous readiness to appeal to supernatural explanations is a pillow for a lazy understanding' [Ktl9:418(We26:45)J, we must be careful not to interpret this too broadly, as Webb does when he says this claim means that 'the assumption of the supernatural is excluded on "critical" principles' [45]. For as we have seen, Kant actually encourages such an assumption in the appropriate circumstances, as long as it is put forward without a presumptuous attitude (i.e., as long as it is regarded as a theoretical hypothesis rather than a claim of dogmatic knowledge). If Kant's advice in such passages is that supernatural explanations are always inappropriate, then why does he himself appeal to the God-hypothesis throughout his writings [see 1.3]? Rather, his message is that we must be careful to use them wisely—i.e., in such a way that they do not prevent us from relentlessly seeking natural explanations wherever possible. He makes this point explicitly in a much neglected 1785 essay on the moon [Kt53:76]: calling upon 'the immediate Divine disposi¬ tion as a ground of explanation... must indeed, when nature on the whole is in question, close our inquiry'; yet for anything short of such a universal (hence, philosophical) outlook, 'we are not [thereby] freed from the obligation to search [for a ground] among the causes of the world... and to follow their chain according to laws known to us, as long as its [causal links] are connected.' More

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Just as the regulative use of an idea assumes it not to have 'creative power', but to 'have practical power..., and form the basis of the possible perfection of certain actions' [Ktl:597], so also such regulative usage implies nothing about how we are to go about gathering empirical knowledge, but only about how we are to structure our beliefs about the source of the ultimate unity of that knowl¬ edge. Much as a vision of the 'not yet' can act as a powerful force pulling us forward towards the realization of a hope [see e.g., Pa93], the idea motivates us to search for systematic unity in our philosophical explanations.10 Another frequent complaint against Kant's plea that we be satisfied with regarding God as a regulative idea is made by those theologians who are (as Kant says with respect to certain moral philosophers of his day) 'dedicated to the omnipotence of theoretical reason' [Kt6:378]. Kant continues: the discomfort they feel at not being able to explain what lies entirely beyond the sphere of physiological explanation [e.g., the idea of God] provokes them to a general call to arms, as it were, to withstand that Idea, no matter how exalting this very prerogative of man—his capacity for such an Idea—may be.

Such scholars reject the notion of God as an idea not because it is incoherent, but because it does not provide what they are looking for: viz., certain knowl¬ edge of God's existence and nature." Because Kant says, for example, that 'this Idea proceeds entirely from our own reason and we ourselves make it' [443], they disregard his many other claims to believe in a real, living God, as will be said about the relation between science and the God-hypothesis in KSP3. 10. Kant describes a 'hypothesis' in Kt4:126 as 'a ground of explanation'. As such, a proper under¬ standing of his theory of the regulative use of the idea of God from the hypothetical perspective reveals it to be remarkably similar to modern attempts to defend God's existence as the best 'explanatory hypothesis' [see e.g., No73:441]. There are differences, of course, such as that the modern versions, while perhaps benefiting from their freedom from Kant's rather difficult and oldfashioned terminology, often suffer unnecessarily by mixing different perspectives uncritically (e.g., by treating rigorous logical argumentation as the primary, if not the only, tool available to defend or refute such hypotheses). The two approaches are alike, however, to the extent that they both attempt a theoretical defense of God's existence not on the basis that the God-hypothesis enables us to provide a better scientific explanation of the available data, but rather on the basis that the available data point beyond themselves to something that can best be explained philosophically in terms of the God-hypothesis. Thus in both cases the theoretical argument, when properly constructed, assumes a hypothetical rather than an empirical perspective. 11. A contemporary example is Hart, who uses Husserl's philosophical approach to argue that the idea of God is not only regulative but 'also has a constitutive function' [Ha90b:222; s.a. 234-5,238, 241]. If we define 'constitutive idea' [234] as something 'providing determination immanent to what is experienced, then the divine may be considered also a constitutive principle.' But not everything immanent is constitutive. Kant could agree with the Husserlian view expressed here, if only the term 'determined' were removed. Hart goes on to explain [238] how Husserl attempts to verify through 'theological meditation' that 'the divine idea plays a constitutive function.' Hart finally explains that here 'constitutive' refers not to 'theoretical determination', as it would for Kant, but to 'the production of goals' [241]. Yet the latter is a defining feature of what Kant calls 'regulative'; so the Hart-Husserl proposal does not improve on Kant, but merely redefines his terms. This will become especially evident in Part Four [s.e. XII.2,4], when we see that Kant him¬ self allows for a kind of theological meditation without claiming it constitutes knowledge of God.

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in traditional theism.12 Such a premature rejection of his position fails to recognize that, as in virtually every other aspect of his System, Kant often gives different answers to the same question when different perspectives are assumed. Hence, viewing 'God' from the theoretical standpoint as an idea constructed by human beings does not prevent us from adopting some other standpoint in order to affirm that a real, transcendent God actually exists.13 3. Physicotheology: Judicial Evidence for the God-Hypothesis Kant's theory concerning the regulative idea of God is actually the least substantial of his various ways of affirming the rationality of theology; for 'the conception of a Deity... can never be evolved merely according to principles of reason's theoretical standpoint' [Kt7:400]. So in addition to his defense of a transcendental theology from the hypothetical perspective, he develops his own type of natural theology in the second and third Critiques. KSP1:VIII.3.B and IX.3.B already touch on these versions of natural theology. A more thorough examination of Kant's moral and physicotheological arguments for God's exis¬ tence will testify to therichnessand depth of his theology, while confirming the ubiquity of this 'guiding-thread' in his System [cf. Kt7:389 and 1.4, above]. Despite his rejection of the physicotheological proof in Ktl [see AIV.l], Kant affirms it in Kt7, yet without nullifying the limitations he has previously placed on it. For the standpoint used to assess the proof in Kt7 is judicial rather than theoretical. The same theoretical concept (God) is still under consideration. From the outset, however, Kant is now aiming to establish not theoretical knowledge, but only an experience-based (i.e., existential) justification of a practical belief. Even in Ktl Kant explicitly allows for such a usage: he argues that we are 'undoubtedly' permitted, if not required, 'to assume a wise and om¬ nipotent Author of the world', as long as we realize such an assumption does not in any way 'extend our knowledge beyond the field of experience' [725-6]. In Kt26:1004(32-3) he develops this claim further: Physicotheology ... can enlighten and give intuitive appeal to our concepts of God. But it cannot have any determinate concept of God. For only reason can represent completeness and totality. In physicotheology I see God's power. But can I say determinately, this is omnipotence or the highest degree of power?

The implicit answer, of course, is 'no'. Although it has a constructive role to play, physicotheology on its own is 'unable to... serve as the foundation of a theology which is itself in turn to form the basis of religion' [Ktl: 65 6]. Instead, 12. The issue of Kant's theism will be discussed in more detail in IV.4 and in AIV.4. 13. For a thorough critique of the opposite conclusion, that Kant's God is a mere 'philosophical fiction' that can be equated with reason itself, see AIV.4.

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Kant intends it to point the way outward from experience to moral activity, where theology has a more secure foundation. Kant argues in Kt7:389 that empirical reflection on 'the clearly manifest nexus of things according to final causes' requires us to conceive of 'a worldcause acting according to ends, that is, an intelligent cause—however rash and undemonstrable a principle this might be for the determinant judgment.' As we saw in KSP1:IX.3.B, he bases this conclusion on the specific phenomenon of finality (or 'purposiveness') in our experience of the world: the nature of our faculty of reason is such that without an Author and Governor of the world, who is also a moral Lawgiver, we are wholly unable to render intelligible to ourselves the possibility of a finality, related to the moral law, and its Object, such as exists in this final end. [455]

In particular Kant emphasizes that 'the end for which nature itself exists' is humanity, and that 'it is upon the definite idea of this end that the definite conception of such a supreme intelligent World-Cause, and, consequently, the possibility of a theology, depend' [437]. Viewed from the judicial standpoint of Kt7 rather than the theoretical standpoint of Ktl, this argument is, as Wood points out in Wo70:174, directed not so much to theoretical philosophers as to ordinary people: 'the ordinary man "sees" nature as the work of God, and discerns in it—what no amount of empirical evidence [in systemt] could have demonstrated—the signs of a divine and morally purposive creation' [176]. If viewed solely from the standpoint of Kt7, physicotheology is quite limited, for experience 'can never lift us above nature to the end of its real existence or thus raise us to a definite conception of such a higher Intelligence' [Kt7:438; s.a. Kt26:1009(38)]. That is, 'physical teleology urges us to go in quest of a theology. But it can never produce one' [Kt7:440]; thus 'physico-theology... is of no use to theology except as a prepa¬ ration or propaedeutic and is only sufficient for this purpose when supple¬ mented by a further principle on which it can rely' [442]. Physicotheology fails in Ktl not because it is physicotheological, but because its 'further principle' is provided by the speculative (ontological and cosmological) arguments; it suc¬ ceeds in Kt7 by basing itself on the moral argument: 'underlying our procedure [in physicotheology] is an idea of a Supreme Being, which rests on an entirely different standpoint [than the judicial], namely the practical' [438]. Understanding the relationships between the various proofs is complicated by the fact that each type of proof can be expressed in either a teleological or a nonteleological way, as suggested by Figure IV. 1:

IV. Theistic Alternatives to Proving @&d?sj&dstence

75v

physicotheological proofs

Kant's moral proof

Figure IV. 1: Three Types of Teleological Proof The proofs Kant prefers usually tend to be teleological. The best example, his special moral proof, will occupy our attention for the remainder of this chapter. The moral theology that is founded on that proof is the goal towards which a proper (nonspeculative) physicotheology moves. Kant sums up the preparatory function of proofs that fall into the latter classification when, in constructing an imaginary 'moral catechism' [Kt6:480], he has the pupil end by saying [482]: For we see in the works of nature, which we can judge, a wisdom so widespread and profound that we can explain it to ourselves only by the ineffably great art of a creator of the world. And from this we have cause, when we turn to the moral order ... to expect there a rule no less wise.

4. Moral Theology: The Ultimate Rationale for Theistic Belief Kant's moral argument for the existence of God is the only aspect of his solution to the problem of transcendental theology that has been duly recog¬ nized by commentators. In its simplest form, his argument is fairly straight¬ forward. After arguing that the highest good consists of the distribution of hap¬ piness to each person in proportion to his or her virtue [see KSP1:VIII.3.B], Kant points out that, given the nature of human virtue (viz., that it often requires us to deny our own happiness in order to obey the voice of duty), humanity on its own is unlikely to bring into being this ideal end of morality. Yet if the end or purpose of morality proves to be unattainable, moral action itself will be irrational. Hence, anyone who wishes to regard moral action as rational is con¬ strained to postulate something that would make it possible to understand how the highest good could become a reality. As is well known, Kant argues that the immortality of the soul and the existence of God are the two postulates that can save morality from the abyss of meaninglessness.

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PART TWO: CRITICAL THEOLOGY

Although Kant's basic argument is familiar enough, its intended force is easy to misunderstand, especially for those who fail to take into consideration the different perspectives and standpoints in Kant's System. In the first place, Kant's moral argument is not actually part of his philosophy of religion, as is typically assumed by those who write on the latter subject. At most, it serves as a preface to religion. For the postulate of God performs its function exclusively within the final stage of Kant's practical {moral) system, where it suggests that rational moral agents are, in fact, acting as if God exists whenever they act morally, whether or not they claim to believe in God. In other words, God's existence, though not theoretically provable, is nevertheless a necessary assumption for any moral agent who wishes to conceive of the highest good as being realizable (and therefore, of moral action as being ultimately rational). But secondly, this does not make the postulates, as Friedman claims [Fr86b: 517], 'conditions of the possibility of moral choosing.' Of the three Kantian ideas, only freedom has this status; God and immortality are conditions not of moral choosing, but of regarding morally good choice as a rational activity. What then are the specific implications of Kant's moral argument for the theologian's attempt to prove the existence of God? Kant's argument, as summarized in Kt7:446, is that every moral agent needs a moral Intelligence; because he exists for an end, and this end demands a Being that has formed both him and the world [i.e., both freedom and nature] with that end in view.... Hence ... there is in our moral habits of thought a foundation for... form[ing] a representation depicting a pure moral need for the real existence of a Being, whereby our morality gains in strength or even obtains—at least on the side of our representation—an extension of area, that is to say, is given a new object for its exercise.

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The resulting concept of 'a moral Legislator' has no theoretical value; yet, Kant continues, the source of this disposition is unmistakable. It is the original bent of our nature, as a subjective principle, that will not let us be satisfied, in our review of the world, with the finality which it derives through natural causes, but leads us to introduce into it an underlying supreme Cause governing nature according to moral laws. —In addition ... we feel ourselves urged by the moral law to strive after a universal highest end, while yet we feel ourselves, and all nature too, incapable of its attainment.... Thus we have a pure moral ground derived from practical reason , for admitting this Cause (since we may do so without contradiction), if for no bet¬ ter reason, in order that we may not run the risk of regarding such striving as quite idle in its effects, and of allowing it to flag in consequence.

After presenting his moral argument for the existence of God in Kt4, Kant asks: 'Is our knowledge really widened in such a way by pure practical reason, and is that which was transcendent for speculative reason immanent in practical

IV. Theistic Alternatives to Proving God's Existence

11

reason? Certainly, but only from a practical standpoint' [133]. Earlier, he warns against assuming that the conclusions of his practical system merely 'serve to fill out gaps in the critical system of speculative reason' [7]. Kant does on a few occasions make reckless remarks, such as that 'a faith in God built on this [moral] foundation is as certain as a mathematical demonstration' [Kt26:1011(40)]. (He should at least have added that there is a crucial perspectival difference between the type of certainty we have in each case [see note IV. 14].) Such remarks should not, however, be given priority over his many other, more carefully worded comments regarding the perspectival struc¬ ture of his System. For example, he says 'no one will be able to boast that he knows that there is a God [i.e., from the theoretical standpoint] ... No, my conviction is not logical but moral certainty'.14 Thus Wood insists 'it would be a great mistake to see in the God of Kant's moral faith no more than an abstract, metaphysical idea. For Kant moral faith in God is, in it[s] most profound and personal signification, the moral man's trust in God.'15 14. Ktl:857. This balanced statement guards against the error Kim makes in portraying Kant's posi¬ tion in Ki88:365: 'Faith is belief chosen in the total absence of evidence.' Kant is not asking us to believe without evidence, but to believe on the basis of moral evidence. Kim's erroneous statement is made on the grounds that 'postulating' something means 'the willing of the reality of the possible that is "implied" by the moral law ' [364]. But this is accurate only if 'implied by' means 'made necessary in order to preserve the rational integrity of the moral law—a necessity Kant sees as a very real kind of evidence, not as a mere wish in the absence of anything real. Odero does a good job of making this point in Od91:269, where he emphasizes 'the cognitive value of faith.' He argues that for Kant 'I believe in God' means 'I know (theoretically) that I know (practically).' That is, faith relies on theoretical certainty at one level, but only as certainty of my own subjective state, not as objective certainty that God exists. Because faith in God is 'assertorical', Odero concludes we can legitimately 'use the term religious knowledge' [270; cf. KSP1:V]. Despite Kant's concerted effort to distinguish moral from theoretical arguments, some com¬ mentators fail to appreciate the difference. Cooke, for example, confesses [Co88:321] 'it is hard to see... how the approach to God by way of practical reason can really be anything else than an argument of theoretical reason... Ultimately Kant came to see this himself, since he finally came to abandon not only the moral theology of [Ktl], but also the subsequently modified version of [Kt4].' Cooke is referring here to the new arguments Kant advances in Kt9; but as we shall see in XII.2, the fact that Kant does not repeat his former arguments in Kt9 does not mean he has aban¬ doned them, but only that he has modulated to a new standpoint. 15. Wo70:161; s.a. Da93c:340. Unfortunately, in interpreting the underlying connotations of Kant's moral argument, many interpreters make the very mistake Wood is warning against here. Webb, for example, claims Kant's moral argument 'certainly is in no way calculated to express the religious man's conviction of the reality of the object of his worship' [We26:66]. If 'the religious man's conviction' here refers to the tendency of some believers to base their faith on uncritical claims to possess theoretical knowledge, then of course Webb is correct, since the argument is directed to 'the moral man'. But the words 'in no way' are misleading, since Kant does intend his argument not only to be compatible with a religious standpoint [see VI.2], but also to provide a rational founda¬ tion for a fuller conception of the God of religion, as expounded in Kt8 [see Part Three, below]. An earlier elaboration of the position Wood defends is given by Walsh, who insists the con¬ clusions of a moral proof 'will represent convictions rather than truths' [Wa63a:267]. He explains [269] that, 'when we take ['moral action'] for what it is we see that the moral agent is, in the very fact of acting, committed to belief in God.' Thus he concludes [284]: 'the real point is that the agent's belief shows itself in his acts.' This is not an intellectual conclusion drawn from evidence

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Kant's moral argument, therefore, is not to be regarded as 'an incontrover¬ tible proof, along the lines attempted by the traditional theoretical arguments [Ktl:665]. Kant himself writes in Kt7:450-l: This moral argument is not intended to supply an objectively valid proof of the existence of God. It is not meant to demonstrate to the sceptic that there is a God, but that he must adopt the assumption of this proposition as a maxim of his practical reason, if he wishes to think in a manner consistent with morality.

As a practical 'presupposition' of our moral activity, it 'cannot be brought to a higher degree of certainty than the acknowledgment that it is the most reasonable opinion for us men' [Kt4:142]. Accordingly, Kant describes it as a 'doctrinal belief [Ktl:853], which means it is, 'from an objective perspective, an expres¬ sion of modesty, and yet at the same time, from a subjective perspective, an ex¬ pression of the firmness of our confidence' [855]. Those who accept this prac¬ tical postulate and decide to believe in God must resolve within themselves 'not [to] give up this belief [Kt4:143]. This resolution is the 'back door' through which Kant supposedly appropriated his faithful servant's belief in God.16 [270], but a 'commitment to a practical attitude.' Walsh observes 'striking similarities between the case Kant puts up in [Ktl] for the need to assume God... and the case he deploys in his moral theol¬ ogy for practical belief in God: in both, commitment to God is connected directly with commitment to action' [276], Claiming immortality to be irrelevant, Walsh argues that God's help, if it is going to come, 'must be given here and now' [277]. That Kant is sharing a conviction is indicated by his confession in Ktl:856 that he 'inevitably' believes there is a God [Wa63a:277-8]. Likewise, in §86 of Kt7 'Kant maintains that the occurrence of certain moral feelings is bound up with affirma¬ tion of God's existence.' As a result, Kant fails to provide 'anything like a satisfactory account' of how the moral postulate actually can help 'the man who has moral doubts' [278]. Walsh thus finds Kant's moral proof to be 'at best unconvincing' and hardly distinguishable 'from the speculative arguments' [280]. 'There is a God' expresses for Kant 'a formula internal to a moral attitude', not 'a proposition' as such [284], Kuehn criticizes the view defended by Wood and Walsh, claiming that by depicting Kant's rational faith as a 'personal and subjective' conviction, they unwittingly make it nonrational [Ku85:157n]. Wood in particular, he argues [158n], 'relies on a very un-Kantian use of "rational."' As he rightly insists, Kant's concern in the moral argument [159] is 'with the practical situation in general. But this transcends all that is merely personal.' Kuehn goes so far as to say Walsh's reference to an '"irremovable personal dimension" in its status must be a myth.' Kuehn believes the problem lies in a failure to distinguish between Kant's defense of the postulate of God (in stage four of systemp) and his use of other forms of moral argument in Kt26 and other writings [Ku85: 159-61]. While this is correct, Kuehn wrongly assumes that because the former takes the form of a deduction, it must be 'theoretical' rather than 'practical' [161n]: 'it is not part of moral discourse itself.' This ignores the fact that stage four in each of Kant's systems examines issues that go beyond the given topic in its most narrowly conceived form. Kuehn's repeated claim that Kant's argument is not merely 'a piece of practical thinking' [160,162] is also misleading, since for Kant 'practical' involves more than just what leads to moral action. Fortunately, Kuehn eventually refines his claim, portraying the argument as 'transcendental'—quite correctly, given the broad sense of this term described in KSPl:IV.l. He concludes that the true purpose of the moral postulate of God's existence is to guarantee that the idea of God will be meaningful [166-7], by showing 'that "God" must "have" an object', even though we cannot have theoretical knowledge of it. This (the lack of an intuition of God) is the reason faith is necessary [167]. In the end, Kuehn defends a position that is ironically close to that of Walsh and Wood: 'Rational faith involves a decision.' 16. Anyone who still expects a theoretically valid argument is bound to regard such a conclusion as

IV. Theistic Alternatives to Proving God's Existence Yet Kant himself claims theology can 'better fulfil [its] final objective purpose' if it accepts the conclusions established by moral theology and supported by physicotheology, especially the conclusion that theology should be 'founded on the moral principle, namely that of freedom, and adapted, therefore, to reason's practical standpoint' [Kt7:479]. The limitation of basing theology on practical rather than theoretical reason is that its conclusions are now 'of immanent use only' [Kt 1:847]: [Moral theology] enables us to fulfil our vocation in this present world by showing us how to adapt ourselves to the system of all ends [i.e., to the practical standpoint], and by warning us against the fanaticism, and indeed the impiety, of abandoning the guidance of a morally legislative reason in the right conduct of our lives, in order to derive guidance directly from the idea of the Supreme Being [i.e., from the theoretical standpoint]. For we should then be making a transcendental employment of moral theology; and that, like a transcendent use of pure specula¬ tion, must pervert and frustrate the ultimate ends of reason.

Once its purely immanent use is understood, the myth that views Kant's moral postulates as merely 'a side gesture, [pointing] beyond the limits which he himself had drawn', is immediately seen to be invalid [see CaO9:47O]. A fair assessment of his theological position reveals that, if indeed he has opened the back door to let God into the house, this is only because he recognizes that God belongs in the house: short-term guests normally enter and exit only through the front door; the back door is typically reserved for residents and close friends! As MacKinnon points out in Ma75:133, throughout Kant's treatment of God and religion, he often 'tries to do justice to what at a first reading he seems to dismiss out of hand.' Keeping in mind Kant's reliance on the principle of perspective enables us to understand and appreciate the sincerity and reason¬ ableness of such attempts. Rather than taking too seriously Heine's 'back door' anecdote, we can therefore suggest a more appropriate version of the story: perhaps Kant invented the moral argument in order to protect his faithful ser¬ vant (and all others who humbly recognize, with Kant, the universal limits of 'common human understanding' [see e.g., Ktl:xxxii]) from the misuse he knew many philosophers would make of his rejection of theoretical arguments for God in Ktl. In other words, the moral proof explains not to Lampe (who had no need of a formal proof), but to Kant's fellow intellectuals—some of whom may have made snide remarks attacking the servant's simple faith during

rather tenuous. Thus Bax, having boiled the moral argument down to a form of wish-fulfillment [BaO3:lxix], claims to detect 'a lack of sincerity, though possibly an unconscious one.' Given Kant's explicit emphasis on the importance of sincerity [see note VIII.4], however, the only un¬ conscious material revealed by such criticisms is the critic's own lack of awareness of or apprecia¬ tion for Kant's principle of perspective.

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PART TWO: CRITICAL THEOLOGY

]

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the regular luncheons at Kant's home—why Lampe and all other human beings have nothing to fear from the limitations of theoretical reason. Regarded in this way, the anecdote actually highlights a crucial point in interpreting Kant's Critical theology: the moral proof of God's existence is in no sense intended to satisfy the requirements of the theoretical standpoint; rather it directs our attention away from the theoretical, away from scientific knowledge, and towards the practical standpoint; for the latter serves as the only context in which the concept of God can be rationally justified.17 Kant states this plainly in Kt26:1009-10(39): Thus all speculation depends ... on the transcendental concept [of an absolutely necessary being]. But if we posit that it is not correct, would we then have to give up the knowledge of God? Not at all. For then we would only lack the scientific knowledge that God exists. But a great field would still remain to us, and this would be the belief or faith that God exists. This faith we will derive a priori from moral principles. Hence if... we raise doubts about these speculative proofs ... we will not thereby undermine faith in God. Rather, we will clear the road for practical i. proofs. We are merely throwing out the false presumptions of human reason when it tries from itself to demonstrate the existence of God with apodictic certainty. But from moral principles we will assume a faith in God as the principle of every religion. In Kt7:482 he deliberates with equal clarity, explaining that the moral proof 'satisfies the moral side of our nature', yet without making a transcendent use of the categories in a futile attempt to know 'the intrinsic, and for us inscrutable, nature of God'. 18

17. As Webb puts it in We26:68, 'Kant... definitely denies that the knowledge of God, the Object of religion, falls primarily or properly within the spheres of Physics [cf. systemj] or Metaphysics [cf. systemt]. It is only ... to be reached by starting ... from the consciousness of duty or moral obligation [cf. systemp].' Along these lines, Kant distinguishes between the moral argument as 'an argument tear' iiv6pamov valid for all men as rational [i.e., moral] beings in general', and 'the theoretical-dogmatic argument mr' aXrideiav' [Kt69:306]. The former is sufficient for us because faith in God 'springs from the moral disposition itself' [Kt4:146]; any attempt to root it in theoretical knowledge must therefore be erroneous, as Lenk rightly argues [Le89:98-100]. A typical criticism of Kant's moral theology is advanced by Mansel in Ma58:201: 'But by an inconsistency scarcely to be paralleled in the history of philosophy, the author of this comprehensive criticism attempted to deduce a partial conclusion from universal premises, and to exempt the speculations of moral and religious thought from the relative character with which, upon his own principles, all products of human consciousness were necessarily invested.' Not only does Mansel ignore Kant's denials that his moral proof functions like a theoretical deduction, but he also wrongly regards systemt as requiring a total relativism, which was quite foreign to Kant's intent. Mansel bases his argument on a mistaken interpretation of both the idea of God in systemt and the moral law in systemp, as 'not merely facts of human consciousness ..., but absolute, transcendental realities ...'. Kant's position would be inconsistent only if he claimed the reality of God could be proved theoretically as a knowable fact; but as we shall see, his treatment of morality (and religion [see VI.2]) does not seek to 'exempt' certain classes from a set of rules that are elsewhere claimed to be absolute, but rather views each type of 'human consciousness' from its proper standpoint. 18. Byrne argues against Kant's moral proof in By79:337: 'If knowledge of God is impossible then

IV. Theistic Alternatives to Proving God's Existence

81

When we examine in Chapter V Kant's various symbolic accounts of God's nature,19 we must keep in mind that he is not contradicting his own theoretical principles by suggesting that we can know God's attributes after all. Rather, he is urging that, despite our inherent ignorance of God's essence, as necessitated by the perspectival nature of human rationality, it is legitimate for practical purposes to describe God, as long as we recognize the dependence of such descriptions on our own perspectives, and so use the resulting 'knowl¬ edge' only as an aid in coping with our earthly existence, especially with respect to our moral activity. One of the main purposes of Ktl is to prepare the way for such a theology by replacing the positive noumenon with the negative noumenon [see KSP1:V.3 and VII.3.A]—i.e., by replacing the rationalist belief in a speculative realm transcending the phenomenal world with the Critical belief in a practical realm revealed in and through moral experience. Any attempt to grasp God must therefore be given up and replaced by a willingness to be grasped by God. Kant suggests in Kt7:444 that 'all transcendental attributes [of God],... attributes that are presupposed in relation to such a final end, will have to be re¬ garded as belonging to the Original Being. —In this way moral teleology sup¬ plements the deficiency of physical teleology, and for the first time establishes a [moral] theology.' 20 Thus the moral theology towards which the physical one cannot have grounds for believing or thinking that God exists.' Byrne reaches this conclusion, however, only by presupposing an epistemology quite foreign to Kant, whereby knowledge is identified with justified belief [336; cf. KSP1:AV.3]. For Kant, unfcnowability by no means implies unfftm/fcability. Thus, he distinguishes between knowledge and belief by explaining that the evidence for a judgment one believes is true must be 'subjectively sufficient', but 'objectively insufficient', whereas the evidence for a judgment one knows is true must be 'sufficient both subjec¬ tively and objectively' [Ktl:85O]. For Kant, the relevant 'subjective' grounds are, of course, moral. Oakes argues against the common assumption that anyone who believes knowledge of God is possible must reject Kant's doctrine of the unknowability of noumena [Oa73:31]. He argues that Kant is wrong to construe 'all religious epistemology as necessarily a quest for noumenal knowing' [32], because our knowledge of God is, in fact, phenomenal [33]: 'any sensible experience of God ... must be construed as providing knowledge which is partial or perspectival, i.e., knowledge solely from the vantage point of a finite knower.' Kant would, of course, agree that all knowledge is perspectival, but argue that our 'sensible experience' is never a direct experience of God, in the way that our empirical knowledge is a direct experience (i.e., intuition and conception) of empirical objects. Rather, the religious person regards some experiences as coming from God by means of the God-hypothesis, which can never yield actual knowledge of a phenomenon called 'God'. Never¬ theless, Kant's treatment of the experience of God is not far removed from that of Oakes, except that Kant never regards such experiences as capable of producing knowledge [see V.4 and X.2; s.e. note X.10]. ' 9. Kant offers the theologian a number of different means of coping with the realities of human igno¬ rance, in the form of analogical models for God's nature. These models, though rarely appreciated by commentators, represent a balanced and realistic view of some basic theological issues. 20. 'Moral teleology' is the title Kant gives his moral proof in Kt7 to show its structural parallel to teleology proper (i.e., physical teleology). Each is teleological insofar as it concerns the purpose or final end that must be posited in order to explain a certain type of experience (viz., of either a moral or a physical end). Beck's criticism of the moral proof on this account [Be60:275] is

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teleology of Kt7 directs our attention provides the only adequate philosophical basis for a belief in the existence of God, and so for a regulative use of the idea of God in theoretical contexts [see Kt 1:664], by supplying not knowledge but 'a conviction of the existence of a supreme being—a conviction which bases itself on moral laws' [660n]. With this foundation, our concept of God 'meets the joint requirements alike of insight into nature and moral wisdom—and no objection of the least substance can be brought against the possibility of such an idea' [Kt7:462]. Having vindicated the existence of God as a legitimate object of belief, we can now conclude by stepping back and briefly assessing the character of Kant's own attitude towards such belief. Even those who are not fooled by the 'myth of appropriation' typically characterize Kant's theology as primarily negative. Thus, Cupitt says Kant has 'a non-cognitive philosophy of religion which leaves the believer to be sus¬ tained in a harsh world by nothing but pure moral faith'.21 But in fact, Kant's theological and religious views are not so 'bleak and austere' as is often assumed. On the contrary, such an assumption, like most misinterpretations of Kant, rests on a failure to understand how the principle of perspective operates in his System. It is true that his practical postulates as such are not much help in facing the harsh realities of human existence, but they are not primarily intended to fulfill such an existential function. Kant offers us instead a variety of other tools to help us cope with reality. We shall see in V.2-4, for instance, that Kant allows for a significant use of analogies and symbolism in constructing models of God's nature. The most significant example, though, concerns Kant's view of God as participating in the moral realm in order to relate on a personal level with human beings—a concern that will come into full view only in XII.2-4. Nevertheless, the foregoing account of Kant's solution to the problem of transcendental theology has, I hope, made abundantly clear that Kant's theology is not merely that of a deist, as is so often assumed [see notes IV.4,22,24], but is the rational framework for a theism that has rarely been appreciated by his in¬ terpreters. This misunderstanding is due in part to the fact that theologians and philosophers of religion often place Kant with those who argue 'that God is

therefore correct, but irrelevant, since this type of teleology is clearly distinguishable from that in systemj proper [cf. Wo70:135]. Figure IV.l expresses this distinction in pictorial form. 21. Cu82:64. Likewise, Goldmann [Go71:201] says Kant believes in '[a] transcendent superhuman God who has only practical and moral reality but who lacks independent moral existence...—a more unreal God could scarcely be imagined.' Such a comment is grossly unfair, however, since Kant never dogmatically proclaims that God has no such independent existence, but only warns that we can never hope to grasp it as an item of empirical knowledge [cf. note IV.9],

IV. Theistic Alternatives to Proving God's Existence

83

utterly unknowable', and that therefore 'theology is a useless effort'.22 The lat¬ ter conclusion does seem to follow naturally from the deistic assumption that God is utterly unknowable, an assumption Kant apparently adopts in his denial of our ability to intuit God or prove God's existence. This interpretation, how¬ ever, reflects a rather limited acquaintance with Kant's writings. Even in the Preface to Kt8 Kant says with no hint of irony that the philosopher and the theologian should see themselves not as rivals, out to destroy each other, but as co-workers, mutual friends, and companions [Kt8:7-10; cf. AV, below]. Kant defines theology as 'the system of our knowledge of the highest be¬ ing'; it 'does not refer to the sum total of all possible knowledge of God, but only to what human reason meets with in God' [Kt26:995(23); cf. Ktl:659]. The 'knowledge of everything in God', which Kant calls 'theologia archetype?, is unattainable for human beings, while 'that part of God which lies in human nature', the knowledge of which he calls 'theologia ectypa', is attainable.23 Within the latter he distinguishes between deism and theism: 'Those who accept only a transcendental theology [i.e., knowledge of God based on the theoretical standpoint] are called deists; those who also admit a natural theology [i.e., knowledge of God based on the practical or judicial standpoints] are called theists' [Ktl:659; s.a. 660-1; Kt26:1001(29-30)]. Kant therefore believes the dis¬ tinction between a theist and a deist concerns not only one's theoretical stand¬ point, but also one's particular (moral and judicial) experiences of the God such theories are intended to describe. Deists, then, are those who, after reflecting logically and/or transcendentally on the concept of God, come up with a posi¬ tive answer to the question of God's existence. Theists are open to these two perspectives, but regard them as only secondary to the more basic use of empir¬ ical and/or hypothetical perspectives in developing a theoretical affirmation of God. Only from the latter two perspectives can God be regarded not just as 'an original being or supreme cause' (as in deism), but also as 'a supreme being who through understanding and freedom is the Author of all things'. Thus, 22

- Ja84:l; cf. 42-3. For instance, Goldmann writes: 'Kant rejected all positive religion' [Go71:194]. Or, as Luik puts it in Lu83:345, 'there is quite literally no Kantian theology, no religious knowledge for Kant.' Luik makes this assertion in the process of rejecting Wiebe's claim that for Kant '"knowledge" of God can be had', though only if it is 'inferred' from 'moral data' [Wi80:531], Although Luik's position would be correct as a description of Kant's theoretical standpoint, it ignores the fact that for Kant the practical and judicial standpoints have primacy [see note 1.17]; for they can each produce (at least in a symbolic sense) a kind of knowledge of their own. Thus, when Kant claims 'all our knowledge of God is merely symbolic', he contrasts his own position with 'Deism', since the latter 'furnishes no knowledge [of God] whatsoever' [Kt7:353]. 23 - Kt26:995(23). In a 1796 essay Kant makes a similar distinction, between Plato's view of 'archetypes (ideas)' as intuitions that originate in 'the Divine understanding' but can be 'named directly' by human beings, and his own belief that 'our intuition of these divine ideas ... is distributed to us but indirectly, as the copies (ectypa)..." [Kt23:391(164-5)].

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Kant asserts 'that the deist believes in a God, the theist in a living God...' P-4 Kant demonstrates in numerous ways that he is, given the above definitions, a thoroughly theistic philosopher. Not the least of the reasons for regarding Kant as a theist is that, as we have seen, he replaces the deist's reliance on the theoretical standpoint with a theology firmly rooted in the practical standpoint. Thus he confesses [Ktl:856]: 'I inevitably believe in the existence of God..., and I am certain that nothing can shake this belief, since my moral principles would thereby be themselves overthrown, and I cannot disdain them without becoming abhorrent in my own eyes.' Ironically, the very criticism of the traditional theoretical arguments for God's existence on which Kant grounds his Critical theology, though it was designed to pave the way for a practical theism, is (as illustrated in Appendix IV) often the basis on which Kant is misinterpreted as being himself a deist! Kant is indeed acutely aware of the problems posed to theological knowl¬ edge by human ignorance: 'Both in theology and in religion, but particularly in theology, we are handicapped by ignorance' [Kt35:(85)]. Sometimes even when we think we have knowledge, Kant tells us, we actually have 'no concept at all' of God [Kt26:996(24)]. As Wood points out, however, this does not make him a deist [Wo70:155,164], for he means by this that 'our concept of God is an idea of reason' [Wo78:79], rather than a concept that arises out of abstraction from appearances. Thus, 'the "minimum" theology it is necessary to have is a belief that God is at least possible' [Wo70:31]. Kant holds that 'we cannot intuit God, but can only believe in him' [Kt35:(99)] and that 'in order to believe in God it is not necessary to know for certain that God exists' [(81)]. He believes the ideas of 'God, freedom, and the immortality of the soul are the problems to whose solution, as their ultimate goal, all the laborious prepara¬ tions of metaphysics are directed' [Kt7:473]. His System, moreover, is intend¬ ed to solve these problems once and for all by developing a theistic philosophy that rejects the false foundations offered by theoretical reason. Hence, in a choice between atheism, deism, anthropomorphism, and theism, Kant unequiv¬ ocally favors theism.25 24. Ktl:660-l. That Kant's own position is theistic is demonstrated in AIV.4. A former student of mine, Patrick Woo Pak Chuen, once pointed out in this connection that part of Kant's reason for regarding the physicotheological argument as superior to the ontological and cosmological arguments is that only the former, with its concept of God as the 'author' or 'architect' of the world, requires God to be alive. This astute observation suggests how wrong Vossenkuhl is to say [Vo88:180]: 'Kant argues as a deist. He does not believe in a personal God who revealed himself to mankind through the scriptures.' Kant's belief in a personal God will be discussed in XII.2, and his belief in revelation, in VIII.3.A. 25. See V.3 (especially Figure V.2) for a further discussion of this distinction. It should be noted, however, that Kant reveals his dissatisfaction with the theoretical implications philosophers often

IV. Theistic Alternatives to Proving God's Existence

85

Because Kant's theology guards against what might be called 'gnostic' errors (such as anthropomorphism) into which dogmatic theologians and philosophers of religion repeatedly fall, he is branded an agnostic. And because his theology likewise takes seriously the objections advanced by the atheist, he is branded a deist. Yet a perspectival interpretation reveals that his response to the problem of transcendental theology is that of neither a deist nor an agnostic, but a theist in a quite profound sense of the word. Ironically, the same scholars who label Kant as a deist or an agnostic sometimes call themselves theists because of their affirmative response to the traditional arguments of speculative theology. Yet for Kant this is not sufficient: no one can claim to be a theist merely on the strength of logical ingenuity, for theism depends on a belief in a God who is manifested as 'a living God' in our immediate experience, whereas the ontological and cosmological arguments portray God 'wholly separate from any experience' [Kt26:1001(30)]. If anyone is a deist, then, it is not Kant, who believes in a God whose existence and true nature are purposefully hidden from us, who leaves us with only enough evidence to make a reasoned step of faith, after which we are able to understand God's nature with sufficient clarity, though only in terms of our finite human perspectives [see V.l-4]; rather it is those who put all their trust in the powers of theoretical reason and toil endlessly and in vain to attain knowledge that is not to be had by us mortals. The religious implications of Kant's theism are not always entirely consistent with orthodox Christianity, as we shall see in Part Three, yet they are also not as inconsistent as is often assumed.26 For, although it is couched in the difficult terminology of a highly complex philosophical System, Kant's theism is not significantly different (in its general intent, at least) from the theism expressed by the writer of 2 Cor. 4:7 when he proclaims that 'the transcendent power [fj vxepfioXri i^g Swa^ecog] belongs to God and not to us'.

impute to theism, by warning in Kt7:395 that even theism 'is absolutely incapable of authorizing us to make any objective assertion.' Along these lines, Paulsen provides a glimpse of the quasimystical side of Kant—a side that will come into full view in Part Four—when he says [Pa02:261]: 'Kant takes sides with theism, or at least with a form of theism that diverges decidedly from anthropomorphism, and approximates to pantheism.' Carus, for instance, claims Kant's philosophy, carrying 'the eggshells of agnosticism on its back' [Ca02:238], leaves the question of God and religion 'in the state in which he had found it', thus 'leaving the problem unsolved' [240]. The present study (especially Part Three) can be regarded as an extended attempt to demonstrate how thoroughly mistaken such an assessment is.

Chapter V Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God ... our knowledge is only a shadow in comparison with the greatness of God, and our powers are far transcended by him. [Ktl8:26]

1. God's Transcendence: Human Reason vs. Divine 'Reason' Kant's view of God's nature is, to a large extent, patterned after his view of human nature. Virtually everything he says about the former has a correlate of one sort or another in the latter. Some interpreters have regarded this fact as evidence that Kant's God is nothing more than a mental construct, a 'philo¬ sophical fiction' that is not meant to have any real existence—a view I refute in AIV.4. Such a position fails to recognize that the correspondence between Kant's views of human and divine nature follows directly from his view that '[h]uman reason is by nature architectonic' [Ktl:502]: everything we think about is inevitably influenced by the same patterning structures that are inextricably embedded in the mind. The correspondences must not be taken to imply that God is nothing but a projection of human nature, any more than the correspondence between the impressions of our senses and the external objects affecting those senses can be properly taken as evidence that the latter are mere projections constructed out of the former [see KSPl:VI.l-4]. From the theoretical standpoint, human nature is characterized primarily by the dual powers of sensible intuition and conceptual understanding, the two 'stems' that come together to form empirical knowledge.1 Since our theoretical standpoint is wholly incapable of conveying, on its own, the least bit of empirical knowledge about God, we should not be surprised that one of Kant's few definite theoretical statements about God's nature is that we must regard God's reasoning capacity as being characterized by exactly the opposite powers. That is, instead of having an understanding that processes concepts, God must be described, quite paradoxically, as having an intuitive understanding [see e.g., Ktl:145]; and instead of having an intuition governed by sensibility, God must be regarded as having the equally paradoxical power of intellectual intuition. Although Kant sometimes calls these powers 'rational' and regards God as the very source of reason itself, all such language is meta¬ phorical, for terms such as 'reason', as Kant points out in Kt26:1053(87) are Ktl:29; s.a. KSP1:VII.2. Walsh [Wa90:49] makes the interesting suggestion that when Kant says these two stems 'perhaps spring from a common, but to us unknown, root', he may be thinking of the divine intellect (see below). Since we have no literal knowledge of the latter, however, Kant is very careful never to claim such an order of connection. Rather, everything we 'know' about God's nature is only derivable by comparison with human nature.

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God 'beneath the dignity of the divine nature.' Mindful of this point (to be expanded in V.2), let us look more closely at these two aspects of divine 'reason'. Intuitive understanding is the power 'in which through self-consciousness all the manifold would eo ipso be given' [Ktl:135]. Rather than having to intuit an object, form a concept on the basis of such intuitions, and synthesize the two in a judgment, an intuitive understanding would be able to create a real object in the very act of thinking about it. As Paton suggests, there would therefore be in the divine understanding 'no difference between thought and action, since its thinking would be essentially creative of reality' [Pa67:101; cf. Ktl:138-9]. In the words of Davidovich [Da93b:130], 'what it decides becomes reality.' Likewise, there would be no difference between intuition and conception, since '[a]n intuitive understanding... would intuit the whole as such' [En29:188], with its intuition being 'at the same time the creation of the object intuited' [A185:27; s.a. Kt7:407-10]. Such an attribution entails that God's theoretical nature is ultimately inscrutable to us, for although we can form a logically possible concept of an 'intuitive understanding', we cannot comprehend its real possibility. Thus, Kant says 'we cannot form the least conception of any other possible understanding [than our own], either of such as is itself intuitive or of any that may possess an underlying mode of sensible intuition which is differ¬ ent in kind from that in space and time.'2 Accordingly, he never attempts to develop this view in detail, since it is really just his way of insuring that we must conceive of God as not being limited by the same conditions of sensible intuition to which human reason is bound. To grasp the full meaning of the paradoxical term 'intuitive understanding' —i.e., to know what it refers to—would require us to possess the power Kant calls 'intellectual intuition'. The latter refers to an intuition rooted not in the transcendental object, represented to us in the form of appearances (as is the case with ordinary human knowing [see KSP1:VI.2 and VII.2.A]), but in a purely intelligible thing that cannot be represented at all as a sensible object. Kant insists that God 'can never be an object of intuition to us' [Ktl:71]; for 'such intellectual intuition seems to belong solely to the primordial being, and can never be ascribed to a dependent being' [72]. To do,so, it would have to 2. Ktl:139; s.a. Kt69:267; Go89:163-4. As Paulsen suggests in PaO2:151-2, mathematics is the closest thing we have to God's way of knowing: '[God] determines reality by his thought.... In mathematics, the human understanding also by its own self-activity creates the objects of its knowledge; hence... there is no unknowable element left over, no distinction between appearance and thing-in-itself.... The divine intellect... bears the same relation to things that the human does to geometrical triangles and circles.' This is one of the reasons I believe geometrical figures are so useful in clarifying reason's architectonic structure: they provide human reason with the closest possible access to the kind of 'reason' employed by the ultimate 'architect' [cf. note IV.24].

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'give us the existence of its object' in the act of intuition itself [72]—a charac¬ teristic of the object that for human subjects is always provided by the givenness of the unknowable thing in itself (or the undetermined transcendental object). An intellectual intuition of, for instance, one's own self, would provide immediate knowledge of the self, rather than merely sensations of the state of one's self as an appearance in space and time [158-9; cf. 309]. One of the implications of this theory is that we must regard God as being outside the limits of space and time. When Kant says that 'in God no temporal sequence is thinkable' [Kt8:50n(45n)], he is not trying to place limits on God, but is merely accentuating the fact that, when human beings form the concept of God, we must do so by negating the limits of our own rational capacity. By setting up space and time as transcendental conditions for all human knowl¬ edge, the Aesthetic section of Ktl, as Paulsen puts it [Pa02:160], protects 'the conceivability of the objects of theology and pneumatology against the demand for their constructability in space and time.' (Paulsen's reference to 'pneuma¬ tology' accurately reflects the deep concern Kant had with spirits [see II. 1-4] and rightly suggests that his development of a Critical theology will parallel his treatment of that issue in Ktl8.) This is why, as we shall see in V.2, all our language about God must be regarded as symbolic. Another implication is that God must experience truth in a way that is rad¬ ically different from the way we come to know truth. As Hart suggests [Ha90b: 241]: 'Things are not true [for God] because the divine mind corresponds to them, but they are true because they are generated products of the divine mind.' In attempting to explain the epistemological status of divine knowing, Hart advances the following view: 'For Kant's God, the knowledge of the world cannot be a posteriori, because this would tie the divine to sensibility' [245]. Likewise, God's knowledge cannot be merely logical (analytic a priori). "Thus presumably for Kant's God there is no distinction between the a priori and the a posteriori.' But this amounts to little more than giving up any attempt to classify. In one sense, this may be the wisest approach. An option Hart does not consider, however, is that divine knowing could have an analytic a posteri¬ ori status. In that case, we could regard our own access to the analytic a posteriori—e.g., the power of language in general and naming in particular [see Pa87d], as well as the power of moral insight [KSP1:IV.3]—as an 'image' or 'spark' of God's creative intellect in us. We would need intellectual intuition to have knowledge of a positive noumenon[Ktl:307];butas we saw in KSP1:VI.3, Kant regards this as impossible for us: 'such a type of intuition, intellectual intuition, forms no part whatsoever of our faculty of knowledge' [Ktl:308]. This does not mean that Kant regards

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God such intuition as wholly impossible for humans, as is generally assumed. For the mistake Kant is warning against is not believing we possess something like intellectual intuition, but interpreting that mysterious human power as a function of the theoretical standpoint. Thus, Kant's description of the human will reveals that the true form of this power is manifested only from the practical standpoint: 'The faculty of desire is the faculty such a [living] being has of causing, through its ideas, the reality of the objects of these ideas' [Kt4:9n]. Based on this definition, so similar as it is to that of intellectual intuition, Kant proceeds to replace the illegitimate theoretical power of intellectual intuition with the legitimate practical power of human freedom, which he believes can adequately fulfill all the functions often wrongly attributed to the former.3 Intellectual intuition really amounts to the same thing as intuitive under¬ standing, only viewed from different perspectives: both refer to 'an understand¬ ing which should know its object, not discursively through the categories [nor intuitively through space and time], but intuitively in a non-sensible intuition' [Ktl:311-2]. Viewed from the logical perspective, it is called 'intuitive under¬ standing' ; viewed from the transcendental perspective, it is called 'intellectual intuition'. In both cases Kant presents such descriptions of God as nothing more than a regulative hypothesis suggesting how we might conceive of a being whose nature transcends our own and of which 'we cannot in the least represent to ourselves the [real] possibility' [311]—a being whose faculties of intuition and conception are not distinct, mutually-restrictive faculties, but are combined in a single faculty that creates whatever it thinks and thinks whatever it creates.4 Kant describes God along these lines as early as Ktl 1:219: 'God does not require the process of reasoning because, since all things are crystal clear to his gaze, one act of representation puts before his intelligence which things are identical and which are not, and he has no need of analysis as the darkened night of our intelligence necessarily has.' 3. One of the leading contemporary Chinese interpreters of Kant, Mou Tsung-san, uses Kant's rejection of intellectual intuition as one of the key points in his attempt to demonstrate how the Confucian philosophical tradition can complement and complete the inadequacies of the Western (i.e., Kantian) philosophical tradition. He claims Kant was wrong to reject intellectual intuition, and takes Confucius' concept of 'li' (a rational principle of insight into proper action) as proof enough that intellectual intuition is a real human power. Though Mou's views have generated quite a following in Chinese circles, they are based on an unfortunate misreading of Kant's theory. For not only does Confucius never defend what Kant means by 'intellectual intuition' (i.e., a way of gaining theoretical knowledge merely by thinking), but Kant's own theory of practical reason and its freedom of volition serve virtually the same function as Confucius' 'li'. Confucius and Kant are closer than Mou wishes to admit, a fact that does not bode well for his overall project of showing the superiority of Confucius over Kant. For a fuller discussion of Mou's view of Kant, see Pa95a. 4- Along these lines Hicks says God's intellectual intuition has 'no separation of perception and conception' [Hi74:383]; it is 'an absolute subjective spontaneity of intellect, indeterminate in itself and the source of all determination.' S.a. Kr56:81-3.

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Some commentators regard this theory of intuitive understanding, or intel¬ lectual intuition, as 'Kant's conception of God in its profoundest form' [Gr34: xlix; s.a. Hi74:383]. But it actually just skims the surface of his theology. For Kant himself regarded this basic attribute, the radical transcendence of God's nature, not as the culmination of all theological knowledge, but as its starting point: it creates the primary theoretical problem for theology—our ignorance of God's existence [see IV.1]—a problem to be solved only gradually as Kant weaves his theological guiding-thread through his entire System. A related question is: how are we to carry on any theological pursuits if God's nature is fundamentally paradoxical? The bulk of this chapter will be devoted to expounding Kant's answer to this question, and in so doing, the theoretical depths of his rich concept of God will begin to unfold before our eyes. 2. Philosophical Theology and the Symbolic Immanence of God Kant limits the scope of his theological reflection to 'philosophical' or 'rational' as opposed to 'revealed' theology. He never denies the legitimacy of the latter, but regards it as lying outside the boundaries of the Critical philoso¬ pher's proper field of inquiry.5 The former, by contrast, is intimately connected with each major division of Kant's System. Rational theology is a philosophical investigation of how extensively we can see God manifested logically in sys¬ tem^ hypothetically in systemp, and empirically in system^ We must be care¬ ful, therefore, not to treat Kant's theological conclusions as if they apply equally to revealed as to rational theology. To do so would be to commit a category mistake, for it would require us to neglect Kant's careful distinction between the Perspectives of the philosophical theologian and the biblical theologian.6 Clearly, Kant saw philosophy and theology as complementary pursuits, with the former preparing the way for the latter. But what about the relationship between these disciplines and religion? Religion on its own, Kant holds, 'stands in no need of any speculative study of God' [Kt35:(82)]: 'Speculation concerning God ... does not appertain to the sphere of religion, for religion must be practical. Theology, indeed, can contain speculative elements, but to 5. Cf. Figs. VI.2 and VIII. 1. We shall examine the philosophical basis for believing in a given body of revealed Scripture in VIH.3.A. Here we should note that the faith needed to justify one's initial acceptance of a given canon as God's unique revelation is in certain respects comparable to the faith in the thing in itself that is needed to enter Kant's theoretical system [see KSPl:V.l-4]. 6. Cf. VIII. 1 and IX. 1, below, and KSP1:II.4. Ultimately, Kant wants his philosophy of religion to be universally applicable, so he tends to avoid taking a stand on theological doctrines and positions that are specific to one tradition. The value of much of his Critical theology cannot be properly assessed unless this is kept constantly in mind. Yet when it comes to his appraisal of overall religious traditions, as we shall see in Chapter VIII, Kant leaves no doubt that he believes Christianity to be superior to other religious faiths.

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God religion these must remain foreign' [(93)]. (Kant's 'criterion', incidentally, for judging 'whether a particular question is religious or speculative' is: 'if, what¬ ever the answer, it will make no difference to our actions, the question is not religious but speculative' [(93-4)].) The proper task of theology is 'a practical one' [Kt26:996(24)]: 'it should not make us more learned, but better, wiser, and more upright.' For the only reason it has any 'speculative interest' at all is 'that our reason always needs a highest in order to measure and determine the less high according to it.' When it is properly pursued, therefore, theology be¬ comes 'a motive for ethics'—although this does not mean 'the principle of ethical determination [i.e., the moral law] is theological', for 'it cannot be that' [Kt35:(39)]. 'We need theology', Kant concludes, 'solely on behalf of religion, that is to say, our practical or, in other words, moral standpoint, and need it as a subjective requirement' [Kt7:482]. So theology for Kant depends on philoso¬ phy for its theoretical justification and on religion for its practical justification.7 This view of the relationship between philosophy, theology, and religion does not serve as a constitutive element for any of the systems in Kant's Critical philosophy. Nevertheless, understanding his general assumptions on these matters will help us comprehend the religious and theological implications he believes ought to be drawn from his System. Thus our main focus here in Part Two is on the philosophical or 'speculative' (i.e., theoretical) foundation for theological reflection laid by Kant's System. Despite his negative assess¬ ment of the traditional arguments for God's existence [see IV.l and AIV.l], we saw in IV.2-3 that his overall aim is positive: to provide reasons for believing without establishing any knowledge of God's existence. The proposition 'there is a God', Kant tells us at the very outset of his ear¬ liest excursion into theology, is 'the most important of all our cognitions' [Ktl5:65(219)]. He goes on to explain that 'the natural human understanding' does not depend in any way on metaphysical arguments for its 'insights' into God, but instead 'conduces] us directly to the true and useful, so far as we stand in the utmost need of them.' This respect for the common understanding over against the 'false art' of philosophical speculation is an attitude that re¬ mained with Kant throughout his life,8 though this continuity is often over'• See VI. 1. Since theology therefore forms a link between philosophy and religion, it is not surprising that those who think Kant has no positive theology also tend to misunderstand the relationship between his philosophy and his views on religion. But as Despland says in De73:339, 'it is not wise to divorce Kant's philosophy from his religion, as many of the neo-Kantians did.' This is true not only because doing so wreaks havoc with Kant's view of religion, but also because it makes it impossible to appreciate how religious experience, as we shall see in Part Four, forms the consummation of Kant's entire System of Perspectives. o. See e.g., Ktl:859. In comparing Kant's theology in Ktl with that in his early works, Schmucker argues in Sc72:495-50O 'that the fundamental theses of Kant's specific critique of transcendental

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looked by those who limit their attention to his more mature criticism of rational theology. Such neglect inevitably results in a misunderstanding of Kant's reasons for taking such an apparently negative theological stance. Kant found it necessary, before he could say anything affirmative about our theoretical understanding of God, to destroy once and for all what he re¬ garded as dangerously misleading illusions about how far human beings can go in establishing conclusions about God's existence. If God is to remain God (i.e., if our idea of God is to be appropriate and meaningful), we must regard the question of God's existence, at least when viewed from a theoretical standpoint, as essentially a transcendent uncertainty. To bring our concept of God down to the level of potentially conclusive theoretical arguments is to reduce God to an object of categorial thought, to regard God as an appearance among other appearances, and in the long run, as a potential object of scientific observation. Kant's belief in a legitimate regulative use of the concept of God as an idea of reason [see IV.2] takes the place of past philosophers' tendency to portray this concept as a potentially constitutive item of theoretical knowledge. This regulative use of the idea of God sets the stage for what Kant regards as the only legitimate way of understanding God's immanence? for it requires our language about God always to be interpreted symbolically. A 'symbol', Kant explains, expresses a concept 'without employing a direct intuition for the purpose, but only drawing upon an analogy with one'.10 Such symbolic theology go back partly even to... 1755, partly at least to [the mid-1760s]... and therefore must be considered, in their substance, as ... independent of the principles of Transcendental Analytic and Aesthetic' Treash gives a good explanation in Tr79:23-7 of the similarities and differences be¬ tween the theological positions Kant defends in Ktl5 and in Ktl. He concludes that, 'although [Ktl5's] positive conception of God as the ground of all possibility is preserved [in Ktl], the dogmatic [i.e., ontological, as opposed to transcendental] foundation upon which that conclusion rests is rejected.' The details of Kant's 'possibility proof are discussed in AIV.l. Although it is proper to see a fundamental consistency in Kant's religious and theological outlook throughout most of his writings (a consistency I assume throughout this volume), this must not be taken as a reason for regarding such views as essentially unrelated to the rest of his philosophical System. On the contrary, as the present study demonstrates, Kant constructed his System partly in order to provide a philosophical structure for clarifying and defending those very (lifelong) beliefs. 9. Greene claims in Gr34:lxvi-lxvii that, throughout 'the productive years of his life' (i.e., prior to working on Kt9), Kant 'had always looked upon the idea of divine immanence with profound dis¬ trust.' This can hardly be substantiated by a careful look at the evidence [see X.2-3]. That Kant was critical of casual claims to have experienced God is indisputable; but this does not mean he saw no use whatsoever for the notion of an immanent God. If my interpretation in this chapter is correct, then Kant's tendency in Kt9 to acknowledge 'only a God in me, around me, over me' [21.145] need not be regarded as a radical reversal or a surprising change of mind, so much as an attempt to make explicit what was implicit in his System from the beginning. 10. Kt7:352. Morrison rightly points out [Mo94:108] that Kant's symbolic interpretation of Christian doctrines and practices in Kt8 can be regarded as 'a precursor of Paul Tillich's method of theological symbolization.' McCarthy also recognizes the importance of symbols for Kant [Mc82: 198], especially when interpreting the Bible [200]; but his worry that Kant's 'agnostic drift' at

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God

93

analogies can provide, as he notes in Kt2:358n, 'a notion of the relation of things which absolutely are unknown to me.' To illustrate this, Kant cites the 'perfect similarity' between God's love for humanity and the love of parents for their children [358; s.a. Lo81:305]. As Gulick [Gu94:106] puts it, 'we crave sensible representations for each Idea, such as the Idea of God.' The idea's transcendent nature demands that we regard such representations as 'symbols related to the Idea through analogy.... The symbol represents what the Idea is for us, not what it is in itself.' Calling such representations 'regulative' does not decrease their value, but heightens it; for '[i]deas ... guide our life. They organize our thought' [106-7]. In Kt8:65n(58n) Kant treats the use of analogy in symbolic language as a form of schematism: 'we must always resort to some analogy to natural existences to render supersensible qualities intelligible to ourselves.... Such is the schematism of analogy, with which (as a means of explanation) we cannot dispense.'11 In Kt69: 279-80 he compares 'schematism', requiring a direct con¬ nection between intuition and concept, with 'symbolization', requiring an indirect connection. He says, 'although I can have no properly theoretical cognition of the nonsensible, e.g. God, I can have knowledge by analogy and, to be sure, knowledge that it is necessary for reason to think.' That the latter might refer to the categories is suggested by Ess and Gulick when they call the categories 'analogical equivocals' [Es94:94]. Likewise, Kt4 and Kt7 are tied together by 'the notion of beauty as an analogical symbol of the good'. times 'seems ready to dissolve God into a symbol' [Mc86:217] is unfounded, once we recognize that Kant does not intend his theological symbols to 'dissolve' anything (except perhaps religious illusions), but to empower practical reason by showing it's genuine symbolic home in religion. Along these lines, Galbraith applies Jaspers' term, 'ciphers of transcendence' [Ga96:7], to Kant's practice of 'referring] to God only in ways which do not bring God down to the human level' In defense of the analogous or metaphorical character of such attempts to speak about God, Copleston says, in a thoroughly Kantian tone, that a 'recognition of the fact that in being used to refer to and speak of God our language undergoes strains and stresses can serve to remind us that it is God of whom we are speaking, a God whom we can represent with the aid of analogies but who cannot be taken by storm and imprisoned within the web of our concepts' [Co74:66]. 11. S.a. Ktl:222-4,692-4,725-9; Kt2:357-6O; Ktl8:339; AA18:439,503; Co67:186n. In Es94:93 Ess and Gulick list eight past treatments of Kant's understanding of analogy. They argue [91] 'that Kant artfully used the notion of analogy to avoid inconsistency both in speaking about things in themselves and the transcendental Idea of God.' This is possible because the use of analogy is essentially perspectival: it involves 'a complex sort of meaning which allows the same term to function in different ways when referring to different domains of entities.' Later [94] they add: 'One must use analogy to interpret events at one level in terms appropriate to another level.' Pelegrinis discusses the 'logic of analogy' in relation to both Kant and Wittgenstein [Pe80: 151-60]. Although his interest is not in Kant's theology, but in the analogical character of the categorical imperative, his view helps explain how we can use theological analogies even though we are unable to prove God's existence. In Pe80:162 he says 'in using an analogy in philosophy what we are required to do is not to give information or proof of the existence of something to which we apply the analogy, but to give the rule or rules in accordance with which we use the term to which we apply the analogy.'

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'

As applied to our idea of God, Kant's view [Es94:96] is that

?

we think of the object of the theological idea... as an analogon of a real thing... Kant implies that we think in the Idea only the relation (Verhdltnis) between God and appearances, as analogous to the relation (Verhdltnis) between cause and effect ... Analogy used in this way... [is] a qualitative equality between relations...

Ess and Gulick continue [97]: using 'analogy in the form of a proportion ... allows for predicating the categories of objects of the transcendental Ideas without thereby violating Kant's original restriction of the categories to objects presented in sensible intuition.' For here 'we are encouraged to think and act as if God exists.' A genuine misuse of the categories would conclude that we know God exists. This 'focus on relation in analogy makes analogy ... crucial to the architectonic intentions and unity of the Kantian system.' What this boils down to is that the talk of analogy is one manifestation of Kant's principle of perspective. As usual in Kant-studies, 'the interpreters' allegations of inconsis¬ tency ... stem from a collective failure to recognize Kant's use of analogy and analogical proportion' [98]—or at least, to recognize it as an application of the principle of perspective. Kant's most positive contribution to rational theology thus consists, as we shall see in the remainder of this chapter, in his construction of various rational, analogical models for God's nature. Concerning these Kant reminds us that all our knowledge of God is merely symbolic; and one who takes it, with the prop¬ erties of understanding, will, and so forth, which only evidence their objective real¬ ity in beings of this world, to be schematic, falls into anthropomorphism, just as, if he abandons every intuitive element, he falls into Deism which furnishes no knowledge whatsoever—not even from a practical standpoint. [Kt7:353]

His theistic alternative is that 'a knowledge of God and His existence, that is to say a theology, is possible by means of attributes and determinations of this causality merely conceived in Him according to analogy, and this knowledge has all requisite reality from a practical standpoint' [484-5; cf. Ktl7:297(282)]. By 1766 Kant already believed 'it is incumbent upon man to judge of the divine will only from the harmony which he actually perceives in the world, or which, by the rule of analogy, according to the order of nature, he may sup¬ pose to be in it' [Ktl8:337(67)]. Two years earlier Kant had claimed in Ktl7:297(282): 'In all cases where an analogy to contingency is not present, metaphysical knowledge of God can be very certain.' As examples he cites God's relation to space and time: 'God is... in no place, but He is present to all things in all places where they are. Similarly,... with respect to Him nothing is future or past.' Kant warns, however, that our judgments regarding God's ways, i.e., God's actions towards us human beings, 'can have either certainty

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature dfGod only by approximation or certainty which is moral.' ' ; •= r Kant's special brand of theism can be called a 'symbolic-regulative anthro¬ pomorphism', in contrast to the usual, 'dogmatic-constitutive anthropomor¬ phism' of conventional theism.12 Although the former should always point to some practical (moral) meaning, Kant admits: 'Anthropomorphism ... in the theoretical representation of God and His being ... [is] harmless enough (as long as it does not influence concepts of duty)' [Kt8:168(156)]. Here, as Despland points out, 'Kant's dissent from deism' is especially apparent [De73: 151]: his 'radical discovery of man as a symbol-using animal' marks 'a major breakthrough in philosophy of religion' [155], for symbols serve as the 'unifying concept' of the various aspects of his philosophy of religion [260; s.a. 150-1]—a view we will have occasion to elaborate and confirm time and again throughout the remainder of this book [s.e. Part Three]. Thus, even though religious symbols must always have a moral element for Kant, Loades is quite right to say Kant's 'symbolic anthropomorphism... was expressed in terms... of hope' [Lo81:307]. Many theologians think of Kant's theology first and foremost, if not exclusively, in terms of his criticism of the three traditional arguments for the existence of God. Since his arguments are relatively clear and have been thor¬ oughly described by all too many scholars, my detailed account of Kant's posi¬ tion is relegated to AIV.l, where his claims are shown in each case to be based on perspectival reasoning. Downplaying this most famous aspect of his doctrine of God allows us to highlight the less known, but for Kant far more elemental, aspects of his position. Chapter IVs scrutiny of Kant's reasons for affirming the existence of a living God prepared the way for our initial look at the nature of God's mysterious 'reasoning' power in V.I. Our recognition here in V.2 of the thoroughly symbolic nature of philosophical theology has now prepared the way for a more detailed account of the architectonic structure of Kant's conception of God's attributes. Only by attending in this way to his thoroughly systematic treatment of the concept of God can the richness and depth of Kant's symbolic theology be adequately evinced.

12. Co67:120; cf. Fig. V.2, below; s.a. Ktl:668-9,725,728; Kt2:356-60; AA18:439,503; Kt26:1089 (128-9). Collins elaborates [Co67:120-1]: 'Even though we cannot directly apprehend God in His own nature, we can still study the relational presence of God in man's moral life and the experienced world.... Kant asks us to acknowledge symbolic anthropomorphism, not as our dire fate but as the fitting expression of our human situation in reality, whenever we engage in the search for God.' As such, 'anthropomorphism' describes 'how man carries on his ordinary reflections concerning God and achieves practical relationships with Him.' Collins adds [125]: 'The Kantian way of analogy is ... a distinctive religious searching out of the order of nature and human experience for the meanings which manifest God's free, purposive mind and personal agency.'

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3. Reason's Theological Need: Architectonic Perspectives on the Perspectiveless Ground of Being Why should we even bother forming the concept of God, if in the end we have to admit that our conceptions are merely symbolic? The key to answering this question lies in what Kant calls the 'need of reason' [see note IV.5]. As we saw in IV.2, we must hypothetically posit 'a self-subsistent, original, creative reason' as the 'single, highest and all-sufficient ground' of 'the sum of all appearances', because we need some such creative and unifying force to 'guide our reason's empirical perspective in securing its greatest possible extension' [Ktl:700-l, alt.]. This need is not a mere psychological weakness, but a logical force compelling us to establish architectonic connections between the other¬ wise chaotic aggregate of our empirical knowledge. In order to reach the point of highest unity, reason needs to exhibit a self-creative power, and it does this by imposing predetermined logical patterns onto the raw material presented to it. Reason's need is further intensified in systemp, where it must postulate God and immortality in order to explain how the highest good is possible. And as Michalson tantalizingly suggests, the 'need of reason' is ultimately 'an aesthetic ... ideal' [Mi79:180]. By this he means reason's greatest need is to see human life as ultimately meaningful.13 The fact that each of Kant's Critical standpoints directs us to a need of reason suggests that an essential task of Kantian critique may be the discovery of what reason does and does not need. Kant hints at this as early as 1766, when he distinguishes in Ktl8:369(115) between the scientist (the voice of knowledge by means of understanding) who exclaims 'How many things there are which I do not understand!' and the philosopher (the voice of wisdom by means of reason) who exclaims 'How many things there are which I do not need!' Along these lines, Despland aptly conveys this essential characteristic of 13. See Mi79:162. Kuehn likewise observes that Kant calls something a 'need of reason' in order to establish that it 'can be meaningful even if it is impossible to point to anything in experience which corresponds to it' [Ku85:166]—though Kuehn unfortunately thinks such needs are purely conceptual in nature. For further comments on his interpretation, see note IV.15. The grounding of reason in the judicial standpoint is also suggested by Kant's practice of calling reason an 'organ' [e.g., Ktl:xxxvi]. Organisms, phenomena that exhibit a natural purpose and a self-creative power, are one of the main topics of Kt7 [see KSP1:IX.3.A]. This confirms Despland's point [De73:65], that the needs of reason are not 'psychological incentives' that 'may be needed by weak and pathologically affected men; [they are] part and parcel of the moral condition of responsible men.' Thus Kant calls the practical postulates 'an absolutely necessary need' [Kt4:143]. As we shall see in Part Three, the need of reason that provides ultimate meaning for the judicial standpoint (and so corresponds to the three regulative ideas hypothesized by the theoretical standpoint and the two postulates posited by the practical standpoint) is for an historical faith to fill in the gaps left by a purely rational religion. Accordingly, Kant explicitly states in Kt65:9 [s.a. Kt8:192(180)] that 'revelation is useful in making up the theoretical deficiency which our pure rational belief admits it has ... and helps ... to satisfy a rational need.'

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God Kantian reason when, in commenting on Kt20, he says [De73:35]: 'Reasons themselves are in conflict with each other. Reason is not science. It is a need. It is lack of knowledge passionately fighting for knowledge. (The traditional opposition faith-reason is undercut.)' In light of our discussion in KSPl:V.l-4 of the role of faith in justifying the transcendent starting-point of Kant's entire System, we can take this one step further and say that for Kant reason's highest need (and thus in a sense, reason itself) is faith!14 As demonstrated in KSP1:IV.3, both the hypothetical perspective and the practical standpoint (when viewed theoretically) are best described as having the status of analytic a posteriori belief. In AIV.l, below, the same status is accorded to Kant's so-called 'possibility proof, which as we shall see, forms the basis for Kant's conception of God's nature. To this we can now add that when Kant appeals to reason's need(s) he is also using a form of argument that is both analytic and yet a posteriori. It is analytic because it arises through a purely logical process of reasoning; it is a posteriori because it directs us, as we shall see, to something intimately bound up with our immediate experience— though not in such a way as to produce knowledge, as in synthetic forms of a posteriority. Kant's failure to provide us with a technical term that accurately conveys this paradoxical status may be largely responsible for the tendency interpreters have had to regard his refutations of the traditional arguments as implying that his rational theology is entirely negative and 'deistic', empty of anything that would offer support to a living faith. This groundless charge is refuted in AIV.4. The remainder of this chapter will further confirm the conclusions drawn there: we shall ponder several of Kant's positive suggestions as to how human beings can and do conceive of God's nature, even though God's existence is in and of itself unknowable. This section will focus mainly on God's theoretical attributes and how they relate to certain basic theological types. This will prepare us to look more closely in V.4 at God's moral nature. England [En29:183] claims that 'Kant did not so much as make the attempt 14. I regard this as the essence of Kant's contribution to the age-old theological controversy over the relationship between faith and reason. In Wo70:251-4 Wood says Kant's contribution to this perennial debate was to forge a middle path between the speculative and 'irrationalist' approaches. He assesses Kant's philosophy as being truly compatible 'with the genuine and valid conception of man's condition which biblical faith contains' [252]. Wood concludes [254] that 'critical selfknowledge reveals not only that faith and reason are compatible with each other, but that for a being both finite and rational, faith and reason require each other.' As Kant himself puts it in Kt8: 10(9), 'a religion which rashly declares war on reason will not be able to hold out in the long run against it.' This is precisely because genuine faith is ultimately one with reason! Akhutin [Ak91: 74] affirms that 'faith makes reason itself reasonable, and believing reason gives meaning to, and makes rational and whole, all of a person's life.' Through faith, reason 'restores its chastity.'

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to fashion an adequate conception of the intelligent originator of nature.' Likewise, Odero [Od91:267] reads Kant as saying 'we do not know what God is.' Yet, as we have seen and shall see, Kant has plenty to offer to the theologian in the way of tools to cope with the realities of human ignorance. Once we believe that God exists, architectonic reason gives us clear guidelines as to how our concept of God is to be formed [see e.g., Es94:90-l]. These Kant presents in the form of symbolic models of God's nature which, far from being entirely negative and empty, offer a balanced and realistic way of responding to some long-standing theological issues.15 These models, though rarely appreciated by commentators—perhaps because of their dependence on architectonic patterns—constitute an important aspect of Kant's systematic understanding of our theoretical conception of God's nature. Together with Kant's 'symbolic understanding of Christian materials' in Kt8, they enable Kant 'to make a genuine advance beyond the deists' [Mc86:69; s.a. AIV.4]. Kant's dissatisfaction with traditional models of God's nature is evident in Kt7:392-5, where he criticizes the four ways of systematically explaining the existence of finality in nature. As usual, he categorizes the possibilities in terms of a 2LAR: philosophers posit either 'a living God' (theism), 'a lifeless matter' theism (++) (God, living)

hylozoism (-+) (matter, living) .

materialism (--) (matter, lifeless)

/ deism (+-) (God, lifeless)

Figure V.I: Possible Sources of Physical Ends 15. Hicks' assessment, that Kant's architectonic descriptions of God's nature are 'a quite traditional theistic conception of God ... as a determinate being' [Hi74:382-3, e.a.], fails to appreciate the radically symbolic nature all such positive accounts have for Kant. The same can be said for Wood's claim in Wo92:398 that 'Kant's conception of God belongs squarely in the scholastic-rationalist tradition. God is the supremely perfect being, extra-mundane, immutable, timelessly eternal. He is also living, knowing, and willing: omniscient, omnipotent, supremely holy, just, and beneficent.' While passages can be found wherein Kant ascribes these attributes to God, his interpretation of what such attribution entails is highly original.

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God (materialism), 'a lifeless God' (deism), or 'a living matter' (hylozoism) [392, 392n]. As shown in Figure V. 1, he groups these in pairs under a 1LAR between 'idealism' and 'realism' of physical ends, so they can be arranged (according to the model of the cross established in KSP1:III.3 [see Fig.III.l, above]). The two subordinate lLARs that give rise to this 2LAR are first, a distinction between God (+) and the material world (-), and second, a distinction between living (+) and lifeless (-) conceptions of God/matter. Because the speculative perspective in systemt is unable 'to demonstrate the existence of a supreme being' [Ktl:667], there can be no theoretical knowl¬ edge that theism is true. But this should not be taken to imply that 'the concept of "God" has no theoretical application.'16 For as we have seen, a hypothetical application of purely logical distinctions can be 'of very great value in correcting any knowledge of this being which may be derived from other sources [e.g., natural, moral, or revealed theology], in making it consistent with itself and with every intelligible perspective' [667-8]. So even though Kant's criticism of the traditional arguments appears at first to have wholly negative implications for theists, Kant stresses that it also has the beneficial effect of guarding against 'all counter-assertions [to theism], whether atheistic, deistic, or anthropomorphic' theism (++) (God, living)

atheism (--) (no God> u f e l e s s )

anthropomorphism (-+) (no God, living) "

4* deism (+-) (God, lifeless)

Figure V.2: Four Basic Types of Theological Disposition Da93b:46. Davidovich defends her view as follows [47]: '"God" is merely the object of a regulative idea. The claim "God exists"... has nothing to do with the way the world is.' But Kant would never express his position in such a skeptical way. First, as we saw in IV.2-4, Kant does not justify belief in God's existence solely by appealing to regulative ideas; moral and especially judicial reasons for belief are closely related to 'the way the world is.' Second, the idea of God is irrelevant only to our knowledge of the world; Kant is careful to allow that the world may be the way it is because of a hidden influence God has on it. (This is depicted by the vertical line in Figure V.3.) Davidovich replaces Kant's humble Critical Perspective with a proud claim to negative knowledge.

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[668-9]. Here, as elsewhere [e.g., Kt2:356-7], Kant is thinking in terms of a similar 2LAR between four basic types of theological disposition. If we compare this map with that in Figure V.I, we can see an obvious correlation between materialism and atheism and between hylozoism and anthropo¬ morphism. Just as the materialist believes there is no life in matter, the atheist believes there is no God in reality. And just as hylozoism views matter as a living organism, anthropomorphism views God as existing in a human (hence, in a 'no God') form. With this alteration (replacing the notion of material ends in Figure V.I with that of religious belief), the best way of grouping these terms into two pairs is to distinguish between religious (+) and nonreligious (-) ways of believing in God. Kant accounts for the different views of God defended by different philosophers as a direct result of the fact that 'each considered the world from a different perspective' [Kt26:1008(37)]. Of these four types of religious belief, Kant favors theism [see AIV.4 and note IV.24]. But he reveals his dissatis¬ faction with the theoretical implications philosophers and theologians often impute to theism, by warning that even theism 'is absolutely incapable of authorizing us to make any objective assertion.'17 The correspondence between Figures V.I and III.4 suggests that none of these four views should enjoy a claim to absolute validity; each refers to a theory that results from emphasizing one perspective to the exclusion of the others. As we saw in more detail in IV.2, Kant defends the idea of God, when viewed as a regulative principle, as being philosophically useful even though it is empirically unattainable [see Ktl:643-4]. Aside from emphasizing that the regulative use of ideas is not empirical but hypothetical [cf. KSP1:VII.3.B], this also has clear implications for what form our conception of God should actually take. First of all it implies that, since 'we can never reach ['the greatest possible unity among appearances'] within this world,... we must regard the absolutely necessary being as being outside the world' [645]. But it is not im¬ mediately apparent just what type of transcendence Kant is thinking of here, or how it differs from that of the ideal (i.e., God as hypostatized object), or of the thing in itself. So let us look briefly at the relationships between these notions. 17. Kt7:395. Ig81:759-60 expresses Kant's position as follows: 'If the irreducible is matter [= the transcendental perspective] it lands us in materialism, if it is the psyche [= the empirical perspec¬ tive] it means psychologism, if it is Theos' [= the speculative perspective] it means Platonic idealism, if it is logic [= the logical perspective] it means panlogicism. But Kant rejects all these extremes and never attempts to account for the ultimate unity behind everything...'. 'Never' is a bit too strong, however, unless 'accounts for' is taken to mean 'develops a theoretically constitutive proof of. For Kant is not only committed to a belief in such an underlying unity [see IV.4], but also has some forceful suggestions as to how we might conceive of it.

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God The thing in itself transcends all our perspectives; it is perspectiveless and passive [see Fig. III.5]. Likewise, Kant says God's wisdom is 'independent of all perspectives'.18 Despite this similarity, the thing in itself and the idea of God play significantly different roles in Kant's System. Recall the two versions of systemt discussed in KSP 1:235-45. In the speculative version the thing in itself is the inner 'ground' of all our experience, while God, as an ideal object, is the 'ultimate reality' that transcends the limited sphere of human reality. In the proper, hypothetical version of systemt [see Fig. III.6], by contrast, the situation is just the reverse: the thing in itself is now transcendent in the sense that it fills the 'space' outside the 'circle' of our possible knowledge, while God, regarded now as an idea of reason, is transcendent in the sense of pointing beyond systemt towards the inward ground of immediate experience. Perhaps the best alternative would be to regard God in a more radical sense, as transcending the whole 'plane' of our world—i.e., as standing out¬ side both the thing in itself and our subject-object world of perspectival knowl¬ edge. According to this notion, God transcends the very distinction between transcendence and immanence. The characterization of God as the 'Ground of Being' is best interpreted within this context. God is not the Ground of Being only in the sense that the thing in itself is the transcendent ground of the transcendental object and its appearance, nor only in the sense that the idea points towards the immanent ground of immediate experience; rather, as Source of both transcendence and immanence, the 'Ground' of this world must 18. Ktl5:126n(31On). Hicks' reminder, that 'sensory experience is ever incomplete and perspectival' [Hi74:382], points directly to God's perspectiveless, or perhaps omni-perspectival, nature. This difference between human and divine reasoning is probably the key factor giving rise to our inability to construct an adequate theology without paradox. Unfortunately, Hicks himself does not seem to appreciate this fact. Instead, he claims the view of God as having intellectual intuition 'is incongruous with Kant's conceptions of God as... Ens Realissimum', because the latter refers to a being with the highest degree of determination, whereas the former concept is wholly indetermi¬ nate. Yet this is a paradox that ought to be expected by anyone in a perspectival state; for Kant to adopt both views is like saying God is both perspectiveless and omni-perspectival. Ironically, Cooke claims to 'find no evidence' in Ktl of any concept of God 'other than that of a very powerful and benevolent finite agent' [Co88:319, e.a.], except in the discussion of 'the ens realissimum' (the very doctrine Hicks thinks is most determinate). Cdoke claims 'Kant is quite clear in rejecting the whole process of forming this concept as a dialectical illusion.' But Kant re¬ jects this concept only as a way of gaining knowledge of God; as a way of forming the concept, he accepts it as the necessary starting point! Cooke admits that Kant does 'sometimes... use the lan¬ guage of Infinitude' [323]; yet he claims Kant 'is thinking of God as finite', as 'a timeless agent along side other timeless agents [i.e., human noumenal selves].' Unfortunately, Cooke never de¬ fends this claim throughout his entire article. It is merely a groundless assumption. As we have seen, the fact that humans are also sensuous makes us temporal and finite in a way that is entirely different from God. Cooke thinks Kant's preference for the physicotheological argument is evi¬ dence that Kant's 'thinking required only the concept of a finite designer.' Yet Kant explicitly cites this as the reason that argument is inadequate: it does not prove enough to provide us with a concept of God as perspectiveless/omni-perspectival—i.e., infinite.

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participate in both and yet remain ultimately distinct from either. That is, God has a single, all-encompassing Perspective that not only includes the logically original perspectivelessness of the thing in itself, but also encompasses both the original human Perspective of immediate experience, and all the intermediate perspectives that give rise to Kant's System of Perspectives. Such a view is implied by Kant when he says: Just as it would therefore be contradictory to say God is the creator of appearances, it is also contradictory to say that He, as the Creator, is the cause of actions in the world of sense, as these are appearances; yet at the same time He is the cause of the existence of the acting beings (as noumena). [Kt4:102; s.a. Gu87:16]

If we press this analogy to its limits, viewing God in this radically transcendent sense helps us understand how God can 'be in a position' to see into the very depths of our hearts (i.e., to be immanent), yet also to apprehend the true reality of the things that make up the material of our world (i.e., to be transcendent).19 This Kantian way of viewing the paradoxical coexistence of God's immanence and transcendence can be appropriately depicted as follows: the moral God (+) :

the immortal human soul (x) (aware of God's presence, yet unable to prove God exists)

the world (-) (the thing in itself)

Figure V.3: The Transcendence and Immanence of God in Relation to Kant's Three Ideas of Reason That this is not just a reconstruction of a view Kant himself never elaborated, but is an accurate model of the position he actually held, will become more clear 19. Indeed, more and more theologians are coming to realize that 'transcendence and immanence [should] be seen as mutually enriching concepts rather than mutually destructive' [Ja84:101]. Thus, Hart writes almost as if he is commenting on Figure V.3 (and even more so, Figure XII.2): 'God is analogously the pole of the world as the world is the pole of things and as things are the pole of aspects/perspectives and as these are the pole of the "flow" of inner-time consciousness. And yet this transcendence ... is totally different because the divine is also absolutely immanent to consciousness' [Ha90b:233].

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God

103

in Chapters XI-XII, when we examine the final (uncompleted) work in Kant's System [i.e., Kt9].20 For now, let it suffice to say that transcendence without immanence would yield an irrelevant (if not meaningless) doctrine of God, whereas immanence without transcendence would be too presumptuous (if not outright idolatrous). After Kant, the theological issue ought never again be debated in the form, 'Is God transcendent or immanent?', but rather in the more modest and meaningful form, 'Is there an immanent-and-transcendent God, or isn't there?' And to this latter question, Kant's philosophy provides the basis for answering with a resounding 'yes, I believe there is such a God!' The radically transcendent aspect of God's nature seems to be what Kant is thinking of in suggesting that God is 'outside the world'.21 For he proceeds to say this view of God frees us to derive the appearances of the world and their existences from other appearances, with unfailing confidence, just as if there were no necessary being, while yet we are also free to strive unceasingly towards the completeness of that derivation, just as if such a being were presupposed as an ultimate ground. [Ktl:646-7]

Kt26:993(22) makes this point rather more concisely: 'The world depends on a supreme being, but the things in the world all mutually depend on one another.' This 'assumption' that 'God as the Universal Primordial Being is the cause... of the existence of substance... can never be given up', Kant insists, for it is the basis of all theology [Kt4:100]. So for Kant, God cannot be identified with the world or with our ideas (i.e., our idea of God is in no sense constitutive of the world), yet theistic belief yields ample evidence of God's participation in 20. Laywine interprets Ktl9 as conveying a very similar view: 'Kant makes space and time play the role of God in the sensible realm', resulting in 'a peculiar analogy between space and God' [La93: 112]—i.e., the sensible world is to space and time as the intelligible world (cf. morality) is to God. Later [145] she adds that the Critical philosophy completes Ktl9's task 'by making our understand¬ ing God's vicegerent in the sensible world.' Gulick observes a similarly profound role for God in Ktl9 [Gu94:101]: 'One principle underlies and connects together the Ideas of the intelligible world: God.' 21. Ktl:645, q.a. Despland describes Kant's view along these lines in De73:145: 'God is a free transcendent being who cannot be reduced to an object that is known and analysed or knowable and analysable.' This view of God has a close affinity with Tillich's theory of the 'God above God' [Ti52:18O-3]. As Hicks puts it [Hi74:383], Kant's 'indeterminate' way of conceiving God (i.e., his theory of the dual nature of divine reasoning, discussed in V.I) views God as 'Absolute Subject'. Like Tillich's 'Ground of Being', Kant's theory suggests that 'God is not even Being, for to be is to be determinate; God is purely a power of free intellectual productivity.' Recognizing the close connection between Kant and Tillich enables us to appreciate how effectively Kant combines the fundamental presuppositions of what many would regard as the two most influential God-concepts of twentieth century theology: Tillich's 'God above God' and Barth's 'living God'. Unfortunately, Tillich himself does not always recognize how much Kant's theology coincides with his own. For instance, in Ti51:1.230 he criticizes Kant's moral proof on the following grounds: "The experience of an unconditional element in man's encounter with reality is used for the establishment of an unconditional being ... within reality.' Yet this reduction of Kant's God to the 'God below God' cannot be justified by Kant's own text. On the contrary, as we shall see in Part Four, Kant has a far more sophisticated view of the nature of our immediate experience of unconditioned reality.

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both (i.e., by means of a regulative employment of the idea of God) [see IV.2]. If God is radically transcendent, yet morally immanent, then what is the best way of going about constructing a theoretical model of God's nature? The importance of one of Kant's favorite models is obscured in Kt 1 by the fact that he first introduces it in its illusory employment, as a fourfold representation of the 'object of the ideal of reason' [606]. According to the 'possibility proof',22 God is the most real being, the ens realissimum, but can also be described as 'the primordial being (ens originarium)', 'the highest being (ens summum)', and 'the being ofallbeings (ens entium)' [606-7]. Kant makes a parallel division in Kt26:1000(28-9) between three types of 'rational theology': '(a) transcendentalem, (b) naturalem, and (c) moralem.' The first, divisible into cosmotheology and ontotheology [1003(31)], he describes in terms of the ens originarium and the ens summum. The second refers to physicotheology, and concerns itself with God as ens intelligentia [highest intelligence]' [1000(29), t.b.]. And the third refers to moral theology, treating God 'as the summum bonum, as the highest good.' Each of the four characterizations in such divisions of rational theology corresponds to one of Kant's four reflective perspectives and can therefore be readily plotted onto a 2LAR cross (the former example being given in brackets where it differs from the latter) [cf. Fig. AIV.l; s.e. note AIV.3]: moral theology (++) summum bonum (ens realissimum)

natural theology (-+) i l i ens intelligentia , (ens entium)

cosmotheology (--) ens onginanum '

ontotheology (+-) ens summum

Figure V.4: God's Nature and the Types of Rational Theology Illusion arises not from the mere positing of such a fourfold description of God's nature, but only from regarding these terms 'as signifying the objective 22. For the details of this, Kant's own original theoretical proof of God's existence, see AIV.l.

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God relation of an actual object to other things' [Kt 1:607]. Their proper purpose is not to yield knowledge of an ideal object, but to clarify the relation between our idea of God and our faculty of conception [607]: 'We are left entirely without knowledge as to the existence of a being of such outstanding pre-eminence.' Although the theoretical arguments used to justify these ways of conceiving God's nature are not sufficient to establish objective knowledge, we have seen 'that there are in the idea of reason obligations which are completely valid' [617], even from the standpoint of systemt. Since 'we know nothing that is better and more convincing' than these arguments, and since 'the natural bent of the common understanding' is towards 'monotheism' (even in predomi¬ nantly polytheistic cultures) [617-8], Kant believes they do serve the important purpose of encouraging and/or clarifying our rational belief. Especially when it is seen as a supplement to 'a moral theology..., transcendental theology, which before was problematic only, will prove itself indispensable in determining the concept of this supreme being and in constantly testing reason' [669]. It will provide us with 'knowledge of God, though only from a practical stand¬ point.'23 Thus, although he says the best way to avoid theological errors is 'by leaving dogmatic judgments severely alone' [Kt35:(85)]—i.e., 'by not under¬ taking to judge where [one] does not know as much as is required for definitive judgment' [Kt20:136]—Kant himself nevertheless does make some rather bold statements about God's nature [see e.g., note AIV.6]. He does so because he believes we do know enough about the structure of reason's logical perspective to be able to construct architectonic models of what the divine nature must be like if God exists.24 Such models fulfill the function not of providing conviction, but of helping us know what to believe, once we are convinced. Kant's main reason for arguing, even in Ktl, that God is best thought of as the ens realissimum, is that this aspect of God's nature fulfills an otherwise unsatisfiable need of reason. Human reason 'seek[s] a resting-place in the regress from the conditioned, which is given, to the unconditioned' [Ktl:612]. The idea of God, as the most real being, provides this place of rest. This does not mean, as Peccorini claims [Pe72:58-65], that Kant thinks he has a theoretically justifiable argument that proves God's existence to be necessary. Rather, in claiming 'that God has necessary existence', Kant 'is much more 3. Kt4:137. As we shall see in Chapters VI-VIII, Kant always appeals to the practical as the stand¬ point that makes religious and theological language rationally meaningful. One of innumerable examples is the following reference to the ideas of heaven and hell: 'Made available to us by the legislative reason itself, these Ideas are to be regarded ... from a practical standpoint' [Kt31:332]. 4. Thus Kant says the statement 'God is omnipotent' proposes 'a logical reference only' [Ktl5:74 (233)]. Later he claims the word 'alsufficiency' has the most 'logical accuracy' as a description of God, though the word 'infinity' is more 'beautiful and... aesthetical' [154(354)].

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interested in knowing what God is than in knowing that God is.'25 Moreover, he is careful to point out that the conclusion remains hypothetical. For justification he appeals not to philosophical argument but to common experience [Ktl:612]: "This is the course which our human reason, by its very nature, leads all of us, even the least reflective, to adopt, though not everyone continues to pursue it. It begins not with concepts, but with common experience, and thus bases itself on something actually existing.' As we shall see in Part Four, this appeal to immediate experience is far more important to Kant than has generally been recognized: only by resting in the perspectiveless can we bridge the perspectival gap between the contingent and the necessary.26 4. God's Trinitarian Nature: Holiness, Benevolence, and Justice We have now seen that Kant suggests several ways of conceiving of the attributes of God—i.e., ways of regarding God that are tied to the form of our finite, perspectival nature. Another example comes in Ktl5:83-7(248-54), where Kant lists the predicates describing God according to the following 2LAR: 'The necessary Being' (1) 'is One', (2) 'is simple', (3) 'is immutable and eternal', and (4) 'comprehendeth the highest Reality.' But he warns us that this is not a 'determinate exposition of the conception of God', but only 'the analysis' of the concept [89(256)]. Later, in Kt4:140, he claims that, as long as we regard 'the concept of God [as] one which belongs originally not to physics, i.e., to speculative reason, but to morals', we can say God 'must be omniscient, ... omnipotent, and similarly omnipresent, eternal, etc' The perspectival basis of such attributions is brought out in Kt7:484, where Kant relates them to our cognitive faculties: ... we are obliged to conceive the eternity of God as an existence in all time, be¬ cause we can form no other conception of mere existence than that of... duration. Similarly we have to conceive the divine omnipotence as an existence in all places ... All this we do without, however, being at liberty to ascribe any of these thought-forms to God as something cognized in Him.... [Just because] I seek to conceive a supersensible being (God) as Intelligence... I have no right whatsoever to flatter myself that I am in a position to ascribe intelligence to that being and thereby to cognize it by one of its attributes. For in that case I must omit all the above conditions under which I know an intelligence [e.g., the categories]. 25. La93:112. Though Laywine is here commenting on several of Kant's pre-Copernican works, her statement has a broader application; indeed, a nearly identical statement appears in Kt9:22.129. 26. As Kant says in Kt61:57: "The reasonable use of experience has its limits. It can indeed teach us that something is constituted in such or such a way, but never that it absolutely cannot be anything else; nor can analogy fill this immense void between the contingent and the necessary.' The point here is that neither empirical (constitutive) knowledge nor hypothetical (regulative) supplements to that knowledge can bridge the ultimate gap in Kant's System. For the gap arises whenever we step outside the immediacy of our experience and reflect upon it rationally [see KSPl:IV.l].

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God Because God actually transcends all our perspectives, such attributions cannot be taken as literal descriptions of, so to speak, God's very essence [see Kt7:465]. As Ward puts it: 'The question whether God in himself is like the model is meaningless', for such models have no absolute theoretical signifi¬ cance [Wa72:82]. 'Practical reason', explains Kant, 'gives significance... to the theoretical concept of a First Being. This significance is given from a practical standpoint' [Kt4:133]. Accordingly, Kant is careful to emphasize the subjective character of any such list of divine attributes: ... these attributes of the Supreme Being can only be conceived by us on analogy. ... [They] enable us to conceive a Supreme Being, not to cognize it or to predicate them of it in a more or less theoretical manner.... Yet the object which we have in view in employing them is not that we wish to determine the nature of the Being by reference to them—a nature which is inaccessible to us—but rather that we seek to use them for determining our own selves and our will.... [For] this being ... transcends all our cognitive faculties... But, once the question [of God's nature] touches practical matters, a regulative principle... then becomes also constitutive. In other words it is practically determinant... [Kt7:456-7; s.a. 481]

As he further elaborates in Kt8:139(130-l), the only reason 'we must conceive and comprehend all the [theoretical] attributes of the divine nature', such as 'unchangeableness, omniscience, omnipotence, etc.', is that these 'are requisite to the carrying out of the divine will' with regard to God's moral attributes. As Hart explains, 'the function of assigning special attribution to God ... is the edifying determination of our self and our wills.'27 The basic structure of Kant's System of Perspectives provides a frame¬ work for interpreting his account of God's moral nature [cf. Fig. VI. 1, below]. 'God', Kant tells us, 'is the only holy, the only blessed, and the only wise being' [Kt4:131n]. These attributes define not God's absolute nature, but the three essential ways we have of interpreting how God relates to us: 'He is thus the holy lawgiver (and creator), the beneficent ruler (and sustainer), and the just judge'.28 Each attribute describes the moral aspect of how one of Kant's three Critical systems relates to its transcendent ground. God's holiness relates solely to systemp; it is the supreme attribute because reason is essentially practical. Just as practical reason is a creative power, God's creative lawgiving sets in motion both the moral law and the natural law that determines the course of the phe¬ nomenal world. Holiness sets God apart from us, because we are tempted by our interests [see note Vffl.30 of KSP1, and Kt5:414n], whereas God has 27. Ha90b:241. Hart adds the parenthetical comment: 'For Kant this is also the function of prayer'—a point I shall confirm at length in Appendix VIII. 28. Kt4:131n; cf. Kt26:1001(29). In Kt8:139(131) Kant correlates these same three attributes with God's nature as 'Creator of heaven and earth', 'Preserver of the human race', and 'Administrator of His own holy laws', respectively.

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access to the moral law as it is in itself. Blessedness describes the character of a being who is capable of sustaining us by satisfying our inclinations, yet without ever contradicting the moral law. As we shall see in VII.2.A, this is something human beings are not capable of doing. Our need to regard God as a beneficent ruler thus arises out of the limitations systemt puts on systemp. Philosophically, God's rule is manifested first, as the gift of free will, making moral action possible, and then as the gift of happiness, making life mean¬ ingful.29 Finally, wisdom also sets God apart from us, beings whose existential judgments (cf. systemj) are always limited by our own ignorance; this attribute gives God the right to be the judge of all rational/personal beings. Moral Theology alone, unlike any of the other three types of theology specified in Figure V.4, can produce a concept of God that 'is religiously satis¬ factory', because, as Despland observes in De73:144: 'To make God into a cause, a mechanic, or an artist is to make him like us. To make him holy, good, and just is to make him unlike us.' Thus, Kant points out in Kt64:193n that 'the conception of God, that shall befitfor religion... must be a conception of him as a moral Being;... the proof of the existence of such a Being can be no other than a moral one.' He then repeats the same 'three attributes of the supreme wisdom of the Author of the world': 'holiness, as legislator'; 'good¬ ness, as governor'; and 'justice, as judge' [194]. Kant insists [194-5n] these three attributes 'constitute the moral conception of God', for their number can¬ not be changed, '[n]or can their order be altered.' This is because his moral concept of God is architectonic, directly corresponding to the 1LSR structure of his three Critical systems [see Fig. V.5].30 As such, God's just judgment can be regarded as the synthetic component in the divine nature, providing a bridge that links the opposing characteristics of God's holiness as lawgiver and God's goodness as governor of all human beings. The positive (though symbolic) models of God's nature supplied by Kant's Critical theology are supplemented by other models that guard against innumer¬ able errors in both theology and religion. Kant outlines one of these in Kt7:459: 29. Theologically, God's benevolence is called grace, and is manifested first as the gift of life itself, then as the preservation of life, and finally as the restoration of life after death. The exact means of conceiving how this happens cannot be determined philosophically, according to Kant, but must be left up to each religious tradition's revelation (i.e., theoretical knowledge, specially imparted by God). This further confirms the second attribute's correlation with systemi. Kant's views on revelation will be examined in Part Three [s.e. VIII. 1 and VIII.3.A]. 30. Cf. Fig. VI. 1, below; s.a. Figs. III.5 and III.9 in KSP1. Although he does not make this point explicitly, Raschke implies that each of the three main aspects of Kant's construction of a rational theology corresponds directly to one of his three philosophical systems, by labeling three successive sections of his discussion of Kant's concept of God as follows: 'God as World Cause' [Ra75:104-8], 'God as Supreme Will' [108-11], and 'God as Moral Purposer' [111-6].

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God

109

holy lawgiver (+) (systenip)

just judge (x) (systemj)

good governor (-) (systemt)

Figure V.5: God's Three Moral Attributes The fact that, in respect of all our ideas of the supersensible, reason is restricted to the conditions of its practical standpoint is of obvious use in connexion with the idea of God. It prevents theology from losing itself in the clouds of THEOSOPHY, i.e. in transcendent conceptions [of God] that confuse reason, or from sinking into the depths of DEMONOLOGY, i.e. an anthropomorphic mode of representing the Supreme Being. Also it keeps religion from falling into theurgy, which is a fanati¬ cal delusion that a feeling can be communicated to us from other supersensible beings and that we in turn can influence them, or into idolatry, which is a supersti¬ tious delusion that one can make oneself acceptable to the Supreme Being by other means than that of having the moral law at heart.31

,

He describes these errors in terms of a 2LAR, with the four components being grouped into pairs according to the distinction between theological errors and religious errors, as shown in Figure V.6. The two lLARs constituting this 2LAR are first, the distinction between primarily conceptual (+) and nonconceptual (-) errors, and second, the distinction between theological (+) and religious (-) ones. Each type of error results from treating the theoretical standpoint as a sufficient means of grasping God's nature, leading to a neglect of the practical standpoint and a total failure to appreciate the symbolic character of all our language about God. The best way to avoid such theological and religious errors is to recognize that, because human beings 'cannot affect God in any way' [Kt35:(104)], any attempt at manipulating God (as we do with things in the world that are 31. Elsewhere Kant describes theosophy as 'knowledge of a divine nature that is inaccessible' [Kt69:305]. And in Kt23:401n(180n) he adds: 'Theophany makes of Plato's idea an idol...; whereas theology... erects an ideal... '.

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theosophy (++) (conceptual, theological)

theurgy (-) • (nonconceptual, religious)

demonology (-+) (nonconceptual, -
idolatry (+-) (conceptual, religious)

Figure V.6: Theological and Religious Errors theoretically knowable) is futile. Instead, our response to God must be condi¬ tioned by God's three moral attributes [(97)]: 'Our bearing towards God must be characterized by reverence, love and fear—reverence for Him as a holy lawgiver, love for His beneficent rule, and fear of Him as a just judge.' The first two responses function as polar opposites32 that insure equilibrium in our religious outlook (i.e., they encourage us to strike a happy medium between keeping a safe distance from God's awesome majesty and coming as close as possible to enjoy God's fascinating love), while the third guards against the moral laziness that might set in if a person ever feels too far from or too close to God. Thus Kant utilizes the same threefold model in his recommendations on the theological education of children: The thought of God should fill man with reverence every time he speaks His name, and he should therefore seldom use it, and never frivolously. The child must learn to feel respect for God as the master of his life and of the whole world; further, as the protector of man; and, finally, as his judge. [Kt39:495(216)]

This account of God's moral nature brings us full circle. Before reflecting on Kant's view of God's transcendence in V.I, we noted that divine 'reason' must be conceived as proceeding in a way that is opposite to human reason. We then explored how God's immanence can be understood through various types 32. See notes IX.20-21. Kant describes God's second moral attribute in terms of giving unmerited love [see e.g., Kt8:145-7(136-7)]. We must keep in mind, therefore, that the word 'good' in the designation 'good ruler' refers to God's kind-hearted disposition (i.e., good will) towards us, not to a dispassionate notion of moral perfection. The latter is related more to justice than to goodness. Collins [Co67:154] summarizes Kant's position in the form of a helpful table listing the three types of human powers, divine attributes, and religious responses.

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God of symbolism. We now conclude by observing that God's immanent nature is also defined as being opposite to human nature. The main difference comes with the first moral attribute: being holy means God is never tempted by inclinations, whereas we are not only tempted, but inevitably yield at times [see VII.2.A]. This means the most we can hope to attain is virtue. 'For God as Holy Will' [Hi74:383], by contrast, 'there is no tension between the form of the good according to the moral law and the material content of desire.' Just as viewing the nature of the divine intellect as intellectual intuition and intuitive understand¬ ing means God's 'knowledge' is not bound by sensible intuition and categorial understanding,33 so also viewing the nature of divine will as holy means God's 'action' is not bound by interest and inclination, as is the human will.34 The practical aspect of the divine nature, like the theoretical, must be conceived in 33. See Ktl:139,145-6. In Da93b:105-8 Davidovich describes this aspect of Kant's view of God in terms of 'an archetypal intellect'. She makes the interesting point that there is no need for a third aspect of divine 'reason', to correspond to the judicial standpoint, because everything God thinks is already fully formed. Unlike God, we humans need teleological explanations to compensate for our ignorance of supersensible reality. To this insight we can add the fact that our understanding and intuition are opposed to each other, thus requiring judgment in order to be united, whereas God's rational powers must be presumed to be already fully synthesized in their original state. Davidovich later adds the interesting suggestion that in Kt7 Kant flirts with the possibility that human nature itself may have access to a form of 'Intuitive Reason' [Da93b:126]: wherever 'the "is"/"ought" dichotomy dissolves' or the 'gap between the ideal and the real' is overcome, as Kant repeatedly attempts in Kt7, 'an Intuitive Reason' seems to be present. To this suggestion I would add that these are also the very points where Kant would regard us as coming closest to having an immediate experience of God. This is why Kant ends Kt7 with an Appendix on theology. 34. One of Kant's clearest descriptions of this 'transcendental conception of God' comes in a footnote to a 1796 essay [Kt23:399-401(178-80)] and is worth quoting at length: 'The transcendental conception of God, as the most real Being, cannot, abstract as it is, be avoided in philosophy; for it... [purifies] all the concrete that may afterwards come into the applied theology and doctrine of religion.... If I ['conceive God as the ... aggregate of all realities']..., I therefore attribute to him perhaps an understanding, or even a will..., as realities. But an understanding, which I know, is a faculty of thinking, that is ... not without limitation of the subject. Therefore a Divine understand¬ ing is not to be assumed as a faculty of thinking. But I have not the smallest conception of another understanding, which is a faculty of intuition; consequently the conception of an [intuitive] under¬ standing ... is totally devoid of sense. — In like manner, ... I have not the smallest conception... of a will [which is not limited by interest in)... the succeeding of his volition, which therefore does not depend upon the existence of the external object.... — But when I form to myself a conception of the ens realissimum as the ground of all reality, I say, God is the being who compriseth the ground of all that is in the world for which we men have need to assume an understanding... [and] a free will in order to render intelligible to ourselves the possibility of ['the existence of all mundane beings']. Here now, what the nature of the Supreme Being is (objectively), may be totally inscrutable and placed quite beyond the standpoint of all theoretical cognition possible for us, and yet (subjectively) reality from a practical standpoint... remain[s] to these conceptions; relatively to which an analogy only of the Divine understanding and will with those of man and his practical reason may be assumed... From the moral law ... and from the theory of the nature of things in themselves, proceeds now the conception of God, to form which for ourselves practical pure reason necessitates.' This passage not only gives us a good indication of how Kant develops his concep¬ tion of God, it also reveals how extensively his theology depends on the principle of perspective. Moreover, the final sentence clearly states the twofold roots of Kant's conception of God, which, as we shall see in X.3-4, is also reflected in his own religious experience [s.e. Fig. X.I].

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terms of a negation of human nature: 'An interest is present only in a dependent will which is not of itself always in accord with reason'; so 'in the divine will we cannot conceive of an interest.'35 Kant explains further that 'no imperatives hold for the divine will', because God has no genuinely moral choices to make: 'according to its own subjective constitution, [God's will] can be determined to act only through the conception of the good.' This characteristic, as we saw in KSP1:VIII.3.B and XII.4, is what qualifies God to serve as the 'sovereign' in the 'realm of ends'.36 Temple thinks 'holiness represents a call to be inhuman' [Te94:116] and would entail denying our 'animal nature—our feelings, desires, and sympa¬ thies'—in short, 'the eradication of everything that is distinctively human.' But this is not Kant's view (nor is it authentically Christian). For a person to be holy involves becoming not inhuman, but divine-human. And this does not re¬ quire the 'eradication' of our animal nature, but its transformation. Happiness and inclination are not absent from the highest good, but transformed to a higher level. Temple comes closest to this when he says [117] 'Kant... takes the holy will to be a vision of something more than human.' Unfortunately, his entire article never even mentions God as the only genuinely holy being [see e.g., Kt5:414]; he totally misses Kant's point, that holiness is inextricably tied to being religious—i.e., being in relationship with a holy God. Such a relation¬ ship is possible, as we shall see in Part Three, only because an image of divine holiness, what Kant calls the 'archetype' (the ideal internal image that is perfectly reflected in the life of Jesus), exists in every person [see VII.2.B]. Hicks accuses Kant of failing to synthesize the two opposite approaches he has for conceiving God [Hi74:385]—viz., the 'indeterminate' concept of God as an 'Absolute Subject', whose powers of reasoning and willing are opposite 35. Kt5:414n. Temple expresses Kant's view as follows [Te94:113]: 'A good will struggles to uphold the moral law in the face of contrary inclinations.... The holy will, by contrast, needs none of this. It has no contrary inclinations.' Temple says Kant treats both of these as moral ideals for humans; but he complains that they are 'incompatible' [108-9], inasmuch as 'virtue is morality in conflict while holiness is morality without conflict' [115). He rightly rejects the notion of a gradual transition occurring from one to the other, whereby 'as virtue more and more predominates ... conflict begins to disappear and virtue gradually approaches to something like holiness.' This attempted solution wrongly construes a qualitative distinction (a difference of type) to be a quanti¬ tative one (a difference of degree). A more appropriate solution is to see them as referring to two different standpoints, those of systemp and systemr. Morality aims at virtue; religion, by taking God into consideration, aims at holiness. The latter is the higher aim, but is not possible without divine assistance [see e.g., Kt35:10]. The former can be approximated, but cannot be perfected, without being transformed into the latter through a religious conversion. Thus a person cannot become holy through good life-conduct; but if a person's disposition has been transformed by coming into relation with a holy will, then progress towards virtue in the person's conduct will be evident as a by-product. This will be discussed further in VII.2.A, VIII.2.A, and AVI.4. 36. See e.g., Kt5:434. This sovereignty, and how it serves as the model for the ideal forms of human politics, will be one of the main topics of KSP4.

V. Symbolic Theology and the Nature of God to ours, and the 'determinate' (traditional) concept of God as an 'Absolute Object',37 who can be known according to a specific set of attributes. He criticizes Kant for 'remaining unnervingly naive, even cheerful, about the ironies his thought spawned.' But as I have demonstrated in this chapter, these two aspects of Kant's views on God's nature are in fact like two sides of the single coin of his symbolic theology. Moreover, when we return to these two notions in XII.4, we shall find that in Kt9 Kant does attempt a synthesis: the Absolute Subject (God) and the Absolute Object (the World) are synthesized in the bearer of freedom (Christ, the ideal God-Man), who is thereby capable of combining the opposites of holiness and virtue. Kant's Critical theology not only helps elucidate how best to understand the idea of God, an idea that determines the whole course of his System, but as we saw in IV.2-4, it also demonstrates how belief in that God is theoretically possible (systemt), judicially actual (system^ and practically necessary (systenip). Nevertheless, theology as such cannot bridge the final gap in his System, as shown in Figure III.8. For that, an actual (immediate) experience, rather than merely a rational theory, is required. With this in mind we shall therefore consider in the next chapter how Kant relates his theology to what motivates most theologians, namely, religion. This in turn will prepare us to look in more detail at Kant's conception of religion in general [see Part Three] and of religious experience in particular [see Part Four].

37. This may be an appropriate expression for the traditional way of forming a theological concept of God's nature, but for Kant's symbolic theology it is highly inappropriate. Kant explicitly cautions against taking any of his descriptions of God's attributes as referring to anything absolute. As we shall see in XII.3, Kant himself would interpret this term as a reference to the idea of the world. A better description of the paradox Hicks is commenting on is given by Wood in Wo78:93: 'on the one hand, Kant... strenuously insisted on a concept of God so precisely determined from the moral and metaphysical view as an ontologically perfect intelligent volitional agent possessed of supreme holiness, benevolence, and justice; while on the other hand he was so anxious to render this concept as empty, vague, and indefinite as possible by placing it beyond the power of our faculties to comprehend.' Kant can be excused, according to Wood, on the grounds that this paradox is virtually the norm throughout the entire western tradition of rational theology. As a result, Wood overlooks the true uniqueness of Kant's position, its synthesis of these opposing standpoints (the theoretical and the practical) by means of the principle of perspective. When thought and knowl¬ edge are Kant's main concern, he follows the 'negative' path; but when action and experience are at issue, a 'positive' or 'affirmative' theology takes its place through symbolic descriptions of God's nature. Theologians who have come after Kant have not formulated their negative and positive theologies in precisely the same terms as Kant; but they have in many cases followed the general epistemological and systematic framework he established.

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Chapter VI Religion as the Synthesis of Theology and Morality Morality thus leads ineluctably to religion, through which it extends itself to the idea of a powerful moral Lawgiver, outside of mankind, for Whose will that is the final end (of creation) which at the same time can and ought to be man's final end. [Kt8:3-6(3-6), e.a.]

1. Kant's Reductionism: Explanatory or Eliminative? In the course of examining Kant's views on the existence and nature of God in the first two chapters here in Part Two, we have had ample opportunity to witness Kant's tendency to solve theological problems by relating them to morality. Before beginning our in-depth investigation of Kant's theory of reli¬ gion in Part Three, let us therefore pause to consider Kant's reasons for adopt¬ ing such a strategy. The most commonly accepted explanation is to portray Kant as a reductionist, seeking to demonstrate the uselessness of all theology and religion by showing how everything genuine in them boils down to moral¬ ity. Kant's religion, so the story goes, is purely a religion of good works in which even the notion of a real God is ultimately dispensable. But does Kant reduce theology and religion to morality? Before answering this question, we must clarify just what it means to 'reduce' one idea or way of thinking to another. What would it mean for someone to 'reduce religion to morality'? Reductionism can be understood in either a loose or a strict sense, which we can call 'explanatory' and 'eliminative' reductionism, respectively.1 In the loose sense reductionism means explaining everything relevant to a given field of inquiry in terms of a single, all-pervasive factor outside that field, which is necessary to a proper understanding of that field. For example, proponents of a double aspect theory of the relationship between brain states and mental states might argue that every mental state is directly correlated to some brain state; yet this would not require them to treat the two types of states as identical, or to advocate the actual description of all mental states in terms of brain states. Strict, eliminative reductionists, by contrast, believe one special way of ex¬ plaining something is not only necessary, but self-sufficient, so that it can ac¬ tually replace, or explain away all other possible explanations. Proponents of strict reductionism would argue that all talk of mental states is pointless, since nothing but brain states exists or has any value. If we accept this distinction between explanatory and eliminative forms of 1. I am grateful to an anonymous Kant-Studien referee for suggesting the terms 'explanatory' and 'eliminative', and for offering numerous criticisms of a previous version of this chapter, without which the present version would be considerably less clear.

VI. Religion as the Synthesis of Theology and Morality

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reductionism, then the question occupying our attention can be rephrased in two ways: loosely, Does Kant regard morality as the single explanatory factor in terms of which all that is necessary to religion can be explained! and strictly, Does Kant believe religion can be 'explained away' as nothing but a special form of morality! In other words, does Kant think morality is necessary for all true religion, and if so, does he also think it is sufficient! To many readers of Kant his motives seem so obvious that they never bother even to pose such questions. Kant clearly does reduce religion to morality (in both senses), so the story goes, for he consistently defines religion as 'the recognition of all duties as divine commands' [Kt8:153(142); see below, note VI. 18]. Does this not require us to regard religion as nothing but a special way of looking at human duties—i.e., at morality! Indeed, we need go no further than the title of Kant's most important book on religion, Religion within the Limits of Reason Alone [Kt8], to see that he assumes right from the start that religion can and ought to be viewed only within a narrow set of rational limits—a reduction if ever there was one! Likewise, if we open the book itself, we find that on the first few pages of the first edition Preface Kant tells us morality is not based on religion; rather, religion is based on morality. And throughout the rest of the book, he repeatedly passes judgment on religious beliefs and practices by asking about their value for the moral improvement of the religious believer. We should not be surprised, therefore, to find interpreters as prestigious as Cassirer, whose study of Kant's life and works is usually quite trustworthy, assuming an affirmative answer to the question at issue without supporting his view with any textual evidence: ... the Kantian system does not in general recognize the philosophy of religion as a fully independent member of the system, as a way of looking at things that is id¬ iosyncratic and rests on autonomous and independent assumptions [i.e., on its own distinct standpoint].... [Instead,] the substance of his philosophy of religion comprises for him only a confirmation of and a corollary of the substance of his ethics. Religion 'within the limits of reason alone' ... has no essential content other than that of pure morality. The conversion of pure rational religion into pure ethics is required...2

Moreover, it is not uncommon, especially in brief summaries of Kant's philos¬ ophy of religion, to read explicit statements of an even more dogmatic kind, such as Kroner's claim that for Kant 'religious life is nothing but a special mode of moral life' [Kr56:35], Crichlow's conviction that 'Kant used every 2. Ca81:381-2,385, e.a. Webb expresses the same idea more succinctly when he describes Kant's theory of religion as 'an appendix to Ethics' [We26:62].

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argument [in the second part of Kt8] to show that religion was the same thing as morality' [Cr96:95], Baillie's view that 'Kant's religion remained to the end a mere legalistic moralism' with 'an eighteenth-century Legislator' attached [Ba39:159], Walsh's interpretation of Kant's 'religious attitude' as 'a way of representing morality, not a way of going beyond it',3 Vossenkuhl's insistence that 'the systematic precondition of [Kant's] notion of rational religious belief is 'that true religion is nothing but morality',4 or Edwards' proclamation: 'we have in Kant the complete reduction of religion to morality.'5 However, if we put aside this long tradition and examine Kant's own claims with an open mind, we shall find this traditional, unequivocally affirmative 3. Wa67:322. Earlier Walsh had already tacitly bought into the reductionist interpretation by interpreting Kant as holding that '[r]eligious discourse is legitimate and meaningful because it is internal to moral discourse' [Wa63a:282]. But as we shall see in VII.1, Kant puts these two in the opposite order [s.e. Fig. VII.1]: moral discourse is and must be internal to religious discourse in order for the latter to be rationally justifiable. Walsh seems to have been misled by the fact that the postulates are internal to Kant's moral system; but on their own they do not constitute 'religious discourse'. As we shall see below, religious discourse happens only when we step outside the realm of the explicitly moral and view our moral disposition from the perspective of divine command. 4. Vo88:179. Ironically, Vossenkuhl expresses serious doubts as to whether Kant really succeeds in fulfilling this aim, yet never considers the possibility that this may not have been his aim at all! 5. Ed79:46, e.a; s.a. Mi89:259. Edwards bases his reductionist summary of Kant's position only on the title of Kt8 and on Kant's definition of religion. He assumes Kant 'shared with the rationalists of his century the conviction that reason alone is sufficient for all religious knowledge'; so he infers that, because Kant regards morality as 'the essence of "true religion'", it must also be true that 'nothing else really matters' for Kant [Ed79:46]. As a result, he concludes his discussion with a (completely unjustified) summary of Kant's view, implying it should be relegated to the scrap heap: 'With a mere definition of religion Kant believes he has shown that no "true religion" contains a belief that God really exists ..., that no "true religion" contains a reliable and self-authenticating revelation, and that no "true religion" makes a place for prayer, ritual, or any other expression of unique duties to God' [52], Not only does Edwards fail to recognize that Kant does preserve a neces¬ sary space for such elements in all true religion [see Part Three], but he also completely ignores the fact that Kant supports each of his claims with arguments (not mere definitions) [see note VI.22]. Another typical example of a blatantly reductionist interpretation of Kant's theory of reli¬ gion can be found in Kw83:95-118. Kwan repeatedly adds words like 'nothing but', 'only', or 'just' to Kant's own words to make them appear to defend eliminative reductionism [s.e. 110-1], when nothing in Kant's text indicates that this is his intention. Kwan sets up an absolute dichotomy between an historical fact and its symbolic meaning, as if no event could be both at once! Thus, in discussing the 'symbolic meaning' of Kant's idea of 'Chrisms', he says 'God or Christus ... is just a human fiction, a projection, an idea or an Ideal' [111]. He concludes by saying that for Kant 'No God will tell us if we are really on our way toward a pure rational faith ... Only the human conscience' [112]. But this misses Kant's point, which, as we shall see, is that if God tells us anything, it must be through (or at least, consistent with) such rational channels as the conscience. Smart likewise finds fault with 'Kant's exposition of religion' on the grounds that 'in essence [Kant] reduces [religion] to morality' [Sm69:5.15]. Summarizing this common (mis)interpretation of Kant's philosophy of religion, Smart later claims [5.37] that 'Kant, in taking it for granted that the First Cause lies beyond all possible experience, ruled out the validity of revelatory experience. For him, science and morality exhausted the avenues of knowledge: there is no 'third' way, the way of religion as such.' Yet, Kant's general philosophical method was always to search for just such a third way [see II.2], and as we shall see in this chapter, his theory of religion was no exception. Moreover, we shall see in X.2 that Kant did not rule out altogether the possibility of experiencing God, but only that such an experience can ever attain the status of 'experience' in the technical theoretical sense of 'empirical knowledge' [see KSP1:IV.3 and VII.3.A].

VI. Religion as the Synthesis of Theology and Morality answer to our initial question to be unfaithful to his true intentions. Sadly, it comes so close to a proper understanding of the points Kant was actually trying to make, that its subtle distortions have remained virtually unchallenged.6 In order to reveal these distortions, let us first take a close look at the three most obvious sources that seem at first to support the traditional myth of eliminative reductionism: the title of Kt8, its first edition Preface, and Kant's definition of religion. For a proper understanding of these is indispensable if we are to understand Kant's intentions. We can then take a general overview in VI.3 of the content of Kt8. In Part Three we shall do a more thorough examination of the details of the religious system expounded therein; but the preliminary overview in this chapter will provide us with enough evidence to make a fair assessment in VI.4 of the extent to which Kant's Critical theology reduces religion to morality. 2. Prolegomena to Kant's System of Religion There are two common assumptions about the title of Kt8 (Die Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der blofien Vernunfi) which, when made, virtually de¬ termine in advance that Kant's views will be interpreted strictly, in terms of eliminative reductionism. Yet both of these assumptions are utterly opposed to Kant's expressed intentions. The first assumption is that Grenzen refers to a strict limitation placed on religion by reason—a limitation establishing an abso¬ lute barrier that cannot in any way be overcome. Kant explains, however, that Grenzen must not be regarded in such a strict or one-sided way: 'Bounds [Grenzen]... always presuppose a space outside a certain definite place and in¬ closing it; limits [Schranken] do not require this, but are mere negations which affect a quantity so far as it is not absolutely complete.'7 Despite his reputation 6. One notable exception is Rossi, who says [Ro89:369] 'Kant... does not hold that religion is either identical with or reducible to morality.' But he does not defend or develop this view in detail. Moreover, a few years later he explicitly defends a form of eliminative reductionism [Ro93:57]: 'The "moral" ... determines the function of religion ... [l]t is only a short step to religion's marginalization and eventual reductive elimination; ... religion will become increasingly periph¬ eral ... and will... find itself being reductively purified or transformed into (a form of) morality.' But as we shall see, this is a fundamental misuse of Kant's meaning of the term 'religion'. Had Rossi written this about 'historical faith', then his comment would be accurate. But for Kant, religion— and that means morality interpreted as God-given (not morality in and of itself)—is destined to be¬ come more and more central to human culture and to the fulfillment of morality's true purpose, not more and more peripheral [see Pa94b and KSP4]. Fortunately, Rossi admits that certain 'elements of Kant's thought... run counter to such a reductive program for religion' [Ro93:57], and concludes by suggesting we reconsider the appropriateness of the reductive paradigm [58]. McCarthy [Mc86:96] agrees that 'religion in the end' is not 'totally reduced to morality" by Kant [s.a. 90-1]; as we shall see, 'his definition of religion ... points beyond morality to include the recognition of... the divine being ... Thus Kant's definition of religion really points to an essential difference between morality and religion, namely, God-consciousness...'. 7. Kt2:352. The English words 'limit' and 'boundary' have similar connotations, especially in light

117

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to the contrary, which developed largely as a result of the unfortunate 'patchwork' interpretations of his work, Kant is usually very careful to give precise meanings to the terms he uses, and then to stick by those meanings. So we should give serious consideration to the implications this passage has for the title of Kant's book. If Kant had wanted to say reason imposes limits upon religion that must not be surpassed, then he would surely have used the term Schranken. His use of Grenzen indicates that he has in mind a boundary (like a fence dividing two portions of land), on either side of which we can find legit¬ imate (though different) aspects of one and the same territory (viz., religion). On one side we find what is rationally necessary and on the other, what is em¬ pirically real. Kant's title, then, does not reveal a desire to force all aspects of religion into a single, rational mold; rather, it reflects his favorite perspectival distinction between the transcendental and the empirical, and announces his intent to examine (as usual) one side of a fundamentally two-sided reality.8 The second assumption regarding the title of Kant's book concerns the proper interpretation of the phrase blofien Vernunft, which has traditionally been rendered into English either as 'Reason Alone' or as 'Mere Reason'. The former choice, adopted by Greene and Hudson in their standard translation of Kt8, would clearly imply self-sufficiency, and hence a tendency towards strict reductionism on Kant's part. Yet, such a translation not only stretches the literal meaning of blofien, but it neglects an important nuance in the original. This common German word can mean either 'mere' (thus indicating that something more is possible and perhaps even required for full satisfaction) or 'naked'. Greene and Hudson were certainly aware of this dual meaning, since the text itself actually uses 'naked reason' as the translation for blofien Vernunft at several points [see e.g., Kt8:10(9)]; nevertheless, they suppressed this implica¬ tion entirely in their translation of the title.9 Perhaps their reason was that, if Kant had wanted to use 'naked' in his title, he probably would have used the more explicit word, nackt. With this in mind, however, a third alternative arises that does not seem to have occurred to any of Kt8's translators. An English word that parallels the dual meaning of blofien almost exactly is 'bare': just like blofien, it can mean either 'mere' or 'naked'.10 of the mathematical use of the word 'limit'. When a mathematical function approaches its limit, there is no point in asking (absurdly) how that function operates on the 'other side' of its limit. As far as the function is concerned, there simply is no other side. 8. Kant's distinction between the 'natural' and the 'naturalistic' in Kt65:44-5 likewise implies that he views Christianity as a religion based in reason, yet not limited to reason. 9. In the Preface to their translation, Greene and Hudson do refer to the fact that John Richardson's 1799 English translation of Kt8 uses 'Naked Reason' in the title [GH34:cxxxv]. Richardson's full title is "The Religion within the Sphere of Naked Reason'. 10. Another possibility would be 'unaided', since 'blofien Vernunft' does indicate that Kant wishes to

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When these two mistaken assumptions are brought to light, a more accu¬ rate translation comes into view: Religion within the Bounds of Bare Reason is the best English translation of what Kant himself intended to say in the title of Kt8. That Kant's use of blofien was an intentional, though covert, way of referring to nakedness can be clearly seen by taking note of the fact that in the text itself Kant makes use on several occasions of the analogy of 'the religion of reason' being like a naked body that can be rendered presentable, or socially acceptable, only by dressing it in some type of clothing [see e.g., Kt8:195 (183); s.a. Kt65:53]. If Kant had not wanted to hint at such an analogy in his title, he almost certainly would have used a more technical term, such as reinen ('pure'), to refer to the inner or 'invisible' aspects of all true religion. Similarly, that Kant's use of Grenzen is meant to imply territorial boundaries, rather than absolute limits, is also suggested by other, related metaphors, such as when he considers what happens when one side 'trespasses' on the other side's property, or "imports something' from the other side for use within 'its own economy', or 'declares war on' the other side [see e.g., Kt8:9-10(9),13(12)]. The 'double aspect' (i.e., dual perspective) character of Kant's system of religion is also made clear by several other analogies used from time to time in Kt8. Kant consistently refers to 'the pure religion of reason' not as itself consti¬ tuting everything necessary for true religion, but rather as providing us with its necessary core or 'kernel'. He never regards other (i.e., nonmoral) aspects of religion as identical to false religion; rather, they become false only when the religious person fails to recognize them as the 'shell' or 'vehicle' (i.e., as the means) through which the 'kernel' or 'canon' (i.e., the end) of religion can be promoted, and as a result detaches them from their proper grounding in moral¬ ity [Kt8:123n(113n),135n(126n); Kt65:36-7]. All these analogies imply that, as we shall see in more detail in VI.3, Kant is thinking not about exclusiveness, but about the proper priority between two necessary elements. Kant gives these two elements a number of different names, such as 'faith' and 'pure religion' as the two aspects of 'religion'. (These two senses of 'religion' must be kept in mind if we are to avoid misunderstanding Kant's view; so we shall return to them again shortly.) Indeed, just as each of Kant's three Critiques is designed not to establish a system of metaphysics itself, but to prepare the foundation upon which to construct the building of metaphysics, so also the title of Kt8 ought to remind us that this book is designed more as the Critical (transcen¬ dental) prolegomenon to real (empirical) religion, than as an attempt to replace examine the rational nature of religion unaided by divine revelation. However, this choice is less literal, and considerably less colorful than 'bare'. Kant was very fond of such, often rather fanciful, metaphors, so a good translation should convey such nuances as faithfully as possible.

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all empirical manifestations of religion with a 'pure' alternative. On its own, of course, a proper understanding of the title of Kt8 does not constitute a conclusive argument on the basis of which we could answer the question at issue here. Rather, it only provides us with hints that may or may not shed new light on the text itself. Let us therefore turn our attention now to the beginning of the first Preface, where Kant seems at first sight to be portray¬ ing religion as just a footnote or appendage to morality. In the first few paragraphs of this Preface [Kt8:3-6(3-6), e.a.], he asserts: ... morality... stands in need neither of the idea of another Being over [mankind], for him to apprehend his duty, nor of an incentive other than the law itself... Hence for its own sake morality does not need religion at all...; ... it is self-suffi¬ cient.... But although for its own sake morality needs no representation of an end which must precede the determining of the will, it is quite possible that it is neces¬ sarily related to such an end, taken not as the ground, but as the inevitable conse¬ quence of maxims adopted as conformable to that end.... Morality thus leads ineluctably to religion, through which it extends itself to the idea of a powerful moral Lawgiver, outside of mankind, for Whose will that is the final end (of cre¬ ation) which at the same time can and ought to be man's final end.

Three key points arise out of this passage. Each of these leads to eliminative reductionism if it is just slightly misinterpreted. In what follows, therefore, I shall attempt to explain not only what Kant is trying to say in each case, but also how his words are misconstrued by a strict reductionist interpretation. First, Kant is saying that even though morality is logically, or perhaps transcendentally, self-sufficient (i.e., even though no reference to religion is needed to explain what morality is), morality is nevertheless ideologically in¬ complete (i.e., its ultimate purpose cannot be realized by remaining merely within its own bounds). Just as the foundation of a building is 'complete' in the sense that it can stand all on its own, and does not depend on any other structure in order to maintain its inner integrity, and yet its purpose is not complete until an actual building is constructed upon it, so also the nature of moral action can be understood apart from any reference to religion, and yet the purpose of morality in general, as well as the actual fulfillment of the task morality presents to us, cannot be understood without stepping beyond the exclusively moral standpoint to adopt a new, religious standpoint, based on the moral. This point is sure to be misunderstood if we fail to take special note of Kant's distinction between the 'ground' and 'consequence' (or 'end') of morality. When Kant says morality 'leads to religion', he does not mean religion can therefore be explained away in terms of morality; on the contrary, he means religion as such fulfills a necessary function. As far as its 'ground' is concerned, morality is 'self-sufficient': all we need is our own (human)

VI. Religion as the Synthesis of Theology and Morality practical reason. But as far as its 'consequence' is concerned, we must look beyond mere morality in hopes of finding some third thing to bridge the gap between the theoretical and the practical. That 'third thing', in Kt8, is religion. The common view that for Kant true religion is entirely humanistic (an¬ thropocentric) [see 1.3] neglects the fact that in this passage he says morality necessarily 'extends itself, or points beyond itself, to the idea of a God. The words 'final end (of creation)' undoubtedly refer to humanity.11 However, the second point arising out of this passage is that an entirely anthropocentric philosophy is not the type that best serves the interests of humanity. Rather, the purpose of morality (which is anthropocentric) will best be fulfilled by viewing morality in terms of something outside mankind. Within Kant's moral system, the idea of God had to be introduced as a postulate just to conceive of the possibility of reaching the goal of establishing the highest good. Now he is saying the only way morality can fulfill its purpose is to regard this possibility (i.e., the postulate of the existence of God) as an actuality. In other words, only if we treat our moral experience as if it were guided by a divine Being who shares with us a common goal do we have any hope of completing the task morality sets for us. This extension of religion beyond morality into the realm of empirical reality is implied when Kant says [Kt35:(81)]: 'Religion and morality go hand in hand.... Morality as such is ideal, but religion imbues it with vigour, beauty, and reality.' Once the teleological function of Kt8 is fully appreciated, a third point can be drawn out of the passage quoted from the first Preface: the function of Kt8 in Kant's philosophical System is related most closely to the function of the third Critique (viz., to synthesize the theoretical and practical aspects of the first two Critiques), not to that of the second. The relationships between the stand¬ points of the three Critiques can be mapped onto a 1SLR triangle [see Fig. III.2]. The traditional reductionistic interpretation of Kt8 identifies its standpoint with that of Kt4. This is, admittedly, consistent with the emphasis throughout Kt8 on the priority of practical over theoretical reason.12 Yet, as we shall see in 11. In Kt7:435, Kant says 'man is the final end of creation.' 12. For example, Kant says in Kt8:12(ll) that the 'pure rational system of religion ..., though not from the theoretical standpoint... may yet, from the morally practical standpoint, be self-sufficient and adequate for genuine religion, which, indeed, as a rational concept a priori (remaining after everything empirical has been taken away), obtains only from this [practical] standpoint.' True enough, purereligion does in a sense correspond to the practical standpoint in Figure VI. 1; but what happens when 'everything empirical' is added again, as Kant clearly intends it to be in systemr? Along these lines Webb lists three 'truths which lie at the heart of Kant's thought' on religion: (1) 'the implicit rationality of Religion' [We26:202]; (2) 'the implicitly ethical character of Religion' [205]; and (3) 'the ethical or ethically rational character of the Christian religion, as the feature distinctive of it among the religions of the world' [206]. While these are all true of systemr, they do not necessarily indicate that it should be merely identified with systemp.

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practical (Kt4)

judicial (Kt7)

theoretical (Ktl)

Figure VI. 1: The Standpoints of the Three Critiques Parts Three and Four, Kant is also very concerned with assessing the validity of religious experience in general, and with determining the extent to which various kinds of historical faith can serve as adequate vehicles for pure religion. In both cases, he attempts to synthesize practical and theoretical standpoints—a function associated most closely with the judicial standpoint.13 His philosophy of religion remains 'within the bounds of bare reason' only in the sense that this synthesis always gives primacy to the practical in relation to the theoretical. But this is equally true of all three Critiques! If we see Kt8 as an attempt to show how in the universal experience of religion the practical and theoretical standpoints are inextricably intertwined (as was already briefly suggested in KSP1:III.4 [s.e. Fig. III.9]), then it becomes clear that Kt8 not only plays a constitutive role in Kant's System of Perspectives, but, given its more system¬ atic organization [see e.g., Figs. VII.7-8, below], could have effectively replaced Kt7 as a Critique of Religious Judgment.u 13. See KSPl:IX.l and note 1.17, above. Michalson, neglecting the perspectival nature of Kant's philosophy, thereby blinds himself to the many synthetic elements in Kant's System, leading him to claim that 'Kant's transcendental idealism has no systematic way of integrating the moral and the temporal' [Mi89:263]. By contrast, Davidovich bases the whole approach of her recent book on the sort of assumption I am making, that these synthetic elements represent the System's true goal: 'Kant's search for unity culminates in religion' [Da93b:69]. 'The problem of the unity of Reason', as she puts it [55], 'finds its solution in... a religious domain of reason.' Like so many critics, Barth accepts a reductionist reading of Kt8 [Ba72:305], causing him to overlook the judicial nature of Kantian religion. He reveals more about his own interpretive bias than he does about Kant's appreciation for living, empirical religion when he critically asks [314]: 'Do we live only in the interlacing of idea and action which seems to be Kant's single preoccupation ...?' He proceeds to ask whether Kant may have 'overlooked the most decisive, the deepest and most comprehensive possibility open to mankind' [315]. A perspectival interpretation that gives proper attention to Kant's whole System leaves ample room, as we shall see in Chapter IX, for just the kind of God-encounter that Barth believed to be missing from Kant's philosophy. 14. Davidovich acknowledges the close connection between Kt7 and Kt8 [Da93a:20], claiming the

VI. Religion as the Synthesis of Theology and Morality This conclusion is confirmed by the fact that both Kt8 and Kt7 try to answer the third in a set of questions that Kant says defines '[a]ll the interests of my reason': the first two questions, 'What can I know?' and 'What ought I to do?', are synthesized by the third, 'What may I hope?'15 Indeed, I believe part of Kant's reason for writing Kt8 when he did was that he realized Kt7, published three years earlier, does not provide a sufficient answer to the question of human hope. The questions relating to human hope are associated much more naturally with religion than with aesthetics or teleology (the subjects of Kt7). Moreover, as we shall see in Chapter VII, Kt8 fits more closely than the third Critique does into the systematic patterns established in the first two Critiques [cf. KSP1:IX.1,4]—yet another good reason for regarding Kt8 as intimately bound up with the Critical wing of his System. A careful examination of Kant's various definitions of religion will not only support the above suggestion as to the proper place of Kt8 in Kant's System, but will provide the context for a proper understanding of Kant's 'official' definition in Kt8. In his Lectures on Education Kant defines religion as 'the [moral] law in us, so far as it is imprinted upon us by a legislator and a judge; it

latter 'brings to completion the task of the Critical investigation.' McCarthy [Mc86:61] calls attention to the same connection, noting that Kt7's Appendix 'foreshadows the containment of a "purposeful Christianity" in a larger system of religious/moral purposes in [Kt8].' But he stresses that Kt8 'is not a "fourth critique'"; instead, it belongs more to the metaphysical development of Kant's System [Mc86:63-4]. Nevertheless, he does admit [105n]: 'The ties [in Kt8] to the Third Critique remains an area worthy of more extended study.' My point in suggesting this alternative title for Kt8 is not that it could be a fourth Critique [cf. note III. 11], but that it could replace Kt7 as the third Critique, with Kt7 then being regarded as a supporting work (like Kt2 and Kt5) that does not attempt to follow the twelvefold structure Kant imposes on each of his systems. To those who accuse Kt8 of being unsystematic, Davidovich [Da93a:20] responds that Kt8 'provides Kant's most systematic statement on the human condition.... Only when we read this book from the perspective of [Kt7] rather than as an addendum to [Kt4], does the full import of [Kt8] as a reflective examina¬ tion of the innermost human aspirations for the individual and society become apparent.' 15. Ktl:832-3. Elsewhere Kant adds that all three questions can be summed up in a fourth question, 'What is man?' [see note III.5]. He clearly explains the synthetic relation between the three questions in Ktl:833: 'The first question is merely speculative' (i.e., theoretical); the second 'is purely practical'; and the third 'is at once practical and theoretical'. And in a 1793 letter to Staudlin [AAll:414(Zw67:205)] he explicitly states that Kt8's task is 'to complete the third part of my plan.' Religion is therefore based on an intimate connection between theory and practice, 'a connection in which the practice determines the theory and not the theory the practice' [We26:17] —as is required by Kant's doctrine of the primacy of practical reason [see KSP1:VIII.4]. The result, as we shall see in Part Three, is that Kant always regards religion first and foremost in terms of actions and morality, and only secondarily as a set of creeds or doctrine. In light of our emphasis on the theocentric character of Kant's philosophy [see 1.3], it is worth noting that each of his three famous questions corresponds to one of 'the three ideas of pure reason, God, freedom, and immortality', all of which join together 'to form a religion' [Kt7:474]. God is the idea that motivates us to ask about possible knowledge; freedom is the idea that motivates us to ask about our duty; and immortality is the idea that motivates us to ask about human hope. In Kt8:157(145), Kant relates each of these ideas explicitly to religion, adding that, because of its close connection with them, '[n]atural religion ... is [itself] a pure practical idea of reason'.

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is morality applied to the knowledge of God [i.e., to theology].'16 Conversely, he claims elsewhere that 'religion is nothing but the application of theology to morality' [Kt26:997(26)]. These two statements would contradict each other for anyone who views religion as simply identical to, or a sub-category of, morality. For Kant, though, the statements are actually suggesting that morality and theology are the two complementary opposites which, when combined in a synthetic unity, give rise to religion. This is why Kant can say both that 'moral¬ ity leads inevitably to religion' [Kt8:8n(7n)] and that 'theology also leads direct¬ ly to religion':17 each leads to religion, because each is incomplete on its own, just as each of the first two Critiques can be said to lead to the third Critique. The religion towards which they lead must therefore clothe the 'bare' body of pure moral religion with some theoretical clothing, in the form of an 'historical' or 'revealed' religion, also called an 'ecclesiastical faith' [see e.g., Kt8:102-3 (94), 162(151)]. A real (i.e., empirical) religion that can do this without distort¬ ing the priority of the 'pure religious faith' at its core can qualify for what Kant calls 'the universal religion of mankind' [Kt8:155(143)]. (I shall argue in Chapter VIII that Kant viewed Christianity as the prime example of the latter.) If we turn now to Kant's standard definition of religion, the error lying behind the strict reductionist interpretation can easily be exposed. The fact that he intends his definition to extend morality beyond its own boundaries to the¬ ology, and then beyond both to a new, distinctively religious standpoint, be¬ comes especially obvious if we look at the context in which Kant proposes his definition, where it is used to clarify the difference between revealed and natural religion: Religion is (subjectively regarded) the recognition of all duties as divine com¬ mands. 18 That religion in which I must know in advance that something is a 16. Kt39:494(214). See also Kt35:(81): 'Religion is the application of the moral laws to the knowl¬ edge of God, and not the origin of morals.... All religion assumes morality, and morality cannot, therefore, be derived from religion.' 17. Kt7:481. Kant makes a similar remark in Kt35:(78-9): 'Religion is morality applied to God. It is ethics applied to theology.... Accordingly, religion is the combination of ethics and theology ...'. However, he insists in Kt39:493(211) that, even though 'the concepts of religion always pre¬ suppose a theology', in religious education 'one must not begin with theology.... Morality must precede, theology follow, and then we have religion' [494-5(215)]. Thus there is a strict parallel between morality and theology in their relation to religion: Kant explains in Kt65:36 that 'theology' is 'the sum of certain teachings regarded as divine revelation', whereas 'religion' is 'the sum of all our duties regarded as divine commands'. The latter is echoed again in Kt7:460, where religion is defined as 'morality in relation to God as Lawgiver'. 18. Kant repeats this definition of religion throughout his systematic writings, including the first Critique [Ktl:846-7], the second Critique [Kt4:129], and the third Critique [Kt7:481]. See also Kt6:440,443,487; Kt8:103-4(95); Kt65:36; and AA10:179(Zw67:84). In Kt8:110(100) Kant says 'the performance of all human duties as divine commands... constitutes the essence of all religion.' Kant's aim in the passage quoted in the main text is, in the words of Collins, 'to avoid both a reductive rationalism and a reductive supernaturalism' [Co67:180; s.a. 164-5], In Kt9 Kant reverses

VI. Religion as the Synthesis of Theology and Morality

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divine command in order to recognize it as my duty, is the revealed religion...; in ••••}'• contrast, that religion in which I must first know that something is my duty before I can accept it as a divine injunction is the natural religion. [Kt8:153-4(142-3)]

In revealed religion, then, morality conforms to theology, while in natural reli¬ gion theology conforms to morality [see Kt7:460 and Kt39:477(184)]. Kant goes on to distinguish between two types of natural religion, only the first of which would be reductionist in the strict sense. He contrasts the 'naturalist', who 'denies the reality of all supernatural divine revelation' with the 'pure rationalist', who 'recognizes revelation, but asserts that to know and accept it as real is not a necessary requisite to religion' [Kt8:154-5(143)]. Although in the first paragraph of this section [Kt8:153-5(142-3)] Kant never advocates any of these views, in the next paragraph he describes the po¬ sition of the pure rationalist (which does not entail eliminative reductionism) in a way that clearly implies his support for it. The pure rationalist, it seems, has read the first Critique\ For he 'must... restrict himself within the limits of hu¬ man insight', yet without dogmatising, as does the naturalist (and the strict re¬ ductionist). He then contrasts his position19 with 'pure supernaturalism', which tends towards a rather different form of strict reductionism: its proponent 'holds that belief in [revelation] is necessary to the universal religion', because human duties are nothing but God's revealed will. For Kant, 'the question at issue' is whether the pure rationalist or the pure supernaturalist position is cor¬ rect—i.e., whether divine revelation is to be regarded 'as necessary and sufficient, or as merely incidental, to the unique true religion.'20 After making this 'subjective' distinction between different ways of con¬ ceiving of the 'inner possibility' of religion, Kant makes another, 'objective' this formula to produce a definition of God: 'A Being for whom all human duties are likewise his commands, is God' [21.17(223)]. Green [Gg93:6] claims that Kant's emphasis on the word 'as' in the quoted passage is misleadingly left out by Green and Hudson. However, the German text [AA6] shows no such emphasis. Green then misleadingly takes the 'as' to indicate equivalency. As we shall see in VII. 1, it actually indicates the concentric relation between two unequal parts. Neglecting this, Green [11] thinks Kant is arguing for 'an essential identity between Christian doctrine and "religion within the limits of reason alone.'" But such an absolute reductionism would be untenable; as we shall see, the 'as' in Kant's definition requires compatibility, not identity. 19. That pure rationalism is Kant's position is further suggested by the fact that he repeatedly refers to his own task as that of discerning the nature of the 'religion of pure reason' [see e.g., Kt8:110 (100)]. Moreover, Kant 'recognizes revelation' in the sense that he devotes a whole section of Book Three [109-14(100-5)] to the task of discerning the 'authentic' principle for interpreting any document that purports to be revealed by God [see VIII.3.A]. 20. Kt8:155(143); see Kt65:37. The former position, Kant says in Kt65:36, is taken up by the 'biblical theologian', who is 'versed in the Scriptures with regard to ecclesiastical faith'; the latter is taken up by the 'rational theologian', who is 'versed in reason with regard to religious faith'. Chapters VIII and IX will examine Christianity from these two Perspectives (in reverse order): pure rational religion, supported by philosophical theology, on the one hand, and revealed religion, supported by biblical theology, on the other.

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distinction, in terms of the 'characteristics [of a religion] which make it capable of being sharedwidely with others' [Kt8:155(143)]. The main characteristic of 'the natural religion' is that '(once it has arisen) everyone can be convinced [of its truth] through his own reason', whereas that of 'a learned religion' is that 'one can convince others only through the agency of learning (in and through which they must be guided).' Only the former can qualify as 'the universal religion', because only it can be spread to everyone, regardless of educational status. He points out, however, that a religion such as Christianity might be 'objectively a natural religion, though subjectively one that has been revealed'21 —a claim we shall examine more fully in Chapter VIII. Seen in its proper context, Kant's definition of religion suggests the following 1SLR between theology, morality, and religion: morality (+) (natural religion)

true empirical religion (x) (universal religion)

theology (-) (revealed religion)

Figure VI.2: Theology, Morality, and Religion A 'revealed' religion is one that takes theology (or some form of revelation) as its sole basis, rejecting the need for any special aid from reason. A 'natural' religion takes morality (or some manifestation of reason) as its sole basis, rejecting the need for any special aid from revelation. In truly Critical fashion, Kant rejects both extremes (the former being too dogmatic, the latter being too skeptical) in favor of a more moderate view that combines them, forming the idea of an empirical religion that accepts the possibility of both natural religion 21. Kt8:156(144). That Kant himself genuinely believed this to be true is indicated by his contention, in a 1789 letter to Jacobi [AAll:74(Zw67:158)], that 'if the gospel had not previously instructed us in the universal moral laws, in their total purity, our reason would not yet have discovered them so completely; yet once we are in possession of them, we can convince anyone of their correctness and validity using reason alone.' This clearly demonstrates that Kant's statement about morality not needing religion [Kt8:3(3)] is transcendental, not empirical.

VI. Religion as the Synthesis of Theology and Morality (objectively) and revealed religion (subjectively). Only if objective priority is given to the former (i.e., only if it is not regarded as a 'learned' religion) can an empirical religion be considered as a candidate for a truly universal religion. Kant lends further support to this interpretation in Kt35:(83-4) when he explains that 'supernatural religion is not opposed to natural religion, but com¬ pletes it. Natural religion is true but incomplete.' It is incomplete because 'true religion', though essentially inner, always involves some outward expression: ... there is no such thing as an outer religion. All [true] religion is entirely a matter of disposition; all outward action is either a means to or an expression of the reli¬ gion within us: no outward act can be a religious act; acts of religion are within us, because true religion is purely a matter of disposition. [(82-83), e.a.]

Kant is here emphasizing the radically pure, or transcendental character of his special Critical Perspective on religion: just as Ktl (systemt) lays the transcen¬ dental foundation for empirical knowledge and Kt4 (systemp) lays the transcen¬ dental foundation for moral action, so also Kt8 (system,-) lays the transcendental foundation for real (empirical) religion. However, the fact that the inner dispo¬ sition must be primary does not mean it can stand on its own. On the contrary, only an empirical religion that combines the outer and the inner in the proper way can be universal. Accordingly, Kant leaves no doubt as to his position on the inadequacy of a merely inner religion [Kt35:(102)]: A pure religion... consists] solely in dispositions which are directed towards God and imply morality. A mixed religion, in so far as it appeals to the senses, is one which is merely a means to morality. But as man is sensuous and the religious ap¬ peal to the senses has its uses, it can be said that man can have no pure religion.

This makes it easier to understand why, in spite of his emphasis on the primacy of true 'inner' religion, Kant does not use the phrase lreinen Vernunft' in the title of Kt8. Once Kant's perspectival distinction between theology, morality, and reli¬ gion is clearly understood, his insistence that morality is the primary basis of religion, while theology is secondary, can be recognized as a rather straightfor¬ ward application of his general insistence on the 'primacy of practical reason': in Kant's System practical action always takes precedence over theoretical beliefs [see Kt4:119-21]. This is why he rejects all theoretical arguments for the existence of God, yet claims his moral argument is 'the only one needful for religion' [Kt7:474], so that 'the only theology of reason which is possible is one that is based upon moral laws' [664]. However, it is a grave mistake to treat Kant's moral argument for the existence of God as part of his theory of religion, as is so often done by those who view the latter as a mere footnote to his moral philosophy [see notes VI.2-5]. Not only does he never repeat the

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moral argument as such in Kt8, but as we shall see, he supplies new arguments that go beyond the mere postulate of God, guaranteed by the former. The faith that is the proper domain of theology is added to the knowledge that arises out of our moral nature in order to give rise to religion, in which the reality of God plays a role it never could in the moral system on its own. And the result is that the ultimate fulfillment of the moral law itself becomes possible: 'In religion all our morality ought to reach its fulfilment in respect of its object' [Kt35:(78-9)]. This perspectival interpretation of Kant's definition of religion puts it in a new light. When Kant says religion is the recognition of duties as divine com¬ mands, he is not secretly thinking: 'But we enlightened folk all know that they are actually nothing but human duties in disguise.' Rather, he is implying that the only way to make sense out of the universal human experience of inwardly compelling duty, and the only way to imagine how the enormous task it pre¬ sents to us can be fulfilled, given the factual reality of 'radical evil in human nature' [Kt8:19-44(15-39)], is to view these duties as if they are commanded by God (though, of course, their ultimate source can never be a matter of theoretical knowledge). This is why he says we must view our duties as divine (not just human) commands: we must view them as being connected (via the moral law within us) to a higher Power outside us (though not outside reason, lest they be heteronomous) or we will never be able to achieve their fulfillment. This fulfillment, according to Kant, is the heart and the hope of true religion.22 3. A Preview of Kant's System of Religion If the foregoing interpretation is correct, then the usual assumption, that Kt8 simply restates and expands the essentials of Kant's theory of morality in Kt4, is profoundly mistaken. Instead, Kt8 ought to be viewed as itself a transcendental Critique of Religion [see note VI. 14]—i.e., as an attempt to delineate the boundary between true religion and false religion by setting forth 22. Edwards argues that Kant's definition of religion renders invalid everything else he says about religion simply because it is a 'persuasive' definition (i.e., one that merely stipulates the 'true' or 'real' character of something in order to alter, weaken, or reinforce some 'attitudes and values' [Ed79:42]). As a result, Edwards completely ignores the fact that Kt8 is filled with arguments to support Kant's many claims, and that Kant presents his official definition not at the beginning of his exposition, but near the end! Moreover, the definition of a 'persuasive' definition, which Edwards borrows from St44:210, is itself a persuasive definition, since Edwards uses it to cast doubt upon the legitimacy of such definitions, and to divert our attention to supposedly true (i.e., 'descriptive') definitions. So this distinction between types of definition ends up casting doubt upon its own validity (at least, as long as one believes, with Edwards, that the only 'true' definition is a descriptive one)! For Kant, by contrast, to allow only descriptive definitions into the philoso¬ phy of religion would be tantamount to giving up everything distinctively philosophical in this discipline. What Edwards ignores is that a transcendental definition can be nondescriptive without being 'emotive'.

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the necessary conditions for the possibility of religious experience. And this is, indeed, precisely what Kant does. When he explains this in the Preface to the second edition of Kt8, he adds that his experiment will actually be twofold: first, to discover the rational conditions for the possibility of religion; and sec¬ ond, to test one particular religious faith, viz., Christianity, to see how closely it conforms to these conditions.23 Chapters VII and VIII will examine and assess the success of these two experiments in turn. As a final preparation for our detailed analysis of Kt8, though, let us take a general look at the book's overall structure.24 This will enable us to determine more precisely in VI.4 the extent to which Kant's rational system of religion is or is not reductive. Kt8 is divided into four 'Books', each of which develops one 'stage' (as I call it) in Kant's systematic exposition of the nature of religion. The primary task of the first stage is to answer the question: Is human nature originally good or evil? Kant's answer is (as usual) that it depends on what perspective the questioner adopts. If the question refers to the potential that resides in every human being as a 'living' (animal), 'rational' (human), and 'accountable' (per¬ sonal) being, then we must regard human nature as originally good, because these characteristics naturally 'enjoin the observance of the [moral] law' [Kt8: 26-8(21-3)]. However, if the question refers to the actual state of every human person in their first (and subsequent) moral act(s), then we cannot avoid the conclusion that an original ('radical') evil exists in human nature. This con¬ clusion is necessary not only if we base our judgment on 'what we know of man through experience' [32(27)]; in addition, 'it must be apprehended a priori through the concept of evil' [35(31)]. Thus, Kant concludes, 'we may presup¬ pose evil to be subjectively necessary to every man, even the best' [32(27)]. Kant's argument in stage one has not always been appreciated by his crit¬ ics, who would rather gloss over it in order to emphasize the 'good bits' (i.e., Kant's stress on moral goodness).25 Yet this two-sided answer to the question 23. Friedman [Fr86b:519] is probably alluding to these two experiments when he says that in Kt8 'Kant gives us both religion within the bounds of reason and reason within the bounds of religion, for while reason is the court of final judgment, religion is the source of this vision and the determiner of its limits.' The twofold nature of Kant's task in Kt8 will become more clear in VII.l. 24. The following sketch of Kant's religious system is a summary of the main points discussed in VII.2-3. Readers who, after reading VI.3, are not interested in a more detailed account of Kt8's first experiment may therefore wish to skip those lengthy sections of Chapter VII. 25. Ernst Cassirer discusses the negative reaction to Kant's doctrine of radical evil by his contem¬ poraries in Ca81:391-2. He explains, for example, that 'Goethe ... remarked bitterly in a letter to Herder that Kant has disgracefully "slobbered on" his philosopher's cloak "with the blot of radical evil, so that even Christ would be enticed to kiss its hem".' (Kant's actual views on the issue of Jesus's divine/perfect nature will be discussed in VIII.2.B.) To the likes of Goethe, as McCarthy rightly observes [Mc86:67], Kt8's doctrine of radical evil 'may have suggested intellectual treason.' Indeed, this impression has extended well beyond Kant's own day: 'Kant's doctrine of radical evil is a continual sense of embarrassment for philosophers' [Sc93:87n]. Cassirer's son,

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of human nature is as crucial to Kant's theory of religion as freedom is to his theory of morality, and as time and space are to his theory of knowledge. Kant is arguing, as we shall see in VII.2-3, that religion itself would not be possible if it were not true that human nature contains within it an intrinsically good pur¬ pose, and that the same human nature is nevertheless infected with an irre¬ sistible tendency towards evil. This tension sets the problem that all religion tries to solve; so without these two conditions, religion would never have ap¬ peared. Morality alone is insufficient because evil is inevitable for every human being. If evil were not inevitable, then we could realize the goal of becoming well-pleasing to God merely by remaining in the pure (moral) part of Kant's System. But in his religious system Kant insists right at the outset that we must recognize our inability to reach the goal in this way: we need more than mere morality, because nobody is perfect. We are all corrupted by radical evil. The second stage in Kant's religious system responds to the initial limiting conditions set out in stage one by examining 'the conflict of the good with the evil principle for sovereignty over man' [Kt8:57(50)]. The question Kant is trying to answer in Book Two is: How can an evil person become good? The answer interpreters have traditionally assumed Kant to be giving is that a person becomes good by acting in a good way, by obeying the moral law. This, once again, is a subtle misconstrual of the solution Kant actually offers. How does an evil heart become a good heart? Kant's initial answer is: For despite the fall, the injunction that we ought to become better men resounds unabatedly in our souls; hence this must be within our power, even though what we are able to do is in itself inadequate and though we thereby only render ourselves susceptible of higher, and for us inscrutable, assistance.... But if a man is to become not merely legally, but morally, a good man (pleasing to God),... this cannot be brought about through gradual reformation so long as the basis of the maxims [i.e., the 'heart'] remains impure, but must be effected through a revolution in the man's disposition... [Kt8:45-7(40-3)j.

Kant is here making two main points. The first is that, no matter how good we are, we cannot be good enough to please God (i.e., to fulfill the moral law) in every one of our actions. 'What we are able to do is in itself inadequate'! Then what is the importance of morality at all? Kant says that by acting morally we render ourselves susceptible of 'higher and, for us [i.e., for bare reason] inscrutable assistance'. Another (more conventionally religious) way of saying Heinrich Walter, himself claims [Ca88:76] that in his theory of radical evil 'Kant has departed to a marked extent from the position he previously occupied.' But the difference between Kant's treatment of moral issues in Kt4 and Kt5, as compared to that in Kt8, is due to a change in standpoint, not to a rejection or revision of the position previously adopted. Barth is correct to observe that radical evil seems to disturb the neatness Kant's System had maintained up to that point [Ba72:296-7]; but that it nevertheless belongs to systemr will be demonstrated in VII.2.A.

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the same thing is that grace is a necessary condition of becoming good. Kant supports this position explicitly in Kt8:75-6(70): 26 Here, then, is that surplus... over and above the profit from good works, and it is "v itself a profit which is reckoned to us by grace. That what in our earthly life... is ever only a becoming (namely, becoming a man well-pleasing to God) should be credited to us exactly as if we were already in full possession of it—to this we have no legal claim... Thus the decree is always one of grace alone...

Such a manifestation of grace occurs as a part of the conversion experience of the religious believer: even though we are not fully good, we are regarded as good by God. Kant almost seems to be defending the Lutheran position that salvation is by grace alone, not by works\ This is slightly misleading, how¬ ever, because he does not actually say 'not by works'; rather, he says both works and grace are necessary. Good works are necessary from the moral standpoint of practical reason; and grace is necessary from the nonmoral standpoint of theoretical reason. Kant's view is that, if salvation is going to happen, both of these requirements must be met. The question this raises is: What is the proper order"? From one point of view, grace must come first, because there is no way a person can erase the evil deeds he or she has already done, and the first moral (i.e., freely chosen) action performed by every person is evil [see notes VIII. 16,17]. God must take the initiative. But how does this happen? Kant says bare reason cannot answer this question. All we can do is recognize the space left open by reason, which needs to be filled. Filling this space is not an optional extra, intended only for those who need a crutch; rather, it must be filled in some way by God's grace if a person is to become well-pleasing to God. Naked reason cannot tell us exactly how this will happen. Only faith, as a complement to the inadequacy of our theoretical reason, can pave the way for such a disclosure. Kant's theory of this 'space' is expressed primarily in terms of what he calls the 'archetype of perfect humanity'. The grace of God, from the point of view of bare reason, can only be regarded as an archetype. By 'archetype' Kant means every human being possesses, as it were, an inner 'space', ready and waiting to be filled by the grace of God. But nothing in our reason can guarantee the actual filling of that space. The problem, Kant says, is that we are not able to see clearly into the depths of the human heart—not even our own heart. So there is no way we can know for sure whether or not God has actually manifested his grace to us, or whether we have accepted it completely 26. Anyone who believes Kant is merely preaching a religion of good works must answer to his clear statements to the contrary, such as can be found in this and numerous other Kt8 passages! For a detailed discussion of Kant's doctrines of atonement and grace, see AVI.2-4.

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[see e.g., Kt8:51(46),67-9(61-2)]. We cannot tell for sure whether the 'space' we have in our reason has actually been filled. So what can we do? Kant says what we must do is to adopt what he calls 'practical faith'. In a nutshell, Kant's notion of practical faith says this: Try your best, and trust that God will do the rest. That is, do your moral duty as often as you can, follow the moral law in your heart, but never fool yourself into believing that this alone will save you, because you will always fall short. Kant stresses this idea time after time;27 and yet, whenever he says it, strict reductionist inter¬ preters sweep his comments off to one side and surmise 'Well, he must have been trying to please the governmental authorities of the established church, who were threatening to censor his work.28 He couldn't have believed thatV Yet this kind of selective interpretation is unjustified, particularly at this point, where he is expounding the very heart of his entire philosophical System. We can therefore summarize Kant's argument in stage two as follows. Kant is saying that, although we can never make ourselves worthy to be ac¬ cepted by God, we can make ourselves worthy to be made acceptable by God. This is the proper relationship, according to Kant, between good works and grace.29 Doing good works—trying to live a good life—is the rational basis upon which we can conceive of ourselves as having received God's grace. For our moral action is based on the same disposition through which we open our¬ selves up to the possibility of having our immoral deeds covered up by God. Up to this point Kant's religious system has been concerned only with the salvation of the individual believer. But in stage three he argues that 'the victory 27. See e.g., Kt8:45(40-l),52(47),67n(61n),71-6(65-71),97-8(89),100-l(92),l 16-20(106-11),171-2 (159-60),173(161). 28. See note VIII.4. Vossenkuhl [Vo88:181] is a good example of someone who regards the threat of censorship as the main explanation for the cautious approach Kant takes in Kt8. Kt8 was published just as the new king (Frederick William II) was tightening his grip on academia through a program of strict religious censorship. The idea of some interpreters, that in Kt8 Kant sometimes softens his real views, or writes with a twist of irony, in hopes of appeasing the authorities, is not only an unfounded insult to Kant's integrity, but would also indicate a pro¬ found inability on Kant's part to judge what would actually offend the authorities! For Kant was severely reprimanded for the views he expressed in Kt8, which were interpreted as being subversive to the established church's interpretation of Christianity. He responded by loyally promising the king he would never again publish or speak publicly on the subject of religion during his reign. After the king's death, Kant promptly resumed his public stance on religion, since his vow referred only to his duty as a servant of that particular king—a fortunate decision indeed for posterity, since Kt65 provides an invaluable inside look at Kant's own understanding of how Kt8 ought to be interpreted. He explains and defends this decision in Kt65:5-ll, and includes an explicit statement [Kt65:9-10] indicating the religious seriousness with which he composed his writings: 'I always pictured this judge [viz., the voice of God speaking through the conscience] as standing at my side to keep me not only from error that corrupts the soul, but even from any careless expression that might give offense.' 29. For a more complete statement of Kant's solution to the traditional problem of the conflict between faith and works, see AVI.4.

VI. Religion as the Synthesis of Theology and Morality of the good over the evil principle, and the founding of a kingdom of God on earth' [Kt8:93(85)] can occur only in the context of a community. Therefore, the questions to be answered in Book Three all revolve around the issue of the nature and justification of such a community, regarded as a necessarily religious institution. Why do we need such a community? Because when a converted person lives in close proximity to other people—even if these others are also trying to live good lives—they will inevitably have a corrupting in¬ fluence on each other. The radical evil in their nature as human beings will still corrupt the goodness of the individual's deeds, giving rise to inter-personal conflicts such as jealousy, selfishness, etc. [Kt8:93-4(85-6)]. For this reason, people seeking to live a good life need to join together in the form of what Kant calls an 'ethical commonwealth'. In other words, we need to come together and make an agreement to cooperate, based on moral laws [95-8(87-9)]. The strict reductionist interpretation of Kant stops at this point: it says the ethical commonwealth is Kant's description of how the unity of pure moral re¬ ligion can come about. But Kant himself actually says the ethical common¬ wealth on its own is an insufficient basis for the realization of true religion. Why? Because the people who unite together in this way must work according to the additional assumption that the same Being, or the same transcendent Power, is at the root of their internally prescribed moral commands. In other words, they must believe there is a God who guides all the members of such a group in harmony with each other. On the basis of this argument (to be exam¬ ined in more detail in VII.3.A), Kant concludes that the ethical commonwealth will be effective only when it is viewed as an invisible 'People of God' who come together under the idea of a church. Each member can then be regarded as receiving in his or her own heart individual guidance from God. Ultimately, the level of cooperation between the people joined together in such a community will therefore be determined by the extent to which each person receives guid¬ ance from the same divine Being. Yet this need to rely on God for the final realization of the highest human good does not release human beings from re¬ sponsibility. On the contrary, as we shall see in VII.3.A, Kant stresses that the true church must have a definite (archetypal) form through human organization. Kant concludes his system of religion in stage four by asking how we can determine whether or not a particular aspect of an empirical religion is genuine. In order to distinguish between false religion and true religion, he offers the following principle: I take the following proposition to be a principle requiring no proof: Whatever, over and above good life-conduct, man fancies that he can do to become well-pleas¬ ing to God is mere religious illusion and pseudo-service of God. I say, what man

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PART TWO: CRITICAL THEOLOGY believes that he can do; for here it is not denied that beyond all that we can do there may be something in the mysteries of the highest wisdom that God alone can do to transform us into men well-pleasing to Him.... But is there not also perhaps a dizzying illusion of virtue...? No! The disposition of virtue occupies itself with something real which of itself is well-pleasing to God and which harmonizes with the world's highest good. True, an illusion of self-sufficiency may attach itself thereto, an illusion of regarding oneself as measuring up to the idea of one's holy duty; but this is merely contingent. [Kt8:170-3(158-161)]

Passages such as this have typically been interpreted along the lines of strict (eliminative) reductionism: Kant is believed to be saying that nothing besides morality counts, so we can throw away everything else. But this is not what he says! On the contrary, he explicitly states that we can never hope to behave well enough to 'measure up' completely to the required standard. He is arguing that anything completely detached from morality is not part of true religion. Nevertheless, elsewhere in Book IV he explains that there is a proper place for nonmoral aspects of religion, for aspects of our empirical religion that are accepted by faith, but are not in themselves morally good or bad. These do have a proper place as long as we keep them attached to morality, as long as there is a definite connection between such nonmoral religious activities or beliefs and the moral core of religion. Thus Kant's principle entails that nonmoral religious activity can be a legitimate part of the true (universal) religion only if it serves as a means for deepening or quickening a person's moral disposition. The error Kant's principle is guarding against is not that of admitting nonmoral aspects into an empirical religion; rather it is that of reversing the priority of the moral over the nonmoral, by viewing the latter not merely as the means to a moral end, but as themselves the objective condition for God's acceptance. Hence whoever assigns priority to obedience to statutory laws, requiring a revela¬ tion, as being necessary to religion, and regards 'this obedience not merely as a means to the moral disposition but as the objective condition of becoming imme¬ diately well-pleasing to God, and whoever thus places endeavor toward a good course of life below this historical faith (instead of requiring the latter, which can be well-pleasing to God only conditionally, to adapt itself to the former, which alone is intrinsically well-pleasing to Him)—whoever does this transforms the ser¬ vice of God into a mete fetishism and practises a pseudo-service which is subver¬ sive to all endeavors toward true religion. So much depends, when we wish to unite two good things, upon the order in which they are united! True enlighten¬ ment lies in this very distinction; therein the service of God becomes first and foremost a free and hence a moral service. [Kt8:178-9(166-7)]

Here Kant is not equating nonmoral activities to false religion, and moral ac¬ tivities to true religion, as the strict reductionist interpretation would have it. Rather, he is describing true religion as the combination of these two elements in their proper order. From our point of view as human beings, morality is the

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first basis, the foundation of our building of religion, whereas faith and nonmoral religious activities constitute the building itself. False religion is the belief that some theoretical (i.e., nonmoral) belief or idea is the basis, the foundation, and that morality just comes as an extra, secondary element—or maybe even not at all. But if the priorities are right, then both the moral and the nonmoral can cooperate as proper elements in true religion. 4. Raising Morality to the Status of Religion This more balanced way of interpreting Kant's intentions provides a good basis for making an accurate initial evaluation of the extent to which his two experiments succeed. We shall see in the next two chapters that both are far more successful than strict reductionists would lead us to believe. For the answers Kant gives to the wide range of questions occupying his attention in Kt8 go far beyond the simple idea that religion is just morality in disguise. A brief look at three issues of special importance can serve as a tantalizing preview of the implications the perspectival interpretation of Kant's Critical theology given here in Part Two has for Kant's philosophy of religion. Kant's views concerning the divinity of Jesus, the efficacy of prayer, and the authority of the Bible as a divine revelation have typically been taken to be contrary, if not hostile, to the traditional Christian doctrines. Although Kant certainly does not defend the orthodox views, the strict reductionist interpretation has blinded many readers to the fact that he also does not deny the validity of such doctrines, but rather offers a new, more moderate explanation of their validity. In each case, his explanations of such doctrines promote (what I shall call) a 'liberating conservatism' and 'conserving liberalism' (in opposition of the usual extremes of an exclusively conservative or liberal interpretation of Christian doctrine) [see VIII.4]. A careful examination of the first issue reveals that Kant never denies Jesus' divinity [see AVI.2]. On the contrary, he explicitly requires that this question be left open, to be decided by faith, not bare reason [Kt8:63-4(57-8)]; nevertheless, he clearly outlines a 'space' for such a divine nature in his theory of the 'personified idea [i.e. the 'archetype'] of the good principle' in all human persons [60-2(57-8)], and he even hints that Jesus' divinity could be inter¬ preted in terms of his 'disposition', in which 'the ideal of goodness' was 'displayed incarnate' [65-6(59); s.a. 128-9(119-20)]. Kant's criticism of the traditional view is directed primarily to those who emphasize Jesus' divinity to such an extent that his humanity (and thus his ability to serve as an example to all human beings) is neglected [63-4(57-8)]; but he also guards against the opposite extreme of dogmatically denying Jesus' divinity altogether.

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Likewise, Kant never claims that prayer is merely an ineffective illusion that should be eliminated from true religion.30 On the contrary, he insists that the 'spirit' of prayer lies at the very heart of all true religion; for prayer serves to 'fan into flame the cinders of morality in the inner recesses of the heart' [Kt35:(99)]. His criticism of prayer as it is commonly practiced is that an emphasis on the 'letter' (i.e., on the words that are the uttered) can often lead a person to hold the false belief that the uttering of such words is, in itself, pleasing to God [Kt8:194-8(182-6)]. All nonmoral religious activities are treated in a similar way: they lead to false religion only if regarded as a direct way of serving God [103-6(94-7)]; if they are treated as an indirect type of service, intended 'to induce in us a moral disposition' [Kt35:(99)], then they are not only valid, but can be vital to true religion [Kt8:192(180-1)]. The profound implications of this interpretive principle for understanding the role of nonmoral religious activities is brought out most fully in Appendix VIII, where the specific issue of prayer is examined in great detail. Finally, Kant never intends to deny the reliability of the Bible as a divinely revealed guideline for the faith and practice of the true church.31 On the con¬ trary, he stresses that some text is necessary, and that this text (i.e., the Bible) has proven its value by repeatedly serving as a vehicle for awakening people to true religion [Kt8:106-7(97-8)]; moreover, he carefully explains how its moral content can assure us of its divinely revealed character [112(102-3)]. His criti¬ cism of the common belief in divine revelation is directed mainly against those who regard rational belief in the theology contained in a particular book as the necessary condition for pleasing God, so that 'learning' and 'scholarship', rather than practical faith and good life-conduct, inevitably come to be regarded as the most important elements in religion |j 112-4(103-5)]. Although our more exhaustive study of the way Kant defends this and each of the above doctrines will reveal some clear differences between his views and the views of both conservative and liberal theologians [see VIII.2.B-3.B], his position is never¬ theless remarkably compatible with that of many open-minded Christians. Our general overview of Kt8 has given us plenty of evidence for concluding 30. A typical example of the many commentators who misunderstand this point is MacKinnon, who refers to Kant's 'rejection of prayer as unworthy of the responsible human individual' [Ma90a: 354]. McCarthy's position in Mc86:95 sounds the same at first, but turns out to be more accurate. He says prayer and other acts of worship 'are all worthless in making one well-pleasing to God.' This seems to ignore their legitimate role as indirect ways of serving God [see AVII.1,4 and AVIII.l]. But McCarthy is at least partially aware of this qualification to his previous claim: 'prayer can awaken the disposition to goodness, while it cannot obtain grace.' 31. Loades [L081:304], for example, claims Kant 'eliminates ecclesiastical claims to the possession of revealed truth.' But as we have seen, his reduction is not eliminative, but explanatory. He therefore does not intend to eliminate revelation, but to bind it necessarily to morality.

VI. Religion as the Synthesis of Theology and Morality that Kant does insist on maintaining a necessary connection between morality and religion, so in this loose, explanatory sense, he does indeed reduce everything religious to the level of morality. In other words, morality clearly is for Kant the pure (and hence, necessary) core of all true religion. But as we have seen throughout this chapter, this is because he recognizes that only if morality is raised to the status of religion will it be able to fulfill its own goals! Far from requiring the elimination of all nonmoral elements, Kant's approach rather guarantees their potential value by rooting them in the only human soil capable of enabling nonmoral religious beliefs and practices to grow and flour¬ ish. In the eliminative sense, then, MacKinnon is right to say in Ma75:132 that 'Kant's philosophy of religion is very far from reductionist.' My strategy in answering the question posed at the outset of this chapter (viz., 'does Kant reduce theology and religion to morality?') has been to focus primarily on religion. Morality enables us to explain religion, but not to elimi¬ nate it. As we saw in VI.2, religion for Kant is the synthesis of morality and theology. With this in mind, we can readily apply the same reasoning to Kant's view of theology. Like morality, theology can have an explanatory relation to religion, but never to the point of eliminating it. In relation to morality, theology likewise has a clearly secondary status. Yet even here we cannot say Kant in¬ tends to eliminate all theology, merely replacing it with morality. For if theology were eliminated, then religion itself (the synthesis of morality and theology) would be rendered impossible. Moreover, we have seen throughout Part Two that Kant himself develops quite an elaborate theology of his own—hardly what we would expect from someone who was trying to eliminate or destroy all theology! Far from eliminating all religion and theology, Kant's views on the central role of morality in these disciplines are so affirming that they could be com¬ pared with those of the biblical writers themselves, thus giving rise to another, parallel question: Did Jesus and the writers of the Bible reduce religion (or theology) to morality! A definitive answer to this question is, of course, beyond the scope of this book. Nevertheless, as we shall see in more detail in Chapters VIII and IX, numerous aspects of Kant's theory have close parallels in Christianity. For now, it will therefore suffice to point out, as an example, that Kant's view of religion is essentially the same as that of the prophet who asks:32

3

2 . Micah 6:6-8, e.a. Quoted from New American Standard Bible (Carol Stream, 111.: Creation House Inc., 1960).

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PART TWO: CRITICAL THEOLOGY With what shall I come to the Lord and bow myself before the God on high? Shall I come to Him with burnt offerings, with yearling calves? Does the Lord take de¬ light in thousands of rams, in ten thousand rivers of oil? Shall I present my first¬ born for my rebellious acts, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul? He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?

PART THREE KANT'S PERSPECTIVAL FOUNDATION FOR CRITICAL RELIGION 'Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool. If you are willing and obedient, you will eat the best from the land; but if you resist and rebel, you will be devoured by the sword.' For the mouth of the LORD has spoken. [Is. l:18b-20] ... everyone who does what is right has been born of [God]. [1 Jn. 2:29] The sublime, yet never wholly attainable, idea of an ethical commonwealth dwindles markedly under men's hands.... How indeed can one expect something perfectly straight to be formed out of such crooked wood? [Kt8:100(91-2)]

Chapter VII Kant's System of Religious Perspectives ... to have religion is a duty of man to himself. [Kt6:444]

1. The Four Stages of Religion in General As a result of the highly abstract character of much of Kant's theology, both in its positive and negative aspects [cf. IV.2-4 and AIV.1-3], there is a general consensus among those who have any opinion on the matter that 'Kant's God is, most aggressively, the God of the philosophers.'1 It is a mis¬ take, however, to infer from Kant's Critical theology (especially from the philosophical concept of God developed in the three Critiques) that his God is nothing but an abstract philosophical concept. On the contrary, Kant's purpose in developing his Critical theology was to a large extent to defend the legitimacy of his fervent belief in the God of his youth, and to separate the genuine ele¬ ments of his parents' Pietist tradition from the unnecessary trappings that tended to obscure its true value [see e.g., Kt8:132n(123n)]. Webb fully appre¬ ciates this point: 'Not only did Kant... always believe in the existence of God as a real Being...; but also..., he envisaged the God, in whom he never ceased to believe, after the fashion of the theism current in his youth.'2 Thus it is wrong to interpret Kant's personal lack of participation in organized religion as a denial of the value of religion in general, or of Christianity in particular. To 1. Wo78:60; s.a. Vo88:180. Likewise, Guyer claims that in Kt8 and Kt65 'Kant argued firmly for the primacy of philosophy over religion' [Gu92a:4]. But as we saw in Chapter VI, Kant holds such a view of the relation between philosophy (as the guardian of practical reason) and theology (as the attempt to apply theoretical reason to gain knowledge of God), but would not make such a bold claim about religion, which is the synthesis of morality and theology. Thus Friedman [Fr86b:518] claims that 'Kant's attempt to move to religion from morality reveals that religion is for him the teacher of the mind ..., while philosophy is the handmaiden.' McCarthy's view is still more accurate [Mc86:98]: Kant's God 'is not the traditional God of Christian theologians or of philosophers. For ...he is a living God, the judge of human hearts', and wills 'creation's moral goodness', yet without 'intervening in the process.' As we shall see in VIII.3.A and AVII.2, the latter claim is open to considerable doubt, since Kant does leave room for God's grace and very occasional miracles. In any case, more detailed accounts of Kant's position on the relation between philosophy and theology are given in VI.2 and note VII.3. 2. We26:49-50; s.a. De73:255. Greene's description [Gr34:xii-xxii] of the religious climate of Kant's youth, as characterized on one side by a demand for 'correct ceremonial and orthodox belief [xii], and on the other by a pietistic revolution demanding 'that justification and rebirth be actually experienced' [xiii], helps to explain why (as we shall see) Kant reacted against these established traditions—especially the former. For, as Webb points out in We26:20, 'the effects of Pietism in Kant's conception of religion' are clearly evident in his emphasis on the moral law, individualism, conversion, and radical evil, as well as in 'his obvious familiarity with the Bible' [20]; 'in all these features of his mind and character we trace the result of his religious education in Pietistic surroundings.' Kant was far from being uncritical of his tradition, however. For instance, he rejects any form of Pietism that is based on 'the principle of a passive attitude toward a godliness which is to be awaited from a power above' [Kt8:184n(173n); s.a. Kt65:55-7; but cf. Kt8:24n(19n)].

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do so would be as inappropriate as to interpret his avoidance of the services of doctors and lawyers as an outright rejection of medicine and government. Instead, all of these can be explained in terms of his tendency to carry individ¬ ualism to an extreme: 'Every man his own doctor, every man his own lawyer, every man his own priest,—that was the ideal of Kant' .3 Kant's theology is bound to give the impression of total abstraction to those who fail to recognize that its main purpose is 'to form the basis of reli¬ gion' [Ktl:656]. This might seem at first sight to pose an insurmountable problem, however, in light of his conviction that all attempts to prove the exis¬ tence of God theoretically 'are altogether fruitless and by their very nature null and void' and 'do not lead to any theology whatsoever' [664]. Nevertheless, as we saw in IV.2-4, Kant avoids this problem by arguing that 'the mere possibil¬ ity of such a being [viz., God] is sufficient to produce religion in man' [Kt26: 998(27)]. For 'in religion ... no assertorial knowledge is required (even of God's existence)'; the only requirement is 'an assertorial faith' [Kt8:1534n(142n)]. As long as we keep in mind the primacy of practical reason, the limitations of theoretical reason will not be a valid excuse for living as though God does not exist, because a practical faith in God carries us 'farther into the heart of reality than the purely speculative or scientific reason could ever take us' [We26:69]. Although Kant's concern for the autonomy of morality leads him to emphasize that 'morality does not need religion at all... either to know

3. Wa01:47. In Kt65:21-2 Kant discusses the relationship between the four 'faculties' that constitute a university. He describes them in terms of a 2LAR, consisting of a 'lower' faculty (philosophy), which has no power to influence people directly (--), and three 'higher' faculties (law, medicine, and theology), which do have varying degrees of theology (++) influence. This division can be mapped onto the cross as shown on the diagram to the left. Because philosophy has no direct influ¬ ence on ordinary people, but only an indirect influence through the agency of the three higher faculties, Kant argues that philosomedicine _ _ _ _ _ philosophy phers should have the right to publish their ("") views freely: government censorship should pertain only to scholars in the higher facul¬ ties. In Kt65:30 Kant connects the three higher faculties to the three principle desires of ordinary people: 'being happy after death, law (+-) having their possessions guaranteed by pub¬ lic laws ..., and finally,... looking forward to ...health and a long life'. The philosopher suggests that in order for these wishes to be fulfilled, one should 'live righteously, commit no injustice, and, by being moderate in his pleasures and patient in his illnesses, rely primarily on the self-help of nature.' Unwilling to accept such strict demands, most people look to the clergyman, the lawyer, and the physician for miraculous help, even though they have 'been a scoundrel all [their]life,... broken the law, ... and abused [their] physical powers' [30].

142

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what duty is or to impel the performance of duty',4 he would also admit that 'without faith in God', as Webb puts it, the moral law 'must seem to b e . . . a voice crying in the wilderness of an alien world, its presence wherein must remain an inexplicable and baffling mystery' [We26:86; see e.g., Kt4:129-30; Kt7:474]. The main aim of Kant's Critical theology, therefore, is to provide the basis for a philosophically sound account of religion. In this chapter, we shall begin our discussion of Kant's Critical religion proper—i.e., as the topic of Part Three, rather than the topic of this entire second volume of Kant's System of Perspectives. My goal will be to demon¬ strate how a recognition of the theocentric and perspectival character of Kant's Critical philosophy [see Part One], together with an appreciation of Kant's true attitude towards God and theology [see Part Two], can shed new light on the implications of his critique of religion, as it is laid out primarily in his two books on religion, Religion within the Bounds of Bare Reason [Kt8] and The Conflict of the Faculties [Kt65], but also in scattered comments throughout his lectures [especially Kt26 and Kt35] and other writings. I shall begin in this section by continuing Chapter VI's discussion of the place of religion in Kant's System, focusing in particular on the structure of Kt8 and on the interplay be¬ tween pure (or 'transcendental') and empirical religion. The remainder of this chapter will then examine in detail the systematic contents (i.e., what Kant could have called the 'transcendental elements') of religion, as set forth in Kt8. (These sections will apply to Kant's system of religious perspectives the same architectonic mapping principles outlined in KSP1:III.3 and VII. 1 for systemt and systemp: each stage will be analyzed in terms of a three-step, synthetic ar¬ gument, with the four stages related to each other as a 2LAR.51 shall therefore Kt8:3-4(3). This position is verified by experience: we need not look far to find examples of nonreligious people who are highly moral. Kant goes even further, however, when he says 'no one, not even God, can be the author of the laws of morality' [Kt35:(51)], even though from a religious standpoint such laws can 'be regarded as divine commandments' [(52)]. The former is implied by Kant's strict distinction between theology (-) and morality (+) [see Fig. VI.2]; the latter does not require the religious person to believe a falsehood, but merely to adopt the properly religious standpoint (x), where theology and morality are synthesized. Thus, as Kant puts it in Kt35:(81): 'All religion assumes morality, and morality cannot, therefore, be derived from religion.' This claim, initially made in KSP1:96, is substantiated here in VII.2-3. Collins does not use the term 'analytic' in the technical sense spelled out in KSP1:III.3 when he appears to express the opposite view by saying Kant's procedure in Kt8 'is to make an analytic inspection of religion as an experienced, complex reality among men' [Co67:155] and 'to focus analytically upon that general meaning for religion which is conveyed by some given revelational religion' [156]. The phrases 'as an experienced ...reality' and 'by some given [revelation]' suggest that by 'analytic' Collins means Kant is constructing a system of transcendental elements that ground something em¬ pirical—and this is just what Kant describes as synthetic a priori. This may be what Despland has in mind when he says Kt8's approach 'is not merely descriptive and analytical' [De73:246]. As I suggested in note 111.25 of KSP1, Despland is right to deny that Kt8 is a fourth Critique and also to deny that it belongs to the metaphysical wing of Kant's System [158]. Cassirer seems to be ex-

VII. Systemr

143

adopt the convention of referring to the religious system as 'system/.) Follow¬ ing the synopsis of Kant's argument given in VI.3, I shall present in VII.2 a detailed account of Kant's treatment of the nature of and conflict between good and evil. His views on the church and its service of God will be the subject of VII.3. Finally, I shall conclude in VII.4 with a summary of this architectonic, perspectival interpretation of systemr. By focusing in this chapter on outlining the transcendental elements of system,-, we shall be limiting our attention to the first of the two 'experiments' Kant refers to in the Preface to the second edition of Kt8 [see VI.3]. These two experiments actually correspond directly to the nature of pure and empirical re¬ ligion, respectively. The first experiment, Kant says in Kt8:12(11), concerns the 'narrower' sphere identified as 'the pure religion of reason', and aims at constructing a 'pure rational system of religion.' The second, by contrast, con¬ cerns 'the wider sphere of faith', and aims at assessing one particular empirical religion by 'startfing] from some alleged revelation or other and.. .examining] in a fragmentary manner this revela¬ tion, as an historical system, in the Experiment Two. light of moral concepts'. Kant sug¬ Assess one example of a gests the image of 'concentric circles' as a good model for picturing the rela¬ Experiment One: tionship between these two experi¬ Find the elements ments. Following this suggestion gives of pure rational us the map in Figure VII. 1. After (= moral) religion completing our examination of the first experiment here in Chapter VII, we real, empirical religion shall turn in Chapter VIII to the (viz., Christianity) second, in which Kant tests the applicability of his theory by using it to Figure VII. 1: Kant's Two assess the rationality of the Christian Experiments in Kt8 pressing the latter opinion when he refers to Kt8 as one of Kant's 'pedagogical works' [Ca81:387], but he never defends this claim in any way. * My view [cf. KSP1:IH.4] is that Kt8 and Kt7 are obviously meant to work together in answer¬ ing the judicial question of hope, in the same way that Ktl and Kt2 answer the theoretical question of knowledge and Kt4 and Kt5, the practical question of moral action. The fact that Kt8 is so obviously written in the twelvefold, synthetic form of a Critique may be due to the fact that Kt7 fails to exhibit this architectonic form [see KSPl:IX.l]. Kt8 makes up for this, but could not be named 'Critique of...', because there is no room in Kant's System for a fourth Critique and a third Critique had already been published. As suggested in note VI. 14, the best way to reconstruct Kant's System would be to regard Kt8 as the third Critique and Kt7 as its analytical supporting work. In any case, the two 'experiments' in Kt8 (see below in main text) can be regarded as directly parallel to the two types of judgment in Kt7—one moving from the rational to the factual, the other from the factual to the rational [cf. Fig. AIII.3],

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

144

religion. Part Three will then conclude with a chapter adopting the Perspective of the biblical theologian in order to provide a Christian response to Kant's views on religion in general and on Christianity in particular. The outline of Kt8, as shown in Table VII. 1, is simpler than that of most other books in Kant's System of Perspectives [cf. KSP1:III.2], with only nine different divisions (not counting the untitled introductions, the 'General Obser¬ vations' appended to each Book, and the numbered paragraphs within a few of the subsections). Its most important feature for our purposes is the initial two¬ fold division of Books Two through Four. In each case the first section/divi¬ sion/part relates more closely to the first experiment, while the main task of the second section/division/part is to perform the second experiment. Book One was initially published on its own as a journal article, so its format does not match that of the other Books; discussion of the two experiments is mixed throughout all four of the numbered sections. Another architectonically significant feature of Table VII. 1 is its division of the main text into four 'Books'. As we have seen, the first book deals with 'the

Table VII. 1: Analysis of the Table of Contents to Kt8 Prefaces (two editions) Book Two Book Three

Divisions Book Four

4

(Introduction) • i l l III IV I General Observation (Introduction) Section One -Section Two ABC General Observation (Introduction) Division One—I—Division Two I II III IV V VIVII General Observation

Frequency of Divisions:

2!s S i s

Is

4

1

1 3

(Introduction) Part One- -Part Two (Introduction) -I Section One—*—Section Two (Introduction) 12 3 4 General Observation

VII. Systemr

indwelling' of 'radical evil in human nature' [Kt8:19(15)]; the second, with 'the conflict of the good with the evil principle for sovereignty over man' [57(50)]; the third, with 'the victory of the good over the evil principle' [9 (85)]; and the fourth, with 'service and pseudo-service under the sovereignty of the good principle' [151(139)]. Regarding these as four stages in a systematic critique of religion enables us to correlate each with one of Kant's _ ,

,

„. ,

,

..

145

IV. True I I. Radical Evil service (--) ofGod(++)' I

III. Victory i II. Conflict of good over of good with

„

„

'. ' „

The Four Stages in Kant's

four perspectives6 and map them onto

_

,

System of Religion

,

* • i

u

•

° „ ,. .

J J the quadrants of a circle, as shown in ° Figure VII.2. The two lLARs that combine to make up this 2LAR are dis¬ tinctions between (1) the relatively passive (-) functions of 'indwelling' or

6. Cf. Fig. III.4. Neglecting this correspondence between Books and perspectives, McCarthy [Mc86:59] claims that Kt8 does not present us with 'a complete religious system or philosophy of religion.' He rightly rejects the view that Kt8 'adds nothing to Kant's philosophy' and is 'not formally a part' of it; yet proceeds to affirm [60] that Kant's 'philosophy of religion is not a part of the Critical Philosophy as such'. The latter is true in the narrowest and most obvious sense, in that Kt8 is not presented explicitly as a Critique [cf. note VI.14]; but this does not decrease its signifi¬ cance for Kant's System of Perspectives as a whole. A similar neglect of perspectives leads Flesher [F188:119] to conclude that 'Kant completely fails to reveal a clear argument in Religion. In addition, the work has no climax.' But this is no more true of Kt8 than it is of Kant's three Critiques. Once we recognize the hypothetical perspec¬ tive as the climax of Kant's architectonic style, its presence in Kt8 becomes as clear as its presence in Ktl and Kt4 [see KSPl:VII.l,VIII.l]. Nevertheless, Flesher does agree that 'we must treat Reli¬ gion as a system' [121]. Thus, he rightly argues [128] 'that Kant's argument and the structure he gives to Religion complement each other.' But Flesher's analysis of this structure does not go deep enough. He merely distinguishes between Book One, on evil, and Books Two to Four, on society's response to evil [123]. He thinks Kant's animality-humanity distinction corresponds to the indivi¬ dual-society distinction [128], inasmuch as Kant relates our humanity to 'the opinion of others'. Flesher's claim, however, that the 'two solutions' to the problem of evil (the individual and the so¬ cial) come in Book One and Books Two through Four, respectively, is incorrect. Book One does not explain how an individual 'can overcome evil', as he claims. Rather, the struggle with evil be¬ gins only in Book Two, with society entering into the picture in Book Three [see note VII.15]. Perhaps the grossest example of an interpreter who mistakes his own inability to see system¬ atic connections for a problem in the text itself is Michalson. In Mi93:41, to single out but one instance, he complains about Kant's tendency in Kt8 to inject 'unruly notions that wreak havoc with philosophical principles he has established elsewhere or that appear starkly incompatible with other positions taken within the Religion itself.' This 'instability', he adds, is 'a virtual leit¬ motif designed to frustrate.' Later, he concludes: 'the book is a mess' [51]; 'taken as a collection of philosophical arguments about religion, [Kt8] is apparently a failure.' My goal here in Part Three is to demonstrate how thoroughly incorrect such a conclusion is. The 'mess' is caused not by Kant's inattention to supposedly blatant self-contradictions, but by the interpreter's neglect of the principle of perspective, and his resulting inability to see architectonic interconnections.

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

146

'victory' 7 and the more active (+) functions of 'conflict' or 'service', for the first term, and (2) the focus of Kant's attention on either the individual (-) or social (+) requirements of religion, for the second term. The next two sections of this chapter are related according to the latter distinction,8 while the twofold subdivision of each of those two sections is based on the former distinction. With this in mind, we can now summarize (partially in anticipation) the basic perspectival organization of systemr in a tabular form similar to the one used in KSPl:VII.l for systemt) and in KSPl:VIII.l for system p [see Table VII.2]. Of all the books in Kant's entire System, none fits more naturally into the fourfold pattern of Kant's architectonic than Kt8, with its neat division into four 'Books'. Labeling the four perspectives in system r is somewhat more tenuous than for systemt, where Kant repeatedly uses the terms 'transcenden¬ tal', 'logical', 'empirical', and 'hypothetical' in the corresponding sections of Ktl. In Kt8, by contrast, these terms rarely occur anywhere, so it would be difficult to assign perspectives based on word usage [cf. Table VI. 1 of KSP1]. Instead, I shall try to demonstrate that, in spite of Kant's lack of concern for using the same terminology, there is ample evidence that he adopts the same four

Table VII.2: Basic Perspectival Relations in Systemr Book perspective inKt8 (goal of stage) I II III

rv

key rational element equivalent part of Ktl (unexplainable gap) (Ktl's formal element) Aesthetic good predisposition transcendental (origin of radical evil) (pure intuitions) (evil heart) logical archetype of perfection Analytic of Concepts (method of divine aid) (categorial conception) (good heart) Analytic of Principles empirical ethical commonwealth (pure principles) (God's Kingdom) (divine government) Dialectic hypothetical service by doing duties (inference via ideas) (pleasing God) (revealed statutes)

Just as the initial stage of religious development involves a passive receptivity to evil, at least in comparison to the active struggle experienced in stage two, so also the church's role in the final victory over evil (stage three) is passive in relation to the active service performed in stage four. Despland agrees that 'the passage' to Book Three from Book Two 'is a change of point of view: from the individual to mankind' [De73:203; s.a. Mi79:120]. But he then says this 'led to a pro¬ found renovation of many aspects of Kant's thinking' [De73:204, e.a.], thus neglecting that Kant probably had such a perspectival shift in mind all along. See note VII. 15 for further clarification. Michalson makes the same observation, calling the individual-social transition 'a subtle yet potentially powerful tension' [Mi93:42]. But he, too, fails to see these as complementary perspec¬ tives, suggesting instead that the social view of salvation 'somehow supersedes the individual aspect'. Yet the revolutionary account of salvation, where having a good disposition saves us, could be true for the individual at the same time the evolutionary account, where God projects the path of gradual progress into an indefinite future, is true for our social interactions. Unfortunately, instead of viewing these as two perspectives, Michalson concludes [45] that 'the evolutionary imagery apparently compromises Kant's ethical rigorism.'

VII. Systemr

147

perspectives in Kt8 as he did in Ktl and Kt4. The 'gaps' listed in brackets in the third column of Table VII.2 are elements reason compels us to include in systemr, yet (as we shall see) they surpass reason's ability to explain.9 Their explanation—and therefore the viability of systemr—requires some definite (material) input from an historical tradition. The key element bare reason can fully explain in each stage is specified in the same column, above each 'gap'. Before beginning our analysis of system,-, it is important to note that Kant appends a 'General Observation' to each book in Kt8. The first of these (originally published separately along with Book One) sketches the solution to the problem of evil-heartedness that is then developed in more detail in Book Two. Near the end of the first General Observation, though, Kant introduces four by-products, or 'parerga to religion within the limits of pure religion' [Kt8:52(47)]. These 'morally transcendent ideas' [52(47)] tend to arise in his¬ torical religions, because of their empirical character, but can actually be coun¬ terproductive to the purposes of pure religion if emphasized too strongly. He proceeds to discuss the first of these parerga, rather briefly, and then devotes the bulk of the other three General Observations to the task of discussing the other three in turn. Because Kant himself separates his main discussion of these topics from the rest of his text, I too shall make such a distinction: the four par¬ erga will be examined in detail in Appendix VII. At this point, it will suffice merely to give a brief, systematic description of each. In the order of the four books to which they correspond, the four 'morally transcendent ideas' Kant sees arising out of religion are: (1) 'workings of grace', 9. Reason supplies the formal elements in Kant's systems. Kant clarifies how this applies to religion in Kt6:487: 'The formal aspect of all religion ...belongs to philosophic morals ... But ...the material aspect of religion, the sum of duties to.. .God, that is, the service to be performed for him .. .[can] be known by us only empirically, not a priori, and would therefore belong only to revealed religion. [These duties] would therefore also have to assume the existence of such a Being, not merely the Idea of Him for practical purposes, and to assume it ...as something that could be set forth as given directly (or indirectly) in experience.' Kant does not say this material aspect is false or even dispensable; he just says reason cannot supply it. The material aspect must be revealed. As a product of historical faith, it can thus serve as a vehicle for the formal aspect. Kant expresses much the same point when he distinguishes historical faith from rational religion by saying the former is 'built not upon bare concepts of reason but upon facts v [Kt8:163(151); s.a. Kt20:1412n]. This difference will be a crucial point to remember when we discuss the biblical theologian's Perspective in IX.2-3 and Kant's own commitment to Critical mysticism in Part Four. Failing to see the strategic purpose of these 'gaps' in Kant's argument, as paving the way for his second experiment, Michalson [Mi89:263] regards Kt8's 'use of biblical imagery [as] a tacit and provocative admission that a full account of salvation (or moral regeneration) exceeds the limits of his own philosophy.' It exceeds the limits of pure religion, as established by systemr, but only in order to make room for historical faith! Michalson thinks [263] the 'turn to narrative in Kant's account of both the fall and moral regeneration marks the limit of the critical philosophy's ability to account for its own content.' While this is true, it is not unintentional. As Michalson himself states [264]: 'Divine aid is a supplement that enables us to complete the moral task associated with the demand to overcome radical evil.'

148

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

or 'imagined inward experience', leading to 'fanaticism'; (2) 'miracles', or 'alleged external experience', leading to 'superstition'; (3) 'mysteries', or 'a supposed enlightening of the understanding with regard to the supernatural', leading to 'illumination'; and (4) 'means of grace', or 'hazardous attempts to operate upon the supernatural', leading to 'thaumaturgy' [Kt8:53(48)]. These distinctions can be mapped according to the same 2LAR pattern as the four books themselves: thaumaturgy: means of grace (++) (external understanding)

illumination: mysteries (-+) (internal understanding)

fanaticism: • workings of grace (--) (internal experience)

superstition: miracles (+-) (external experience)

Figure VII.3: The Four Parerga to Universal Religion The two lLARs that compose this 2LAR distinguish between internal (-) and external (+) and between experiencing God's presence (-) and understanding God's nature (+). ('Internal understanding' here means rational knowledge of a mystery; 'external understanding' means using such knowledge 'to bring about ... an effect' on God [194(182)].) That Kt8 is organized according to such architectonic patterns10 comes as no surprise, if, as I suggest in KSP1:96, this book constitutes part of Kant's philosophical System. To view it as such—i.e., as an alternative, or comple¬ ment, to Kt7 [see notes III. 11 and VI. 14]—involves the assumption that its standpoint is judicial rather than practical (as Kant's emphasis on morality seems at first to indicate [see VI. 1-2]). As such, Kant's critique of religion 10. Kant introduces a similar pattern in Kt35:(85-9O) to denote 'on the one hand sophistication and su¬ perstition, and on the other fanaticism and blasphemy' [(86)] as the four main 'errors of religion'; but he also discusses 'practical atheism' (godlessness), 'piety', and 'bigotry' as equally erroneous approaches to religion [(103)]. His purpose in discussing these is not to scoff at religious people, but to encourage them to correct 'their religious outlook' [(89)]. Elsewhere he lists four 'extrava¬ gancies' of religion: 'credulity, superstition, fanaticism, and indifferentism' [Kt57:250(69)]. Although the content in both of these cases differs from that shown in Figure VII.3, Kant is always careful to follow the same 2LAR pattern when making such distinctions.

VII. Systemr

149

should turn out to be a philosophical account of the necessary conditions for religious experience—i.e., for making religious judgments (just as Kt7 is all about the experiences of beauty and purposiveness that arise out of our aesthetic and teleological judgments). The extent to which this is the case will be discussed in Chapter VIII,11 and the role of religious experience as such (i.e., apart from its formal manifestation in specific organized religious traditions) will be the main topic of Part Four. Our task in this chapter, however, is the more limited one of describing and interpreting the systematic elements of pure religion, as set forth in Kt8. 2. The Conditions of Religion in the Moral Individual (-) A. Radical Evil (--) Kant begins Book One of Kt8 by examining the issue of whether human beings are good or evil by nature.12 First he samples the views of those who ar¬ gue that human nature develops from good to bad, and of those who argue for the more optimistic, bad-to-good development. Then he briefly considers two ways of settling for 'a middle ground', whereby 'man as a species is neither good nor bad, or ... [alternatively, is] partly good, partly bad' [20(16)]. From the empirical perspective of our actual behavior, one or the other of the latter solutions might seem plausible.'3 Kant clarifies, however, that the question he is interested in is not empirical but transcendental: it concerns not 'actions that are evil (contrary to law)' or good, but rather the maxims that are used as the basis for such actions [20(16)]. These maxims must have some 'ultimate 11. A forward-looking glance through the elements of system, reveals that experiences such as sin, conversion, church organization, worship, etc., occupy the center of Kant's attention, while the task of interpreting theoretical doctrines in practical terms is always secondary. In discussing Kant's theory of conversion, Webb goes so far as to say it 'can hardly perhaps be completely understood from within by any one to whom that experience is utterly strange or alien' [We26:60]. As we shall see in VIII.4, this is one reason Kant's approach to religion can provide a viable alternative for those nowadays who were brought up in a fundamentalist tradition—perhaps the closest modern equivalent to the Pietism of Kant's youth. 12. Kant is careful to explain that the term 'nature' here does not mean 'the opposite of freedom', but rather refers to a person's innate 'character', based as it is on 'the subjective ground of the exercise (under objective moral laws) of man's freedom in general' [Kt8:20-21(16-17)]. Because our charac¬ ter is so inextricably connected to our own freedom, Kant never tires of insisting that we are responsible for our own actions (whether good or evil) even if their fundamental ground is innate [e.g., 21n(17-8n)]. ' 3 . Kt8:22(18),25n(20n),39n(34n). Kant interprets the word 'nature' from this perspective in Kt39: 492(210): after posing the question 'whether man is by nature morally good or bad', he answers that mankind 'is neither; for he is by nature [i.e., in systemt] not a moral being at all; he becomes a moral being only when his reason raises itself to the concepts of duty and of law [i.e., only in systemp]. It can be said, however, that [in systemr] he has originally impulses for all vices ..., although his reason impels him in the opposite direction at the same time.' This passage does not contradict the parallel passages in Kt8, provided we recognize that Kant is merely acknowledging the different standpoints from which human nature can be examined.

150

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

ground' that is 'inscrutable to us', and so 'cannot be a fact revealed in experi¬ ence' [21-2(17)]. This ground, or 'disposition',14 is 'innate' ('antecedent to every use of freedom in experience'), so it must be 'either morally good or morally eviV [22(17)] and not a mixture of the two. Resolving the problem of whether human nature is essentially good or evil is Kant's way of 'distinguishing man from other possible rational beings' [Kt8: 21(17)]. Before beginning to elaborate his solution, Kant makes one further clarification: his use of the generic term 'man' refers to 'the entire race', not to 'the single individual';15 this means the question of whether or not there might be some exception(s) is a matter that 'can only be proved [by evidence from] anthropological research' [25(21)]. (This will prove to be a crucial point when we consider Kant's view of Jesus in VIII.2.B.) Kant's full solution to the problem of mankind's innate moral character occupies the entirety of Book One, and defines the basic elements in stage one of systemr. A proper understanding of Kantvs solution requires a clear awareness of his subtle distinction between a 'disposition' (the timeless ground of a person's maxims at any given point of time) and a 'predisposition' (the timeless ground of a person's maxims at the very outset of life, before any moral actions have been performed). For, after introducing the main problem of Book One and establishing that the good or evil disposition is the true topic under considera¬ tion, Kant ends up devoting the first numbered subsection to the discussion not of our disposition but of three aspects of our predisposition. The latter therefore marks the actual starting-point of systemr, with the positing of an 'original predisposition to good in human nature' [Kt8:26(21)]. Kant finds evidence for this good predisposition in the three basic voli¬ tional aspects of human nature: our animality, humanity, and personality. The fact that we are animals means we are 'living' beings, who engage in physi¬ cal forms of self-love; the fact that we are humans means we are 'rational' be¬ ings, who possess 'a self-love which is physical and yet compares'; and the 14. Kt8:25(20). For a discussion of Kant's use of the term 'disposition' (Gesinnung) in systemp, see KSP1:VIII.2.A. The disposition is the transcendent root of the maxims an individual uses to make moral decisions. As such, Kant calls it 'the essential element in religion' [Kt7:481]. 15. This does not contradict my claim in VI.3 and VII. 1 that Books One and Two focus on the individual nature of mankind, and Books Three and Four on the social nature [s.a. note VII.8]. Another way of expressing the same distinction, taking Kant's clarification into account, would be to say that the first half of Kt8 examines the elements of human nature that determine the private religion of each individual member of the human race, while the second half examines the elements that determine the public religion of the same. In light of Kant's clarification, Flesher may be right to say [F188: 123] Kant's use of the terms 'evil principle' and 'good principle' refer to 'the universalization of the predisposition's problems.' But he goes too far when he adds: 'The Evil Principle is not a diffi¬ culty for mankind as individuals but for mankind as a whole.' Surely it is both! That evil is a universal problem means it requires a universal solution—i.e., one involving an ideal individual.

I

VII. Systenir

151

fact that we are persons means we are 'accountable' beings, who have 'the ca¬ pacity for respect for the moral law'.16 That Kant includes self-love as a natural source of the first two components of our good predisposition indicates that Treloar is mistaken to say [Tr89:345] 'the evil act creates a state of self-love.' The reverse is actually the case: our natural tendency towards self-love exists for a good purpose, yet makes us susceptible to committing evil acts. Thus, although various forms of vice can be 'grafted' onto our animality and humanity, Kant argues that all three aspects testify to the good purpose human nature has. 'All of these predispositions are not only good in negative fashion (in that they do not contradict the moral law); they are also predispositions toward good (they enjoin the observance of the [moral] law). They are original, for they are bound up with the possibility of human nature' [28(23)]. As 'constituent elements' in human nature, they are 'necessary'. Towards the end of Book One, Kant explains that the predisposition to good means a person's 'original' situation (i.e., before any actions are per¬ formed in time, at the very outset of systemr) is characterized by 'a state of in¬ nocence' [Kt8:41(36)]. This provides a person with the potential to do good, not only in the first temporal act, but in any and every moral act throughout life: 'every [evil] action must be regarded as though the individual had fallen directly from a state of innocence.' As long as the action is freely performed, 'it can and must always be judged as an original use of his will.' We can therefore sum¬ marize the first step (using the apparatus introduced in KSPl:VII.l) as follows: I. good original . potential to predisposition (0)

innocence

do good (—)

The — component is especially appropriate because this part of Kant's theory has no positive content; it merely establishes human nature's pure potential, be¬ fore anything actual happens. Its function is much the same as the transcen¬ dental object in step one of systemt and the good will in step one of systemp. The second and third steps in systemr are introduced and defended together in §§II-IV of Book One. The topics of these sections are (respectively) the nature, influence, and origin of what Kant calls 'the propensity to evil in human nature' [Kt8:28(23)]. First he distinguishes between our 'propensity' [Hang] and our 'predisposition' [Anlage]: whereas the latter is a necessary part of what

6

- Kt8:26-8(21-3). These three aspects can be regarded as Kant's complete list of the elements of human nature, for their logical relationship corresponds directly to the architectonic relationship between the three Critiques: Ktl examines our humanity (rationality), Kt4 our personality (accountability), and Kt7 our animality (living feeling). That Kant says he has limited his attention to the volitional aspects [28(23)] indicates that these three elements also have other implications for cognition and aesthetic feeling.

152

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

it means to be human and consists in the potential to obey the moral law, the former is a self-imposed tendency to disobey the moral law. Hence, the human propensity, as 'the subjective ground of the possibility of an inclination', is evil and yet 'belongfs] universally to mankind (... as part of the character of the race)' . n Though we cannot be praised for our predisposition to good, we can be blamed for our propensity to evil, even though it is in a sense 'natural', because the evil propensity is 'brought by man upon himself .x% In other words, our good predisposition is an analytic constituent of what it means to posit the subject 'man', whereas our evil propensity is a predicate that is synthetically added to that concept: 'the proposition, Man is evil ...by nature, means... that evil can be predicated of man as a species; not that such a quality can be inferred from the concept of his species' [32(27)]. The bulk of §11 is devoted to a description of the 'three distinct degrees' of this 'capacity for evil' in human nature [Kt8:29(24); s.a. 37(32-3)]. Although Kant does not explicitly draw attention to the parallels, these degrees are directly related (as corruptions) to the three aspects of human nature introduced in

17. Kt8:28-9(23-4); s.a. We26:103. In Tr89 Treloar ignores Kant's distinction between predispo¬ sition, propensity, and disposition. He grossly misrepresents Kant's position by consistently referring to evil as a 'predisposition' [see e.g., 335]. After committing the same mistake in Se74:612, Seigfried claims to have found a 'contradiction' in Kant' position: 'every person has to be both good and evil but can never be both good and evil.' A little perspectival salve quickly heals this hermeneutic wound: the former ('has to be both') refers to our potential state, due to the conflict between the good pre disposition and the initially evil rf/sposition; the latter ('can never be both') refers to our actual state at any given point in time. The 'contradiction' Scharf claims to detect in Kant's account, whereby evil is somehow both 'predetermined' (i.e., inevitable) and yet 'freely elected' [Sc93:71] can be resolved in much the same way. Scharf complains that 'if there is a natural propensity to evil, then the free exercise of one's will...seems to be preempted' [81]. 'This means that the supposedly autonomous will ...is bent in the direction of evil before any choice has been made' [83]. But this totally ignores Kant's emphasis on our original innocence; the propensity first arises when our first evil choice is made, not before or after. Neglecting this point, Scharf goes on to the claim [83] that 'Kant has created a vicious circle for both God and humanity ...: Both need to act first, and both must wait for the other to make the first move.... God cannot dispense unmerited grace, and humans are in no position to merit grace.' Yet neither of these claims accurately represents Kant's position. Scharf s false assumption is that when we are under the influence of radical evil, we are unable to do any good; but this is not Kant's view. There is no vicious circle because Kant makes no such extreme assump¬ tions. Scharf completely neglects the significance of perspectives—in this case, the all-important difference between a perspective-bound being and one who is beyond all perspectives. 'Kant sees the dilemma but apparently knows no way out. Rather, ...he vacillates between human and divine agency' [84]. Kant's point, however, is precisely that reason knows no way out, other than by appealing to religion and the explanations provided by historical faith(s). Scharf totally overlooks Kant's strategy of uncovering the gaps in reason's ability to make us moral. See also note VII.30. 18. Kt8:29(24). Unlike original moral goodness, moral evil 'can be imputed to man', because it 'consists] in maxims of the will which are contrary to the [moral] law' [32(27)]. Because 'the source of evil cannot be in an object determining the will', but only 'in a maxim', and so also in an evil disposition as its 'ultimate ground (inscrutable to us)', Kant stresses that 'nature is not to bear the blame (if [a person's character] is evil) or take the credit (if it is good)': 'man himself is its author' [21(17); s.a. 43(38)].

VII. Systemr

153

impurity, corrupting humanity (+) (self-love rooted in understanding)

wickedness, corrupting personality (x) (self-love rooted in judgment)

frailty, corrupting animality (-) (self-love rooted in sensibility)

Figure VII. 4: The Three Aspects of Human Nature as Corrupted by the Evil Propensity connection with the good predisposition [see Fig. VII.4], as well as to the faculties that operate in the first three stages of systemt. The corruption of our animality (the exclusively physical side of our self-love, stemming from our sensibility) plagues us with 'frailty' (i.e., difficulty in resisting temptation), so that we sometimes follow our inclinations even when they oppose a good maxim we have previously set for ourselves. The corruption of our humanity (the side of our self-love that is also rational, stemming from our understand¬ ing) causes us to act with 'impurity' (i.e., doing good for the wrong reasons), so that we sometimes perform objectively good actions only because they also satisfy our inclinations. And the corruption of our personality (the properly moral side of our nature, stemming from our judgment) fills us with 'wicked¬ ness' (i.e., the will to do evil), so that our will 'reverses the ethical order [of priority] among the incentives of a free will'.19 The first two forms of corruption can and do occur even within a person who has a good disposition (or 'heart'); but the third is a corruption of the moral disposition itself, so that 'the man is hence designated as evil.'20 19. Kt8:30(25), t.b. Allison rightly stresses [A196:175] that this account regards the motivation for evil as being rooted in our will, not in our inclinations: our choice to 'incorporate' the latter into our maxims is a choice against following the moral law. Thus, 'evil must be rooted in a free choice against the law (a kind of inner voting in favor of inclination)'. 20. Kt8:30(25). A former student of mine, Susanna Lam Oi Chi, once suggested that, if we reserve Kant's phrase 'positive evil' [22-3n(18n)] for the third degree of evil, then the first two degrees could be called 'negative evil'. This would fit well with the placement of these terms on Figure VII.4, though Kant himself does not develop his theory in this way. Kant makes a similar distinction in Kt64:256-7(193-4) between three types of evil in

154

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Kant's goal is to prove that in some sense, 'the propensity to evil in man¬ kind is universal' [Kt8:30(25)], 'that it is woven into human nature.' Before doing so, he clarifies that the evil in each degree of our evil propensity lies 'solely in what.. .touches the ultimate ground of the adoption or the observance of our maxims [i.e., what touches the disposition], and not in what touches sensibility'.21 In order to make this point, he finds it necessary to distinguish general, or 'contrary-to-end' (Zweckwidrige): (1) 'The absolute contrary-to-end' (i.e., moral evil); (2) 'The conditional contrary-to-end' (i.e., natural evil); and (3) 'the disproportion of crimes and punishments' (i.e., injustice). His doctrine of radical evil in Kt8 has to do primarily with moral evil, though the others are indirectly related [cf. Fig. VII.4]. Natural evil is rooted in the physical world, just as frailty is, and injustice is rooted in rational comparisons, just as impurity is. For more on the problems associated with these latter two forms of evil, see AVI.l. A fourth type of corruption that Kant does not mention is self-deception, corresponding to the faculty of reason. (This idea was brought to my attention by Jeanine Grenberg in a discussion carried out on the Kant-L e-mail discussion group in May, 1995.) Self-deception occurs whenever we act on a maxim we believe to be good, but further reflection reveals our reasoning processes to be defective. Either the maxim itself cannot pass the test of the categorical imperative, or we discover that (contrary to our original opinion), our action was, in fact, based on some other, corrupt maxim. This fourth source of moral evil should not be confused with the three sources Kant discusses. Determining whether or not actions based on self-deceptive maxims are morally evil requires us first to specify the standpoint under consideration. A major goal of Kt4 is to help us learn to discover such self-deceptions, so from its practical standpoint, such actions must be declared to be just as evil as those in which the maxim is known to be bad. Book One of Kt8 assumes, by contrast, that we are not self-deceived, and investigates the consequences of intention¬ ally breaking the moral law. Were Kant to consider from this standpoint how to classify a person who does an evil deed while genuinely believing it is good, I think he would be inclined to recommend not so much confession, as the need to bone up on one's philosophy! In fact, Book Four is all about just such cases of religiously-motivated self-deception, where religious people do the wrong thing while genuinely believing it is right. As we shall see in VII.3.B, Kant does not accuse such people of being frail, impure, or wicked; rather, he treats them as being unenlightened. Allison [A196:170] claims that 'self-deception in the overall Kantian account of evil ...plays an absolutely crucial role at all levels.' This is true, but only in the sense that 'self-deception is already for Kant ...the major mechanism that human beings make use of to evade their responsi¬ bility'—for example, in the form of an 'inner lie' [179]. Along these lines, Allison points out that, in testing maxims for universalizability, 'virtually any maxim, if suitably formulated, can be made to pass the test.' This is not a weakness of Kant's theory, but evidence of the fact 'that it is precisely the testing of maxims that provides the major occasion for self-deception' [180]. Maximtesting, however, is a function of systemp, not systemr. So Allison's position, while correct, does not negate the claim that Kant is not addressing the issue of self-deception here in stage one. 2 1 . Kt8:32(27); s.a. 83(78). A few pages later [34-5(30)] Kant again warns against grounding evil 'in man's sensuous nature', adding that it is also not grounded in 'the morally legislative reason', which would make us 'a devilish being', but only in 'the will' as such. In other words, the evil propensity has its true 'home' only in the 'x' position of Figure VII.4; the '+' and '-' degrees of evil are but by-products of the corruption of the will itself. This view of evil is directly parallel to the view of 'error' defended in Kant's theoretical writings, wherein error is blamed not on sensibili¬ ty but on judgment. Sensibility is blamed only when it exercises something like an unconscious influence (perhaps corresponding to 'frailty'), as when Kant says in KtlO:59 that error arises from 'the unnoticed influence of sensibility upon the understanding, or, more exactly, upon judgment.' The extent of Kant's rejection of the view that associates sensibility with evil [see e.g., Kt65:23] can be seen by noting that sensibility occupies the same position in relation to the other faculties of the mind as philosophy does in relation to the other faculties of the university [cf. note 3, above, and Fig. III.10 of KSP1]! Moreover, the ~ position shared by both philosophy and sensibility on their respective maps is also the position of the transcendental perspective in

VII. Systemr

155

between two fundamentally different sorts of 'act': the 'formal' act 'whereby the supreme maxim... is adopted by the will' [31(26)]; and the 'material' act 'whereby the actions themselves ... are performed in accordance with the maxim.' The former is timeless (elsewhere called 'noumenal'), while the latter occurs in time (and is 'phenomenal').22 The act of adopting an evil 'supreme maxim' therefore functions in much the same way as the pure intuitions of time and space do in systemt: just as the latter are actively imposed on the sensible data by a faculty that is essentially passive (sensibility being the faculty of 'receptivity' [see KSP1:VII.2.A]), so also the former must be actively chosen even though we are essentially passive recipients of the 'indwelling' of radical evil. As such, it constitutes the second (formal) step in stage one of system,-. The hypothesis being put forward for proof is that this noumenal act produces an evil propensity in all members of the human race. The coexistence of the good predisposition and the evil propensity in human nature is, as we shall see, the tension out of which religion arises. So Kant's proof that mankind's propensity really is universally evil is of crucial importance. He develops this proof in §111 of Book One [Kt8:32(27-8)], point¬ ing out first that the act that produces the evil propensity must be, paradoxically, both 'contingent' (so that each individual person remains responsible for evil [s.a. 41(38)]) and yet 'universal' (so that the need for religion applies to everyone). This is possible only if we regard the act postulated in step two as 'radical', meaning that it corrupts 'the ultimate subjective ground of all maxims' (i.e., the disposition) [32(27-8); s.a. note VII.24]. That human evil is radical is a fact Kant thinks 'need not be formally proved in view of the multitude of crying examples which experience of the actions of men puts before our eyes' [32-3(28)]. Nevertheless, after calling attention to 'a long melancholy litany of indictments against humanity' [33(28)] that can serve as an empirical relation to the other three perspectives [see above, Fig. III.4]. These architectonic correlations should help us appreciate why Kant repeatedly emphasizes that the transcendental philosopher's 'home' lies close to the 'shores' of sensible experience, rather than in the 'stormy ocean' of speculation [see e.g., Ktl:294-5]—the latter corresponding to the ++ position on the 2LAR map. 22. In Kt8:39n(34n), for instance, Kant says the choice that gives rise to pur evil disposition should be regarded as an 'intelligible act, [which] precedes all experience'. The propensity to evil', he explains elsewhere, 'is intelligible action, cognizable by means of pure reason alone, apart from every temporal condition' [31(26-7)]. The problems surrounding this notion of a 'noumenal act' have already been discussed in KSP1:284,4O7,412-5. For our present purposes, it is sufficient to keep in mind that such comments need not be taken as evidence that Kant is defending a literal form of action that is somehow 'timeless' [see KSPl:VIII.l], Rather than accusing Kant of holding this 'absurd conclusion' [see e.g., Se74:611], we should heed Kant's clear reminder that 'as sensuous beings we can work against the law, or for its behoof, only in the appearance of the intellectual principle' [Kt8:17On(158n)]. All talk of the noumenal basis of our actual spatio-temporal actions must therefore be regarded as a metaphorical way of emphasizing the nonempirical source of some transcendental element in the system.

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'confirmation' [39n(34n)], he does attempt to provide such a proof, in order to show that our evil character 'must be apprehended a priori through the concept of evil, so far as evil is possible under laws of freedom' [35(31)]. Unfortunately, Kant's formal 'proof of the universality of the evil propensity turns out to be little more than a restatement of his account of what it means to be evil.23 As Figure VII.4 shows, human nature is such that all per¬ sons possess both moral incentives (based on respect for the moral law, aimed at virtue) and amoral incentives (based on self-love, aimed at happiness). Either self-love or the moral law must be adopted 'as the supreme condition of the satisfaction of the [other]' [36(31-2)]. Human evil therefore normally consists not in basing one's maxim solely on an incentive of self-love, but rather on the subtle 'subordination' of the moral incentive to the amoral incentive. That is, the moral character of a person's disposition (or 'heart') depends entirely on 'which of the two incentives he makes the condition of the other.' For this rea¬ son, Kant explains, a person need not be wicked in order to be regarded as having 'an evil heart': 'Such a heart may coexist with a will which in general is good', but is plagued by either 'frailty' or 'impurity' [37(32); s.a. 29(24)]. This 'a priori proof really amounts to an important, though subtle, supplement to (or realization of) step two: the propensity to evil is now regarded (posited, really) as necessarily 'radical' and as establishing the material limiting condition for the realization of universal religion (thus completing stage one of systemr) in the form of an evil heart. A better a priori proof can be constructed more directly out of Kant's definition of evil, as follows. All human beings start out with a predisposition to good (as previously proved). If this predisposition were the only basic element of human nature, then nobody could be praised for obeying the moral law, since there would not be any other real option. The will would not be truly free. According to Kant, evil 'is original, or prior to all the good a man may do'; every human person's moral development 'started from evil' [Kt8:72(66)]. This is true not merely because radical evil dwells in us, but because each individual inevitably succumbs to its tempting influence, 'for otherwise the 23. Kant tries to excuse himself in a footnote attached to the last sentence in §111, by saying the 'special proof of the universality of evil 'is to be found in the preceding section rather than in this one' [Kt8:39n(34n)], even though just a few pages earlier [35(31)] he had clearly announced his in¬ tention to provide the a priori alternative to the 'experiential proofs' in the last half of §111. The last paragraph of the section does contain a semblance of an argument, however, based on two quotations. In essence the argument (presented only in a hypothetical form) is that 'there is no virtue for which some temptation cannot be found capable of overthrowing it', and that the success of such temptations is ultimately a matter of their intensity, so every person will inevitably be faced with situations wherein they cannot resist giving in to the incentive of self-love. For a better proof, see note VIII.17.

VII. Systenir

157

beginning of evil would not have its source in freedom' [41(37)]. The will becomes free only when a person chooses to step outside of this basic (good) predisposition, and explore the other (evil) side of the boundary. Every human person's first moral act (i.e., the first free act he or she can be held accountable for) must therefore be an evil act. There must be a ground for such a choice in human nature; this ground is the evil propensity. Kant's a priori proof (even in its reconstructed form) leaves open the question of where this mysterious 'radical evil' comes from, so Kant makes this the main topic of §IV of Book One.24 He devotes most of his attention to the task of assessing the biblical account of evil's origin [see below, VIII.2.A]. In the course of doing so, he explains that to seek for the 'origin' of evil is to look for the 'first cause' of a given effect, and that, because the propensity to evil is rooted in our rational disposition, not in any temporal action(s) as such, this cause will turn out to be 'an origin in reason', not 'an origin in time' [Kt8: 39(34)]. 'To seek the temporal origin of free acts as such... is thus a contradic¬ tion.'25 Kant's point is that we must not downplay the extent of our responsi¬ bility for evil by blaming it on the details of our temporal situation. To say evil is radical is to say our responsibility for it originates with our own free, rational (hence, noumenal) choice. Beyond this, Kant confesses that any more detailed account of evil's origin would need to appeal to something temporal. In other words, as far as system,- is concerned, the rational origin ...of the propensity to evil, remains inscrutable to us ... Evil 24. 'This evil is radical, because it corrupts the ground of all maxims' [Kt8:37(32)]—i.e., the dis¬ position. Although the term 'radical evil' appears in the title of Book One, Kant mentions it only a few times in the main text itself. Nevertheless, it should not be regarded as a mere synonym for the evil propensity. Rather, it is Kant's technical name for the mysterious noumenal origin of our propensity to evil. Naming it in this way does not actually explain it, so much as indicate the extent of our ignorance of its origin. In De73:169-72 Despland traces the development of Kant's views on evil as a positive force, from his optimism in Ktl3 to his rejection of Leibniz in Kt64. Galbraith [Ga96:100] says Kant calls evil 'radical because we choose to do it through freewill, not because it belongs to us by nature.' She is right to regard evil as resulting from our free choice; but this is not why Kant calls it 'radical'. The latter refers to the fact that our initial choice to act on an evil maxim strikes at the root of our good predisposition. Allison's account in A196: 170 is more accurate: 'Radical evil does not refer...to a particularly great or deeply rooted demonic evil. It refers rather to the root of all moral evil, whatever its extent.' As an illustration of evil, he takes Arendt's report of the attitude of a Nazi war criminal, Eichmann [172], whom Arendt assesses as having 'a total incapacity to look at things from the other's point of view.' Allison adds that 'one might characterize [this] as an incapacity even to recognize that the other has a point of view' [172]. Interestingly, Arendt sees this as a 'failure of [aesthetic] judgment', or 'an inability to imag¬ ine' [172-3], thus suggesting that thinking perspectivally is an essential function of the judicial (and so also, the religious) standpoint. Radical evil thus boils down to a neglect of the very stand¬ point that makes perspectival thinking possible, with Critical religion as its obvious solution. 25. Kt8:4O(35). Kant relates this point to the issue of how to interpret the traditional doctrine of original sin: regarded as an explanation of our 'inheritance' of sin, it is 'the most inept' of all ex¬ planations of the origin of evil. Nevertheless, as we shall see in VIII.2.A, Kant's overall assess¬ ment of the biblical doctrine is not entirely negative.

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PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION could have sprung only from the morally-evil...; and yet the original predisposi¬ tion ... is a predisposition to good; there is then for us no conceivable ground from which the moral evil in us could originally have come ... [43(38)].

Here Kant is admitting that bare reason cannot elucidate everything that calls for explanation in its account of what makes human beings need religion. In so doing, he opens up the first of four important 'spaces' (one in each stage of systemr) that a true religion must fill with historical, tradition-bound content. This now puts us in a position to summarize Kant's argument in §§II-IV of Book One in terms of the second and third steps of system,.. The systematic content of his presentation is, admittedly, not as clear as we might hope. Nev¬ ertheless, if we look back over the basic arguments presented in these sections, we can formulate out of them two steps that are directly parallel to the corre¬ sponding steps of systemt and systemp. Step two in systemt, the formal (—1-) condition, is where the pure intuitions of space and time convert the undeter¬ mined transcendental object into a manifold of appearances; in systemp, this is where practical freedom converts the will into a manifold of desires. In both cases these elements serve to define the basic transcendental limits that must be placed on any material that enters the system. Step two of systemr should there¬ fore be identified as that whereby the mystery of radical evil somehow pro¬ duces in all human beings a propensity to evil: II. potential to do good (—)

radical evil

propensity to evil (—1-)

Radical evil is a mystery not unlike the mysteries of pure intuition and freedom, both of which Kant regards as basic facts of human nature that must simply be acknowledged, and cannot be proved or explained by reason. Radical evil con¬ verts our potential for good into virtually the opposite: the propensity to evil, which serves as the 'raw material' for any religion, in much the same way appearances do for empirical knowledge, or desires for moral action. Step three, as the synthesis of the first two (represented, as usual, by the —x component), can be expressed in terms of equally direct parallels. In systemt the goal of stage one (intuitive sensibility) is realized when the function of sensation produces sensations out of appearances. In systemp stage one's (free will's) goal is realized when a person sets up a maxim by choosing an end. Step three of the first (material) stage in systemr (radical evil) follows the latter quite closely: the choice of an evil maxim as supreme realizes the human propensity for evil by producing an evil heart: III. propensity to evil (—1-)

act of choosing an . evil supreme maxim

an evil heart (—x)

,

...„..•

VII. Systemr

,5

159

Just as empirical knowledge cannot be obtained without being based on sensi¬ ble intuition, and moral actions cannot be performed without a person freely choosing a maxim of one sort or another, so the need for religion would never even arise were it not for the fact that human beings choose, at the very outset of their moral development, a maxim that corrupts their disposition and spoils their potential to adhere perfectly to the moral law (i.e., to realize the ideals set forth in systemp). Throughout Kt8 Kant repeatedly emphasizes that the only way to release oneself from the blame imputed because of one's evil heart is to become a morally good person. He alludes to the possibility of divine assistance, but consistently presents it as something we must not count on as an excuse for not having a change of heart.26 For the 'indwelling' of evil in an (originally good) heart is what first gives rise to our sense of duty;27 yet 'grace stands in direct contradiction' to the 'absolute necessity' required by 'the idea of duty' [Kt8: 23n(19n)]. Even an outwardly good life, without a change of heart, is not sufficient to meet the demands of the moral law: 'The empirical character is then good, but the intelligible character [i.e., the disposition] is still evil' [37(32)]. What is required is a radical conversion of one's disposition. Such a conver¬ sion must be possible, since 'the moral law commands that we ought now to be better men' (and 'ought' implies 'can'28); yet Kant admits that the requirement 26. See e.g., Kt8:44-5(40-l); s.a. 76(71),83(78). 'The concept of divine aid', as Michalson interprets it [Mi89:265-6], 'is properly and morally used if we invoke it when we find ourselves at the limits of our moral efforts... The appeal to divine aid, then, has roughly the same status as the postulates of the immortality of the soul and the existence of God.' While his initial statement is quite astute, the comparison that follows is not systematically correct. Divine aid functions not as a 'necessary hypothesis' [266] for religion, as the postulates do in systemp, but as a logically necessary element. For without it, one does not have religion, any more than one has knowledge without concepts, because the very God-concept would then be rendered useless. The postulates do not define the logic of morality, but its teleological purpose. As we shall see in VII.3.B, the closest equivalent to the latter in systemr would be worship, rituals, and other acts of religious service as indirect yet historically necessary ways of achieving religion's purpose (i.e., pleasing God). 27. See Pa67:171. Because the original predisposition to good is not a choice, but merely part of our nature as human beings, we are not responsible for its presence in us—that is, it does not make us actually good. Nevertheless, we are responsible to this predisposition (as manifested in the form of the moral law), once we stray from it and choose to do evil. Thus Kant says [Kt35:(3O)] 'men can be placed under obligation because their [originally good] will is evil.' By contrast, God's will is entirely holy, so 'the concept of duty does not apply' [Kt32:350n; s.a. Kt4:84; Pa67:52-3]. 28. White points out that Luther denies that '"ought" implies "can"' [Wh90:14-5], perhaps the most fundamental premise of systemp. This, he claims, is the root of much of Kant's disagreement with Luther [57]: 'Suppose we do not know what is right. Suppose we have warped or corrupted views of the good life. These suppositions.. .Kant simply rules out of court, but they are the question with which Luther begins.' But does Kant rule them out completely? Surely his doctrine of radical evil attempts to deal with them. White is not distinguishing properly between systemp and systemr. Thus he claims [58]: 'One obvious fact about the Bible which Kant signally omitted ...is ...it confronts us with natural man as "blinded".' But as we shall see, Kant does appreciate this aspect of the Bible. What separates him from Luther is that he also sees another strain that runs throughout the Bible, ignored by Luther: that we ourselves are responsible to respond properly to this

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to adopt such an unchangeable 'new ground (the new heart)' contradicts 'the postulate of the innate corruption of man' [50-1(46); s.a. 66-7(60)], at least as far as 'our insight into [its] possibility.. .is concerned.' For evil is 'inextirpable by human powers'.29 To establish how conversion nevertheless comes about is the purpose of the second stage in systemr. The only hope provided in stage one is to recall that the innocence of the first step (-) is contained in the synthesis of the third step (x), just as much as is radical evil (+), so that even in a person with an evil heart, 'a seed of goodness still remains' [45(41)]. 'For man, there¬ fore, who despite a corrupted heart yet possesses a good will, there remains hope of a return to the good from which he has strayed.'30 B. Conversion to the Good (+-) The change in perspective between the first and second books of Kt8 is most evident in Kant's attitude towards redemption. In Book One, as we have seen, the role of any supernatural influence in conversion is downplayed. Its purpose, as the material stage in systemr, is to establish the limitations evil situation. White thinks Kant's position requires us [59] to make the 'incredible assumption that we are infallible in moral matters, that we always know what is the right thing to be done.' Instead, White argues, I should admit 'that I am simply unable to do what is right because I have radical misconceptions of what my duty is.' Yet from the standpoint of systemr, this is no problem for Kant. For he fully admits that we cannot even see clearly into our own motivations. Systemp defines moral duty precisely to prepare us for our radical ignorance of what it is in each situation! In Kt8 Kant hints that sometimes we just have to guess and hope we have properly assessed our duty. I believe these two positions can therefore be reconciled by regarding Luther's position as historically correct, and therefore true for historical faith, while Kant's systemp position is rationally correct, and therefore true for pure moral religion. Kant would fully agree that the histori¬ cal 'ought' alone cannot give a person a significant degree of confidence that he or she can carry out a given duty. A perspectival approach thus overcomes the conflict between Kant and Luther. 29. Kt8:37(32). Galbraith [Ga96:83] interprets this statement to mean 'humans will always be open to a disposition to evil, not that we cannot overcome this disposition.' That is, even a person whose disposition has been converted to good (see stage two) will still be open to the influence of evil (see stage three). Unfortunately, Galbraith seems unaware of Kant's concerted effort in Book Two to delineate the formal requirements that must be followed by any faith-based solution to the problem of evil, for she adds 'no clue is given [in Kt8] as to how we can overcome the evil in our nature.' 30. Kt8:44(39). After pointing out that Luther believed 'you could not isolate within Man a faculty or part that was and remained exempt from corruption' [Wh90:47], White alleges: 'This is, of course, precisely what Kant does'. But this is misleading. Kant affirms only a seed of goodness, not a fullfledged 'faculty' or even a well-developed 'part' of human nature. Just as for Luther, this remains no more than an undeveloped potential until divine assistance is given. Kant's account of the fall from innocence into evil as giving rise to the need for salvation can be regarded as the theological equivalent of the philosophical 'fall' from ignorance, through the mediating stage of wonder, to wisdom as a form of renewed ignorance [see PaOOa]. The final sen¬ tence of Book One is also reminiscent of the myth of Pandora's Box. That all manner of evils are released into the world by the opening of the box is well known; but an aspect of the myth that is often neglected is that hope lies at the bottom. So also Book One is best known for opening up the 'Pandora's Box' of radical evil; what we must not forget is that it ends by reminding us that hope also lies therein. McCarthy expresses this point rather poetically in Mc86:71: 'hope ...honeys the rim of the cup of duty and cuts short the danger of despairing of ever being well-pleasing to God.' On the significance of hope in Kt8, see VI.2 and AVI.3.

J

VII. Systemr

161

imposes on any human attempt to realize the good predisposition. This tran¬ scendental perspective is replaced in Book Two by something along the lines of a logical perspective—that is, by a set of formal conditions which, when applied to the limitations of the first stage, enable us to understand how the de¬ sired result (a good heart, leading to salvation) is possible. Each of the three steps in stage two will therefore have +- as thefirsttwo terms in the expression that symbolizes its function. The cornerstone of the new perspective in stage two is the 'ideal of moral perfection' that exists in every human person as an 'archetype' and 'can give us power.'31 Because radical evil makes us unworthy even to possess such an 'ideal of a humanity pleasing to God', it is 'appropriate to say that this arche¬ type came down to us from heaven and has assumed our humanity' [Kt8:61 (54-5)]. For the purposes of pure religion, no prior empirical instantiation of this archetype is required: From the practical standpoint this idea is completely real in its own right, for it re¬ sides in our morally-legislative reason.... We need...no empirical example to make the idea of a person morally well-pleasing to God our archetype; this idea as an archetype is already present in our reason. [62(55-6)]

Given the evil heart that arises out of stage one, there is no purely rational ex¬ planation for the presence of this archetype of a perfect person within us, other than to assume it is an inscrutable gift from some higher moral power.32 For al¬ though the archetype, as 'a perfectly valid ideal for all men, at all times and in all worlds', is universal, our attainment of it 'will ever remain a righteousness not our own' [66(59)]. Without this gift as a starting point (-), conversion would be impossible. Hence this fourth step can be summarized as: IV. an evil heart (—x)

inscrutable assistance . from a higher power

the archetype of a perfect person (+~)

As the very word 'archetype' implies, however, this 'divine man within us' 31. Kt8:61(54); s.a. Kt35:(98). Kant develops an early form of this theory in Ktl9:396, where he refers to God as the 'exemplar' of 'noumenal perfection'. As the fourth step, the archetype's role in system r can be compared to that of imagination in the fourth step of systemt. Just as the latter empowers the mind to form concepts out of representations that were formerly mere intuitions, the former empowers the heart to form good maxims despite being (formerly) dominated by evil. 32. Scharf rejects Kant's appeal to such an inscrutable 'mystery' as insufficient 'if Kant wants to have his religion remain within the limits of reason alone' [Sc93:84-5]. 'Kant's project ...fails because humans are not the only actors' [87n]. But this objection fizzles once we recognize the theocentric orientation of his entire System [see 1.3] and give up the strict reductionist paradigm for interpreting Kt8 [see VI.4]. Kant's appeal to inscrutability is necessary and appropriate as long as he remains within reason's limits. The criterion of 'success' for his project was never to explain this mystery from the standpoint of rational religion alone, but rather to establish its necessity in order to identify the problems a good historical faith must solve. As we saw in IV. 1,4, the living God of religious faith is welcomed into the 'house' of Kant's System as a legitimate resident (perhaps even as its 'owner'), not secretly admitted just to please the unenlightened.

162

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

does serve as the ideal model 'for the complete determination of the copy'— i.e., as the 'standard for our actions'—once we adopt the judicial standpoint of universal religion [Ktl:597; cf. VI.2, above]. On its own the positing of the archetype of a perfect person does not over¬ come an evil heart. 'For only a faith in the practical validity of that idea which lies in our reason [i.e., in the archetype] has moral worth' [Kt8:63(56)]. Bor¬ rowing a biblical phrase for the description of this archetype, Kant goes so far as to say: 'Man may... hope to become acceptable to God (and so be saved) through a practical faith in this Son of God [62(55)]. This practical faith en¬ ables a person actively to turn away from the evil heart within and obey the moral law. It does not depend on our awareness of any specific empirical examples because: each man ought really to furnish an example of this idea in his own person; to this end does the archetype reside always in the reason: and this, just because no exam¬ ple in outer experience is adequate to it; for outer experience does not disclose the inner nature of the disposition but merely allows of an inference about it though not one of strict certainty. [63(56-7)]

Practical faith, therefore, is more than just a declaration of repentance [see e.g., Wa72:148]; it gives rise to moral maxims as a sign of one's repentance. Thus, Kant says 'the first really good act that a man can perform is to forsake the evil .. .in his perverted maxim' [Kt8:58n(51n)]. The positive rejection of evil (+) in this fifth step of system,- can therefore be expressed in the following way: V. the archetype of a perfect person (+-)

practical faith

,.

a good maxim (+-+)

Once we have glimpsed the archetype of perfection and incorporated it into a good maxim, a 'conversion', or change of heart, is all that is necessary before we enter 'upon the road of endless progress towards holiness' [Kt8:46-7(42)]. For we have now recognized the corrupting influence of radical evil within us. Thus Kant says: 'Every man must guard against moral self-conceit, against be¬ lieving himself morally good and having a favourable opinion of himself. This feeling of moral self-sufficiency is self-deception; it is an incurable hallucina¬ tion' [Kt35:(246); s.a. Kt8:68(62)]. It is 'incurable', that is, if one believes the appearance of virtue in one's empirical character, which can be 'won little by little', is sufficient, without 'a change of heart' [47(42)]. For 'the moral out¬ come of the combat' between good and evil that leads to conversion 'is really not the conquering of the evil principle... but merely the breaking of its power to hold, against their will, those who have so long been its subjects' [82-3(77); s.a. 93(85)}. This moral breakthrough requires 'virtue in its intelligible character', which

VII. Systemr

163

cannot be brought about through gradual reformation so long as the basis of the maxims remains impure, but must be effected through a revolution in the man's disposition ... He can become a new man only by a kind of rebirth, as it were a new creation..., and a change of heart. ... That is, if a man reverses, by a single unchangeable decision, that highest ground of his maxims whereby he was an evil man..., he is, so far as his principle and cast of mind are concerned, a subject susceptible of goodness... For Him who penetrates to the intelligible ground of the heart..., i.e., for God, this amounts to his being actually a good man (pleasing to Him)... [47-8(43); s.a. Wa72:147-8].

Like the fall it reverses, such an immediate conversion from evil to good is inexplicable from the standpoint of pure rational religion, except to say that it seems to require some form of divine assistance [see We26:111,120]. The attitude of humility inherent in this account of the change of heart is to be maintained even after conversion, for the sixth step requires us to seek to make ourselves worthy of God's assistance by actively resolving to do our duty. By this Kant does not mean to suggest (a view too often imputed to him) that we are actually capable of making ourselves acceptable to God; on the con¬ trary, he is saying we have the responsibility to make ourselves worthy of be¬ ing made by God to be acceptable to him. For our obedience to God (via the moral law) 'must be the effect of our own action and not... of a foreign influ¬ ence in the presence of which we are passive' [Kt8:108]. 'Granted that some supernatural cooperation may be necessary to his becoming good..., man must first make himself worthy to receive it, and must lay hold of this aid' [44(40); s.a. 45(40-1)]. Yet in this context, 'worthiness always has a merely negative meaning..., that is, the moral receptivity for such goodness' [146n(137n)]. So our active attempt to obey God is our way of demonstrating our passive accep¬ tance of God's acceptance. And without such a demonstration, our acceptance of God's acceptance would mean nothing at all. It would be 'empty', like a concept without an intuition in systemt; likewise, moral activity without an awareness of its religious implications would be 'blind', like an intuition with¬ out a concept [see Ktl :75]. 'We have been converted', Kant declares in Kt35:(245), 'if, no matter how long we may live, we firmly determine to live in virtue.' This change of heart, which restores in us a good disposition, or a 'good heart', should not be viewed as a recovery of what was lost—'respect for the moral law we have never been able to lose'—but as 'the establishment of the purity of this law as the supreme ground of all our maxims' [Kt8:46(42)]. It will inevitably be accompanied by considerable pain, inasmuch as it involves the reawakening and/or intensification of our conscience [73(67)]. This pain can be regarded as a kind of punishment for the past evil we have perpetrated [see AVI.2]. As the

164

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

synthetic (x) condition of the second (formal) stage of systemr, we can therefore summarize this sixth step as: VI. a good painful conversion ^ a good maxim (+-+) (change of heart) heart (+-x) Since 'conforming our course of life to the holiness of the law, is impos¬ sible of execution in any given time', Kant suggests that God will judge our 'moral constitution' not by our actions but by our disposition [Kt8:66(60)]. That is, the 'endless progress of our goodness towards conformity to the law ... [will be] judged by Him who knows the heart, through a purely intellectual intuition [see V.I], as a completed whole, because of the disposition, super¬ sensible in its nature, from which this progress itself is derived.'33 This Divine Perspective, however, cannot be adopted by human beings, so no amount of introspection can provide a person with 'assurance concerning such a revolu¬ tion ...; for the deeps of the heart are inscrutable to [us]' [51(46); s.a. 67-8(61), 190-1(179)]. We must always 'guard against a relapse' [77(71); s.a. 97(88)]. This is because our 'empirical self-knowledge ... yields no immediate insight into the disposition but merely permits of an estimate based upon our actions' [75-6(70); s.a. Wa72:148]. Only an awareness of our moral progress justifies us in hoping for supernatural assistance (in the form of being judged by our disposition rather than by our actual deeds). Kant hastens to add, however, that, although theoretical certainty concerning the nature of our disposition 'is neither possible to man, nor ... morally beneficial', the presence of a good disposition 'creates in us, though only indirectly, a confidence in its own permanence and stability' [Kt8:71(65); s.a. 76(70) and AVI.3, below]. Well over half of Section One in Book Two of Kt8 presents Kant's solu¬ tions to three 'difficulties' that arise out of his view of the role of conversion in pure religion. These difficulties loosely correspond to the traditional Christian doctrines of sanctification, assurance of salvation at the final judgment, and 33. Kt8:67(60-l); s.a. 171(159),174(162),178(166); Kt65:43-4; Wa72:157; We26:120. Kant de¬ scribes practical faith in this divine forgiveness in Kt35:(95-6) as 'trust in God that He will supply our deficiency in things beyond our power, provided we have done all within our power.... [It con¬ sists] in saying: "I will myself do all I can, and if I then leave myself in God's hands, He will strengthen my weaknesses and make up my shortcomings as He knows best."' Fendt claims [Fe90:117] that such an appeal to divine assistance (grace) on Kant's part 'becomes oxymoronic, paradoxical, self-contradictory.' His main reason is that, 'if we are inadequate, then it is clearly not in our power.' But Fendt's 'it' is equivocal. For us 'to become better men' [Kt8:45(40-l); q.i. Fe90: 117] is possible and (Kant argues) adequate for becoming worthy of God's assistance; this is in our power. What is not in our power is to supplement what is still lacking in order for God to be pleased. This is the role God's grace must fulfill in Kant's system. McCarthy correctly describes Kant's concept of grace in Mc86:76-8, but misleadingly refers to it as 'a small supersensible supplement' [78]. To Kant, however, the size of the supplement is irrelevant; the key point is that some supplement is necessary and has a genuinely saving effect. See AVI.4 for further details.

VII. Systemr

165

atonement, respectively. They do not function directly as elements in systemr, but serve instead to clarify the implications of each of the three steps in stage two; I therefore examine them separately in AVI.2-3. Likewise, Section Two of Book Two, which is devoted entirely to Kant's second experiment (that of as¬ sessing the extent to which the historical tradition of Christianity is compatible with systemr), will be discussed in VIII.2.B. For our present purposes, we shall turn our attention to Kant's systematic treatment of how we are to deal with and finally overcome the influence evil still has over us, even after we experience a change of heart. That is the topic of stage three in systemr. 3. The Conditions of Religion in the Moral Community (+) A. The Founding of a Church (-+) Although the change of heart required by stage two of system,- serves as an effective solution to the problem of personal evil within an individual's life history, it does not do away entirely with the potentially destructive influence of evil. For the very notion of virtue 'presupposes the presence of an enemy' [Kt8:57(50)]) . As the titles of Books Two and Three suggest, having a good heart prepares a person to do combat with evil, but the question still remains how 'the victory of the good over the evil principle' [93(85), e.a.] is to be won. One of the deepest insights contained in systemr comes to the fore at this point: a philosophically sound approach to religion must not deny or ignore or explain away the reality of evil, nor should a religious person expect that being religious will provide a 'quick fix' to the problem; the struggle with evil has a purpose that is integral to the religious life. As we enter stage three of Kant's religious system, we must therefore keep in mind that, although we are now investigating what happens to a person after conversion, the grace and faith of stage two do not erase the effects of evil, but transform it. For the religious person has now taken up a life-long challenge of self-improvement, intent on learning just what it means to be human in the face of the daily struggle between the competing forces of good and evil. This continuing influence of evil, Kant points out in the introduction to Book Three, comes primarily through human relationships: a 'morally welldisposed man' is continually 'exposed.. .to the assaults of the evil principle' not because of his own gross nature, so far as he is here a separate individual, but because of mankind to whom he is related and bound.... Envy, the lust for power, greed, and the malignant inclinations bound up with these, besiege his nature... ay soon as he is among men. [93-4(85)]

This passage marks a crucial change in perspective: whereas Books One and Two treated religion as a phenomenon influencing 'man' as an individual

166

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

representative of the human race, Books Three and Four will examine the social elements of religion [see notes VII.7-8]. (The logical apparatus represents this shift as a change from - to + in the second term of each component.) The only way to counteract the potentially destructive influence of society, Kant argues, is to form 'a union of men under moral laws', which he calls 'an ethical commonwealth' [Kt8:94(86)]. Without uniting in this way, an individual (whether good-hearted or evil-hearted) remains in 'the ethical state of nature... in which the good principle.. .is continually attacked by the evil which is found in him and also in everyone else' [96-7(88)]. This concern for establishing a context for the expression of the good heart in the real world of experience in¬ dicates that Kant is adopting, here in stage three, an empirical religious per¬ spective.34 Thus the function of each step of this stage will be symbolized with an expression beginning with the two terms -+ [cf. Fig. VII.2]. Just as the seventh step in systemt provides a schema, or sensible concept, in the context of which empirical knowledge can be realized, so also the sev¬ enth step here in systemr provides a 'schema... of an invisible kingdom of God on earth' [Kt8:131(122)] in the form of a visible, ethical commonwealth, through which the victory of the good principle can be realized. That is, ... the sovereignty of the good principle is attainable ... only through the estab¬ lishment and spread of a society in accordance with, and for the sake of, the laws of virtue, a society whose task and duty it is rationally to impress these laws in all their scope upon the entire human race. [94(86)]

Kant is careful to add that, although the idea of such a commonwealth 'possesses a thoroughly well-grounded objective reality in human reason ..., subjectively, we can never hope that man's good will will lead mankind to de¬ cide to work with unanimity towards this goal.'35 Elsewhere he tends to be less pessimistic, as when he says 'we do not know whether, as such, it lies in our power or not' [98(89)]. But in either case this first step in the empirical stage of systemt establishes the material (-) goal that everyone with a good heart (yet still in the state of nature) has a duty to strive for. It can be summarized in this way:

34. See e.g., Kt8:110(100),l 15(105). As Collins aptly points out [Co67:184], this perspectival shift implies that the question generating the religious (judicial) standpoint 'concerns not only what / may hope by myself but, more determinately and incisively, what we may hope together, as fellow men and bearers of the tendency toward personality.' In a similar vein McCarthy suggests [Mc86: 71] that 'the ethical commonwealth .. .is a development ...of...the implicitly social [i.e., universal] character of the moral law itself 35. Kt8:95(86); s.a. 100(91). Despland is right to say [De73:208]: 'The notion of an ethical common¬ wealth.. .presents salvation as occurring in a community and through a community.' But this does not mean salvation comes from the community. The ethical commonwealth sets the stage for us to be able to receive God's saving grace, but fails on its own. It is the problem, not the solution.

VII. Systemr VII. a good heart (+-x) (state of nature)

,;*, )

religious schematism. (via laws of virtue)

167 an ethical commonwealth (-+-)

Kant contrasts 'an ethical commonwealth', based on laws of virtue, with 'a political commonwealth', based on 'laws of coercion' [Kt8:94-5(86-7)]. The two may well exist simultaneously, but they must remain distinct. For 'the very concept of ['an ethical commonwealth'] involves freedom from coercion.' 36 Since moral and legal duties have a common root in practical reason, the consti¬ tution of an ethical commonwealth 'shall contain nothing which contradicts the duty of its members as citizens of the state—although when the ethical pledge is of the genuine sort the political limitation need cause no anxiety' [96(88)]. Re¬ ligion and politics, then, should not be intermixed, but the laws they enforce should be compatible. (Kant's political theory will be discussed thoroughly in KSP4. For a briefer treatment of its relation to religion, see Pa94b.) The next step rests on what can be called Kant's 'religious argument' for the existence of God (though, of course, such an argument should not be re¬ garded as a theoretically valid proof). By explicating a few of Kant's underly¬ ing assumptions, we can express his brief argument more formally37 as follows: 1. The highest good: The true end of human life on earth is to realize the highest good, by seeking to be worthy of happiness through obedience to the moral law. Working towards this goal is a human duty. 2. Radical evil: Human beings on their own seem to be incapable of achieving the highest good, because of the radical corruption in the heart of each individual. At best, all we can say is that 'we do not know whether...it lies in our power or not.' 3. Ethical commonwealth: No organization based on externally legislated rules (i.e., no 'political commonwealth') can achieve this goal, because the moral law can be

•, .

36. Kt8:95(87). Thus Kant asserts [102(93)]: 'An ethical commonwealth... really [i.e., ideally] h a s . . . nothing resembling a political constitution.' Indeed, he exclaims [96(87)]: 'woe to the legislator who wishes to establish through force a polity directed to ethical ends!' This warning highlights the fundamentally paradoxical nature of the very idea under consideration: a 'commonwealth' is an implicitly political, externally-legislated system of human organization; yet 'ethical' implies an essentially non-political, internally-legislated system. I introduced the notion of a 'non-political political system' as applied to biblical theology in Pa93 and will elaborate on Kant's philosophi¬ cal use of this notion in KSP4. 37. The argument appears in Book Three, Division One, §11, at Kt8:97-99(88-91). Wood acknowledges that Kant's arguments in support of 'faith in a divine grace' [Wo92:403] can be regarded as supple¬ menting his moral argument, but does not call attention to this passage. Lenk identifies a 'sociomorphic' argument for God in the passage [Le89:103], but leaves it undeveloped. Peters develops a formalized version of the argument [Pe93:101-2], but without acknowledging the way it lends support for belief in God. Instead, he interprets it as an attempt to encourage hope in the possibili¬ ty of an ethical commonwealth becoming real and regards the introduction of the idea of God as a dispensable element [106,157-61]. Yet this totally ignores the argument's progression from the assumption of an ethical commonwealth to the need for belief in God. Without the latter, the argu¬ ment would be powerless to convince anyone of the reality of anything! Moreover, Peters thinks Kant introduces the idea of God in order to guarantee the possibility of moral progress [e.g., 161]. But Kant's view is that partial progress is not ultimately meaningful if the full realization of the final goal is impossible; belief in God is needed to guarantee the latter, not merely partial progress.

168

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

legislated only internally—i.e., through an 'ethical commonwealth'. 4. 'Ought' implies 'can': Anything reason calls us to do (i.e., any human duty) must be possible; if it seems impossible, we are justified in making assumptions that will enable us to conceive of its possibility.38 5. Divine assistance: The only way39 to conceive of a human organization that could succeed in becoming an ethical commonwealth (i.e., in promoting the highest good as 'a social goal') is to presuppose the assistance of 'a higher moral Being through whose universal dispensation the forces of separate individuals, insufficient in themselves, are united for a common end.' This Being legislates the moral law internally to all individuals, thus insuring the harmony of their diverse actions. 6. God exists. In order to work towards the fulfillment of the highest good, we must therefore presuppose that God exists as a gracious moral lawgiver, and that to obey the moral law is to please God. That is, the ethical commonwealth can succeed only if it takes a religious form.

Kant's version of this argument occupies little more than a few sentences. Nevertheless, it marks an important turning-point in his discussion. For without it, his view of religion would be thoroughly anthropocentric (as it is typically assumed to be [see 1.3]); but with it, the equally theocentric emphasis of his view of religion becomes apparent. The title of §111, the section immediately following the paragraph that de¬ velops the foregoing argument, is itself a concise restatement of the argument's conclusion: 'The Concept of an Ethical Commonwealth is [i.e., must be viewed as] the Concept of a People of God under Ethical Laws' [Kt8:98(90]. Kant's main aim in this section is to explain what the notion of a 'highest lawgiver of an ethical commonwealth' must involve. Such a being must be someone with respect to whom all true duties...must be represented as at the same time his commands; he must therefore also be 'one who knows the heart' [see Luke 16:15; Acts 1:24; 15:8]... Hence an ethical commonwealth can be thought of only as a people under divine commands, i.e., as a people of God [see 1 Pet. 2:10], and in¬ deed under laws of virtue. [99(90-1)]

This emphasis on the need for God to govern the ethical commonwealth could give the impression that human beings are not responsible for its founding and successful implementation. To guard against this misunderstanding, Kant de¬ votes §IV to the task of explaining how 'Human Organization' (as the title, 38. Kant does not specify this step in his argument explicitly. However, it is a maxim that he repeats over and over again in Kt4, Kt8, and elsewhere. In Kt8:41(36), for instance, he says that in every moral act it 'must be within his [a moral agent's] power' 'to better himself.' 39. Divine assistance is the only way (or in Kant's words, 'this duty will require the presupposition of [divine assistance]' [Kt8:98(89), e.a.]) because the only other option is to suppose that an ethical commonwealth can succeed when based entirely on human organization. Yet if the people them¬ selves are regarded as the source of the ethical laws, the commonwealth would be essentially politi¬ cal, not ethical [98(90); s.a. note VII.36]. Rossi makes a similar point when he says Kant's claim that the 'complete attainment' of goodness 'lies beyond human capacities' [Ro89:371] 'helps open up a "logical space" for an affirmation of God on the basis of "moral faith".'

!

VII. Systemr

i

169

once again, puts it) must also play a role in all true religion in order for 'The Idea of a People of God [to] be Realized' [Kt8:100(91)]. Human organization on its own could never be sufficient, he reminds us [100(92)], for '[h]ow indeed can one expect something perfectly straight to be framed out of such crooked wood?' He continues: 'To found a moral people of God is ... a task whose consummation can be looked for not from men but only from God Himself; because we do not know exactly how God will choose to do this, however, each good-hearted person 'must... proceed as though everything depended upon him' .40 Resolving this paradox between human responsibility and divine assis¬ tance is Kant's main aim in §IV. As the title itself suggests, the material of an ethical commonwealth in the form of a people of God 'can be realized (through

40. Kt8:100-1(92), e.a. Michalson is therefore correct to say 'the recovery from radical evil' must take place through 'a divine/human alliance' [Mi93:45]. But he thinks this raises numerous 'philosoph¬ ical puzzles and obscurities' [46]. For example, in Books Two and Three 'the cooperative role played by God is gradually displaced by other moral agents.' The 'community' assumes the 'soteriological function that is assigned to God in Books I and II.' That this might be a change of perspective rather than an inconsistency never occurs to Michalson. Moreover, he never says what would be wrong with such a transition of responsibility. It seems quite compatible with the notion that human beings are God's children. As we grow up, God gives us more and more responsibility to fend for ourselves. Michalson complains, however, that this 'does not really solve the problem of radical evil' [46]; it 'simply changes the subject.' It 'begs the question of individual moral regener¬ ation', inasmuch as [47] 'God's grace assumes the form of other rational beings.' That no question is begged here becomes obvious, once we realize Kant is dealing with different issues. Moreover, even in Book Three Kant insists there will inevitably be something God alone can do to make up for our insufficiency, whether individual or social. Michalson rejects such a claim as incoherent [48-9] on the grounds that 'the "phenomenal" moral agent is playing a kind of "catch-up" with the noumenal agent... The equivocation here is palpable.' (See Mi90:103-6 for a similar argument.) But no such monstrosity is assumed in Kant's text, any more than our empirical intuitions have to 'catch up' with our pure intuition of space and time in systemt. What gradually improves over time is our own self-awareness—our knowledge of our disposition, not the disposition itself. Michalson's misrepresentation of Book Three (especially §111) reaches its height when he claims [Mi93:50] that Kant 'supplements—and possibly trumps—his appeals to an inscrutable divine grace with appeals to the community of moral agents.' Yet Kant never comes close to saying the community can do it all; he affirms only that we must act as if we must do so, in order to avoid moral laziness. That Kant is here 'caught between heaven and earth' [50] is a offense he would surely admit, for this is the true human situation! (Rossi aptly expresses this point by saying that for Kant 'the unique status that human beings have in the cosmos' is precisely that we 'stand in that breach between the "sensible" and the "intelligible," because we are the juncture' [Ro93:62].) The supposed inconsistencies Michalson so diligently enumerates reveal Kant's integrity, not his philosophical ineptitude. Thus, Michalson cleverly alleges [51] that both of Kant's supposedly inconsistent views in Kt8 'appear to supersede his own postulate of the immortality of the soul in [Kt4].' This is because in Kant's account of the individual's struggle with evil we no longer need duration, and in his account of the community's victory the kingdom is established on earth, not in heaven. Both these objections, however, are easily overcome. In the former case, an individual's salvation remains a future reality for Kant, so immortality is still needed in order for us to reap the benefits of having held on to our good disposition. And in the latter, without duration, there would be no experience of reward; a postulate of a new kind of phenomenal realm (i.e., heaven on earth) is still needed, in order for the noumenal ideal to take effect.

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PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

human organization) only in the form of a church' .41 Kant resolves the paradox by distinguishing between the 'church invisible' and the 'visible church': An ethical commonwealth under divine moral legislation is a church which, so far as it is not an object of possible experience [cf. the 'negative noumenon' in step nine of systemt], is called the church invisible (...the archetype of what is to be es¬ tablished by men). The visible church is the actual union of men into a whole which ...exhibits the (moral) kingdom of God on earth so far as it can be brought to pass by men. [101(92)]

Kant then describes a set of archetypal principles of the invisible church, which any visible church must adopt in order to be 'true' (i.e., in order to make God's kingdom real on earth). These principles follow the same 2LAR pattern as Kant's famous table of categories, just as the principles in step eight of systemt [see KSP1, Fig. III.4]. They are: (1) its quantity is 'Universality, and hence its numerical oneness.. .with respect to its fundamental intention'; (2) its 'quality' is 'purity, union under no motivating forces other than moral ones'; (3) its 'relation', both 'of its members to one another, and... of the church to political power', is determined by 'the principle of freedom'; and (4) its 'modality' is 'the unchangeableness of its constitution', i.e., of certain 'settled principles' that are 'laid down, as it were, out of a book of laws, for guid¬ ance'.42 The form of the true (universal) church, then, can be mapped onto the cross as shown in Figure VII.5. The two lLARs that give rise to this 2LAR can be identified as distinguishing between characteristics concerned with laws 4 1 . Kt8:100(91). Flesher misleadingly refers to this as an 'identification' [F188:124-5], saying 'Kant calls [the 'ethical commonwealth'] a church.' Yet the two are far from being identical concepts: they are as distinct as democracy is from theocracy [see Pa93]! Flesher does correctly describe the church as 'an evolutionary body' [125], adding that it plays out the necessary, though 'uneasy marriage of the pure religion of reason and ecclesiastical faith.' As we shall see, this is a mutually complementary arrangement: reason on its own cannot make religion real; it needs the help of faith; historical faiths on their own are illegitimate; they need reason as a guiding light. McCarthy makes a similar blunder [Mc86:98], claiming Kant's 'church has become destined to dissolve into the ethical commonwealth.' This would be true if Kant were a strict reductionist. But it simply cannot be supported by the text. For Kant argues that the ethical commonwealth must be raised to the status of becoming a church in order to succeed! Neglecting the architectonic flow of Kt8, especially the implications of Kant's 'religious argument', McCarthy wrongly concludes [85] 'that the idea of an ethical commonwealth does not lead to the idea of a revelation-based church.' As we shall see in VIH.3.A, however, Kant believes the best visible church is 'revelationbased'. McCarthy likewise claims [86] 'the idea of an ethical commonwealth leads ultimately back only to itself.' What it lead to in the flow of Kant's text is the church, and ultimately to the king¬ dom of God on earth [see Pa94b]. McCarthy's claim assumes that the ethical commonwealth is iden¬ tical to the kingdom of God—yet they are very different for Kant: the former is a mere idea that can be made concrete only by interpreting it religiously, in terms of the latter. McCarthy states Kant's view more accurately when he says the church serves an 'intermediate' role between these two [86]. 42. Kt8:101-2(93). The correspondence between Kant's four principles (especially the first two) and the Nicene Creed's affirmation of 'one holy catholic and apostolic Church' may be more than coincidental. Kant's 'freedom' may be intended as a more realistic version of 'catholic' (meaning _while__lunchangeableness' generalizes the continuity implied by 'apostolic'. Peters dh

VII. Systemr

171

unchangeableness of principles (++) (laws, external)

universality of - intention (-) (freedom, internal)

freedom in relationships (-+) -^ (freedom, external)

2> purity of motivation (+-) (laws, internal)

Figure VII. 5: The Archetypal Characteristics of the Invisible Church (+) or freedom (-) on the one hand, and between their external (+) or internal (-) manifestations on the other. Taken together, §§II-IV describe the eighth and ninth steps in systemr. Just as step eight of systemt introduces the principles of pure understanding as the key element in stage three that makes empirical knowledge possible, so also step eight in systemr introduces the principles of divine government that make a true church possible. These principles provide the form (+) enabling us to re¬ gard an ethical commonwealth as a People of God (i.e., an invisible church). The argument of this step can therefore be expressed as: VIE. an ethical commonwealth (-+-)

archetypal principles of divine government'

a People of God (-++) (invisible church)

The third step in stage three, as usual, synthesizes (x) or realizes, the two preceding steps. Step nine, then, requires some form of human organization— i.e., a 'public covenant' [Kt8:105(96)] working in harmony with the archetypal principles of the invisible church to establish a true visible church. As this hap¬ pens more and more, God's kingdom is gradually manifested on earth. In sum: IX. a People of God (-++) human organization of^ the kingdom of (invisible church) a true visible church God on earth (-+x)

The kingdom of God does for mankind here in systemr what moral action (i.e., virtue) does for individuals in step nine of systemp.43 The empirical perspective 43. Davidovich alludes to this parallel in Da93a:25. Similarly, Crosby notes a 'close connection ... between the kingdom of ends and the Kingdom of God' [Cr94:126]. What he fails to see is that the

172

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

of systemr thus concludes in step nine by making 'empirical faith', also known as 'historical ecclesiastical faith', a necessary element of genuine religion.44 In the remainder of Book Three (i.e., §§V-VII of Division One, and all of Division Two) Kant discusses a variety of issues relating to how the elements established here in stage three are to be applied in a real, historical religion.45 former applies only to systemp; in Kt8 Kant is dealing with the latter. The former becomes transformed into the latter through religion. 44. Kt8:109-10(100). Despland notes that Kant makes 'repeated attacks on the disjunction of reason and history, and reason appears ...as ...dependent on the community' [De73:222]. He uses the concentric circles metaphor [see above, Fig. VII. 1] to give an excellent account of why Kant 'oscillat[es] between the view that sees reason as the educator of history and that which sees history as the educator of reason' [242]. For Kant, reason is 'the force that draws and attracts', yet 'revela¬ tion and grace [are] the dynamic realities that move man along this progressive path.' Michalson considers the possibility that 'the religion of reason is not necessarily opposed to historical religion' [Mi79:52], but as a direct consequence of his lack of appreciation for Kant's principle of perspective, he is never able to account for the intrinsic 'tension' [126] between the two. Explicitly contrasting his view with Despland's, Michalson responds to this 'unresolved tension in Kant's religious thought' [130] by repeatedly appealing to the 'standards' set in Ktl, Kt4, and Kt5 in order to interpret Kt8—i.e., by insisting [131] that for Kant 'our moral and religious life is intelligible only in terms of a timeless noumenal realm.' Yet this uncritical conflation of standpoints, the source of most of Michalson's confusion, does not come from Kant but from the false set of hermeneutic assumptions being imposed on the text. Thus Michalson portrays Kant as being 'forced' into an irrational position of 'incorporating] the historical aspects of religion into his religious philosophy' [132], when in fact this incorporation is but a natural outcome of the judicial standpoint Kant adopts in Kt8. Likewise neglecting the compatibility Kant sees between reason and history [see KSP4], Davidovich accuses Kant of having a 'deep bias against organized religion' [Da93b:121] and as¬ serts [122] that historical religion is 'the greatest possible threat to the autonomy of morality and, by implication, to the cultural progress of humanity.' While there is some truth in these comments, they ignore far more important points that are fundamental to systemr: despite Kant's personal preference not to attend church regularly [see notes VIII.31 and 49], he makes human organization a necessary element in all true religion; and along with the risk of wrongly believing historical religion can replace pure religion comes the greatest possible benefit of religion, that humanity, through its historical struggle with the reality of evil, will finally come of age. One-sided comments such as Davidovich's tend to shroud Kant's rightful standing as a reformer. 45. The extent of Kant's emphasis in these sections on the realization of rational religion in history makes it rather surprising that McCarthy would assert [Mc82:200]: 'Kant makes no references to the possible intention of the New Testament writers to narrate events which in some sense might be historical.' Perhaps this is simply because Kant saw no need to mention what everyone takes for granted! We must keep in mind, after all, that in appealing to Scripture Kant is exemplifying his own principle of moral interpretation, and that in his defense of this approach to interpretation, Kant freely admits that historical scholarship does have a legitimate role—just not a primary religious one. Moreover, McCarthy himself accurately reports Kant's view that 'the actual and historical church' reflects the 'true church' [Mc86:87] only 'to the extent that it recognizes itself as transitional and as the imperfect vehicle of pure religion.' This acknowledgment that the true church can (and must) be historical does not mean 'the church.. .cannot, according to Kant, serve as the basis of a universal church.' It can, provided we recognize it as a temporary and imperfect basis [see Pa94b]. McCarthy continues [88]: 'The Christian church is thus certainly not the vehicle of salvation history but simply a distinguished passenger.... [T]he Christian church itself eventually needs to be saved.' This is potentially misleading, for 'vehicle' is precisely the term Kant uses to describe the true historical church! Kant allows there to be more than one vehicle, so no visible church can claim to be exclusive, unless (as Kant himself argues [see VIII.2-3] it alone fits the 'passenger' (reason). As such, the church needs to be 'saved' only in the sense of continuing its movement gradually away from historical particularity and towards rational universality.

VII. Systemr

-\ •

173

We shall examine these issues in detail in VIII.3.A. For now it will suffice to point out that the perspectival difference between the first two stages and the last two stages is brought out forcefully by Kant in Kt8:104-5(95-6), where he gives two distinct answers to the question 'How does God wish to be honored?' For the first two stages, wherein this question is 'answered in a way universally valid for each man, regarded merely as man [i.e., as a solitary individual],.. .the legislation of His will ought to be solely moral; for statutory legislation (which presupposes a revelation) can be regarded merely as contingent...'. But in the third and fourth stages, when we regard ourselves as obliged to behave not merely as men but also as citi¬ zens in a divine state on earth... under the name of a church, then the question ... appears to be unanswerable by reason alone and to require statutory legislation of which we become cognizant only through revelation, i.e., an historical faith...

As we saw in step eight, this dependence on God and on a divine revelation plays 'a significant role', but not merely 'in the distant past', as McCarthy claims [Mc86:100]; for it is actually an element in system,-. Nevertheless, from the philosopher's (Copernican) Perspective as such, this requirement remains empty:46 like radical evil and the assistance-giving archetype in the first two stages, the details of the divine organization of the church must be 'filled in' by some historical tradition. It would be 'presumptuous', therefore, to regard our dependence on revelation as an excuse 'to take the laws constituting the basis and form of any church as divine statutory laws... in order to save ourselves the trouble of still further improving the church's form': rather, 'it is the divine will that we should ourselves carry into effect' the church's form by learning from past mistakes [105(96)]. The members of a church must humbly accept this task as 'entirely committed to them alone'. Kant is not denying that God will guide human organizers in this task. On the contrary, he warns that 'it 46. Kant's philosophically correct recognition of ignorance with respect to the details of divine revelation is likely to bewilder any interpreter who does not recognize its perspectival context. Thus Wisnefske [Wi9O:149n] asks: 'What can it mean for something to be revealed about which we have no notion at all? How do we know it is the revelation of God if we have no sense of what it is for there to be a God? Revelation seems to indicate that something* vaguely known becomes known.' Kant's response would be that, as we saw in V.l-4, we do have a notion of God and that it can be known with a high degree of clarity if regarded as a practical symbol. What reason cannot give us is an intuition that corresponds to this idea. That this can be given only through experience is the central tenet of Kant's Critical mysticism [see Part Four]. In order to be considered valid by reason, a claim to revelation must therefore either be consistent with practical reason or else must be regarded hypothetically, as a symbolic representation of an essentially unknowable truth. Hicks accuses Kant's attempt to 'return to theistic piety and grace' of being 'both untenable and self-defeating' [Hi74:386]; as long as he attempts to do it 'without revelation', it is 'tantamount to the regaining of lost innocence.' We can now see how unfair this is. First, Kant does allow for the necessity of revelation. Second, his hope is not for a return to Eden, but for a move forward to a new (Critical) innocence, requiring the cooperative participation of God's grace.

174

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

would be as great self-conceit to deny peremptorily that the way in which a church is organized may perhaps be a special divine arrangement, if, so far as we can see, it is completely harmonious with the moral religion' [105(96)]. As hinted by the fourth characteristic for the organization of any true church (i.e., its unchangeable modality), Kant emphasizes the importance of a church treating a scripture as 'an object of esteem', and as more important than tradi¬ tion [Kt8:107(97)]. Along these lines he says [107(98)]: A holy book arouses the greatest respect even among those (indeed, most of all among those) who do not read it... [Yet] it has never been possible to destroy a faith grounded in scripture ..., whereas the faith established upon tradition ... has promptly met its downfall when the state was overthrown. How fortunate, when such a book, fallen into men's hands, contains, along with its statutes, or laws of faith, the purest moral doctrine of religion in its completeness... [B]ecause of the difficulty of rendering intelligible according to natural laws the origin of such en¬ lightenment of the human race as proceeds from it, such a book can command an esteem like that accorded to revelation.

Kant's discussion of the proper method of interpreting scripture will be discussed in VIII.3.A. Here it is sufficient to clarify the perspective from which he believes a revealed scripture must be viewed. He explains in Kt8:109(100) that 'a church dispenses with the most important mark of truth, namely, a right¬ ful claim to universality, when it bases itself upon a revealed faith.... Yet be¬ cause of the natural need and desire of all men for something sensibly tenable ..., some historical ecclesiastical faith or other... must be utilized.' In other words, the revealed scriptures used by 'such an empirical faith' [110(100)] should never be viewed as an end in themselves, but only as a means to the end of establishing a truly religious faith, even though (the historical record [e.g., the Bible].. .may itself be a miracle (a supersensible revelation)' [85(79)]. The simultaneous need for both universality (--) and unchangeableness (++) [see Fig. VII.5], despite their direct opposition, is conveyed in Kt8:l 12(103): The authority of Scripture, as the most worthy instrument, and at present the only instrument in the most enlightened portion of the world, for the union of all men into one church, constitutes the ecclesiastical faith, which,... cannot be neglected, because no doctrine based on reason alone seems to the people qualified to serve as an unchangeable norm.

Hare rightly notes that Kant is 'an agnostic about supernatural revelation', but only 'in the narrow sense that... the claim to have received supernatural revelation cannot be known to be true, in Kant's restricted sense of "knowl¬ edge."... It no more follows that we should not believe in supernatural revelation than that we should not believe in God.'47 47. Ha94:140. Despland expresses a similar view in De73:220 [s.a. 225]: 'The possibility of [special

'

^ ,'•'•'

VII. Systemr

!

175

As long as 'an historical faith ..., having become ecclesiastical, enhances the principle of a continual approach to pure religious faith,... [it] can at any time be called the true church' [Kt8:115(106); s.a. 153(140)]. Kant looks for¬ ward to a gradual development from an emphasis on ecclesiastical faith to a recognition of the primacy of religious faith [121-2(112-3)]: ... religion will gradually be freed from all empirical determining grounds and from all statutes which rest on history and which through the agency of ecclesiastical faith provisionally unite men for the requirements of the good; and thus at last the pure religion of reason will rule over all, 'so that God may be all in all' [1 Cor. 15:28].... All this is not to be expected from an external revolution ... The basis for the transition to that new order of affairs must lie in the principle that the pure religion of reason is a continually occurring divine (though not empirical) revelation for all men.

Kant describes his eschatological hope in the eventual 'sovereignty of pure religious faith' as 'the coming of the kingdom of God' [115(105); cf. AVI.3]. Steps eight and nine of systemr require both that 'God himself must be the founder of His kingdom' and yet that human beings be 'the creators of the or¬ ganization' [152 (140)]. Thus, the culmination of this process is 'a beautiful ideal... which we cannot conceive as a culmination in experience, but can merely anticipate, i.e., prepare for, in continual progress and approximation toward the highest good possible on earth ,..'48 This is the task—the proper use of revelation as a practical tool for bringing us closer to the kingdom of God— that Kant sets for the true {visible) church here in the third stage of system,-. The fourth stage will show us how best to fulfill such a task. B. Service of God (++) The fourth stage in systemr establishes the conditions under which the church, as given in step nine, can serve God, despite the limitations of earthly existence. Here the ultimate goal of religion—viz., to make humanity wellrevelation] is not to be denied, but the use of the idea must be modest.' As we shall see in VIH.2.B, the same can be said for Kant's view of the claim that Jesus is God incarnate. This perspectival way of interpreting Kant stands in marked contrast to the more negative interpretations so often adopted in the past. Barth, for example, thinks '[a]nyone who speaks of revelation is bursting the religion of reason asunder', to the extent that Kant's 'philosophy of religion cannot therefore speak of revelation' [Ba72:284]; likewise, he claims that for Kant 'there is certainly ...no sugges¬ tion that this Word [i.e., the archetype] might by any chance have become flesh.' Fendt assumes the same position without argument: 'Kant stands against both Incarnation and Revelation' [Fe90:206]. We shall see the full extent of how wrong such views are in VIII.2.B and VIII.3.A. 48. This same theme is echoed in a number of Kant's secondary writings on politics, history, and human nature [e.g., Kt31, Kt32, Kt60-Kt63]. The relation of these works to each other and to reli¬ gion (especially stage three of systemr) will be examined in KSP4. A first attempt to expound Kant's theory of the political history of mankind can be found in Pa94b, where I argue that Kant's view of the culmination of history has a close affinity to 'theocracy'—a theology of politics I have described primarily from the Perspective of the biblical theologian in Pa93.

176

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

pleasing to God—is realized in much the same way as rational inference realizes the ultimate goal of systemt [see KSP1:VII.3.B]. Accordingly, we can regard Book Four of Kt8 as developing the implications of the hypothetical perspective of systemr, so that ++ will be the first two terms in the expression symbolizing the function of each of the three steps therein. And just as Kant presents both a proper (hypothetical) and an improper (speculative) perspective in stage four of systemt, so also here in stage four of systemr he deals with both 'the service of God' and 'the pseudo-service of God'.49 In what follows we shall therefore examine both ways of completing systemr. Kant begins his account of the true service of God with a description of what religion essentially is. Since the definitions set out in this passage apply throughout systemr, and serve as the backbone of his entire approach, I outlined his views in VI.2-3. His reason for saving this apparently introductory material until the beginning of Book Four, rather than supplying it at the outset of Kt8, is that religion as such first becomes a reality at the end of stage three. The radical evil in human nature, the change of heart in an individual, and the bonding together of such individuals as members of a church, all prepare the way for the expression of true religion in stage four; on their own the earlier stages would not suffice to compose a religious standpoint. The visible church, as a vehicle for universal religion, provides the context wherein truly religious people (i.e., those who have experienced a conversion to agood heart) can serve God; but the service itself comes here in stage four. Thus, after neatly summarizing the main points of the first three stages in Kt8:162(151), Kant says 'to become convinced of all this is part of religion.' The tenth step—like the 'unconditioned' object in step ten of systemt— presents the 'idea of the whole', towards which all previous steps have led; for systemr it is the determination to regard 'all duties as divine commands', and in so doing to realize the purpose of the church as an arena for authentic religious practice [Kt8:153(142)]. No revelation is presupposed in this first manifesta¬ tion of religion, so it is at this point a natural religion. Since Kant's definition of religion has already been fully discussed [see VI.2], it will suffice here merely to summarize this material (-) step in the fourth stage as: X. the kingdom of God on earth (-+x)

duties viewed as divine commands

^

a natural religion (++-)

That the definition of religion constituting this tenth step is based directly on the 49. Kt8:153-67(142-55) and 167-90(156-78), respectively. On systemt, see KSPl:129-40,235-43. Despland's view of Book Four as 'a kind of appendix' [De73:185; s.a. note VII.51, below] ignores its crucial role in completing the system.

VII. Systemr

177

Ethical Commonwealth (a humanly organized society obeying universal duties)

Kingdom of God (a humanly organized, divinely guided church)

Religion (church members serving God)

People of God (a divinely organized society obeying God's commands)

Figure VI1.6: Origin of Kant's Definition of Religion in Stage Three three steps of stage three is evident from Figure VII.6, where the opposition between duties and divine commands is transcended by the true church, thus giving rise to the form of religion Kant calls 'a pure rational faith' [162(151)]. As we saw in VI.2, religion in Kant's view can be 'objectively a natural religion, though subjectively one that has been revealed' [Kt8:156(144)]. Whereas step ten (as the material step in stage four) views religion in the former way, step eleven (as the formal step) views it in the latter way. In accordance with his choice of a second 'experiment' at the outset of Kt8 [see VII. 1], Kant chooses Christianity 'as the medium for the elucidation of our idea of revealed religion' [Kt8:156(144)], and 'the New Testament,... as the source of the Christian doctrine' [157(145)]. Most of the details of this part of his argument will therefore be examined in the corresponding section of the next chapter [VIII.3.B] rather than here. For the purposes of his first experiment, it is suf¬ ficient to point out that the concept of revelation 'is a pure concept of reason' [156(144)], just as are the 'ideas' in step eleven of systemt. By hypothetically imposing the concept of revelation onto a set of scriptures, an empirical religion (e.g., Christianity) can be regarded not just 'as a faith freely assented to by ev¬ eryone' (i.e., 'a pure rational faith'), but also 'as a faith which is commanded' (i.e., ' a revealed faith').50 Kant argues in Kt8:163(151-2) that both of these are 50. Kt8:162(151). This process is a good example of what I have elsewhere called the 'analytic a posteriori' [see e.g., KSPl:134-9,237-9,251-2,367-8; Pa00a:76-7]. A pre-formed concept

178

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necessary, for pure religion (being on its own confined within the limits of practical reason) is naked, and must be clothed with revelation: ... where the Christian teaching is built not upon bare concepts of reason [i.e., not on these alone] but upon facts, it is no longer called merely the Christian religion, but the Christian faith... In the Christian church neither of these can be separated from the other as adequate in itself; the ['moral faith'] is indispensable to the ['historical faith'] because the Christian faith is a religious faith, and the [latter] is indispensable to the [former] because it is a learned faith.

Revelation, along with (secondarily) the scholarly learning needed to pre¬ serve and interpret the historical record, is the form (+) that clothes the material (-) of natural religion. This will be as true for any historical faith that deserves to be called a 'religion' as it is for Christianity. This eleventh step, then, is: XI. a natural religion (++-)

revelation (and scholarship)

.

a revealed religion (+++)

This step requires that 'the revealed doctrine... must be cherished and cultivated as merely a means, but a most precious means, of making this doctrine [of 'natural religion'] comprehensible, even to the ignorant' [Kt8:165(152-3)]. The twelfth and final step of systemr synthesizes (x) natural and revealed religion in their proper order, so that 'the object and end of all religion (which .. .is conduct pleasing to God)' [Kt65:56] can be realized through 'the true ser¬ vice of the church under the dominion of the good principle' [Kt8:165(153)]. This involves on the one hand regarding all human duties as divine commands, and on the other regarding the statutory laws of the true church, which is itself 'steadily approximating to pure rational faith', as also divinely revealed [153 (140)]. The former represents the direct (material) service of God, while the latter represents the indirect (formal) service of God: ... when [people] fulfil their duties to man (themselves and others) they are, by these very acts, performing God's commands and are therefore in all their actions and abstentions.. .perpetually in the service of God, and... it is absolutely impos¬ sible to serve God more directly in any other way (since they can affect and have influence upon earthly beings alone, and not upon God). [103(94)]

The indirect service of God, ordained by statutory divine laws, should serve as a motivating force to encourage and clarify the 'disposition of virtue... which of itself is well-pleasing to God' [173(161)]. Kant elaborates on the proper way of uniting these two forms of service when he explains that 'actions which have no moral value in themselves will have to be accepted as well-pleasing to ('revelation') is used to define analytically, or determine in advance, the nature of something (a set of texts) that is met only a posteriori, in experience. Describing revelation in this way is not meant to detract from its legitimacy, but only to describe what is happening when a person adopts an hypothetical belief in its status as revealed.

VII. Systemr

-

179

Him only so far as they serve as a means to the furtherance of what, in the way of conduct, is immediately good' [177(165)]. Keeping in mind the secondary role of all nonmoral actions or beliefs, we can summarize this final step as: XII. a revealed religion (+++)

true (dutiful) service of God

.

humanity as wellpleasing to God (++x)

Just as systemt begins by presupposing an unknowable thing in itself (0) and ends with hypothetical belief in a noumenal reality (++x) [see KSP1:VII.3.B], so also systemr, as we have now seen, begins by presupposing an unknowable good predisposition (0) and ends with hypothetical belief in a revelation of God's ultimate acceptance of our conduct as well-pleasing (i.e., good).51 Kant devotes considerable effort in Book Four to the task of determining how we can identify what is not true service of God. The speculative perspec¬ tive on religion produces 'religious illusion' [Kt8:168(156)], in which 'the moral order is wholly reversed' by the supposition that 'revealed faith is to pre¬ cede religion'[165(153)]: Belief in propositions of which the unlearned can assure themselves neither through reason nor through Scripture (inasmuch as the latter would first have to be authenticated [by scholars]) would here be made an absolute duty ... A church founded upon this latter principle does not really have servants..., but commanding high officials... They transform, in this way, the service of the church ... into a , domination of its members ... 5 2

Such 'allegiance to the historical and statutory element of ecclesiastical faith as alone bringing salvation' gives rise to 'the pseudo-service of the church' [153(141); s.a. 171(159)], which is the 'pretended honoring of God through

51. As Vossenkuhl correctly observes, 'the ideal of a new man pleasing to God' is systemr's 'analogue to the "supreme good'" in systemp [Vo88:185]. This suggests how wrong Flesher [F188:126; s.a. note VII.49, above] is to regard Book Four as constituting 'little more than an appendix to Book Three.' As in systemt and systemp, the fourth stage here supplies the true aim for the entire endeavor. That aim is to serve God, and only in Book Four does Kant tell us clearly how this is to be done. As such, Book Four of Kt8 fulfills a role equivalent to the Dialectic sections of Ktl and Kt4. 52. Kt8:165(153). Concerning such an insistence on propositional assent, Kant asks in Kt8:172(15960): 'Who, indeed, is now the unbeliever? Is it he who trusts, without knowing how that for which he hopes will come to pass; or he who absolutely insists on knowing the way in which man is released from evil and, if he cannot know this, gives up all hope of the release?' Obviously, Kant's answer is that the latter person, by adopting the speculative perspective on matters of religious belief, has unwittingly declared a profound lack of faith. To this we can add that, given Kant's understanding of the terms 'deism' and 'theism' [see IV.4], those who ignore natural religion and base the entirety of their doctrinal beliefs on supposedly theoretical knowledge gleaned from a particular set of holy scriptures, assumed to be God's unique and final revelation to humanity, are in fact more like deists than theists. They know God not as a living 'voice' [see X.3-4] but only through the dead letter of a revelation set in stone, a revelation as complete as the deists' proverbial 'clock': once wound up (written down by human authors), it requires no further intervention from God.

180

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

which we work directly counter to the service demanded by God Himself.'53 To illustrate the difference between true and false service, we can imagine ourselves ordering a meal at our favorite restaurant. Waiter A fills the order with the food that was requested, but never smiles or engages in friendly conversa¬ tion. Waiter B is all smiles and chats at length about everything under the sun, but ends up letting the food go cold and bringing someone else's order to the table. A friendly attitude would obviously be a welcomed supplement to good service, but on its own it is insufficient. In this example waiter A performs 'true service', despite being unfriendly, whereas waiter B performs 'pseudo-service' by allowing the supplement (friendliness) to stand in the way of performing good service (delivering hot food to the correct table). Kant seems to have such situations in mind in Kt8:153(141), when he defines pseudo-service as the persuasion that some one can be served by deeds which in fact frustrate the very ends of him who is being served. This occurs... when that which is of value only indirectly, as a means of complying with the will of a superior, is proclaimed to be, and is substituted for, what would make us directly well-pleasing to him.

All forms of ecclesiastical faith are 'alike in worth (or rather worthlessness)' when they take on the character of pseudo-service, because 'there is no essential difference among the ways of serving Him', once the relation of ser¬ vice to morality is taken away [Kt8:172(160)]. Kant's criticism of 'penances, castigations, pilgrimages, and the like' is not that such acts constitute pseudoservice as such, but that they become pseudo-service when people perform them 'because they.. .testify... to unbounded (though not moral) subjection to [God's] will. The more useless such self-castigations are and the less they are designed for the general moral improvement of the man, the holier they seem to be' [169(157)]. In such cases, 'however few the imposed observances, so long as these are laid down as unconditionally necessary the faith remains a fetishfaith through which the masses are ruled and robbed of their moral freedom by subservience to a church (not to religion).'54 Kant's guiding principle in stage four is: 'Whatever, over and above good life-conduct, man fancies that he can do to become well-pleasing to God is mere religious illusion' [Kt8:170(158)]. As we saw in VI.3, the common view that this basic hypothesis reduces religion entirely to 'good life-conduct' is untenable; such an interpretation contradicts Kant's emphasis elsewhere on the 53. Kt8:168(156). By contrast, true service is inherently paradoxical [Kt39:450-l(124)]: 'God ...com¬ mands that we practise virtue for its own inherent worth, and not merely because He demands it.' 54. Kt8:180(168); s.a. note AVII.17. 'To claim universal validity for a dogma... involves a contradic¬ tion: ...no mere statute can be universally valid', because it is not a priori, but empirical [Kt65:49]. Kant defines 'orthodoxy' as 'the view that belief in dogma is sufficient for religion' [60] and 'sectarianism' as the view that such belief is 'essential' [50].

VII. Systenir

181

importance of statutory laws as significant vehicles for true religion. The con¬ tradiction is easily resolved, however, by understanding the words 'over and above' to mean 'instead of rather than 'in addition to'. Kant's complaint is not against honoring God in nonmoral ways in addition to moral ways, but only against those who allow the former to take the place of the latter.55 The ten¬ dency of interpreters to misunderstand such principles is (as usual) Kant's own fault. For in his earnest attempt to emphasize the primacy of the moral in God's eyes, he sometimes makes assertions which, taken in themselves, do seem to imply an extreme reductionism. A few examples will illustrate this point: All these observances [of public divine worship] are at bottom morally indifferent actions; yet, just because they are to be performed merely for His sake, they are held to be all the more pleasing to Him. [106(97)] There are no special duties to God in a universal religion, for God can receive noth¬ ing from us; we cannot act for Him, nor yet upon Him. [154n(142n)] ... we can do no more than our duty with respect to God... [Kt39:491(207)]. ... the cause of all ceremonies is ['unbelief in natural religion']. Men think that ceremonies can take the place of morality, and they seek to win God over by nonmoral actions. [Kt35:(92)] The only thing that matters in religion is deeds... [Kt65:41].

Such strong statements serve to stress the importance of the perspectival shift Kant is suggesting, away from focus on the outward form of religion and towards a focus on its inner reality. The mistake is to conclude from their ap¬ parent one-sidedness that Kant finds no place whatsoever for such 'morally indifferent actions'. True, he does not wish to regard them as duties, nor even as deeds in the moral sense of the word. Nevertheless, he recognizes that they can play a very important (indeed, necessary) supporting role to the main character in stage four (viz., moral conduct), so long as they do not usurp the lead role. For example, when he criticizes the person who defends a primary emphasis on statutory laws by charging that 'when he says that he also gives his heart to God he means by this not the disposition to a course of life wellpleasing to Him but the heart-felt wish that those sacrifices may be accepted in lieu of that disposition' [Kt8:172(160)], Kant is not claiming all worshippers of God commit this error, as interpreters so often assume [see e.g., Cr96:99], but only those who do not adopt a 'moral disposition'. For 'everything depends... 55. Kant states this explicitly at the end of the section where he discusses this principle: 'ecclesiastical faith...must contain within itself, along with the statutory articles ..., still another principle, of setting up the religion of good life-conduct as the real end' [Kt8:174(163), e.a.]. See AVIII.l for a more detailed discussion of this point. The idea that we should eventually 'dispense with the statutory articles' is not something Kant regards as a realistic, short-term goal; it is rather an ideal, a long-term task that is not likely to be fully accomplished in the foreseeable future [see Pa94b].

182

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

upon whether we rely on the moral disposition alone..., or on pious playthings and on inaction' [173(161), e.a.]. Even superstition 'is only contingently ob¬ jectionable', since it is actually 'allied to reason' when used to help a person 'to work against the obstacles in the way of a disposition well-pleasing to God' [174(163)]. Ecclesiastical ceremonies, as we shall see in AVII.4 and AVIII.l4, are not objectionable at all if they are viewed from the proper perspective. Kant describes 'devotion' as 'the frame of mind ... attuned to acquiring dispositions dedicated to God' [Kt8:170(158)]. As such it is a necessary part of service to God. (Only when 'we ascribe to the frame of mind ... the worth belonging to those dispositions themselves' does devotion become pseudoservice, for only in this case is it 'a procedure which has no moral value in it¬ self'.56 Greene misrepresents Kant's position, therefore, when he says 'Kant's absolute insistence upon the reduction of true religion to morality ... rendered him incapable of appreciating true religious devotion' [Gr34:lxxvi].) Kant read¬ ily admits that a person with an 'active disposition to good life-conduct' can properly use devotional exercises 'to make himself worthy of the supplementa¬ tion of his impotence through supernatural assistance' [178(166); s.a. note VII.33]; for in so doing 'he is counting on something supernatural to supple¬ ment his natural impotence, yet not on what is effected by man... but on what is received, on what he can hope for but can not bring to pass.' What Kant rejects is any attempt 'through natural acts' to 'conjure up divine assistance' [178(166)]. The difference has entirely to do with the perspective assumed, for as Kant exclaims in Kt8:179(167): 'So much depends, when we wish to unite two good things, upon the order in which they are united! True enlightenment lies in this very distinction [between direct and indirect service]; therein the service of God becomes first and foremost a free and hence a moral service.' Kant expresses the same point in another way when he argues that 'the doctrine of godliness' should be subordinate to 'the doctrine of virtue', since the former 'can merely serve as a means of strengthening' the latter [Kt8:183 (171)]. Thus he warns [185(173)]: When reverence for God is put first, with virtue therefore subordinated to it, this object [of reverence] becomes an idol, that is, He is thought of as a Being whom we may hope to please not through morally upright conduct on earth but through adoration and ingratiation; and religion is then idolatry. But godliness is not a

56. Kt8:169-70(157-8). Kant expresses this rather forcefully in Kt35:(89): 'Devoutness is an indirect relation of the heart to God, which seeks to express itself in action and to make the knowledge of God work effectually upon the will. It is not an activity, but a method of securing readiness in ac¬ tion. It is action, the putting into practice of the moral law, the doing of what God wills us to do, that constitutes true religion.... [DJevotional exercises are meant for the purpose of acquiring the habit of doing good... Devotion as a separate pursuit, as an occupation in itself, has no point.'

v

VII. Systemr

\

183

surrogate for virtue, whereby we may dispense with the latter; rather is it virtue's • consummation, enabling us to be crowned with the hope of the ultimate , , achievement of all our good ends.

It is important to note that 'put first' in this context means "relied upon as the end goal', not 'chronologically prior'. For a devout attitude may well (and often does) come before a virtuous act, without nullifying its goodness. Kant's point is that reverence as an end in itself, without leading to good life-conduct, is idolatry. 'True reverence consists in acting according to God's will' [Kt39: 495(216)]. In light of all these ways Kant has of emphasizing the importance of putting moral and nonmoral actions in the right order, we can now see that the false version of systemr (corresponding to systemt's speculative perspective) merely reverses the priority of steps ten and eleven. In other words, revelation and its statutory laws are regarded as being most important, with the fulfillment of human duties (defined now not in moral terms, but in terms of the 'right' interpretation of scripture) having a secondary significance. Since many of the statutes are bound to be nonmoral (e.g., devotional), the service that results is false, and the end result is no longer universal, but is limited in its extent to the devotees of the historical tradition in question. We can therefore summarize the three steps that compose the 'pseudo-service' version of stage four as follows: Xs. the kingdom of God on earth (-+x) Ms. a revealed religion (++-) XIIs. a learned religion (+++)

divine revelation right teaching (and scholarship)

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t

,

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the devotees as unknowingly displeasing to God (++x)

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4. An Analytic Summary and a Synthetic Model Without recognizing Kant's dependence on the principle of perspective, interpreters are bound to regard his treatment of religion in books such as Kt8, Kt35, and Part I of Kt65 as filled with contradictions. As we have seen and shall see even more clearly in the following chapter, doctrines often appear to be rejected and then accepted even within the same passage. But with a clear awareness of the principle of perspective as our interpretive guide, we have been able to interpret the first of the two 'experiments' that constitute Kant's Critical religion (viz., his construction of a system of religious perspectives) as a balanced approach to understanding religion. Of at least equal importance is the extent to which it will enable us to see the thoroughly constructive inten¬ tions of his second experiment (viz., his assessment of historical religion in

184

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

general and of Christianity in particular); indeed, I shall argue in Chapter VIII that Kant actually presents Christianity as the one true expression of universal religion. Likewise, the transcendent ideas that arise in each stage of systemr, though sometimes magnified by interpreters to a place of primary importance [see e.g., De73:215-36], can now be seen in their proper role as potentially healthy 'by-products' (parerga) of the actual system. Appendix VII demon¬ strates that Kant's intention in discussing them is not to reject them outright, but merely to prevent the spread of disease throughout an otherwise healthy religious system—the disease arising only when the by-products are mistakenly regarded as religion's main source of nourishment. The most decisive advantage of this way of interpreting system,- is that, by replacing the typical reductionistic interpretation [see VI. 1-4] with one that adopts the Copernican Perspective [see KSPl:61-8], we can now see how thoroughly Kt8 follows the architectonic pattern set in Ktl for the entire Critical philosophy. Kant's Copernican Perspective on religion reverses the usual priority given to the external expression of religion over its internal core. Just as Copernicus suggested that the earth actually revolves around the sun even though the sun appears to revolve around the earth, and just as Kant argues in Ktl that objects conform (transcendentally) to the subject even though the subject appears to conform (empirically) to the object, so also Kant argues in Kt8 that historical religious traditions conform to pure moral religion, even though morality appears to arise out of just such traditions—or at least, this Copernican Perspective must hold true in order for any historical tradition to serve as a vehicle for universal religion. What is crucial for system,- is that religious people read a truly religious disposition into the outward observances of their tradition (which are to be viewed as pleasing God only indirectly, not directly, as they may seem to do), just as in systemt the subject reads various a priori forms into the object (which is to be viewed as a representation, not as a thing in itself, as it may seem to be).57 Now that we have completed our descriptive account of system,-, it will be helpful to provide an analytic summary of its twelve steps, following the same procedure used in KSP1:VII.4 for systemt and in KSP1:VIII.4 for systemp [see below, Figs. VII.7-8]. (The same qualifications apply to my account of the twelve steps of systemr as were expressed in KSP1:VII.4 with regard to systemt: Kant lays out the four main stages in his systems quite clear¬ ly, but the exact identification of the three steps within each stage is open to 57. This analogy between systemt and systemr is implied by Kant in Kt8:168n(156n) when, as a preparation for explaining religious illusions, he defines illusion in general as 'the deception of regarding the mere representation of a thing as equivalent to the thing in itself.'

VII. Systemr

185

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186

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

how humanity can become well-pleasing to God. We can work towards the accomplishment of this goal only by serving God through good life-conduct (x). Because human beings are sensible creatures, their service in most cases needs to be guided by the statutes of a revealed faith, which presupposes both a scriptural revelation and scholars to interpret it (+). More important, however, is the pure inner disposition of natural religion, which requires us to regard all duties hypothetically, as divine commands (-). The latter must be given priority (as the material) and the former treated as secondary (as the form), lest false service of God through empty ceremonies (or other nonmoral actions) result. Stage three. Religion's empirical perspective (-+) requires some histori¬ cal context to be used for putting into practice our service of God. Ultimately, this context will take the form of the 'kingdom of God' on earth (x). This can be realized only as a humanly organized community (a 'visible church') grad¬ ually corresponds more and more to the archetypal pattern of the invisible church. This pattern consists of four organizational categories (unity of inten¬ tion, purity of motivation, freedom of relationships, and unchangeableness of principles) that define an ethical commonwealth to be a people of God (+). An ethical commonwealth is a community of individuals who agree to adopt laws of virtue (-) as a schematism to counteract the tendency of good-hearted people (stage two) to allow evil (stage one) to influence their social relationships. Stage two. The logical perspective (+-) in religion defines the basic requirement for individual membership in the church. Each member of a true church must have undergone a conversion (x)—i.e., a painful experience of facing the evil heart that characterizes every human being until it undergoes a radical change, with a good maxim replacing the 'inverted' maxim in the supreme ground of that person's disposition. This comes about through practical faith in the archetype of a perfect person (+) that resides within every human individual. We can be confident such a conversion has actually taken place only by observing our progress in adopting good maxims more and more often. Ultimately, however, the very existence of this archetype is a sign that inscrutable assistance is available from God (-) for the otherwise impossible task of overcoming our evil heart. Stage one. The transcendental perspective (--) explains why conversion (and ultimately, religion itself) is necessary. Conversion is required by the fact that every person's heart is corrupted, at the very outset of their moral develop¬ ment, by adopting an inverted (hence, evil) maxim into their disposition (x). Reason cannot explain the presence of this universal propensity to be evilhearted, except to say that it is present as a 'radical' constituent of human nature (+). Considered apart from the influence of this radical evil, human persons

VII. Systemr

; / s

187

would all have an unobstructed potential to do good. In other words, the original state of every human being, as determined by human nature as such, is one of innocence (-), for human nature provides each person with a good predisposition. The synthetic version of this same summary can now be given, by map¬ ping these twelve steps onto a broken circle, just as in KSP1, Figures VII.5 and VIII.2: a good predisposition humanity as well-pleasing to God~~'^'^P° t e n t i a l t 0 d o S ood a revealed religion j ^ x n I ,Il\ fc\ •& i "^ \ propensity to evil a natural religiony A 1 ^ \ \ S~ •%. A

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Figure VII.8: Kant's Circle of Religion Before moving on to examine Kant's second experiment, it will be helpful to conclude this account of his first experiment with a brief reminder of the four important 'gaps' systemr leaves open.59 A good historical religion will be one that can fill these gaps in a rational way—i.e., without contradicting or in any way detracting from the significance of the moral law. Each gap defines a 'space' in systemr that Kant believes reason on its own is powerless to fill, yet is compelled to assume, lest the highest good be rendered impossible to attain. As we saw in VII.2.A, Kant never explains the origin of 'radical evil' (step two), but merely sets it up as a sign of the inscrutability of evil's true origin. The solution to the problem of personal evil, as elaborated in stage two, also rests on an inscrutable element in the system: the notion that there is a higher 59. See Table VII.2. These four key aspects of systemr suggest that Kant's philosophy of religion is a 'God of the gaps' theory. This is true in a special, practical sense. But it is not true in the ordinary sense of this phrase, where the 'gaps' refer to our ignorance in matters of empirical, scientific truth, which we are supposedly able to fill in with theological 'knowledge'. Kant has no sympathy for such an approach. Rather, the gaps in question here relate only to our practical reason, and are filled only hypothetically and only for elements about which bare reason leaves us necessarily ignorant. The same two qualifications would have to hold for any attempt to fill any gaps in our theoretical knowledge with a theological content: our ignorance must be necessary; and our theological claims must be made only hypothetically.

188

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

moral Being who will assist us in our moral weakness, thus making practical faith (step five) effective. Stage three leaves a space for God to guide human beings in building an ethico-spiritual kingdom on earth that will genuinely reflect the archetypal principles of the invisible church (step eight). And stage four leaves open a space for a revelation (together with its subsequent historical tradition) that will fill in the gaps in the natural religion provided by bare reason (step eleven). Taken together, these four spaces or gaps define the four types of 'clothing' that a good historical religion must provide in order to complement the naked body of pure moral religion.

Chapter VIII Christianity as the Universal Religion I have evidenced my great respect for Christianity in many ways ... Its best and most lasting eulogy is its harmony, which I demonstrated in [Kt8], with the purest moral belief of religion. For it is by this, and not by historical scholarship, that Christianity, so often debased, has always been restored; and only by this can it again be restored when, in the future, it continues to meet a similar fate. [Kt65:9]

•;,

1. Kant's Copernican Perspective on Religion One of the best ways to guard against the common tendency to commit a long string of interpretive errors, by reading into Kant's writings a largely (if not entirely) negative attitude towards empirical religions, is to recall the metaphor Kant himself introduces at the outset of constructing his System. In the second edition Preface to Ktl, Kant appeals to Copernicus' revolution in astronomy as an example for philosophers to follow. As we saw in KSP1 :III. 1, Kant describes his Copernican revolution in philosophy primarily in terms of systemt, yet its influence spreads throughout his entire System of Perspectives. In theoretical philosophy, let us recall, the Copernican Perspective enables us to accept the revolutionary notion that the character of our knowledge depends on the subject when the subject-object relation is viewed from the transcendental perspective, even though the common-sense notion that the object determines the character of our knowledge remains valid, whenever we adopt the empirical perspective. That is, the Copernican character of Kant's fundamental philosoph¬ ical Perspective is what gives him the ability to accept the appearance of things as a legitimate way of viewing the world, while nevertheless explaining the deep (properly philosophical) structure of those appearances in terms that seem, paradoxically, to uphold exactly the opposite view. Those who fail to grasp this essential aspect of Kant's thought are likely to find it difficult to comprehend how Kant's 'transcendental idealism' can also be an 'empirical realism'. The difficulty resolves itself, however, once we recog¬ nize that each label refers properly to a discrete perspective adopted by the hu¬ man mind. What is often not appreciated is that Kant's Copernican Perspective operates throughout his System, not only in systemt. As we come now to the task of assessing the implications of the second experiment in Kt8—that of testing the applicability of system,- to one historical religion, Christianity [cf. VII. 1]—we must therefore keep Kant's established (Copernican) strategy at the forefront of our minds. What Kant says about 'pure rational religion' deter¬ mines a distinct Transcendental Perspective on religion. Just as in systemt, many of the arguments and conclusions in systemr cannot simply be carried

190

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

over to the Empirical Perspective, as applying directly to historical religions as such. The purpose of a 'transcendentally ideal' system of religion is not to deny the validity of an 'empirically real' interpretation of the living faith of ordinary believers, but to legitimate it, philosophically. Fortunately, we need not look far in the text of Kt8 to find evidence of how Kant applies this Copernican Perspective to religion. One of the most significant passages, we have already cited in VI.3 and VII. 1: Kant compares the ideal relationship between rational (i.e., transcendental) and historical (i.e., empirical) religion to 'concentric circles' in Kt8:12(ll) [see Fig. VII.1]. His reason for doing so is to emphasize that empirical religion should conform to the transcendental conditions for religion.1 Thus, Kant normally reserves the term 'religion' for those historical traditions that do successfully live up to the transcendental conditions. In order to distinguish the pure religious 'core' from the historical tradition(s) as such, he refers to the latter as 'faith(s)'. In so doing, he does not intend to deny the validity of historical traditions, nor even to downplay their significance, but merely to distinguish between the properly philosophical and nonphilosophical Perspectives on religion. The 'Copernican' aspect of the metaphor consists in Kant's reversal of the order most religious people would assign to the two circles: instead of viewing historical faith as the core and moral action as the secondary element, Kant views the latter as the core and locates the former on the periphery. In the first edition Preface to Kt8, Kant offers us a different, but equally instructive, explanation of his Copernican Perspective on religion. He begins by rehearsing some of the key conclusions of his practical writings: Indeed, Kant explicitly says his second experiment is designed to prove 'that reason can be found to be not only compatible with Scripture but also at one with it, so that he who follows one... will not fail to conform to the other' [Kt8:13(l 1)]. In Kant's opinion, as Gregor explains in Gm79:xiii, 'the experiment was successful. As he would later explain ..., this book in no way disparaged Christianity, but, on the contrary, established its credentials as divine revelation in the only way this can be established, by demonstrating its consistency with pure moral religion.' This view is adopted by numerous other commentators [see e.g., notes 1.4,12], including Willich, one of the first to publish an interpretation of Kant in English, who says the principles in Kt8 'are perfectly consistent with' those of 'the Christian Religion' [Wi98:115]. Exploring the extent of this consistency is the main purpose of this and the following chapter. Green erroneously [Gg93:3] portrays Kant's second experiment as an attempt at '"depositivizing" Christian teachings', where 'positive' refers to religion based on revealed facts [4]. He warns that 'Christian theologians ... ought to be particularly wary of such a project.' Green sees 'polemical thrusts against positive religion' [5] throughout Kt8: 'Kant wants to reinterpret historic Christian faith by purging it of its positivity.' Yet Kant's goal is far more modest than this: to declare philosophic ignorance in response to any speculative claims to positive knowledge, thus shifting the basis of faith's certainty from theoretical to moral grounds. He does this without dog¬ matically denying the possibility that such theoretical speculations could be positively (factually) true. On a potentially more accurate note, Green says Kant 'urges that historical issues be bracketed' [8]. If 'bracketed' means 'not denied, but put in abeyance', then Green is quite right here.

VIII. Systemic

':•"'' v r'l

191

So far as morality is based on the conception of man as a free agent who ... binds himself through his reason to unconditional laws, it stands in need neither of the , idea of another Being over him [i.e., God]..., nor of an incentive other than the law itself [i.e., happiness]... Hence for its own sake morality does not need reli¬ gion at all...; by virtue of practical reason it is self-sufficient. [Kt8:3(3)]

The strict reductionist interpretation of Kant's views on religion stops here, declaring once and for all that Kant's aim is to eliminate empirical religion [see VI. 1]. Yet this overlooks the fact that Kant begins the second paragraph of the same Preface with an important (Copernican) qualification: But although for its own sake [i.e., in the first three stages of systemp] morality needs no representation of an end which must precede the determining of the will, it is quite possible that it [morality] is necessarily related to such an end [e.g., God and/or happiness], taken not as the ground but as the [sum of] inevitable conse¬ quences of maxims adopted as conformable to that end. [4(4)]

Here Kant is reminding us that, even in systemp, two 'ends' (viz., God and a form of immortality that guarantees a proper degree of happiness) had to be postulated in order to answer 'the question, What is to result from this right conduct of ours?' [5(4)]. He then goes on to argue that such ends are not just 'quite possible', but are indeed necessary, if we wish to conceive of the highest good as realizable [see KSP1:VIII.3.B]. This position is 'Copernican' in the sense that, like the aforementioned con¬ centric circles metaphor, it reverses the order of priority most people (whether philosophers or not) would assign to religion and morality. Whereas nearly everyone would be inclined to say our understanding of morality arises out of our religious tradition, Kant insists that, for the purposes of transcendental phi¬ losophy, 'this idea [viz., God] arises out of morality and is not its basis' [Kt8:5 (5)]. Kant's reason for arguing in this way becomes clear in the third paragraph, which must be blatantly overlooked by anyone who wishes to adopt the reduc¬ tionist interpretation of Kt8: 'Morality thus leads ineluctably to religion, through which it extends itself to the idea of a powerful moral Lawgiver, outside of mankind' [6(5-6), e.a.]. In a long footnote attached to this sentence, Kant removes all doubt about the transcendental character of his inquiry in Kt8 by clarifying that the proposition "There is a God... is a synthetic a priori proposi¬ tion' and then asking the standard question of all transcendental philosophy: 'But how is such a proposition a priori possible?'2 After a lengthy summary of 2. Kt8:6n(5-6n). By neglecting the transcendence of religion over morality, those who support a reductionist interpretation end up portraying Kant as a virtual unbeliever. For example, Kwan [Kw84:285] sees Kant as viewing 'our own practical reason ... [as] the ultimate object of our worship.' But such an extreme humanism would be tantamount to idolatry, neglecting as it does the very limitations of reason Kant's Critical philosophy sets out to establish. As we shall see in XII.2, when Kant occasionally equates God with 'Reason', he is speaking of the latter as a power

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'[t]he key to the solution of this problem', Kant concludes by reiterating the same point [8n(7n)]: "That is, morality leads inevitably to religion.' In the remainder of the first edition Preface Kant contrasts the Perspective of the 'philosophical theologian' with that of the 'biblical theologian', arguing that only the latter should be subject to government censorship (as the current king of Prussia had recently instated [see note VI.28]). Philosophical theology, by contrast, 'must have complete freedom to expand as far as its science reach¬ es' [Kt8:9(8)]. At first, this topic seems to bear little relation to the topic of the first half of the Preface. But a clear recognition of the Copemican character of Kant's approach reveals a close connection after all. The biblical theologian is a person whose proper tools are revelation and faith, whereas the philosopher must use reason and argument, even when dealing with the same religious and theological issues (or biblical texts) as the former. This distinction is directly parallel to that between the Empirical and Transcendental Perspectives. Kant, of course, is writing primarily to his fellow philosophers, so the views he has just expressed in the first part of the Preface represent what is required for those who adopt the Transcendental Perspective. Far from denying the validity of the opposing view, this philosophical Perspective is meant to provide the rational foundation for the ordinary (Empirical) way of looking at the same issues. This explains why Kant adopts such an accommodating attitude towards the biblical theologian.3 He is not merely trying to please the king's censors, as some have assumed;4 he is seriously proposing that, as long as biblical theolothat transcends the individual and is therefore in an important sense not 'our own' [s.a. AIV.4]. 3. Barth, having taken on board the reductionist paradigm [see note VI. 13], is forced to regard this part of Kant's exposition as less than sincere: 'It is only necessary to take quite seriously what Kant said half in mockery, in order to hear something very significant' [Ba72:312]. Barth is referring here to the view that biblical theologians should take a stand independently of the philosopher, using revelation as 'the point of departure* without 'wrapping [theology] up in the mantle of philosophy' [307]. What we have seen is that, stripped of the reductionist bias, Kant's comments no longer need to be passed off as clever jesting; instead they can be taken at face value as promoting a healthy dialogue between philosophers and theologians [see IX.l], not merely the strategy of turning a cold shoulder that Barth tended to adopt towards philosophy [see AV.l]. Some interpreters, such as White, merely overlook Kant's accommodating attitude. In dis¬ cussing Kt65 [Wh90:56], for example, he refers to 'Kant's general attack on the possibility of a revealed theology, which if correct would be far more subversive of traditional Christianity than his more famous refutation of natural theology in [Ktl].' But as we saw in VII.3.A, Kant is far from rejecting revealed theology—to say nothing of its very possibility! What he rejects is any philosophical attempt to moor a system of religion on revealed props. And as we shall see in Chapter IX, the fact that Kant never attempts to construct a biblical theology per se does not mean a Kantian biblical theology is a contradiction in terms. 4. Green [Gg93:5], for example, makes the totally unjustified allegation that Kant 'may have had political motives for disguising the theological implications of his argument.' Michalson likewise affirms Troeltsch's view that in Kt8 'Kant keeps one wary eye on the Prussian censor' [Mi93:52n], and as a result, 'some of the complexities [of interpreting Kt8] can be attributed to purely prudential considerations'. So also Walsh finds it 'hard to take ... quite seriously' Kant's claim 'that he had not thought of criticizing Christianity in writing [Kt8]' [Wa67:322; cf. note VIII.45, below]. Along

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gians do not 'rashly [declare] war on reason' [Kt8:10(9)], but use reason while staying within their own 'province' (just as philosophers might use a scriptural text without adopting the Bible's own Perspective), the conflict between this Perspective and the philosophical is normal and healthy. (The nature of this conflict is the main topic of Kt65 [see note VII.3, above].) In a 1793 letter Kant confirms that Kt8 was written as an aid to the biblical theologian [AA11:415 the same lines, Cassirer suggests Kant may have purposefully included 'much vagueness and many instances of camouflage in his expression' [Ca81:387] in order to hide his true views from the authorities. The problem with such claims is that, if this was indeed Kant's strategy, he failed miserably, since the book was censored anyway! But even more problematic is that such double¬ speak would go directly against Kant's numerous explicit calls for sincerity in religious matters [see e.g., AVI.l and note VIII.45]. A view similar to Cassirer's, that Kant's private religious views were quite different from those he publicly professed, is well refuted in De73:101-7. McCarthy also agrees that Kant's presentation of 'a positive view of Christianity' is not 'a ploy to please the censor" [Mc82:204]. The negative reaction of the king's religious censors to Kt8 when it first appeared, resulting in Kant's promise not to lecture or publish anything else on religion under the king's reign [see Kt65:10], is well known. What must not be ignored is that after the king's death, Kant explains the purpose of his book in much the same way as he had explained it in the Preface to Kt8 (thus indicat¬ ing the Kt8 explanation was not merely an attempt to appease the government) [Kt65:6n]: 'My purpose in formulating this title [i.e., that of Kt8] was to prevent a misinterpretation to the effect that the treatise deals with religion from mere reason (without revelation). That would be claiming too much, since reason's teachings could still come from men who are supernaturally inspired. The title indicates that I intended, rather, to set forth as a coherent whole everything in the Bible... that can also be recognized by mere reason.' In a 1793 letter to Staudlin [q.i. Ra63:259] Kant adds that in writing Kt8 'I was guided by my appreciation and true respect for the Christian religion, but also by the exigencies of a becoming candour, not to conceal anything but to represent truthfully, how a combination of religion with the purest practical Reason appears to me possible.' In light of Kant's distinction in Kt2:352 between Grenzen (bounds) and Schranken (limits), discussed in VI.2 [s.e. note VI.7], we can now add that the use of Grenzen in the title of Kt8 suggests Kant intends to put reason in its proper place in order to make room for revelation [cf. Ktl:xxx]! Regardless of what Kant might say about his openness to revelation, some commentators simply refuse to take him at his word. Michalson's doubts, for example, are based on the supposi¬ tion that Kant's epistemology simply leaves no room for divine-human communication. He argues that, although 'Kant does not simply dismiss the possibility of a divine revelation' [Mi79:vi], his general 'theory of religion', being based on 'the phenomenal-noumenal dichotomy' [64], 'works against the possibility that a divine revelation could ever be a meaningful Or recognizable part of that theory.' With a different interpretation of Kant's epistemology to work with (such as that proposed in KSP1), this problem evaporates: Kant's perspectival distinctions become the very source of meaningful interpretation [see VIII.3.A] rather than an obstruction. A small but growing rank of Kant scholars is using the perspectival method of interpreting Kant to show how his affirmative statements about Christianity can be taken quite seriously [see e.g., FiOO]. Hare follows this trend in Ha96, arguing [38; s.a. 39n] that 'Kant is not a deist about special revelation.' A careful and unbiased look at Kant's writings [48] reveals no 'good evidence that [Kant] rejected belief in supernatural revelation.' As a 'pure rationalist', Kant believes special revelation is not objectively necessary for religious belief; yet it may be a subjectively necessary supplement to the pure moral religion, because human beings are not purely rational agents [45n]. At a 1991 conference of Christian scholars Hare presented an early version of part of Ha96. His approach, though on the right track, seemed to lack a clear appreciation of Kant's principle of perspective, so afterwards I shared with him in some detail my approach to interpreting Kant. In early 1995 I sent him offprints of Pa92b and Pa92c. While reading Ha96 I was pleased to find Hare adopting (especially in Ch.2) many of the same positions defended in those articles. However, he seems to have reached his conclusions independently, since he never refers to my work, and still lacks some clarity in applying the principle of perspective. For a detailed review, see PaOOb.

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(Zw67:205)]: 'By assessing his doctrines from the point of view [i.e., Perspec¬ tive] of rational grounds, he shall be armed against any future attack.' Thus, Kant encourages biblical theologians to 'be at one with the philosopher' or else 'to refute him', provided they do not carelessly 'mix the two' Perspectives, be¬ cause 'the sciences derive pure benefit from separation' [Kt8:10(10)]. Recognizing the Copernican emphasis of Kt8's two Prefaces helps us appreciate more fully how system,- presents a balanced religious standpoint that has essentially affirmative implications for Christianity.5 We saw in VI.2 and I affirm this in spite of the fact that Heine pokes fun at those Christians in Kant's own day 'who went so far in their wilful blindness as to persuade themselves that Kant was in secret alliance with them' [He59:121]. My argument here is that the alliance, properly understood, is hardly a secret. As Green acknowledges [Gg93:l], Kt8 is 'a work of theological apologetics that makes bold claims on behalf of the Christian religion.' But whereas Green regards Kant's mixture of 'Christian orthodoxy and Enlightened modernity' as 'unstable' [3], I shall argue that, with the aid of a perspectival interpretation, Kant can be regarded as establishing quite a stable synthesis. McCarthy [Mc82:198] likewise observes of Kt8 that '[traditional Christian categories ... seem to guide the work.' A Copernican (perspectival) interpretation of Kant's two experiments makes it evident that this does not just 'seem' to be, but actually is a key aspect of Kant's core strategy. Yet McCarthy warns against the view that Kant's 'central interest [in Kt8] was to provide a philosophical rationale for Christianity and its Christ' [Mc86:72], calling this 'a misrepresen¬ tation', inasmuch as Kt8 'has the far more ambitious goal of scrutinizing all religion from the standpoint of moral reason'. Accordingly, McCarthy criticizes Kant for not 'break[ing] the hold of European Christianity upon him' [72], claiming that 'Christianity and its Christ figure more prominently than they otherwise would or ought.' He regards Kt8's 'Christian cultural backdrop' and its resulting emphasis on 'Christian doctrines, symbols and forms' as 'limitations of the work as philosophy of religion' [73]. 'Kant's repeated singling out of Christianity and Christ', he insists [83], 'are ... unjustified by his method of inquiry.' Christianity is 'the one subject matter that is constantly referred to but never systematically addressed' [69]. Kant's concentric circles metaphor [see Fig. VII.l] suggests that he does intend to address it, though as we shall see, he does not do so as systematically as in the case of the first experiment. In fact, both McCarthy's view and the view he rejects have an element of truth: Kant's repeated appeal to Christian ideas is not merely an unjustified cultural accident, but is a conscious effort to test the reliability of his tradition in light of systemt. The 'misrepresentation' is to regard one extreme as Kant's exclusive concern, as McCarthy does. My response to McCarthy's complaint that Kant's 'interest in Christianity under¬ lies his philosophical inquiry into religion' [83] is that Kt8 is a work of philosophical theology not a work in what we now regard as 'philosophy of religion' [see note I.I 1] and that the validity of the conclusions is always based on argument, not on tradition. The common allegation that Kant derives his theories from Christianity is therefore quite mistaken. Crosby appears to fall into the latter trap in Cr94:134, though he earlier describes Kant's position, quite correctly, as being 'that the Christian religion ... happily accords with a view of morality for which he has found independent justification' [121, e.a.]. If the justification really is independent, then the (quite real) fact that 'scriptural teachings' and other influences from his Christian upbringing 'molded' Kant's thinking [125] turns out to be irrelevant. Crosby argues that 'Kant does not take account of the possibility that seeming eternal self-evidency in a principle may be culturally induced' [131]. In fact, Kant does take this into account, in the very first paragraph of Ktl:l! But as he also explains, right at the outset of his Critical philosophy, the fact that we learn everything through experience (a posteriori) does not prevent some of what we learn from having an independent, a priori justification [see Pa87d]. In spite of his above-quoted acknowledgment of Kant's position, Crosby himself does not take seriously the possibility that a culturally induced principle may also have an independent validity on purely rational grounds. Rather than making Christians more suspicious of Kant, Crosby's able demonstration that Kant's philosophy was influenced by many Christian ideas ought to encourage a more sympathetic reading. Nothing in Crosby's argument proves that any of Kant's ideas 'follow from' [126] his Christian upbringing in

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VII. 1 that system,- takes into account all three standpoints in the System: it upholds the importance of theoretical knowledge (theology), but puts strict limitations on its interpretation, so that practical reason (morality) always has priority in determining the meaning of religious doctrines and practices; yet both of these standpoints are subordinate, as far as religious experience is con¬ cerned, to the judicial standpoint [see note 1.17]. As we shall see in Part Four, the latter alone can provide the basis for a devout person's personal relationship with the Being towards whom obedience to the moral law is directed and with regard to whom all doctrines are symbolically interpreted. This triadic relation¬ ship [cf. De73: 244-5] can be elucidated by depicting the distinction between the three aspects of system,- in terms of the clothing metaphor implied by the title of Kt8 [VI.2; s.e. Fig.VI.2], as shown in Figure VIII. 1. Our examination of system,- in Chapter VII focused mainly on the bare elements of pure religion; given its emphasis on religion's moral core, we can now refer to this 'first experiment' as systemr.m.6 In opposition to this aspect of any philosophical sense; despite their similarities, the two are logically independent. In claiming that Kt8 has a 'dramatic, rather than systematic, nature' [Mc86:70] McCarthy is once again ignoring the work's dual focus. Only the portions of the book that address the second experiment can be characterized as 'dramatic'. This is quite appropriate, since the outer circle of Figure VII. 1 represents historical faith, as opposed to rational (systematic) faith. What McCarthy misses is that the latter (i.e., the inner circle) is very systematic indeed, as we saw in Chapter VII. He thinks it is 'highly significant' and 'striking' that Kant uses 'religious terms ... [that] are closely allied with Christianity' [85]. But to anyone who understands Kant's intention to defend two Perspectives this is not striking at all. It is only to be expected, since his second experiment would be impossible without doing so. Troeltsch aptly captures the dual focus of Kt8 when he says Kt8 'does not... look to an unconditional religion of reason, but rather to a transformation and approximation of the faith of the Church to the religion of reason' [q.i. Ch92:492]. Green's claim, that Kant's goal is 'to rescue Christian doctrine from the paralysis of supernaturalist orthodoxy' [Gg93:7], is therefore correct, as long as we understand that in providing a rational interpretation of the traditional doctrines Kant is not categorically denying a supernatural component in religion. McCarthy also complains about the 'arbitrariness' of 'Kant's evaluation and exclusive choice of Christianity' [Mc82:200]. Kant himself initially presents his choice as arbitrary in Kt8:12(ll), apparently focusing on Christianity merely because it is his own tradition. McCarthy goes on to warn against assuming too hastily that Kant intends to endorse Christianity, for Kt8 negates 'many of the familiar trappings of Christianity' [Mc82:203]. Indeed [Mc86:91], 'Kant takes pains to point out Christianity's failings.' McCarthy thus emphasizes [Mc82:204; Mc86:72,102; s.a. 87]: 'Christian faith is indispensable in the attainment of the triumph of the good.... But for Kant, Christianity is not the culmination of religion; it is only its historical beginning.' This is correct, as long as we regard 'Christianity' as an historical faith. Like Luther, Kant does indeed strip away many of the trappings of Christianity. Only in this sense is Kant's approach properly labeled as 'subversive' [Wh90:56; Cr96:99]. But his aim in taking such an approach is not to overthrow Christianity, but to promote a purer conception of the true spirit of Christianity. As Crichlow rightly observes [99], Kant's subversive 'polemic against institutions that oppress the human spirit ... is like Jesus' attack on the religious authorities of His day and for virtually the same reasons.' Even McCarthy admits [Mc86:89], though not with approval, that for Kant 'Christianity is ... emphatically the only moral religion and it thus has a unique status.' 6. The affinity of Kant's first experiment with systemp explains why so many readers have thought Kt8 reduces religion to morality. It ties the core of religion to morality; but it does so not in order to eliminate other religious standpoints, but rather in order to raise morality to the only standpoint

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the 'naked body' (system ,-_„,) (moral obedience through pure religion)

the well-dressed 'person' (system r.<3 (universal historical manifestation in the Christian religion)

the 'garments' (system,-.^ (theoretical doctrines in revealed Scripture)

Figure VIII. 1: Three Aspects of the Religious 'Person' religion is the biblical theologian's focus on the theoretical/doctrinal 'garments' of religion; given its emphasis on a revealed scripture, we can refer to it as systemr.s.7 This aspect will be the focus of our attention in Chapter IX. Here in Chapter VIII, our examination of Kant's second experiment focuses on his assessment of Christianity as the historical religion that best synthesizes the naked body of religion with a set of revealed 'garments'; we can therefore refer to this aspect of Kant's Critical religion as systemicBy depicting systemic as having a primarily synthetic character in relation to systemr.m and system r . s , this map highlights both the general nonreductionist method of Kt8 [see VI. 1-4] and its specific aim of authenticating the validity of Christianity as the universal religion of mankind.8 Although Wood is correct to that enables us to fulfill the mandate of this moral core [see VI.4]. 7. The word 'opposition' here should be interpreted as referring to partnership in creative dialogue, not to enemies that are out to destroy each other [see IX.l and A V.I]. Only in this sense can com¬ ments such as Cassirer's be rendered plausible [Ca81:387]: 'Kant stood in opposition to traditional religion ... no differently from the way he opposes traditional metaphysics.' The comparison is valid as long as we remember that Kant opposed traditional metaphysics in order to transform it, not in order to destroy it [see 1.1-2]. 8. See e.g., Cr96:92. As Kant argues in Kt31:337-9, Christianity is 'worthy of love' only when adopted freely; it cannot be forced and remain 'lovable'. As long as its adherents bear this in mind, 'Christianity is destined to be the universal religion of the world' [339; q.i. Ca81:393]. Hare agrees that Kant means this quite seriously [Ha96:47]. But Despland denies any validity for Kant's assertions regarding the uniqueness of Christianity [e.g., Kt8:124-5(115-6)] on the grounds that they contradict his affirmations elsewhere [e.g., 136-7(127),184(172)] of the value of other religious traditions [De73:331]. He points out that Kant merely claims 'to start from some alleged revelation or other' [Kt8:12(ll)], not from the one and only true revelation. But there is no such contradiction in Kant's usage. The word 'alleged' merely indicates that the second experiment is an

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say Kant 'thought that theology, along with morality, becomes corrupted when it bases itself on empirical principles, and that when men draw their God from nature or experience rather than from pure [practical] reason they are more likely to serve him by empty ceremonies than by rational and morally upright conduct' [Wo78:82], this must therefore be taken to imply not that the judicial standpoint is abandoned in Kt8, but rather that it is set on the proper foundation of the primacy of practical reason (just as was system^ in Kt7).9 Kant's foremost concern in Kt8, aside from establishing the elements of pure rational religion, is to determine the extent to which 'Christianity, as found in the Bible, is composed of... the canon of religion', so that this 'ecclesiastical faith' can provide an appropriate 'vehicle' for 'pure religious faith' [Kt65:36-7; s.a. Kt8:123n(113n),135n(126n)]. That is, even though Christianity presents to the believer (subjectively) a set of divine commandments that are therefore to be regarded as duties, it can nevertheless act as a vehicle for true (universal) religion, as long as these commandments can also be viewed objectively (i.e., from the philosopher's Copernican Perspective) as capable of being justified rationally as duties in and of themselves.10 In such a case, Kant views natural religion and revealed religion not as contradicting, but as complementing each other. This he confirms in Kt35:(83-4): Natural religion employs that knowledge of God of which man's reason is capable and it is bound up with morality; supernatural religion contains much that is calcu¬ lated to make up for man's deficiencies.... [Supernatural religion is not opposed to natural religion, but completes it. Natural religion is true but incomplete.

experiment, and that Kant could just as well have chosen some other religious tradition for this purpose [cf. Co67:156-7 and Si60:xciii]. Kant's conclusion (that Christianity qualifies as the universal religion) is therefore a confirmation of the initial allegation. Whether or not other traditions could legitimately make the same claim (to be a realization of the unique universal religion) is left as an open question. 9. See note 1.17. It is perhaps difficult for us theoretically-minded products of the twentieth century to believe, even at the dawn of a new millennium, that the author of so great a theoretical work as Ktl did not intend it to occupy the primary place in his System; but this undoubtedly was Kant's opinion [see KSP1:VIII.4]. Indeed, reason itself is defined as practical (as the autonomous power of enforcing principles), so its theoretical employment is clearly secondary. That this was not just an abstract idea for Kant, but a maxim he put to constant use, is exemplified when he asks rhetorically in Kt8:80n(75n): 'of what use is all this theory... when it suffices from the practical standpoint to place before us as a pattern this idea [of the virgin birth of Jesus] taken as a symbol...?' 10. See e.g., Kt8:152(140). Webb fails to take into account this perspectival aspect of Kant's theory when he says 'it is only because a duty is perceived by us to be such on its own account that we are justified in regarding it as commanded by God; we cannot in any other way become aware that God has commanded something' [We26:68, e.a.]. Comments such as Ward makes in Wa72:65, that Kant 'does not have much place for revealed religion in his scheme', are equally misleading. Revelation is a viable option for Kant, but not one the philosophical theologian, as such, is permitted to use. It lies outside the boundary of natural religion in much the same way practical reason lies outside the boundary of theoretical reason: each requires a different standpoint for its legitimate use; but from the standpoint of universal (empirical) religion, both are valid.

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Kant believes his critique of religion can analyze the nature of religion without contradicting 'the literal meaning of the popular faith' precisely be¬ cause, 'earlier by far than this faith, the predisposition to the moral religion lay hidden in human reason' [Kt8:111(102)]. And for this same reason (viz., the inner hiddenness of pure religion), revelation can serve an important role by bringing to fruition the essential 'kernel' of pure religious faith within each per¬ son [see Wo70:193-4]. Thus Kant explains in Kt65:8-9 that in Kt8 he views 'revelation [as] useful in making up the theoretical deficiency which our pure rational belief admits it has (in the questions, for example, of the origin of evil, the conversion from evil to good, man's assurance that he has become good, etc.) and helps ... to satisfy a rational need.' In VII.2-3 we have already seen how the deficiencies of natural religion give rise to the need for revelation. The four 'gaps' left by system,- (in all three of its manifestations) are listed in Table VII.2. In this Chapter we shall come to see how Kant portrays the Christian religion (or systemic) as filling these gaps with a revealed content (or systemr.s) that adequately meets the needs of natural religion (or system r . m ) without contradicting any of its fundamental precepts. The outward manifestation of religion in its imperfect, historical form is just as necessary for the realization of universal religion as empirical judgments are for the realization of the categories in theoretical knowledge, or as virtuous actions are for the realization of the moral law in practical activity. Religious ac¬ tivity is real from the empirical perspective, but ideal from the transcendental perspective: 'the idea of the objective unity of the religion of reason ... is an idea of reason which we cannot represent through any intuition adequate to it, but which, as a practical regulative principle, does have objective reality' [Kt8:123n(l 14n)]. Thus, even though 'ecclesiastical faith... naturally precedes pure religious faith' [106(97)], 'this order ought to be reversed' when consid¬ ered philosophically [106n(97n)]. This reversal is Kant's Copernican Perspec¬ tive on religion; yet it does not deny the derivative validity of the 'natural' order (i.e., the legitimacy of religion's empirical manifestation, which can be regarded as primary when viewed from the Empirical Perspective). The perspectival character of Kant's understanding of religion is further evident in his claim that 'there is only one (true) religion; but there can be faiths of several kinds.' 11 This is because 'ecclesiastical faith ... appeals to [the] 11. Kt8:107(98); s.a. Kt65:48,52. Concerning supposed 'differences of... religion', Kant notes that 'such differences do not exist in religion, there being only one religion valid for all men and in all ages. These can, therefore, be nothing else than accidental vehicles of religion' [Kt32:367n]. Again, in Kt39:496(217) he advises: 'One should... guard against children estimating men accord¬ ing to their religious practices; for, in spite of its varieties, there is, after all, everywhere unity of religion.' By this, of course, Kant does not mean all religious practices are the same; rather, he

u

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senses, whereas religion is hidden within and has to do with moral disposi¬ tions' [Kt8:108(99)]. On this basis he suggests: 'If we take what is universal in religion and so is common to all religions [i.e., if we adopt a truly religious dis¬ position] ..., then there is no reason why every individual should not follow the religion of his forefathers' [Kt35:(l 10)]. This raises the question whether every accidental vehicle of religion is equally suited to promote the universal essence of all religion. Kant clearly recognizes that there are important differences;12 indeed, this is what gives rise to the need for a philosophy of religion. Because of its accidental character, each faith must 'be able to cease; whereby is indicated merely the inner stability of the pure moral faith' [Kt8: 135n(126n); s.a. 174(163)]. Nevertheless, 'it remains true once for all that a statutory ecclesiastical faith is associated with pure religious faith as its vehicle' [106(97)]. Wood expresses Kant's position here with admirable clarity: 'Kant does not intend that ecclesiastical faith ... shall be abolished by progress. Rather, it is to come to an understanding of itself as a vehicle for pure religious faith, so better to serve the pure faith which is its essence' [Wo70:196; s.a. Kt65:29]. Along these lines Kant distinguishes between 'merely statutory' and 'purely moral laws': 'the concept of the Deity really arises solely from consciousness of [the latter]..., through which the will of God is primordially engraved in our hearts'; nevertheless, 'divine statutory laws' can 'comprise the means to its furtherance and spread' [Kt8:104(95); s.a. Kt65:49]. means the religious practices of every truly religious person are, when viewed objectively, all grounded in the same truly religious disposition. As he puts it in Kt65:36: 'there is only one reli¬ gion. Although there are indeed different varieties of belief in divine revelation and its statutory teachings, which cannot spring from reason—that is, different forms in which the divine will is represented sensibly so as to give it influence on our minds—there are not different religions.' Galbraith, neglecting the perspectival basis of this distinction, passes it off without any ar¬ gument as a mere product of the Enlightenment [Ga96:170]: 'Kant's belief that there could be a re¬ ligious essence independent of its historical and cultural setting was simply mistaken.' Yet Kant held no such belief, if 'independent' means absolutely nonhistorical. Kant's position is that pure religion is independent of any particular cultural setting; some setting or other is always needed. 12. In Kant's account of religious history, for example, Judaism stands in direct opposition to Christianity [Kt8:124-7(115-8); s.a. 162(150)]. He describes the former (rather one-sidedly) as a religion that 'attaches prime importance to mechanical worship' and is therefore of less value to universal religion than a polytheism in which the gods 'bestow their good pleasure only upon the man who cherishes virtue with all his heart' [127(118)]. In general, Kant divides empirical religions 'into those which are endeavors to win favor (mere worship) and moral religions, i.e., religions of good life-conduct' [51(47)]; but this division is more aptly applied to individual attitudes, since most traditions can be interpreted either way [see 175-6(163-4); s.a. note VIII.ll]. Kant discusses differences in religious sects in Kt65:48-53, proposing a 2LAR between four types of sectarian movements [51]: (1) 'separatists' (--), based on 'a mere separation from the church'; (2) 'schismatics' (+-), based on 'a public rift regarding the form of the church'; (3) 'sec¬ tarians' (-+), based on 'a union of dissenters from certain doctrines' (i.e., concerning the content of the church); and (4) 'syncretists', based on a false attempt 'to satisfy everyone by melting down the different creeds.' His aim is to clarify that, although the empirical vehicle is secondary, 'religion cannot be indifferent to the character of its vehicle which we adopt in our dogma' [51, e.a.].

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Kant's discussion in Kt65 of the conflict between the philosophy faculty and the 'higher' faculties of theology, law, and medicine [see note VII.3] makes it very clear that both the empirical and transcendental elements in religion are necessary for the realization of universal religion. Kant does not expect clergy to give up their belief in the authority of Scripture any more than he expects lawyers to ignore the 'law of the land', or physicians to transgress 'medical regulations' [23]. All he asks is that, when these 'businessmen' of the higher faculties [18] appeal to reason to justify their positions, they recognize the change in Perspective that is involved, and allow philosophers to criticize their views. Thus he says in Kt65:23: So the biblical theologian ... draws his teachings not from reason but from the Bible; the professor of law gets his, not from natural law, but from the law of the land; and the professor of medicine does not draw his method of therapy as practiced on the public from the physiology of the human body but from medical regula¬ tions. As soon as one of these faculties presumes to mix with its teachings some¬ thing it treats as derived from reason [i.e., as pure], it... encroaches on the territory of the philosophy faculty, which mercilessly strips from it all the shining plumes that were protected by the government and deals with it on a footing of equality and freedom. The higher faculties must, therefore, take great care not to enter into mis¬ alliance with the lower faculty, but must keep it at a respectful distance, so that the dignity of their statutes will not be damaged by the free play of reason.

In this way reason functions as a corrective to revelation, 'making it con¬ sistent with itself and with every perspective from which it can be regarded' [Ktl:668]. Nevertheless, philosophers have no business publicizing their criti¬ cisms to laymen, but only to theologians, whose responsibility it is to interpret revelation in such a way that it is as consistent as possible with reason. Clerics then take their lead from theologians. If a conflict between philosophers and theologians should remain unresolved, the duty of clerics is to side with the theologians' interpretation of revelation. 'To refuse to obey an external and supreme will on the grounds that it allegedly does not conform with reason would be absurd' [Kt65:25], for this would be to confuse the Copernican Perspective of the philosopher with what might be called the Divine Perspective of the theologian. Kant's hope, however, is that the natural conflict between the Perspectives of the philosopher and the theologian will be of lasting benefit for both empirical and transcendental religion.13 As Gregor explains in Gm79: xxviii: 'Genuine peace among the faculties can come only if the ecclesiastical faith and the law of the land are purified to the point where they are completely 13. For example, Kant expresses as early as 1763 his wish that, 'when revelation gives account that an event of the world is an extraordinary divine destiny [e.g., a miracle], the temerity of philosophers were moderated in displaying their physical insights; for they do no service at all to religion' [Ktl5:120n(302n)]. See AVII.2 for more on Kant's view of miracles.

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consistent with a priori principles of reason and can be regarded as applications of them.' In IV.4 we saw that it is a mistake to regard Kant as a deist [ s s,. note IV.24]. Equally mistaken is the claim that Kant merely 'reduced Christianity to a sym¬ bolic expression of man's sense of moral duty' [Ho75:29, e.a.; cf. VI.4]. Admittedly, he does argue that from the Copernican Perspective Christianity must be viewed as a vehicle for expressing an inner religious disposition; but he never treats this as a defect, especially since it is not the only valid way of regarding it. As we have seen, Kant held that it is at the very least possible to regard Christianity as both subjectively revealed and objectively natural. He says in Kt6:488 that his critique of religion 'is not... derived from mere reason but is based also on the teachings of history and revelation and considers only the consistency of pure practical reason with these (that is, shows that there is no contradiction between them).' That Kant's personal opinion was that revela¬ tion is more than just possible is reflected by the fact that he 'so often and so insistently call[s] himself a Christian" [Go71:194]. One passage wherein he implicitly refers to his own Christian belief also says much about the impor¬ tance of a Critical attitude towards such belief: 'I have always... recommended to other believers a conscientious sincerity in not professing or obtruding on others, as articles of faith, more than they themselves are sure of [Kt65:9, e.a.]. Likewise, he says in Kt31:337 that in itself 'Christianity has something worthy of love about it', but not when it is 'armed with dictatorial authority in¬ stead of its gentle spirit' [339]. The traditional interpretation of Kant, whereby he is portrayed as viewing Christianity merely negatively, as the religion 'which least overstepped the bounds of reason' [Go71:194], is therefore quite untenable; its longevity is due primarily to the failure of interpreters to be as broad-minded as Kant himself. Kant's own Critical view is that Christianity 'effected a thoroughgoing revolution in doctrines of faith' [Kt8:127(118)], so that of all the 'different varieties of belief in divine revelation... Christianity, as far as we know, is the most adequate' [Kt65:36]. The remainder of this chapter will be devoted to a thoroughgoing explana¬ tion of just how Kant sets out to demonstrate the adequacy of the Christian religion. In VIII.2-3 we shall work our way once again through the four Books of Kt8, this time paying special attention to Kant's second experiment. Books One and Two correspond, as we shall see, to the Old and New Testament, respectively.14 Books Three and Four likewise correspond to early church One of the interesting features of Kt8 is Kant's extensive use of biblical texts, either as direct quotations or in the form of innuendoes. In Kt8:43-4n(39n) he distinguishes between historicallybased 'exegesis' and his own approach to interpreting the Bible [s.a. 109-14(100-5)]; the latter, as

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history and traditional forms of Christian worship. After examining a variety of themes in these four areas, I shall conclude in VIII.4 with a summary showing how Christianity constitutes a system that closely corresponds to systemr.m. Having attained a balanced understanding of Kant's view of Christianity (as systemic), we shall then be prepared to take a step back and offer in Chapter IX an assessment of Kant's position from the Perspective of the biblical theologian, and in so doing, to propose a systemr.s. 2. Kant's Assessment of Biblical Religion A. The Creation Story and the Fall of Adam As in all Kantian systems, the first stage in systemic adopts the transcen¬ dental perspective [see VII.2.A]. In carrying out his second experiment, Kant applies the rational elements obtained in this first stage explicitly to the biblical account of the creation and fall, as told in the first three chapters of Genesis [see Kt8:39-44(34-9)]. His aim is to arrive at a rational explanation of the 'pure' meaning of the essential points raised in the biblical text, so that the extent of their compatibility with systemr.m can be properly assessed. His treatment of the biblical account suggests (as we shall see) the following basic cor¬ respondences with the elements of stage one: the creation of Adam and Eve in the image of God corresponds to Kant's theory of the good predisposition; their original habitation in the Garden of Eden symbolizes the original inno¬ cence of every human being; their fall into sin through the influence of an exter¬ nal source of temptation, the serpent, illustrates the propensity of every human being to adopt evil maxims (i.e., maxims that give priority to incentives that are external to systemp), due to the mysterious intervention of radical evil; and their consequent expulsion from Eden corresponds to the concluding element in stage one, the adoption of an evil heart. Recognizing these parallels makes it all the more important to understand that Kant is not attempting to explain away the biblical account (in the manner of eliminative reductionism [see VI. 1]), nor even to pass judgment on its historical status. On the contrary, he goes out of his way to draw attention to the many correlations between systemr.m and the biblical narrative, stressing that here, as throughout systemr.m, his account 'agrees well with... the Scriptures' [41(36)]. For as we saw in VIII. 1, the explication of such symbolic correlations is one of Kt8's two main purposes. The most important issues in Book One relating to Kant's second experi¬ ment all revolve around the relationship between radical evil and the biblical account of the origin of sin. What has misled many interpreters of Kt8 is that we shall see in VIII.3.A, might be dubbed 'moral eisegesis' [Pa00a:130].

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Kant consistently guards against the belief that a merely historical account can provide a sufficient explanation of any stage in the development of pure re¬ ligion. Nowhere is this more evident than in his treatment of the 'origin' of good and evil. Kant argues that 'it is ... a contradiction to seek the temporal origin of man's character' [Kt8:40(35)], because that character has its 'origin in reason' [39(34)]. The transcendental perspective must be adopted in order to discern the true origin of good and evil in the human disposition; no account of actual events in time will suffice, though such empirical accounts may well serve as symbols, pointing to their transcendental basis. Thus, for example, Kant says the claim 'Man is created good' [cf. Genesis 1:31] means 'the origi¬ nal [prejdisposition in man is good', not that 'he is already actually good' [44(40)]. The biblical account of the original goodness of human nature is to be interpreted, then, as a symbolic representation of the universal goodness of the human predisposition, as demonstrated by rational arguments completely inde¬ pendent of any revelation [see VII.2.A]. Kant is not dogmatically claiming that the biblical account is historically untrue; rather, he merely insists that the ques¬ tion of its historicity is irrelevant to the determination of how appropriately the narrative describes the rational origin of goodness in human nature, as estab¬ lished in stage one of systemr.m. Because the first three chapters of Genesis clearly regard human nature as originally good, while at the same time avoiding the inference that this godly 'image' makes us actually good, Kant's assess¬ ment of their symbolic religious value is essentially positive. In examining the origin of evil Kant likewise treats the doctrine of original sin 'not as a revealed dogma, but as an implication of our own experience'; in¬ terpreted in terms of the rational need to posit radical evil as the mysterious source of our propensity to evil, this traditional doctrine serves as 'the founda¬ tion of [Kant's] whole theory of the nature and function of religion in human life' [We26:92-3]. Goldmann makes a similar point: 'The doctrine of radical evil is not a foreign body in Kant's philosophy. It is not only justified but even necessary for the coherence of the system. It is certainly not a concession to the Christian religion.'15 If any concession is involved, Christians (or anyone who believes in original sin) are the ones who may need to make a concession to the 15. Go71:145; s.a. De73:185-6. In the very different context of Freudian psychology, Lear appeals to something like radical evil as necessary for the process of psychological growth [Le90:203]: 'Every individual must, at some level of his soul, feel that he has committed a crime.' That Lear then goes on to relate this explicitly to Adam's sin [204] does not mean he is grafting a Christian doctrine onto his psychology any more than radical evil does this for Kant's philosophy. This comparison should highlight the error in Treloar's claim that Kant's treatment of evil in Book One of Kt8 has an 'obvious psychological emphasis' [Tr89:337]. Whereas Lear's Freudian observation is genuinely psychological, Kant's emphasis is transcendental. Only by neglecting this can Treloar claim that Kant's 'merely psychological approach... really makes things too simple.'

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requirements of pure rational religion. For the only way to confirm the validity of this doctrine without merely presupposing it as divine revelation (i.e., with¬ out adopting the Perspective of the biblical theologian) is to demonstrate the role it plays in pure rational religion. Kant readily allows that theologians, as such, can legitimately base their doctrines on the Empirical Perspective of the Scriptures, provided they recognize that when they begin to discuss the pure meaning of such biblical accounts, they are adopting the philosopher's Tran¬ scendental Perspective [Kt8:40n(35-6n)]. Once this is acknowledged, Kant's (secondary) aim in this first stage of systemic becomes evident: to show how the first few chapters of Genesis, properly interpreted, can serve as an adequate vehicle for symbolizing the transcendental elements of universal religion. Adam and Eve's blissful pre-fall state corresponds in Kant's mind to the good predisposition in systemr.m; but at the fall, he tells us, 'this happiness vanished like a dream' [Kt8:19(15)]. Kant's metaphor here implies that the fall can be regarded as a fall into consciousness, for he then adds that the post-fall age is 'as old as history',16 presumably because the writing or even telling of history presupposes consciousness. As we saw in Chapter II, Kant had made extensive use of the metaphor of 'dreaming' in Ktl8 to pave the way for his own attempt to replace traditional (dreamlike) metaphysics with his own Critical (awakened, or enlightened) alternative. Now he uses the same metaphor in a way that suggests the good predisposition ceases to function actively at the moment a person 'wakes up' morally, which happens as soon as the first conscious moral choice is made. Whether Kant would regard this as a plausible account of the how the first person 'awoke' from the state of primeval moral 'sleep' is unclear from the text, and (in view of his attitude towards seeking temporal origins) irrelevant. What is clear is that he regards the biblical account of the first beginnings of human (moral) history as a profound symbol of how each of us develops as an individual. For example, he says 'the rational origin of [every] evil... action must be regarded as though the individual had fallen into it directly from a state of innocence' [41(36)]. The story of the fall can therefore be regarded as an appropriate symbolic description of what happens 16. McCarthy [Mc86:56n] says 'Kant nowhere seems to entertain the possibility of a higher purpose served by fall into sin.' Perhaps not explicitly. But he does seem to allude to it here, in a way that would make his view of moral evil closely parallel to his view of God's inscrutable purpose in allowing natural evil [see AVI.l]. Indeed, this view of the fall was later developed more explicitly by German idealists such as Schelling [e.g., Sc78:589-91; cf. Ti74:51,107-8]. Kant himself de¬ scribes the biblical fall in Kt63:115 as a fall from animality into humanity. This implies that human personality had just begun to develop at that point, thus suggesting the enticing possibility that the full awakening of personality may have been completed in the person of Jesus, the 'last Adam' [1 Cor. 15:45]. This suggestion, and with it a clearer understanding of the role evil plays in human history, will be developed further in KSP4.

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every time a person transgresses the moral law. In Kt8:42-3(38) Kant further suggests that when considering our own moral history, 'the explanation of evil in terms of its beginning in time' must always go back to 'the causes of each deliberate transgression in a previous period of our lives, far back to that period wherein the use of reason had not yet developed, and thus back to a propensity to evil (as a natural ground) which is therefore called innate...'. Kant is here referring to our early childhood, when each person inevitably (by virtue of a natural propensity) makes an unconscious evil choice and thereby attains a level of consciousness adequate for moral responsibility.17 He then stresses his oft-repeated claim that the fall into evil is a moral act for which each individual is 'to be held responsible'. The biblical account (set as it is in the Garden of Eden) aptly symbolizes the initial (noumenal) act whereby we choose to adopt self-love as our supreme maxim; but that it can also symbolize the 'contingent' (phenomenal) act whereby we first choose to do something evil is a possibility Kant leaves open. Resolving this issue, however, is not of much significance to the success of Kant's second experi¬ ment. What is significant is to recognize that the biblical account, while not de¬ termining the course of Kant's argument in constructing systemr.m (inasmuch as the arguments presented in VII.2.A did not rely in any way on anything drawn from the Bible), nevertheless turns out to be a profoundly symbolic expression of essentially the same point: that human nature as we know it is a corruption of an originally good state. Kant's account of evil in Book One [s.e. Kt8:32-9(27-34)] rejects the classical view of evil as 'a mere absence ... of goodness' [22-3n(18n); s.a. We26:94]; it is this to be sure, but it is also a 'positive' force in its own right, 17. Although Kant does not explicitly state this position, a strong case can be made to support it. When I sketched my interpretation of Book One in an email message posted to the Kant-L discus¬ sion group on 28 May 1995, a lengthy debate ensued, most notably with Hugh Chandler. Among the positions I defended over the three weeks of the debate were the following: Kant's view of evil in Kt26 is not necessarily incompatible with that in Kt8, as is often claimed; Kt8 represents not a revision of Kant's view of evil, but a perspectival development of the Kt26 view; both texts are consistent with the view that evil is transcendentally inevitable and yet empirically contingent; although evil is an internal phenomenon for which the person perpetrating the evil act can be blamed; and Kant is willing to consider the possibility that evil's rational origin is somehow mys¬ teriously external to the individual agent. Given the fact that 'perfection' means an overcoming of evil, rather than total innocence with respect to evil, it must include both the + and the - aspects in order to be truly 'complete' [cf. Heb. 5:8-11]. Nevertheless, Kant does refer uncritically to Jesus' claim to possess 'an original innocence' as a result of not being 'involved in the bargain with the evil principle' [Kt8:80(74)]. Scharf asks [Sc93:89n]: 'How can the element of free choice come into play once evil is governing our volition?' Kant's question, by contrast, would be: 'How could it be otherwise?! For our first choice must be one of disobedience, otherwise we have not (or cannot be sure we have) made our own choice. Scharf agrees with Michalson's claim that Kant 'has no systematic way of integrating the moral and the temporal' [Mi89:263; q.i. Sc93:90n]. But see note VI.13.

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capable of taking over and corrupting a person's good predisposition. 'Between a good and an evil disposition... there is therefore no middle ground' [Kt8:23n (18n)]. Accordingly, Kant notes with approval the tendency in Christianity to distinguish between moral good and evil 'not as heaven from earth but as heaven from hell; he commends it as 'philosophically correct in meaning', since there are no 'gradual steps' between a good and an evil disposition [60n(53n)]. Kant's account of these religious symbols is examined more fully in AVI.3. Another aspect of Kant's attempt to assess the validity of the biblical ac¬ count in terms of systemr.m is his definition of 'sin'. In place of traditional defi¬ nitions (e.g., sin as separation from God), Kant simply regards it as moral evil viewed from the religious standpoint. Thus he defines sin as 'the transgressing of the moral law [viewed] as a divine command' [Kt8:42(37); s.a. 72(66)], reiterating throughout Kt8 that this involves a reversal in the proper order of our incentives, 'whereby [our will] makes lower incentives supreme among its maxims' [43(38)]. In this way Kant insures that the accountability for sin remains squarely on the shoulders of the person who breaks the moral law. The vulgar, temporal account of original sin that 'describes [evil] as descending to us as an inheritance from our first parents' is 'inept' [40(35)]. Once the irra¬ tionality of 'passing the buck' through a temporal interpretation of original sin is exposed, the rational value of the doctrine, as paving the way for some meaningful self-reflection, can be appreciated: it forces us to recognize the in¬ fluence of radical evil in our own reason, and in so doing, beckons us to 'direct our attention to the actual evil of given actions' in order to find in ourselves the origin of the evil deeds we have committed [40(35)]. In spite of Kant's harsh rejection of the inheritance account of original sin, his strong desire to justify the Genesis narrative through symbolic interpretation leads him to make room even for this otherwise 'inept' view. For in the con¬ cluding paragraph of Book One, after reminding us of the 'inscrutable' nature of 'the propensity to evil' [Kt8:43-4(38-9)], Kant points out that 'the Bible expresses [this inconceivability] in the historical narrative' by locating the first origin of evil 'not in man, but in a spirit of an originally loftier destiny.' Since our evil disposition is rooted not in our natural inclinations, but in our own rational choice—i.e., since 'the human mind has no immediate inclination to wickedness, but is only indirectly [i.e., mediately] wicked' [Kt35:(220); s.a. We26:109]—it is permissible in Kant's opinion to trace the origin of evil back to a pre-existing spiritual source, such as that suggested by the biblical account of Satan.18 For Kant this conjecture 'has purely negative significance', as 18. Kt8:59-60(52),78-84(73-8); s.a. Wa72:146-7; We26:109-10. Despite Kant's openness here,

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Webb points out, inasmuch as 'it in no way enlarges our knowledge of super¬ sensible reality' [We26:185]. Its chief advantage is that it 'completely avoids the confusion of the Evil Principle with mere natural inclination' [117], as is re¬ quired by Kant's definition of sin. The presence in us of inclinations is not something worthy of blame (any more than we can be accused of error simply because objects appear to us in space and time!); for the moral failings that result from choices we make on the basis of inclinations, however, we must bear full responsibility [see Wa72:145]. Once again Kant has confirmed the meaningfulness and symbolic value of the biblical narrative. Although a literal interpretation of the inheritance view of original sin is too morally debilitating to countenance (taking away, as it does, our freedom and therefore our ultimate responsibility for the evil choices we make), the depth of Kant's appreciation of the symbolic meaning of the text is seen in his view that, as Webb puts it, 'the propensity to evil is no less deeply rooted in our nature than if we had inherited it' [We26:113]. In other words, Kant is not even asking us to give up the inheritance interpretation, but rather to change the perspective from which we view it: instead of viewing the doctrine of original sin from the empirical perspective, as a literal account of the tempo¬ ral origin of evil, we are to view it from the transcendental perspective, as a symbolic expression of a profoundly rational religious truth. The Genesis nar¬ rative therefore qualifies as the first stage in systemic; it not only provides us with a strikingly vivid description of the first stage of systemr.m, by depicting humanity 'as having fallen into evil only through seduction, and hence as being not basically corrupt' [Kt8:44(39)], but it also points the reader forward to the hope [cf. Gen. 3:15] 'of a return to the good from which he has strayed.' B. The Gospel Story and the Nature of Jesus The second stage in systemr.m adopts, as usual in Kant's System of Perspectives, the logical perspective. Just as the logical perspective in systemt establishes a conceptual framework through which knowledge can be gained in spite of the transcendental limitations of space and time, so also in systemr.m this second stage establishes the basic religious concepts [see VII.2.B] that Despland [De73:192] claims 'Kant's position on radical evil ... run[s] counter to orthodox Christian doctrine, and its idea of total depravity.' Assuming this Calvinist doctrine to be the only option for an orthodox interpretation of original sin is itself open to question. But for our purposes a more important problem with Despland's statement is that it ignores the possibility that Kant's aim may have been to confirm the rational truth behind the doctrine of total depravity, by arguing that reason itself leads us to conclude that we all start out with a fundamentally evil heart. The advantage of Kant's account over many so-called orthodox interpretations of total depravity is that Kant balances it with a biblically sound confirmation of the reality in human beings of an image of God, regarded rationally as the original predisposition to good.

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enable us to respond effectively to the transcendental limitations imposed on us by evil in stage one. In other words, just as the categories 'save' the possibility of empirical knowledge from the limiting conditions of sensibility, so also the 'gospel' of faith in the archetype of perfect humanity saves the possibility of pleasing God from the limiting conditions of radical evil.19 In the Christian tra¬ dition, the New Testament accounts of the incarnation, life, death, and resur¬ rection of Jesus as the 'last Adam' furnish an effective conceptual structure whereby human persons can counteract the problem of sin that has plagued mankind ever since the 'first Adam' [see Rom. 5:14; 1 Cor. 15:22,45]. Kant's examination of the compatibility between the Christian Gospel and stage two of systemr.m occurs mainly in Book Two of Kt8, though the General Observation appended to Book One provides a number of helpful preparatory suggestions. In the first of Kt8's four General Observations Kant focuses mainly on the nature of 'the original predisposition to good' and how it can be restored to its rightful place as the governor of the human disposition, despite the fact that this place is inevitably usurped by evil at the very outset of every person's moral development. After declaring that 'Man is created good' (a point at which systemr.m confirms the view of human nature expressed in Genesis 1:26-31) and granting 'that some supernatural cooperation may be necessary' in order for a person actually to become good, Kant stresses that 'man must first make him¬ self worthy to receive' such divine aid [Kt8:44(40)]. In so doing, we do not make ourselves good, but 'only render ourselves susceptible of higher, and for us inscrutable, assistance' [45(40-1)]. His use of the biblical metaphor of a fruit-bearing tree [cf. Matt. 3:10; 7:17-19; 12:38] suggests that the problem of how the human 'tree' (disposition) becomes evil even though it was originally predetermined to be good, and the subsequent problem of how that evil 'tree' becomes good again, are the two key issues in the first half of systemr.m. As I argued in VII.2, systemr_m as such cannot solve these problems, but merely acknowledges their existence as rational 'gaps' needing to be filled by the symbols presented in some particular religious tradition [see Table VII.2]. By exposing the 'naked body' of religion, systemr.m highlights the need for some historical revelation to provide 'clothing' that can make religion 'decent'. Whereas Kant's doctrine of radical evil draws attention to the first mystery that must be explained by any true empirical religion, his doctrine of the 19. This parallelism does not imply that sensibility is to be blamed for our evil nature. Kant firmly re¬ jects this position: 'what works against this adoption ['of genuinely moral principles'] is not so much the sensuous nature, which so often receives the blame, as it is a certain self-incurred perver¬ sity ... which can be overcome only through the idea of moral goodness in its entire purity, togeth¬ er with the consciousness that this idea really belongs to our original disposition' [Kt8:83(78)J.

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'archetype' 20 highlights the second mystery. Expanding on Kant's own 'clothing' metaphor [see VI.2], we could say that if the incomprehensibility of radical evil gives rise to religion's need for a set of comfortable 'undergar¬ ments' to explain evil's origin, then the incomprehensibility of the archetype (including its relation to the originally good predisposition) gives rise to its need for a suitable pair of 'trousers' to explain how evil can be overcome. Taken together, these two elements constitute the necessary conditions for the possibility of religion: just as knowledge would be 'blind' without concepts and 'empty' without intuitions [Ktl:75], so also religion would be ineffectual without a capacity in human nature to receive divine aid (i.e., the archetype) 20. See VII.2.B. In the first General Observation Kant does not yet use the term 'archetype'; he refers instead to the original predisposition as 'announcing] a divine origin' by virtue of its 'incompre¬ hensibility' [Kt8:5O(45); cf. 64(57)]. In elucidating the implications of this predisposition, he alludes to several biblical parallels. His suggestion that the change from an evil to a good disposition must come about through a revolutionary 'rebirth', 'a new creation', is supported by cross-references to John 3:5 and Genesis 1:2 [Kt8:47(43)]. (He could also have referred to St. Paul's use of such terms [e.g., 2 Cor. 5:17 and Gal. 6:15].) Likewise, Kant's claim that the predisposition raises us 'so far above these needs [i.e., those relating to our inclinations] ...that we count them all as nothing' [49(44), e.a.] is a clear allusion to Paul's use of the phrase 'I count all things but loss' [Phil. 3:7-8 (KJV)]. The fact that the object of Paul's awe is 'Jesus Christ', whereas that of Kant's is 'the original moral predisposition' should not be regarded as an anti-Christian reduction; for it is actually Kant's attempt to provide a rational 'space' wherein the symbols of Pauline faith can be confirmed as philosophically justifiable. Kant's attraction to Pauline theology is particularly noticeable in his frequent adoption of the distinction between the letter and the spirit of the law [e.g., Kt8:30(25-6),37(33),39(34)]. Kant in¬ terprets the 'spirit' in terms of a willingness to obey the moral law without incentives external to the law itself, and the 'letter' in terms of conduct that conforms to the moral law even though the person's internal motivations are actually grounded in a nonmoral maxim. Paraphrasing Romans 14:23, he even defines 'sin' in terms of anything that stems from something other than this moral 'spirit'. On this basis Kant can conceive of the 'empirical character' being 'good' [37(32)], even though 'the intelligible character is still evil.' Likewise, Kant's claim that, 'when moral worth is in question, it is not a matter of actions which one sees but of their inner principles which one does not see' [Kt5:407] alludes to Jesus' reminder that 'God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart' [1 Sam. 16:7 (NASB)]. Apparently not impressed by such allusions, McCarthy remarks [Mc86:8O-l] that the 'per¬ sonification of... atonement [in Part Two of Kt8]... does not clarify Kant's philosophical teaching at all; it rather confuses it.' This charge is open to doubt, especially for the Christian reader who is fully aware of Kant's Copernican strategy. But even if it were true, it would not have deterred Kant from using such metaphors as 'Son of God', for the main purpose of the archetype in systemr-m is to call attention to a need of reason that reason on its own cannot satisfy. Moreover, by personi¬ fying the archetype, Kant fulfills an important part of his task: to establish that traditional Christian terms do have a rational-symbolic meaning. Symbols are not meant to clarify our understanding, but to deepen our experience. McCarthy seems to be at least partially aware of this when he acknowledges [81]: 'Kant does not exclude the notion [of atonement], and even finds it serviceable, so long as practical reason interprets and controls it.... He is open to the idea of atonement, even vicarious atonement, as a supplement to an individual's moral struggle but never as a substitute for it.... Belief in atonement may be practical, and may even be regarded as necessary to understand salvation, but to be saved one needs to do good works and does not need to think or believe atonement.' While this may be Kant's view [see AVI.2-4], we should not ignore the practical benefits of understanding how atonement works. A proper (faith-based) understanding can do much to bolster our hope and may thereby encourage us to persist in doing our duty.

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and pointless without the threat posed to human nature by radical evil. In Book Two itself, Kant develops at great length the connection between the archetype and several Christian doctrines relating to Jesus' vicarious atone¬ ment. Although Kant never uses the names 'Jesus' or 'Christ' in Kt8,21 the nature of Jesus as the Christ is undoubtedly his main concern in assessing how well Christianity 'fits' with stage two of systemr_m. There are several other important issues, to be sure; but they all revolve around the question of what role Jesus ought to play in a Christian's religious self-understanding. In order to highlight the applicability of Kant's arguments to the Christian view of Jesus, I shall henceforth freely interpolate his name into my account of Kant's position. This should not be taken to imply that Kant was referring exclusively to Jesus in such passages—though sometimes he certainly is—but only that Jesus is one (and, in light of Kant's intent to focus on Christianity, usually the most prominent) religious figure to whom his comments apply. He discusses the relevant issues more systematically in Section One, so I shall begin here with a brief account of Section Two, where Kant examines 'the Christian portion' of the Bible [Kt8:78(73)]. Section Two of Book Two is mainly a descriptive synopsis of the biblical narrative, with special emphasis on the conflict between Satan and Jesus. After a brief account of how Satan, as 'a being of a higher order—a spirit', acquired 'dominion over spiritual natures' and thereby set up a 'kingdom of evil' [Kt8: 78-9(73-4)], Kant explains how the 'Jewish theocracy', with its civil constitu¬ tion prescribing 'partly ethical' and 'partly... burdensome' observances, 'did no substantial injury to the realm of darkness'. Into this context came 'a person whose wisdom was purer even than that of previous philosophers, as pure as though it had descended from heaven' [80(74)]. Proclaiming himself as innocent with respect to Adam's original 'bargain with the evil principle', Jesus refused to bargain even when Satan 'offered to make [him] deputy-governor of his entire kingdom' [80-1(74-5)]. In response to Jesus' attempt to stir up 'a public revolution (in religion) through the overthrow of a ceremonial faith, 2 1 . Instead of using his name, Kant always refers to Jesus by means of allusions and indirect descrip¬ tions, such as 'a godly-minded teacher' [Kt8:65(59)], 'the Master' [81n(76n)], or '[t]he Teacher of the Gospel' [128(119)]. I interpret this as a sign of deep respect for both the man and his teachings. Orthodox Jews, of course, believe the name of God should never be spoken. Despland emphasizes Kant's 'reverence' for Jesus, viewed as 'a liberating figure who exer¬ cises saving power over his disciples, and gives fresh power to their freedom' [De73:199]. In support of this interpretation, he quotes from an unpublished note [AA23:108], where Kant says Jesus' example 'so elevates my soul that it animates it and causes the frailty of my nature to disappear.' Davidovich likewise interprets a quote from Kt65:43(75) as saying that grace 'is the hope that good will develop in us' and is 'awakened... by the example of humanity as pleasing to God in His Son' [Da93a:40n].

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which crowded out the moral disposition' [81n(76n)], Satan imposed all manner of sufferings upon him, resulting eventually in his death. Jesus' will¬ ingness to 'give up his life', however, was itself 'a manifestation of the good principle, that is, of humanity in its moral perfection, and an example for everyone to follow' [81-2(76-7)]. Outwardly, the revolution failed; 'the moral outcome of the combat' between Jesus and Satan, therefore, was 'really not the conquering of the evil principle... but merely the breaking of its power to hold, against their will, those who have so long been its subjects' [82-3(77)]. Yet in the long run, Jesus' obedience opens up a new, 'moral dominion' to all those who wish to follow him in forsaking the rule of the evil principle.22 Kant's purpose in devoting a whole section to 'this vivid mode of representa¬ tion' [Kt8:83(78)] is not to ridicule those who believe it is true, nor to eliminate its significance by reducing it to its moral core, as Collins claims [Co67:176-7]. Rather, it is to confirm its suitability to serve as a symbolic vehicle for true religion: 'for practical purposes, its spirit and rational meaning have been valid and binding for the whole world and for all time'. In other words, provided the believer draws from the Bible a conviction 'that there exists absolutely no salvation... apart from the sincerest adoption of genuinely moral principles into his disposition' [83(78)], a belief in Christian doctrine can be fully supported by Kant as a manifestation of universal religion. When believers recognize how 'Scripture... harmonizes with the most holy teachings of reason' [83(78)], they will avoid the tendency to use Jesus as an excuse for moral laziness, seeing instead the need to join with Jesus to become 'sons of God' [John 1:12; q.i. 82 (77)]. For a more systematic account of how Christian doctrine must be inter¬ preted in order to foster this goal, let us turn now to examine Section One. One of the most fundamental characteristics of Jesus in Christian doctrine, his perfection, seems at first to be ruled out by Kant's theory of the universal human propensity to evil. We saw in VII.2.A, however, that Kant explicitly al¬ lows for the possibility that anthropological research might turn up an exception to the rule of human beings having an evil propensity. His reason for specify¬ ing this limitation on our empirical knowledge of evil may well be to make room for the Christian belief in Jesus' sinlessness [see 2 Cor. 5:21; 1 Pet. 2:22; 1 John 3:5]. The conjecture that Kant views Jesus as a man without any propensity to evil draws some support from his qualified defense of the virgin birth: 'To conceive the possibility of a person free from innate propensity to evil by having him born of a virgin mother is an idea of reason accommodating 22. Throughout Book Three Kant refers to this 'dominion' as the 'kingdom of God'. Here religion merges with politics, so a fuller discussion of this important concept will be given in KSP4.

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itself to an instinct which is hard to explain, yet which cannot be disowned, and is moral, too.'23 The reason it is 'hard to explain', presumably, is that in order to be a genuine moral example, Jesus must have suffered the effects of radical evil just as everyone does; how this could be the case without his actually succumbing to the evil propensity and thus starting out with an evil disposition is not an issue Kant addresses [but see note VIII. 16]. In any case, Subsection B of Section One is largely devoted to a discussion of what it could mean for a human being to be an incarnation of God. The bottom line, as required by systemr.m> is that 'each man ought really to furnish an example of this idea [i.e., the archetype] in his own person' [Kt8:63(56)], so whatever Christians believe about the nature of Jesus, it must not prevent them from being Christlike (i.e., aiming at perfection) themselves. To this end, Kant provides a two-paragraph sketch of the minimum ratio¬ nal requirements for a properly religious interpretation of Jesus' nature—or for that matter, of any person who is set up as a religious ideal. First, he argues that even if 'a truly godly-minded man' gives us the best possible 'example of a man well-pleasing to God' [Kt8:63(57)], 'we should have no cause for sup¬ posing him other than a man naturally begotten.' While admitting that a person such as Jesus 'might be a man supernaturally begotten' (thus leaving open a theoretical space for the traditional Christian doctrine), Kant opines that such an hypothesis 'can in no way benefit us practically' because the archetype within us is already of 'supernatural origin' [64(57)]. Here, despite appearances to the contrary, Kant is not dogmatically denying the divinity of Jesus; rather, he is emphasizing that we must not lose sight of Jesus' humanity, because if we elevate him 'above all the frailties of human nature', then 'such a divine person could no longer be held up as an example' [64(57)]. By making 'all transgres¬ sion on his part utterly impossible', this would certainly 'hinder the adoption of the idea of such a person [i.e., the archetype] for our imitation.' Kant's point in this paragraph is not to encourage us to accept or reject any religious doctrine, but rather to encourage those who do accept it to interpret it in such a way that it does not conflict with the minimum requirements of true religion, as laid out in systemr.ro. That Kant's position here is not dogmatic, but hermeneutic, is clearly seen in the last part of the paragraph: after warning against the dangers of emphasizing Jesus' divinity to the exclusion of his hu¬ manity, he adds that the doctrine of divine self-emptying [see Phil. 2:5-8] is a 'thought [that] must attune our hearts to admiration, love, and gratitude' [Kt8: 23. Kt8:80n(74n). Kant goes on to qualify this statement by noting that, taken as a theoretical dogma, the virgin birth is a 'confused view', concerning which 'a decision ...is not at all necessary from the practical standpoint' [80n(75n)]. His approval is based only on its power as 'a symbol'.

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64(58)]. Moreover, in the lengthy footnote appended to the last sentence, he points out that John 3:16 ('For God so loved the world...') has a legitimately religious, symbolic interpretation that helps 'us comprehend the degree of God's love for the human race', noting that we 'cannot dispense' with such analogies, even though an overly literal, anthropomorphic interpretation 'has... most injurious consequences' for moral religion [65n(58n)j. Any doubt that Kant is willing to countenance the possibility that Jesus really is the Son of God should be dispelled by the last paragraph in Subsection B. Whereas the foregoing paragraph warned against an overemphasis on Jesus' divinity that would eclipse his humanity, Kant now acknowledges that there is, in fact, a legitimate moral interpretation of the former doctrine. Even though Jesus must be regarded (from the theoretical standpoint) as 'completely human', he 'might... truthfully speak of himself, from the hypothetical perspective, as if he were an incarnation of perfect, divine goodness. 'In speaking thus he would be alluding only to his disposition' [Kt8:66(59)]. Any theological defense of the doctrine of Jesus' divinity must therefore be a hypothetical claim that points away from the theoretical standpoint to the practical standpoint. Far from denying the possibility of Jesus' divinity, Kant is attempting to provide an interpretation of this doctrine that renders it morally admissible. If Jesus is (theoretically) an ordinary man who (practically) has God's own disposition within him, then he can still serve as an example for our own moral selfimprovement; for we (as potential sons of God) have just as much access to the archetype as did Jesus (who himself had to learn obedience and be made perfect in order to become the savior [Heb. 5:8-11]). As Kant later explains, 'in the appearance of the God-Man [on earth], it is not that in him which strikes the senses and can be known through experience, but rather the archetype, lying in our reason, that we attribute to him ... which is really the object of saving faith'.24 Thus Kant explicitly acknowledges the transcendent origin of the archetype as a form of divine assistance (i.e., grace): alluding to Philippians 3:9 [s.a. Rom. 10:3], he points out that our attainment of a 'pure moral disposition ... will ever remain a righteousness not our own'.25 These explanations of how God's grace must be interpreted from a 24. Kt8:119(110). Scharf accurately portrays Kant's view as being that Jesus can be called 'savior' insofar as 'he revealed the possibility of authentic humanity' [Sc93:79-80]. But Kant would not dogmatically claim that this excludes other, more literal interpretations of Jesus' saving work. 25. Kt8:66(59). In Kt35:(85) Kant makes this transcendent origin even more explicit: by working through the archetype, 'God is the pattern of moral perfection'. Nevertheless, Green [Gg93:9] interprets 'the "Son of God" in Kant's religion [as] merely a name for the archetype of the morally perfect disposition.' Kant himself, however, never makes such a dogmatic use of the reductionistic word 'merely'. Rather, he intentionally leaves open a space for those who wish to raise systemr-m to the status of systemr-c by supplementing rational religion with Christian faith.

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practical standpoint are not, of course, sufficient to establish the actual divinity of Jesus—only faith in a divine revelation could do that. But they are misinter¬ preted when taken as discounting the significance of Jesus' historical character altogether, as when Ward [Wa72:151] interprets Kant as maintaining: 'Whether Jesus ever existed or not is beside the point; he is the "archetype of the pure moral disposition", which all men must imitate in themselves.' This typical way of misreading the text results from a lack of attention to the principle of per¬ spective. "The archetype lies in the understanding' [Kt35:(109-10)] and must therefore be viewed from the logical perspective of systemr.m; but 'the Example set before us in the Gospels' is presented from the empirical perspective. Kant can say that 'experience provides not a single example of honesty, of righteous¬ ness, or of virtue' [(109)], because these are 'universal principles' when re¬ garded from the logical perspective of stage two; yet in the next breath he can affirm: 'There are, indeed, examples of righteousness, of virtue, and even of holiness' [(110)], insofar as these are viewed from the empirical perspective. The same is true for the archetype: 'Our archetype is not a pattern [i.e., an empirical example] which we must reproduce, but a rule [i.e., a logical concept] to which we should conform' [(98)]. Empirical individuals 'can only be judged good or bad by reference to universal principles' [(109)], so the fact that Kant explains the adequacy of Jesus' example in terms of his realization of the archetype is not meant to render his historical existence irrelevant, but to authenticate his life as worthy of imitation—so much so that his disposition can be regarded as divine. What Kant is aiming to do here is to show that our knowledge of Jesus' humanity leaves open a space for faith in his divinity. In Kt8:119(109-10) he explicitly states that rational faith 'in the Son of God' within us (i.e., in the archetype) and empirical 'faith in the God-Man' as an historical person (i.e., in Jesus) do not 'so differ that to begin with one, or the other, would be to enter upon opposing paths': they both represent 'the archetype now as found in God and proceeding from Him, and now, as found in us, but in both instances as the gauge for our course of life.' This confirms Norburn's conjecture in No73:431 that Kant's philosophy of religion 'may serve even today as a vindication of Belief and as a necessary preface to Christology.' More will be said on Kant's Christology in IX.4. For now it is enough to point out that, insofar as Kant intends his theory of the archetype to be a philosophical foun¬ dation for a sympathetic biblical theologian's Christology, Galbraith is simply expecting too much when she complains that 'what Kant calls the Son of God

VIII. Systemr.c

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... does not really amount to christology in the normal sense at all.'26 . Once Kant has confirmed that the Christian doctrine of Jesus' double nature can serve as a legitimate symbolic vehicle for expressing the rational meaning of the archetype of perfect humanity, he turns his attention in Subsec¬ tion C to three 'difficulties' that threaten to obstruct its 'realization in us' [Kt8: 66(60)]. Without some way of solving these problems, Kant's surprisingly accommodating view, that religious conversion requires divine assistance through the agency of the archetype, would end up not being much of a 'gospel' after all. These difficulties, as shown in the detailed discussion in AVI.2-3, correspond directly to three traditional Christian doctrines: sanctification, assurance of salvation at thefinaljudgment, and atonement for sin (i.e., justifi¬ cation). Sanctification is the process whereby believers grow more and more 'perfect' or 'holy' [Matt. 5:48; q.i. 66(60)]; believing God judges our disposi26. Ga96:147. Galbraith devotes most of her fourth chapter [137-79] to an examination of Kant's theology of Jesus. For the most part, her treatment of the issues is thorough and well-balanced. She recognizes, for example, that 'Kant is not ruling out the possibility of divine incarnation', but is only denying its 'practical use' [146]. Citing the views of Murdoch, Reardon, and Macquarrie, she says past interpreters have generally thought Kant's view of Jesus is inadequate for Christian theology because it shows too much favoritism to Jesus' divine nature [139-40; s.a. 162]—a bias I have not found to be common to most interpreters of Kant's philosophy of religion. Galbraith's own position is much closer to the interpretation I have found to be typical: she argues that 'Jesus' value' for Kant [152] 'is bound to his being solely human.' For if Jesus 'were in some sense a God, he would not be such an important person' [153]. With this in mind, she compares Kant's approach to that of John Hick in The Myth of God Incarnate [155]. But this is all very misleading. Kant only requires Jesus to be human, never to be solely human, as Galbraith claims. The Bible clearly teaches that all followers of Christ are 'sons of God', with Jesus being the firstborn 'Son of God'—though many Christians admittedly ignore this. By connecting Jesus' divinity to his disposition, Kant is attempting to justify this biblical teaching, thus insuring that Jesus is regarded as someone who can 'sympathize with our weaknesses* as 'one who has been tempted in every way' [Heb. 4:15]; for both in the Bible and in Kant Jesus' dual nature is portrayed not as making him essentially different from all other human beings, but as something all human beings can participate in. That is, assigning a divine nature to Jesus poses no problem for Kant, provided we also regard all human beings as partaking (perhaps through him) in this divine nature, in the form of the predisposition to good. Galbraith shows some awareness of this point [Ga96:153], but protests [151] that for Kant '[t]he good principle does not begin with Jesus, it has been a part of human nature since the very beginning.' What she is forgetting is that in Christian theology, Jesus too has been with humanity from the very beginning [see e.g., Jn. 1:1; 2 Tim. 1:9]! So once again, Kant is merely revealing the depth of his attempt to confirm the rationality of Christian teaching. The one difference between Jesus and other human beings that Kant seems to allow as a theoretical possibility (but not one that can be either confirmed or denied by philosophers) is that Jesus may have remained sinless throughout his earthly life [cf. Heb. 4:15 and Kt8:80(74)]. But Galbraith thinks that when Kant makes such apparent concessions, he is merely making use of 'mythological language' to tell 'a story' [148] that 'is not literally true.' If that were the case, then his position would bear remarkable resemblance to that of Hick. But Kant would never make the dogmatic statement that the story has no historical truth. Rather, he consistently remains agnos¬ tic: its literal truth is not the point at issue, but rather, its symbolic value; and this can be affirmed whether or not the story has a factual basis. In this and other respects Galbraith frequently neglects the Copernican character of Kant's argument [e.g., 149-50], which allows historical examples to have priority from the Empirical Perspective, provided their character matches the requirements of the archetype as established with priority from the philosopher's Transcendental Perspective.

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tion encourages proponents of Critical religion to face various life challenges boldly, in an effort to make progress towards a realization of goodness. Assurance is the confidence believers have that they cannot become 'unsaved', because their eternal destiny is determined; the Kantian Christian, aware of the dangers of self-deception and overconfidence [see e.g., Matt. 25:31-46], treats this as a rational hope based on an awareness of the real moral progress they have made. And atonement explains how God can forgive a person's preconversion sins; Kant claims the just punishment for the 'old man's' sins falls on the inner archetype of the 'new man' (embodied by Jesus) and is experienced as the pain of conscience during conversion, a form of vicarious suffering. Kant's solutions to these three difficulties relating to the 'realization' of the gospel (i.e., of Jesus' archetypal nature in each person) may not amount to a defense of the traditional Christian doctrines [see Table AVI.2]. But taken together, they do provide an impressive confirmation of how these doctrines, as found in systemr_c, are compatible with systemr.m. Sanctification is now conceivable in spite of the paradoxical fact that the perfection it aims at can never be fully reached. Assurance of a favorable outcome at the final judgment can now be upheld as a form of moral/spiritual confidence, without risking an overly literal interpretation that would weaken a person's moral resolve. And atonement (as a consequence of God's forgiveness) can now be accepted without requiring it to contravene the standards of divine justice. This is not to say that Kant proves the Christian gospel is true. That is not his purpose. Rather, he accomplishes the negative task of making a hermeneutic space wherein the Christian 'symbols of faith' (Glaubensymbols) [cf. 69n(63n)] can be accepted as legitimate regulative solutions to the universal human problems of imperfection, insecurity, and insufficiency, yet without contradicting the minimum requirements of rational religion. 3. Kant's Assessment of Christian Tradition A. The Universal Church and its Scriptures Stage three in each of the systems in Kant's System of Perspectives adopts the empirical perspective, and systemr_c is no exception. In the first two Critiques this stage is where empirical knowledge and moral action, respective¬ ly, are first established. Likewise, as we saw in VII.3.A, Book Three of Kt8 is where Kantfirstintroduces the social elements that make religion an empirically real phenomenon. The main focus of his second experiment in Book Three is on the historical development of church tradition,27 with special attention given to 27. Recognizing the true extent of Kant's focus on such historical development in Kt8 requires us to

VIII. Systemr.c

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217

the nature and proper function of its scriptures. Like Book Two, Book Three is divided into two parts, with the first constructing one of the stages in systemr.m and the second providing a corresponding 'historical account' [124(115)], based on Christianity. Kant's views on the essential nature of the church have already been covered extensively in VII.3.A, so our main focus here will be on his view of Scripture. Let us begin, though, with an overview of his account of the history of Christianity, as given in Book Three's second division. Kant begins 'Division Two' by alluding to Christianity's status as the universal religion of mankind. He states that 'the church universal commences to fashion itself into an ethical state of God' at that point in time when 'ecclesiastical faith... publicly recognizes its dependence upon the qualifying conditions of ['pure religious faith']' [Kt8:124(115)]. He then explicitly names Christianity as the ecclesiastical faith whose 'succession of different types of belief constitutes the 'universal historical account' of the true church. Because his goal is to establish the essential unity of this diverse tradition, he insists on excluding its accidental Jewish roots from the history of those who uphold the call into question Walsh's contention that 'Kant sets aside the historical elements in Christianity as having no importance in themselves' [Wa67:322; cf. notes VII.44-45]. We shall see in this sec¬ tion (and even more so, in KSP4) that 'no importance' is a gross exaggeration, unless we are careful to understand the qualification 'in themselves' as meaning that the genuine importance historical elements do have is tied to their ability to serve as adequate symbols of pure moral religion. The problem with a comment such as Walsh's (coming as it does in a major encyclopedia article) is that the average reader tends to read it as an outright denial of any significance for anything historical. Referring to Kt8:80(74-5), McCarthy notes [Mc86:82n] that 'Kant allows for the possibility of one born without the propensity to evil and offers some unintentionally amusing speculations on how such can be understood.' Unfortunately, McCarthy gives us no clue as to what makes Kant's position so 'amusing'. Perhaps he thinks Kant was writing insincerely, since he elsewhere interprets Kant as arguing that, in order to be morally useful 'Jesus must be human and exclusively so (that is, of one nature only). A divine nature would render him "useless"' [101; Mc82:199], 'A superhuman Son of God would simply be ... "useless"' [201]. Yet McCarthy offers no textual evidence for such an extreme interpretation. His overly dogmatic claim would be accurate only if 'superhuman' meant nonhuman, not if it means (as in Christian tradition) divine-and-human. For Jesus ceases to be a morally useful example only if we view his nature as exclusively divine. A dual nature is a viable option for Kant and for the Kantian Christian. As we have seen, Kant provides quite a serious suggestion as to how Jesus' divinity might be conceived. His bottom line would be that, if we can still regard Jesus as the supreme example and can believe in the possibility of following that example, then reason has no power to prevent us from believing in Jesus' divinity. Ignoring Kant's openness, McCarthy claims Kant reduces Jesus to an 'inspiring symbol of the battle of good against evil... Jesus incarnates a humanity risen above radical evil.... Kant concedes to Jesus a practically indispensable role' [Mc86:101; Mc82:199-200]. For Kant, nothing more should be required of a philosopher*. But the fact that Kant views Jesus as a symbol does not mean he is only a symbol. In spite of his insistence elsewhere that Kant's philosophy of religion is not reductionistic, McCarthy here (as elsewhere) interprets it as if it is, even referring at one point to Kant's 'reduction of Christianity and its Christ to the horizon of practical reason' [Mc86:101; but cf. VI.4]. Jesus is a source of hope because in him 'the good principle ... has been actualized ... to a new degree' [Mc82:202]. Believing this is all Kant allows Jesus to be, McCarthy laments [203]: 'If this is moral theism, it is without an incarnate theos.' Yet this totally misrepresents Kant's theology; if anything, Kant allows for many incarnations of God—each one of us ought to exemplify in ourselves a divine-human union, by following in Jesus' footsteps.

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ideal of the 'universal church'; for the Jewish faith, he claims, lacks the 'unity of principle' characteristic of Christianity [124-5(115-6)]. Having made this highly debatable claim, Kant proceeds to examine in detail three aspects of 'the Jewish faith' that make it 'not a religion at all but merely a union of a number of people... under purely political laws, and not... a church' [Kt8:125(116)]. 'First, all its commands... relate merely to external acts', while 'making absolutely no claims upon ... conscience' [125-6(116)]. Even 'the Ten Commandments', though 'valid as ethical commands ... are directed to absolutely nothing but outer observance.' Second, it 'involves no belief in a future life'—a belief Kant thinks 'automatically obtrudes itself upon everyone' who is in touch with 'the universal moral predisposition' that lies at the foundation of all true religion [126(117)]. And third, it adopts an exclusiveness, based on a sense of racial superiority, that renders the very idea of a 'universal church' inapplicable. Kant admits that individual Jews might develop 'some sort of religious faith' as an adjunct to their basic 'statutory belief';28 but such an inner moral conversion is strictly optional when serving a God who 'attaches prime importance to mechanical worship.'29 The accuracy of Kant's caricature of Judaism, somewhat unfairly called 'venomous' by Crichlow [Cr96:93], is open to considerable doubt, since some passages from the Old Testament do encourage an inwardly-focused moral disposition [see e.g., Jer. 31:33]. This, together with the fact that the New Testament contains some passages that appear to recommend nonmoral, statutory observances as inherently pleasing to God, suggests that Kant must intend his comments on Judaism and Christianity to be taken more in terms of ideal types or tendencies (the 'inner spirit' of each) than as a rigorous interpretation of their respective Scriptures. That he uses 'Judaism' as a 'straw man' is clear in several passages, as when he ironically puts the following challenge to Christians into the mouth of his Jewish contemporary, Mendelssohn [see note VIII.28]: 'First wholly remove Judaism itself out of your own religion...; we can then take your proposal [that Christianity is su¬ perior] under advisement' [Kt8:166n(154n); s.a. Kt65:48]. Nevertheless, some Jewish scholars do openly acknowledge the accuracy of Kant's interpretation of 28. Kant may be thinking here of Mendelssohn, his Jewish friend and fellow philosophical theolo¬ gian, to whom he writes in a 1783 letter [AA10:325(Zw67:108)]: 'You have managed to unite with your religion a degree of freedom of thought that one would hardly have thought possible and of which no other religion can boast. ' Indeed, he adds, 'every religion should have unrestricted freedom of thought, so that... mankind will finally be united with regard to the essential point of religion.' 29. Kt8:126-7(117-8). Kant goes so far as to say that some forms of polytheism would be better than Judaism, if the many gods all agreed 'to bestow their good pleasure only upon the man who cherishes virtue with all his heart'.

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Judaism. Weiler, for example, insists 'Kant was right on mark' in portraying Jewish religion as regarding the authority of religious statutes as superior to that of any moral criteria.30 Later he clarifies that this does not mean there is no emphasis on the inner life in Judaism, but only that a person's primary focus must be on the external: too much attention to 'a religious mood' or 'a devotional spirit' is discouraged [We88:292-3]. By 'completely forsaking' this statute-based31 form of worship, Christian¬ ity 'effected a thoroughgoing revolution in doctrines of faith', thus 'introducing a purely moral religion' that 'was to comprise a religion valid for the world and not [just] for one single people' [Kt8:127(118)]. The attempts of many Chris¬ tians 'to join Judaism and Christianity with a connecting strand' are justifiable only as a means of converting Jews 'without offending [their] prejudices.' Kant himself softens his stand slightly by admitting that in Jesus' day 'Judaism ... was already interfused... with a religious faith', thanks to the influence of 'foreign (Greek) wisdom' [127-8(118)]. Into this context Jesus came, declar¬ ing 'that moral faith... is the only saving faith.' In both his actions and his words, he gave 'an example conforming to the archetype of a humanity alone pleasing to God' [128(119-20)]. After dying a 'meritorious death', he left be¬ hind 'the memory of his merit, teaching, and example', which were eventually recorded in the 'holy book' that became the basis of a new 'historical faith' (Christianity) [128-9(119-20)]. Kant describes what happened in this highly cautious way (i.e., without assuming the truth of any Christian dogmas) be¬ cause his whole book (including the second experiment) must remain 'within the bounds of bare reason' [128n(119n)]. This should not be taken to imply that he is thereby rejecting the 'miracles and mysteries' that 'find a place' in the Bible; for he adopts this mode of expression only because verifying such matters is the task of historical 'scholarship', not philosophy.32 30. We88:171,270-5; cf. Pa93:151-8. Sokol So86:431 says this view is explicitly defended in the Talmud (Berakot 33b): God's purpose in giving laws 'was merely to promulgate... decrees, so as to demand obedience from man solely on account of the divine origin of the decree.' Sokol argues [436]: 'If God is omnipotent, then He can create obligations'-both moral and amoral ones. Hence, although 'moral obligation [lies] at the root of divine obligation, ... [the latter] is binding independently of moral obligation.' There may be a 'purely religious' form of divine command as well. What Sokol does not realize is that Kant does not necessarily disagree. His claim would be that such a command cannot be immoral, and that it ought to enhance morality, if we are to have any way of assessing it rationally. 31. Kant defines 'statutes' in Kt65:36 as 'laws proceeding from another person's act of choice.' 32. Kt8:129(120). Thus Kant adds in a footnote that the Gospel accounts of Jesus' 'resurrection and ascension', as 'secret records' of what 'took place before the eyes only of his intimates', cannot be included in the 'public' (universal rational) history of the Christian faith [128n(119n)]. This should not be interpreted as a denial of their validity. For Kant himself suggests that these events can symbolize 'the commencement of another life and entrance into... the society of all the good.' His reason for passing over them is based not on their miraculous nature, but on the negative

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Because Christianity, regarded 'as an historical faith, bases itself upon books', it requires 'a learned public' in order to be disseminated—a vehicle not required by pure religious faith as such [Kt8:129(120)], but by the realities of the human situation [103(94),135n(126n)]. The first generation of Christians, however, did not have access to such learning, and the Roman historians of the time did not pay attention to the movement until its second generation [12930(121-2); s.a. 167(155)], so we are unable to assess how authentically the first Christians put Jesus' moral religion into practice. What we can assess is whether 'Christendom, from the time that it became a learned public itself, has realized its true nature as 'a moral religion'. With this in mind, Kant uses a onesentence paragraph (spanning more than a page!) to catalog the various ills that have beset the history of Christianity ('fanaticism', 'superstition', credal divi¬ sions, state-run churches, church-run states, religious wars, and 'bloodthirsty hatred against... colleagues in one and the same universal Christendom socalled') and to diagnose the disease: 'the root... lies hidden in the basic princi¬ ple of a despotically commanding ecclesiastical faith' that opposes 'Christiani¬ ty's first intention' of founding 'a universal world-religion' based on 'pure religious faith' [130-1(121-2)]. In spite of this dismal and rather one-sided picture of church history (show¬ ing, incidentally, that many of Kant's references to 'Judaism' and 'Christianity' must be taken as ideal types rather than as historical descriptions, since in the latter respect Christians fare no better than Jews), Kant turns now to an opti¬ mistic expression of hope in 'the present [age]' (i.e., the Enlightenment). By freeing reason from the arbitrary fetters of 'the expositors', 'true reverers of religion' are now sowing 'in Christendom', claims Kant, 'the seed of the true religious faith' [Kt8:131-2(122)]. To support this claim, he sets out two basic principles of exegesis, intended for use by anyone who wishes to interpret Scripture in such a way as to bring the Christian church closer to the ideal of a universal religion. We shall examine these two hermeneutic principles later in this section. Kant devotes the remainder of his discussion of the universal history of religion to some reflections on how 'guidance by Providence' in the future will bring 'the kingdom of heaven... ever nearer' [Kt8:134(124)]. Since this topic implications of an overly literal interpretation: such stories might encourage people to believe material bodies are necessary for personal existence. 'In contrast, the hypothesis of the spirituality of rational world-beings ... is more congenial to reason', for it enables us to avoid the notions of 'a matter which thinks' and of the need for 'a certain lump of matter' to accompany us 'through eternity' [128-9n(119n)]. Kant apparently has no objection to the belief that Jesus is alive now as a spiritual being; his criticism here is directed against any view that makes materiality a condition of such eternal life.

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of the coming of the 'kingdom of God on earth' is closely related, both here [134(125)] and in Division One, not only to religion but also (and perhaps more significantly) to political history, I shall defer a detailed discussion to KSP4. At this point it is enough to note that Kant believes the apocalyptic prophecy concerning 'the end of the world... may be interpreted as a symboli¬ cal representation intended merely to enliven hope and courage', since Jesus himself focused on the 'soul-elevating moral aspect' of the 'tribulations and sacrifices' associated with membership in the coming kingdom, without claim¬ ing to possess knowledge concerning details of the end [134-5(125)]. As such, the prophecies in the book of Revelation are 'a beautiful ideal of the moral world-epoch', towards the realization of which we ought continually to labor; when interpreted rationally, in terms of 'the introduction of true universal reli¬ gion', the elements of the Apocalypse 'can take on ... their right symbolic meaning' [136(126)]. That such symbolic interpretations are not intended to lower the status of the Christian faith, but to raise morality to the level of uni¬ versal religion [see VI.4], is evidenced not only by how readily Kant quotes Scripture with approval throughout Kt8, but also by the fact that he concludes Division Two by reminding his readers (with no apparent jest) of 'the necessity ... really to consider ourselves always as chosen citizens' in the kingdom of God [136(126)]. Keeping in mind this surprisingly affirmative conclusion of Division Two, as interpreted in light of Kant's Copernican Perspective on religion [see VIII. 1], can help us appreciate the fact that Kant's theory of the church in Division One of Book Three—his ideal of the universal People of God progressively realiz¬ ing the kingdom of God on earth—is not intended to do away with the real, empirical church, as is often supposed. Without the latter, pure religion would be 'bare' (i.e., 'naked' [bloss]), as the very title of Kt8 implies [see VI.2]. Along these lines, Kant elsewhere explicitly compares 'a church without a reli¬ gion' to 'garments without a man in them', and 'religion without a church' to 'a man without garments', warning that the latter 'is not well protected'.33 Rather 33. Kt65:53. Kant may have drawn his inspiration for this metaphor from the parable wherein Jesus compares the kingdom of heaven to a king who, having invited people off the streets to his son's wedding, throws one of them out because he is not wearing wedding clothes [Matt. 22:2-14]. For as the parable aptly illustrates, not all 'garments' are a suitable covering for religion's 'naked body'. The basic affinity between Kant's 'ideal' church and the biblical concept of a church as a family-like vehicle forthe expression of God's protection is evident in his claim [Kt8:102(93)] that the universal church is 'best' compared to 'a household (family) under a common, though invisible, moral Father, whose holy Son, knowing His will and yet standing in blood relation with all mem¬ bers of the household, takes His place in making His will better known to them; these accordingly honor the Father in Him and so enter with one another into a voluntary, universal, and enduring union of hearts.' Likewise, in his discussion of religious education in Kt39:494(213), Kant says: 'The best means for first making clear the idea of God is to employ the analogy of a father under

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than rejecting the Christian church, Kant is challenging it to develop and grow by patterning itself more effectively on the pure kernel of religious truth—a lifeline that is already available in the teachings of Jesus ('the Founder of the true church' [Kt8:179n(167n)]). All the trappings are allowed to remain, as long as they are viewed from the proper perspective, as rationally subordinate to pure religious truth. Kant says it is 'our duty' to subordinate historical faith to pure religious faith in this way [182(170)], for 'the moral believer is ever open to historical faith so far as he finds it furthering the vitality of his pure re¬ ligious disposition.' We can now see that one of the most important implications of Kant's doctrine of the church is that it encourages respect for Christianity even though church history is marred with all manner of evils. For, as we saw above, Kant regards these evils as arising not out of Christianity as such, but out of an unbalanced interpretation of Christianity by those who gave theoretical assent priority over practical assent. The lesson to be learned from the history of the Crusades, excommunications of 'heretics', witch-burnings, etc., is that the church will be a channel for covert evil as long as the theoretical standpoint (dogma) is valued more highly than the practical standpoint (morality). For the doctrinal differences that give rise to much destructive conflict 'cannot be avoided so long as we seek religion without and not within us' [Kt8:167(155)]. And this, Kant insists, is precisely the lesson taught by Christianity itself: 'Christianity's first intention was really no other than to introduce a pure reli¬ gious faith, over which no conflict of opinions can prevail' [131(122)]. Only when this perspectival shift inherent in Kant's Copernican Perspective is kept firmly in mind can we properly understand the implications of what he says in Division One concerning the role of the church and its Scripture. We can now see, for instance, that the contrast between the visible and invisible church is parallel to the contrast between ecclesiastical and religious faith [see VIII.l]. Thus Kant says in Kt8:102-3(94): 'Pure religious faith alone can found a universal church... Yet, by reason of a peculiar weakness of human nature, pure faith can never be relied on as much as it deserves, that is, a church cannot be established on it alone.' The 'weakness' he is here alluding to is one that he himself experienced. For he points out that 'a community of the faithful' will 'not automatically arise' merely on the basis of the agreement be¬ tween the 'free adherents' of pure religion, 'because in such a religion none of those who has seen the light believes himself to require, for his religious whose care we are placed; from this the transition to the idea of the unity of man, as in a family, can happily be made.'

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sentiments, fellowship with others' [158(146)]. The weakness of pure religion is that an overemphasis on it, to the exclusion of 'statutory ordinances', will actually hinder the continued growth of universal religion. The purpose of the visible church, as an arena for ecclesiastical faith designed primarily to promote pure religion, is to guard against such a tendency. Kant here appears to be criticizing, or at least pointing out the dangers of, his personal tendency to avoid an outward expression of his own pure religious faith. But his further stipulation, that a visible church becomes detrimental to pure religion when it is 'merely statutory' [158(146), e.a.], probably accounts for his preference not to attend church himself.34 Immediately after establishing the nature and status of the church in Divi¬ sion One [see VII.3.A], Kant concentrates on the topic of Scripture: Subsection V argues that historical faith 'is best Founded on a Holy Scripture' [Kt8:102 (94)], while Subsection VI establishes the proper priorities for interpreting Scrip¬ ture within a church. In the former section Kant first explains why the human condition makes historical faith necessary as a vehicle for pure religious faith. He then argues that in order for the former to convey the latter 'everywhere' (i.e., universally) and 'unchanged'—these being the first and fourth require¬ ments for a true church—a tradition alone (i.e., a set of rituals and other 'public observances') will not suffice: a scripture is also needed [106-7(97-8)]. The great 'respect' aroused by 'a holy book', due in part to the body of scholarly 'expositors' that inevitably forms around it, makes it virtually impossible 'to destroy a faith grounded in a scripture', whereas faiths without a scripture have

34. Kant's disinterest in attending church is depicted by several oft-repeated anecdotes that can cloud the reader's understanding of the doctrine of the church expounded in Kt8 [see IV. 1; K152:38]. The trappings of the church in Kant's day were evidently too accentuated, and its theology too firmly fixed on theoretical 'certainties', for him to accept it as a vehicle for his own religious experience. (Thus Hare conjectures [Ha96:48]: 'Kant may have refused to attend because he loved the doctrines, not because he rejected them.') How he made up for this omission will be discussed in Part Four. All too often Kant's interpreters allow his personal religious habits to eclipse their aware¬ ness of his systematic arguments regarding public worship. Walsh does this when he claims in Wa90:9 that 'Kant strongly disapproved' of 'the use of some kind of ceremonial and the conducting of one's religious life in public' Likewise, Cassirer says 'Kant delivers the most ruthless attacks upon certain essential features of the religious life, viz. adoration of God, private prayer, and public worship. All this strikes him as wholly unreasonable' [Ca88:8O]. He even warns against the danger of 'supposing] that Kant wishes to make concessions to religion where he really has no such intention.' But this warning is itself wholly misplaced, for as I demonstrate in VII.3.B, VIII.3.B, AVII.4 [s.e. note AVII.16], and AVIII.1-4, Kant's text (unlike his personal habits) exhibits a quali¬ fied approval of such religious actions as potentially reasonable. Even Despland's warning, though heading in the right direction, starts off on the wrong foot: Kant's 'abhorrence... for public exer¬ cises and common demonstrations of piety ... derive[s] from an intense respect for the privacy of other consciences, of which he repeatedly stated that only God can fathom' [De73:107]. Kant did not 'abhor' public worship as such, but only its misuse by those who regard it as intrinsically pleasing to God.

224

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'promptly met [their] downfall when the state was overthrown.'35 Clearly al¬ luding to the Bible, Kant concludes that, because this particular scripture 'con¬ tains ... the purest moral doctrine of religion in its completeness' [107(98)], and because the extraordinary circumstances whereby it has 'fallen into men's hands' point to 'none other than a gracious Providence' as its 'source' [107n(98n)], it 'can command an esteem like that accorded to revelation.' To interpret this positive assessment of Scripture merely as a ploy to gain approval from the censors would be totally unfounded; for in other contexts, both public and private, Kant openly attests to his high regard for the Bible. Thus in Kt35:(74) he tells his students (c.1775-1781): 'The Gospels do not suffer even the least imperfection: they are stringent and pure and demand unre¬ lentingly compliance with the [moral] law.' In a late essay (1794) he explicitly approves of the failure of one person's 'rash' attempt at a 'public propounding of religion without the bible' [Kt55:321(87)]. Earlier, in a letter to Lavater (1775), he privately confesses: 'I respect the reports of the evangelists and apostles, and I put my humble trust in that means of reconciliation with God of which they have given us historical tidings' [AA10:169(Zw67:80-l)]. When he goes on to warn that 'what those men give us are only their reports', his purpose is not to detract from the Bible's significance, but to enhance it by en¬ couraging a proper (Critical) attention to the standpoint we adopt when reading it: 'considered as history, our New Testament writings can never be so es¬ teemed as to make us dare to have unlimited trust in every word of them, and especially if this were to weaken our attentiveness to the one necessary thing, namely, the moral faith of the Gospels' [170(81)]. In a follow-up letter Kant clarifies the importance of adopting the practical (moral) standpoint: 'no book, whatever its authority might be ... can substitute for the religion of con¬ science.... For although statutes may bring about the performance of rituals, they cannot beget inner convictions. Because of this presupposition, I seek in the Gospels not the ground of my faith but its fortification' [171(82)]. That Kant regards this standpoint as involving not a denial but a confirmation of the Bible's authority becomes clear in a 1789 letter to Jung-Stilling [23.494(131)]: 'it is quite right of you to seek in the Gospels the final satisfaction of your striving for a secure foundation of wisdom and hope, since [the Bible] is an ev¬ erlasting guide to true wisdom, one that not only agrees with the speculations of a perfected reason but sheds new light on the whole field surveyed by that 35. Kt8:107(98). Likewise, Kant later notes that 'a people which has a written religion (sacred books) never fuses together in one faith with a people ... possessing no such books but only rites' [136n (127n)]. This would be his explanation for how the Jewish nation managed to remain distinct for so long without a homeland or political state as a basis.

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reason, illuminating what still remains opaque to it.' Such passages confirm Despland's claim [De73:222] that Kant views 'historical revelation [as] an edu¬ cator of reason.' Kant further clarifies this function in yet another letter, wherein he tells Fichte that 'the revelation of [nonmoral statutes] was given as an accommodation to our weakness, to provide a visible cloak for' the moral 'articles of faith prescribed by reason' [AAll:308(Zw67:187)]. This practically-focused, perspectivally-determined view of Scripture goes hand in hand with Kant's Copernican Perspective on religion. This Perspective requires Kant to reverse the common person's assumptions concerning the sources of religious life, as when he declares in Kt65:37 that 'the only way we can find eternal life in any Scripture whatsoever is by putting it there.' Kant be¬ lieves this reversal of emphasis comes directly from Christianity; indeed, he sees it as the essence of Jesus' revolutionary message. As long as 'Christianity' (or the name of any other religion) is taken to refer merely to an historical tradition (an ecclesiastical faith), its message thereby sows the seeds of its own destruction; in making a convert its adherents only produce 'twice as much a son of hell' as they themselves already are [Matt. 23:15]. But if the message itself is given priority, as Kant believes was Jesus' original intention, then the destruction of any given ecclesiastical form will not deter the progress of true, universal religion. For universal religion is the ideal of a perfect instantiation in the empirical world of the pure religious standpoint all people can adopt. The title of Subsection VI of Book Three's first division encapsulates the essence of Kant's biblical hermeneutics: 'Ecclesiastical Faith Has Pure Religious Faith as its Highest Interpreter' [Kt8:109(100)]. Kant presents three possible candidates for the highest principle of biblical interpretation, each corresponding to one of the basic Critical standpoints: historical scholarship (theoretical), moral symbolism (practical), and personal feeling (judicial). He rejects the latter in a single paragraph at the end of the subsection; but it is important to understand why. We cannot regard 'an inner feeling' as an alter¬ native to 'rational religion and Scriptural learning' in determining 'the true meaning of Scripture as well as its divine origin' [113(104)]; nevertheless, we certainly cannot deny... that the very impulse to good actions ..., which the man who reads Scripture... must feel, cannot but convince him of its divine nature ... [Yet this] moral feeling... is private to every individual...; therefore one cannot urge it as a touchstone for the genuineness of a revelation, for it teaches absolutely nothing, but is merely the way in which the subject is affected as regards pleasure or displeasure—and on this basis can be established no knowledge whatsoever. [113-4(104-5); s.a. Kt65:32-3] Kant is not denying that feeling plays an important role in helping us appreciate the 'divine nature' of Scripture; he is merely pointing out that theological

226

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conclusions cannot rely on feeling, since it is a private matter. A 'philosophical' interpretation of Scripture is 'a thoroughgoing interpreta¬ tion of it in a sense agreeing with the universal practical rules of pure reason' ?6 Even if it is 'forced', such morally-based interpretation 'must be preferred to a literal interpretation which either contains nothing at all [helpful] to morality or else actually works counter to moral incentives' [Kt8:l 10(100-1); s.a. 43n (39n); Kt65:42]. The only alternative for the truly religious person would be 'to charge [Scripture] with error' [41; s.a. 63-4,66]. Moreover, 'absolutely no general agreement can be reached [in disputes 'over credal opinions on matters of faith'] without appeal to pure reason as the expositor [of Scripture]' [Kt8: 130(121)]—a point we shall consider further in VIII.4. In defending such an approach Kant points out that 'this has always been done' down through history [110(101)], and that Jesus himself intended his teaching to be taken in this way [159-62(147-51)]. Kant further defends this subordination of the historical to the religious (perhaps even less popular today than it was two centuries ago) in Kt65:42: ... faith merely in the sense of theoretical assent... is no part of [pure] religion because it neither makes nor gives proof of a better man... Yet these same propo¬ sitions can be considered essential requirements for expounding a certain ecclesiasti¬ cal faith.... However, the teacher should warn [the people] not to ascribe holiness to dogma itself but to pass over, without delay, to the religious faith it has intro¬ duced, [s.a. 46,65]

From the truly religious standpoint, 'Scriptural scholarship... settles no more than that there is nothing in the origin of Scripture to render impossible its ac¬ ceptance as direct divine revelation'—i.e., nothing immoral [Kt8:l 12-3(103)]. If it is not subordinated to religious faith, the resulting 'historical faith must finally become mere faith in Scriptural scholars and their insight' [114(105); s.a. Kt65:61]. But this is inadequate for universal religion because 'historical ecclesiastical doctrines... at best have in their favor only a probability discover¬ able by scholars' [Kt8:133(123)]. For those in the Judeo-Christian tradition, it leads to the unlikely implication that 'the salvation of mankind' hangs upon the contingent fact of 'there be[ing] scholars who are familiar with the Hebrew lan¬ guage' [167(155)]. Even more significant is that an exclusive emphasis on the theoretical standpoint leaves the divine origin of the Bible totally unverifiable: 'No historical account can verify the divine origin of such a writing. The proof can be derived only from its tested power to establish religion in the human

36. Kt8:l 10(100). A parallel discussion of the proper 'principles of Scriptural exegesis' appears in Kt65:38-44,65, where Kant insists they 'must be philosophical' [38]. In the following paragraphs, I shall intersperse relevant references to this text with my discussion of Kt8.

VIII. Sysiemr-c heart'[Kt65:64; s.a. 23,46].

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I •

Let us conclude our discussion of Kant's views on Scripture by examining the two hermeneutic principles proposed in Division Two of Book Three: The first is the principle of a reasonable modesty in pronouncements regarding all that goes by the name of revelation. For no one can deny the possibility that a scripture... may... be regarded as a genuinely divine revelation.... [O]ne can hardly expect a new revelation... Hence the most intelligent and most reasonable thing to do is from now on to use the book already at hand [the Bible] as the basis for eccle¬ siastical instruction and not to lessen its value through useless or mischievous attacks, yet meanwhile not forcing belief in it, as requisite to salvation, upon any man. The second principle is this: ... the sacred narrative... ought to have absolutely no [determining] influence on the adoption of moral maxims, and... must at all times be taught and expounded in the interest of morality ... [Kt8:132-3(122-3)] The bulk of Kant's treatment of the first principle is directed against the sup¬ posedly liberating tendencies of the Enlightenment, by maintaining that belief in some sort of vehicle for religious faith, some divine revelation, is healthy and should be preserved.37 The ironic tendency of liberals (usually biblical schol¬ ars!) to deny the authority of Scripture with 'useless or mischievous attacks' is not conducive to maintaining a strong religious faith. But he also criticizes the extreme conservative, who forces

belief in scriptural dogmas, as equally

destructive. For such an approach takes away the moral freedom of its adher¬ ents by imposing as laws of coercion what are meant to be laws of virtue.3* 37. Kant refers to his own belief in the 'divinity inspired' status of the Bible on numerous occasions [see e.g., Kt65:44,46,62]. In Kt65:65 he insists that 'the Bible deserves to be kept, put to moral use, and assigned to religion as its guide just as if it is a divine revelation.' This 'as i f should be regarded not as a 'nuance', cleverly designed to reduce revelation to nothing but its 'moral use', but rather as a straightforward confession that the impossibility of gaining theoretical certainty on such matters requires us (believer and unbeliever alike!) to adopt the hypothetical perspective. By employing such a strategy, Kant shows in Kt65:58 how the Bible can be used to correct the unhealthy tendencies of various ecclesiastical sects. That such correction is also part of his strategy in Kt8 is clearly indicated in an early draft of the Preface [AA20:438(De73:243)], where Kant says the book will effect (in Despland's words) 'a reunion of reason with revelation that will do honour to the latter and will be achieved with each defending its just and particular rights.' 38. See VII.3.A and Kt65:20,27. Davidovich neglects this subtle point when she argues that 'Kant should be seen, perhaps against his will, as the forefather of liberal theology' [Da93b:55]. On the one hand, we have seen that having a formative influence on the subsequent development of theology was in all likelihood not 'against his will'. Bax tells us [BaO3:lii] that after publishing Kt8 'Kant... was extremely anxious to establish a school of liberal theologians to carry out the work he had commenced.' On the other hand, Kant's influence should not be associated exclusively with liberal theology. Green quotes Hans Frei as claiming [Gg93:12] 'that Kant's thought was the crucial dividing point for Protestant theology in the nineteenth century. His thought was like a prism ... All paths led to Kant.' MacKinnon [Ma90a:359] names Gore, Scott-Holland, and T.H. Green as British theologians who were influenced by Kant and 'shared with [Forsyth an] appre¬ ciation of the manner in which experiential self-limitation was of the essence of the Incarnation.' (The point here is thoroughly Kantian: we symbolically participate in Christ's incarnation when we humbly accept our own self-limitations.) Forsyth 'was indebted to Kant for his insistence that the transcendent was to be encountered in and through the personal, moral lives of individual[s]' [356, e.a.]. This encounter will be the focus of our attention for much of Part Four. And in VIII.4 I

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The second principle restates two ideas Kant has already introduced: that morality is independent from religion [Kt8:3(3)] and that 'the highest principle of all Scriptural exegesis' is to treat 'the moral improvement of men' as 'the real end of all religion of reason' ,39 He expounds these ideas in numerous passages: For the final purpose even of reading these holy scriptures, or of investigating their content, is to make men better; the historical element, which contributes nothing to this end, is ... in itself quite indifferent, and we can do with it what we like. [Kt8:111(102); s.a. Kt65:40,47] Only a moral interpretation... is really an authentic one—that is, one given by the God within us... [48]. [Therefore] we must regard the credentials of the Bible as drawn from the pure springs of universal religion dwelling in every ordinary man... [63]. Its authenticity... can be better established by the effect its reading can produce in the hearts of men than by proofs based on critical examination of the teachings and tales it contains. [61] The God Who speaks through our own (morally practical) reason is an infallible interpreter of His words in the Scriptures, Whom everyone can understand. And it is quite impossible for there to be any other accredited interpreter of His words... [67].

As we have seen, Kant is not intending to do away with the 'Scriptural scholar¬ ship' that 'deals with the historical aspect of [a] religion' [Kt8:114(105)], but to put the historical (biblical) scholar in a proper, 'subordinated' place in relation to the 'Scriptural interpreter' (i.e., a preacher or other church member), whose task is to determine the rational (moral) meaning of the text [112(103)]. The foregoing, perspectival interpretation of Kant's views on the universal church and its Scripture reveals Kant to be far more sympathetic to Christianity than is often recognized. He obviously regards himself as a reformer rather than a destroyer of Christian tradition, very much in line with his attitude towards metaphysics in general [cf. 1.1-2 and AIX.l]. Like the best reformers, Kant does not mince his words when referring to those aspects of the tradition he re¬ gards as essentially idolatrous.40 But the reason behind his iconoclasm is to shall argue in more detail that Kant's position has both liberal and conservative strains. 39. Kt8:112(102); s.a. Kt65:41. See Wi73:74 for an example of a biblical theologian who laments the poverty of the historical-critical method and argues, like Kant, that personal transformation is the true purpose of biblical interpretation. Kant in general does not share the historical-critical scholar's assumption that the best inter¬ pretation is the one that comes closest to reflecting the author's original understanding. To justify his somewhat unusual interpretation of Plato in Ktl:370, for example, he says 'it is by no means unusual, upon comparing the thoughts which an author has expressed in regard to his subject... to find that we understand him better than he has understood himself. ' See also Kant's comment on Ulpian's formulas in Kt6:236. 40. After quoting from the Heidelberg Catechism, White insists Kant 'must clearly have been familiar ... with texts such as the Heidelberg Catechism with its formative influence on the pietist movement' [Wh90:2], so he was no doubt 'conscious of the extent to which he was putting forward positions that were in direct conflict with the theologians of the classical Reformation.' While this

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produce a truer tradition—i.e., a systemic that can convey the genuine moral core of religion more directly to its members. This goal will become even more evident as we proceed now to the final part of our overview of Kant's second experiment. B. Serving God: Clergy vs. Conscience Like his theoretical and practical systems, Kant's religious system does not end at this point, even though stage three fully realizes the constituent elements of the object of inquiry (in this case, an empirical manifestation of a God's kingdom); instead, he always adds a fourth stage, wherein certain regulative elements are put forward from the hypothetical perspective,41 as guideposts for wise application. Book Four of Kt8, like Books Two and Three, is also di¬ vided into two main parts, the first adopting a more rational outlook to examine 'the service of God in religion in general' [153(142)] and the second probing the false expressions of such service typically manifested in the Christian tradi¬ tion. As with systemt, I interpreted stage four of systemr.m as consisting of two alternate endings [cf. VII.3.B and KSP1:VII.3.B], depending on whether one adopts the hypothetical or the speculative perspective (i.e., depending on whether priority is given to practical or theoretical reason, respectively). In systemr.m the first ending is taken mainly from Part One of Book Four, while the second is taken mainly from Part Two. Although some repetition of the content of our earlier discussion is therefore inevitable, my focus here shall be on those aspects of both parts that relate primarily to systemicAfter introducing some basic distinctions in Part One, Kant devotes two subsections to Christianity, viewing it first from the rational/moral standpoint of 'natural religion', then from the historical/theoretical standpoint of 'learned religion'. In Section One, he points out that, considered as a natural religion (i.e., as an instantiation of pure religious faith), Christianity is an ideal structure is true, it should not be used to conceal the fact that Kant's goal was to reform rather than destroy the tradition. Otherwise he surely would have avoided using such iconoclastic terms as 'idolatry', as he often does, to denounce those who reverse the true meaning of religion [see Kt8:169n(157n), 176(164),185(173), 199(187)]. 41 • Kant provides a two-sided illustration of the hypothetical perspective in the first footnote in Book Four. First he explains how his definition of religion (i.e., the hypothesis that duties can be viewed as if they were divine commands) implies that on all theoretical issues religion requires no knowledge, but only 'a problematical assumption (hypothesis)' and 'an assertorial faith' [Kt8:1534n(142n)]. In other words, the hypothetical belief that God's existence is possible is all that is needed for religion; all other requirements can be fulfilled by moral faith. Kant then points out that his definition also prevents statutory commands as such from being regarded as 'special duties to God' [154n(142n)]. Just as it focuses the attention of theoretical reason away from speculation and towards faith, the hypothetical perspective in systemr-m focuses the attention of practical reason away from nonmoral 'courtly obligations' and towards the human duties known to all mankind.

230

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consisting of 'a body of servants ..., but not officials' [Kt8:157(145)]. As free and equal members of 'an invisible church' that comprises 'all right-thinking people',42 these servants will 'not automatically' form themselves into a visible church; yet as we have seen, 'a factual basis [ein FactumY must be established if the invisible church is to become a reality in the world [158(146), alt.]. This happened, Kant hypothesizes ('Let us suppose ...'), when Jesus preached the principles of the 'universal religion of reason' and added to them 'certain statutes which provided forms and observances designed to serve as a means of bringing into existence a church founded upon those principles.' In so doing, he became 'the founder of the first true church' [159(147)]—i.e., the first visible church with dogmas and rituals designed primarily to be an expression of the invisible church (see below). To support this quasi-conservative claim, Kant carries out his most extensive effort at biblical interpretation, surveying the entire Gospel of Matthew for evidence of parallels between Jesus' teaching and the pure religion of reason [159-62(147-50)]. Having amassed an impressive display of parallels, Kant concludes that this (i.e., Christianity, as introduced by Jesus) 'is a complete religion' [162(150)]. Once Jesus had given universal religion this factual basis, subsequent gen¬ erations inevitably entrusted his message 'to the guardianship of the learned' [Kt8:162(151)]. At this point, as Kant explains in Section Two, 'the Christian religion1 becomes 'the Christian faith' [163(151)]. Ideally, these two forms of Christianity (the invisible/rational and the visible/historical) ought to be com¬ plementary. The integrity of the former can be preserved, however, only if the beliefs associated with the latter are 'not made a duty'; for when 'unconditional belief m revealed propositions (in themselves hidden from reason)' is made the basis of Christian faith, the freedom associated with all true (moral) religion is lost, being transformed into servitude {'servilis') to 'the small body of textual scholars (the clerics)' [164(152); s.a. 171(159)]. The genuine 'ministerium' characterizing each member of the true church (i.e., the ministry performed by dutiful servants of God, who receive 'orders directly from the supreme legisla¬ tor' [152(140)]) is thereby replaced by a false Hmperium' belonging to the elite church 'officiates' (i.e., a 'domination' exercised by 'commanding high offi¬ cials') [165(153); s.a. 152-3(140-1)]. After some reflections on the relationship between Judaism and Christianity, mainly reiterating themes from the previous 42. Kt8:152(140),176(164). These passages indicate how wrong McCarthy is to assert that for Kant 'modern philosophers are implicitly the priests of the pure moral religion to come' [Mc86:88]. Kant's explicit view is that there are no priests—or, if servants are regarded as priests, that all enlightened people are priests, in virtue of possessing the moral law. McCarthy's claim might be true if 'philosopher' is defined in an extremely broad way (e.g., as any enlightened person), but even then it would ignore Kant's deep respect for the common (moral, but unenlightened) person.

I H

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treatment of the same subject in Division Two of Book Three, Kant concludes this second section with a reminder [167(155)] that 'changes of faith' (such as those arising from scholarly disputes) 'cannot be avoided so long as we seek religion without and not within us.' Having acknowledged in Part One of Book Four the necessity of religion's 'factual basis' in history and scholarship, Kant casts his Critical eye on false forms of religious service in Part Two. The 'statutes' and 'ordinances' taught by biblical scholars and enforced by the clergy ought to be regarded as 'good' but 'arbitrary and contingent' appearances pointing us towards the reality of the moral law. When they are instead viewed as 'essential to the service of God', and so also as 'the highest condition of the divine approval', the inevitable result is 'pseudo-service' and 'religious illusion' [Kt8:168(156)]. As we saw in VII.3.B, this 'practical illusion' involves the mistaken belief that 'possessing a means to some end' is sufficient, and can 'take the place' of 'the possession of the end' .43 The first two of the four subsections constituting Part Two are devoted to establishing basic principles for distinguishing reality from illusion in our religious life. Since these sections relate mainly to Kant's first experi¬ ment and are dealt with elsewhere [VI.2-3 and VII.3.B], I shall here pass directly to the third and fourth subsections, where Christianity as such is more clearly the focus of Kant's attention. Subsection 3 presents a stinging critique of 'clericalism' as a false form of religious government. Kant first points out that the specific historical and statutory differences that inevitably exist between different traditions are far less significant than the basic perspectival difference between those who give prior¬ ity to historical faith (following the principle of religious illusion presented in Subsection 1) and those who give priority to good life-conduct (following the moral principle presented in Subsection 2). By taking their scripture and tradi¬ tion too literally, as conveying dogmatic knowledge, the former fall victim to all manner of illusions; the latter avoid this by interpreting their 'historical faith' as 'the symbolic representation, and the means of promotion, of a pure religious faith' [Kt8:176(164)]. The root cause of all such illusion is the devotees' 'inten¬ tion' to use compliance with nonmoral statutes as a way 'to manage to their own advantage the invisible Power which presides over the destiny of men', thus 'bringing about a supernatural effect through wholly natural [i.e., nonmoral] means' [176-7(164-5)]. Through intellectual assent to dogmas and/or active 43. Kt8:168n(156n). For example, possessing food is a good and legitimate means to the end of satisfying hunger. But if we let the food just sit in the cupboard without eating it, its true end or purpose will eventually be 'frustrated' [cf. 153(141)], once the food spoils or we die of starvation. Merely possessing the means does not obviate the need to employ it in order to realize the end.

232

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

participation in ceremonies and rituals, such a person believes 'that he works on God and uses Him as a means to bring about a result in the world' [177-8(1656)]. Kant does not object to the devotee who uses nonmoral observances 'as a means to the furthering of the moral disposition', believing that in so doing 'he is merely making himself capable of receiving' God's assistance; what he rejects is the idea that formulas, confessions, and 'churchly observances' can 'conjure up divine assistance', or 'produce it through natural acts' [178(166)]. Clericalism, as Kant sees it, is the tendency of church leaders to encourage members to fall into religious illusion—a tendency exacerbated by the common belief that compliance with statutory regulations is easier than obeying the moral law [Kt8:179n(167n)]. In hopes of divesting this illusion of its power, Kant repeatedly stresses that 'moral service' alone is 'free', because the 'divine commands' are thereby transmitted through the conscience of each individual, so that 'nothing is here forced upon him'; statutory divine commands are 'for a conscientious man a far heavier yoke', because (taken literally) they burden the conscience with requirements that cannot be internally verified [179(167)]. This, Kant claims, is what Jesus meant when he said his 'yoke is easy' and his 'burden is light' [Matt. 11:30]: a person's duties, though in one sense 'the hardest' of all responsibilities, are free of external burdens ('yokes'), for they are 'imposed on him by himself and through his own reason' [179n(167n)]. While admitting that churches vary greatly in how heavily they burden their members with statutory 'yokes', Kant reminds us that the basic question of 'worth or worthlessness rests on the nature of the principle which is supremely binding.' Regardless of the church's external political structure, if 'submission to precepts as a compulsory service' is given higher priority than 'free homage ... to the moral law' [180(168)], 'then, however few the imposed observances, ... the masses are ruled and robbed of their moral freedom by subservience to a church (not to religion).' In such cases, 'a clergy rules which believes that it can actually dispense with reason and even... with Scriptural learning, because it has authority' [180(168)]. Kant appends to this subsection some further reflections on the doctrines appropriate to the true church. Rooting the doctrine of salvation in an historical faith may be useful in converting the simple-minded, but 'the learned or wise of the world' are bound to find difficulties that render such a faith unsuitable to serve 'as the supreme condition of a universal faith alone leading to salvation'; this doctrine should instead be rooted in the 'practical knowledge' that is 'en¬ graved upon [each person's] heart' and effectively 'guides us to a pure religious faith' [Kt8:181-2(169-70)]. Only when we 'start off with this knowledge', let¬ ting 'the historical faith which harmonizes with it follow', 'does historical faith

VIII. Systemr.c

233

possess a pure moral worth, because here it is free and not coerced through any threat' [182(170)]. Kant then makes the same basic point by distinguishing be¬ tween the 'doctrine of godliness' (obeying statutes out of a fear and/or love of God) and the 'doctrine of virtue' (doing one's duty out of respect for the moral law). These two doctrines 'stand in necessary connection with one another' in such a way that one must be a means that leads to the other. Because the former assumes an idea of God that 'cannot subsist of itself in speculative reason', whereas the latter 'derives from the soul of man', Kant argues that in cate¬ chisms and sermons alike 'the doctrine of godliness' should be presented 'as a means of strengthening... the virtuous disposition' [182-3(170-1)]. Treating the former as an end in itself leads to a weakening of moral courage and 'transformfs] godliness into a fawning slavish subjection to a despotically command¬ ing might', thus reducing worship to a form of 'idolatry'; 'godliness' then serves as a mere 'surrogate for virtue' instead of as 'virtue's consummation'.44 Subsection 4 concludes Part Two of Book Four with a defense of what is arguably the most indispensable tenet relating to the practical implications of Kant's second experiment: that conscience (as opposed to clergy) is the most reliable guide in matters of faith [Kt8:185(173)]. Kant defines conscience as 'the moral faculty of judgment, passing judgment upon itself—a regulative function reminiscent of reason's regulation of theoretical judgment in stage four of systemt [see KSP1:VII.3.B], except that 'reason here judges itself [186 (174)]. Whereas '[t]he understanding', operating in stages two and three of systeirip, 'judges whether an action is really right or wrong', conscience operates in stage four of systemr_m (step ten) by postulating certainty of an action's moral status. Kant cites the 'inquisitor' who 'pass[es] judgment upon a socalled heretic' and 'condemns him to death' as an example of the danger of making an 'unconscientious' decision based on an 'historical and visionary faith' [186-7(174-5)]. In any such case where conscience suggests even the possibility that a choice based on a presumed revealed knowledge of God's will could be mistaken (i.e., contrary to the moral law), Kant believes a conscien¬ tious person should abstain from acting. With this in mind, Kant asks 'whether spiritual rulers Or teachers... should impose [their idea of 'revealed law'] upon the people as an article of faith' [Kt8:187(175)]. Since 'the absolute possibility of an error' is always present 44. Kt8:183-5(172-3). Such false godliness runs directly counter to the true purpose of 'the doctrine of atonement', which is to strengthen the 'courage to stand on one's own feet' [183-4(172)]. Like¬ wise, the Christian concept of 'piety' all too often encourages 'a passive attitude' that merely awaits help 'from a power above' [184n(173n)]. Kant regards such 'self-abnegation' as a form of false humility. True humility, by contrast, 'should bring about not contempt for oneself but rather the resolution ... to approach ever nearer to agreement with [the moral] law' [184-5n(172n)].

234

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

whenever a statement is based on one's 'interpretation' of Scripture, or even on 'previous classical exegesis', adherence to such a confession should be left to each person's conscience. When 'the clergyman' uses spiritual authority to require 'the confession of firm belief' before God in a theoretical statement 'of which he himself can never be wholly convinced', the resulting hypocrisy be¬ lies an 'insincerity' (or 'untruthfulness') that is nothing short of 'damnable'.45 Kant's cautious attitude towards church confessions is based not on an irrever¬ ent disregard for theological truth, but on an honest recognition of our theoreti¬ cal uncertainty on such matters. For the way of salvation 'may be so mysterious that God can reveal it to us at best in a symbolic representation in which only what is practical is comprehensible to us' [171(159)]. To withhold the freedom of conscience from church members on the principle that they 'are essentially unfit for freedom ... is to usurp the prerogatives of Divinity itself, which created men for freedom' [188n(176-7n)J. Kant firmly rejects the rationale often used by those who think such 'dishonesty in religious confessions' is 'expedient' (e.g., Pascal's 'wager', that everything is gained if it turns out to be right, while nothing is lost if it turns out to be wrong), condemning it as a hypocriti¬ cal 'violation of conscience' that is very likely to backfire [188-9(176-7)]. Although Book Four's second part includes only a few explicit references to Christianity, Kant's second experiment is clearly at the forefront of his mind throughout his discussion (especially in Subsections 3 and 4). For the struggle between clergy and conscience for jurisdiction over the freedom of the human soul is the issue that Christianity must confront if it is to succeed in realizing its destiny of becoming the vehicle through which universal religion is propagated to the entire human race. Further evidence that the Christian form of this strug¬ gle is Kant's main concern comes in the General Observation to Book Four, where he assesses the religious value of four rituals: two of the four (baptism and communion) are unique to the Christian tradition. (Kant's views on these rituals are examined in AVII.4 and AVIII.) We can therefore conclude our por¬ trayal of systemic by stressing that for Kant the essence of genuine Christian 45. Kt8:187(175-6). That this strongly-worded condemnation was directed, at least in part, against the king's censor is suggested by a comment Kant makes in a 1792 letter to Fichte [AAll:3O9(Zw67: 187)]: 'My unintentional non-belief is not an intentional un-belief. But you will have a hard time making this compromise attractive to a censor who, it would seem, has made the historical credo into an essential religious duty.' Kant's claim not to be criticizing Christianity as such [see note VIII.4] does not mean he is not criticizing specific misuses of the ideal. Kant makes a similar point earlier, when he says a dogmatic belief in a particular revelation, and the insistence that followers declare their assent to various confessions of faith, all too often have the effect of 'doing violence to [the believer's] conscience' [Kt8:171(159)]. The issues of damnation and sincerity (or 'truthfulness') are further developed in a pair of footnotes at the close of Part Two [189-90(178)].

i VIII. Systemr.c

•;

;

;

235

service lies in a conscientious commitment to identify and carry out one's personal duty, and that the cleric's true task is to foster a church environment wherein all members can freely explore whatever beliefs and actions are most likely to promote this moral end. A visible church that understands its purpose in these terms will be wholly consistent with systemr.m. 4. The Harmony between System,-.c and Systemr.m In the passage quoted at the beginning of this chapter, Kant claims that Kt8 demonstrates a lasting 'harmony' between 'Christianity' and 'the purest moral belief in religion' [Kt65:9]. We have now seen in detail just how far Kant goes in this direction, thanks to his application of the Copernican Perspective to re¬ ligion. The high degree of harmony between Kant's two experiments suggests a possibility we have not yet considered: since Christianity is chosen by Kant 'as the medium for the elucidation of our idea of revealed religion' [Kt8:156 (144)], could there be a direct correspondence between the architectonic form of systemr.m and that of the historical Christian faith, regarded as systemic? Kant's concentric circles metaphor certainly suggests such a similarity of form. As we saw in VII.2-4, systemr.m takes the same twelvefold form as systemt and systemp [cf. Fig. VII.6, above, and KSPl's Figs. VII.4 and VIII. 1]. Although my exposition of Kant's second experiment has not appealed directly to this twelvefold pattern, we can easily review its content with exactly such harmonic correlations in mind. This will confirm the suggestion made in VIII. 1 [s.e. Fig. VIII. 1] that Kant completes his second experiment by constructing 'systemic' (the Christian religious system). Constructing the remaining component in the triad, systemr.s (a philosophically enlightened system of biblical theology), will then be the task of Chapter IX. Systemic has two versions, one illusory and one genuine, with the differ¬ ences becoming apparent, as usual, only in stage four, depending on whether the speculative perspective or the hypothetical perspective is adopted. The following analytic summary of systemic includes both options and should be read with reference to Figures VIII.2-3, though for the purpose of contrast with Figures VII.7-8, these figures show only the illusory ('pseudo-service') version of stage four. This should not be construed to mean that Christian religion is necessarily illusory; this would be quite contrary to Kant's intention. Stage four. The speculative perspective (++) of systemr_c aims to estab¬ lish how salvation is possible, but inadvertently bases its assurance on a false way of serving God (x). Such pseudo-service tends to happen whenever revealed faith (-)—i.e., belief in the Bible as interpreted by theologians and cler¬ ics—is given priority over good life-conduct. This tends to cloud the believer's

236

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

conscience, causing nonmoral, church-prescribed actions to be regarded as the highest demonstration of one's unconditional devotion to God (+), in the hope that salvation will be given despite a lack of good life-conduct. Such devotional activities can be a legitimate part of genuine service to God, but only if they in¬ directly encourage moral action by strengthening a person's good disposition. Direct service of God involves living freely under the dictates of one's own S _.

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Vlll. Systemr.c

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(false) assurance of salvation actions devoted ,-^foi Adam and Eve created good solely to God?r | i>
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Figure VIII.3: The Circle of Christian Religion as Speculative conscience, viewing moral commands from the hypothetical perspective, as divine commands. Only the latter version of stage four harmonizes well with systemr_m; but in the real world both versions typically coexist in the body of religious believers known as the Christian church. Stage three. Systemr_c's empirical perspective (-+) requires a church to be established as the historical context for learning and practicing how to serve God. Historically, this goal was first realized when the Roman Emperor, Constantine, converted to Christianity (x). Before that, individuals were called Christians (+) not on the basis of their membership in a state, but only if they had received the Holy Spirit as a personal guide. The first persons to have this experience were Jesus' original followers (-), who gathered together after his death and resurrection in order to support each other in the task of sharing the news of how they had been given new life (stage two) that saved them from their former state of corruption (stage one). Stage two. The logical perspective (+-) in systemic defines the basic requirement for an individual's membership in the church. Each member must have received the gift of new life (x) through faith in the saving power of Jesus' resurrection. This conversion must be based on a new hope of becoming good (+), as exemplified in Jesus' willingness to suffer and die. Although human reason is not capable of understanding Jesus' true nature, it does require us to believe Jesus was human (so that he can still be an example for us to fol¬ low), and permits us also to believe that he shared God's own disposition (-), as an expression of God's grace. Stage one. The transcendental perspective (--) explains why Jesus had to

238

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

come (and human beings had to be saved) in the first place. Salvation is re¬ quired because, just as in the story of the flood, each person's heart had become corrupted. This unfortunate process began when Adam and Eve were cast out of the garden of Eden, which happened as a consequence of their decision to eat the forbidden fruit (+). They made this decision because of the influence of Satan, disguised as a serpent. Before that, they had been given freedom to eat any of the good fruit in the garden (-), where they had been placed by God immediately after they were created in a state of original goodness. With this summary in mind, let us now return to the point raised near the end of VIII.3.A, that Kant's interpretation of religion has both liberal and con¬ servative aspects. I shall conclude this chapter by examining this dual emphasis in more detail, beginning with Kant's own response to liberal theologians of his day, as expressed in Kt65:44-5: I hear biblical theologians cry out in unison against the very idea of a philosophi¬ cal interpretation of Scripture. Philosophical exegesis, they say, aims primarily at a natural religion, not [at] Christianity. I reply that Christianity is the Idea of a religion, which must as such be based on reason and to this extent natural. But... in so far as the Bible... promotes moral precepts..., we can consider it the vehicle of religion and accept it, from this standpoint, as supernatural revelation. Now only a religion that makes it a principle not to admit supernatural revelation can be called naturalistic. So Christianity is not a naturalistic religion...

, i,,

In saying this, Kant is implicitly criticizing the liberals of his day, who overliberalized Christianity by reducing it to a natural religion (i.e., to an 'ecclesias¬ tical faith without the Bible' [60]); by contrast, Kant's philosophical interpreta¬ tion of the Bible tries to conserve its status as divine revelation by bringing out its symbolic meanings.46 This is because, given Kant's Copernican Perspective on religion, a text can be regarded as divine revelation only to the extent that we determine to read it as divine revelation—that is, to see in it the empirical unfolding of the pure religion that is in us a priori.47 46. McCarthy calls attention to this aspect of Kant's approach when he regards Goethe's reaction to Kant's 'reintroduction of radical evil' as evidence that Kant's position is itself 'radical' in a 'conservative sense' [Mc86:103]. 47. See e.g., Kt65:68. Thus Kant asks: 'is the teaching from God because it is in the Bible, or is it in the Bible because it is from God?' He answers: 'only the second proposition is acceptable' [65n]. Interpreting Kant's God as 'a construal of unaided reason' [Vo88:180], Vossenkuhl claims 'Kant rejects religion that is founded on supernatural revelation.' But as we have seen, Kant is not so explicit. Rather, he suspends belief in revelation, and he does so for an ultimately constructive purpose: rational religion should complement a belief in revealed religion. Mistaking Kant's defi¬ nition of religion for a reductionistic principle, Vossenkuhl thinks [182] it implies 'divine revela¬ tion has no point.' But we have seen this to be quite false. At the very least, Kant allows revelation to awaken reason to its own true potential. Vossenkuhl refers to texts such as Kt8:142(133) in defense of his further claim that Kant makes 'practical reason itself... an instance of revelation' [Vo88:188]. What he overlooks is that this means Kant does not deny all revelation. Rather, Kant's strategy is to explain how it works: a genuinely religious revelation must be internally legislated.

VIII. Systemr.c

•

'

239

Kant therefore calls 'the Biblical theologian' to 'be at one with the philoso¬ pher': each should respect the other as working towards a common goal, though the two Perspectives should not be carelessly mixed [Kt8:10(10)]. Thus Kant defends philosophical interpretation again in Kt8:83-4(78): An attempt such as the present... to discover in Scripture that sense which harmo¬ nizes with the most holy teachings of reason is not only allowable but must be deemed a duty. And we can remind ourselves of what the wise Teacher said to His disciples regarding someone who went his own way, by which, however, he was bound eventually to arrive at the same goal: 'Forbid him not; for he that is not against us is for us' [cf. Mark 9:39-49].

By calling the teachings of reason 'most holy' and the Teacher who first pro¬ moted them 'wise', Kant is not being disrespectful, but is merely drawing attention to the common objective of wisdom and holiness, of reason and religion, which is to live a life well-pleasing to God. Kant's hope is that the theologian will recognize this common goal, and hence 'feel honored' by the philosopher's corroboration [Kt65:45]. What is rarely acknowledged in treatments of Kant's philosophy of reli¬ gion is that he never intended to criticize or impose strenuous limitations upon the truly devout and sincerely religious person. In light of its synthetic, empirical role in Kant's overall System of Perspectives, we can now see that systemr (in both its pure and its historical aspects) should ultimately serve as an encouragement to such a person, since its main purpose is to analyze just what takes place in the experience of a truly religious individual. The criticism is rather directed against those whom Kant believes do impose severe limitations on common religious persons, and who, in so doing, actually deter their progress. His target is not Christ but the Pharisees, not St. Francis but St. Thomas,48 not the layman but the cleric, not the theology student but the theologian who seeks to indoctrinate. If we characterize those who force religious people into an unhealthy mold by discouraging them from thinking for themselves as either 'conserving conservatives' or 'liberalizing liberals', then Kant's alternative is both a 'liberalizing conservatism' and a 'conserving liberalism'—a revolution directly analogous to the replacement of empirical So it is obviously incorrect to say [190] 'I cannot know anything through revelation according to Kant's own standards of autonomous moral knowledge.' We surely can acquire moral knowledge by revelation, as long as it is legislated internally, not as a merely external statute. Even worse is the claim: 'Autonomy obliges us to reject any revealed belief as heteronomous.' Only a belief based on a supposedly objective revelation would be heteronomous. Yet another mix-up comes in Vo88: 189: 'God (not reason) did not reveal to us, Kant claims, why good and evil exist and how evil can be transformed into good.' Kant's actual view is that reason (not God) fails to reveal such myster¬ ies; it merely shows us the gap, so we know what to look for in an effective revelation. 48. Kroner confirms this when he opines [Kr61:193]: '[Kant's] philosophy was ... in some respects more in line with the gospel than [was] the Aristotelian speculation of Thomas Aquinas.'

240

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

idealism and transcendental realism with empirical realism and transcendental idealism in systemt [see KSP1, notes VI. 12,15]. Kant's conservatism is liberalizing because itfreesconservative Christians from the tendency to enclose God in a box defined by some theoretical formula; yet it does so without requiring that the doctrines that constitute orthodox Christianity be abandoned or even modified. Only one's way of looking at them (i.e., one's perspective) needs to change. Likewise, his liberalism is conserving in the sense that it preserves for the liberal theologian a living faith in spite of the liberal's tendency to deny its reality by over-dependence on the methods of historical/critical scholarship; yet, again, it does so without re¬ quiring that the methods on which liberal Christianity depends be abandoned or even modified. Once again, Kant requires only a change of perspective. The prime targets of Kant's criticism of what could be called 'conserving conservatism' are the clergy who tend to 'complain about irreligion, which they themselves have caused' [Kt65:80]. They cause it by dogmatically insisting on the necessity and sufficiency of the ecclesiastical shell of faith, which inevitably crushes the pearl of pure religion in the laity. What Kant says in Kt32:359 about certain Europeans who took slaves could well be taken as expressing the hypocrisy towards which all conserving conservatism tends: 'while they drink injustice like water, they regard themselves as the elect in point of orthodoxy.' Kant's regulative use of theoretical dogmas offers to the conservative liberation from the unhealthy situation caused by erroneous speculative certainty, yet without requiring that any cherished beliefs be abandoned (so long as they are regarded only as beliefs). Summarizing this balanced alternative, he says: In general, if we limited our judgment to regulative principles, which content themselves with their own possible application to the moral life, instead of aiming at constitutive principles of a knowledge of supersensible objects, insight into which, after all, is forever impossible to us, human wisdom would be better off in a great many ways, and there would be no breeding of a presumptive knowledge of that about which, in the last analysis, we know nothing at all—a groundless sophistry that glitters indeed for a time but only, as in the end becomes apparent, to the detriment of morality. [Kt8:71n(65n)]

This would liberate the conservative from the religion-killing tendency to insist on one and only one answer to every theoretical question, yet without requiring the abandonment of any orthodox beliefs. Webb's account of Kant's sugges¬ tion as to how best to avoid hypocrisy in our treatment of a doctrine that pre¬ cludes theoretical certainty is that 'we should neither profess our faith in it, nor reject it as certainly false' [We26:159]. This may have been Kant's personal

:

VIII. Systemic

241

habit,49 but his official stance does not deny the legitimacy of professing faith (as long as it does not obtrude on others [Kt65:9]), but only of claiming knowl¬ edge. To 'refrain from judging dogmatically' [Kt35:(85)] simply means our acceptance or rejection of such doctrines is a matter of faith. The liberalizing conservatism of Kt8 can in this way be regarded as another example of Kant's Critical attempt 'to deny knowledge in order to make room for faith' [Ktl:xxx]. The prime targets of Kant's criticism of what could be called 'liberalizing liberalism' are the biblical scholars who, as a result of viewing Scripture from the theoretical standpoint, tend to reject the whole notion of divine revelation. The danger is not so much in treating the Bible as a product of human creativ¬ ity, but in letting undue attention to its human origins obscure its pure religious message. The biblical theologian who does this 'mistakes the husk of religion for religion itself [Kt65:45]. When this happens, liberals may be tempted to liberate themselves from morality as well, especially if they formerly depended on Scripture alone, without considering its relation to the moral law, as the motivation for conserving a moral outlook. By contrast, a careful distinction between the Perspectives of the philosopher and the theologian [see 23-4] can actually enable a person to be both a liberal scholar and a conservative Christian at the same time without compromising one's integrity. Thus Kant explains in Kt38:38 how a clergyman is obliged to make his sermon... conform to the symbol of the church ... But as a scholar he has complete freedom, even the calling, to communicate to the public all his carefully tested and well-meaning thoughts on that which is erroneous in the symbol... In doing this there is nothing that could be laid as a burden on his conscience.... He thus extracts all practical uses for his congregation from statutes to which he himself would not subscribe with full conviction but to the enunciation of which he can very well pledge himself because it is not impos¬ sible that truth lies hidden in them, and, in any case, there is at least nothing in them contradictory to inner religion.

49. This might be inferred from Kant's lack of church attendance [but see note VIII.34], or from various agnostic statements, as when he refers in passing to the 'catechism, which in our youth we perceived to a hair and believed to understand thoroughly, but which, the older and the more considerate we grow, the less we understand' [Kt55:323(91)]. Statements such as this, however, should not be taken to imply a positive rejection of the doctrine in question, but rather a recognition of the proper role of faith: 'In religion the knowledge of God is properly based on faith alone' [Kt35:(86)]. Thus he is able to affirm in Kt8:14(13) that 'the matter [of Kt8] is contained, though in other words, in the most popular children's instruction and sermons, and is easily understood.' His criticism of creeds and catechisms is not so much that they are untrue, as that an improper emphasis on one's certainty of their truth tends to breed insincerity [see 19On(178n)]. Even scholars must admit that there is always the 'possibility of an error which has crept in through their interpretation or through previous classical exegeses' [187(175)]. Thus Kant suggests that before acknowledging assent in such cases one should consider the question: 'Do you really trust yourself to assert the truth of these dogmas in the sight of Him who knows the heart and at the risk of losing all that is valuable and holy to you?' [189(177); cf. Kt65:25].

242

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION

The theologian's suspicion that the philosopher is 'philosophizing away all the teachings that must be considered real revelation and so taken literally' [Kt65: 38] is unfounded, once it is recognized that theoretical knowledge (according to systemt) is never able to settle anything about such matters, except whether or not they are self-contradictory. While it is true that, as Gregor says, Kant upholds in Kt65 'the right of the philosophy faculty to freedom of expression..., at the expense of the clergy and the biblical theologian' [Gm79:xxi], this should not be taken as a denial of their legitimacy; his intention is to put pastors and theologians in their proper place by divesting them of inappropriately utilized power, whose speculative source is unattainable by human beings in the first place. A good example of such an inappropriately speculative source of power is the doctrine of the inerrancy of the Bible. Conserving conservatives regard this in the most literal possible way, as a theoretical safeguard against error of any kind appearing in the text; since God wrote the Bible, using human authors only as agents, even the possibility of error must be denied. Liberalizing liberals, by contrast, simply discard such a notion as a superstitious illusion; regarding the Bible as a collection of works written solely by human authors, they insist the text must be treated no differently than any other historical documents. As we saw in VIII.3.A, Kant's position falls midway between these two: he liberates conser¬ vatives from the fruitless habit of defending the Bible against factual errors or inconsistencies that have no bearing whatsoever on the text's genuinely reli¬ gious message; yet he conserves the unique, God-breathed quality of the text's spiritual meaning, making it (when properly interpreted) infallible for guidance in matters of morality and spiritual growth. This interpretation of Kant's intentions once again confirms the inadequacy of the strict reductionist's view of the supposedly exclusive character of Kant's attitude towards moral religion [see VI. 1-4]. Ward, for example, claims to be expounding Kant's view when he says in Wa72:150-1: 'In so far as they make historical or factual assertions ..., religious doctrines are either superfluous, absurd or even inimical to true morality, since they may lead men to value theo¬ retical beliefs above moral efforts.' Similarly, Webb says 'the historic process itself has 'no philosophical significance' for Kant [We26:149]. While Kant is indeed deeply concerned to prevent theoretical beliefs from overshadowing practical ones, we have seen that he also values history and revealed doctrine as a (philosophically necessary) vehicle for pure religion: naked religion must be clothed if it is to succeed in being universal. Ward describes Kant's position more accurately, therefore, when he makes the more general statement that for Kant 'human history is itself the Divine sacrifice, since it is the incarnation of

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practical reason in phenomenal nature' [Wa72:168]. What Ward fails to see is that this attitude is also apparent in Kant's open-mindedness towards (or at least, toleration of) ecclesiastical faith in general. Thus Kant urges that we ought not to mock at religious doctrines, which are only indirectly contrary to morality [i.e., insofar as they advocate the primacy of theoretical reason]; we ought to respect them; for let the religion [i.e., its ecclesiastical vehicle] be what it may, it is still worthy of our respect as a human discipline. Our conduct should tend not to schism but to unity in religion. [Kt35:(l 12)]

Kant's philosophy of religion, then, can be viewed as an Enlightened apologetic for the Christian religion, directed both to unenlightened believers who too readily accepted the tutelage of church authorities over their own inner religion and to his unbelieving co-workers in the Enlightenment who mistak¬ enly took this movement as one that leads people away from religion.50 One of his central concerns is to discover 'how to set about teaching [Christianity] so that it will really be present in the hearts of man' [Kt65:53]; and his verdict is that a person is justified in being religious not in spite of, but because of the principles laid down by the Critical philosophy. In particular, Kant's doctrine of the primacy of practical reason requires that 'the inner light' of true religion not be hidden 'under a bushel' of merely ecclesiastical faith [Kt8:201(189); see

50. Rossi points out that Kant's view of religion is 'by no means "typical" of... Enlightenment thought' [Ro93:57; s.a. Re88:l], for Kt8 appeals to 'elements' [Ro93:58] typically overlooked by interpreters that 'go counter to its putatively "enlightened" flow.' McCarthy likewise remarks that, with Rousseau, 'Kant may be justly credited with philosophically repelling the Enlightenment assault upon Christianity' [Mc82:192], by using their 'fundamentally positive evaluation of religion, of Christianity in particular' [Mc86:55]. Indeed, Kant's 'revalidation of the Christian church on the part of philosophy ... is self-consciously in contrast to the Enlightenment in general' [88-9]. For example [Mc82:199], 'Kant did not find [revelation] a threat to man's dignity, as the Enlightenment itself often did.' Likewise, 'Kant in part tries to save Jesus from the Aufklarer [i.e., the Enlightenment philosophers]' [199]—though McCarthy thinks he fails in this attempt and was mistaken to treat Christianity so seriously [see notes VIII.5,27]. That Kant's Critical System is primarily aimed at curbing the pretensions the Enlightenment, not at challenging the legitimacy of common, unphilosophical thinking, is ignored by those who assume he is merely furthering the Enlightenment project [e.g., Cr94:118; Mi89:260; Tr89:351]. Despland, however, provides ample evidence that this assumption is illegitimate. He reports on the work of Hermann Schmalenbach [De73:3], who 'established that Kant's personal religiousness is not rooted in the Enlightenment.' Later, he states that Kant's System is clearly 'distinct from the thought of the Enlightenment' [80], and specifies that Kant's 'discussion of radical evil ... amount[s] to a repudiation of his "enlightenment" past' [170]. Towards the end of his book [2534], he concludes that Kant 'sensed the enormous significance of... the Enlightenment, but did not simply board the new wagon.' Green affirms this view: 'If a naive optimism about human nature is a characteristic feature of Enlightenment anthropology, Kant clearly violates its spirit' with his doctrine of radical evil [Gg93:7]. And Loades adds that Kant's account of grace was 'extremely offensive to devotees of an enlightenment for whom theism was entirely redundant' [Lo81:307]. Von Schoenborn mentions a point of historical interest that may be of some significance in explaining why and/or how Kant departed from the mainstream in this way: of the philosophers involved in promoting the Enlightenment, 'everyone but Kant belonged' to 'the Masonic commu¬ nity' [Vo91:106; s.a. 103].

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Matt. 5:15]. (We shall examine in X.4 to what extent Kant himself lived out this religious impulse.) Perhaps we can blame, with Webb, 'the dryness of the presentation' in Kt8 for the failure of most interpreters to grasp 'the depth and earnestness of [Kant's] moral sentiment, inspired by which he teaches us that there is no getting around God, as it were, whether by knowledge or by ceremonial.'51 Whatever reason others have had for neglecting Kant's true aim, we must now recognize that he is highly Critical of those who regard Enlight¬ enment as a means of smothering the religious impulse in the depths of the human heart. Rather, the torch of Enlightenment should kindle a fire in one's heart as well as a light in one's mind [see Kt8:179(167)]. Thus we can agree wholeheartedly with Paton when he says: No doubt the moral and religious thought of different ages (including our own) tends to be cluttered up with a lot of extraneous and accidental nonsense; but it is the mark of a great thinker to set aside the nonsense, to get at the core of truth un¬ derneath... This is what Kant attempted to do [Pa67:197].

Kant's approach to religion not only provides a much-needed alternative to the extremes of liberalism and conservatism, but, by authenticating the status of Christianity as the true universal religion, paves the way for a balanced attitude towards evangelism. Thus Kant says in a section of Kt8 entitled 'the Christian religion as a natural religion': 'This religion possesses the prime essential of the true church, namely, the qualification for universality ... To spread i t . . . as a world religion..., there is needed, no doubt, a body of servants... of the invis¬ ible church, but not officials..., in other words, teachers but not dignitaries' [Kt8:157(145)]. Some critics assume Kant is referring here to the spread of his own interpretation of moral religion. Thus Klinke quotes Jachmann's report of how theologians who attended Kant's lectures on philosophical theology went out and 'spread the bright light of intelligent religious belief over the whole of his fatherland' [K152:35]. But I doubt that spreading a philosophical system is quite what Kant had in mind. The Critical evangelist works not by persuading unbelievers about doctri¬ nal truths that concern only ecclesiastical faith, but by living and encouraging others to live a life of devout service to the God of pure religion. The form of ecclesiastical faith adopted by the 'converts' of such an evangelist must be of less concern to the evangelist than the fact that a conversion, a true change of heart, has taken place and is beginning to work itself out in the form of good 5 1 . We26:115. As Moltmann [Mo74:38] aptly notes: 'In practicing the iconoclasm of the Second Commandment, Christian belief and critical Enlightenment share a common cause.' But his de¬ scription of 'Enlightenment' as 'the transition from particular Church beliefs to universal belief in reason' [29], does not apply as unreservedly to Kant as Moltmann claims; for the limits Kant places on reason are intended to call into question his Age's uncritical trust in reason.

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life-conduct.52 Kant's own opinion is that 'of all the public religions which have ever existed, the Christian alone is moral' [Kt8:51-2(47)], so most con¬ verts should be able to find an ecclesiastical version of Christianity that can serve as a suitable vehicle. Indeed, 'the seed of the true religious faith... is now being publicly sown in Christendom' [131(122)], so this true form of Chris¬ tianity 'is directly valid for all men, the final revelation by which we must henceforth abide' [Kt65:49]. (Moreover, it 'has the merit of being compatible with the philosophy and all the wisdom of the ancients' [Kt68:953].) Perhaps we would not be going too far, therefore, to conclude that Kant's Critical religion is not only still relevant to both the scholar and the layperson, but also that it can be adopted as a reliable guidepost for the promotion of true Christianity as we enter the third millennium of the 'Christian era'.

52. Thus Kant's theory also provides a philosophical basis for ecumenism. It allows for 'different church sects, but not different religious sects' [see notes VIII.11-12] as long as the former agree on the centrality of promoting pure religion: 'Enlightened Catholics and Protestants, while still holding to their own dogmas, could thus look upon each other as brothers in the faith, while expecting and striving toward this [common religious] end' [Kt65:52; s.a. 61; cf. Kt8:109(100),173n(161n)]. Passages such as this cast considerable doubt on claims such as Crichlow's [Cr96:99], that 'most of [Kant's] anger was aimed at Catholicism.' Indeed, Luther had already taken care of critiquing unreformed Catholicism. Kant seems rather more intent on doing to Luther and Protestantism what Luther had already done to Erasmus and Catholicism [see AIX.l]. Or as Troeltsch puts it, 'Kant did for philosophy what Luther did for religion' [q.i. Ch92:481]. Kant conveys his views on the value of comparing ecclesiastical sects in Kt8:175n (163n): 'All deserve the same respect so far as their forms are the attempts of poor mortals to render perceptible to the senses the kingdom of God on earth, but also the same blame when they take the form of the representation of this idea (in a visible church) to be the thing itself.' This principle can be applied in the same way to the relationship between Jews and Christians [see notes VIII. 12, 29,30], or to any other world religions. Green has shown how this can be done in Gr78:125-246.

Chapter IX A Kantian System of Biblical Theology ... the sciences derive pure benefit from separation, so far as each first consti¬ tutes a whole by itself; and not until they are so constituted should the attempt be made to survey them in combination. Let the Biblical theologian, then, be at one with the philosopher, or let him believe himself to refute him, if only he hears him. [Kt8:10(10)]

'

1. The Biblical Theology of a Kantian Christian Immanuel Kant was not a biblical theologian. To portray him as such would be quite inappropriate. Throughout his many theological reflections he remains a philosopher through and through. Nevertheless, from the fact that Kant himself was not inclined to engage in biblical theology, it does not follow that a Kantian biblical theology cannot be constructed. Indeed, doing so seems quite feasible, in light of the fact that Kant explicitly acknowledges the potential compatibility between his philosophy of religion and a properly circumspect biblical theology [see Kt8:10(10), q.a.]. Such a project could, in fact, provide a much-needed 'pillar' to stand alongside the abstractions of systemr.m in order to support the living faith of orthodox Christian theologians—thus enabling Christians and Kantians to see eye to eye in hopes of becoming 'at one'. Just as Chapters VII-IX of KSP1 reflected the synthetic relationship between the three Critiques (with Kt7 serving as the bridge spanning the gulf between Ktl and Kt4), so also this chapter can be regarded as an attempt to fill in the missing link between systemr_m and systemic—establishing a sturdier theological partnership between the philosopher and the Christian than Kant himself was ever able (or inclined) to build. In Chapter VII we examined Kant's theology from the purely philosophical standpoint of his first 'experiment'. In Chapter VIII we then modulated to the second experiment, examining his theory of Christianity as the universal religion. The remaining task here in Part Three is therefore to determine how far a Kantian Christian (such as I purport to be) can go in constructing an enlightened biblical theology that is consistent with both of these standpoints, as depicted in Figure IX. 1. If successful, such a theology should provide an adequate basis both for ordinary Christians to come to a new and deeper understanding of their own living faith and for nonChristian philosophers to take a new look at a tradition they may have prematurely rejected as philosophically unsound. One of the first descriptions of Kant I ever heard was one made by a col¬ lege professor for whom I had much respect. After giving a general overview

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Kant's system of religious perspectives (Ch.VII) (for any religion, in general)

Universal (natural & learned) religion (Ch.Vffl) (Christianity as a religious faith)

Enlightened biblical theology (Ch.IX) (for Christian faith in particular)

Figure IX.I: Systemr.m and Systemr.s as the 'Pillars' Supporting the Systemr.c 'Bridge' of Kant's philosophy and its theological implications, he came out with the following bombshell: 'No single philosopher', he proclaimed, 'has done more damage to the Christian religion than Immanuel Kant.' This condemnation embedded itself in my memory like a steel beam being dropped from the clouds into a vat of wet cement. Fortunately, when I actually read Kant for myself several years later, the cement had not yet hardened. The present book, as the second volume of Kant's System of Perspectives, can be regarded as an attempt to extract that beam from the collective consciousness of contemporary philosophy of religion and replace it with an interpretive structure that accords more fully with Kant's own views. With this in mind, the foregoing eight chapters may be regarded to some extent as a refutation of that professor's (quite conventional) claim.1 For in one sense we have now completed our study of Kant's philosophy of religion, having demonstrated that it is far from being the antimetaphysical bombshell it has often been taken to be. However, in another sense, we have not yet fully answered the questions posed in the first paragraph of I.I. This is actually just as it should be. For the ninth step in Kant's architectonic logic (a pattern I am endeavoring to follow in the very outline of this work [see note 1.21]) always requires a shift into the empirical perspective before the topic under consid¬ eration can be regarded as fully explained as a concrete reality in human 1 • My intent to refute his claim was first announced in Pa89.

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experience. Likewise, just as the fourth stage (steps 10-12) in each of Kant's systems always modulates from the empirical to the hypothetical perspective in order to discern the goal or purpose of the reality established in step nine, so also Part Four of this volume will present a detailed examination of many hints Kant provides to the effect that the true aim of organized religion should be to breathe life into the hypothetical goal of making religious experience possible. What, then, has Kant left for the biblical theologian to say? Certainly not as much or in as dogmatic a tone as many biblical theologians in the past have believed their task demands. For the limits established by Kant's System of Perspectives require us to adopt a humble stance that is not always exemplified by biblical theologians who see themselves as expositors of God's revealed Word. With this in mind, I shall begin with a confession. When a new acquain¬ tance asks me whether or not I am a Christian, I sometimes answer 'I hope so' or 'I want to be, in my heart'. Such a response is not an attempt to dodge the question, nor should it be interpreted as a sad sign of the corrupting influence of philosophy on the firmness of my religious convictions.2 Rather, it represents the only kind of reply I believe is consistent with biblical principles: viewing 'Christian' as an ideal type rather than as a word describing member¬ ship in a particular historical faith, I express by such a reply my reluctance to claim to possess any special knowledge of the judgments of God concerning my life's conformity to that ideal.3 If pressed, I explain that I do participate in the activities of a local church and that I believe most of the dogmas Christians are 'supposed' to believe—though often with interpretations that are somewhat unconventional. In light of this confession, I hope it will not seem too presump¬ tuous of me to adopt in this chapter the Perspective of the biblical theologian, even though I am actually more of a philosopher at heart.4 The first point to be made is that the biblical theologian adopts a Perspec¬ tive that is clearly distinct from that of the Critical philosopher. Whereas Kant's Copernican Perspective on religion requires us to regard morality as the core of true religion and worship as an optional 'extra', the Perspective typically adopted by biblical writers assumes exactly the opposite order. This is, in fact, the main reason Kantian philosophy and biblical theology have been regarded 2. Actually, I developed this habit long before I began my formal study of Kant. Like most of the content of this chapter, I drew it from my prior understanding of what the Bible itself demands, and only later came to appreciate the consistency of that demand with Kant's System. 3. That such reluctance is consistent with biblical teaching is suggested by numerous passages, such as: ' "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.'" [Is. 55:8-9; s.a. 1 Sam. 16:7; Matt. 25:31-46; etc.]. 4. Although the nature of my books and articles make me a philosopher de facto, my higher education (one degree in Religious Studies and one in Theology) makes me a theologian de juris.

!

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by so many as irreconcilably opposed. However, once we recognize the perspectival nature of such an opposition, as suggested by Kant's own references to the two sides as neighboring 'province[s]', each with its own distinctive 'economy' [see Kt8:9-11(8-10)], the prospect of reconciling them becomes far more plausible. The key difference here is that the biblical theologian is not concerned with the rational justification of worship (for this is a philosophical issue that requires us to adopt Kant's Copernican Perspective), but with worship as a lived experience (thus assuming what I referred to as the 'Empirical Perspective' in KSP1:II.4—i.e., the 'ordinary', nonscientific way of viewing life adopted by a typical human being). Both are valid, each in its own context and to serve its own distinct purposes. Despite the need for philosophers to regard the speculative options posed in stage four of systemic as illegitimate, biblical theologians are therefore permitted to defend their legit¬ imacy, insofar as we concern ourselves with understanding the role of worship in our religious experience. The direct opposition between the overarching Perspective of the biblical theologian and that of the Critical philosopher does not render them incompatible, but merely calls attention to what Kant regards as a healthy 'conflict' [see VIII. 1] that can serve to keep both philosophers and theologians from adopting unbalanced positions.5 In accordance with the reversal assumed by the Perspective of the biblical theologian, we shall consider the basic elements of a biblical theology in the opposite order we would expect to see from Kant. Whereas systemr.m begins with individual evil and the struggle with good and proceeds from there to the need for a social organization that can provide the context for each person's religious service, the biblical theologian quite rightly begins with worship and fellowship and proceeds from there to the individual's beliefs and practices. With this in mind, I shall organize my exposition around a set of principles derived from two passages commonly regarded as among the most important teachings of Jesus: the twofold 'greatest commandment' (i.e., love God and love your fellow human beings) and the twofold 'great commission' (i.e., make disciples and teach them to obey God's commands). The standard texts for these basic principles of biblical theology are as follows:

5. See Kt65:22-4. In Ha96 Hare likewise tries to show that, although Kt8 consists largely of Kant's attempts to translate Christian doctrines into their equivalents for practical reason, 'Kant does not mean us to conclude that we should believe in the doctrines only in their translated form' [35]. Indeed, Hare is 'convinced that [Kant] continued to believe in the central doctrines he was brought up with' [38]. Yet he concludes that 'Kant's project fails at certain key points' [35]. This conclu¬ sion is due more to Hare's own lack of an adequately perspectival interpretation [see note VIII.4] than to inadequacies in Kant's own position. For a detailed summary of and response to Ha96, see PaOOb.

250

PART THREE: CRITICAL RELIGION The greatest commandment [Matt.22:35-40; s.a. Mk. 12:28-34; Lk. 10:25-8]: One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: 'Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?' Jesus replied: ' "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind." This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: "Love your neighbor as yourself." All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.' The great commission [Matt. 28:16-20]: Then the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had told them to go. When they saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted. Then Jesus came to them and said, 'All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.'

The outline for the next two sections will be based on the four principles that can be derived from these two passages of Scripture, as shown below: love God (individual, practice)

love human beings (communal, practice)

'X

teach/learn obedience (communal, belief)

baptize isciples (individual, belief)

Figure IX.2: Four Cornerstones of Biblical Theology Just as the greatest commandment contains within it a pair of equally important guidelines for Christian practice (to love God and others), so also the great commission sets out two basic focal points for Christian belief (making new converts and teaching them to obey God's word). Figure IX.2 therefore depicts the four resulting 'cornerstones' as a 2LAR, distinguishing each principle as either individual or communal in its focus. In the second and third sections of this chapter (each itself divided into two subsections, as is the case for each chapter in Part Three, both in this volume and in KSP1), we shall proceed counterclockwise around this map. This reversal of the direction we have used for the standard maps outlining Kant's various philosophical systems repre-

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sents the biblical theologian's quite appropriate need to adopt a Perspective that is opposite to the Copernican Perspective. A final word is in order before I begin elaborating the basic elements of a Kantian biblical theology based on this outline. The next two sections, unlike any others in this book, are addressed directly to Christian readers—especially to theologians, pastors, and educated lay leaders—who wish to gain a deeper or clearer understanding of how the Bible itself establishes a distinct Perspec¬ tive that is capable of holding its own even against such a formidable opponent (i.e., partner-in-dialogue) as Kant.6 In particular, IX.2-3 is for those who already regard the Bible as their most fundamental and reliable guide for living, yet find themselves unsure as to whether their biblical faith can be reconciled with a Kantian philosophical stance. I therefore recommend that non-Christian readers either skip now to IX.4, where I return to my normal practice of ad¬ dressing the general philosophical reader, or else read on with the understand¬ ing that by engaging in such voyeurism they run the risk of being converted.7 2. Christian Practice: The Greatest Commandment A. Worship and the Love of God How can we, as practicing Christians, formulate a biblical theology that remains rooted in our tradition (broadly conceived), yet conforms to the austere 6. I hope some day, should God grant me a sufficiently long life, to publish a more thorough and detailed elaboration of biblical theology than the one sketched here in IX.2-3, tentatively under the title: A Philosopher's Commentary on the Bible. Kant accepts the ordinary Christian's view that Christianity is to a large extent a tradition that is founded on a book, the Bible [Kt8:106-7(97-8)]. For this reason, even though many modern liberal theologians treat the Bible as nothing but an ordinary book, to be analyzed with the same tools used to analyze any other historical or literary documents, we can safely treat it as the sole authoritative source for constructing a biblical theology, without needing to worry that such a usage might conflict with Kant's Critical religion. In the next two sections I shall therefore treat the Bible more in the way the ordinary Christian treats it than in the way biblical scholars often treat it. In so doing I recognize that I shall inevitably run into numerous hermeneutical difficulties, most of which cannot be resolved in any definitive way at this point. Exegetical questions, especially those relating to the text's original language, authorship, historical background, authenticity of Jesus' reported words, etc., will not be raised. Such questions, though highly relevant to a proper theological analysis of any given text, are often so complex as to be virtually unmanageable in the context of a Christian's attempt to respond from within the tradition to a philosophical critique. Hence, the biblical text will be taken at 'face value', even though the best way to do this is, admittedly, never a matter of universal agreement among Christians. 7. I intend this comment not facetiously, but in all seriousness. Objections to religious faith are typically based on misconceptions or caricatures of what a particular religion or religious belief is actually like. While the convinced unbeliever will not find it difficult to find confirmations of such objections in most churches, this is no basis for rejecting the validity of an entire tradition. A tradition ought to be accepted or rejected on the basis of its highest exemplars, not on the basis of its worst perversions. Readers who already know that nothing will convince them to believe therefore might as well skip IX.2-3. These sections are intended for those who wish to understand Christianity from within; readers without religious commitments should read them only if they are willing to suspend their unbelief temporarily, hypothetically adopting a Christian Perspective.

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requirements set out by Kant's philosophical System (especially system r . m )? Perhaps the first and most important issue to tackle, before this question can be answered, is the problem of knowledge. Our tradition teaches us to affirm various truth-claims about God as if they constitute items of knowledge, with a level of certainty that justifies us in persuading others to do likewise; Kant claims, by contrast, that no religious truth can ever obtain the kind of objective certainty conveyed by the sciences. I suggest that, instead of immediately giving up all hope of reconciling these two Perspectives, we should first explore to what extent we can follow Kant's recommendations without giving up our core Christian beliefs. In this instance, the minimum requirement for remaining 'Kantian' is to be willing to 'deny knowledge in order to make room for faith' [Ktl:xxx]. With this in mind, let us resist the temptation to begin our theology with knowledge-claims and follow instead the Kantian conviction that practice has primacy over theory. Kant, it seems, would also want us to stipulate that religious knowledge-claims have and can only ever hope to have subjective certainty. Whether or not this is sufficient for Christian belief is a question we shall deal with in IX.3.A. For now let it suffice for us to follow Kant's proposal, innocent enough on the face of it, that we begin with issues relating to practice rather than knowledge. Jesus, in the first of the two passages quoted near the end of IX. 1, unam¬ biguously expresses the core principle for all Christian practice: in our every act and abstention our aim should be to love God. Whereas philosophical theology (at least, in Kant's version) begins with an assessment of the value of theoreti¬ cal arguments for and against God's existence, biblical theology cuts through such intellectual arguments, and focuses immediately on the heart. The fact that Kant does not do this does not make him anti-Christian; it is simply the proper result of the Perspective he adopts—philosophical rather than biblical theology. The question facing us, then, is: can a person consistently accept both the core Kantian agnosticism with respect to the power of theoretical argumentation [see AIV] and the core religious challenge to love God? I believe the answer is yes. An anti-Kantian Christian opponent might argue that loving God presupposes a belief in God's existence, which Kantian agnosticism disallows. But this is not fair to Kant. His negative assessment of the traditional proofs does not disallow belief in God [see IV.1-4]; it only disallows a person's claim to have empirical knowledge (on a level with science) that God exists. A biblical theology that begins with a humble affirmation of our need to love God—rather than with a proud affirmation of the truths contained in an inerrant Bible—need require nothing more than that a person be able to believe in God on the basis of a subjective conviction. And this requirement is not only

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consistent with Kant's philosophical theology; it is explicitly sanctioned therein [see e.g., Ktl:857]. The effect of making love of God the starting-point of one's theology (as Jesus himself apparently did) is to disarm all claims to a theology based on the cold calculations of confident knowledge-claims. Sadly, all too many Christian do begin their theology in the latter way, with dogmatic claims about the propositional revelation contained in the Bible. The problem with this approach is that, whereas it mimics the proof-hungry tendencies of pre-Kantian philosophical theology, it has little if any justification from within the Bible itself. It is, in fact, not a form of biblical theology at all, but a form of philosophical theology that directly conflicts with Kant's. Loving God, by contrast, is a theme that runs like a golden thread throughout the Bible, from beginning to end. As such, it forms the proper basis for a genuinely biblical theology, a basis that nicely complements Kant's philosophical reflections. Whenever we declare our love for another person, we make ourselves vul¬ nerable. To confess love is to risk rejection, to risk being put into an embarrass¬ ing situation, to be made out as the fool. When as Christians we proclaim our love for God, we should not expect the situation to be any different. If a person's love of God could be based on theoretical proofs that God exists, or on any other empirical evidence that justifies a knowledge-claim, then the element of risk that characterizes all love would be removed; a person's relationship with God under such conditions would be something less than pure love. An authentically biblical theology, by contrast, justifies the 'love God' principle by rejecting the tendency to regard it as a dogmatic command [Deut. 6:5], and placing it instead in the context of God's own commitment to love human beings.8 In other words, we should regard the 'love God' com¬ mand as posing a question to each human individual: are you willing to respond to God's love by entering into a relationship! The theological term that best describes the practice of proclaiming our love for God, as a response to God's initial outpouring of love to us, is worship [see e.g., Ex. 34:6-8]. In the Psalms, for example, God's love for us is consis¬ tently cited as a focal point for our worship,9 and our worship is a first indica¬ tion that we love God in response [Ps. 70:4]. Likewise, pur response to Jesus is to be one of love [Jn. 8:42; 16:27] because he is himself both the perfect hu¬ man recipient of God's love [2 Pet. 1:17] and the highest expression of divine love for us.10 As we shall see in IX.2.B, this leads directly to the second half 8. Deut. 7:9,12; s.a. 23:5; 1 Kgs. 8:23; 10:9; 2 Chr. 6:14; 9:8; Neh. 1:5; Joel 2:13; Zeph. 3:17; 1 Jn. 3:1. 9. See Ps. 48:9; 52:8-9; 59:17; 66:20; 69:13; 86:15; 98:3f; 136:1-26; 144:1-2. 10. See Jn. 3:16; 16:27; Rom. 5:8; 8:39; Gal. 2:20; Eph. 2:4-5; 3:17-9; 2 Ths. 2:16; Tit. 3:4-6.

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of the greatest commandment, that we are to let the love God has poured into our hearts through the infilling of the Holy Spirit [Rom. 5:5; 15:30] spill over into our relationships with each other: 'We love [each other] because he first loved us'.11 Jesus' own self-sacrifice, being the ultimate expression of God's love, is therefore an example of how we ought to treat each other [Eph. 5:1-2]. Worship is the true core of a biblical theology that can coexist with and even complement a Kantian philosophical theology. This may sound surprising at first, since Kant himself (i.e., Kant's philosophical theology) treats worship as a mere by-product of genuine rational religion. What is crucial to recall here is that, by treating it in this way, Kant is not at all intending to portray worship as essentially anti-religious. Whereas it is not to be regarded as an essential feature of our thought about (our rational conception of) God and religion, because of how easily an exclusive attention to worship can eclipse the moral outworking of the religious life, Kant does allow that it can have a very impor¬ tant enhancing effect on other, indispensable elements of rational religion. All the biblical theologian need add to this, in order to make it acceptable for Christians, is that what is an optional extra from the philosophical Perspective is the essential starting point from the biblical Perspective. This conflict need not be regarded as a contradiction that demands an exclusive choice; it can in¬ stead be regarded as a creative opposition, one wherein each side simultaneous¬ ly enhances the other side's desirability while protecting the religious person from going astray. Kant's tendency to downplay the role of worship and to warn against the possibility of it standing in the way of truly rational religious practice (i.e., good life-conduct) is directed towards a misuse of worship—worship taken as in itself well-pleasing to God. The Bible itself rejects this kind of over-emphasis on a perverted form of worship, based as it is on the notion that people can please God merely by uttering words of praise and adoration.12 Genuine wor¬ ship is a posture to be adopted throughout every moment of one's life, not just as a formal part of a 'worship service'—though church meetings should rightly begin with and be acts of worship. By taking into consideration the Bible's many admonitions regarding the dangers of false worship [see note IX. 12], 11. 1 Jn. 4:19; s.a. 4:7-5:3 and 1 Ths. 4:9; 1 Pet. 2:17. 12. The most obvious passage is Isaiah 29:13, later quoted by Jesus [Matt. 15:7-9; Mk. 7:6-8]. A similar caution regarding nonverbal worship (i.e., sacrificial offerings) comes in Hosea 6:6, which Jesus quotes on more than one occasion [see Matt. 9:13 and 12:7]. Numerous other passages also warn against various misuses of worship [see e.g., Col. 2:16-23 and Heb. 10:1-2]. The tradition that portrays Satan as having originally been the worship leader in heaven (based on a symbolic interpretation of passages such as Ez. 26:13) is not without significance here. For false worship or a false dependence on worship—paying lip service to God without actually doing God's will [see e.g., Matt. 21:28-31]—is the pseudo-religious fruit, if not the root, of all evil.

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theologians can promote a view of worship that will be less susceptible to misuse, while at the same time being fully compatible with Kant's conception of what constitutes genuine religious practice. Appendix VIII demonstrates how Kant's position leaves plenty of room for such a biblical theology of worship, by examining in detail Kant's philosophy of prayer—something most interpreters either ignore or grossly misinterpret. Putting worship and love of God at the center of our biblical theology raises a potential incompatibility between Kant and Christianity. Whereas Kant insists '[tjhere are no special duties to God',13 Christians tend to regard the greatest commandment and the great commission as among the most important of many biblical commands that define specific duties to God. The key to resolving this difficulty is to recognize that love cannot literally be commanded. To 'love' another merely out of duty, as an obedient response to being told that we must love, would not really be loving at all. 'Loving' God is a farce if we view it as a duty that must be fulfilled; genuine love is a freely chosen response of the heart to the love God has first demonstrated to us. The latter is an invita¬ tion to join in a committed relationship, not a command that must be obeyed. Our acceptance or rejection of the offer has nothing to do with our degree of moral goodness or badness; for devotion is not a moral issue, but a personal one—a desire to be with God. Jesus' response to the lawyer in Matthew 22 is therefore essentially (perhaps intentionally) paradoxical: the 'greatest command¬ ment' is the genuinely ultimate 'command' that cannot actually be commanded. This insight raises yet another potential difficulty for the Kantian Christian. I began this section by claiming a biblical theology that begins with love is thereby consistent with Kant's advice to give primacy to the practical over the theoretical. But if loving God is not to be regarded as a duty to God, or a moral command to be obeyed, then in what sense can we call this 'practical', given the fact that Kant associates this term directly with morality? As Christians, we can respond to this by pointing out that the Bible portrays love as intimately bound up with obedience to the moral laws God does command.14 Kant's philosophical theology shares a significant common emphasis with the Bible in this respect: both are acutely aware of the danger of performing nonmoral actions as an excuse for not fulfilling one's legitimate human duties. Just as 13. Kt8:154n(142n). Having no duties to God does not mean we can simply ignore God. Rather, it means the attention we give God must not be based on an attempt to 'repay' our debt [Re84:51]: 'Our relationship with God cannot be squared away, like a social obligation waiting to be satisfied.' In Kt6:486-91 Kant clarifies that religious duties to God (if any) lie beyond the bounds of reason. 14. Perhaps the most straightforward example comes in John 14:15, where Jesus says: 'If you love me, you will obey what I command.' See also Deut. 10:12; 11:1,13,22; 13:3-4; 19:9; 30:6,8,16; Josh. 22:5; Neh. 1:5; 9:32; Dan. 9:4; Hos. 12:6; Jn. 21:15-7; 2 Cor. 13:11; 1 Jn. 3:10; 5:3.

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Kant rejects the religious value of any nonmoral actions that fail to promote the moral core of rational religion [see VII.3.B and VIII.3.B], so also biblical writers condemn those who worship or profess to love God but do not govern justly, care about social problems, love other human beings, etc.15 Jesus' point in saying all other commands (duties) 'hinge' on the ultimate principle of love is that legalistic obedience, without love, is of no religious value. This seems quite compatible with Kant's conviction [see VI.4] that morality must be raised to the religious level (i.e., duties must be 'hinged' to an awareness of God) in order for our good life-conduct to be of any ultimate significance. The difference between Kantian and Christian theology at this point is merely one of emphasis. For Kant, concerned as he is with the rational justification of religion, the love of God as expressed in the performance of nonmoral actions directed towards God is strictly optional: it can be justified only if it promotes moral obedience. For biblical Christians, concerned as we are with living the life of religion, a genuine love of God is indispensable, while a rational justification of our faith is strictly optional. The common denominator here is that both Perspectives agree that a genuinely religious person must seek to obey the moral law, but that such obedience on its own is not self-sufficient. Kant writes little about love because his focus is properly on the rational, not on the mysterious. But he never denies that mystery has a legitimate role to play in human life, including religion. If there were a text in Kant's writings saying something like 'love of God is a farce and always does damage to a genuine religion' or a biblical text saying something like 'God has rejected you because you have not sung his praises loudly enough, read his Scripture thoroughly enough, or attended church regularly enough', then the task of this chapter would have to be given up as hopeless. But we find no such extreme claims in either case.16 Instead, both affirm the primacy of the practical for the religious believer, but from two different Perspectives: Kant as a rational requirement of the moral law; the Bible as a demonstration of our love of God. I see no reason for regarding these as mutually exclusive alternatives

15. See e.g., Ez. 33:12-6,31; Am. 5:21-4; Mic. 6:6-8; Matt. 25:31-46; and 1 Jn. 4:7-21. 16. Admittedly, the Bible's innumerable exhortations to worship God do typically promise blessings to those who comply and warn that those who worship false gods will be punished [see e.g., Deut. 8:19; 11:16; 30:17-8; 1 Kgs. 9:6-7]. However, whenever a reason is given for such punishments, it is always that evil practices result from false worship [e.g., Ex. 23:24,33; 34:14-6], including such moral atrocities as child sacrifice [Deut. 12:31]. Worship is encouraged because it leads directly to good life-conduct: the first commandment leads to the other nine. Thus, for example, Jehu is praised in 2 Kings 10:27-31 for putting a stop to Baal worship, yet he is still punished because he does not turn away from the sins that had arisen out of that worship. This illustrates the point I wish to make here: that we must interpret the Bible's exhortations to worship in light of its clear (Kantian!) warnings against regarding mere worship as pleasing to God.

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rather than complementary Perspectives. To place the practice of worship and prayer [see AVTfl] at the very center of our biblical theology does not require us, I believe, to deny Kant's claim that they are rationally peripheral. Rather, it simply requires us to recognize that Kant is adopting the philosopher's reflective Perspective in order to analyze and explain the purpose for being religious, whereas biblical writers expect us to adopt the believer's existential Perspective in order to learn how to be religious. To treat both of these Perspectives as legitimate does require some tolerance for paradox. Logically, we would expect worship either to be the center of true religion, or to be peripheral. Yet Christians know from experience that the power to become a better person comes as a gift—a gift of grace that can be received only by those who are willing to open up a spiritual channel to hear God's loving voice. So philosophically, Kant is right: prayer and worship can be destructive to true religion if used as an excuse to avoid one's responsibility for self-improvement, morality being the rational 'core' (or end) towards the realization of which such meditative disciplines ought to aim. Yet existentially, Christians are right: prayer and worship are essential elements in the central core of true religion, because without engaging in such spiritual disciplines, the voice of God cannot be heard (or at least, heard clearly) by the moral agent. By recognizing both of these Perspectives as valid, the Kantian Christian can treat spirituality and moral goodness as the two points that together form the central foci of true religion. This admittedly 'irrational' (or supra-rational) supplement to Kant's sys¬ tem of religion provides a means of solving what is potentially one of the most difficult problems for Kant's moral theory (and so also, for his philosophy of religion). Kant's practical system assumes we all have direct awareness of the moral law. Yet this 'fact' would be denied by many people nowadays, espe¬ cially nonreligious individuals. Many, if not most people simply do not have a clear sense of what their conscience is telling them when facing real moral choices. The reason for this, a Kantian Christian can respond, is that most people (even many religious believers) do not treat prayer and worship serious¬ ly enough to allow it to open up the channel of communication that makes possible a clear apprehension of the moral law. Kant sometimes writes as if thinking rationally is all that is needed in order to apprehend the moral law. But for most people, something more is needed. Kant does not seem to appreciate fully how much his early training in religious disciplines [see X.4] influenced his subsequent ability to have such easy access to this part of his rational capacity. The point is that people without a clear apprehension of the moral law need to put spiritual disciplines such as prayer and worship at the center of their

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religious life, so biblical theology properly begins at this point. The above considerations provide ample justification for concluding that, although a biblical theology (systemr.s) centered on worship (loving God) takes a starting point virtually opposite to Kant's version of systemr.m, the two are nevertheless highly complementary. In terms of the Copernican revolution we can, in fact, see these two Perspectives on theology as mutually solving various problems for each other that could otherwise prove to be insurmountable. We can now begin to see that, far from doing away with all biblical theology, systemr.m serves as its philosophical foundation, much as transcendental idealism serves as the philosophical foundation for empirical realism in systemt. With this in mind, let us therefore proceed to examine the compatibility between a Kantian outlook and the second aspect of Jesus' core theology. B. Fellowship and the Love of Human Beings Luke's version of the greatest commandment highlights the second half, 'Love your neighbor as yourself [Lk. 10:27] by having the conversation between Jesus and the 'expert in the law' [10:25] continue beyond Jesus' initial reply. When the lawyer asks 'And who is my neighbor?' [10:29], Jesus replies with the parable of the Good Samaritan [10:30-7]. The fact that Jesus chooses a Samaritan as the hero of the parable may suggest that he wishes to portray the 'love God' command not as a legalistic duty but as a free choice. (Samaritans had a different tradition regarding how and where God ought to be worshipped; if loving God were a duty whose performance could be legislated, as the Jews had tried to do, then a Samaritan could not be used as an example of genuine love.) The parable illustrates how one who genuinely loves God will break free from a narrow conception of one's duty to other human beings, to the point of treating an alien as one would normally treat one's neighbor or close friend [cf. Lev. 19:34]. This story provides a model of the self-sacrificial love required by the second basic component of a Kantian biblical theology. Helping others is important not only as a way of putting the 'love your neighbor' command into practice, but also as a way of showing love to God [Heb. 6:10]. When the love of God is in us, it fills us with the desire to 'share our lives' [1 Ths. 2:8], including our material possessions [1 Jn. 3:17], with others. Jesus himself says in John 13:35: '"By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another."' (The same sentiments are related in 1 John 4:7f.) Fellowship, regarded as love for all who genuinely love God (not only those who attend the same visible church), has such a high position in biblical theology because it provides empirical evidence of our love for God. In Christian tradition self-sacrificial love is made possible and demonstrated

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in its ideal form by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. 'This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers' [1 Jn. 3:16]. Worship at its highest is a created being's submission to a transcendent Creator who is mysteriously im¬ manent. Regarded as the Christ, Jesus is the ideal expression of this paradoxi¬ cal union of the creature and the Creator, of immanence and transcendence, of humanity and God. The mystical oneness of all creation in Christ, the Godman, makes him the link between the two parts of the greatest commandment. Kant, of course, was very careful not to include anything in his philosophical theology that could not be verified as universally valid for all rational beings, so he does not speak of Christ in such openly speculative ways. Nevertheless, we would be quite wrong to accuse Kant of being antagonistic towards faith in Christ as the way to a deeper understanding of how love is to be put into prac¬ tice in the church (which properly calls itself the invisible 'body of Christ'). On the contrary, we have already seen ample evidence of his deep respect towards Jesus, both as a teacher and as the embodiment of the archetype of perfect humanity [see VII.2.B and VIII.2.B]. This evidence will be confirmed at the end of this volume [XII.4], where we shall see Kant treating the idea of Christ, the God-man, as the highest principle of transcendental philosophy. For now it will suffice to note that Kant seems to have viewed Jesus not only as a 'wise Teacher' [Kt8:84 (78)], but as the perfect philosopher.17 For in the chapter on the nature of architectonic towards the end of Ktl Kant says [866-7] the genuine, 'cosmic' concept of philosophy (i.e., philosophy as relat¬ ing 'all knowledge to the essential ends of human reason') is 'personified and its archetype represented in the ideal philosopher.' The fact that Kant uses the same term here that he later uses when discussing the nature of Jesus in Book Two of Kt8 (i.e., 'archetype') suggests (albeit, obscurely) that he may be alluding to Jesus. Thus, he goes on to speak of 'the teacher in the ideal' [867], who 'nowhere exists', yet who sets the tasks for all other human intellectual pursuits and 'employs [scholars in other fields] as instruments, to further the essential ends of human reason.' Kant then argues that these ends, being 'the whole vocation of man', are the subject-matter of 'moral philosophy'. When we turn to his writings on moral philosophy, we discover that Kant regards se//-love as the primary threat to moral goodness [Kt4:22,36,73-5,85-6; Kt5:

17. Similarly, McCarthy [Mc86:82n] says 'for Kant Jesus is a superphilosopher rather than a god.' But the 'rather than' here is very misleading. Kant's position is that reason does not justify us in regarding Jesus as God, but it does not prevent us from doing so either. As Kantian Christians we are therefore permitted to view Jesus as both God and the perfect human philosopher, provided we distinguish carefully between the Perspectives appropriate to these two conclusions.

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401n,406-7,422], so his willingness to attribute such a high philosophical stature to Jesus, who both taught and epitomized self-giving love, should come as no surprise. Although Kant does not put much emphasis on love as a moral principle, he does occasionally call attention to the close connection between the categori¬ cal imperative and Jesus' love command.18 For instance, he says this 'kernel of all laws ... presents the moral disposition in its complete perfection,... as an ideal of holiness' or 'an archetype which we should strive to approach' [Kt4: 83]. But it can be viewed in this way only as long as we see it as a command (i.e., as 'practical love') and therefore (because inclinations cannot be com¬ manded) as not requiring 'love to God as inclination (pathological love)'. Insofar as love of God or neighbor is viewed as a sentimental feeling or affec¬ tion, Kant warns, actions based on love—'beautiful' though they may be [82]—lose their moral worth.19 Kant's most extensive treatment of love as a practical principle comes in Kt6, where he defines it in terms of 'benevolence' —i.e., our duty to work towards the happiness of others [393]—and carefully distinguishes it from love as a feeling.20 He draws an interesting analogy 18. SeeKt4:82-6; Kt5:399; Kt6:45O-2. Astudent once told Kant [Be63:x]: 'If Jesus could have heard your lectures on ethics, I think He would have said, "That is what I meant by the love of God."' Likewise, Paton defends Kant as having expressed, at least implicitly, the core meaning of the Christian doc¬ trine of 'agape' love [Pa67:196]: 'Kant is very much nearer to that original doctrine than is com¬ monly supposed.' Elsewhere [57n] Paton paraphrases the view Kant later develops in Kt31:388: 'the nature of love is necessary to make up for the imperfection of human nature and ... without the assistance of this motive we could not in fact count very much on the motive of duty. Perhaps Kant was mellowing with old age.' Perhaps. Or perhaps by 1794 the standpoint he was elaborating had shifted from the practical to the judicial. Thus he views 'love as the free reception of the will of an¬ other person into one's own maxims' [82]. That this definition goes beyond purely moral concerns becomes clear when we contrast it with Kant's earlier definition (from the late 1770s [Kt35:(36)]): 'To love God is to do as He commands with a willing heart.' And 'we love God', he later adds [(97)], 'only for His goodwill towards us.' From the practical standpoint, the important thing about loving God is that it encourages us to do our duty; from the judicial (religious) standpoint, the important thing is that our willing heart makes the experience wonderful. 19. After discussing this passage in Wh90:61-2, White calls Kant's account of love 'frankly silly' [64]. He prefers the (very similar) account in Kt6:450, where Kant interprets neighbor-love as 'the duty to make others' ends my own (provided only that these are not immoral).' In order to distance Christian love from Kant's interpretation in Kt4, White claims that in 1 Corinthians 13 Paul 'is clearly describing love in such terms that it does not lie in Man's power whether he loves or not' [Wh90:66]. But I disagree. Paul's whole aim is to encourage us to do just that, to 'put on love' [Col. 3:14]! White's key point [71] is that 'we have to do what Luther did and dethrone the concept of merit from the centre of our moral thinking.' He obviously thinks Kant failed to do this. Yet Kant specifically refers to the inappropriateness of attaching the concept of merit to moral actions in precisely those passages that warn against a sentimental interpretation of the love command [see Kt4:85,159]. Kant's counter-claim would be that Luther went too far, throwing out the 'baby' of worthiness to receive God's grace with the proverbial 'bathwater' of our inevitable lack of moral merit [cf. AVI.4]. Kant's position, by contrast, strikes a healthy balance: striving to obey the love command does not enable us to earn our way to heaven; but it does make us worthy to receive a divine gift to supplement what we are unable to do ourselves. 20. Kt6:401-2,448-52. WhenKantsays love as afeeling is 'beautiful' [e.g., Kt4:82], he is not speaking

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between the forces of attraction and repulsion in nature and the forces of love and respect in the moral realm.21 But he refers directly to the biblical command only in order to explain the 'as yourself clause: 'This does not mean that I am thereby under obligation to love myself (for this happens unavoidably ...); it means instead that lawgiving reason ... includes the whole species (and so myself as well) in its Idea of humanity' [451]. Only in Kt8 does Kant provide a text-based account of the correlation be¬ tween the biblical teachings on love and his own understanding of the moral law. Having made numerous passing references to the role of love in morality and/or religion22—as when, alluding to the biblical notion that joy is a fruit of love [Gal. 5:22; Phil. 2:2; Phlm. 7], he says 'a love for the good' is a key indi¬ cator of a good disposition and results in 'a joyous frame of mind' [Kt8:24n (19n)]—Kant devotes several pages of Book Four to an interpretation of Matthew's Gospel. When he comes to the love command [160(148)], he inter¬ prets the first part to mean '[p]erform your duty for no motive other than un¬ conditional esteem for duty itself and the second to mean 'further [everyone's] welfare from good-will that is immediate and not derived from motives of selfadvantage.' Earlier he had explained that the religious equivalent of the idea of 'loveof the [moral] law' is the 'article of faith, "God is love'" [146(136)]. Kant justifies this by relating it to the Trinity: God''s fatherly love approves of human facetiously. On the contrary, he is associating this form of love with the judicial standpoint. Thus, as Paton says, Kant believes 'actions which spring from such motives' as love can have 'a certain aesthetic value. It is, he says, very beautiful to do good to men out of love and sympathy' [Pa67:54]. Kant aptly describes this judicial standpoint on love when he contrasts 'human love' with 'sexual love' in Kt35:(163): 'Human love is good will, affection, promoting the happiness of others and finding joy in their happiness.' Later he adds [(192)]: 'Love is good-will from inclina¬ tion.' Insofar as it synthesizes the moral and judicial standpoints, love drives us close to the very heart of Kant's System. Whether love could actually supersede respect for duty as a motive for action is an issue that could give rise to considerable debate between philosophical and biblical theologians [see e.g., IX.3.B]. Kant comes down firmly on the side of respect when he claims that, if nobody ever performed acts of love but everyone was careful always to respect other people's rights, then 'there would be no [man-made] misery in the world' [Kt35:(194-5)]; if, on the other hand, everyone always acted out of love, nobody would care about rights, with the result that inclination would rule over reason 'and men would not trouble to earn but would rely on the charity of their fellows.' A thorough critique of this interesting yet shortsighted conclusion is beyond the scope of this volume, though I plan to include a fuller treatment of Kant's views on love in KSP4. For now, let it suffice to say that Kant has inappropriately conflated 'inclination' and 'feeling'. 2 1 . 'The principle of mutual love admonishes men constantly to come closer to one another; that of the respect they owe one another, to keep themselves at a distance from one another' [Kt6:449]. They can 'exist separately' [447], yet 'they are basically always united by the law into one duty, only in such away that now one duty andnow the other is the subject's principle, with the other joined to it as an accessory.' The same tension applies to our relation to God [488]. As Kant says in Kt31:337-8: 'without respect there is no true love.' (S.a. Ktl6:183-4 on 'love and lovelessness'.) 22. References to self-love are especially frequent in Kt8's Book One [see 26-7(22),30(26),36(31-2), 42(37),45(41),48(44)], for 'self-love ... is the very source of evil' [45(41)]. Love as a positive principle is mentioned and/or discussed at Kt8:6-7n(6-7n),24n(19n),45-6n(41n),60(54),64(58), 65n(58n),94(86),110n(101n),120(110),145-7(136-7),160-l(148),182(170),200(188).

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beings 'so far as they measure up to His holy law'; this moral ideal is realized in the person of the Son, who thereby becomes the recipient of God's love; and God makes this same love available to all human beings through the Holy Spirit, whose presence in the conscience wisely requires each person to agree with 'the condition of that approving love' (i.e., moral goodness). Towards the end of Kt8 Kant further clarifies his position by defining godliness, or 'love of God' as 'the disposition to obedience from one's own free choice and from approval of the law' [182(170)]. A potential problem for anyone who wishes to accept these moral transla¬ tions of the love command (or something like them) while remaining faithful to the Bible's own Perspective is that love is often regarded as an irrational force that cannot be neatly enclosed within the bounds of bare reason. Raising human love to a level above all moral duties/divine commands could therefore have the undesirable result of calling into question the supreme authority of the moral law. If, for example, loving one's neighbor were to involve a person in doing something that breaks the moral law—as Jesus himself was accused of doing [Matt. 12:1-14; Mk. 2:23-3:6; Lk. 6:1-11; Jn. 5:1-18]—then how could a Kantian condone a biblical theology based on such a principle? Before answer¬ ing this question, let's look more carefully at the biblical concept of love. A crucial feature of love, one that helps explain why it deserves a higher position in our biblical theology than the teaching of right doctrine, is that love brings with it understanding, not vice versa. Paul expresses this point most fully in Col. 2:2-4,8: My purpose is that they may be encouraged in heart and united in love, so that they may have the full riches of complete understanding, in order that they may know the mystery of God, namely, Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. I tell you this so that no one may deceive you by finesounding arguments.... See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the basic principles of this world rather than on Christ.

A theology based in this way on love is risky, in that it could be put into prac¬ tice in a way that would directly challenge the authority of the moral law. This possibility is made more likely by those who interpret Paul's emphasis on faith as an utter denial of the value of good works, thus totally rejecting our duty to respect the moral law. Paul himself, however, makes it very clear in other passages [e.g., Rom. 6:1-23; s.a. Js. 2:14-26] that the priority of faith does not negate the Christian's duty to be good, but rather enhances it all the more. A quite different problem is that many Christians have taken such passages in Paul's writings to imply that all philosophy is necessarily harmful and to be

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avoided.23 However, Paul's meaning cannot properly be construed as a rejection of all philosophy, for of all biblical writers, he is surely the most philosophical in his style and cogent in his argumentation. Paul's warnings refer only to deceptive arguments and boastful philosophies. In general, he is rejecting any argument or philosophy that places dogmatic adherence to doc¬ trines and religious traditions above the mystery of 'knowing' God through a loving relationship with Jesus the Christ. Ironically, the very people who refer to such passages as an excuse to ignore philosophy are often themselves guilty of doing what Paul is actually attacking: putting primary emphasis on doctrinal beliefs or conventions and as a result proudly defending their position to the extent that 'quarrels' [1 Cor. 1:10-16; 3:3; 2 Tim. 2:14,24] end up destroying the Christian 'fellowship' that Paul values so highly [1 Cor. 1:9]. Paul's point is not that philosophy—as the iove of wisdom', or even the enjoyment of a good argument (i.e., in the form of humble, truth-seeking dialogue)—is always bad. What is often neglected by those who quote his harsh words against 'man's wisdom' [1 Cor. 1:25], calling into question 'the philosopher of this age' [1:20], is that Paul himself admits in the same passage that, once we begin with the mystery of 'Jesus Christ and him crucified' [2:2], a new wisdom is imparted to us [2:7]: 'a wisdom that has been hidden and that God destined for our glory before time began.' Paul's attack is not against philosophy as such, but against the proud 'boasting' [1:29] that places knowledge above persons. His point is therefore quite compatible with Kant's emphasis on the primacy of practical reason. For Kant and Paul alike, philosophy is harmful only when it proudly oversteps its proper boundaries, but can be exceedingly useful once we recognize that knowing a person is a deeper and more profound human experience than knowing an abstract truth. Paul defends in numerous passages the paradoxical notion that we must come 'to know this love that surpasses knowledge' [Eph. 3:19, e.a.]. At one point he prays 'that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ' [Phil. 1:9-11]. Likewise, he restates Isaiah 64:4 in such a way that it expresses the same insight [1 Cor. 2:9-10]: 'However, as it is written: "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him"—but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit. The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God.' And in his famous hymn to love, Paul beautifully portrays the 23. In addition to the above-quoted passage [Col. 2:2-4,8], Christians who wish to deny the value of taking philosophy seriously commonly cite: 1 Cor. 1:18-30, 2 Tim. 2:23; and Tit. 3:9.

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permanence of love in relation to our limited human knowledge [1 Cor. 13:812], while reminding us that love will lead us to a future situation wherein 'I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.' In each passage, knowledge is treated as a gift given in response to a loving relationship, not as an abstract truth to be grasped by logical argumentation. In the course of discussing the issue of whether or not Christians should eat food sacrificed to idols, Paul says: 'We know that we all possess knowl¬ edge. Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. The man who thinks he knows something does not yet know as he ought to know. But the man who loves God is known by God' [1 Cor. 8:1-3]. Here is perhaps the clearest expression of the Bible's consistent preference for love over knowledge. Although this passage, like some of those quoted above, refers to our love for God rather than to neighborly love, the point being made applies to both types. The reason a theology that begins with theoretical dogmas cannot regard itself as presenting an authentically biblical theology is that in this and numerous other passages the Bible itself warns that a religion based on knowledge-claims rather than on love is bound to result in a lack of neighborly love being manifested, between believers as well as between Christian and non-Christian.24 For as Paul goes on to argue, those who carelessly apply their newfound freedom (freedom from the compulsion to follow nonmoral 'holy laws' in order to please God) without first giving thought to the higher importance of loving their neighbor, stand in danger of 'becoming] a stumbling block to the weak' [1 Cor. 8:9]. And to do this is to neglect what Kant calls our 'duty to others'. All of this raises two questions for the Kantian Christian: Is love properly regarded as a manifestation of practical reason? and Is love indeed religion's primary principle? If love is a feeling, then it should be more closely associated with the judicial standpoint than with the practical. For Kant there is one (and only one) feeling that belongs properly to the practical standpoint: respect for the moral law. With this in mind, an interesting study for the Kantian biblical theologian would be to compare the function of respect in systemp to the function of love in systemr.s [cf. note IX.21]. Just as Kant portrays respect not as itself a duty, but as our primary motivation for obeying the moral law [see Pa86], so also we might regard love not as a moral command, but as the feeling that primarily motivates us to obey God and to be responsible members of the invisible church. Religion belongs properly to the judicial standpoint [see VI.2], so we can accept Kant's moral interpretation of love as benevolence 24. As suggested above [IX.2.A], the same is true about a person's desire to worship or love God: if one's heart is not set on love, then all one's efforts are 'in vain' [Matt. 15:8-9; Mk. 7:6-7].

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(i.e., doing good to others) without denying the equal legitimacy for religion of regarding love as a feeling of tender devotion to God and others. Notwithstanding the parallels between biblical love and Kantian respect, each supporting in its own way the primacy of love over knowledge,25 we must admit that love is one of Kant's weakest points. Though he has deep insight into the dangers of an inordinate self-love, his positive comments on what it means to love one's neighbor are disappointingly meager. Nevertheless, in attempting to come up with a fuller understanding of love, the biblical theolo¬ gian need not reject Kant's minimal notion that neighbor-love involves fulfilling one's duties to others out of respect for the moral law. Here biblical theology once again need not be regarded as contradicting Kant's philosophical theology; rather, it complements it by providing the church with a richer array of guidelines for practicing neighborly love. Likewise, systemr.m complements systemr.s by insuring that love not be applied in an immoral way. This answers the second question raised above, regarding the Kantian Christian's ability to accept the primacy of love: we can fully accept it as such for religion, provided we also accept the primacy of the moral law for morality. Poised in this position, biblical theologians can offer some constructive criticism to Kantian philosophical theologians: Kant's exclusively negative treatment of self-love neglects the psychological-spiritual fact that a moderate degree of self-love can be a healthy sign of personal growth. For the second principle contained in the greatest commandment is not simply that we love others, but that we love them as we love ourselves. Kant fails to distinguish clearly between self-love as a morally corrupt attention to one's own interests and self-love as a morally healthy appreciation for one's own character as a recipient of God's love. Kant does balance our duties to others with a corre¬ sponding set of duties to oneself; but his ever-present concern over the poten¬ tially detrimental effect of our inclinations prevents him from doing justice to the positive side of self-love. To construct a detailed theology of neighborly love would be out of place here. Instead, I shall cite just one more example of how biblical theology and Kantian theology can complement each other in carrying out such a task. Prob¬ ably the single most significant principle of neighborly love is the principle of 25. Perhaps the only fundamental difference between Paul's theology and Kant's on this issue is the type of knowledge they see as emerging from a loving/moral disposition; and this is a difference that can be explained easily enough by their respective emphasis on biblical and philosophical theology. Whereas Paul and other biblical writers see love as giving rise to a mysterious hidden knowledge, Kant's interest would be to pass from practical obedience to open (scientific) knowl¬ edge. Once again, these two Perspectives should be viewed not as mutually exclusive, but as complementing each other in a way that (if well received) can only be of benefit to both sides.

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not setting oneself up as the moral judge of one's neighbor. In AV.2-4 I argue that Jesus' maxim, 'Do not judge, or you too will be judged' [Matt. 7:1], can be regarded as a transcendental condition for the possibility of moral judgment. Without first assuming the former, a person cannot safely apply either Kant's categorical imperative or the 'love God and neighbor' command. Rather than rehearsing that argument here, I shall simply point out that it exemplifies the cooperation of biblical and philosophical theologies at its best. When Paul tells us in Romans 14 that we are to judge ourselves (not others) according to what the Holy Spirit, speaking through our conscience, tells us is right or wrong (not according to the traditions of our society—even the most sacred religious traditions26), he is giving both positive and negative instruction. First, he is encouraging believers to make full use of their freedom in Christ, without allowing others to dictate inappropriately what they should and should not do. The negative side of this is that we should not expect others to believe and act exactly as we believe and act, so those with a more liberal understanding of what freedom allows must not flaunt their freedom in front of those with a stricter (or more 'traditional') understanding of right and wrong. What Kant's philosophical theology can contribute here is a theoretical understanding of how it is possible that an issue as important as morality can be 'left up to the individual' in this way. First, Paul's positive point is obviously consistent with Kant's insistence on the autonomy of the will. In order to be moral, a choice must be genuinely self-determined, not determined by an external statute such as a law (religious or otherwise) written in a book some¬ where. Likewise, Paul's negative point is clearly in line with Kant's principle of respect for persons—i.e., for the autonomy of others. The sad fact is that precious few Christians actually live according to this biblical principle, in spite of the obvious importance it had for both Jesus and Paul. Instead, Christians tend to act as if Paul's words apply only to issues that are not clearly discussed in the Bible. The result is that many Christians do judge others, and all too often they do so with not a small sense of self-righteousness, on the grounds that their judgments are based on 'biblical principles'. The irony is that one such principle teaches us not to use the Bible in this unloving way [see e.g., Rom. 14:10-4]. Using Kantian theology as a complement to biblical theology 26. That in Romans 14 Paul selects as his two examples of morally 'borderline' cases the principles of keeping the Sabbath Day holy and of not eating meat sacrificed to idols is not without signi¬ ficance, for these were two of the most important religious laws in the Jewish tradition of his day. That they are of almost no significance to most Christians nowadays makes them poor illustrations for the point Paul was trying to make, which is that we ought to let each individual decide before God how and to what extent each religious law relates to them. Issues that would be similarly con¬ troversial today might be the ordination of women and homosexual marriage.

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can highlight this important point and support what biblical writers regarded as their core principles with reasons that are independent of the text itself. A proper understanding of this fundamental point in the biblical theology of neighborly love will likewise enable us to avoid a number of misconceptions regarding Kant's moral theory. A good example is the notion some interpreters have that the purpose of systemp is to provide a means for judging the rightness or wrongness of other people's moral choices and actions. A biblical theology of neighborly love can, as is demonstrated in Appendix V, effectively balance this tendency with a proper recognition that the categorical imperative is best used as a tool for increased se/f-awareness, rather than as a tool for telling other people what they should and should not do. Of course, there is much more to loving one's neighbor than simply not judging and not flaunting one's freedom to the detriment of others. My conviction is that in other areas, as diverse as being immersed in the mutual ecstasy of romantic love27 and showing sacrificial compassion to someone unable to return the favor, Kant's philosophical theology can also help us to see more clearly the most viable interpretations of biblical theology available to the serious, thinking Christian. 3. Christian Belief: Preaching and Teaching the Word A. Evangelism and the Gospel of the Kingdom Kant encapsulates the basic insight of his Copernican revolution in philosophy when he exclaims: 'So much depends, when we wish to unite two good things, upon the order in which they are united! True enlightenment lies in this very distinction' [Kt8:179(167)]. We saw in VII.3.B how Kant applies this insight to the distinction between a religious person's direct and indirect service of God. The same insight can now be applied in this chapter to our attempt to construct a biblical theology that is both orthodox and yet compatible with Critical theology and religion. The 'two good things' in this case are the greatest commandment and the great commission—or, in Kantian terms, practical action and theoretical belief. Giving primacy to the former is such a basic premise of Kant's System that we cannot hope to remain Kantian if we construct a biblical theology that starts with theoretical belief (i.e., doctrine).28 27. Green regards Kierkegaard's Either/Or as a 'transcendental deduction' of romantic love [Gr93: 91]. In particular Judge Williams' treatment of 'first love' as 'an absolute awakening, an absolute intuiting' is the development of a Kantian tradition [q.i. 93,95]. Thus, for example, Kierkegaard defends the validity of marriage by pointing out that 'duty is precisely the divine nourishment love needs' [q.i. 100]: 'Because they feel they ought to do so, the lovers know that they can preserve their love.' 28. With this in mind the criticism Wood raises in Wo89 against Kant's conception of moral faith (amounting to the charge that practical faith is immoral because it is not theoretically justifiable) is easily shown to be nothing more than a fundamental rejection of Kant's basic assumptions [see

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This is why our biblical theology began in IX.2 with the greatest command¬ ment and the practical issues arising from it. Kant explicitly condemns any effort to base philosophical theology on theoretical arguments [e.g., Ktl:656; Kt35:(86-7)] or biblical theology on re¬ vealed propositions [e.g., Kt8:164(152)] on the grounds that both are bad for religion. The trend among twentieth century fundamentalists to begin their theology with a declaration of theoretical belief in a divinely inspired Bible, taken as God's inerrant Word, and to build on this foundation an elaborate set of 'right doctrines', therefore stands in direct conflict with Kant's Critical approach.29 If 'biblical' theology is taken in this way to refer primarily to a set of theoretical beliefs derived from the Bible, rather than to the description of a biblical way of life, then it cannot hope to be Kantian. But this does not mean Kant or Kantian biblical theologians must reject revealed theology and prepositional belief altogether. On the contrary, when properly informed by the practical conditions of respect for the law—i.e., love of God and neighbor (via Christ, the God-man)—both the arguments [cf. IV.2-4] and revealed proposi¬ tions [cf. VIII.3.A] can find a proper place in theology. Being Kantian simply requires us to put the great commandment before the great commission. By the same token, a biblical theology that neglects theoretical beliefs alto¬ gether would be as mistaken as one that puts them on an unrealistic pedestal. Just because the great commission, with its dual emphasis on evangelism (preaching the word) and discipleship (teaching the word), does not come first does not mean we can ignore it. Respect for the moral law is no more selfsufficient for Kantian theology than loving God and neighbor is for biblical theology. In both cases, these are necessary starting-points; but if left to their own devices, they will not reach their intended goal. For Kant, this is an effect of radical evil, rendering our autonomous choices imperfect and giving rise to the need for a theoretical belief in divine aid; for the Bible, it is due to our sinful nature, rendering our attempts to obey God hypocritical if they are not based on a loving relationship. AIV.3]. Wood accuses Christians of involving themselves in 'a heteronomous state' whenever they 'take pleasure in believing' that their ability to accept Christian doctrines without any convincing epistemic justification is due to 'God's grace' [431]. He thinks God would not put people in such a morally 'degrading' situation [43 In], but would rather 'produce belief in them autonomously by providing them with clear and rationally convincing evidence for what he wants them to believe.' What Wood fails to consider is that some or even all of this evidence might be moral evidence, not evidence that would provide theoretical proof of God's existence or nature. In the end Wood's emphasis on the primacy of the theoretical amounts to the confession: 'I am not a Kantian!' 29. MacKinnon reports, by contrast, that Kant's categorical imperative taught many British theolo¬ gians in the past century 'the need for the devout to submit their aspirations to judgement at the bar of a common humanity—lest indeed they failed to see the Son of Man in the least of his brethren' [Ma9Oa:361]. Kantian 'evangelism', that is, taught them the value of sacrificial love.

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This point can best be illustrated by examining the harsh words Jesus speaks against the very people who seemed to be most successful at under¬ standing and obeying God's laws [Lk. 11:42]: 'Woe to you Pharisees, because you give God a tenth of your mint, rue and all other kinds of garden herbs, but you neglect justice and the love of God. You should have practiced the latter without leaving the former undone.' Here the point is that purely 'religious' (i.e., nonmoral) practices, performed without being grounded in love of God as expressed through a proper attention to our moral relations with other people (i.e., through 'justice'), is inverted and thus fails to achieve its intended result. In this passage Jesus goes on to chastise 'the experts in the law' [11:46] for *load[ing] people down with burdens they can hardly carry', yet 'not liftfing] one finger to help them.' Moreover, they are condemned for 'tak[ing] away the key to knowledge. You yourselves have not entered, and you have hindered those who were entering.' The problem Jesus is complaining about here is not false belief or even disobedience to God's commands, but an attempt to treat these as self-sufficient, without first using the 'key' of love to open up the door that makes obedience possible and right belief meaningful. The parallel passage in Matthew goes into even more detail. Jesus chastises both 'teachers of the law and Pharisees' for their hypocrisy in both evangelism and teaching [23:13,15]: You shut the kingdom of heaven in men's faces. You yourselves do not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to.... You travel over land and sea to win a single convert, and when he becomes one, you make him twice as much a son of hell as you are.

Although the Pharisees and lawyers appear to be doing good on the surface, they are actually working counter to God's true aims; they do not realize that the knowledge of how to enter God's kingdom comes only after a person makes a commitment to love God and others. By making the simple mistake of believing that an understanding of God's will can be obtained through study, argument, and outward obedience to the 'text', without first committing one's heart to God and others in loving relationship, they end up preaching and teaching a perverted form of religion that actually leads to the opposite of its intended result. With this in mind, let us therefore take a closer look at what proper (love-informed) evangelism and preaching would look like; in IX.3.B we shall then examine teaching and right doctrine in a similar way. Jesus' own method of evangelism (i.e., preaching of the 'good news') had two distinct elements. The first was his active ministry to the needs of the poor, the sick, and the outcast. He would go to anyone who had an unmet need, often people whose trouble had been blamed on their 'sin' or even their parents' sin,

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and meet that need in the name of God's love, often working miracles in the process. Much of this ministry he did without a great deal of public teaching to explain his actions. Indeed, he sometimes even asked those he healed to keep his identity a secret. When he did resort to the second element in his method of evangelism, explicit preaching, he made frequent use of parables and other sayings that tended to be shrouded in mystery and paradox. He used these to awaken his listeners to the presence of God's 'kingdom' among them. I have already examined in considerable detail the implications of a biblical theology of the kingdom, especially for political relationships, in Pa93. At this point it will therefore suffice merely to mention that the kingdom is for Jesus not a dogma or a creed but a spiritual reality that cuts through all earthly power-structures by ministering to each individual from within. It is available to anyone whose heart is open to God's love, regardless of how successful they have been at obeying the religious conventions of the day. For this reason, Jesus used miracles only to meet genuine needs, never merely to show off his power to those 'righteous' ones who required 'proof. In other words, Jesus evangelized by putting into practice the greatest commandment. Having deeply experienced the love of God in his own private worship, he knew how to see others as God saw them and love them as they needed to be loved. To those such as the Pharisees who put obedience to the law above the power of love, such a proclamation of 'good news' was nothing short of blasphemous heresy. The reason paradox and mystery are such important aspects of Jesus' preaching (and so also, of any authentic evangelism) is that they must be ex¬ perienced in order to be understood—and even then, they often surpass our cognitive ability. This point was made most forcefully by Kierkegaard, whose philosophical approach to Christianity depends much more on Kantian princi¬ ples than is often recognized [see Gr89]. Without straying into the details of Kierkegaard's views, we may observe that he fleshes out the Existential Per¬ spective that complements, in many important ways, the Critical Perspective Kant adopted. The latter always focuses on the issue of whether the practical or theoretical standpoint has priority in dealing with any given religious issue. In IX.2.A we already examined a good illustration of how the paradoxes of Christian religious experience can be compatible with Kantian theology. Although Kant relegated prayer and worship, and all otherritualisticpractices, to the sidelines of any true religion, regarding them as acceptable only if they help encourage a moral disposition, we saw that Christians need not disagree with this, provided we remember that in systemr.m Kant's 'practical vs. theoretical' concerns are quite distinct from the existential concerns of the worshipping religious believer. Kant is right to say moral improvement (i.e.,

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making the most of our membership in what he calls the 'kingdom of ends') is central and prayer is peripheral when it comes to the question of reaching the goal of the religious life (i.e., becoming 'well-pleasing to God'). Yet the religious believer who takes Jesus' method of ministry as the supreme example knows that, in the existential sense so aptly portrayed by Kierkegaard, prayer and worship are central to the religious life.10

A biblical theology of preaching and evangelism must focus not only on the presence of God's kingdom in our hearts, but also on the central message of the post-Gospel New Testament: the paradoxical mystery of sacrificial love supremely exemplified by 'Christ crucified' [1 Cor. 1:23-4]—'a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.' This simple message directed to the heart, rather than some elaborate doctrinal edi¬ fice, was the core of all evangelism for the early church, from Peter's first recorded sermon onwards [Acts 2:36; s.a. 1 Cor. 2:2; Gal. 2:20-1; 3:1]. Why? First and foremost it is because Jesus' death and resurrection is the ultimate ex¬ pression of God's love for us: 'We love because he first loved us.'31 Entering into a loving relationship with the risen Christ enables us to fulfill both sides of the greatest commandment at once. In Christ we love both God and man; for just as Jesus tells us that in seeing him we see his heavenly father [Jn. 14:10, 20-1], so also he says that in loving our neighbor we love him [Matt. 25:3130. As should be obvious by now, I see Kant's System as presenting a profoundly Christian basis for a religious way of life. If, however, some readers find themselves unable to accept my arguments and conclusions as legitimate interpretations of Kant (as I believe they are), I would ask that they read my work (throughout this series on Kant's System of Perspectives, but especially here in this chapter) as a means of developing my own views on religion, using Kant's notoriously elastic philosophy as a vehicle. See KSPl:24n for a similar disclaimer. 3 1 . 1 Jn. 4:19. This point is made in so many passages that it would be pointless to attempt to list them all. Perhaps more important is to draw attention to something that is stated or implied in many of these passages and is fully compatible with Kant's theology, yet tends to be neglected by many Bible-thumping Christians. It is that Jesus' perfect, human-divine nature was not something metaphysically unique that was in him from the beginning, making him fundamentally unlike any other human being. Rather, as the language of Hebrews implies over and over, Jesus himself went through a process, much as we must do: Jesus became God's son [1:5], 'he learned obedience' [5:8], he was 'made perfect', and 'became the source of eternal salvation' [5:9; s.a. 7:28], Along the same lines, Acts 2:36 says God 'made this Jesus' into the 'Lord and Christ' by choosing to raise him from the dead [4:10]—something Jesus, as a human being, would have been powerless to do on his own. Thus Jesus is portrayed as the rejected 'stone' that 'has become the capstone' [4:11]. Such passages are compatible with Kant's theology in that they portray Jesus as going through a process of transformation just as we must do—a necessary condition, Kant argues, for treating Jesus as a example to imitate. Significantly, Hebrews uses much the same terminology when des¬ cribing the transformation of those who believe: we no longer need to depend on obedience to the Mosaic law [7:19], because Jesus 'has made perfect forever those who are being made holy' [10:14]; even the heroes of the Jewish faith are 'made perfect' by participating in Jesus' loving sacrifice [11:40; 12:23-4]; together 'we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken' [12:28], a kingdom that is to be characterized first and foremost by 'loving each other as brothers' [13:1].

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46]. Moreover, the same image of crucifixion is also used as a symbol for the believer's duty to conquer his or her 'sinful nature' [Gal. 5:24-5], by dying to the 'world' [6:14]. The fact that Kant does not make 'Christ crucified' the centerpiece of systemr.m does not make the latter incompatible with biblical theology. On the contrary, as long as the biblical theologian agrees that this message ought to encourage believers to make a concerted effort to put aside evil deeds in favor of doing good (as Kantian theology requires), and as long as the Kantian theologian agrees that the notion of God making us perfect as a result of Jesus' self-sacrificial act (as biblical theology requires) is at least not contrary to genuine religious belief, then the two can end up working hand in hand without any irresolvable conflict. Kant's emphasis on the need to keep one's own heart (or 'disposition') in tune with moral goodness does not disallow a person from believing in the Gospel of Christ. And the Bible's emphasis on Jesus' death and resurrection does not prevent a person from insisting (with Kant) that we must 'work out [our] salvation with fear and trembling' [Phil. 2:12]. The key to recognizing the deep congruity between the two Perspectives is the recogni¬ tion that love makes us perfect [1 Jn. 4:18], not vice versa. One of the most common criticisms of Kant's philosophy of religion is that he presents a religion of good works that refuses 'to regard grace as entering constitutively into the moral life' [Wa72:149]. 'His God becomes a cosmic magistrate and policeman who sees to it that the good are given their deserts— an anthropomorphic conception, indeed, of the ultimate end of existence!' [Ha41:150]. Silber assumes this interpretation when he points out 'a genuine antimony' [Si60:cxxxiii] that supposedly arises out of Kant's position: 'In order to make sense of the idea of personal responsibility, Kant argued [in systemp] that freedom is absolute. Yet by holding that man's responsibility is absolute, he condemned man to an insufferable burden of guilt.' The problem, according to Silber, is that divine forgiveness 'is itself a violation of the moral law.' He therefore concludes: 'We cannot ignore the problem of forgiveness nor can we accept Kant's futile resolution of it' [cxxxiv]. If Kant really defends such a one-sided, anthropocentric conception of God, then the antinomy of forgiveness arising out of it is obviously nothing to preach about! But such views are read into the text of Kt8 by those who fail to see the perspectival difference between systemp and systemr [but cf. VI.2]. In the former system, as we saw in IV.4 [s.a. KSP1:VIII.3.B], Kant uses a moral argument for God's existence, whereby we must assume the existence of a loving (and forgiving) God in order to account for the rationality of moral activity. Despite Kant's repeated warning that 'reward... has no place in God's

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justice..., but only in His love and beneficence'32—a claim that can be selfconsistent only if understood in terms of the principle of perspective—critics such as Greene interpret Kant's moral argument as implying the conception of 'God as a "great Paymaster"' [Wo70:166-7] and assume this applies equally to systemr. Wood argues against this misinterpretation [169-70]: Kant does not look upon moral faith as an outlook in which man is to anticipate a great 'future reward'. Rather, trust in God's goodness is described as a reverent submission to God's will. Moral faith does not consist so much of our expectation of future happiness as an acceptance of present sufferings.... [It] does not 'explain away' or erase our suffer¬ ings, but gives us the hope and courage to be content and rationally to pursue a good world in spite of them.

As such, moral faith in divine forgiveness is the rational person's alterna¬ tive to existential despair. It does not violate the moral law as long as it is not used in systemp as a motive for action, and as long as it is not used in systemr as a way of avoiding a change of heart. Thus Kant says in an unpublished reflection [q.i. Bu08:233] that we need religion for encouragement (i.e., systemp needs system,-) because 'Human nature is incapable of an immediate moral purity; but when its purity is worked upon in a supernatural manner, fu¬ ture rewards have no longer the character of motives.' In its proper sense, then, divine forgiveness, as Webb explains, is for Kant 'not a work of grace, for which we have to wait...: it precedes conversion ... So far as the change is, even to the converted man himself, inscrutable, it can be represented, without detriment to morality, as due to the pardoning act of God.'33 This view of for¬ giveness is far from being a 'futile' contradiction that leaves us wallowing in guilt, as Silber supposes [Si60:cxxxiii-cxxxiv]; rather, it frees us to believe what would otherwise be irrational, that our good deeds serve as empirical evidence 32. Kt6:489; s.a. Kt8:161-2(149-50); Kt64:258n(195n). The perspective element in this warning is clearly evident in Kt35:(107): 'But since we know that God is good and benevolent, may we not expect that He will forgive our vices if we pray fervently to Him and implore His forgiveness? No. A benevolent judge is unthinkable. A judge must be just; a ruler can be benevolent.... But in view of man's moral infirmity, is there to be no help for him? Assuredly there is. He can place his hope in a benevolent ruler.' For a fuller discussion of the three standpoints from which Kant believes we can view God's nature, see V.4. 33. We26:114-5. Kant does find a place for an element of passivity in grace, as when he accounts for 'the incomprehensible moral disposition in us' in terms of 'a stimulus to good produced in us by God..., and so, as grace.... And grace can and should become more powerful than sin..., if only we let it act in us' [Kt65:43, e.a.]. However, he is careful to add that such transcendental passivity does not justify empirical passivity: 'we ourselves must work at developing that moral disposition' even though it 'does point to a divine source that reason can never reach...'. The same point is put succinctly in Kt35:(83): 'The divine will is the motive to action, not the ground of it.' Likewise, in Kt8:201(189) he insists that 'piety (a passive respect for the law of God)' must be combined with 'virtue (the application of one's own powers in discharging the duty which one respects)' in order to give rise to 'godliness (true religious disposition)'.

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of a divine gift (a change of heart), so that, even though we cannot achieve theoretical certainty or practical immunity, our burden of guilt is relieved.34 If Kant really does leave room for grace and divine forgiveness in his conception of religion, then this realization overcomes the greatest hurdle that would otherwise prevent the biblical theologian from embracing a Kantian philosophical theology. But is this rather meager space roomy enough to accommodate the robust position supported by most Christian theologians? It is one thing to affirm that some 'inscrutable' divine assistance is needed in order for a religious conversion to take place; but it is quite another to claim that the blood of Jesus Christ, the God-man, effected this divine act of grace once and for all at a particular point in time. Kant is usually interpreted as having little, if any, sympathy with the latter view. A thorough examination of this issue is beyond the scope of the present book, taking us as it does into the quite different area of Kant's approach to the political history of the human race. For now let it suffice for me to report that in a preliminary overview of Kant's treatment of this topic [Pa94b], I have given an affirmative answer. Kant's insistence on the priority of systemp over systemt, with his conse¬ quent refusal to accept anything but moral activity (not even doctrinal belief) as an ameliorating substitute for immorality, is surely an example of the consis¬ tency between Kantian and biblical theologies. The purpose of grace is not to enable people to continue living immorally (see Rom. 3:8), but to compensate on a supernatural scale for the inevitable failings in a life devoted to doing God's will (i.e., amoral life). Kant's 'gospel' (i.e., his doctrine of conversion) therefore typifies his Critical tendency to adopt 'a middle ground' between two extremes (humanity as both good and evil [Kt8:20(16); s.a. 39n(34n)]; salva¬ tion as based on both faith and good life-conduct [see 25n(20n)]), and in so doing confirms again the harmony between the Gospel message (systemr.s) and evangelism based on the purest religion of reason (systemr.m).35

34. Along these lines Webb says in We26:112-3 that 'as regards divine grace, . . . w e . . . cannot take it into account either theoretically or practically.' But he later adds [122]: 'From the empirical point of view the imputation to us of this new humanity is always a matter of grace.' Gibbs's complaint, that '[w]e cannot give ourselves forgiveness' [Gi89:333], misses the point: Kant is not saying we forgive ourselves; he is saying we give ourselves reason for believing we are forgiven! 35. Even without appealing to the principle of perspective, McCarthy observes that 'Kant's under¬ standing [of how 'wayward man' can become good]... occasionally seems to approach traditional Christian church teaching' [Mc86:55]. By taking Kant's principle fully into consideration, we have now come to recognize such 'occasional' tendencies (appearing as they do on nearly every page of Kt8) as a necessary and intentional function of systemr-m's attempt to pave the way for a healthy dialogue between philosophical and biblical theologians.

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B. Doctrine and the Authority of God's Revealed Word «y; The fourth and final principle of a biblical theology that is to be compatible with a Kantian philosophical theology is presented in the great commission as the need to make disciples. This involves teaching others (and, of course, first learning oneself) to hear and obey the word of God. As we have seen, Chris¬ tians who base their theology on the inerrancy of the Bible typically begin rather than end with this principle, treating 'Word of God' as a direct synonym for 'Bible'. Such a theological position, however, is not properly called 'biblical theology', inasmuch as the Bible itself provides little or no justification for pro¬ ceeding in this way. Most of this subsection will be devoted to the defense of four interconnected points that support this claim. First, the Bible never uses the phrase 'word of God' merely as a synonym for Scripture; rather, this phrase typically refers to a direct (spoken and/or heard) communication from God to one or more persons. Second, the Bible positively and repeatedly condemns the tendency many religious people have to focus their devotion on something external (such as a book), rather than on the spiritual reality we find within ourselves (as in a personal relationship, such as love). Third, and contrary to what many Christians assume, the Bible treats the learning of doctrine as less basic than loving God: ignorant but genuine worshippers are regarded more highly than those who know every doctrine but fail to give their hearts to God. Finally, Christian teaching in the ultimate sense is and can only be a form of learning through the inner guidance of the Holy Spirit. Turning now to the first and foremost of these four points, let us examine in more detail the biblical use of the phrase 'word of God'. In the Old Testa¬ ment this phrase occurs most often as a literal reference to words a prophet or some other inspired person believes God has spoken directly to them [e.g., 1 Kgs. 12:22; 1 Chr. 17:3; cf. Lk. 3:2]; as such it is synonymous with the stan¬ dard and far more frequently used phrase, 'word of the Lord', as a reference to prophetic messages. Occasionally, 'word of God' is used metaphorically to refer not to any specific words, but to God's eternal plan for humanity [Prov. 30:5; Is. 40:8]. The New Testament picks up the latter usage, especially in connection with preaching and teaching about that plan [e.g., Lk. 5:1; 8:11; Acts 4:31; 6:2,7; Col. 1:25,28; 1 Ths. 2:13], as fulfilled in Jesus the Christ, the 'living and enduring Word of God' [1 Pet. 1:23; s.a. Jn. 1:1; Rev. 19:13]. The New Testament's most frequent use of the phrase 'word of God' comes in the book of Acts, where it never refers back to the Jewish Scripture or any other written word(s). Instead, it consistently refers to the preached gospel of the kingdom of Jesus, the crucified and risen Christ [see e.g., Acts 8:12-4; 10:48-11:1]. The only New Testament passage that even comes close to

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identifying 'word of God' with the Bible is Matthew 15:6 [s.a. Mk. 7:13], where Jesus uses this phrase to refer to one of the ten commandments. But here Jesus calls it God's 'word' not because of its presence in Scripture, but rather because it is a command of God. The proper response to hearing God's word is always obedience [see e.g., Lk. 11:28]. John 10:35 might appear to be another exception, because 'word of God' and 'Scripture' come so close together. But the former clearly refers to prophecies, whereas the latter refers to the Bible's claim that prophets (those who hear God's word) are themselves 'gods' [cf. Ps. 82:6]—a point Jesus makes to explain how it is possible for him to call himself 'Son of God' without blaspheming. This first point relates directly to the other three. Thus, when Paul wishes to demonstrate the truth of his own preaching and teaching, he associates 'word of God' not with the external Scripture, but with the internal 'conscience' of each individual [2 Cor. 4:2]. Paul's identification of God's word as 'the sword of the Spirit' [Eph. 6:12] seems to be yet further evidence that it refers to personal relationship, not to the words on a printed page. The 'sword' in a Christian's spiritual 'armor', I would maintain, represents a well-sharpened conscience, not a thorough knowledge of Scripture [cf. 2 Tim. 2:15]. As such, the'word of God' is the other side of the coin of prayer [1 Tim. 4:5]. Surely this is confirmed by Hebrews 4:12: 'For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.' The conscience-piercing of God's word can and often does come to a person while reading Scripture, just as reciting liturgy can function as a genuine prayer of the heart. But in such cases the written word is only the vehicle, and is always in danger of hindering true spirituality if its external form becomes too important. Here we should pause to note the obvious compatibility between the way the Bible uses the phrase 'word of God' and the minimum criteria Kant lays down for systemr.m. When 'the word of God lives in [us]', it enables us to 'overcome the evil one' [1 Jn. 2:14]. This necessary connection between hearing God's word and sharpening one's conscience is an excellent example of the kind of necessary connection Kant requires to exist between the 'historical faith' a person chooses and the 'pure religious faith' it should en¬ gender. Christians who wish to follow an authentic biblical theology, rather than what Jesus calls the 'traditions of men',36 must therefore regard the 'word 36. Mk. 7:7-9. This includes any version of what is often called 'Christian tradition'. For, as I have argued in an unpublished conference paper that does not appeal to Kant (entitled 'How Is "Christian Tradition" Logically Possible?'), the only authentically Christian 'tradition' would be one that paradoxically negates the legitimacy of all tradition-bound religion.

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of God'—in a strikingly Kantian fashion—as the morally-awakening presence of Jesus' 'voice' in our conscience. Whereas a so-called 'biblical' theology that treats the words in the Bible as necessarily constituting the one revealed Word of God is not consistent with the stringent requirements of Kant's philosophical theology, a genuinely biblical biblical theology obviously is. This is a crucial difference, for it determines—modulating now to the third point—how Christian discipleship will be carried out. All too often new Chris¬ tians are taught a dry set of doctrines, the first and foremost being that the Bible, as God's inerrant Word, must be regarded more highly than any other earthly object. Scripture reading, along with regular prayer and church atten¬ dance, then become defining factors in what makes a person 'good'. What this view of discipleship tends to ignore is that scriptural texts must be interpreted in order to be understood. A biblical theology that claims to place the Bible in the highest position is therefore actually placing theologians and pastors in positions of highest power and authority, as the Bible's chief interpreters. If they do their job well, God's word (i.e., the deep truth of God's presence living within us) may be successfully communicated to individual believers in this way. But a more effective (because more authentic) biblical theology is one that is grounded, as is the Bible itself, on trust in God's ability to speak the word of truth, through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit in each individual's conscience. A theologian or pastor is, at best, merely a means to this end. What, then, is so attractive about a biblical theology that begins with the Bible, if in fact the Bible itself does not support such a view? The advantage, surely, is that theoretical belief in a divinely revealed text provides a basis of objective certainty for whatever doctrinal edifice can be constructed out of a reliable interpretation of the text. This is an advantage, at least, for anyone who regards objective certainty as superior to a merely subjective certainty. But this raises the question already mentioned in IX.2.A of whether subjective certainty is sufficient for Christian belief. Kant's conviction is that subjective certainty is not only adequate for religious 'knowledge' (because it is no less certain than objective certainty, being grounded in practical rather than theoretical reason), but actually superior, inasmuch as grounding religion on objective certainty would be inappropriate. Objective certainty of religious truths, if it were possible, would transform religion into science, faith into knowledge, hope into entitlement, and (worst of all) love into legalism. Although this is not the place for a thoroughgoing demonstration, I believe the Bible adopts a Kantian (subjective) view of certainty far more consistently than its opposite.37 37. This is the basis of the Bible's call to humility. We are encouraged, to cite but one of myriad

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Jesus implicitly defends a subjectivist interpretation of religious truth when he prefaces his tirade against the Pharisees and teachers of the law, those objectivizers par excellence, with this liberating warning [Matt. 23:8-10]: But you are not to be called 'Rabbi,' for you have only one Master and you are all brothers. And do not call anyone on earth 'father,' for you have one Father, and he is in heaven. Nor are you to be called 'teacher,' for you have one Teacher, the Christ."

The effect of heeding this mandate (as Christians so rarely do) would be to make everyone equal before God, with the Holy Spirit as the common Teacher of all who are willing to be 'learners' together. This (touching on the last of the four points mentioned at the outset of this subsection) would transform the usual division between the 'experts' and the 'unlearned' into a nonhierarchical union of co-workers who see a close connection between learning and doing. Along these lines, the metaphorical contrast between the 'milk' and the 'solid food' of the gospel [1 Cor. 3:2] can be seen in a new, more authentic light: 'milk' is the gospel message as preached in an evangelistic setting (i.e., the initial awareness of the internal presence of God's kingdom, as manifested in Christ Jesus);38 'solid food' is the believer's consequent ability to learn directly from God's word (i.e., from the voice of one's own individual con¬ science, as informed by the Holy Spirit). Paul thus describes the latter's learn¬ ing method as follows: 'The spiritual man makes judgments about all things, but he himself is not subject to any man's judgment' [1 Cor. 2:15]. Likewise in Hebrews, those who still 'need milk, not solid food' [5:12] are the ones who have not yet learned 'the elementary truths of God's word' (i.e., the basic doctrines and practices of Christian faith [6:2]), whereas 'solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil' [5:14]. In other words, the spiritually mature are those who have learned to listen directly to the voice of God speaking through their own conscience. One of the most significant aspects of the Bible's subjectivist view of religious certainty is its view of Scripture as self-negating. That is, the Bible regards itself as divine revelation only insofar as it causes the reader to look away from (or beyond) the pages of the text. I have examined the political implications of this view in Pa93 [s.e. 52-9], so at this point I shall merely add that the core of the Bible's self-negating stance lies in its call to freedom. possible examples, to remember that our ways are not God's ways [Is. 55:8]. Whereas we prefer absolute certainty and knowledge before action, God demands the risk of action before knowledge. 38. That the core of this basic 'milk' teaching is love, as I have argued in IX.2, is suggested by 1 Peter 2:1-2: 'Therefore, rid yourselves of all malice and all deceit, hypocrisy, envy, and slander of every kind. Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk..."—the milk of love being the antithesis of the foregoing unloving sentiments.

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Christian freedom—the radical freedom Christ and Paul proclaim in the New Testament—is a Gospel of release not only from our own inner bondages (the 'laws') that prevent us from developing into the kinds of individuals we are meant to be, but also from the captivating influence of religious and political leaders who seek to control the minds and hearts of those in their field of influence. This Gospel is entirely compatible with Kant's emphasis on the interiority of the moral law in each person's heart as the key to being released from the controlling influences of anything heteronomous (whether it be our own inclinations or the legalism imposed on us by someone else). Whereas being taught doctrine often has the effect of drying up a person's living faith, an approach to learning doctrine that encourages each individual to hear God's word in his or her own conscience will, ironically, be more likely to keep a person's faith alive. This is ironical because Kant is often regarded as a person with no concern for religious experience. Yet, by recognizing the consistency between his approach and a genuine biblical theology, we have come to the surprising realization that Kantian philosophical theology is more apt to assist us in accepting the Bible as a basis for religious experience than as a sourcebook for knowledge of God: Kant makes just such a point in Kt65:59: And so, between orthodoxy which has no soul and mysticism which kills reason, there is the teaching of the Bible, a faith which our reason can develop out of it- • < self. This teaching is the true religious doctrine, based on the criticism of practical reason, that works with divine power on all men's hearts.

As we shall see in Part Four, Kantian theology does not disallow all experience of God (as is often claimed), but merely seeks to find a middle path between doctrine-without-experience (orthodoxy) and experience-without-doctrine (mysticism). That path, Kant here tells us, can be found equally well in genuine biblical teaching (systemr.s) as in the teaching of Critical religion (systemr.m). As pointed out in both IX. 1 and IX.2.A, the Bible is not concerned with the philosophical justification of worship (personal religious experience of God), but rather with promoting the need for people to experience worship in their daily lives. A preacher who focuses on the former issue rather than the latter is actually not 'preaching the word' at all, but doing philosophy. Church¬ goers should be encouraged to learn the benefits of viewing such issues from a genuinely philosophical Perspective, and churches would do well to sponsor such educational programs for their members; but the sermon is not the proper occasion for such teaching on a regular basis. Sermons in general and evangelistic preaching in particular ought to be focused on the heart, encourag¬ ing love of God and neighbor as the first and foremost priority. If this first pri¬ ority is given its proper place, then powerful preaching and reliable teaching

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will be much more likely to follow as a matter of course. This applies just as much to the concerns of Kantian theologians as it does to the concerns of fundamentalist theologians. Whereas fundamentalists are typically concerned with convincing as many people as possible to make a conscious rational deci¬ sion to 'believe in Jesus' and to join in various church activities thereafter, Kant's concern is that preaching and teaching ought to encourage morally up¬ right behavior. A rightly ordered (biblical) teaching of Christian doctrine need not negate either of these concerns, but must paradoxically insist that they are subordinate to a proper emphasis on the mystery of giving one's heart in love. Two of the central features of biblical Christianity that ought to play a prominent role in preaching are mystery and paradox?9 They serve to draw attention away from head-knowledge and towards heart-knowledge. Because of his insistence that religion be rendered rational, Kant's deep respect for paradox and mystery is not always discernible. Nevertheless, systemr.m does have its own share of paradox and mystery: a good person somehow performs evil actions; an evil person somehow becomes good again; the mutually corrupting influence of people on each other somehow becomes a mutually uplifting influence through their joint participation in the church; etc. But when it comes to the deepest and most profound Christian paradoxes, such as a dead man coming back to life, or God becoming embodied in a particular historical personage, Kant treads with extreme caution. His reason kicks in and proposes a moral explanation that enables him to avoid facing the paradox head on. What we must recognize is that such a reaction is quite acceptable for a philosophical theologian, for whom reason is the proper guide. By refusing to deny the pos¬ sibility that both sides of the paradox are true, or that the mystery underlying the paradox contains some profound meaning, Kant's version of systemr.m leaves ample room for a compatible biblical counterpart here in systemr.s. Surely one of the most mysterious and paradoxical doctrines in all of Christian theology is the hypostatic union of God and man in Jesus: the claim that Jesus, being God's word manifested as 'flesh' [Jn. 1:14], became the Christ. I have already explained how Kant's views on this dual nature (i.e., Jesus the man also being Christ the God) can be compatible with an orthodox Christian view [VIII.2.B]. Let us therefore pass here directly to another aspect of the paradox of the biblical Jesus: his bodily resurrection. Kant expresses some reluctance to accept this doctrine as a legitimate part of systemic [see note VIII.32]. But biblical theologians nowadays have an advantage over those who 39. For a more wide-ranging discussion of the role of paradox and mystery in philosophy, see Part Four of PaOOa, especially Lecture 28.

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lived in Kant's time; for contemporary science (as we shall see in great detail in KSP3 [s.a. KSP1.XI]) no longer views nature in the exclusively mechanistic way that was taken for granted in Kant's day. With the advent of quantum physics and non-Euclidean geometries, along with other scientific revolutions, has come a new openness to and respect for the mystery that lies at the heart of the way things are. Biblical theologians can therefore interpret the doctrine of resurrection in a way that does not contravene the most advanced scientific theories. We are in a far better position to defend Paul's claim that in the afterlife God will give us 'spiritual bodies' to replace the physical bodies that inevitably die [1 Cor. 15:44]—a view that renders irrelevant Kant's concerns over the absurdity of carrying around 'a certain lump of matter' to accompany us 'through eternity' [Kt8:128-9n(119n); cf. note VIII.32]. For the spiritual (resurrected) body need not be physical in any ordinary sense of the word. Instead, we might just as well interpret it as an enigmatic manifestation of a higher-dimensional reality [see §34 of Pa97]. Another doctrinal issue that almost inevitably gives rise to paradox is the question of how God dispenses grace: do we choose our own eternal destiny or has God predestined each person to be either saved or condemned? When de¬ bating this issue, theologians typically stress one or the other of two responses found in the Bible: human beings determine their own salvation through their performance or neglect of some religious act (such as the act of believing in Jesus and/or the Gospel message); God is completely sovereign, deciding who will and will not be saved independently of any human act [cf. AVI.4]. That Kant not only encourages, but requires us to believe both should be good news for biblical theologians, because the Bible itself also affirms both extremes.40 The temptation in the face of such paradoxes is always to resolve the tension by affirming only one side or the other. But the theologian who uses Kant's system of religion as a rational guide will be encouraged to grasp the paradox, recognizing that both views must be upheld. Here, once again, we find that Kant's position is 'at one' with the Bible's—not because Kant naively assumes the Bible's authority, but because both Kant and the writers of the Bible ultimately appeal to the same Authority.

40. Any passage that states, or seems to state, that all we need to do is believe in order to be saved could be cited in support of the first response: see e.g., Jn. 6:28-9; Acts 15:11; 16:31; Rom. 3:22; 4:24; 10:9; 1 Tim. 1:16. Other passages clearly require more, such as love and obedience [e.g., 1 Jn. 3:23-4] or other forms of good life-conduct [e.g., Js. 2:14-25]. A sampling of verses that seem to support the second response is as follows: Deut. 7:6; Ps. 33:12; Acts 22:18; Rom. 8:29-30; Eph. 1:4-12; 1 Ths. 1:4; 2 Ths. 2:13; 1 Pet. 1:2; 2:9. The wealth of textual evidence for both views suggests that in this case, by insisting on 'cooperation' over against 'the asymmetry of the Lutheran concept of grace' [Ga96:79], Kant actually sticks closer to the Bible than Luther does!

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As a Kantian biblical theologian, therefore, I am able to confess with a clear conscience and an uncompromised intellect that the change of heart is an effect of God's grace; yet I believe God somehow does this while preserving both my free choice and my responsibility to act in a way consistent with a good disposition. As a Christian, I believe this because the Bible has informed my understanding of the nature and purposes of God's work in the world and my experience confirms what the Bible teaches. As a Kantian, I believe this because it is the only way I can both preserve God's sovereignty (i.e., God's ability to save anyone, even someone possessing no biblical knowledge what¬ soever) and yet conceive of the moral law being fulfilled in a human life. It is a genuinely Critical position on the issue of God's grace, inasmuch as it prevents me from falling into the extremes of either an overbearing fanaticism that misinterprets religious belief or worship as works that God requires or a lazy skepticism that rejects the value of religion altogether. Both extremes are per¬ versions that are attractive only to those with a low tolerance for paradox. Kant himself is far from being antagonistic to a conscientious use of Scrip¬ ture in working out one's own religious self-understanding. On the contrary, Kt8 is filled with allusions to and even direct quotations from the Bible. The fact that in most cases Kant has to stretch or even dismiss standard interpreta¬ tions of these passages in order to make them consistent with systemr.m should not cause us to neglect the possibility that in so doing his goal is to proceed in the manner that best reflects the Bible's own prescriptions. For Kant's use of biblical texts supports all four of the points that form the basis for the aspect of biblical theology I have defended in this subsection: he refuses to identify God's revealed word with the text of the Bible; he insists God's word comes to us in¬ ternally, not through external agents; he regards religious learning as a matter of the heart more than of the head; and he promotes a radical freedom that allows each person to learn autonomously, rather than being taught prescribed dogma. Recommending a biblical theology of revelation based on the living word of God within us, rather than on the literal written words of the biblical text as such, risks a significant loss in objectivity for theology. Christian theologians have traditionally regarded the chief function of revelation as being God's way of making known divine purposes to us human beings. If these purposes are recorded in a fixed, propositional form, biblical theologians have the potential to transform theology into a body of certain knowledge comparable to scientific fact. This, no doubt, is what makes biblical theologies based on an inerrant Bible so popular. The problem, as we have seen, is that the Bible itself simply does not support such an approach to theology. But this also raises a question for my approach: can an internally focused view of revelation as primarily

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subjective do justice to the believer's need to have confidence that a given knowledge-claim regarding God's purposes really is what God would want, not just a figment of the believer's own imagination or unconscious desires? To answer this question, we could begin by turning to Kant. The key fac¬ tor he would use to distinguish true and false claims to know God's purposes is whether what the believer claims God has made known encourages moral goodness or detracts from it. Most Christians would agree with this as far as it goes. A problem would arise, however, if, as in the story of Abraham, God were ever to command a person to do something that is morally wrong. Ironi¬ cally, the typical conservative Christian would side with Kant at this point and deny the possibility that this would happen, whereas biblical theologians who wish to remain faithful to the Bible's own examples of what happens when God's word is revealed and heeded would have to side with Kierkegaard, who famously regards Abraham as a 'knight of faith' precisely because of his willingness to break the moral law in order to obey God. This creates a dilemma that is far too complex to attempt to solve here. Instead, we can regard this as the key point where the philosophical and biblical theologians remain deadlocked in a 'conflict' [see VIII. 1], no matter how compatible their Perspec¬ tives may be in other respects. Putting this aspect last in our sketch of a systemr.s reflects the different Perspectives assumed by biblical and philosophical theologians: for us as Christians, knowing God's purposes is important, but only insofar as such knowledge arises out of our love for God and our fellow human beings. For Kant, by contrast, knowing that God's purposes must be moral ones is the first principle of his entire philosophical theology. The irony, once again, is that many Christians—theologians and laypersons alike—actually side with Kant in treating a prior knowledge of God's (revealed) purposes as the first and fore¬ most (if not sole) determining feature of genuine religion. But because they differ so widely in determining how to go about identifying those purposes, any hope of a healthy dialogue is relinquished. My goal here has been to en¬ courage biblical theologians to risk adopting a radically different (authentically biblical) Perspective by insisting on treating such knowledge as an outcome of love rather than as a first principle. This may appear to be a departure from Kant, until we recall Kant's view that biblical theologians ought to stand in a position of healthy conflict over against their philosophical counterparts. 4. A Christian Critique of Kant's Critical Religion We saw in VIII. 1 and IX. 1 that Kant makes an important distinction between the Perspectives of the philosopher and the biblical theologian with

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respect to how each is to interpret the meaning of religion. The philosopher's goal is to abstract from all empirical traditions and grasp the essential nature of 'pure religion', whereas the biblical theologian must acknowledge the authority of a given tradition and focus attention on the task of providing a fresh interpre¬ tation of that tradition for each new era. Chapter VII provided an account of Kant's philosophical interpretation of pure religion. Chapter VIII then showed how Kant, as a philosopher, views the prospects of Christianity as an empirical tradition that can help make pure religion a reality in the world. In IX.2-3 I have attempted to fill in the missing link [see Fig. IX. 1] by adopting the Per¬ spective of the biblical theologian and proposing a set of Christian fundamen¬ tals that is compatible with Kant's theology. The remaining task is to assess the adequacy of Kant's Critical religion from the Christian (biblical) Perspective as outlined above.*1 Can a Kantian biblical theology satisfy ordinary (nonphilosophical) Christian believers? If not, what changes in Kant's System would need to be made in order for them to assimilate and digest the legitimate aspects of Critical theology and religion while locating and confronting those aspects that could be destructive to a person's faith? Having observed throughout Part Three the potential for Christian theology to fill in various gaps in Kantian theology, we should begin here by noting the obvious fact that biblical theologians should not merely regard themselves as laborers in the service of philosophical theologians; rather, they have a distinctive role to play in challenging the philosopher's presuppositions and conclusions. I shall therefore conclude this chapter by critically assessing, as a biblical theologian, some key aspects of Kant's philosophy of religion. Christian readers of Kt8, even those who read it again in the light of the sympathetic interpretations I have been putting forward up to now, will almost inevitably come away with certain nagging doubts about the possibly negative effects adopting his philosophy of religion might have on their faith. Sorting out the significant doubts from the illusory ones is the task of this section. A potential problem, of course, is that there are almost as many different ways of understanding what a 'Christian' is as there are different Christians. For this reason, I shall adopt in this section a very general definition of what it 4 1 . I stress the last three words in order to acknowledge that on some interpretations Christian the¬ ology would have far more basic—indeed, irreconcilable—objections to Kant's System. In particu¬ lar, the so-called 'fundamentalist' approach to theology (whether Christian or otherwise) is so incompatible with Kantian philosophy as to render any attempt at fruitful dialogue virtually pointless. Fundamentalists would object to Kant's approach at nearly every turn, from his view of morality as transcendentally prior to religion to his claim that theology can have no theoretical foundation. This section should therefore not be construed as an attempt to critique Kant on the basis of every type of Christian theology, but only in terms of the moderate type presented in IX.23. My conviction is that the latter is a more authentic representation of the Bible's actual content.

:

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means to be a Christian, as first suggested in Pa89:65: A Christian is someone who: (1) has certain beliefs (e.g., about God and his creative power, about Christ and his redemptive power, and about the Spirit and its communicative power); who (2) seeks to obey God (e.g., by heeding the com¬ mands presented in the Bible along with those 'written on his heart'); and who (3) has some sort of immediate experience of God (e.g., in the form of a 'conversion,' a prayer life, or participation in religious ceremonies).

The biblical theology suggested in IX.2-3 is at least potentially 'Christian' on this definition, because it specifies appropriate beliefs, acts of obedience, and an experiential element. Whether a given reader actually judges it to be Christian will depend on which specific beliefs, actions, and experiences one regards as essential. By defining 'Christian' in this highly general way, leaving the specific content of what counts as 'normal' beliefs, actions, and experiences to be determined by each person and/or religious community, I hope to make my Christian critique of Kant applicable not only to professional theologians, but also (and perhaps even more so) to the ordinary layperson.42 One of the biggest dangers of upholding Kant's Copernican Perspective on religion without balancing it with the biblical theologian's Empirical Perspective is that this could lead to a misunderstanding of how religious beliefs (myths), actions (rituals), and experienced objects (symbols), actually operate.43 From the Perspective of the theologian (as a representative of the ordinary believer), there may be no direct connection between these three and morality as such. Kant's requirement that religious beliefs, actions, and experienced objects all be assessed in terms of their moral content is therefore highly problematic. The problem is this. Although some religious myths, rituals, and symbols may directly encourage us to do good (as shown by arrow B in Figure IX.3), they often have no direct or obvious moral content; instead, their direct effect is typi¬ cally on the believer's spirit (i.e., what Kant calls the 'disposition' or 'heart'),

42. For many professional theologians my comments in this section may seem somewhat naive. For my primary focus now is on the religion of the biblical theologians and philosophers, not on their theological arguments as such. As pointed out in VIII.4, many theologians (sometimes called 'liberals') have already given up much more of the traditional faith than Kant asks us to give up, while others (sometimes called 'conservatives') are not willing even to enter into serious dialogue with the likes of Kant, to say nothing of attempting to assimilate something of Kant's way of thinking into their own theology. Yet his median point of view is, I maintain, closer than either of these extremes to the faith many thinking Christians adopt. Moreover, it would be even more common were ordinary believers not so easily led into more extreme ways of thinking by a (religiously inauthentic) desire for the supposed security of theoretical knowledge. 43. The words 'myth', 'ritual', and 'symbol' correspond directly to the three aspects of the formal definition of 'Christian' quoted above from Pa89. I am using them here in their special theological sense, whereby they delineate not false or negative expressions, but beliefs, actions, and experi¬ enced objects (respectively) with a deep and mysterious meaning. Further discussion of this positive sense of 'myth' and 'symbol' can be found in PaOOa, especially Lectures 3 and 31.

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moral action

fe Q

\

spiritual growth (= heart/disposition)

Figure IX.3: The Empirical Perspective on Religion and Morality and this effect in turn empowers a person to behave in a morally good way (as shown by arrows A and C). So, for example, spending an hour engaged in in¬ tense worship might be criticized by a (short-sighted) Kantian as wasting valu¬ able time that could be spent doing morally good deeds. The Christian response is that if we devote all our time to doing good without ever insuring that our spirit is properly attuned, our efforts may end up backfiring—e.g., by being, at best, legally good but not morally good. What is difficult to grasp from an exclusively Kantian point of view, but is at the very heart of the Bible's message, is that the primary reason for worship¬ ping God is not to improve our moral disposition; this just happens as a sideeffect (arrow C, above). When challenged to provide a philosophically sound justification of our religious beliefs and actions, we may point to this sideeffect as fulfilling (what Kant calls) 'indirect service' of God; in this way the Kantian Perspective prevents the religious person from being lost in a form of worship that never engages with real-life problems. But if benefiting our moral life becomes the only reason we believe and act religiously, then the moral efficacy of these very beliefs and actions will paradoxically diminish. In other words, the biblical (Christian) and philosophical (Kantian) Perspectives are each more likely to succeed when they work together, in a creative tension, than when adherents of either Perspective view themselves as in no need of the other. This danger, therefore, does not represent a true incompatibility between Kantian philosophy and biblical theology. Christians and Kantians alike only stand to benefit from making room for the opposing Perspective. I have already demonstrated the vacuity of most common objections to Kantian theology (i.e., elsewhere in Part Three and in AVI-AVIII). The claim

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that his theology and philosophy of religion cannot be Christian because his God is merely a powerless philosophical 'idea', or because he leaves no room for pardoning grace by wrongly reducing religion to nothing but good works, or because he rejects the very possibility of miracles and divine revelation, or because prayer and worship play no part in his model of authentic religion—all these and other objections like them have been shown to be based on faulty interpretations, interpretations that for the most part ignore Kant's principle of perspective. The attentive reader will already see quite plainly that such objec¬ tions can no longer be used as an excuse to cast Kant's philosophy to one side. After pointing out a few more examples of such inadequate objections, we shall devote most of our attention in this section to a few key objections that do carry substantial weight for Christians who wish to treat Kant seriously. Cassirer, in his thoughtful consideration of the similarities and differences between Kant and the Apostle Paul, claims to find a significant opposition be¬ tween these two on the doctrinal issue of law versus grace [Ca88:47-48]. Kant, he claims, has a 'profound disagreement with everything St. Paul stands for' [47]: whereas Paul views law as coming by divine revelation, as causing 'the disintegration, and indeed annihilation, of the soul', and as producing slavery and impotence in those who rely on it, Kant portrays law as coming from 'man's own consciousness', as enabling those who follow it 'to transcend our merely natural selves', and 'the very instrument through which alone we can become free.' For Paul, freedom comes through Christ alone, whereas Kant argues that it also requires our own effort [48]. Such a strict dichotomy, how¬ ever, is not entirely fair, because Paul and Kant are using these terms in signifi¬ cantly different ways. In particular, Paul's rejection of law refers to the external law of Moses that he believes Christ transcended with the internal law of love—a law that bears close resemblance, as we saw in IX.2, to Kant's own conception of the moral law [s.a. AV.2-4]. Clearly, there is far more agreement here than Cassirer's misleading dichotomy suggests, especially if we keep in mind that the differences in emphasis between Paul and Kant are due largely to the fact that they intentionally adopt two opposing Perspectives. Another interesting but deceptive criticism comes from Sokol, who points out that 'the traditional theist... believes that God created man to serve His own purposes' [So86:435]. This means that, 'for the theist..., it is false that you are an end in yourself simpliciter, for with respect to God and His purposes, it seems more than likely that you are a means to some further, higher end.' This astute observation may well express the best position for a biblical theologian to adopt. Yet we would be mistaken to think this contradicts Kant's view of human persons as ends in themselves. For Kant, as a philosopher, is rightly

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concerned with the way humans view each other, while Sokol's 'theist' is adopting a position appropriate for the biblical theologian, concerned with the way God views human beings. The two can complement each other quite nicely, as long as we take the principle of perspective into consideration. The same can be said for Sokol's next point: 'From the religious point of view man's dignity is enhanced if it derives from nothing other than the dignity of God himself.' From the philosopher's purely human perspective, dignity comes from the presence in us of freedom and the moral law. Provided the biblical theologian does not deny this fact,44 Kant would welcome Sokol's view as properly raising moral dignity to a higher plane, that of the religious. A more common criticism of Kant's theology is that it shows Kant to be 'a Pelagian in the end' [Gg93:7]. A Pelagian is someone who believes human beings are capable of taking at least the first steps towards salvation without the assistance of divine grace—a view that was condemned as heresy by several popes and church councils during the first half of the fifth century, thanks in large part to St. Augustine's vigorous attacks against it. Kant admittedly comes very close to defending a Pelagian view.45 However, a careful look at his 44. Sokol himself appears to deny this at times, thereby risking the total breakdown of any dialogue with philosophical theologians. He criticizes Kant's moral philosophy on the basis of an undefined dichotomy between the 'theist' and the 'secular humanist' [So86:424], whereby Kant is assumed to fit solely into the latter category. As I have argued throughout this book [s.e., IV.4], however, Kant is very much a theist. Neglecting the principle of perspective, Sokol adopts an overly ex¬ treme version of the biblical theologian's Perspective [432]: 'divine laws can be binding even if they are not autonomously imposed for... even if they lack pure moral force, their divine force more than makes up for it.' He argues that God has the power to 'impose universal laws binding of their own accord' [430], even if some of them are not moral. Kant's argument, of course, is that this is impossible, if God is a moral God, because such legislation could only be external and therefore could not be genuinely universal. The only genuinely universal legislation must be internal and therefore moral. Sokol claims, by contrast, that for the true theist [432] 'there need not be any such thing as moral obligation! All human obligations can reduce to the religious.' Whether they are au¬ tonomous (internal) or heteronomous (external) doesn't matter, provided they are 'mandated by God.' But this leaves us with no ability to judge between the moral and the immoral, between hear¬ ing God properly and misunderstanding God's command. Sokol does claim that human motivation to be good can and ought to be 'simultaneously both moral and religious' [433]; what he fails to see is that Kant, who is not the anti-theist Sokol takes him to be, would actually agree with him on this point. The closest he comes to a position that could be compatible with Kant's is when he says [434] 'it may just be God's intent that we impose His moral laws upon ourselves autonomously.' 45. As Rossi puts it [Ro93:59], 'the Pelagian view [is] that grace is not necessary either to enable persons to move out of sin or to lead a moral life: human effort, unaided by divine or "supernatural" help, is sufficient in each case.' He thinks that, although Kant clearly acknowledges the need for divine assistance in Kt8, this marks a significant change from his previous position [Ro93:64]: 'Kant's accounts of moral life prior to Religion have a distinct "Pelagian" cast to them: each of us must—and so each of us can—overcome evil entirely by individual effort, unaided by any of the "outside" assistance which theology calls grace.' What Rossi does not recognize is that Kt8's position represents not a change of mind but a change of perspective. In his moral writings, Kant's aim is to identify what constitutes moral goodness; he does not commit himself one way or the other on the issue of how real evil affects our ability to fulfill the moral ideal. Perhaps the closest Kant comes to being a Pelagian in Kt8 is in his view of the afterlife as an opportunity for human

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doctrine of the archetype in Book Two of Kt8 reveals that he avoids it. The archetype is an unmerited gift of divine grace that must be present in a human being before any conversion from evil to good can begin. This is why 'man's moral growth of necessity begins not in the improvement of his practices but rather in the transforming of his cast of mind and in the grounding of a charac¬ ter' [Kt8:48(43), e.a.]. Kant says the motive force acting in 'the deeps of the heart' is 'inscrutable' [51(46)], so that human effort on its own cannot produce the change of heart. As we have seen [see e.g., note IX.40], his position is one of divine-human cooperation, wherein we must believe God has taken the first steps and will complete the work in the end, but we must act as if everything is up to us. No, Kant is not a Pelagian; but he is a thorn in the flesh of any theologian who denies that any human effort is ever needed for salvation. Green denounces 'Kant's Christian apologetic' as a form of 'theological accommodationism' [Gg93:15]—i.e., an attempt to translate the Bible's essen¬ tial message 'into the modern idiom.' This criticism again has an element of truth in it, inasmuch as Kant intentionally adopts the philosopher's Perspective. But 'the modern idiom' of Kant's day was surely the Enlightenment; and as we saw in VIII.4, Kant's Critical religion goes significantly against that movement. How then could he also be accommodating it? A better view is that he tries to clarify the purest, timeless truths of the Bible—the ones that are true quite apart from any historical tradition. This is actually the opposite of the type of accommodation Green describes. He claims all such attempts 'distort the very Christian message they seek to save.... [Intending to save the patient by exising a cancer, they set about removing the heart.' This may well be true of beings, freed from the restrictions of space and time, to experience indefinite moral progress. Scharf claims Kant's earlier, more 'positive anthropology', from Kt26, is more suitable than the approach in Kt8 itself for pursuing 'his stated aim,... religion within the limits of reason alone' [Sc93:72]. Kant's 'original' position was that 'humans are basically good but not (yet) perfect because they have to cultivate... their moral inclination' [73]. We have no need for God's salvation on this model: 'one can do without interventionist notions of grace, atonement, and forgiveness.' This position, based on 'moral evolution' [73], is 'Pelagian' and 'more conducive to [Kant's] Enlightenment-philosophical project' than the 'Augustinian' views of Kt8 [Sc93:74]. 'Logically, this [new position in Kt8] ought to be the death stroke to Kant's ethical system. Not only has it become questionable whether humans can succeed in doing the good, but they cannot even will the good. This is the meaning of radical human evil' [82]. All of this changes, however, once we adopt the interpretation of Kt8's aim defended in VI.2, expressed in terms of pursuing religion within the bounds of bare reason. Kant is not saying we 'cannot', but that we 'do not' become good apart from the boost religion gives to our moral impulse. Thus, Scharf s point about Kant's ethical theory 'dying' is ironically apt, since systemr must adopt an entirely new standpoint from that of systemp. The death of the ethical is not a contradiction; it is only an indication that we are now in the realm of religion. This enables us to regard Kt8 as Kant's mature attempt to account for both sides of the dilemma at hand: radical evil reflects the truth behind the Augustinian position, while Kant's theory of the evolution of the church in Book Three preserves the truth behind the Pelagian position. In this way, as we have already noted in VIII.4, Kant's position turns out not to be a naive defense of the 'Enlightenment' project, but a critique of the movement's biases.

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attempts at cultural accommodation; but such damage is precisely what Kant sets out to a void. If my explanation of this Christian 'heart' in IX.2-3 is correct, then Kant's surgical skills are far better than Green suggests. As usual, Green's assessment is not based on any argument or evidence. He merely states that any project 'like Kant's' is futile because it 'seek[s] to translate the essential content of the gospel into other terms' [15], just as 'a teacher trying to teach students Chinese by offering them texts in translation.' Yet this is a false comparison. What Kant does is just what any good language teacher does: he presents both sets of texts, showing their direct correlations, so that anyone familiar with only one 'language' can readily learn to communicate in the other as well. Contrary to Green's assumption, Kant is not trying to destroy the 'particular configuration of symbolic elements' that makes Christianity unique; rather, his goal is to enhance and deepen its meaning. What Bulgakov says about philosophy in general, that 'the history of philosophy may be depicted and interpreted as religious heresiology' [q.i. Ak91:76], is an especially apt description of the influence Kantian philosophy has had on Christian theology. Up to now, Kant has been adopted by liberal theologians time and again in their attempts to cast off the philosophical naivete of conservatism. To a certain extent, any attempt to put dogma in its proper place is bound to be regarded by the dogmatic traditionalists as the root of all heresy. But Kant's aim, as I have been arguing, is far more subtle. The time has come for open-minded conservative theologians to step forward and boldly take hold of the challenge Kant has presented them: resisting the temptation to dismiss new insights as 'heretical', to engage in a creative dialogue with Critically-minded philosophical theologians who would enjoy a good 'conflict' over biblical principles.46 One area where such a conflict might prove fruitful is over the issue of how God will judge us in the afterlife. MacKinnon [Ma90a:351] characterizes Kant's view of eternal reward and punishment as a 'highly sophisticated ... myth of ultimate vindication.... The element of sheer receptivity thought pivotal to the life of faith is lacking.' As he freely admits, 'Kant certainly displays an affirmative attitude towards the idea of divine assistance' [354]. Yet this is not enough for any biblical theologian who believes grace must be wholly independent of human agency [cf. note IX.40]. Without taking sides on this issue, let me simply point out that from Kant's Perspective, hope in benefiting from an arbitrary dispensation of God's favor seems not only irrational but 46. Firestone expresses this challenge as follows in an early draft of FiOO: 'So long as the transcenden¬ tal philosopher persists in Kantianizing the Evangel, the Christian theologian rightly responds by evangelizing the Kantian.' S.a. note VIII.4.

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morally dangerous, just as Kant's view seems overly cold and calculating from where the biblical theologian stands. My point is that the truth may lie more in the tension between these two positions than in either position on its own. With this example in mind, let us now examine a few of the more acute criticisms a biblical theologian might level against Kant's position, even on the sympathetic, nonreductionist interpretation I have been promoting. In so doing we shall follow the threefold definition of Christianity quoted near the begin¬ ning of this section and summarized at the top of Figure IX.3. At that point we already cleared up the most significant (apparent) inadequacy relating to the second part of the definition, obedient action. Concerning this second aspect of being a Christian, Kant is subject to little if any decisive criticism. The standard objection, that Kant supports a theology of 'salvation by works', we have al¬ ready seen to be incorrect [see AVI.4]. Any Christian who believes God cares at all how we act in this earthly life would have to agree that Kant's heart is in the right place at this point in his theology. Far from denying that we need grace, system,- is based on the assumption that we do need it—due to the corrupting influence of radical evil. That Christians are quite capable of fash¬ ioning a biblical theology that presents no insuperable conflicts with the moral aspect of Kantian theology has been shown in IX.2-3. For the remainder of this section I shall therefore point out two genuine problems, relating to belief and experience. In each case the inadequacy will provide us with a new challenge to bring to Kant's text as we approach Part Four. In the realm of belief, the major stumbling-block for most Christians who consider Kant's theology is his Christology. He never clearly expresses an un¬ ambiguous commitment to the necessity of Jesus' death and resurrection for redemption, nor does he openly confess his trust (if any) in Jesus as Savior and Lord. Most believers would say such commitment and trust constitutes the sine qua non of being a Christian in the first place. Kant's conviction that God exists and has many of the same characteristics orthodox Christians would associate with God the Father seems unproblematic by comparison. Even a belief in the Holy Spirit (which many Christians virtually ignore anyway) does not appear to be so severely lacking in Kant, especially since his view of the human conscience as God's way of communicating the moral law to us can easily be interpreted as making room for a Critical Pneumatology. Kant's weakness in the area of Christology is closely related to what is probably the most legitimate of the frequently raised objections to Kant's phi¬ losophy of religion: that it relegates history in general and any historical mani¬ festation of God in particular to the periphery of religion [but see note VIII.32]. For all but the most liberal Christian theologians, the Christ-event is worth

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believing only because it originally took place at a specific time and place and continues to be a radically historical event whenever it is repeated in the life of Christian believers. Whereas Kant always bases his conception of hope on moral-practical reasoning, the biblical theologian bases Christian hope on an historical person: Jesus Christ as revealed in Scripture. The direct result of Kant's attempt to ground hope outside of history is, as McCarthy (quoting Noack) points out, that 'the Christological centerpiece of Christian theology thus disappears'.47 This objection is valid if Christ is truly not central for Kant. As a rational system, nothing historical can be central to systemr.m. The ques¬ tion is: can a person who accepts Kant's philosophical theology a Iso regard the historical Jesus as central? I believe Kant's answer would be a resounding 'yes!'—though if he himself had such a belief, he admittedly kept it private. Could it be that Kant's meager Christology is more a result of his exceedingly high view of Jesus than of a view that is merely dismissive? Having already discussed Kant's view of Jesus' nature at some length [see VII.2.B and VIII.2.B], I shall not attempt to develop my interpretation further at this point. Suffice it to say that any serious Christian would have been far more comfortable with Kant if he had been less evasive on this crucial point. Although this must be admitted as a genuine inadequacy in Kant's theology, I believe Christian philosophers should take it as a challenge rather than as an excuse to discard Kant's System altogether. The challenge is to supply what Kant left undone: a clear and unambiguous Kantian Christology. Doing this is beyond our present scope; nevertheless, I shall argue in XII.4 that the symbol of Christ, the God-man, was, in fact, at the very heart of Kant's concern in the work that was to be the ultimate expression of his philosophical System [i.e., Kt9], where Christ is regarded as the 'highest idea' and 'end' of his entire philosophical System. In this (admittedly sketchy) way, Kant does at least provide us with a way forward even in Christology. Kant's reluctance to commit himself publicly on the issue of personal faith 47. Mc86:70-l; s.a. Mc82:199 and Ga96:v. Galbraith echoes the same view in Ga96:162: 'the centrepiece of Christian theology and its experience of God disappears in Kant's theology.' What she actually demonstrates, however, is only that this is the standard interpretation of Kant. What actually lies at the center of Kant's System remains undetermined [but see XII.4]. Galbraith is a good example of atheologian who charges Kant with aneglect of Christianity's radical historicity [Ga96:161]: Kant failed to realize that Jesus' teaching 'cannot... be divorced from the fact that his whole life was one lived consciously in the divine presence and in total re¬ sponse to divine purpose.' Therefore, she argues, '[a]ny Christian who believes that it is through the life and death of Jesus that humankind has been redeemed and brought into communion with God, must entertain a theology radically different from that of Kant.' True Christianity, she claims, must be based on a belief in the historical Jesus; yet 'true religion for Kant amounts to a way of life' [171]. My contention here has been that, armed with the principle of perspective, the philosophi¬ cally-minded Christian theologian is free to adopt both standpoints.

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in Christ may be partially explained by recalling his recommendation that reli¬ gious believers should not profess (e.g., in reciting a creed) anything they are not certain of [Kt8:167-90(175-8)], since thoughtless recitation can do more damage than good to a genuine religious disposition. Kant may have reasoned that, in view of the obviously speculative status of the traditional Christian claims about Jesus, he ought to heed his own advice by remaining silent. Kant's concern, to curtail the tendency many religious believers have (a la Pascal) to confess too much 'just to be safe', is well placed. However, he has gone too far if he really demands certainty before a believer expresses support for a given dogma. The very word 'creed' means belief, not knowledge. So instead of remaining silent in the corporate expression of creeds, skeptical believers would be better off speaking them freely as an expression of one's hypothetical belief. Thus, for example, when I proclaim with my fellow church members that '...he arose on the third day...', I am not claiming to know this as a sci¬ entifically verifiable fact, but am expressing a heart-felt conviction that some¬ thing real happened to Jesus that caused him to live after his body had died. Clergy would do well to learn from Kant not to impose specific beliefs on new believers before they are ready; but Kant admittedly went too far in the other direction in his effort to prevent creeds from being treated too lightly. Throughout Part Three, and especially in this and the previous chapter, I have argued that Kant's basic treatment of the relative importance of theory and practice in one's religious life is essentially consistent with a Christian outlook on life. Both Kant and the Bible consistently stress that doctrine and church traditions are made to serve the individual—i.e., to help us become better (more godly, or 'Christ-like') persons—not vice versa. To reverse this order of prior¬ ity and treat the former as ends in themselves, relegating moral improvement to the sidelines, would be to pervert the message of Christianity, just as Kant so forcefully argued. The belief-oriented deficiencies in Kant's theology are there¬ fore less cause for concern than is his relative silence on issues relating to religious experience. Worship, prayer, and church ritual are exceptions. But these he places into an 'optional' category [see AVII.4] that seems unacceptable to anyone for whom such religious activities have themselves proved to be, as suggested above, the motive power that makes possible the moral improvement that is the true end of religion. This charge, that Kant almost totally ignores the role of religious experi¬ ence, is probably the weightiest objection a Christian could raise against him.48 48. As Greene puts it in Gr34:lxxvi: "The crux of the matter is obviously Kant's inability to recognize a distinctive religious experience, which is akin to that moral experience which he himself describes in such detail, yet is not identical to it.' Likewise, McCarthy judges Kt8 to be 'themati-

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As we saw in IX.2.A, an open-hearted attitude of love to God is the key to a powerful, spiritually-attuned biblical theology. Kant's philosophy appears to leave a gaping hole here, giving us (at best) only meager hints concerning how such open-heartedness is to be achieved. His theory of the archetype of perfect humanity (step four of systemr.ra), for example, can be interpreted as implying that each person has a 'God-shaped hole' in his or her heart; but Kant makes no effort to enlighten us as to how this hole should be filled. What we must understand is that (contrary to conventional wisdom) this does not make systemr.m wrong, but merely incomplete. The point is that Christians who wish to adopt a biblical theology consistent with Kant's System, as exemplified in this chapter, have nothing to fear from embracing Kantian philosophy. On the contrary, Kant himself expresses the hope that theologians would come to recognize that the gaps in his philosophy of religion are there for them to fill in, so that the philosopher and theologian might be 'at one' [Kt8:10(10)]. The various passing comments Kant makes about fanaticism in general and mysticism in particular leave us with the distinct impression that he does not regard a sense of personal communion with God as a necessary component of genuine religion. Yet biblical theology leads us, as shown in IX.2.A, to the very opposite conclusion: that the most intimate possible communion, love, is the very starting point of genuine religion and ought therefore to be adopted as the guiding principle of all our actions. Likewise, an openness to miracles as evidence of God's power to influence human affairs is repeatedly affirmed throughout the Bible (though not without clear warnings against depending on miracles [e.g., Matt. 12:39; 16:4; Jn. 4:48]), yet significantly downplayed by Kant [see AVII.2]. Examining more closely Kant's actual view of religious experience will therefore be one of our primary tasks in Part Four. This suggests that many critics give this objection more weight than it deserves. In Mc86:69, for instance, McCarthy calls Kt8 'an unfinished philo¬ sophical theory of religion' on the grounds that 'Kant omits discussion of religious experience'. He goes on to argue [95n] that 'Kant's... facile assertion that human nature has no faculty for intuiting or communing with the divine is contested... by claims to self-validating mystical experience.' Later he adds: 'Experience of a personal God as the Holy seems absent altogether' [99]; 'Kant is no forerunner of Rudolph Otto....'49 The absence of a genuine discussion of religious experience is a serious shortcoming in Kant's philosophy of religion.' cally incomplete' [Mc82:198] because Kant 'refuses serious consideration of religious experience.' 49. That McCarthy mentions Otto here is not accidental. In Ot50 Otto constructs his philosophy of religion with the expressed purpose of filling the gap of religious experience left by Kant. For a discussion of Otto's views, see note XII.30 [s.a. Da93b:H9-220 and Pa00a:241-5].

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What McCarthy fails to consider is that Kant may not intend Kt8 to be a complete 'philosophy of religion' as we now know it. Kt8 is concerned mainly with the nature and purpose of organized religion, and mystical theology is traditionally kept utterly distinct from ecclesiology. Nevertheless, the point is well taken that Kant's argument would have been stronger if he had included, especially in the second and fourth stages of systemr.m, a clearer account of how individuals experience conversion and service of God. While it may be incontestable that Kant's 'failure to discuss religious experience is a serious flaw' [104], the harshness of McCarthy's critique hides the fact that the makings of a theory are there in Kant's texts, waiting to be reconstructed. I shall take up precisely this task in Part Four [s.a. AVIII], in the hope of ascer¬ taining whether or not Kant allows a legitimate place for such experience. On this crucial issue the theological viability of Kant's entire edifice stands or falls. Fortunately, not all theologians regard Kant as totally insensitive to issues relating to religious experience. In Ma90a:353 MacKinnon discusses the effect on Herbert Farmer's theology of 'the sustained influence of Kant's insistence on the most intimate response of the subject... It is in the secret places of the heart that the seat not only of morality, but of an authentic religious response, is to be found, and this response must be the subject's own.' That is, it must be a personal religious experience, as opposed to a mere intellectual belief in a set of learned theoretical dogmas. Walsh makes a similar observation: 'People some¬ times complain that Kant thought you could have religion without religious experience... But ... for him, the step from being in a moral to being in a religious frame of mind was a very short one.'50 Walsh goes on to compare Kant to Wittgenstein [Wa63a:280] in the sense that both philosophers 'tried to find a meaning for religious concepts on the basis of the immediate experience of moral obligation.' Unfortunately, Walsh does not provide any systematic justification for these suggestive hints. Another recent exception to the general tendency to ignore or misinterpret 50. Wa63a:279. Taking worship as the most typical form of religious experience, Rossi disagrees with such a claim. He rightly points out [Ro89:381] that 'a grasp of the truth of where we stand in rela¬ tion to God is at the core of worship'. But he then claims: 'Yet Kant's account of respect for the moral law... does not move us to offer allegiance to the source of the moral law within us.' But as I shall demonstrate in Part Four [s.e. XII.2], this is precisely Kant's intent. Of course, the biblical theologian is far better equipped to fulfill this task using biblical insights. Again, Rossi rightly sees that 'a readiness to acknowledge the truth of our creaturely finitude... invites us to rely on a power, that both is and is not our own'. Yet he thinks 'Kant's account of respect' only 'catches a glimmer' of what is possible here. 'Kant... is reluctant... to let respect for the inner presence of the moral law lead to the praise of God.' Kant is indeed cautious of the tendency religious people have to allow the latter to displace the former. But as long as these are kept in proper relation, he sees praise and worship as quite appropriate responses, even helpful 'clothing' for a true religious faith [see AVII.4].

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the role of religious experience in Kant's System comes in the writings of Davidovich: "The Kantian philosophy of religion', she affirms [Da93b:307; s.a. xvii], can be interpreted 'so that religious experience is essentially the highest possible insight of reason.' She calls attention to the close relationship between Kant and two of the most influential thinkers in twentieth century theology: Rudolph Otto and Paul Tillich [s.a. Le89:l 10]. Davidovich argues that all three support a 'constructivist' view of theology, whereby the theologian's task is not merely to read off the meaning of a religious scripture, but to construct a 'symbolic language' that can express 'religious consciousness' in a fresh way [Da93b:xii-xiv]. When viewed from the standpoint of Kt7, Kant's own con¬ struction can be regarded, she maintains, as 'a contemplative conception of re¬ ligion' [xi] that unifies 'all the constructions of reason' [xvii]. For in Kt7 Kant concludes 'that the unity of reason is established in a moment of contemplative thought about a moral designer of the universe' [xiv]. Davidovich sees this as a 'new interpretation' of religion on Kant's part and laments that Kant fails 'to expand his suggestive conception' in Kt8 and other later writings [xv]. Treating the highest good as the supreme unifying principle [49; cf. note XII.56], she mistakenly interprets 'Kant's official discussion of religion' in Kt8 as if it adopts the same standpoint as Kt4. Although many commentators have assumed such an identification, I have repeatedly argued [s.e. VI.2] that Kant himself did not. Davidovich's interpretation demonstrates that the tide is turning in Kantstudies.51 The time is now ripe to bring to full awareness the deep significance of religious experience for Kant's Critical System. That systemr.m leaves something to be desired in its treatment of the experiential dimension of religion seems beyond doubt. But this does not necessarily mean Kant himself failed to appreciate this dimension. What actually was Kant's own personal attitude towards religious experience? Did he have good reasons for downplaying its role in Kt8? And did he ever provide clues as to how this deeper dimension of religion as a love affair with God might be grafted onto his 'official' view of religion as a purely moral affair? By investigating such questions in detail, Part Four of this study will provide ample evidence that Kant's Critical religion actually delves far deeper into the true heart of religious experience than is normally recognized.

5 1 . Another good example is the work of Hare [see notes VIII.4 and IX.5], who claims in Ha96:35 'that Christians should find Kant compelling and helpful.' After noting the opposite tendency, 'especially in America', where 'Christians who know about Kant tend to think of him as the major philosophical source of the rot that has led to the decline of Christianity in the West in the last two hundred years'. Hare announces his own goal 'of seeing how close Kant is to the Christian tradition he grew up in.'

KANT'S PERSPECTIVAL FOUNDATION FOR CRITICAL MYSTICISM The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge. There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard.... In the heavens he has pitched a tent for the sun ... It rises at one end of the heavens and makes its circuit to the other; nothing is hidden from its heat. The law of the LORD is perfect, reviving the soul. The statutes of the LORD are trustworthy, making the wise simple. The precepts of the LORD are right, giving joy to the heart. The commands of the LORD are radiant, giving light to the eyes. [Ps. 19:1-8] Paul then stood up in the meeting of the Areopagus and said: 'Men of Athens! I see that in every way you are very religious.... Now what you worship as some¬ thing unknown I am going to proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by hands. And he is not served by human hands, as if he needed anything, because he himself gives all men life and breath and everything else.... God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. "For in him we live and move and have our being." As some of your own poets have said, "We are his offspring.'" [Acts 17:22-5,27-8] Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and awe, the oftener and more steadily we reflect on them: the starry heavens above me and the moral law within me. I do not merely conjecture them and seek them as though obscured in darkness or in the transcendent region beyond my horizon: I see them before me, and I associate them directly with the consciousness of my own existence. [Kt4:161-2]

Chapter X Reason's Birth in Immediate Experience The sum of all these contemplations leads us to a conception of the Supreme Being which, when men made of dust venture to look beyond the curtain that conceals from created eyes the mysteries of the Inscrutable, comprehends in itself every thing possible to be thought. God is all-sufficient. What exists, whether it be possible or actual, is but something, so far as it is given by Him. A human language may let the Infinite speak to himself thus, / am from eternity to eternity, besides me there is nothing, something is but so far as it is through me. This thought, the most sublime of any is yet much neglected ... [Ktl5:151(349)].

1. Mysticism and Religious Experience Chapter II examined the Critical character of Ktl8 and its role in preparing the way for Kant's Critical System. I argued that, far from being a 'pre-Critical' work, Ktl8 contains all the essential ingredients of the Critical method and that the only key element of Kant's mature thinking that is altogether missing, namely the famous 'Copernican' insight, is actually present in the works of Swedenborg, whose views Kant was critiquing in Ktl8.1 also suggested, but left undeveloped, the idea that Kant himself did not have an entirely negative opinion of mysticism, but rather hoped through his Critical philosophy to pro¬ vide a secure foundation not only for metaphysics, but for mysticism as well. The purpose of Part Four will be to defend this idea more thoroughly by demonstrating the extent to which a mystical world view can be seen operating throughout Kant's philosophical writings, but especially in those composing the System itself [see KSP 1:111.4]. I will begin in this section by distinguishing between several types of mystic, based on the type of religious experience regarded as 'mystical'. The next section will examine more thoroughly Kant's reasons for rejecting what he calls 'fanatical' mysticism. X.3 will then demon¬ strate that Kant himself develops a special Critical type of mysticism. And X.4 will conclude this chapter by examining various factors that shaped this world view, especially the systematic relationship between four of his favorite medi¬ tative metaphors. The final two chapters in this volume will then show how Critical mysticism served as a crucial motivating factor in Kant's last few years of life (especially while writing Kt9), to the extent that the ultimate 'need of reason' is paradoxically fulfilled by the mystical 'death' of reason itself. A good general definition of mysticism is suggested by Albert Schweitzer's description of the mystic as 'a human being looking upon the division between earthly and super-earthly, temporal and eternal, as transcended, and feeling himself, while still externally amid the earthly and temporal, to belong to the

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super-earthly and eternal.'1 From this at least three sorts of mysticism can be inferred, depending on how a person believes contact with the eternal can be established. First, the mystic might believe membership in a 'super-earthly' realm makes it possible to communicate with other spirits, especially those that are no longer tied to a body. This is the type of mysticism practiced by Swedenborg and condemned by Kant in Ktl8. Since we dealt with it fully in Chapter II, there is no need to consider it any further here. Another, more common alternative is for mystics to participate in some organized religion, seeking to express their eternal nature through traditional beliefs and rituals. This is indeed so common that such participants in organized religion usually do not think of themselves as mystics. As we saw in Part Three, Kant's Copernican Perspective on religion allows for the potential validity of this second sense of mysticism, whereby contact with the eternal is channeled through religious activities and beliefs. Kant's Critical religion condones such religious/mystical experience, based on the judicial standpoint, provided it promotes a rational (moral) discipline by clothing a pure religious disposition with good actions, thus rendering practitioners worthy of receiving God's grace. However, mystics (as well as many ordinary religious people who would not presume to adorn themselves with such a title) more often speak of mystical experience in a rather different way. The term 'mysticism' can be used to refer not to the reflective act of pleas¬ ing God through the overcoming of one's evil heart, as expressed in the moral actions of a group of believers banded together to form a church, but to a more direct form of communication or communion with a personal God. Mystical experience of this type usually takes place outside the bounds of organized religion. The suggestion that Kant admitted the validity of such immediate and personal religious experience, and encouraged its promotion as an important aspect of his System, is (if entertained at all) almost universally denied by his Sc31:l. Schweitzer distinguishes between 'primitive' mysticism, based on a 'magical act' leading to supposed oneness with God, and 'developed' mysticism, whereby this union 'takes place through an act of thinking' [1-2]. He argues that Paul the Apostle does not have 'the usual mentality of a mystic. The exoteric and the esoteric go hand in hand.... [For] mysticism is combined with a non-mystical conception of the world' [25]. Schweitzer's interpretation of Paul's mysticism of 'being in Christ' is strikingly similar to the interpretation of Kant's mysticism I will offer here in Part Four. Both forge a middle path between the extremes of magical and intellectual mysticism, and in so doing they avoid the greatest 'danger of all mysticism', which 'is that of becoming supra-ethical' [297]. In Sc51b Schweitzer makes a rather different distinction between two world views: a 'life affirmation' that 'is dualistic and doctrinaire' (i.e., ethical) and a 'life negation' that 'is monistic and mystical' [10]. Pegging Kant as 'dualistic', he places him along with most other western philosophers in the former class [12]. Schweitzer's ideal world view is a combination of the two basic types, in the form of '[t]he enlightened ignorance of ethical mysti¬ cism' [263], He admits that Kant exemplifies the ethical side of this ideal [264]; I shall demonstrate that his System is intended to make room for the monistic, mystical side as well.

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interpreters. Nevertheless, my purpose here in Part Four will be to demonstrate that such a mystical feeling lies at the very heart of the Critical philosophy: it is as important to the System as birth and death are to an individual person, for it sets up the limits and in so doing establishes for the System its ultimate meaning. Webb calls attention to the traditional view that philosophy is 'the daughter of Religion, and starts upon her career with an outfit of questions suggested by religious experience' [We26:14]. The term 'religious experience' here refers not to a communion with disembodied spirits, nor to the experience of God in humanly organized religion; rather, it is an immediate personal encounter fitting the description of the third type of mysticism introduced above. Kant's Critical philosophy, I maintain, follows the tradition Webb cites. For as we have seen, his entire System of Perspectives has a clear religious and theological orientation, despite the failure of many commentators to recognize its presence. The task of validating the primarily theological ideas of God, freedom, and immortality unites the three Critiques; indeed, Kant believes his approach to these and other topics of religious and theological interest, though entirely philosophical in its presentation, can provide the only legitimate rational basis for religion [s.e. Chs. IV and VII]. Furthermore, as we saw in II.2-4, the last book he wrote before setting out on the path of constructing his System of Critical philosophy [viz., Ktl8] sets before him the question of how the philosopher is to cope with the claims of mystics such as Swedenborg; and as we shall see in Chapters XI and XII, the uncompleted book intended to fill the final gap in his System [viz., Kt9] provides ample evidence that the ultimate aim of the entire Critical enterprise is to replace the extreme mystical and antimystical attitudes with a balanced approach that can best be called 'Critical mysticism'. Before turning to Kt9, let us examine in X.2-4 the extent to which Kant's other works reveal such a balanced mystical spirit. 2. Kant's Apparent Rejection of Mysticism The conventional interpretation of Kant portrays him as consistently deny¬ ing, or at least ignoring, any 'possibility of an encounter with the transcendent' [Sm69:5.62] and adds that 'he seems to have found the notion of an immanent God unfamiliar and uncongenial to his mind' [We26:50]. Baelz expresses this view in its classic form in Ba68:41: Kant, while recognizing the demands of the moral law inherent in man's own ra¬ tional being, had no room for any immediate apprehension of God, belief in whom was a postulate and no more than a postulate, inferential rather than direct, medi¬ ated by reason rather than immediately given in experience.

Even those who recognize that Kant's view of religion in Kt8 is 'not radically

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unlike the traditional Christian view' [Wa72:168] generally agree that 'any sense of personal fellowship with God, revelation from God or redemption by God is entirely lacking in the Kantian scheme.' With this assumption in hand, inter¬ preters often treat any reference to experience of God in general or 'mysticism' in particular as a condemnation, regardless of what Kant actually says. Thus, for example, Temple claims [Te94:111] that in Kt35:9 Kant rejects Plato's idea of 'communion with the highest being' as being 'mystical' and 'visionary'; yet a careful look at the text reveals that Kant does nothing but describe this notion. He neither argues against it nor passes judgment on it [s.a. Ktl :37 In]. We have already seen in Part Three that such claims are too harsh: Kant is always careful to leave a space for God's activity in relation to mankind and for faith in relation to knowledge [s.a. KSP1:V]; what he criticizes is only the at¬ tempt to grasp or control God in such a way as to force revelation or redemp¬ tion to occur (as indeed Plato seems to have done). Thus Baillie, rejecting the standard interpretation, sees in Kant 'the glimmer of a notion of faith as a "direct interior persuasion" in matters of religious truth' [q.i. Wi8O:53O-l; cf. Ba39: 130-1,161,257]. The recognition that Kant's philosophy is a System of Per¬ spectives can, I believe, transform this 'glimmer' into an unmistakable ray of noon-day sunlight. It may even enable us to defend Du Prel's suggestion that 'the Kantian "Critique of Reason"' points directly to mysticism [Du89:l.xxvi]. The belief that Kant disallows any direct experience of God stems from two misunderstandings that arise only when his dependence on the principle of perspective is ignored. The first arises out of the failure to make the important distinction between mediate experience (i.e., empirical knowledge), and immediate experience [see KSPl:IV.l]. The fact that 'the glimpses [of 'the infinity in the finite and the universality in the individual'] are distrusted' by Kant [Wa01:218] is taken by most interpreters as a distrust in immediate experience, when in fact Kant's expression of distrust in such 'glimpses' always relates to their inadequacy when viewed from reason's theoretical standpoint, the standpoint that aims at and depends on empirical knowledge. If such glimpses are viewed as immediate experiences, and therefore not reflected upon, then there is no question of distrusting them, because no Critical stand¬ point is adopted from which such distrust can arise. The second misunderstanding arises out of the failure to recognize that Kant does not regard the Copernican Perspective as one that must be adopted at all times. Only when a person chooses to reflect rationally on experience would Kant argue that the Copernican Perspective should be adopted. By no means does such reflection entail a denial that people do have nonreflective (immediate) ex¬ perience as well. Thus, when Kant makes statements such as 'The philosopher,

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as a teacher of pure reason... must waive consideration of all experience' [Kt8: 12( 11)], he is not calling into question the reality or validity of such (immediate) experience, but only reminding us to distinguish between the a priori and a posteriori. Likewise, his unwillingness to allow an immediate encounter with God to serve as an element anywhere in his System does not indicate that he views such an encounter as impossible, but only that he recognizes that it does not occur by means of reflection. Kant's strategy of explaining religious doc¬ trines and activities in practical (moral) terms must not, therefore, be regarded as a denial of the legitimacy of an immediate experience of the eternal. His point, rather, is that, insofar as one wishes to explain such experiences, a practical explanation always takes precedence over a theoretical explanation. Affirming that we have immediate (and hence nonreflective) experience is not problematic; but asserting that God is actually present in such experience does seem to go directly against Kant's own claims to the contrary. 'A direct revelation from God', he says in Kt65:47, 'would be a supersensible experi¬ ence, and this is impossible.' For 'a supernatural experience... is a contradic¬ tion in terms' [57]; indeed, 'supersensible experience... is absurd' [Kt23:401n (180n)]. Before we jump to any conclusions concerning the implications of such negative statements, it is important to determine just what Kant means by the words 'supersensible [or 'supernatural'] experience'. Is he declaring that an immediate, nonreflective encounter between a human being and God is so absurd an idea as to be an impossible contradiction, or is he only rejecting the supposition that such an encounter can give rise to real empirical knowledge of God (i.e., from the theoretical standpoint of systemt)? Since most interpreters fail to distinguish between immediate experience and experience in Kant's special, mediate sense, this question is rarely even asked. Once we make this distinction, however, it seems clear that Kant is referring to experience as empirical knowledge whenever he rejects the possibility of supersensible experience. Immediate experience just is; so words like 'contradiction' do not really even apply to it. Moreover, Kant himself, as we have seen in II.2, is actually open to the possibility of mystical visions in Ktl8; and as we shall see in XII.2, he even affirms an immediate experience of God in Kt9. He would therefore be blatantly contradicting himself if he were to claim elsewhere that such ineffable experiences are actually absurd. By contrast, a claim to theoreti¬ cal knowledge of the transcendent (i.e., supernatural) ground of the empirical world clearly would be absurd and contradictory, inasmuch as the presupposi¬ tion of Kant's entire System is that the transcendent ground (the thing in itself) is unknowable [see KSP1:V.2 and AV.1-4]. The purely theoretical intention of Kant's various denials of supersensible

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experience is substantiated by examining the context of such comments. For he never denies altogether that such experiences are legitimate, but only requires that we change the standpoint from which we view them. In Kt65:57-8 Kant is considering whether the 'claim that v/efeel as such the immediate influence of God' can be used as 'an interpretation of certain sensations' in order to prove that 'they are elements in knowledge and so have real [theoretical] objects'. He concludes that 'we can never make anything rational out of such an attempted theoretical proof. He admits such subjective experiences are genuine, but in¬ sists they remain mysterious.2 Thus he explains in Kt65:47 that the experience of divine supernatural power 'comes to man through his own reason'; it is not a 'direct revelation' in the sense of coming in the form of a sensible experience that is objectively verifiable. (Otherwise, a person watching someone who is experiencing, for example, an apparition of the Blessed Virgin would also be able to see the object just as clearly.) 'The internal experience [e.g., of the mystic], and the feeling (which is in itself empirical...), are incited by the voice of reason only'; yet such feeling does not constitute 'a particular rule for reason ..., which is impossible' [Kt23:402(181)]. Here again Kant is explicitly con¬ sidering whether or not such a feeling suffices for a theoretical proof, if it could give rise to a 'rule for reason' (i.e., for everyone's reason), then it would be objective, and could qualify as a supersensible experience in systemt. Kant's point is that all such feelings arising out of our immediate experience will remain subjective;3 but the certainty resulting from them is not for this reason any less valid [see e.g., Kt 1:857]. Thus, he says 'there is no theoretical belief in the supersensible'; yet 'from a morally practical standpoint a belief in the supersensible is not only possible, but it is even inseparably conjoined with it [i.e., with the practical standpoint]' [Kt23:397n(174n)]. So when Kant says the 'feeling of the immediate presence of the Supreme Being and the distinguishing of this from every other, even from the moral feeling, would 2. Kant emphasizes both the subjective and the mysterious aspects of the supersensible in Kt65:58-9: there is something in us that we cannot cease to wonder at when we have once seen it... This ascendancy of the supersensible man in us over the sensible, such that (when it comes to a conflict between them) the sensible is nothing... is an object of the greatest wonder, and our wonder at this moral predisposition in us, inseparable from our humanity, only increases the longer we con¬ template this true (not fabricated) ideal.' In Kt23:402-3(182-3) he says of this same 'internal predisposition in humanity, and ... the impenetrability of the mystery which veils it': 'One never wearies viewing it, and admiring in one's self a power that yields to no power of nature...'. He then identifies 'the mystery which ...can be felt' as 'the immoveable [sic] moral law', and explains that this gives us practical access to the supersensible 'not by a feeling that grounds cognition, but by a distinct cognition, which has influence on (the moral) feeling.' I explore this hint further in X.3-4. J- Along these lines he argues that there cannot 'be inferred or discovered from a feeling certain evidence of a direct divine influence ... Feeling is private to every individual and cannot be demanded of others' [Kt8:l 14(104-5), e.a.].

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constitute a receptivity for an intuition for which there is no sensory provision in man's nature' [Kt8:175(163), e.a.], he is not denying that such a feeling can legitimately be experienced, as Ward claims [Wa72:157], nor is he altogether ruling out 'the mystic's intuition' as a way of experiencing, as Schrader claims [Sc51a:240], but is only insisting that such an experience cannot properly be viewed from the theoretical standpoint. Likewise, when criticizing the excesses of the 'philosophy of feeling', in its attempt to go 'directly to the point itself, without 'reasoning from conceptions' [Kt23:395(171-2)], Kant admits that 'philosophy has its secrets which may be felt'. The mistake is to think such feelings can be interpreted in such a way as to replace reason. This accords well with the mystic's recognition that what is apprehended in a mystical experience remains ultimately mysterious—i.e., it is something whose true nature cannot be apprehended sensibly. Indeed, this very fact that we cannot have a sensible experience of the transcendent as it is in itself—i.e., one that produces theoretical knowledge—is what gives rise to the need for a mystical experience that cannot fit properly into any Critical perspective. Unfortunately, Kant's conception of mysticism is rather narrow. He equates 'mystical' with 'magical' in Kt8:120(111) and comments elsewhere on 'the mystical fanaticism in the lives of hermits and monks' [130(121)]. He refers to the 'mystical veil' [83(78)] in such a way as to indicate that for him mysticism implies confusion or lack of clarity. Thus he claims in Kt23:398 (175) that mystics seek to establish 'an overlap... from conceptions to the incogitable' by means of 'a faculty to seize that which no conception reaches'. Such efforts usually indicate 'a bent towards fanaticism': because such mystical operations are 'transcendent and can lead to no proper cognition of the object, a surrogate of it, supernatural communication (mystical illumination), must be promised; which is then the death of all philosophy.' Elsewhere, Kant argues that 'the speculative man becomes entangled in mysticism where his reason does not understand itself, a situation that is not 'fitting for an intellectual inhabitant of a sensible world' [Kt31:335-6]. (The example he cites is that 'Chinese philosophers strive in dark rooms with eyes closed to experience and contemplate their nihility.') Mystical experiences as such can hardly be called speculation in Kant's theoretical sense, yet he believes they are subject to the same criticism, because the pantheism on which he believes such practices are based 'is really a concept in company with which their understanding disinte¬ grates and all thinking itself comes to an end.'4 4. Interestingly, Dell'Oro [De94:134n] reports that Laberge [in La Theologie Kantienne Precritique, p.65] sees in Ktl5 a 'verification of Kant's pantheistic conception of God.' Dell'Oro rejects this suggestion on the grounds of an alleged 'contradiction', whereby Laberge portrays Kant as

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Kant's official criticism of mysticism is that it errs only when it gives rise to fanaticism—i.e., only when the attempt at 'communion with God' is be¬ lieved to 'accomplish [something in the way of justifying ourselves before God'.3 However, mystics do not have to be fanatics of this sort—indeed, they often are not. Thus, in Kt4:70-l Kant defines mysticism as taking what can 'only serve as a symbol to be a schema'—thus implying that there may be a proper (symbolic, noncognitive) interpretation of mystical experiences. In Kt65:46 Kant explains that mysticism in the form of fanatical fantasy that 'inevitably gets lost in the transcendent' can be avoided by establishing for it an ethical grounding [cf. note X.I]: philosophers should 'be on the lookout for a moral meaning in scriptural texts and even ... impose it on them', because 'unless the supersensible (the thought of which is essential to anything called religion) is anchored to determinate concepts of reason, such as those of morality,... there is no longer any public touchstone of truth.' So 'mysticism, with its lamp of private revelations' [65] is not illegitimate in itself, but only when it fails to subject itself to the objective principles of practical reason, as expressed, for example, in the Bible.6 Like everything Kant subjects to his Critical method, mysticism is rejected only in its extreme form (e.g., as 'enthusiasm'), but is allowed to remain in a more moderate ('Critical') form. Kant implies as much when he says some of Plato's tendencies 'may be too mystical' [Kt57:240(53), e.a.]. He makes this point more explicitly in the passage already quoted in IX.3.B: And so, between orthodoxy which has no soul and mysticism which kills reason, there is the teaching of the Bible, a faith which our reason can develop out of itself. This teaching is the true religious doctrine, based on the criticism of practical reason, that works with divine power on all men's hearts... [Kt65:59].

The three words Kant emphasizes in this passage suggest his real aim is to attributing both necessity and contingency to 'the things of nature'. But if we treat this instead as an intentional paradox, then we can accept it as Kant's attempt to describe the analytic a posteriori, which, as I shall argue in XII.3, is a key component of his Critical mysticism. 5. Kt8:174(162); s.a. Kt65:54-7. See AVII.l for a discussion of the special connotations of Kant's term, 'Schwaermerei' (i.e., fanaticism). Manolesco opines that much of Kant's attack on 'Schwaermerei was aimed at Swedenborg' [Ma69:19]. When reading Kant's occasional (usually negative) comments on mysticism in later works, we should therefore keep in mind the two-edged (Critical) nature of his remarks. Even in Kt2:382-3, for example, where Kant ends the book with a reminder that Critical philosophy banishes 'mysticism' from theology, replacing it with science, Kant is not refuting the possibility of mystical experience, but only what he earlier calls 'mystical idealism' [375n]—i.e., a theoretical system based on supposedly objective interpretations of such (necessarily subjective) experiences. 6. It is relevant to note here that Kant's theory in Kt8 of a moral interpretation of scripture has a close parallel in some medieval theologians, who referred to this type of interpretation as revealing the 'sensus mysticus of a scriptural passage' [Ca81:389], Unfortunately, Cassirer falls into the common trap of dismissing such interpretations as leading 'into a mere mystical darkness' [390], rather than as providing extreme clarity, as mystics claim they do.

:

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defend, in accordance with the real aim of the biblical message, not only a kind of Critical orthodoxy (as we saw in Part Three), but also a Critical mysticism. Thus, although Kant criticizes the belief that we can 'by any token, recognize a supersensible object in experience', he readily admits that 'at times there do arise stirrings of the heart making for morality' [Kt8:174(162)]. As a support for the moral life, Kant not only sanctions the attention a mystic pays to such 'stirrings', but, as we shall see, he actively nurtures them in his own life. Indeed, whereas fanatical mysticism leads to 'the moral death of reason' [175 (163)], Kant's Critical mysticism begins as a simple acknowledgment of the immediate experiences that engender the moral birth of reason. Most mystics, in fact, regard the revitalization of everyday life as the end result of an authentic mystical journey [see e.g., Co74:82]. For the mystical experience is not generally one of confusion or uncertainty, as is so often wrongly assumed [see e.g., note X.6], but one of utmost clarity and immediate certainty. We shall see in Chapters XI-XII that Kant's own attitude towards God in Kt9 reflects this same sense of inexpressible clarity and immediate certainty. Moreover, just as mystics (contrary to Kant's opinion) do not try to grasp God (or even their own 'nihility' in many cases) but to open themselves up to be grasped by the transcendent Ground of Being, so also Kant portrays the voice of God, speaking through the moral law within, not as a way of controlling God, but as a way of recognizing and receiving God's word immediately and thereby applying it to one's everyday actions. Kant reveals that he is not entirely antipathetic towards mysticism by ap¬ pending to his discussion of theology and religion in Kt65 a lengthy letter wherein a young student named Wilmans summarizes the content of the Critical philosophy.7 Kant warns that 'I do not mean to guarantee that my views coincide entirely with his' [69n]; but the title Kant gives to this Appendix ('On a Pure Mysticism of Reason') suggests his main reason for including this letter is to encourage the reader to flirt with the enticing claim Wilmans makes at the end, that genuine Christian mysticism is entirely consistent with, and perhaps even implied by, the Critical philosophy [s.a. Ha96:48]. (If Kant had objected 7. Elsewhere in the same work [Kt65:62-3n] Kant toys with the idea of a 'mystical chronology' that is 'calculated a priori' (using the numbers 4 and 7 in various combinations). Taken at face value, this text and others [e.g., Kt66:194-6] portray Kant as having a clear interest in and an open-minded attitude towards such speculations, but not a willingness to 'join the movement', so to speak— much like his attitude towards Swedenborg in the mid-1760s (aside from his few digressions into ridicule in Ktl8). Nevertheless, some interpreters insist on reading between the lines. Commenting on Kt65:103n, for example, White says mysticism 'obviously fills [Kant] with horror' [Wh9O:53,56]: Kant 'scarcely disguises his hostility towards "the sects" whose teaching he is here attacking.' But Kant's footnote contains no explicit hostility; rather, it is a reasoned criticism of those Pietists who proudly claim to be God's elect, yet show no evidence of it in their conduct.

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to this claim, he could easily have omitted this last portion of the letter.) Wilmans' argument begins at the point in the letter where he concludes his summary and first addresses Kant [74-5]; it is worth quoting at length: I had reached this point in my study of your writings ... when I became acquainted with a group of people, called separatists but calling themselves mystics, among whom I found your teachings put into practice almost verbatim. It was indeed diffi¬ cult to recognize your teachings, at first, in their mystical terms, but after persis¬ tent probing I succeeded. It struck me as strange that these people ...repudiate all 'divine service' that does not consist in fulfilling one's duties: that they consider themselves religious people and indeed Christians, though they take as their code not the Bible, but only the precepts of an inward Christianity dwelling in us from eternity. I inquired into their conduct and found in them (except for the mangy sheep that, from self-interest, get into every flock) a pure moral attitude of will... I examined their teachings and principles and recognized the essentials of your entire moral and religious doctrine...: ... they consider the inner law, as they call it, an inward revelation and so regard God as definitely its author. It is true that they re¬ gard the Bible as a book which in some way or other—they do not discuss it fur¬ ther—is of divine origin; but,... they infer the divine origin of the Bible from the consistency of the doctrine it contains with their inner law. For if one asks their reason, they reply: The Bible is validated in my heart, as you will find it in yours if you obey the precepts of your inner law or the teachings of the Bible. For the same reason they do not regard the Bible as their code of laws but only as a histori¬ cal confirmation in which they recognize what is originally grounded in them¬ selves. In a word, if these people were philosophers they would be (pardon the term!) true Kantians.... Among the educated members I have never encountered fanaticism, but rather free, unprejudiced reasoning and judgment in religious matters.

,

i

If Kant really intends to promote such a Critical mysticism, then we would expect to find some evidence of a mystical tendency both in his own life and in his philosophical writings. Although it is rarely taken at face value, there is actually ample evidence of such a tendency in both areas. In Kt4:71, for example, Kant openly favors mysticism in comparison to empiricism: 'mystic¬ ism is compatible with the purity and sublimity of the moral law', even though it improperly 'plunges into the transcendent' when fanatics believe they have a capacity for 'nonsensuous intuitions'. By contrast, 'empiricism is far more dangerous than all mystical enthusiasm', for it 'uproots the morality of intentions'. With this tantalizing foretaste, let us therefore consider now some of the evidence that could be used to support Wilmans' astute observations. 3. Kant's Disclosure of Critical Mysticism As shown in IV.4 and AIV.1-3, Kant bases his belief in God not on theo¬ retical proof, but on an existential 'conviction that dawns most spontaneously in all minds' [Pe72:64]. We are now in a position to consider to what extent this conviction exhibits the sort of immediate certainty of the transcendent

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claimed by mystics. As Norburn puts it in No73:432: 'Kant himself never doubted the existence of a Supreme Being... He claimed that our awareness of God came by another route, a route not open (like logic) to the clever devil.' Moreover, Kant sometimes uses phrases that imply some sort of communicative relationship between God and man (such as 'God tells us' [e.g., Kt35:(98); s.a. Kt65:67]), as does his belief that duties can be regarded from the religious standpoint as divine commands.8 For instance, he says in Kt6:491 that 'the sort of moral relation that holds... between God and man surpasses completely the boundaries of ethics and is altogether inconceivable to us.' Ward somehow con¬ strues this to mean God and human beings are not related [Wa72:158]; yet Kant's point surely is that a relation holds between God and mankind, even though the nature of such a relation is 'inconceivable' from the theoretical standpoint. Kant's favorite idiom for expressing the relation between human beings and God, an idiom he employs on numerous occasions in his later writings, is that of the 'voice of God' speaking to human beings through their common participation in practical reason [see note X.8]. The question as to how this 'voice' is experienced—i.e., as an inner feeling, as an audible voice, or even as accompanying an apparition—is not important, as long as the person who ex¬ periences it recognizes that it comes not as a direct (i.e., theoretical) communi¬ cation, but indirectly, through the mediation of our 'morally legislative reason' [see Ktl:847, q.i. IV.4]. To let our activity be guided by this mysterious, in¬ wardly impelling force or spirit is to let ourselves be guided by God. Knowing that God's voice comes to us through the mediation of practical reason provides us with a negative principle for assessing alleged mystical experiences: For if God should really speak to man, man could still never know that it was God speaking [i.e., the voice does not convey theoretical knowledge]. It is quite impos¬ sible for man to apprehend the infinite by his senses, distinguish it from sensible beings, and recognize it as such. But in some cases man can be sure that the voice he hears is not God's; for if the voice commands him to do something contrary to the moral law, then no matter how majestic the apparition may be... he must con¬ sider it an illusion. [Kt65:63]

Kant draws attention away from the theoretical and towards the practical, as usual, in order to guard against fanaticism. But his references to this 'voice' are by no means entirely negative. On the contrary, he associates it with a specific judicial faculty of the mind, the 'conscience'. Kant describes conscience in Kt39:495(215) as 'the representative of God, See e.g., Kt8:153(142). Kant declares in Kt35:(48) that the laws of ethics (as opposed to legal laws) 'do not relate to other people, but only to God and to oneself.' That is, ethical laws are de¬ termined by the mutual participation of God and human beings in practical reason, the power that establishes the moral law in each individual.

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who has His lofty seat above us, but who has also established a tribunal in us.' That it is a judicial faculty is evident from the fact that Kant describes it as 'a third thing' mediating between 'the moral judgment and the moral law' [Kt35:(69)]. 'Conscience is a state of consciousness which in itself is duty [cf. stage three of systemp].... [It] is the moral faculty ofjudgment, passing judg¬ ment upon itself [Kt8:185-6(173-4)]. Through this 'consciousness of an inter¬ nal court in man' [Kt6:438; s.a. 400-1], God is revealed to be both tran¬ scendent ('above us') and immanent ('in us') [cf. V.l-2]. Kant does not identi¬ fy our conscience with God; rather 'conscience must be thought of as the sub¬ jective principle of being accountable to God for all one's deeds' [439], for 'I, the prosecutor and yet the accused as well, am the same man' [439n]. God, as the third person in the Trinity, is 'the real Judge of men (at the bar of con¬ science)' [Kt8:145n(136n)]: 'the Judge of men... (the Holy Ghost)... speaks to our conscience according to the holy law which we know' [140n(131n)]. 'The judge within us is just' [Kt35:(67)], therefore, because it is conscience commanding on God's behalf in accordance with the moral law. This experience of the voice of God can always be trusted as a person's 'guide' [Kt8:185(173)]; the problem is to be certain that the voice one appeals to for guidance really has its source in the conscience: 'an erring conscience is a nonentity;... I may err... in the judgment, in which I believe to be in the right: for that belongs to the understanding...; but in the consciousness, Whether in fact I believe to be in the right (or merely pretend it), I absolutely cannot err' [Kt64:268(210)]. It is potentially misleading, however, to interpret Kant as saying that 'God's will cannot be... ascertained otherwise than through our conscience' [We26:86]; for Kant does not mean that we cannot learn of God's will in any other way, but only that whatever the outward form (e.g., a passage from Scripture, a sermon, or even an apparition), the validation that it is from God occurs when the message touches our conscience. If a message touches the depths of our being (i.e., our practical reason via the conscience), we can be sure it is from God. In proposing this view, Kant is not freeing individuals to follow the whims of their desires so long as they convince themselves not to feel guilty. That would be to ignore the voice of conscience. Rather, the ultimate goal of all reflection—and so also of doing philosophy—is to learn how to distinguish properly the voice of God from the impure incentives that speak against the moral law. Along these lines Kant says in Kt31:336 that 'practical wisdom... abides alone with God. And to respond to this Idea, by not obviously acting against it, is what we might perhaps call human wisdom.' Kant's theory of the individual conscience as God's means of judging individuals is entirely consistent with Jesus' teaching about judgment in the

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Sermon on the Mount. Both insist 'it is impossible to judge the virtue of others from their actions; that Judge, who looks into all hearts, has reserved that judgement for Himself.'9 Along these lines Kant criticizes the tendency of some clergy to impose their own conscience upon the laity; such a 'forcing of conscience' can 'forbid thought itself and really hinder it', especially when it assumes that doubting theoretical doctrines is 'tantamount to lending an ear to the evil spirits' [Kt8:133-4n(124n)]. For a person can become aware of 'the verdict of his future judge' not by examining the correctness of various theoretical beliefs, but only by considering 'his awakening conscience, together with the empirical knowledge of himself [i.e., of the motives of his actions] which is summoned to its aid' [77(71)]. This implies that God judges us on the basis of the judgment of our own conscience, a view that seems also to be implied by Jesus' proclamation that 'in the way you judge [yourself and others], you will be judged [by God]; and by your standard of measure, it shall be measured to you' [Matt. 7:2]. In any case, Kant's understanding of the role of conscience provides significant evidence that his concern is not only with 'the rational "form" for the decision-making procedure that a Christian would follow, anyway, ... if he acted fully in accordance with Jesus' teachings' [Th70:195]—a description that does accurately describe the purpose of systemp—but also with the existential experience of the divine-human encounter. Further evidence of Kant's concern for understanding the experience of a human encounter with the divine can be gleaned from his description of 'devoutness' as 'an indirect relation of the heart to God' [Kt35:(89)]. This theme has already been discussed at length in VIII.3.B [s.a. AVII.4]. Here it will suffice to recall Kant's view of devotion as a way of preparing oneself to act, rather than as a way of manipulating God. This is precisely the emphasis mystics usually put on spiritual exercises such as meditation, prayer, and fasting. Most mystics use such disciplines not to grasp God, nor to render themselves well-pleasing to God, but to open themselves up to the immediate presence of God, so that the ordinary actions of their everyday life become imbued with divine energy. Kant's approval of such Critical mysticism comes to the fore when, as shown in Appendix VIII, he portrays true prayer as that wherein God's 'all-seeing eye penetrates into our innermost souls and reads our thoughts' [Kt35:(98)] and as a discipline that should thereby 'fan into flames the cinders of morality in the inner recesses of our heart' [(99)]. The traditional view, that 'a private relation to God ... is in Kant's eyes 9. Ktl6:200(Ra63:49); cf. Matt. 6:1,16 and 7:1-5. For a more thorough discussion of the relation between the moral principles of Kant and Jesus, see AV.2-4.

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incompatible with sound morality and sane reason' [We26:155-6], is therefore based on a mistaken interpretation of Kant's criticism. Kant encourages a pri¬ vate relation between God and individual persons through a mutual participation in practical reason; he objects only to the supposition of a public (theoretically verifiable) relation based on a supposed intuition of God.10 In other words, he accepts the importance of 'mystery, i.e., something holy which may indeed be known by each single individual but cannot be made known publicly', as long as we understand that 'it must be moral' and 'not for theoretical use' [Kt8:137 (129)]. Thus, when he criticizes 'the tendency of prayer to turn God, the prop¬ er object of faith, into an object of intuition' [Wa72:63; see Kt35:(l 15)], he is not arguing that any attempt at 'fellowship with [God]' is 'imaginary' [Wa72: 62; s.a. We26:155], but that our experience of such fellowship (being in itself neither practical nor theoretical, but immediate) can be adequately explained as being rooted only in our practical reason. Far from denying the validity of a fellowship based on practical faith, Kant actually defends its sufficiency: 'We do not know God by intuition but by faith.... Now faith is undoubtedly no less vigorous a faculty than intuition' [Kt35:(114-5); s.a. Kt8:52(48)]. A criticism frequently leveled against Kant is well-expressed by Otto: 'It is one thing merely to believe in a reality beyond the senses and another to have experience of it also; it is one thing to have ideas of "the holy" and another to 10. Oakes argues in Oa73:37 that when a person experiences God as present in some sensible object, as for example in the sound of church bells ringing, the person is 'having a sensible experience of God, i.e., in Kantian terms, God must be understood as the object of her "sensible intuition".' In such a case, 'the experience of God supervenes upon the experience of the bells... That is, in so far as the experience of the bells is at the same time an experience of God, the woman would thereby be having a sensible experience of God.' Oakes is right to regard both the hearing of the bells and the experience of God as 'mediated' experiences. But his view of 'God as a possible object of sensible intuition' [37] is mistaken inasmuch as it fails to take into account the perspectival difference between these two types of mediated experiences. Bells can mediate in our experience of God by pointing indirectly to something nonsensible beyond them: they remain symbols of a transcendent ideal that can never become an object of empirical knowledge. Yet the mediate element in our experience of the bells (as bells)—i.e., the sensible intuition of the bells—points directly to a real sensible object, out of which empirical knowledge can be constructed. From the Perspective of immediate (nonreflective) experience, both of these are equally valid. The fundamen¬ tal difference between them is revealed as soon as we reflect upon them theoretically: our sensible intuition of the bells points 'forward' to a publicly verifiable empirical knowledge that can be viewed theoretically, whereas our awareness of God's presence in such an experience points 'back¬ ward' to a transcendent and therefore theoretically unverifiable ground of all empirical knowledge. The closest Kant comes to allowing us to have an intuition of God is when he explains the nature of physico-theological proofs for God's existence 'as combining speculation and intuition' [Ktl:665]. But he is careful to warn that this does not provide us with real theoretical knowledge, but only 'prepare[s] the understanding for theoretical knowledge', if used as a supplement to 'other proofs' (e.g., the moral argument of Kt4). This suggests that we may be able to intuit God, even though it is impossible to verify that the object of our intuition really is God. After citing this passage [Hi74:385], Hicks quotes from the Politz edition of Kt26 (pp.96-8) [Hi74:387n], where Kant explains that the teleological conception of God is based on 'the experience which ... is the simplest experience possible, namely, the knowledge of ourselves.'

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become consciously aware of it as an operative reality, intervening actively in the phenomenal world.'11 Webb applies this criticism directly to Kant in We26:22: 'With Science and with Morality one feels that Kant was completely at home... With Aesthetics, and with Religion ... the case is otherwise. The circumstances of his life denied Kant any extensive experience of visible beauty, whether natural or wrought by art.' He adds that, in spite of his 'congenital incapacity for much that is most characteristically religious', Kant's philosophy of religion 'is epoch-making in theology' [24; s.a. 60]. And Hedge affirms a view of Kant as a man without much personal experience of life when he remarks [He49:58]: 'no sage ever lived' who was 'more purely secluded within himself. Such judgments appear to be supported by the well known biographical details of Kant's life: the fact that he never strayed more than ten or twenty miles from his birthplace in Konigsberg;12 his rigidly structured daily schedule, so 'mechanically regular' [He49:58] that his neighbors supposedly set their clocks by his daily comings and goings;13 and his lack of church attendance [see e.g., K152:38,43; s.a. note X.15]. Yet none of these traits makes a 'philistine', as Heine claims [He59:111,270; cf. Kt7:229]. On the contrary, many mystics would say travel only makes it more difficult to maintain the mystical center of one's experience (i.e., one's 'home'). Surely one does not have to view natural wonders such as the Grand Canyon or Mount Everest in order to appreciate God's presence in a flower: the most ordinary landscape is quite capable of evoking a deep (mystical) response from a person who is intimately familiar with it. And it is typically not the philistine but the mystic who lives in a highly disciplined, apparently self-enclosed way; for a self-disciplined life provides the proper context for discerning the voice of God in the midst of the ambient noise of one's own inclinations.14 Moreover, it seems extraordinarily odd to assume that someone who is capable of expounding the heart of the Christian 11. Ot50:143. Chapman [Ch92:502] defends Otto's approach as not being guilty of 'the pathological response of mysticism whereby the individual was granted a direct knowledge of God.' Of course, neither was Kant, and for essentially the same reasons; the whole point of Kant's Critical mysticism is that an experience of God is possible at some level without producing empirical knowledge. For more on Otto, see note XII.30. 12. The exact distance varies from one account to another. Hedge puts the distance at just 'seven miles from his native city' [He49:57-8]. 13. See note IV. 1. Bax says the period of Kant's highly regular lifestyle was mainly from 1783 to 1802 [Ba03:xxxvi]. 14. Along these lines Fendt suggests [Fe90:85] that the Critiques can be read 'as a kind of spiritual exercises, for their aim is to discipline Reason.' Surely this is why the first chapter of Ktl's Tran¬ scendental Doctrine of Method is entitled 'The Discipline of Pure Reason'. The fact that the most highly self-disciplined forms of religious practice are typically mystical in character is not without significance here. The problem is that undisciplined religious dreamers are also often called 'mystics'. As such, Critical mysticism can be regarded as a way of disciplining reason's dreams.

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message, as Kant did so profoundly in Kt8, was himself uninterested in (to say nothing of congenitally incapable of!) religious experience as such. If we ignore the well known caricatures of Kant [see IV. 1] and consider the facts carefully and with an open mind, there turns out to be ample evidence that he not only believed in the reality of the transcendent God represented by our theoretical idea, manifested in our practical reason (speaking to our con¬ science), and communing with us in prayer, but also actively experienced this reality in his daily life. Webb admits 'there is no doubt that Kant could... have given in all sincerity an affirmative reply to the question': 'Whether he feared God from his heart' [We26:28]. Manolesco portrays Kant as 'a religious man' who 'knew the voice of God in the depth of his conscience' [Ma69:28; s.a. De73:18,111-2,267]. Loades [Lo81:299] says Kant's 'life's work [was] com¬ pleted in homage to the deity.' And Rabel supports this view with a story: Kant was a profoundly religious man.... When Kant had discovered that in a bad summer swallows threw some of their own young out of the nest in order to keep the others alive, he said: 'My intelligence stood still. There was nothing to do but to fall on one's knees and worship.'15

To a nonmystical person, out of touch with the voice of God, the observation that swallows had sacrificed their own young would be more likely to evoke confusion or disgust with the senseless misfortunes of nature than an attitude of worship. Yet for Kant, who believed we should always try 'to discover the good in evil' [Kt39:495(216)], it evoked an overwhelming sense of divine Providence [see AVI.l and Kt46:431(95)]. Notably, it evoked this response of fearful respect for God precisely because he was unable to understand it: reason rests in the face of immediate experience; yet this rest is first experienced not as a death but as a new birth, provided reason submits itself to a higher power. This is the Perspective affirmed by Critical mysticism. The twofold aspect of Kant's mystical world-view is expressed most clearly by his famous exclamation in Kt4:161-2, e.a.: Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and awe, the oftener and more steadily we reflect upon them: the starry heavens above me and 15. Ra63:vii; cf. Wi90:95. Wallace relates the same story in more detail in WaOl:53, adding that Kant once said 'he had held a swallow in his hand, and gazed into its eyes; "and as I gazed, it was as if I had seen into heaven.'" There are, of course, many who question the genuineness of Kant's faith, but without exception these doubts are always based on the interpreter not taking Kant's own words at face value, but instead judging him on the basis of conventional standards of religiosity. Bax, for example, observes (not entirely accurately): 'He never... practised the rites of any cullus, public or private. He never attended church... It must always remain a delicate question in how far Kant really believed in the necessity, nay, even the possibility, of a theology based solely on practical considerations' [BaO3:lxviii-lxix]. Concerning Kant's moral proof, he further speculates that there may be 'a Mephistopholic smile lurking somewhere between the lines.' Having already dealt with such claims in IV. 1, AIV.3, and notes VIII.4,34,49, I am not taking them into account here.

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PART FOUR: CRITICAL MYSTICISM the moral law within me. I do not merely conjecture them and seek them as though obscured in darkness or in the transcendent region beyond my horizon: I see them before me, and I associate them directly with the consciousness of my own existence.

Such a statement could only be made by a person who had spent long hours meditating on the hand of God in nature and on the voice of God in conscience. The starry heavens and the moral law obviously symbolize for Kant the unknowable mysteries (or noumenal Mystery) that undergird(s) systemt and systenip, respectively. For what 'fills the mind with awe' is not empirical knowledge of the stars or of moral activity as such, but rather a meditative observation of how these wonders operate in our immediate experience. Is there a third object of meditation corresponding to systemj? This is a debatable question. A negative answer is suggested by the fact that systemj is concerned not with knowledge, but with feelings. 'Feelings are not knowledge and so do not indicate [the presence of] a mystery' [Kt8:138(129), t.b.]. Kant's explanation in Kt7 of purposiveness in nature and of beauty as the 'symbol of morality'16 could therefore be regarded as attempts to justify, from the judicial 16. See Kt7:351-4 and KSPl:IX.2-3. An aspect of Kt7 that is often ignored in discussions of Kant's theology or philosophy of religion is his theory of the sublime. Hand makes up for this neglect in Ha83, though he regards the appeal to morality as 'a distortion of the experience of the sublime' necessitated solely by 'Kant's architectonic' [68]. This criticism collapses once we regard archi¬ tectonic as a positive force rather than a negative one; moreover, Kant's position can be strength¬ ened by recognizing that it does not require a person who experiences the sublime to have a con¬ scious awareness of being morally good; the point instead is that it is a transcendental condition of the possibility of experiencing the sublime for it be possible for us to be morally good. Without defending his claim, Hand opines that the assumption of a formless 'Presence in nature' [68-9] could readily replace Kant's appeal to the moral law to explain our experience of the sublime. Earlier [Ha83:43] Hand observes that none of the three major commentators on Kt7 'once mentioned the idea of God in Kant's theory of the sublime.' In Kt57 even Kant did not 'mention the idea of God in the experience of the sublime' [Ha83:46]. Nevertheless, 'the idea of infinity ... is essential for the experience of the sublime' [56] and 'the infinite itself is thought of as the supersensible substrate of nature. In other words, we have passed over to the Ideal of Pure Reason where the Infinite Being is the common substratum of Nature' [56-7]. As such, we can regard the sublime as one of Kant's key examples of how we experience the hand of God in nature. 'Kant did explicitly mention God as manifesting His wrath and sublimity in natural events'—i.e., in the dynamically sublime, but not in the 'mathematically sublime' [57]. For an interesting modern analysis of the sublime using a quasi-Kantian approach, see Ts98. Kant's theory of the sublime is thus closely associated with what is traditionally referred to as the fear of God—a type of fear that is very different from ordinary fear. As Hand notes [Ha:83:62n], Kant's first connection of God with the sublime comes in Kt7:263. Both God and the sublime are 'a source of fear' [Ha:83:59]; in both cases, if 'our own position is secure', the experience makes the object 'all the more attractive', yet '[t]o be actually afraid would exclude the experience of sublimity.' According to Hand [60], the Kantian source of our security in the face of an experience of the sublime is our immortality, though he admits Kant does not explicitly state this. Through such experiences, 'objects in nature reveal to us a supersensible faculty' [60]. 'In the... dynamical¬ ly sublime', Hand adds [62], 'the infinite power in nature is considered to be God.' Hand makes the significant point [63] that we only need to be afraid of the sublime's power if we have not lived a morally good life, because then the prospects of a final judgment are daunting. This is the source of the sublime's deep relation to the practical standpoint. As such, Kant regards 'a morally upright

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standpoint, the feelings of awe that arise out of meditation on the mysteries of systemt and systemp. This observation—that Kant's own religious experience arose more profoundly in his meditative contact with conscience and nature than in his participation in organized religion—can adequately explain why he chose beauty and teleology as the topics of Kt7 (the Critique he explicitly regards as providing a religious answer to the question 'What may I hope?' [see KSPl:XI.l]), rather than more traditional forms of religion.17 This account of why Kant mentions only two sources of admiration and awe seems to fit best with Kant's own explanation. However, there is another alternative. If 'the starry heavens' refers not to the limits of the theoretical standpoint, but rather to the limits of the judicial standpoint (i.e., not to the first but to the third Critique [see e.g., Wa63a:265]), then the problem becomes one of discovering something in the former system that Kant views with 'ever new and increasing admiration and awe'. There are, in fact, several a priori elements or functions of the mind that Kant admits are ultimately mysterious. In Ktl: 180-1, for example, he says 'schematism ... is an art concealed in the depths of the human soul, whose real modes of activity nature is hardly likely ever to allow us to discover, and to have open to our gaze.' This is the answer Heidegger offers in He29. However, the best answer, I believe, can be found by taking note of the sections of Ktl that most captured Kant's own attention in disposition' as being 'a second necessary condition for the experience of the sublime (the first was physical safety)' [63]. Against Kant, Hand argues 'that God in nature appears as a non-moral force' because the thought of being judged 'by God after death is certainly extraneous to the experience' of both types of sublimity [67]. Hand may well be correct here. But Kant might counter that such a morally-charged thought ought to be present in anyone who wishes to enjoy the sublime and give the experience a rational interpretation. 17. Kant confirms this assumption in Kt7:482n [s.a. Kt6:483]: 'Both the admiration for beauty and the emotion excited by the profuse variety of ends in nature ... have something about them akin to a religious feeling.' From an explicitly Kantian (Transcendental) Perspective, Otto expounds in more detail the implications of this view of religious feeling [see Ot50:45,112-4]. Otto's claim that our deep religious (or mystical) experiences have an essentially mysterious (i.e., nonrational and even nonmoral) factor might seem to be a direct rejection of Kant's emphasis on reason as the source of both natural and moral knowledge. But in fact they are almost entirely consistent. Otto's account of Kant's statements regarding the impact of conscience and nature on his philosophical feeling would be something like this. Kant experiences awe when confronted with the moral law and starry skies because he recognizes these as symbols of a transcendent, mysterious source of the two sides of human existence. They represent the two 'brute facts' against which we 'bump our heads', so to speak, in our efforts to discover the one ultimate Reason that gives rise to human reason. This Reason creates nature and creates morality, but is it itself rational and moral? The fundamental tenet of Kant's theoretical philosophy is that we cannot know the answer to such a question. And that is precisely the reason our experience of these two limits arouses such 'admiration and awe'! (This paradoxical situation often arises, incidentally, when self-reference is applied to a fundamental principle: the principle itself cannot be coherently submitted to the criteria it imposes.) Once the perspectival character of Kant's thinking is taken into account, it becomes clear that he would have no trouble accepting such an explanation of his deepest experiences. 'Reason' is, for Kant, the ultimately unknowable mystery that generates all our human capacities for knowledge and goodness [cf. AIV.4; s.a. Kt5:461-2; Kr56:32; Wi90:128].

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an 'ever new and increasing' way—namely, 'The Deduction of the Pure Concepts of Understanding' and the 'Paralogisms of Pure Reason', because these are the only two major sections of Ktl that Kant almost completely rewrote for the second edition. The common factor between these two sections is that in both Kant devotes considerable attention to discussing the implications of what he calls 'the radical faculty of all our knowledge, namely,... transcen¬ dental apperception' [Ktl:Al 14]. This clue suggests that his sense of T , as the subjective source of the categories, is the 'brute fact' that constitutes the ultimate limit of systemt, and is therefore what best corresponds to the starry heavens and the moral law. Kant's treatment of the 'unity of apperception' does indeed have a certain mystical flavor. For Kant is not referring simply to the ordinary person's em¬ pirical sense of T , but to a deeper, transcendental limit of all human experi¬ ence—a limit that comes into view only as we gradually forget about (i.e., hold in abeyance) the empirical diversity of our ordinary experiences. And this, like Kant's overall a priori approach, is remarkably similar to the mystic's claim that in order to experience God (cf. answer philosophical questions) we must first go through an experience of unknowing. Eckhart, for instance, says 'the more completely you are able to draw in your powers to a unity and forget all those things and their images which you have absorbed... the nearer you are to [this experience]. To achieve an interior act, a man must collect all his powers into a corner of his soul... hiding away from all images and forms... Here, he must come to a forgetting and an unknowing' [q.i. Fo88:259-260]. Forman exam¬ ines this process of forgetting in some detail, noting that it eventually serves to revitalize the very details of life that had been 'forgotten' [see 263]. In the same way, the 'I think' is for Kant the thought-less core or starting point of all thought; apperception is the perceptionless perception of 'I' that enables us to become aware of all our perceptions. As such, it establishes the (Transcenden¬ tal) Perspective that empowers us to view the empirical details of human knowledge in an enlightened (self-conscious) way. The role of transcendental apperception as the 'missing' element in Kant's description of his experience of 'awe and admiration' is actually implicit in the text quoted above from Kt4:161-2. For it is 'the starry heavens above me and the moral law within me' that give rise to this mystical experience; they are experienced as awesome only when (and because) 'I associate them directly with the consciousness of my own existence'—that is, only if I experience them as 'at one' with the deepest layer of my self-identity, my transcendental apperception. That this experience is immediate is confirmed in the recently discovered fragment on inner sense, where Kant describes apperception as

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follows: 'I am immediately and originally conscious of myself as an entity in the world' [Kt68:(257)]. But because this aspect of Kant's mystical awe remains implicit, I shall devote the final section of this chapter to a closer look at the two objects of Critical meditation Kant acknowledges more explicitly. 4. Meditative Metaphors and the Shaping of a Mystical World View We have already considered in some detail how, as Webb puts it, 'Kant's attitude towards the moral law is always profoundly religious, full of... what Professor Otto ... taught us to call das Numinoses' [We26:58; see notes X.I 1,17]. Kant says, for example, that our soul regards 'with the highest wonder' and with exalted 'admiration... the original moral predisposition itself in us' [Kt8:49(44)], for 'the very incomprehensibility of the predisposition... announces a divine origin' [49-50(45)]. An autobiographical remark towards the end of his life shows that Kant put into practice the theory of conscience he propounds: ... when composing my writings, I have always pictured this judge as standing at my side to keep me not only from error that corrupts the soul, but even from any careless expression that might give offence. And... now, in my seventy-first year, ... I can hardly help thinking that I may well have to answer for this very soon to a judge of the world who scrutinizes men's hearts [Kt65:9-10].

This meditative attitude towards the moral law can be adequately summarized as an attempt not to know God, but to acknowledge and accept God's proper role as 'a knower of hearts' [Kt9:21.147; Kt64:269(212)]. Unfortunately, commentators are usually not as aware of Kant's pro¬ foundly religious attitude towards nature. Webb, for instance, laments 'that Kant did not more clearly perceive in his own attitude in the presence of the starry heavens a proof that Religion has other roots than the experience of moral obligation' [We26:177]. However, the fact that Kant refuses to accept any theoretical proof as adequate to demonstrate the existence of God, and therefore insists that religion can claim a rational basis only in morality, does not mean he fails to appreciate the religious significance of the immediate presence of God in nature. On the contrary, as we saw in KSP1:IX.3 [s.a. IV.3, above, and note AFV.14], Kant admits the force of the teleological argu¬ ment for God's existence, as long as it is viewed as providing good empirical reasons for belief, rather than as an absolutely certain, theoretical proof. Surely, this indicates just as clear a perception of the presence of God in the experience of nature as in 'the experience of moral obligation'—though in nei¬ ther case is this perception or feeling a sufficient basis for theoretical proof. In¬ deed, evidence of Kant's meditative attitude towards nature can be found both

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in the details of his life and in the contents of his writings. Kant's mother, whom he greatly respected, taught him at an early age to appreciate his natural surroundings.18 As he once told his friend Jachmann, 'she planted and tended the first seeds of good in me. She opened my heart to the impressions of nature; she awakened and widened my ideas, and her teachings have had an enduring, healing influence on my life' [q.i. K152:16]. In his early adulthood (between 1746 and 1755) Kant worked as a live-in tutor for several wealthy families who lived on country estates near Konigsberg. During these seven or eight years [cf. WaOl: 19-21 and K152:22-3] he must have had ample opportunity to experience the hand of God in nature, as his mother had taught him. Having been a theology student at Konigsberg University—a fact strangely denied by McCarthy [Mc86:59]—he also preached sermons occasionally in the nearby village churches [BaO3:xviii; Ca81:32]. Even after becoming a professor at the age of forty-six [Wa01:34], Kant disciplined himself to break away from the lively conversation at his dinner table at four in the afternoon in order to enjoy an hour or more of peaceful walking. These daily walks he usually took in solitude, either along the river Pregel (on what is now called the 'Philosophers' Embankment') or to the north¬ west of town along various garden paths [40-1; K152.48]. (He also enjoyed 'going for excursions into the country surrounding his native town', especially to the 'idyllic' forest just a mile to the north-east, where in 1764 he composed Kt57, his pre-Copernican essay on aesthetic feeling [K152:27-8].) As he walked, he was careful to keep his mouth closed and breathe through his nose, because he believed this could help prevent disease—but perhaps also as an excuse for walking alone in silence [49]. (Kant describes his attitude towards the proper relation between thinking, walking, and eating in Kt65:109-110, adding an interesting footnote about 'drinking air' through the nose [11011 In].) Such an interest in keeping disciplined periods of silence and solitude is likely to give rise to a religious experience of some sort, even if one is not consciously fostering a mystical bent. Furthermore, Kant usually fasted on 18. Ba03:xv-xvi; Wa01:12,53. This was no doubt an aspect of her Pietism, which 'laid great stress on radical inwardness' and involved 'intensity of emotion' [Cr94:122], though for some of its founders, 'the education of the will' was equally important. Manolesco says that before writing Ktl8 'Kant had still maintained some mystic remnants from his youth.' [Ma69:14], and that by 1770, the traditional starting-point of his Critical (Copernican) period, 'he managed to rid himself completely of his mystic baggage' [20], by which he is referring mainly to Kant's 'painful' years at a religious school [24-5]. I argued in Chapter II that in writing Ktl8 Kant's youthful 'baggage' was not destroyed completely, but was transformed. As such, his Critical philosophy can be regarded as a defense of his mother's genuine faith against the domineering tendencies of his early teachers. McCarthy [Mc86:58] expresses a similar notion: 'Even as he was neither a deist nor an atheist, Kant was finally neither a pietist nor a mystic' But to this claim I would add 'not purely'; for in a Critical sense, he was paradoxically both.

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'nothing but water' in between his once-a-day afternoon meals.19 That Kant may have been more conscious of the spiritual benefit of his disciplined lifestyle than is generally recognized is suggested by the fact that, upon returning home from his walks, he would spend the next few hours doing what could well be called meditating: 'As darkness began to fall, he would take his seat at the stove, and with his eye fixed on the tower of Loebenicht church would ponder on the problems which exercised his mind.'20 The impact of Kant's meditative mind-set on his attitude towards nature is clearly reflected in his writings on nature. For example, he says in Kt46:431: 'Man, who is intrusted with the economy of the earth, [not only] possesses a capacity ['for contemplation and admiration' of nature], but also takes pleasure in learning to know it, and through his insights praises the Creator.' The book that contains Kant's most important empirical 'insights' into nature (viz., Kt43), proposing a revolutionary new theory of the universe (often called the KantLaplace theory), has at times an 'almost mystical tone'.21 In the 'Opening Discourse' Kant explicitly links his reflections to his experience of the presence of God: 'at each step I saw the clouds... dissipate, and ... the splendour of the Highest Being break forth with the most vivid brilliance.'22 As he draws his discussion to a close he exclaims at one point that 'God... paints [malt] himself in all his creatures' [Kt43:360(190), alt.], thus hinting at the view he develops in Kt7 of nature as the artwork of God.23 And in the final paragraph of Kt43 he 19. K152:49. Jachmann reports this rather differently: Kant 'wholly renounced supper' only after Green's death, for it was a 'time, once sacred to his most intimate friendship, he wished to pass in silence, as a sacrifice to his deceased friend' [q.i. BaO3:xxvi]. This, too, would suggest that his de¬ cision to eat only once a day was a genuine discipline of fasting, performed for a spiritual purpose. 20. Wa01:41. Kant also 'sat in meditation' from about five until six each morning, a habit he valued so highly that he once remarked: "This is the happiest time of the day for me' [q.i. K152.48]. 21. Wa01:108. Jaki's translation of Kt43 is unfortunately over-literal, and his introduction and notes are grossly unfair to Kant's true position. I have criticized Jaki's approach in detail in Pa87b. 22. Kt43:222(81). With such near-visionary experiences in his background, Kant's reputation as an inspiring lecturer should come as no surprise. As Jachmann reports [q.i. Ba03:xxv]: 'Kant seemed to himself and all present, as though inspired by a Divine power, which enchanted their hearts for ever to him.' To whom God's hand is made visible, God's voice is often made audible. In a rather different context, referring to Kant's treatment of issues relating to the mind-body problem, Laywine [La93:124] says 'the early Kant might have claimed to touch the intangible.' While I have cast some doubt on this conjecture [see AII.2], it does have the merit of being consistent with what I regard as Kant's inherently mystical disposition. 23. That Kant's artist-God also has a sense of humor is suggested by his comment in a 1795 letter to Schiller, that reflecting on such oddities as the nature of impregnation 'opens up an abyss of thought for the human reason.' Albeit reluctantly, it seems necessary 'to assume providence to have chosen this arrangement, in a playful manner, as it were, to avoid monotony' [AA12.11 (Ba03:xlv)]. Davidovich says Kt7's 'purpose is to establish a perspective' that enables us to make sense of 'purposiveness' [Da93a:25-6]. 'The solution is to be found in a type of contemplation that participates equally in' theoretical knowing and practical acting [26]. This means [29] Kt7's 'task is neither theoretical nor practical, but contemplative.' For example [Da93a:31], 'in contemplating

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makes one of his most profound statements relating to the mystical experience of the hand of God in nature: 'In the universal silence of nature and in the calm of the senses the immortal spirit's hidden faculty of knowledge speaks an ineffable language and gives [us] undeveloped concepts, which are indeed felt, but do not let themselves be described' [367]. This attitude towards nature is by no means limited to Kant's early, preCopernican writings. In Ktl9:410, when he had already adopted the Copernican doctrine of intuition, he nevertheless affirms that 'we intuit all things in God'— an allusion to Spinoza repeated several times in Kt9 as well [see XII.3]. Far from giving up this view in his later life, his entire philosophical System can be regarded as an explanation of its implications [see e.g., Kt6:482]. Thus, in a passage much like that quoted above, from the end of Kt43, he says the contemplation of the profound wisdom of the divine creation in the smallest things, and its majesty in the great... is a power which cannot only transport the mind into that sinking mood, called adoration, annihilating men, as it were, in their own eyes; it is also, in respect of its own moral determination, so soulelevating a power that words, in comparison,... must needs pass away as empty sound because the emotion arising from such a vision of the hand of God is inex¬ pressible. [Kt8:197(185-6)]

The main difference between this and his earlier endorsements of the mystical contemplation of nature is that he now distinguishes between the fanatical ten¬ dency to allow oneself to be annihilated by the mystical 'vision' and the Critical mysticism whereby one accepts the inexpressible but immediate presence of God as a private confirmation of the moral postulate of God's existence. If we now recall Schweitzer's definition of the mystic as the person who feels a connection with the eternal even 'amid the earthly and temporal', and who sees this very division as somehow transcended [see note X.I], then we can safely conclude that Kant's deep awareness of the 'beyond' towards which nature and conscience point us qualifies him as being a mystic. A further confirmation of this conclusion comes in Kt64:264(204-5), when the philoso¬ pher whose 'bent' in life is supposed to have been 'remote' from any emotional beautiful objects in nature we gain an awareness of something beyond it.' Making frequent use of perspectival terminology much like that used in KSP1, Davidovich stresses that the key perspec¬ tive in Kt7 is not God's, but humanity's [33]: 'this perspective is the status of the rational agent as an end in itself.' From Kt7's standpoint [38], 'reflective faith in grace...is... a belief that nature is ultimately conducive to the realization of moral ends.... [This] is not a practical ability; it becomes possible through the faculty of judgment.' Hand likewise says [Ha83:48J 'the sublime' and 'the beautiful' have in common that 'both please' through 'a contemplative kind of pleasure which is not a means to something else.' When we take into consideration the fact that systemj takes up the standpoint of critique itself and is therefore the most fundamental of Kant's three standpoints, this view of the judicial standpoint as essentially contemplative fits right in with the notion that one of the main purposes of Kant's System is to pave the way for Critical mysticism.

X. Reason's Birth in Immediate Experience

321

experience of God's presence24 declares that, in the end, the only solution to the problem of evil is a full appreciation of God's presence in one's contempla¬ tive experience of nature ('the world') and conscience ('practical reason'): The world, as a work of God, may be contemplated by us as a divine publication of the designs of his will.... For there [i.e., in the 'authentic theodicee' provided by our experience of God] God is by our reason the very expounder of his own will announced by the creation;... that is not the exposition of a reasoning (speculative) practical reason, but of a practical reason possessing potency, which... may be considered as the immediate declaration and voice of God, by which he giveth a meaning to the letter of his creation.

The final confirmation of the mystical character of Kant's world view will require a thoroughgoing examination of Kt9, for in this work Kant attempts to realize his long-standing dream [see II.2-4] of establishing a Critical mysticism on the basis of his Critical metaphysics. When we examine this work in Chapters XI-XII, we shall see that it treats the hand of God in nature and the voice of God in conscience as two sides of one mystical reality. At this point we can observe that the limitations placed on mysticism in Ktl8 provided Kant with a context for developing a fully Critical mysticism in his writings prior to Kt9. Although Kant lacked a name for his new view of how human beings experience God, he did not lack a clear understanding of how it works, nor did he fail to practice it in his own life. Moreover, as noted in AII.l, Kant has influenced mystics of many types, leading them down a Critical path that protects them from the pitfalls of fanaticism. What remains to be seen is how Kt9 confirms and/or further clarifies the role of Critical mysticism in Kant's System of Perspectives. A helpful way to conclude this initial inquiry will be to relate Kant's dual emphasis on experiencing the voice of God in conscience and the hand of God in nature to his metaphor of the Critical philosopher as standing on the shore¬ line between the sea and the land. As Beck observes: 'Kant speaks of hugging the shore of experience and staying far away from the high and stormy seas of metaphysical speculation. Yet that may have been where his heart was.'25 24. We26:60. Such a stoic view of Kant is flatly contradicted by the accounts of Kant's personality given by those who knew him personally. One of his closest friends, Jachmann, describes him as 'a spirited orator, sweeping the heart and emotions along with him, as well as satisfying the intelligence' [q.i. K152:34], and adds that in social gatherings he was unsurpassed: 'All his friends were unanimously of the opinion that they had never known a more interesting companion' [q.i. 45]. Moreover, Kant openly described himself as having a 'very easily affected, but otherwise carefree spirit' [q.i. 32}. What Kant objected to was not emotion as such, but 'emotional thinking' [52]. With this in mind, Walsh's claim, that for Kant 'the path to God starts from the moral emotions' [Wa63a:287], is rather odd. It makes sense only if 'emotions' here refers to our immediate experience—either of nature (giving rise to judgments of beauty and sublimity) or of the moral law (giving rise to the feeling of respect). 25. Be86:ll. For evidence of this sentiment, see Kt2:262, Ktl2:475, and Ktl5:65-6(220). The best

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Indeed, we can picture Kant standing on the wet sand at the beach near Konigsberg, with the waves periodically splashing over his feet, contemplating the moral law as he watches the sun setting below the horizon and the stars gradu¬ ally appearing overhead. This imagery is admittedly somewhat fanciful, yet it is suggested by Kant's own favorite metaphors, and can be regarded as highly appropriate in light of the architectonic structure of his System of Perspectives. For the Critical philosopher stands at the crossroads of immediate experience [see Fig. III.4], casting a reflective gaze over the earth of empirical knowledge on one side and the sea of transcendental faith on the other, and recognizes that only on the boundary between these two can a person fully appreciate the awesome presence of God as it manifests itself in the voice of conscience in one's heart and in the vision of the starry heavens in nature. stars above / / / earth before ^ (-+)

/ critical ^ mysticism ^

\ sea beyond (\

>'

conscience within

Figure X.I: Four Basic Metaphors of Critical Mysticism None of these perspectives on its own suffices to define human nature, yet together they suggest the picture of Kant's mystical world view shown in Figure X.I. These four metaphors correspond directly to the main divisions in Kant's System.26 The sea (as viewed from the shoreline) represents Transcendental known passage of this sort is Ktl:294-5, where Kant describes the domain of 'pure understanding' as 'an island, enclosed by nature itself within unalterable limits. It is the land of truth—enchanting name!—surrounded by a wide and stormy ocean, the native home of illusion, where many a fog bank and many a swiftly melting iceberg give the deceptive appearance of farther shores, deluding the adventurous seafarer ever anew with empty hopes, and engaging him in enterprises which [like dreams!] he can never abandon and yet is unable to carry to completion.' Kant's use of the word 'horizon' (a word that occurs 16 times in Ktl [Pa87a:171]) is closely related to his analogy of the shoreline. In Ktl:353-354, for instance, Kant compares the illusion created by the antinomies to the fact that the sea appears to be 'higher at the horizon than at the shore'. 26. Figure X.I is a corrected and improved version of the diagram first published in Philosophy &

X. Reason's Birth in Immediate Experience

323

critique, the source of the theoretical knowledge examined in Ktl; conscience (the heart) gives us immediate awareness of our freedom, as informed by the moral law, and is therefore the existential source of the practical knowledge ex¬ amined in Kt4; the earth represents experience, the source of the judicial knowledge of beauty and purpose examined in Kt7; and the starry heavens rep¬ resent metaphysical reality, the ultimate (yet unreachable)27 object of Kant's philosophical love, and so also (following the analogy of dreams in Ktl8) of his Critical mysticism, which itself corresponds to the T of apperception. Kant is not called the 'sage of Konigsberg' for nothing. As a true sage, he makes his home quietly on the borderlands, denying all extremes, including extreme mysticism. Thus, his world view does not really fit into any of the three categories of mysticism mentioned in X.I, but establishes a fourth category instead. He offers the common person2* a vision of life—a Critical mysticism —that can be enjoyed by any and everyone who is willing to submit to the God of the shoreline, the God who always escapes our theoretical grasp, yet speaks to each of us in the universal experiences of nature and conscience.

Theology 4:1, p.89, where it was distorted almost beyond recognition by the editor's apparent over-confidence in computerized text-transfer technology. In any case, the metaphors correspond much more directly in this revised version both to Figure III.4, above, and to Figure III.8 of KSP1. 27. Kant expounds his Critically-enlightened metaphysics in Kt3, Kt6, and Kt9. But as we shall see in the following two chapters, he was never quite able to realize the starry-eyed goals of Kt9. 28. Kuehn rightly insists in Ku85:168 that 'Kant makes ... very clear that he is on the side of the common man or common sense.' 'For Kant', unlike many of his Enlightenment contemporaries, 'the "crowd" is not an object of contempt.' In Ktl8, when the key features of his mature philosophy were just beginning to dawn on him, Kant openly acknowledges 'the dependence of our judgment upon the common sense of man' [334(63)]. For, as he puts it in Ktl8:325(49), 'Common sense often perceives a truth before comprehending the reasons with which to prove or explain it.' It is important to point out, however, that, the philosopher's task is to explicate common sense; it is therefore unjustifiable for the philosopher 'boldly to appeal to the common sense of mankind [i.e., instead of giving arguments]—an expedient which always is a sign that the cause of reason is in desperate straits' [Ktl:811-812; s.a. Kt2:259(7)]. Unfortunately, because Kant puts in the place of such specious methods a complex tangle of abstract terminology and argumentation, his belief that his System of Perspectives upholds the view of the common person [see e.g., Ktl:859] is often ignored or not taken seriously. Yet the overall purpose of his System is certain to be misunderstood if its aim in this respect is ignored. For the whole of Kant's philosophical project can be seen as an attempt to place limitations on the various extremes that threaten to sway ordinary people away from the beliefs and actions towards which their reason naturally points the way [see e.g., xxxif]. Thus Velkley [Ve85:101] is right to portray Kant's 'transcendental turn' as implying that 'theoretical philosophy can have no higher theme than "ordinary experience".' Indeed, this emphasis carries over into Kant's personal attitudes as well. Thus, he says in Kt4:76-77 that 'to a humble plain man, in whom I perceive righteousness in a higher degree than I am conscious of in myself, my mind bows, whether I choose or not...'.

Chapter XI The Tantalizing 'Gap' in Kant's System I am as it were mentally paralyzed even though physically I am reasonably well. I see before me the unpaid bill of my uncompleted philosophy, even while I am aware that philosophy... is capable of completion. It is a pain like that of Tantalus though not a hopeless pain. The project on which I am now working concerns the 'Transition from the metaphysical foundations of natural science to physics.' It must be completed, or else a gap will remain in the critical philosophy. Reason will not give up her demands for this... [AA12:254(Zw67:251)]

1. Forster's Riddle: What Prompted Kant to Write Kt9? In the famous passage from his 1798 letter to Christian Garve, quoted above, Kant confesses that he sees a tantalizing 'gap' in his philosophical System, a gap connected in some way with the 'transition' project he was then working on, as contained in what we now call the Opus Postumum [Kt9]. Interpreters have typically taken 'gap' and 'transition' to refer to exactly the same thing, namely, to the book Kant hoped Kt9 would become. As a result, there has been a long-standing, twofold conundrum concerning Kant's intentions in Kt9. First, Kant clearly states in the third Critique that this book (published in 1790) brings his 'entire critical undertaking to a close' [Kt7:170], so how can a new gap suddenly appear eight years later? And second, Kant's Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science [Kt3] had already accomplished, in 1786, a transition between the Critical System (especially Ktl) and physics, so why does there need to be another transition, between this first transition and physics? These twin problems have led some scholars to suppose that, when Kant mentions mental paralysis in his letter to Garve, he is actually alluding to the onset of senility, and that this affliction eventually caused the sage of Konigsberg to waste the last years of his life writing nonsense. Eckart Forster has proposed an interesting alternative explanation which, he argues, could provide some much-needed clues for drawing together the diverse pieces of this puzzle.1 He argues that Kant must not have intended the words 'gap' and 'transition' to refer to the same thing, because the idea for writing a transition can be traced 'back at least to the year 1790' [F687:536], yet no mention of a gap is ever made until September of 1798 [537]. He thinks this indicates that something must have 'happened in 1798 which prompted Kant to reflect anew on his philosophy, and which brought to his attention a gap in the critical system that had previously escaped him' [537]. Forster 1. F687:533-55. I would like to thank Professor Forster for kindly providing me not only with an off¬ print of his stimulating article, but also with an early draft of his translation of selections from Kt9.

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conjectures on the basis of an ingenious compilation of evidence that the event in question, which sparked Kant's recognition of the gap, was the publication of a Prize Essay question by the Berlin Academy of Sciences, criticizing Kant's view of mathematics and favoring 'the general empirical origin of all our cognitions' [q.i. 554]. This event, Forster conjectures, may have 'led Kant to reflect anew on the role of mathematics in philosophy and hence, ultimately, to revise his position substantially' [555]. Although he does not claim to have presented a thorough analysis, Forster points out that the theory of the role of mathematics in physics that Kant develops in Kt9 appears to be contrary to the official 'Critical' position [F687:549-552]. This difference, claims Forster, sug¬ gests that the word 'gap' refers to Kant's sudden, painful realization that 'the question of the objective reality of [Ktl's] concepts and principles still awaited a satisfactory demonstration' [F687:551]—a question that would therefore need to be answered in Kt9 as part of the transition. Forster defends his position by noting that Kt9 contains a 'polemic against mathematical foundations' [F687:550] that seems to contradict directly the view presented in Kt3, where mathematics is regarded as the necessary link between metaphysics and physics: 'A pure philosophy of nature in general'. Kant explains, 'may indeed be possible without mathematics; but a pure doctrine of nature concerning determinate natural things... is possible only by means of mathematics' [Kt3:470].Ifin Kt9 'mathematics is expelled from thephilosophia naturalis', then, Forster concludes, 'the very possibility of a "pure doctrine of nature..." is now in question' [F687:550]. Thus the new gap Kant supposedly recognized suddenly in September of 1798 was that the mathematical emphasis of Kt3 [see XI.3] must now be replaced by a nonmathematical defense of the objective reality (i.e., applicability to physics) of the categories and principles defended in Ktl. Forster's solution to the riddle of Kt9, then, is that 'transition' refers to the book that was to be composed out of the notes contained in Kt9, whereas 'gap' refers to the recognition while writing this book that his former 'Critical' view of mathematics (as developed in Kt3) was mistaken and therefore needed to be replaced. Unfortunately, Forster overlooks several problems that render his novel explanation untenable. After calling attention to these problems, I shall propose solutions by showing how the terms 'gap' and 'transition' have clearly discernible meanings once Kt9 comes to be regarded as the final statement of Kant's Critical mysticism, as hinted in 11.1,4, X.I,4, and KSP1:III.4. The first problem raised by Forster's conjecture is that it seems rather far¬ fetched to suppose that the person who is arguably the most influential philosopher in modern times, and who showed such extreme (often annoying)

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confidence in the validity of his work, would suddenly revise one of the most basic tenets of his (by then) well-established System, just because someone saw fit to question it. This would not be the recognition of a gap, but a revolu¬ tionary rejection of an important part of the Critical enterprise, in favor of something closer to traditional empiricism. Moreover, such an interpretation fails to explain why Kant repeatedly says Kt9 adopts the 'highest standpoint of transcendental philosophy' [e.g., Kt9:23,32]—to the extent that Jachmann calls it 'his most important work' [q.i. Ca81:408]. If Kt9 is intended to revise such basic Critical doctrines as the role of mathematics in physics, then it would hardly seem appropriate for Kant to call it the highest standpoint of his System, but, at best, a revision of the standpoint formerly adopted erroneously! Yet, as I shall argue shortly, no such problematic revision need be supposed, once the thoroughly perspectival structure of Kant's philosophical System is taken into account. The views expressed in Kt9 are not intended to replace the views expressed in any of the three Critiques, but instead are intended to answer some of the same questions from a different standpoint. Solving this first problem, then, will require an explanation of how the apparently contradictory theories Kant proposes in Kt3 and Kt9 can be rendered compatible. The second problem arises when Forster [in F687:538] denies the tradi¬ tional view of Kt3, whereby it is regarded as a partial fulfillment of Kant's plan to write a Metaphysics of Nature.2 Forster rightly recognizes that Kt3 is 'Kant's philosophy of physics, or, rather, of physics' rational part' [544]; however, he believes its function in Kant's System should be understood in connection not with the proposed Metaphysics of Nature, but with Ktl, as an extended foot¬ note to the Schematism: 'Since the Schematism chapter dealt exclusively with time-determinations and inner sense, it did not specify the "sufficient" condi¬ tions of the application of the categories; it required supplementation by a work that laid out the form and principles of outer intuition in their entirety' [542]. Kt3 can thus serve 'to supplement the Schematism and to complete the proof of the objective reality of the categories' [543]. In fact, Forster goes so far as to conclude from certain comments in Kant's Preface [Kt3:477-478] that Kt3 is not intended to be 'part of the metaphysical system' at all [F687:538-539]. He 2. As early as the Preface to the first edition of Ktl [Axxi] Kant announces that he hopes to produce 'a system of pure (speculative) reason ... under the title Metaphysics of Nature' [s.a. Kt6:205; Kt7:170-l). He then says it will adopt the method of 'analysis', as compared to the synthetic method of the Critique. This distinction confirms the accuracy of the schematic map of the nine basic works in Kant's System proposed in KSP1:III.4 [s.e. Fig. III.9). As we shall see in XI.3, this systematic schema seems to have dawned on Kant only gradually and in part, though the basic distinction between critique as synthetic and metaphysics as analytic remained virtually unchanged throughout his writings.

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infers this from the fact that Kant uses a rather unfortunate metaphor in describ¬ ing the relation between Kt3 and 'general metaphysics... (properly, transcen¬ dental philosophy)' [Kt3:478]: Kant says Kt3 is like 'a shoot springing indeed from [the] root [of general metaphysics] but only hindering its regular growth'; hence in Kt3 Kant 'plants this shoot apart... [from] general metaphysics.' The problem here is manifold: there are at least five weighty objections to this aspect of Forster's interpretation. First, if Kt3 served such a key role in the completion of Ktl, then Kant would certainly have made a point of stressing this fact at some point in Ktl's second edition (published one year after Kt3); yet the second edition's only reference to Kt3 [Ktl:110n] makes no mention of any such radical change. Second, Kant would probably also have included these crucial new arguments themselves in the second edition (at least in sum¬ mary form), since without them the arguments in the Critique are supposedly 'insufficient'; yet no such arguments numbered among the many revisions Kant made to Ktl in 1787. Third, the analogy of the 'shoot' being entirely separable from the original plant, so that each can survive independently, would be wholly inappropriate if Forster's position is correct. Instead of emphasizing the sufficiency of Ktl to stand on its own, as Kant intended, just the opposite would be true: the mother plant's roots (Ktl) would not be able to survive once the shoot (Kt3) were transplanted. Fourth, Forster's accurate recognition of the need for a 'completion' of the Schematism, with its exclusive emphasis on time, is misplaced. For he neglects the fact that this need is actually satisfied in the very next chapter of Ktl, the Principles of Pure Understanding (and espe¬ cially in the second edition Refutation of Idealism), where space is reintroduced into the system of knowledge, and its formal characteristics defined. Finally, in Kt3 Kant clearly portrays his purpose as being, much like the purpose of his later Metaphysics of Morals (Kt6), not to provide a formal completion of Ktl, but to provide material for its proper application—i.e., 'instances (cases in concreto) to realize the concepts and propositions of [Ktl]' [Kt3:478]. And this is not the task of Critique, but of Critically enlightened metaphysics. The mistaken character of Forster's interpretation of Kant's analogy of the 'shoot' is made more obvious when we read Kt3:477-478, where Kant says Kt3's separation from the rest of the System can be done 'without mistaking its origination from metaphysics or ignoring its entire outgrowth from the system of general metaphysics. Doing this does not affect the completeness of the system of general metaphysics' because this 'separate metaphysics of corporeal nature' is now to be viewed as a smaller part (i.e., a subsystem) within 'the larger system of metaphysics in general'. Kant's point, in other words, is simply that, in keeping with his usual systematic method, he will divide his

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subject-matter into different standpoints, and deal with each separately.3 Kant is saying that, instead of mixing together topics that adopt different standpoints, he prefers to treat them separately, with the understanding that they all remain under the 'umbrella' of the System's overall Perspective (i.e., the 'Copernican' Perspective, as he calls it in the Preface to Ktl's second edition). Of course, this second problem gives rise to the need to determine more accurately the precise nature of the relationship Kant saw between Kt3 and the rest of his System—a task I shall attempt to fulfill in XI.3. In addition to the problems associated with Forster's claim that Kant decided to make a fundamental revision in the core elements of his System at such a late stage in his life, and with his assumption that Kt3 fills a gaping hole in Ktl's Schematism, a third problem now rears its ugly head: namely, Forster accepts the conventional view that Kant's overall purpose in Kt9 was to con¬ struct his infamous 'transition'. Because Kant says in his letter to Garve that his current project 'concerns the "Transition from the metaphysical foundations of natural science to physics'", commentators have typically assumed this, or something like it, was to be the title of that work [see e.g., PaO2:281n]. But this completely ignores the fact that a significant portion of Kt9, as we shall see, is concerned not with physics and theoretical reason but with theology and practical reason. It also ignores the fact that 'Transition..." is only one of many potential titles Kant considers, and does not aptly reflect the book's overall content [see XI.2]. Indeed, even a cursory reading of Kt9 reveals that Kant's interests are much broader than simply to establish such a transition. This third problem, then, gives rise to the need to describe more fully Kt9's true purpose. A fourth and final problem with Forster's interpretation is that it fails to give an adequate explanation for why Kant would describe the gap in his System as giving rise to 'a pain like that of Tantalus'. If the gap is really the recognition that his previous view of the relation between mathematics and physics is wrong, then this gap would not be tantalizing, but sickening, especially for someone who had devoted so much time and energy to the task of developing a System that rests (at least in part) on what would now be seen to be an incorrect view. The whole tenor of Kant's remarks to Garve suggests that the gap in question is tantalizing because it would complete the System for the first time or in a new way, not because it would revise a System he had formerly thought to be complete. Providing an alternative interpretation that avoids this final problem will therefore require a more direct explanation of the 3. The word 'separately' here does not imply a complete detachment from the overall System, but simply indicates Kant's strategy of 'divide and conquer', as elaborated in II.4 and III.4 of KSP1.

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implications of Kant's allusion to the myth of Tantalus. Forster is aware of the importance of taking into consideration Kant's reference to the myth of Tantalus, for he mentions it on several occasions [F687:533,537,549,551]. However, the most he ever says in the way of explaining why his description of the gap renders appropriate a comparison with the pain of Tantalus is that in September of 1798 'Kant could only see that, but not how, the Transition must achieve this goal' [537]—i.e., the goal of filling the gap left by Kant's supposed recognition of Kt3's inadequacy. Yet such a perplexing situation would not be consistent with the type of tantalizing 'pain' symbolized by the myth in question. As we shall see in XI.4, the myth alludes to a pain caused by a desire of which both the cause (the 'that') and the means of satisfaction (the 'how') are fully known, but whose fulfillment is pre¬ vented by some extraneous factors that are out of the individual's control. The alternative I shall suggest is perhaps most appealing in view of its ability to elucidate Kant's analogy. In the remainder of this chapter I shall offer an alternative explanation of the facts—one that enjoys the benefits of Forster's helpful suggestions, but provides solutions to the four problems raised above. I shall begin this task in the next section by reviewing some of Kant's long-term motivations for constructing a philosophical System and how Kt9 fits in to his overall plan; this will provide an important background against which the issues we are considering can be accurately viewed. XI.3 will then provide a general overview of the architectonic relationships between the different books that constitute Kant's System, including a new explanation of what Kant was aiming to accomplish in Kt9, thus solving the first three problems raised above. Finally, I shall demonstrate in XI.4 how this way of explaining the role of Kt9 provides an excellent solution to the fourth problem, by revealing the significance of Kant's allusion to the myth of Tantalus. 2. The Tantalizing Content of Kt9 The word 'tantalizing' may seem oddly out of place in a discussion of Kant's writing, so much of which is characterized by his often dry and abstract style of reasoning. This is true, at least, until we recall our discussion in Chapter II of what may be the most unjustly neglected work in Kant's corpus, his examination of Swedenborg's mystical experiences in Ktl8. Though com¬ paring the dangers of fanatical mysticism to those of speculative metaphysics, Kant nevertheless expresses the hope that mystical experiences and metaphysi¬ cal knowledge of spirits may convey some measure of reality or truth. This, together with its paradoxical and sometimes shocking insistence that such

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hopes are bound to be disappointed, makes Ktl8 one of the only books Kant wrote that can legitimately be said to tantalize the reader. Our detailed examination of Ktl8 in II.2-3 revealed that this book gives us a good look at Kant's dawning awareness of his special, Critical way of doing philosophy. Moreover, his study of Swedenborg's mystical visions appears to have served as a catalyst prodding Kant to set out a complete System of Critical philosophy. Indeed, a proper understanding of Ktl8, as forming a vital part of the Critical philosophy' s historical context, is necessary for anyone who wishes to understand the general purpose of Kant's System, and so also, to interpret properly the purpose of Kt9. For if we keep in mind Kant's foundational comparison between the sensation-dreams of those who claim to have mystical experiences and the reason-dreams of those who claim to have metaphysical knowledge, then the fact that Kant saw Ktl8 as requiring him not to give up his love of metaphysics, but rather to reform it (by applying to it the Critical method he was gradually perfecting), clearly implies that he also hoped for the day when the same Critical reform could be applied to the claims of mystics. The connection between mysticism and metaphysics therefore represents not just a passing phase in Kant's early development, but an undercurrent that can be seen operating throughout his entire System. For if no other message comes through the pages of Ktl8, the notion that Kant saw the possibility of mystical experience and of metaphysical knowledge as standing or falling together, as two sides of the same coin, shines forth like the noonday sun. Inasmuch as Ktl8 sets out for the first time a general problem that Kant devoted the rest of his life to solving, I portrayed it in II.4 as the 'seed' that eventually sprouted and grew into the 'tree' of Critical philosophy. The architectonic interpretation of the latter given in KSP1 (especially Chapter III and its detailed application in Part Three) facilitates a clearer understanding of how the three Critiques constitute Kant's attempt to construct a secure metaphysical foundation for a rarefied form of mysticism. Although the 'tree of Critical philosophy' had matured by 1790, its 'mystical fruit' did not begin to ripen until shortly before 1798. For as we shall see, Kt9 was to be Kant's attempt to complete at long last the cycle that began with Ktl8, by bringing to full fruition the twofold task of Critical philosophizing. Kant believed Kt9 would be the greatest work of his entire System of Perspectives: it was to fill the final 'gap' by uniting the entire System under one idea. Unfortunately, he died before it could be completed. He left hundreds of pages of notes on his desk,4 organized into (significantly enough) twelve 4. An English edition of these posthumously published notes has only recently appeared. In his

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folders, called 'Convoluts' in German and 'fascicles' or 'bundles' in English. Given Kant's method of considering opposing viewpoints with all sincerity before making up his mind on any given issue [see KSPl:34-5], and given his Critical tendency to accept both extremes, as viewed from different perspectives, it is inevitable that an unfinished work will give rise to even more interpretive controversy and confusion than the works he completed [see Ad20:l-35]. Nevertheless, I believe that, armed with a clear understanding of the System it was intended to complete and with a recognition of its dependence on the principle of perspective, we can interpret these notes in such a way that they will appear not only to be surprisingly self-consistent and consistent with the rest of Kant's System, but also to fulfill the function for which they were originally intended. I shall argue in this section that the function of Kt9 is to reveal the mystical seed of the Critical dream in its fully-formed state, as a thoroughly Critical mysticism. Whereas the Critical mysticism developed in Ktl8 is concerned with the possibility of communion with spirits, the Critical mysticism devel¬ oped in Kt9 is concerned with the all-important question of the actuality of communion with God. In order to show that Kant's Critical mysticism is evident quite apart from his (potentially) systematic defense of it in Kt9, I purposefully avoided using material from Kt9 in Chapter X. This should also serve to prove that Kant is not merely succumbing in his old age either to senility or to the Romanticist influences of Fichte and the other young idealists, as is generally assumed,5 but is trying at last to realize the full implications of translation of Kt9, Forster, gives an excellent history of the troubles that have plagued various attempts to publish Kt9 [F693:xvi-xxix]. In a nutshell, the (private) owners of the manuscript have not always been amenable to its scholarly examination. Cf. Co60b:380. Vleeschauwer claims in V162:4 that Kt9 'allows us to see Kant caught in the meshes and wedged between the two [movements, the Enlightenment and Romanticism], an easy target of criticism.' However, this could just as well be said of Kant's entire System of Perspectives. For he may have seen his System heading towards the position adopted in Kt9 from the start, so that the Romantic movement should be regarded as developing naturally out of Kant's critique of certain Enlightenment tendencies, rather than as presenting him with new ideas that he could adopt only by contradicting his Critical position. Along these lines Vleeschauwer says Kt9 'is not made up of a series of random speculations attributable to the senility of the master..., but is rather the swan-song of a great logician. It is simply the final stage ... of the Critical philosophy which Kant reached in the silence of his old age' [179]. His suggestion that it may have been intended as a third edition of Ktl seems obviously incorrect. Kemp Smith clearly demonstrates in Ke23:627-36 that Kant was influenced by the new idealist trend, but he admits that Kant's adoption of their new terminology (e.g., their talk of the self 'positing itself in the object) was probably motivated by a desire to show that these new views 'do not require, and cannot justify, any departure from the strict letter of the Critical Philosophy' [631; s.a. Co60b:386]. However, Kemp Smith, with his allergy to anything architectonic, believes Kt9 was intended as nothing but a 'supplement' to the System [Ke23:631], and ultimately proves only 'how dissatisfied Kant had become with much that is fundamental in his theory of knowledge' [636]. Unfortunately, Kemp Smith's entire treatment of Kt9 is thoroughly

332

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the plan he had been elaborating for over thirty years. In this crowning segment of his System of Perspectives Kant attempts to close the final gap in the overall System by expounding the metaphysical doc¬ trine of immediate experience, which serves as the correlate of Kt7 and Kt8 in the judicial wing of his System [see KSP1, Figure III.7] and as the synthesis of the metaphysical doctrines expounded in Kt3 and Kt6. Kemp Smith explains in Ke23:283n that Kant's purpose in Kt9 is to determine 'how the world of physical science stands related, on the one hand to the sensible world of ordi¬ nary consciousness, and on the other to the world of things in themselves.' We can express this rather more accurately by saying his purpose is to demonstrate how immediate experience ('the sensible world of ordinary consciousness') is the synthetic root of both theoretical knowledge ('the world of physical sci¬ ence') and practical activity ('the world of things in themselves'). As such, Kt9 clearly belongs to the judicial wing of Kant's System. That this synthesis has a mystical character will be argued in XII.2-4. Of the various titles Kant suggests for Kt9, the one many scholars assume to be his preferred choice—and often regarded as the only option—is Transition from the Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science [Kt3] to Physics.6 However, this title completely ignores the important role Kt9 gives to our immediate experience of practical reason; it therefore gives rise to the false assumption that the work belongs solely to the theoretical wing of the System. Kant's mention of this title in his above-quoted letter to Garve, though largely responsible for this common assumption, could just as easily refer to only one aspect of the work he was then in the early stages of writing. Indeed, the twelfth fascicle bears a similar title [22.543], indicating that this was probably intended as the title of only one of Kt9's main parts, not the whole book.7 Another set of muddled by his undefended assumption (following Adickes in Ad20) that in Kt9 'the doctrine of double affection becomes the main subject of argument and exposition' [Ke23:614; s.a. 610,634]. He does quote numerous passages that he believes indicate that 'Things in themselves are ... assumed [by Kant] to affect the noumenal self [616-7], yet he never explains what it is about any given passage that requires such an interpretation. What he fails to consider is that the reason in some respects 'Kant's doctrine of noumenal affection receives... but scanty attention [in Kt9], and why he propounds it i n . . . obscure and quite general terms' [626] is that Kant has no intention of defending such an absurd doctrine [see KSPl:169n,392-4]! 6. See e.g., F693:xxxiv-xxxvii and Ke23:607n; but cf. E170:214. Adickes, in his influential German edition of Kt9 [Ad20], and Forster, in his recent English translation, both rely heavily on this assumption in the dating and even organization of the text. The result of this last vestige of the 'patchwork' approach to interpreting Kant is that Kt9 unfortunately ends up appearing to lack the very thing Kant intended it to be: an idea of the whole. Forster himself recognizes that Kt9 goes 'far beyond' the topic of the 'Transition' [FS93:xxxvii], but is unable to explain why (or how it all fits together), precisely because he never questions his basic assumption regarding 'the problem [Kant] initially set out to solve.' 7. The 'Transition' is required by 'the doctrine of method' [Kt9:21.387(13)] as a 'bridge' [21.476 (40)]; without Kt9, the passage from Kt3 to physics would be a 'leap' rather than a 'step'

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prospective titles reflects Kant's 'newly acquired interest in Zoroaster' during the final decade of his life [Ke23:607] and expresses the overall synthetic aim of Kt9 far more accurately. The rather Nietzschian title, Zoroaster, appears with two different subtitles: 'Philosophy in the totality of its Conceptual Contents Gathered Together under One Principle' can be regarded as implying Kant's intention to show how his entire System of Perspectives springs forth from the common root of immediate experience [see KSP1:108-10,118-41]; and 'The Ideal of the Physically and at the Same Time Morally Practical Reason United in One Sense-Object' explicitly expresses his intention to synthesize the theoret¬ ical ('physical') and practical ('moral') standpoints in the judicial standpoint of immediate sense-experience.8 These options should therefore be regarded as the most appropriate of the many prospective titles Kant puts forward in Kt9. The fact that Kant sorted the notes for Kt9 into twelve folders (with a brief thirteenth folder for concluding remarks) suggests that he probably had in mind an explicit patterning of this work along the lines of the architectonic division of the categories.9 Unfortunately, the notes do not include a table of contents, or any other clear indication as to what the distinctive role of each part would be in the overall architectonic structure. The entire first fascicle [Kt9:21.1-158] and most of the seventh [22.48-131] are devoted primarily to expounding 'the transcendental-philosophy's highest standpoint in the two mutually related ideas, God and the world'10—i.e., their synthesis in the idea of 'man in the world, as subject to the duty-principle' [21.82]. But the remainder of Kt9 is devoted primarily to developing various themes in Kant's philosophy of nature. Once we understand that for Kant 'nature' includes the inner world of the subject (psychologia rationalis) as well as the phenomenal world (physica rationalis) [see Kt 1:874-5], we can agree with Vleeschauwer's claim that, whereas Kt3 is Kant's 'metaphysics of corporeal nature', Kt9 was intended to be his complete 'metaphysics of nature' [V162:178-9]. In XII.3 I shall examine Kant's metaphysics of nature in more detail, particularly with regard to its epistemological status in relation to the rest of his [21.387(13); 21.525(37)]. Taken together, such passages provide strong evidence for regarding Kt9 as the third constituent of systemj, rather than as a long footnote to an already completed systemt. In Kt9: 21.407(19) Kant adds that 'a leap ... entirely destroys what is systematic, and, hence... it cannot be tolerated in a philosophy such as physics ought to b e . . . ' . 8. Kt9:21.4(Ke23:607). In Ke23:610n Kemp Smith presents these two references as possible titles for Kt9. Without providing a reference, Bax says Kt9 'was to be entitled "The System of Pure Philosophy in its whole Content'" [Ba03:liv; cf. Kt9:21.156(255)]—a suggestion that corre¬ sponds well with the two titles quoted by Kemp Smith. 9. Kemp Smith criticizes Kant's attempts to apply his architectonic in Kt9 [see Ke23:6O7-41]. 10. Kt9:21.35. Thus, one of Kant's many definitions of transcendental philosophy in Kt9 is 'the doctrine of God and the World' [21.6].

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System. For the remainder of this chapter, let us examine how this way of inter¬ preting Kt9, as the 'grand synthesis' of Kant's entire System of Perspectives, enables us to avoid all of the shortcomings of Forster's interpretation. 3. Kt9 as the Grand Synthesis of Kant's System In light of the foregoing introductory account of the content of Kt9, and recalling the crucial insight Ktl8 gives us into Kant's motives for constructing a philosophical System [see II.2-4], we can now return to the problems intro¬ duced in XI. 1, in hopes of finding a fresh solution to each. The important task of solving the third problem, concerning the true role of Kt9 in Kant's System, will require us to elaborate and defend the position that was put forward merely as an hypothesis in KSP1:98—namely, that Kt9 is a 'Grand Unified Theory' of Critical metaphysics. But any solution to that problem depends on how one solves the second problem, concerning the precise relationship between Kt3 and Kant's other systematic works. I shall therefore begin my response to Forster by attempting to solve this second problem, pass from there to a consideration of the third and central problem, and conclude this section by considering the first problem, concerning the apparent change in Kant's view of mathematics in Kt9, versus that in Kt3. Solving the fourth problem, concerning the full significance of Kant's reference to the myth of Tantalus, can then occupy our full attention in the closing section of this chapter. In Ktl:869 Kant explains that a complete system of metaphysics must in¬ clude a speculative (i.e., theoretical) and a practical subsystem. He calls the former 'metaphysics of nature' and the latter 'metaphysics of morals'. He then divides the former into four parts: '(1) ontology; (2) rational physiology; (3) rational cosmology; (4) rational theology' [874]. The first corresponds to 'transcendental philosophy' itself, whereas the third and fourth are types of 'transcendent physiology' [873-874]. This leaves the second as 'the doctrine of nature' proper, which can itself be divided into 'physica rationalis and psychologia rationalis' [874-875], in accordance with the distinction between outer and inner sense. If we take into consideration the corresponding twofold divi¬ sion of the Metaphysics of Morals (between outer morality, or justice, and inner morality, or virtue) [see e.g., Kt6:205], this means Kant originally intended the overall division of the metaphysical wing of his System to cover four types of science: (1) science of body (i.e., rational physics); (2) science of mind (i.e., rational psychology); (3) science ofright(i.e., rational politics); and (4) science of virtue (i.e., rational ethics). The architectonic relationship between these four branches of metaphysical science can be neatly expressed in terms of the following 2LAR:

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ethics as science of virtue (inner, practical)

physics as - science of body (outer, theoretical)

politics as science of right < (outer, practical)

psychology us science of mind (inner, theoretical)

Figure XI. 1: Kant's Four Divisions of Metaphysics In Kt7:170 Kant explains that, although a third Critique is necessary, 'no separate [i.e., third] division of Doctrine is reserved for the faculty of judgment'. Hence, no third book on metaphysics is necessary either: 'with judgement Critique takes the place of Theory [i.e., of metaphysics];... the whole ground will be covered by the Metaphysics of Nature and of Morals.' In 1797 Kant published Kt6, explaining in the Preface [205] that this book expounds the 'science of right' and the 'science of virtue'—the third and fourth divisions of metaphysics cited above. He also explains that this book 'forms a counterpart to the 'Metaphysical Principles of the Science of Nature,' which have been already discussed in a separate work (1786)' [205]. This passage, which Forster unfortunately never mentions,11 clearly indicates that Kant eventually came to regard Kt3 as capable of serving as a sufficient realization of the 'rational physics' aspect of his planned Metaphysics of Nature.12 He was 11. Instead, Forster argues that Kant did not regard Kt3 as part of the proposed Metaphysics of Nature, citing as his main evidence the fact that Kant refers in the second edition Preface of Ktl (written in 1787, one year after Kt3) to the need for a 'metaphysics of nature' [Ktl:xliii; see F687:538]. However, what Kant actually says in that passage is as follows: 'I must be careful with my time if I am to succeed in my proposed scheme of providing a metaphysics of nature and of morals ..." [Ktl:xliii]. The words 'to succeed in my proposed scheme' could easily be interpreted to mean 'to complete the scheme I have already started'. This, at least, makes for a more reasonable explanation than Forster's conjecture that Kt3 was intended to complete a missing link in the argument of Ktl. 12. That this was not Kant's original conception of the function of this book is indicated in a letter to Schiitz (13 September 1785), where Kant describes Kt3 'as a chapter containing the concrete application of the Metaphysics of Nature... This preliminary work is given out in advance because

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no doubt aware of the fact that Kt3 does not contain a rational psychology, and may have decided that the Metaphysics of Nature no longer needs the latter, perhaps because psychology is better pursued as an empirical science.13 Reverting back to this more conventional view of the role of Kt3 enables us not only to avoid the five objections raised in XI. 1 against Forster's prob¬ lematic position, but also to see more order in the overall structure of Kant's System as it stood in 1798, when Kant wrote his letter to Garve. Pausing for a moment to recall the precise architectonic relationship between the books Kant had written up to this point may enable us to gain an invaluable clue as to the role of Kt9 in Kant's System. As we saw in KSP1:III.4, the eight major works that make up the philosophical System Kant constructed during the thirty-one years following the publication of Ktl8 can be classified into three types: those following the synthetic method (viz., the three Critiques); those companion volumes that support each Critique by following, for the most part, the analytic method (viz., Kt2, Kt5, and Kt8); and those developing the metaphysical im¬ plications of Critical philosophy (viz., Kt3 and Kt6). This classification of Kant's main systematic works is depicted in Table XI.l [cf. KSP1, Fig. III.9]. The nature of the first two types of systematic works is relatively unproblematic, but that of the third type requires more explanation, especially since this table reveals what appears to be a gap in Kant's System as it stood in 1798.14 the metaphysic must retain its character as entirely pure, whereas here an empirical concept is presupposed' [q.i. PaO2:277; cf. AA10:382-3(Zw67:119)]. But Kt6:205 seems to leave no alternative except that Kant at some point changed his mind on this issue, perhaps in order to preserve the integrity of the architectonic structure of his System (see below). 13. As Paulsen puts it in PaO2:287, 'psychology according to Kant is an experiential science, and as such..., does not belong to philosophy in the proper sense of the word.' Likewise, Kant himself appears to be repealing his commitment to include rational psychology in the Metaphysics of Nature when he writes in Kt3:471: 'the empirical doctrine of the soul ... can ... never become anything more than a historical... natural doctrine of the internal sense, i.e., a natural description of the soul, but not a science of the soul... This is the reason why in the title of this work ... we have employed... the general name of natural science'—i.e., rather than calling it merely the Metaphysical Foundations of Rational Physics. A further explanation for Kant's failure to write the second half of the Metaphysics of Nature (i.e., rational psychology) is as follows. Aside from ontology (transformed into transcendental philosophy in Ktl) and rational physics (as transformed in Kt3) there are three remaining parts in Kant's description of the contents of the Metaphysics of Nature: rational psychology, rational cosmology, and rational theology. These correspond to the three ideas of reason which, in the Dialectic of Ktl, are regarded as illusory when viewed from the theoretical standpoint. Thus it is not surprising that Kant does not include them in that work. However, filling the metaphysical gap left by the illusory character of any theoretical treatment of these ideas may well have been part of the purpose of Kt9—i.e., to discuss these three remaining topics from their proper, judicial standpoint. 14. In KSP1:III.4 the information in the table given here appears in the form of a rather complex dia¬ gram (using three crosses, connected by a triangle). The only three debatable points in this analy¬ sis of Kant's architectonic are: (1) the placement of Kt3, which I have defended above; (2) the placement of Kt8, which I have defended at length in VI.2 [s.a. KSP1:319-321]; and (3) the filling of the one remaining gap in the table, which is the main focus of the present chapter.

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Table XI.1: Methods and Standpoints in Kant's System standpoint adopted

method adopted synthetic analytic metaphysical (Critique) (sequel)

theoretical

Ktl

Kt2

Kt3

practical

Kt4

Kt5

Kt6

judicial

Kt7

Kt8

(?)

The foregoing solution to the second problem raised in XI. 1, together with this overview of the structural relationship between Kant's main systematic writings, now gives rise to a rather obvious hypothesis as to how the third problem can best be solved: perhaps the 'gap' Kant mentions in his letter to Garve is identical to the gap represented by the question mark in Table XL 1; and perhaps Kant's ultimate goal in writing Kt9 was to fill this final gap by writing a General Metaphysics that adopts (like Kt7 and Kt8) the judicial standpoint. In order for this hypothesis to carry much weight, two questionable points must be demonstrated: first, that Kant himself (in spite of his abovementioned statement to the contrary) had at least considered the possibility of writing a third part to his Critical metaphysics; and second, that the contents of Kt9 justify regarding it as a 'grand synthesis' of this sort. We have already seen that Kant explicitly denies the need for a book that would fill the gap in the above table, for he asserts in Kt7:170 that the third Critique will not require a corresponding book in the Doctrinal part of his System (i.e., in metaphysics proper). But let us take a closer look at how he describes this situation. A few pages later [176-9], he states that philosophy technically consists of only two parts, the theoretical and practical, and that a third part is necessary only for the purpose of completing the task of establishing the Critical foundations for metaphysics. He then explains that 'judgment' is connected with the faculty of 'pleasure or displeasure' in order to 'effect a transition from the faculty of pure knowledge, i.e., from the [theoreti¬ cal] realm of the concepts of nature, to that of the [practical] concept of freedom, just as in its logical employment [i.e., within the theoretical system] it [i.e., judgment] makes possible the transition from understanding to reason' [e.a.]. This interesting, dual use of the word 'transition' gives us an important

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clue as to how best to interpret Kant's use of the same word (Ubergang) in his letter to Garve. Here in 1790, Kant is stating that the vital transition within the first Critique (via the role of judgment in the Principles of Pure Understanding) is analogous to the vital transition in the Critical philosophy as a whole (via the Critique of Judgment), and that metaphysics itself requires no such transition. Instead, he tells us, the principles of judgment can, 'when needful be annexed to one or [the] other [division of pure philosophy] as occasion requires' [Kt7:168]. This usage is especially interesting in view of the fact that Forster demonstrates, on the basis not of this passage, but of evidence found in letters to and from Kiesewetter, that Kant's idea for writing the 'Transition' from Kt3 to physics 'seems to go back at least to the year 1790' [F687:536]. In other words, it seems that in the same year he published Kt7, where he claimed that a third transition is possible, though not necessary for the completeness of his overall System, Kant promised his friend Kiesewetter that he would some day attempt to write a third transition after all! We now have evidence of three kinds of transition, strongly suggesting that, when Kant uses this same word in his 1798 letter to Garve, he has in mind the extension of his 'transitional' writings beyond Kt7 and Kt8 to meta¬ physics itself. Such an interpretation requires us to assume that, between 1790 and 1798, Kant gradually changed his mind and came to see a third part of metaphysics no longer as an optional extra, but as an indispensable part of his System. Whereas in 1790 his friendly gesture to Kiesewetter committed him to writing only 'a few sheets' concerning this transition [q.i. F687:536], by 1798 this same project was causing him to experience 'a pain like that of Tantalus'! What could have caused such a change to occur? My suggestion is that in 1790 Kant could not bring himself to add yet another project to the already heavy workload he had cut out for himself. Many of his letters, even from earlier years, allude to his concern about whether or not he would live long enough to complete his current plan for a System [see e.g., note XI.11]. As a 66-year-old philosopher, who was just on the verge of completing his Critical propaedeutic to metaphysics, Kant knew in 1790 that a considerable amount of work still lay ahead if he wished to expound the System's metaphysical implications: Kt8, Kt6, and a more complete version of the Metaphysics of Nature still remained to be written, not to mention his various essays on history and politics. He already found it difficult to imagine living long enough to complete everything else he had planned, so how could he possibly commit himself to undertake yet another major work? Yet, as each year went by and he completed more and more of his other projects, it became more and more likely that he would complete them all with some time and energy to spare; hence, it gradually

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dawned on him that this third transition was too important to be merely 'annexed' to other parts of the System. As suggested in our discussion of the content of Kt9 in XI.2, the notes Kant left behind relate to far more than just a dry (and now mostly outdated) 'Transition from [Kt3] to physics'. This, surely, was to be part of the project he was working on in 1798; and it is important to recognize that this transition would belong in a work on General Metaphysics, because such a book would pass from the theoretical standpoint of Kt3 to the more concrete, judicial standpoint of physics. Yet many of Kant's notes relate to the practical side of his System, with the apparent intent of revealing how still another transition takes place, this time passing from the practical standpoint of Kt6 to the more concrete, judicial standpoint of real ethical judgments. As we shall see in XII.2, Kant has much to say in Kt9 about the immediacy of the moral law, which can be regarded as the very 'voice of God' in our heart, and about the personhood of the God in whom we intuit all things—even though this same God is still beyond the grasp of our theoretical knowledge. In such notes Kant seems to be coming closer than ever before to achieving the goal of describing the 'Critical mysticism' which, as I have argued in X.l-4 [s.a. KSPl:321-323], characterized his own world view throughout his entire adult life. Our discussion of Ktl8 in II.2-3 demonstrated that Kant first conceived of the laborious task of reforming metaphysics as part of a twofold problem. By 1798 Kant had satisfactorily accomplished his main task of thoroughly reforming the speculative tradition, not by disposing of metaphysics altogether, but by constructing a Critical metaphysics to put in its place. In the works composing the same philosophical System, he had also already made some significant progress in accomplishing his secondary task of thoroughly reforming the fanatical tradition, not by disposing of mysticism altogether, but by constructing a Critical mysticism to put in its place. For example, he argues in Kt7 that our experiences of beauty and purpose in art and nature reveal a depth of interaction between the noumenal and phenomenal worlds that provides a transcendental foundation for the kinds of experiences many mystics report of the 'hand of God' in nature. Likewise, he argues in Kt8 that religion gives us access to a power which, though arising out of morality, can alone fulfill the purpose of our moral nature, so long as we are willing to regard the moral law as the 'voice of God', commanding us in the depths of our heart. What remained to be accomplished in 1798 was therefore the same for mysticism as for metaphysics: to bring the entire System to fruition by synthe¬ sizing all its diverse strands under a single, all-encompassing idea. Although a detailed analysis of the text of Kt9 must be postponed until the

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next chapter, the foregoing hypothesis as to how Kant viewed its contents can be further substantiated by recalling the alternatives for prospective titles cited in XI.2. Such titles suggest that Kant's purpose was indeed to construct one final ('grand') synthesis of his entire philosophical System—i.e., not just a synthesis of the Critical aspect of that system, as Kt7 had already accom¬ plished, but a synthesis of its metaphysical aspect as well—an 'idea of the whole' [see Ktlrxliv] that would bring together in one 'Object' the doctrines of theoretical reason (physics and psychology) as well as those of practical reason (politics and ethics). This would indicate that Kant intended Kt9 to be a General Metaphysics in a new form. The new factor, I believe, is precisely the judicial standpoint itself; inasmuch as it effects a synthesis between the theoretical and practical standpoints—i.e., between the exclusively theoretical 'metaphysics of physics' (Kt3) and the exclusively practical 'metaphysics of morals' (Kt6)— this judicial standpoint must be what Kant has in mind by his repeated references to the 'highest standpoint of transcendental philosophy'.15 If my argument is correct, if the 'gap' Kant refers to in his 1798 letter to Garve signals Kant's recognition that a third part is also necessary in meta¬ physics, just as it was in the Critical works, then the new position Kant adopts in Kt9 reflects not so much a radical change of mind since writing Kt7 as a gradual increase in ambition. For Kant now saw before his eyes the possibility of composing a metaphysical Doctrine of the unity of all forms of human expe¬ rience under one transcendental idea, the idea of 'man' [see e.g., Kt9:27] as the being in whom 'God and the world'16 are united. In other words, he was reaching out to grasp the opportunity of accomplishing the ultimate goal he had set for himself in Ktl8, by combining in one book the Critical metaphysics and the Critical mysticism. As such, Kant's hope of filling the tantalizing gap in his System must refer to the entirety of Kt9, a book we can now regard most ap¬ propriately as an attempt to write what could be called his General Metaphysics 15. On this basis we can now answer the second question asked in the first paragraph of XI. 1: Kt3 and Kt9 both provide a kind of 'transition to physics'; but the former is primarily a theoretical transition from Ktl to physics, whereas the latter is an all-inclusive judicial transition between physics and morals that includes the former as one of its many 'sub-transitions'. Kant had said in Kt7 that aesthetic judgment needs no metaphysics because it is noncognitive. Understood in this light, his repeated references to the unifying 'sense-object' in Kt9 provide yet another indication of the judicial character of the transitions it effects. The Metaphysics of Nature and the Metaphysics of Morals can be scientific because they are cognitive, but judicial metaphysics, like the judicial Critique, must focus more directly on our immediate experience. This may be why Kant at first said there is no need for such a (quasi-)science, and also why it turned out to be so difficult to express once he began to compose it. 16. Kant first mentions this twofold idea at the very outset of Kt9 [21.9], and repeatedly returns to it throughout the first and seventh fascicles. The unity of God and Nature in a human being's own experience of personhood appears to be the most fundamental point where Kant's Critical metaphysics and his Critical mysticism become one [see XII.4].

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of Experience. This interpretation fits in well with all the evidence we have been considering, and so provides the best model, as we shall see in Chapter XII, for making sense out of the many diverse twists and turns revealed by a detailed examination of Kt9's text. Thus, when Kant writes to Garve, saying 'It must be completed, or else a gap will remain ...', the word 'It' should be taken to refer back to 'The project' as a whole, not only to the 'Transition from [Kt3] to physics'; the latter forms only the part of the project he happened to be working on at the time. The solutions I have now proposed to the second and third problems men¬ tioned in XI. 1 make it quite easy to solve the first problem as well. The fact that Kant's attitude towards mathematics in Kt9 is different from that in Kt3 need not lead to Forster's rather extreme (and less than flattering) conjecture. A potential difficulty in solving this problem as Forster presents it is that he gives only a few hints as to what he believes Kant's new view actually is [F687:548550], explaining that a detailed study of the text 'obviously ... cannot here be given' [551]. The passages Forster quotes from Kt9 do seem to indicate that, whereas establishing 'the mathematical foundations of physics' was an impor¬ tant part of Kt3, Kant now wishes to change his mind and say mathematics will not be part of this new transition from the Metaphysics of Nature to physics. From his brief description, Forster's conviction that Kant did change his mind seems to follow as a direct result of his view that Kt3 is an extended footnote to Ktl. Once we recognize, by contrast, that Kt3 actually takes the place of the proposed Metaphysics of Nature in Kant's System, the passages Forster quotes can be readily interpreted in quite a different way. Kant's references to a new role for mathematics in Kt9 simply indicate that, because a new standpoint is being adopted, this work must also adopt a new way of looking at mathematics. Kt3 had properly established from the theoreti¬ cal standpoint the crucial role mathematics must play in the metaphysics of cor¬ poreal nature. The remaining need in Kt9 was to examine from the judicial standpoint the being of nature (corporeal and incorporeal) as experienced (see note XI. 15); and here, mathematics can be put aside as irrelevant. Thus, when Kant asks himself whether or not 'the mathematical foundations of physics' is an issue that 'belongs to the Transition', he is not asking (as Forster supposes) whether or not the Kt3 view needs to be revised [see F687:548-549]; rather, by this question, together with his negative answer, Kant is saying that, because this topic was already adequately dealt with from the theoretical standpoint in Kt3, there is no need for it to reappear when the standpoint changes to the judi¬ cial, as in the transition section of Kt9. In other words, he is assuming not only that the function of mathematics in Kt3 and that of this new, nonmathematical

PART FOUR: CRITICAL MYSTICISM

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transition in Kt9 are compatible, but also that they serve parallel functions from their respective standpoints. This parallelism can be further compared to the moral basis of Kt6, in the form of the conscience.11 By putting together these three branches of Kant's most mature conception of metaphysics, we can construct the following table:

Table XI.2: A Comparison between the Three Books of Metaphysics book

Kt3

topic

standpoint

metaphysics of theoretical (corporeal) nature (cf. Ktl)

based on

as foundation for

mathematics

physics

Kt6

metaphysics of morals

practical (cf. Kt4)

conscience

ethics and law

Kt9

metaphysics in general

judicial (cf. Kt7)

non-mathemati¬ cal transition

immediate experience

We can now reconsider the passage from Kt3:470, quoted in XI. 1 (and in F687:550) and see that it actually supports this solution to the problem. Kant does not say a Philosophy of Nature is absolutely impossible without mathematics. On the contrary, he says a general doctrine of this sort (i.e., a General Metaphysics of Experience) 'may indeed be possible without mathematics' [Kt3:470]; only the Philosophy of Nature considered from the theoretical standpoint, as a doctrine of 'determinate natural things'—i.e., as the particular 'doctrine of body and doctrine of soul' (the first half being given in Kt3)—is impossible without considering the function of mathematics. Once we recognize that Kant intended Kt9 to become the exposition of this General Metaphysics (and that, as such, it assumes a standpoint that synthesizes the theoretical and the practical standpoints), there is no need to regard the antimathematical 'polemic' in Kt9 as contradicting the mathematical emphasis in Kt3; for its subject-matter is to be considered from the standpoint of the judicial wing of Kant's System. Kt9 is therefore bound to be misunderstood, even by the most meticulous specialist, if it is read through the closed and relatively bland spectacles of Ktl and Kt3, rather than through the more open and fresh spectacles of Kt7 and Kt8, where Kant's Critical mysticism comes to the fore.

17. Forster unfortunately obscures the role of systemp in Kt9 by translating Kant's technical term, Gesinnung as 'character', rather than as 'conscience' [Kt9:(293)]. The German clearly reveals, however, that this term is the moral correlate of the Sinnung, or sense-object of systems

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343

4. What was 'Tantalizing' about Kant's Final Dream? The common supposition that Kt9 contains the gropings of a formerly great philosopher as he enters senility is, as Forster rightly says [F687:534], not supported by the actual contents of the text. But what has been ignored by previous interpreters is that Kt9 is also not a completely sober work. Rather, in these notes we see Kant, as it were, becoming intoxicated with the tantalizing prospects offinallybringing to completion the task he had set for himself more than thirty years before. Having established in II.2-3 the roots of Kant's motivations for constructing his System of Critical philosophy, and their connection with both mystical and metaphysical 'dreams', we are now in a position to understand more fully why the gap he mentions tantalized him as his life drew to a close. As I argued in XI.3, the word 'gap' must refer to the General Metaphysics of Experience, for which the eight completed books in his System (viz., Ktl, Kt2, and Kt3 from the theoretical standpoint; Kt4, Kt5, and Kt6 from the practical standpoint; and Kt7 and Kt8 from the judicial standpoint) had prepared the way. In other words, the gap is to be filled by the book Kt9 was intended to be, whereas the transition between Kt3 and physics is the specific aspect of Kt9 that Kant was working on in September of 1798. This means that, although Forster is right in refusing to identify the gap with the transition, the intricate and rather untenable hypothesis he proposes to explain their difference is superfluous. The main task of this concluding section of our look at Forster's riddle will be to demonstrate the appropriateness of Kant's reference to the 'pain of Tantalus'. Before doing so, however, I shall respond to two objections a supporter of Forster's interpretation might make to the view I have presented. The first is that Kant explicitly describes the gap as being in his 'critical system', yet if we distinguish between the broad sense of 'Kant's System', as referring to all nine of his major systematic works, and the narrow sense of these words, as referring only to the three Critiques, then the gap as I have interpreted it is not actually a part of the Critical wing of his System. The gap as Forster sees it, by contrast, is located more appropriately, at the very heart of the first Critique itself! My response to this objection is to say that Kant often uses the same term in both a narrow, technical sense, and elsewhere in a broad, looser sense.18 Thus it is not unreasonable to suppose that Kant, whose whole way of doing philosophy had become known by 1798 as the 'Critical philosophy', would use this phrase to include the works that set forth the metaphysical implications 18. A good example is his twofold use of the terms 'a priori' and 'transcendental' [see KSP1:1O7-11].

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of the three Critiques. Although it would have been more accurate to say he saw a gap in the metaphysical application of his Critical philosophy, Kant's loose reference to the gap as being somewhere in the Critical philosophy need not imply the sudden recognition of any major defect in one or more of the Critiques themselves. Moreover, on Forster's interpretation, whereby the gap refers to the need for a new way of defending the objective validity of the categories and so also the connection between metaphysics and physics, the gap would be more appropriately described as a localized error in the first Critique, than as an empty hole in the overall System. Kant's wording implies that an entire book is missing, not just an argument within a book. A second objection is that my interpretation does not explain why Kant made no mention of the gap before 1798. Forster's key hypothesis rests on the assumption that this timing is a vital clue to the proper explanation of the facts. This is what leads him to conjecture that the publication of Selle's prize essay question prompted Kant to reconsider the role of mathematics in philosophy. There is, however, a much simpler and less presumptuous alternative. Kant's use of the word 'gap' in his letter to Garve is most likely nothing more than an off-the-cuff remark, intended as part of his metaphorical reference to the myth of Tantalus.19 So let us now examine that myth in more detail. Tantalus was a legendary Greek king who had found much favor in the sight of the gods. He was not only often entertained at their table, but 'was himself on occasion their host' [Ro58:68]. However, at one point in the story he does something that 'offend[s] them beyond pardon.' In one version, he serves the gods human flesh to test their omniscience, while in another he steals their nectar and serves it to his fellow humans. As punishment he is made to be 'forever hungry and thirsty; he stands in a pool of water up to his chin, but whenever he tries to drink, it drops away from him. Overhead are boughs laden with fruit, but when he reaches for it, the wind blows it away' [68]. Forster's interpretation portrays Kant as knowing what needs to be done, just as Tantalus knew that food and drink would satisfy his hunger and thirst. However, it requires us to identify the unfulfilled desire with something (a missing theory) that Kant could not at that point see clearly, whereas for Tantalus the everlasting torment was caused not so much by his lack of food and drink, but by their close proximity combined with their inaccessibility. If Kant used this analogy with as much care as he normally did when speaking metaphorically [see Ax89 and Ta68], then the true referent of the 'gap' must be 19. This is supported by the fact, mentioned by Forster in F687:537, that the very earliest references to a 'gap' appear in the notes Kant made in preparation for writing his 1798 letter to Garve.

XI. The Tantalizing 'Gap' in Kant's System

345

something he both desired and saw before him, but was prevented from reach¬ ing (i.e., describing) by some uncontrollable force—a force that he says makes him 'as it were mentally paralyzed'. The word 'gap' would then be carefully chosen to put a vivid picture before our eyes: the final book of his System is being compared to Tantalus' lips and hands; and the 'pain' is caused on the one hand by the gap between these lips and the 'water' of Kant's theoretical system (especially Kt3), and on the other hand by the gap between these hands and the 'fruit' of Kant's practical system (especially Kt6). So the word 'gap' is an intentionally metaphorical description of the relation between the book he was then working on (viz., Kt9) and the rest of his philosophical System, as depicted in the following diagram: Metaphysics of Morals (Kt6) (= the practical standpoint)

D. to

General Metaphysics of Experience (Kt9) (= the judicial standpoint)

Metaphysics of Nature (Kt3) (= the theoretical standpoint)

Figure XI. 2 General Metaphysics as Filling a Synthetic Gap Recognizing the metaphorical sense of Kant's use of 'gap' makes it clear that he had in fact refers to this gap on numerous previous occasions, except that elsewhere he normally referred to it literally (e.g., when discussing the parallels between metaphysics and critique). Kant's famous letter to Garve was written in response to a letter wherein Garve describes his long-standing and agonizing physical illness ('a malignant tumor of the face'), yet expresses surprise over the fact that he is still able to think clearly [Zw67:250-ln]. Kant replies in a way that might seem rather un¬ sympathetic. Immediately before the passage quoted at the beginning of this chapter, he says: 'I wonder though whether my own fate, involving a similar striving [i.e., 'to work for the good of mankind'], would not seem to you even more painful, if you were to put yourself in my place' [AA12:254(Zw67:

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251)]. If Kant had the temerity to say such a thing in response to the sufferings of a long-standing friend, he must have been quite serious about his subsequent reference to Tantalus. In other words, he must have been feeling that, because his Critical philosophy had questioned the omniscience of the (false) gods of mankind (through the transcendental limits of knowledge established in Ktl), or perhaps because one of its central goals was to offer the 'nectar of the gods' to mankind (through the moral law established in Kt4), he was being punished by being kept from describing the dream he saw so clearly,rightbefore his eyes. In conclusion let us take note of the one and only qualification Kant puts on his metaphorical reference to Tantalus: whereas Tantalus was condemned to endure his torment forever, Kant stresses that his own tantalizing pain 'is not a hopeless pain', because '[rjeason will not give up her demands for this'. In fact, this may not be so much a qualification as a reminder of how appropriate the analogy is. From Tantalus' point of view, after all, the food and drink must have seemed to be well within his reach. A desirable object cannot tantalize us unless there is some hope that the goal can be reached. In the same way, Kant's plan to write a grand synthesis as the final conclusion to his Critical meta¬ physics, whereby his lifelong adherence to a Critical mysticism quite distinct from that of Swedenborg's could come fully into view, must have seemed to Kant to be just within his reach, if only he could think clearly for a few more years. Once this is understood, however, we can see that his mental paralysis may have been caused not so much by senility (which normally has physical roots), but by the simple fact that, as we shall see in our final Chapter, any attempt to describe the indescribable is bound to leave philosophers speechless. Kant's reference to the hopefulness of reaching his goal only emphasizes the appropriateness of the comparison with Tantalus. For as it turned out, Kant left the philosophical world with a text (Kt9) that will forever tantalize its readers precisely because it seems to put us within reach of a philosophical vision of the unity of Mind and Nature in their inner and outer aspects, yet as we shall see in Chapter XII, recedes just beyond our reach when we try to describe that vision in rationally coherent words and arguments. Kant himself may have recognized the necessity of our continued failure in this regard. Indeed, before the dreams of Ktl8 ever awakened in him the desire to construct a System of Critical philosophy, Kant explained in the conclusion of Kt43 that 'a great vision' of Nature is available to all who are open to it, even though the resulting experience cannot be fully described. His words, as quoted in X.4, allude to the tantalizing pain involved in trying to express the inexpressible—a

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pain he had felt for so much of his life and hoped in 1798 finally to express10— and would perhaps have made a fitting conclusion to Kt9 as well: In the universal silence of Nature and in the calm of the senses the immortal soul's faculty of knowledge speaks an ineffable language and gives undeveloped concepts, which are indeed felt, but do not let themselves be described. [Kt43:367]

20. Indeed, I would suggest that this problem of ineffability (almost enjoyed in 1755!) only began to impress Kant as a pain in 1766, when the seriousness of the gap between genuine knowledge and the mystical/metaphysical dreams of human sensation/reason first became clear to him [see Ch.II]. Initial denial of this painful aspect of the gap may be one explanation for the rather flippant pos¬ ture Kant adopted in Ktl8. If so, then Kant's later reference to the pain of Tantalus might also have been related, at least indirectly, to the real psychological pain he experienced from Swedenborg's failure to respond to the serious letter of inquiry Kant had sent him several years before writing Ktl8 [see note II.3 and Ma69:15]. Kant's real reason for complaining so sarcastically about having read through Swedenborg's lengthy book full of 'nonsense' [Ktl8:359-6O(1O1)] was in all proba¬ bility not how expensive the book was, but how frustrated Kant was at not having found therein the response he believed Swedenborg had promised to give.

Chapter XII Transition to the End of All Philosophy The love of wisdom is the least that one can possess; wisdom for man the highest —and hence transcendent. Transcendental philosophy is the progression from the latter to the former. The final end of all knowledge is to know oneself in the highest practical reason. [Kt9:21.155-6]

1. Kant's Return to Immediate Experience: The Three Transitions Kant's Opus Postumum [Kt9], as we saw in Chapter XI, is much more than just a series of jumbled footnotes to or revisions of a transitional argument Kant had insufficiently developed in his earlier works, as Forster claims. Rather, it is Kant's attempt to complete the architectonic structure of his Sys¬ tem. The only way he can do this is to reveal as clearly as possible 'the idea of the whole' as a transition that itself consists of multiple transitions.1 Forster is right, therefore, to recognize the importance of transitional arguments in Kt9, but wrong to limit them to one type. As we shall see in this chapter, Kant dis¬ cusses at least three distinct types of transition in Kt9. Each in its own way brings us to a point that marks the end—both in the sense of 'purpose' or 'aim' and in the sense of 'finishing point'—of philosophy as such. By requiring us to accept a brute fact in silent recognition of its transcendent presence, each transition puts us in touch with the highest expression of Critical mysticism. After this introductory section, this chapter's account of the content of Kt9 begins where I believe Kant himself was planning to begin his book: with a discussion of the idea of God as rooted in the categorical imperative, consid¬ ered as philosophy's moral end.2 XII.3 then deals with the idea of the world as rooted in the universal presence of an underlying, unknowable substance, identified by Kant as 'ether' or 'caloric'. This is followed by a discussion in XII.4 of what I believe was Kant's main goal in Kt9: to show how the 1. See e.g., Kt9:21.61(245); 22.86(191); 22.97(195). In one of his most suggestive uses of the quoted phrase [22.193(53)], Kant says 'the transition ... is a product of the idea of the whole, in the thoroughgoing, self-determining intuition of oneself.' As we shall see in XII.4, this 'idea' is intimately connected with self-knowledge as an experienced reality (i.e., an 'intuition of oneself). 2. Kant placed most of his notes on this subject in the first of Kt9's twelve fascicles. The recent translation of Kt9 by Forster and Rosen ignores the order of Kant's fascicles and arranges the notes by topic instead. Forster justifies this on the grounds that the order of the fascicles represents nothing more than the approximate reverse chronological order Kant wrote them in. Thus, the translators unfortunately place Kant's discussion of God last in their translation, rather than first. By giving the impression that the discussion of God was a mere afterthought or appendix, they surreptitiously lend credence to Forster's own theory that Kt9 is mainly about Kant's recognition of the need to write a transition between Kt3 and physics [see XI. 1],

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349

presence of human beings in the world serves to unify the otherwise opposing ideas of God and the world. That section concludes both the chapter and this second volume of the Kant's System of Perspectives series with some reflec¬ tions on how philosophers can cope with the 'end' of philosophy as so announced. It also serves as a transition to KSP3, where the perspectival para¬ digm will be used to interpret the nature and limits of Kant's idea of the world and how it gives rise to the metaphysics of science. Kant's critics in the last decade of his life presented him with what is still often regarded as the most difficult problem raised by his theory of knowledge in Ktl: is the object that affects us in the experience of sense-perception an em¬ pirical object or is it the thing in itself? Kant-interpreters then and ever since have tended to divide themselves into three camps based on their response to this issue:3 (1) the phenomenalism or idealism of contemporaries such as Maimon, Fichte, and J.S. Beck, later defended by the 'Marburg' school, re¬ garded only phenomenal affection as valid; (2) the noumenalism of contempo¬ raries such as J. Schulze, later defended by the 'Heidelberg' school, regarded only noumenal affection as valid; and (3) later interpreters such as Vaihinger and Adickes regarded both as valid, and therefore devised the infamous theory of 'double affection' as an interpretation of Kant's view [Ad20:18; q.i. Ke23: 612-3]. What has never been fully appreciated is that Kant himself was developing his own answer in Kt9, an answer that follows a fourth way: considered from the perspective of our immediate experience of the sense-object, neither the thing in itself nor the empirical object affects us, for this very distinction arises only from reflection on such immediate experience. Kant's answer to the question, in other words, is to say that in immediate experience the object (under whatever name it assumes, whether Self, God, Sense-Object, Reason, etc.) affects itself. 'The first act of reason is consciousness' [Kt9:21.105], and out of this initial act all reflective perspectives eventually arise. From the transcendental perspective the thing in itself must be posited as the source of the material of perception; from the empirical perspective the empirical object must be so regarded; but in our pre-perspectival immediate experience, neither of these provides an accurate explanation. Kt9 can be interpreted properly only if we recognize Kant's intention to counter the various diverging tendencies with a truly Critical answer to this question. That he is no longer starting with the 3. See Ke23:627-36. In a 1794 letter to Kant [AAll:491(Zw67:215)J Beck complains that 'even the friends of the Critique... don't know where they ought to locate the object that produces sensation.' In KSP1:VI I argue that this confusion is due to Kant's perspectival methodology, whereby transcendentally the 'object' is the thing in itself, while empirically it is the phenomenon.

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transcendental object (i.e., with 'experience in general'), but is showing how it arises out of experience in particular (i.e., immediate experience), is clear when he says: 'The first act of thinking contains a principle of... the self-affecting subject in a system of ideas which contain merely the formal [factors] of the advance [from particular experience] to experience in general.'4 Kt9's single, all-encompassing principle, serving as a vortex that every¬ thing else flows into, is expressed in a variety of ways—e.g., as 'Self, 'God', 'Nature' (the 'Sense-Object'), or 'Morally-Practical Reason'—but its most fundamental characteristic is always the same: self-creativity. This 'one princi¬ ple' of Zoroaster, repeatedly mentioned in Kt9, is sometimes associated with Spinoza's 'principle of intuiting all things in God'. As we saw in X.4, Kant showed interest in this principle as early as 1770 [Ktl9:410]; now he continues to toy with it, reformulating it as 'the capacity of thought as inner intuition to develop out of itself [Ad20:730, q.i. Ke23:640; s.a. Kt9:21.15]—i.e., as the capacity for self-transcendence that alone gives rise to knowledge.5 Kant explains in Kt9:21.152 that God should be represented 'not as a being in the world but [as] the pure idea of self-constitution, similar to the pure intelligence of the subject itself.—The highest intelligence.'6Similarly, he says 'I am an object of myself and of my representations. That there is something else outside me is my own product. I make myself.... We make everything ourselves.'7 When Kant talks in this way about self-creativity, we must keep in mind that he 4. Kt9:21.99; s.a. 22.77(186). Elsewhere he adds that this 'intuition of oneself [22.11(170)] seems to be immediate, inasmuch as it is totally nonconceptual: 'The first act of the faculty of representation ... is the representation of oneself... through which the subject makes itself into an object ...: that is, representation of an individual' [22.43(178); s.a. 22.77(186) and Kt25: 28.2.592]. Although Kant does not assign this function to one of the faculties of the mind, it would seem to fit the mysterious power of imagination more than any of the others. Heidegger's interpretation in He29 would tend to support this conjecture. 5. As Kemp Smith notes in Ke23:618, the 'fundamental problem' of the whole Critical System is 'how the self-transcendence involved in knowledge ... can be possible. The self can be a knower only if it be a creator' Thus, Kant suggests a symbolic (transcendental) reversal of Spinoza's principle: 'we carry our concept of God into the objects of pure intuition' [Kt9:22.59(216), e.a.; s.a. 21.22(228)]. 6. Sullivan regards this passage as evidence of Kant's 'idealist' reduction of God to human practical reason [Su71:125]. To do so, however, he has to mistranslate 'gleich' ('similar to') as if it were 'zugleich' ('at the same time'). On this issue, see AIV.4. 7. Kt9:22.82(189). Later [22.353(114)], he makes the same point more cautiously: 'we have insight into nothing except what we can make ourselves. First, however, we must make ourselves.' Likewise, he explains in Kt69:299 that 'we make these objects [i.e., God, freedom, and immortali¬ ty] for ourselves as we judge the idea of them to be helpful to the ultimate end of our pure reason.' Such radical statements sound like concessions to idealists such as Fichte; with this in mind, Walsh suggests [Wa67:323] it may be 'fortunate for Kant that he was not able to get his final philosophi¬ cal thoughts into publishable form.' But see note XII.9, below. Webb interprets Kant's references to self-creativity to be mainly about perfection [We26:181]. For this is the only sense in which God and human beings share this characteristic [184; cf. Ad20:774]: 'God... cannot... create holy beings; only so far as they are natural beings is he the creator of men; as moral beings they are their own creators.'

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is no longer assuming a reflective perspective of any sort, but is attempting to speak about the unspeakable (i.e., immediate experience) and its relation to the standpoints and perspectives adopted throughout his entire System. From this new 'standpoint' no distinctions can be made at all: everything is One. Even the distinction between reality and appearance breaks down. The immediate experi¬ ence of the Self is all there is. As we shall see, the only way to speak about the unspeakable is to use apparent contradictions (e.g., in the form A = -A), such as 'the object [or thing in itself] is the subject' [e.g., 22.414-5(181)] or 'Synthetic and analytic' [22.88(193); cf. Pa00a:78-85]. The common assumption that Kant thought this spontaneous and 'selfcreative character' belongs to 'the noumenal self [Ke23:627; s.a. Wa72:163] can now be seen to be entirely incorrect. The noumenal self is a construction arising out of our human consciousness as a 'world-being', or 'being-in-theworld' (Weltwessen)* and only the latter can be said to be self-creative. For Kant, immediate experience is therefore not a mystical intuition (at least, not one that can give rise to empirical knowledge), not a noumenal 'act', not an action subjected to moral laws, and not a subjective feeling; it is what gives rise to all of these—the nonreflective, undetermined, raw material we use to con¬ struct various types of reflective experience. It is the 'birth' of reason itself, through which the essential self-creative nature of God is expressed: 'The concept of [God] is not that of substance—i.e., of a being which exists independent of my thought—but the idea (one's own creation...) of a reason which constitutes itself into a thought-object [an 'ideal']' [Kt9:21.27(231)]. This self-creative core of human nature can be regarded as the source of all perspectives and of every element in Kant's entire System of Perspectives. The sharp distinction in systemt between the transcendent material of a 8. In Kt9:22.113 Kant distinguishes between four types of'being': '1) A sense-being; 2) a reasonbeing; 3) a rational being, of which God(++) there can be several [types]; 4) a (the highest rational being) highest Being in the highest sphere—• God—who establishes all rational beings in the unity of moral relations, through the categorical imperative.' These correspond quite clearly to animals (—) humans (-+) animals, spirits (i.e., purely rational ' (lower sen¬ (highest senbeings such as angels or disembodied souls), humans (i.e., sensible beings sible beings) sible beings) who are also rational), and God, and can be mapped onto the 2LAR cross, assuming first-level distinctions between sensible (-) and rational (+) spirits (+-) and between lower (-) and highest (+), as shown in the figure to the right. (lower rational beings)

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knowable object (i.e., the unknowable thing in itself) and the formal unity imposed by the transcendental (not noumenal) subject (i.e., by the T of apperception) is valid only from the theoretical standpoint. But if we take our starting point not from rational faith in the thing in itself, as posited by transcendental reflection, but from our own undifferentiated immediate experience (the human individual as a world-being), then all such distinctions must be regarded as derivative. From this standpoint of immediacy Kant is therefore able to say that the self posits both itself and its object, and in so doing provides the means for avoiding solipsism: by establishing the potential reflective perspectives, it arises out of the nonreflective ignorance (mystics sometimes call it the knowing ignorance) of immediate experience. This is done by dividing the sense-object into subjective and objective components: "The thing in itself is not another object, but another mode of making oneself into an object' [Kt9:22.415(181)]. But in immediate experience the thing in itself and the subject are not yet distinguished, for 'the thing in itself is the subject which I make into the object' [s.a. 22.43-4(178-9)]. Such comments do not imply that Kant has abandoned the unknowable 'transcendental absolute' in favor of 'the absolute of autonomous thought', as Vleeschauwer suggests [V162:189], but only that he recognizes that the former gives way to the latter when transcendental Critique gives way to metaphysics, where autonomous thought is recognized as absolute only because the transcen¬ dent absolute is immanent in immediate experience. That Kant has not aban¬ doned the thing in itself to Fichte and the idealists, but has merely changed his standpoint, is evident from the fact that he affirms the Critical doctrine at numerous points in Kt9.9 When he says 'transcendental philosophy is an 9. See e.g., Kt9:22.24,34,36,37 and note XI.5, above. That Kant's thinking in Kt9 was influenced far more by Beck than (as Copleston claims) by Fichte is convincingly argued by Zweig in Zw67:2631 [s.e. 31n; s.a. De73:314; Gi37:240-2]. Indeed, Kant indicates in a 1798 letter that he had not even read Fichte up to that point [AA12:239(Zw67:250)]—and he may never have done so. In any case, Kant explicitly rejects Fichte's work 'as a totally indefensible system', for it 'is nothing more or less than mere logic' [396-7(253-4)]. Nevertheless, Kant does seem to be competing with the early idealists, who shaped what developed into Romanticism, to close a gap that was widely recognized to exist in philosophy. Schleiermacher, for example, asks in Sc55:5 how 'extremes are to be brought together, and the long series made into a closed ring, the symbol of eternity and completeness?' In opposition to what he saw as Kant's over-emphasis on morality, with its drawback of always being 'manipulating' and 'self-controlling' [29-30], Schleiermacher locates philosophy's ultimate standpoint in 'piety'—i.e., in a religious experience characterized by 'a surrender, a submission to be moved by the Whole that stands over against man.' What I am aiming to demonstrate here is that Kant's final position was not as far removed from Schleiermacher's as is often assumed. The difference is that Schleiermacher begins where Kant ends, claiming that scientific knowledge and moral action arise out of our immediate experience. Assessing whether Schleiermacher—or for that matter, any of the nineteenth century philosophers—closes Kant's gap better than Kant himself did is beyond our present scope [see Ba72:306,655-6]. Suffice it to say that if there were enough time and space here in KSP2 for another Appendix, the shortcomings of

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idealism: namely that the subject constitutes itself [21.85], he is not denying the objective reality of the phenomenal world, as established in systemt and as presupposed throughout all the nontheological sections of Kt9;10 rather, he is attempting to describe the prereflective source of the very distinction between phenomenon and noumenon. This is why he says in Kt9:21.552(81) that 'idealism... belongs to another branch of philosophy, with which we are not here concerned'—i.e., idealism belongs to critique, whereas Kt9 belongs to metaphysics [see KSP1:III.4]. Because Kt9 also belongs to systemj, 'the dis¬ tinction between transcendental and metaphysical finally collapses' [F689:298]. This original act of self-creative and self-legislative reason is what first produces the Kantian ideas of reason: God, the world (and freedom from it), and humanity (with an immortal destiny).11 Our immediate consciousness of human duties gives rise to the idea of God; our immediate consciousness of sense-objects givesriseto the idea of the world; and our immediate experience of our own self, as a self-creative sense-object, gives rise to the idea of the human person as an immortal 'being-in-the-world'.12 This initial synthetic act thus establishes the framework for the reflective perspectives that pattern Kant's philosophical System: the world (-) is opposed to God (+) just as systemt is to systemp; and the former pair is synthesized by the human person (x), just as systemj synthesizes the latter pair.13 By revising the content of Figure VI. 1 in the nineteenth century responses to Kant would be its most likely topic. 10. Kemp Smith believes Kant is making such a denial [Ke23:617]. Copleston's view is more accurate: 'We cannot suppose that the human intellect creates its objects by thinking them. Kant never accepted pure idealism in this sense' [Co60b:205; s.a. 385]. 11. This is a source of great confusion among interpreters, who wrongly interpret it as evidence that Kant wishes to identify God with human reason [but see AIV.4]. Friedman, by contrast, points out in Fr86b:507 that 'Kant does not call freedom, God, and immortality facts of reason. They are not immediately present to me.' On this view, only our awareness of the moral law is immediately present; the ideas have to be inferred from this. As ideas, this is no doubt accurate. However, the reality behind the ideas is also revealed to us immediately. Thus, Kant affirms as early as 1756 that 'God... is immediately present to all things, but internally present' [Ktl2:483]—a view that corre¬ sponds closely to numerous passages in Kt9, as when he calls ideas 'pure intuitions' [21.79(246)]. 12. In Kt69:295 Kant explains the relation between the three 'transcendent ideas' in a somewhat different (but not incompatible) way: they represent 'the supersensible in us [freedom], over us [God], and after us [immortality].' 13. Only in this sense of absolute opposition, as depicted even more clearly in Figure V.3, is Copleston correct to claim that in Kt9 'the World is conceived as dependent on God' [Co60b:387; s.a. 383}. Kant would not support the claim that the details of our knowledge of the world are directly dependent on our knowledge of God. Rather, Kant's version of a theocentric orientation treats God as a mystical center around which everything revolves [see KSP1, Fig. IX.2], making all knowledge possible, yet without allowing itself to be known. In this sense, Collins [Co60a:198; s.a. 433] is also correct to say 'Kant sought to prevent the identification of God's own being with the natural world.' However, as we shall see in XII.4, he does regard them as reaching a higher synthesis in the human individual. As Despland puts it in De73:73, nature and Providence are 'two teleological systems which pursue distinct though related ends.' Nature's end is humanity, whose end is freely to choose the end of Providence [cf. Kt7:436]; for 'God pursues two sets of ends, those pursued through Nature's plan... and those pursued through his moral Providence' [De73:73].

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terms of these correlations, we can present the relationship between Kt9's three ideas, the ideas as introduced in K t l (shown in brackets inside the triangle), and their origin in different types of immediate experience, as follows: God (+) as manifested in consciousness of duty ID

' man' (x) as manifested in immediate experience of one's self as a world-being

the world (-) as manifested in consciousness of sense-objects

Figure XII. I: The Original Synthesis of Ideas in Immediate Experience Within the framework established by these ideas, Kant hopes in Kt9 to con¬ struct a 'complete system of the possibility of the absolute whole of experience, the 'grounding' of which 'by means of the a priori principle of the possibility of experience in general' was the purpose of the Critical, or 'Transcendental' wing of his System.14 The properly metaphysical wing having already been elaborated in its application to natural science (Kt3) and morality (Kt6), all that remains for Kt9 is the task of unifying these in a final metaphysical system of immediate experience. In systemt, as well as in the other Critical systems, the ideas function primarily as regulative concepts, but here in Kt9 they 'are not 14. Kt9:21.104. As we saw in KSP1 [s.e. IV.3 and VII.2], Kant's use of the term 'possibility of experience' is closely connected with his notion of 'immediate experience': the former is the latter, viewed as something that might give rise to empirical knowledge. With this in mind, Vleeschauwer' s assessment of Kant's unpublished essay on progress in metaphysics (i.e., Kt69) takes on added significance. He observes in Vi62:156 that in Kt69 'the possibility of experience ... is often represented as the highest task of transcendental philosophy.' Kt69 was one of the first things Kant wrote (c.1791) after completing the third Critique. Significantly, the essay reveals a crucial change of standpoint, displaying for the first time the heightened emphasis on the role of the subject that comes to the fore in Kt9 (and was taken even further by Fichte and Schelling). In Kt69 'the whole discussion [revolves] around the living kernel of the synthetic activity of the subject [V162:154]. Moreover, as Vleeschauwer explains [165]: "The Critical whole in its three parts is raised to the level of philosophy instead of occupying... the modest place of a preliminary study.' Here we see Kant treating 'metaphysics as the most powerful spring of the human personality' [154], with the proper treatment of immediate experience being its 'highest task'.

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mere concepts but laws of thinking which the subject prescribes itself [21.93]. They 'give the subject-matter [derStoff] for synthetic a priori laws by means of concepts, and so not merely do they go forth from metaphysics, they even ground the transcendental-philosophy' [21.20]. This sharp opposition between the ideas of God and the world (or nature) is presupposed throughout all of Kant's writings. Yet the two ideas are often used ambiguously, making it unclear 'whether Kant, in phrases like "the intelligible substratum" is talking about God or about the world in itself [Bu82:91n]. Thus Dister argues that Kant confuses the cosmological and theological ideas in Ktl by portraying both as 'the source of purposiveness in the world' [Di72:269n; see e.g., Ktl:727]. Kant seems, however, to have viewed God and nature as two sides of the same coin (the coin of 'totality'): 'God is a kind of mirror image of the "intelligible substratum" of the world' [Bu82:91; cf. Go71:66-7]. Kant often talks about nature's 'will' in much the same way as he talks about God's will [e.g., Kt32:365,367]. Despland discusses the close relationship between God and nature in the form of 'Providence': especially in his writings on the philosophy of history, Kant develops the notion of 'a Nature which is Providence, the mother of mankind, the mainspring of progress, and the guarantee of order' [De73:7; s.a. 57,73, 90-5,274]. 'Kant attributed no moral indifference to this Nature. Its purposes are normally wise and they are good for us men' [47]. Despland quotes George Vlachos' apt comment that for Kant 'freedom does not rise over against nature but is born in nature' [q.i. 48]. Although the interpenetration of God and nature is not always clear in Kant's theoretical and practical works, his intention to establish such a position becomes more clear in those works that assume the judicial standpoint. And in Kt9 more than any of the others, Kant attempts to work out the details of this interpenetration. At an early stage in Kt915 Kant distinguishes between three types of transi¬ tion that will occupy his attention in this final work. Specifying the book(s) in Kant's System that correspond to each type, we can summarize them as fol¬ lows: from Kt3 to physics; from physics to Ktl (assuming that by 'transcen¬ dental philosophy' Kant is referring to its Critical foundation); and from Ktl to both Kt3 and Kt6 ('the system of nature and freedom'). These three transitions, taken together, give rise to what Kant calls 'cosmotheology': 'the universal connection of the living forces of all things in reciprocal relation: God and the world.' In the latter case Kant is taking 'God and the world' as one idea [Kt9: 15. The text in question, Kt9:21.17(224), appears in the first fascicle; unfortunately, Forster's translation obscures its early origin by placing it near the end of his subject-organized text.

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21.19(205)], whose unity constitutes '[t]he highest standpoint of transcenden¬ tal philosophy' [21.23(206)]. That Kant regards his investigation of these transitions as a part of his third, judicial system, with its more teleological and empirical orientation, is evident from comments such as that his goal will be to construct 'a world-system (according to purposes)' [22.193(53), e.a.], based on a 'schematism of the faculty of judgment for the moving forces of matter' [21.291(Co60b:381), e.a.] that enables us to anticipate 'the empirical investiga¬ tion of Nature'.16 If Kt9 were meant to be part of the theoretical wing of Kant's System, and hence to adopt the standpoint of Ktl -Kt3 rather than that of Kt7 and Kt8, then its world-system would surely be mechanical, not purpose-driven. In what follows I shall demonstrate how the paradoxes referred to as 'transitions' in Kt9 can each be resolved and/or explained most clearly by inter¬ preting their epistemological status in terms of analytic a posteriority. This will serve not only to provide us with a much-needed 'idea of the whole' for inter¬ preting Kt9, but also to confirm the conjecture made in KSP1:III.4, that Kt9 is the final, synthetic step in Kant's third ('judicial') system and as such occupies the 'doctrinal' position corresponding to the analytic a posteriori [cf. Figs. III.9(c) and IV.2 in KSP1]. As Kant puts it in Kt9:21.478(42), 'the transition from metaphysics to physics' moves 'from... the concept of a matter in gener¬ al', which as pure concept would properly be regarded as analytic, 'to the sys¬ tem of moving forces', including various 'empirical principles' [21.482(43); s.a. 22.141(47)] that can be known only a posteriori. As we shall see, Kant's analysis of the resulting 'system of the universal doctrine of forces'—like that of the doctrinal systems proposed in Kt3 and Kt6—would have been much more clear had he identified the doctrine's status as analytic a posteriori. 2. God: The Categorical Imperative as Philosophy's Moral End The main focus of Kant's attention in the sections of Kt9 dealing with the idea of God (i.e., with the moral aspect of the 'transition from metaphysics to transcendental philosophy' [Kt9:22.129(209)]) is on the philosophical 16. Co60b:381, e.a. Since Kant, as usual, follows the pattern of the categories to work out the details of this schematism, Forster is correct in saying Kt9's purpose is to explain 'the a priori systematicity of physics' [F689:296]. The problem with Forster's interpretation is that he seems to regard this as the work's only (or at least, primary) task. My arguments in this chapter should demonstrate how grossly inadequate such an assumption is. The details of Kant's systematic transition to physics are not central to our concern in this chapter. Although Kant never settles on a single, consistent account of the 'moving force' [Ke23: 612n], Kemp Smith suggests a plausible candidate [611]: 'In respect of origin, motion is either inherent ...or communicated...; in respect of direction either attractive or repulsive; in respect of place either progressive or oscillatory; and finally, in respect of filling of space, it must either... be coercible, or... incoercible.' Kemp Smith agrees with Adickes (and many others) in finding such an a priori scheme 'entirely worthless' [612] and 'from the start doomed to failure' [611].

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implications of the phenomenon we experience as the categorical imperative. Kant repeatedly stresses in these sections [see e.g., 22:104-5(198-9)] the direct or immediate connection between the proposition 'There is a God' and our awareness of the categorical imperative. Sometimes he goes far beyond a mere reference to the proposition, as when he says 'our reason expresses [the moral law] through the divine' [22.104(198), e.a.] and the idea of God 'is the feeling of the presence of the divine in man' [22.18]. Elsewhere [e.g., 22.123(205)] he adds: "The idea of [the categorical imperative] is that of a substance which... is not subordinated to a classification of human reason.' A few paragraphs later he comes right out and calls God 'a personal substance' [22.125(206)]. God is 'the idea of an omnipotent moral being' who 'is both all-powerful with regard to nature' and 'universally commanding for freedom'; we must regard God not merely as a 'generic concept' but as 'an individual (a thoroughly determined being)' [22.127-8(207)]—perhaps even 'a threefold person' [21.29(232)]. In Wa72:166 Ward expounds Kt9:22.118 to mean 'God is a Personality, not external to man as a separate substance, but within man.' But he downplays the importance of such claims, interpreting Kant as referring merely to 'the legislative capacity of originative reason, and not [to] the sort of subjectivity that belongs to human persons.'17 Kant repeats this notion on numerous occasions, such as in Kt9:21.19(225), where he appears to be hinting at a synthesis between systemt and systemp: 'The concept of God is that of a being as the highest cause of world-beings and as a person.' And Kt9:21.48(Su71: 125) says: 'The concept of God is that of a personality of a thought-being, or ideal Being which reason creates for itself. Man is also a person, but yet which as sense-object belongs to the world.' So a key difference between God and a human person is that only the latter has a physical body. Such comments are likely to mislead us unless we keep in mind that 'reason' for Kant refers not to a property possessed by each individual, but to a transcendent power or reality that all persons participate in and should submit to. This seems to be what Webb has in mind [We26:192] when he interprets such claims to mean that '[i]n recognizing the Law we find ourselves in God's presence;... for the Law itself is the revelation of his Personality.' From this new standpoint, 'the Moral Law' just is 'the Presence of God... immediately revealed' [199], 'a Presence [that is] "closer to us than breathing and nearer than hands and feet"' [200]. 17. Webb, by contrast, highlights such claims as being among the most significant in Kt9. The lan¬ guage of 'personality', he reminds us, was 'rare... before the end of the eighteenth century' [We26: 181], yet in Kt9 'Kant constantly ... speaks of God as a "Person" and of God's "Personality".' Personality is a key theme because it is the common factor that unites God and humanity, though in Kt9 Kant often applies such terms 'to the divine as distinguished from the human spirit' [183]. Webb refers to Ad20:762-3,766-8,772-6,778,780,819-24,826-8 to support his position.

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Greene agrees that 'Kant's thought tended always to conceive of God in terms of the basic concept of personality', rather than that of the (far more static) 'Unconditioned' or 'Absolute' [Gr34:lxviii]. Yet England, after noting in En29:192n that 'Kant frequently describes God as a person' in Kt9, complains that 'Kant... had a very imperfect notion of what was implied in the notion of personality'—the main problem being that Kant's view seems too 'static'. This is hardly fair to Kant, for he describes God dynamically as a 'living' substance who, like human beings, 'is capable of rights' [Kt9:22.48(210)]. Personality in the human sense (e.g., involving duties as well as rights) 'cannot be attributed to the Deity'; for God's personality is 'omnipotent', 'omniscient', and 'omnibenevolent'. Kant's earlier claim in Kt8:28(23) that 'the moral law... is person¬ ality itself', so that a human being's 'predisposition to personality is the capacity for respect for the moral law' [27(22-3)], need not be regarded as static, provided we associate the moral law with the living voice of conscience within us (e.g., the 'holy Ghost' [22.60(217)]), rather than taking it as a fixed logical principle. The 'personal' in itself is a nonreflective mode of being; it is the T that gives rise to all reflective perspectives. As such, we could regard the third stage of any judicial system as adopting the 'personal perspective'—i.e., the perspec¬ tive whose task is to determine the necessary conditions (principles) that govern personal experience. Two such conditions would be that personality is inher¬ ently spiritual, yet manifested in a material form. Thus, 'God is a spirit' [Kt9: 22.58(215)], and this divine person 'is immanent in the human spirit' through the moral law,18 yet also present in nature [22.61-2, e.a.; s.a. 22.57(215)]: 'What is God? —He is the unique being, unconditionally commanding in the mora/-practical relation (i.e., according to the categorical imperative), exercis¬ ing all power over nature. This is already in its concept a unique [being]:... the very thought of him is at the same time belief in him and in his personality.' Kant goes so far as to regard the moral imperative as the voice of God in the human soul:19 'The categorical imperative ... leads directly to God, yes, serves as a pledge of His reality'; 'the virtuous individual experiences directly, in the categorical imperative, the voice of God and... apprehends Him, with the certainty of a personal faith, as a transcendental reality'; for 'in morally-practical

18. Ke23:639; s.a. Gr34:lxviii. Along these lines Kant says 'the spirit of man' is 'a being above the world' [Kt9:21.42]. Looking at the same relationship from the opposite side, Collins says [Co67: 134-5, e.a.]: 'A moral believer is one who is ready to accept the personal spiritual reality of God even though we cannot know God's existence theoretically.' 19. See e.g., Kt9:22.64. On Kant's reference to the 'voice of God', Schrader [Sc51a:239n] lists Kt9:21.14,17,21,56,60,113,118,143ff,153,157 and 22.55,106,109,114,124. Webb associates this voice with both God's transcendence and God's immanence [We26:82,175].

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reason and in the categorical imperative God reveals himself.'20 Schrader appeals to the perspectival character of Kant's System in order to explain why this does not contradict systemp's view of the moral law as independent from all external determination (including God's) [Sc5la:239-40]: 'It is from the standpoint of religion that the moral law is to be regarded as the "voice of God." The passages from [Kt9] in which Kant makes such assertions are perfectly consistent with his critical position.' Interestingly, Kant refers to 'instinct' in Kt63:lll as 'that voice of God which is obeyed by all animals.' He goes on [112] to suggest that the story of Adam and Eve is the story of how human beings first came to 'do violence to the voice of nature'—here equivalent to the 'voice of God' in instinct—through 'the first attempt at free choice'.21 This account of reason's 'birth' suggests that our free reason is the very thing that puts up a barrier between us and God, which in turn implies reason must in some sense 'die' or come to its final resting point before God's voice becomes fully audible to us again. We shall return to this provocative suggestion at the close of this chapter, though a detailed treatment of this theme will be given only in KSP4. Kant's definitions and descriptions of God in Kt9 consistently link God to practical reason. The claim that '[mjoral-practical reason... leads to the concept of God' [22.116(200)] seems quite consistent with the moral argument that plays an integral part in systemp. Likewise, the notion that God is 'a being which has only rights and no duties'[22.120(203); s.a. 21.9-11(218-9); 22.489(210);], who is 'obligating' but 'never obligated' [22.127(207); s.a. 22.124 (205)] holds no surprises. That God 'has unrestricted power over nature and freedom under laws of reason' does seem, however, to be going further.22 20. Greene translates these Kt9 passages in Gr34:lxvi from Ad20:801,847, and 806, respectively. An important point to note is that Kant says we experience this voice as a transcendental, not a transcendent, reality. Even in Kt9 we have no way of experiencing the transcendent as such. 2 1 . Cf. De73:60. Along these lines Despland points out [45; cf. Kt60:18-9] that for Kant nature 'does not contain the destiny of man. Nature's role is first of all limited to the task of bringing man to the point where he can and must assert his independence from her.' This is what I call the 'birth' of reason. "The plan of Nature', Despland adds, 'is to make man a self-governing being.' This could also be called God's plan: to nurture human reason towards maturity. My contention is that Kant hoped Kt9 would bring together and clarify this 'big picture' that guided his thinking: the God who gives us both nature and reason expects us to use the latter to separate ourselves from the former (and so also, from the instinctual form of God's voice) in order to hear the moral aspect of God's voice. Thus Kt9 was to culminate Kant's philosophy of history by showing how our ultimate hope is in the union of both extremes. In our own experience of self-governing, we come to see the selfgoverning of God in nature, and ultimately, we see the unity of both in immediate experience— though we can never hope to explain it, since reason dies at this point. Despland is therefore only partially correct to say in De73:46 that 'A rational man is a man divorced from nature.' This divorce is finalized in systemp; what Despland's comment neglects is the happy remarriage that takes place in systemj. 22. Kt9:22.116-7(200). Kant's stress on God's 'omnipotent' power [s.a. 22.122-23(204-5)] reminds

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Clearly Kant sees God as an active force in the world. But what kind of force? Whatever else this force may be [see XII.3], it is personal, for as we have seen, Kant repeatedly insists on viewing God as a 'person' [e.g., 22.119-20 (102-3)]. Sometimes he borrows biblical imagery to describe this relationship: 'In... the idea of God as a moral being, we live, and move and have our being' [22.118(201); s.a. 22.55(214); cf. Acts 17:28]. But at its most extreme, Kant's tendency to connect God with practical reason appears to lead him to identify the two: "The concept of God... is not a hypothetical thing but pure practical reason itself in its personality' [22.118(201-2)]. 'There is a God for there is a categorical imperative' [22.106(Su71:120); cf. 104-5]. Some interpreters have taken such claims at face value, concluding that Kant's God, especially in Kt9, is indeed identical to reason. Such an interpre¬ tation has an element of truth in it: the foregoing quotes demonstrate that Kant does regard God as immanent in the web of a priori conditions that reason uses to bring true knowledge, good action, and beautiful purposes into the grasp of human beings. Sometimes he refers to 'the categorical imperative in me' in close proximity to statements that allude to the meaning of his own first name: 'Est deus in nobis' ('God is in us', the Hebrew meaning of 'Immanuel') [22.12930(209); s.a. 22.54(213)]. When Kant himself raises the issue of whether there is anything real that corresponds to our concept of God [22.117(201)]—that is, anything that would distinguish God from human reason or extend beyond the categorical imperative—he usually avoids any direct answer, calling this issue 'problematic'; but he clarifies elsewhere that this being 'is different from me' even though I become aware of it only 'in me' [21.25(229)]. In some sense, we participate in the life of God whenever we use our rational capacities properly. Yet, to regard this intimate participation as a complete identification is to ignore Kant's equally important emphasis on God's transcendence [see V.I]. For, although Kant always insists that God abides by the moral law, he does not therefore believe God is subordinate to it; rather, 'the categorical imperative is a command of God' [22.128(208), e.a.]. That Kant does not intend in such comments to make an absolute identification is demonstrated further in AIV.4. God may be present in our reason, but our reason is not coextensive with God's nature. For God must also have some reality over and above the whole System of Perspectives. Despland accurately portrays these two aspects when he says [De73:146] 'Kant's moral theism secures a subjective interior approach to our thinking about God and secures a transcendent, religiously available God.' us that Kant's God is not merely a moral being. For God, 'with respect to nature, is capable of everything' [22.127(207)]; as such God is also 'the highest being in the physical respect.' I downplayed this aspect of God's nature in V.2-4 because the practical always has primacy for Kant.

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Just as Copernicus derived his theory concerning the movements of the planets from the hypothesis that a motionless sun lies at the center of the astronomical system, so also Kant derives his theory concerning the meaning of human per¬ spectives on truth, goodness, and beauty from the hypothesis that a real, tran¬ scendent God (the ultimate thing in itself, 'outside myself [21.15(222); 21.22 (228)]) emits the pure (but unknowable) 'light' of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty from the suprarational, perspectiyeless center of the philosophical System [see e.g., Kt65:47]. That Kant regards all this as happening 'within us' (i.e., in our immediate experience) prompts Weber (in his History of Philosophy) to claim even 'the three Critiques culminate in absolute spiritualism' [q.i. CaO2:257]. KSPl:V.l-4 demonstrated that Kant's philosophical System begins with a special sort of 'theoretical faith' in the existence (or 'reality') of the thing in itself. We can now see that the System ends where it began, only now with a deep awareness that this faith can only be validated through what is usually called a religious experience.23 A mystical experience is the ultimate way of 23. With this in mind, I claimed in KSP1:98 that Kt9 can be regarded as a 'Metaphysics of Religious Experience'. Stressing religious experience is important, as Smith puts it [Sm68:ll], because it shows 'that there is a religious dimension to human existence and that this dimension is unintelligible without reference to God or transcendent Being.' Copleston expounds such a position at some length in Co74, arguing that 'metaphysics has as its basis an experience which I should not hesitate to characterise as religious', inasmuch as it requires an 'initial belief in the dependence of 'finite things' on a transcendent 'One which is not itself seen' [12]. Such an experience may have no 'cognitive value' [13], however, because [59] 'if talk about God is basically a way of referring to and speaking of what a man regards as that which discloses itself in certain types of experience, we cannot adequately understand the language apart from the basic experience or types of experiences.' Copleston describes this type [75] as a subjective awareness 'of being acted upon, of an intimate uniting and one-ing with a Being immeasurably greater than himself and which is felt to be in some sense the ... ultimate reality.' His point is essentially Kantian: this immediate awareness may produce a profoundly religious experience, yet it cannot produce empirical knowledge without attaching itself to concepts, which in turn would deprive it of its status as immediate. Flew argues in detail against the objective meaningfulness of religious experience [F166:6.7]: 'The mere fact of the occurrence of subjective religious experience does not by itself warrant the conclusion that there are any objective religious truths to be represented.' While this is technically correct [s.a. Co74:80], it reveals more than anything else Flew's own bias for the objective [see AIV.4]. That is, whereas Kant's System of Perspectives assumes truth comes in a variety of forms, Hew expects anything true to be based in objective fact. Once we recognize that most mystics are fully aware of the subjective character of religious experience and yet do not think this makes it objectively false or illusory, the inadequacy of Flew's approach becomes apparent. The fact that the objective content of religious experiences differs widely between people in different religious traditions [F166:6.6] is not a significant problem for anyone who identifies the truth-bearing quality of such experiences with their subjective form. Flew's claim that such disagreements stem from each culture's differing set of religious 'categories' uses the latter term in a thoroughly unKantian way; for Kant's categories refer to the form, not the content, of our experience. The fault, as becomes evident in F166:6.16-8, is not entirely Flew's, for the conservative the¬ ologians against whom he chiefly argues tend to ignore Kant's revolution by assuming religious experience represents God as an empirically objectifiable being rather than as a transcendentally subjective reality living within each individual's heart. Only by taking into consideration this

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validating the initial, theoretical faith required to enter the System; without such an experience, all theological reflection is groundless. Whereas in systemp Kant had argued that morality provides us with reasons for belief in God, 'he now... suggests that the moral experience itself may legitimately be regarded as an experience of the Divine.'24 Or as Norburn puts it in No73:439, Kt9 tries to show 'that our awareness of God goes along with, not is merely postulated by, our awareness of the moral law.' This expression of the consciousness of moral obligation as an immediate consciousness of God seems to be operating as a new way of proving God's existence.25 As such, Adickes [Ad20] interprets it as a repudiation of the moral Kantian view, together with Kant's further claim that the legitimacy of a religious knowledge-claim is best assessed in terms of its moral-practical usefulness [see e.g., Co74:80-2], can the theist respond effectively to Flew's most decisive argument, that a religious experience's 'built in elusiveness to observation makes it impossible to falsify claims about the presence of God simply by indicating that there is in fact nothing there to be observed' [F166:6.27]. For Kant there is something to be observed—but it is transcendental (not empirical) in form and practical (not theoretical) in content. 24. Gr34:lxvi. In the omitted text Greene adds 'for the first time in his life'—a qualification we saw in X.3-4 to be quite unjustified. Greene's failure to recognize that this was not a new theme in Kant's mind, but only one whose proper standpoint had not yet been adopted, leads him to regard this as a radical reversal of his former dependence on the moral proof. Ward [Wa72:60], by contrast, sees in Lectures on Ethics 'a hint of [Kt9's] doctrine that God and practical reason are to be identified.' Quoting from Kt35:(52), he says 'God is required as the "ground of obedience" to morality. That is, though the understanding can discern what the moral law is, it is God who "imposes upon everyone the obligation of acting in accordance with" the law.' A further hint can be drawn from Kt6:438-9, where God's presence in our conscience is portrayed as possibly 'an actual person or a merely ideal person that reason creates for itself.' Likewise, in Kt23:401n(179n) Kant says the 'archetype' must be 'made by ourselves' since it 'appears personally to us'. As emphasized above [s.a. AIV.4], such comments should be interpreted with Kant's Copernican Perspective in mind, as not precluding the possibility that God also exists independently of our 'production' of archetypal Presence. McCarthy [Mc86:99] argues against the kind of interpretation I am defending here: "The most that one may conclude... is that... the moral law is the nearest one comes to encountering the divine. But it is certainly not to be construed as a direct experience of God. To be sure, Kant took pains to deny any kind of such experience, particularly emphasizing the lack of any faculty for direct perception of God.' I have already explained in X.3-4, however, how a direct encounter with God is possible on Kantian grounds without presupposing any intellectual intuition. The latter would not be an instance of 'experiencing God'; it would be a Godlike experience. Kant never denies the former, provided the perceptions or feelings of experiencing or being related to God are not regarded as producing knowledge. McCarthy continues [99]: 'Kant's understanding of religion ...emphatically excludes ... religious experience... [as] not practical.' But this is simply false: claims to have such experiences are excluded only if they have a morally-negative influence on a person. McCarthy goes so far as to claim [99n] that 'Kant's God could not appear..., for there would be no way to recognize him.' But Kant would never dogmatically state that God cannot ap¬ pear; he would only warn that we can never know for certain if an appearance is of God. McCarthy is quite right to point out [100] that 'Kant never entertains the possibility of religious experience ... that might... play some role in the restoration of the right order of the moral incentives.' My point is that there is nothing in his System that prevents us from supplementing his theories with such an emphasis. 25. In Co60b:390 Copleston portrays Kant as developing 'a moral equivalent of or analogue to the ontological argument.' As an example he quotes a statement Kant makes in Kt9:22.109: 'the mere Idea (Idee) of God is at the same time a postulate of His existence. To think Him and to believe in Him is an identical proposition.' Copleston says this means 'that within and for the moral

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proof given in the fourth stage of systemp—a view often echoed uncritically.26 Although Kemp Smith agrees with Adickes, stating that in Kt9 Kant 'acknowl¬ edges the inadequacy of his professedly practical, but really theoretical, proof of God's existence, advocating in its place a proof of a more consistently moral character' [Ke23:610], he later admits that Kant 'nowhere, in explicit terms, avows this change of standpoint' [638; cf. Wo70:10-3]. The former comment not only reads theoretical motives into Kant's moral argument that simply are

consciousness itself the idea of the law as the voice of a divine legislator is equivalent to belief in God's existence.' While there is indeed an interesting similarity here, associating this view with the ontological argument is highly misleading, for the latter is a theoretical argument, whereas Kant's claims in Kt9 are judicial, relating solely to our existential awareness of the moral law. Sullivan, arguing against a similar view defended by Poncelet, agrees in Su71:129 that in the context of Kt9 such assertions are 'not an ontological argument at all.' Against Copleston's ver¬ sion of this position, he claims [Su71:121] that the qualifications Kant places on his affirmations of God in Kt9 indicate that he is not attempting to prove 'the existence of God in any traditional sense..., i.e., "God as an objective reality.'" Sullivan supports his argument with numerous quota¬ tions from Kt9, but unfortunately edits his selections in such a way as to give the impression that Kant's text supports extreme subjectivism more than it actually does. (That Su71 was one of the main sources of Kt9 passages in English translation for over 20 years has contributed, no doubt, to a good deal of the confusion that has existed about Kant's position.) Sullivan agrees, however, that Kt9's treatment of God 'is radically different' from that of the moral argument in Kt4 [Su71:131J: whereas the latter points to an objectively existing God, the former points only 'to the knowing and willing subject.' He interprets Kant as moving away from an emphasis on 'a utilitarian God' and towards an 'emphasis on the categorical imperative rather than on God' [123]: 'God's existence or non-existence—in the traditional sense of an independent, supreme substance—is not critical as long as the imperative character of the moral life is preserved.' This interpretation is as misleading as Copleston's, for it ignores that Kt9 is taking Kant's Copernican revolution to its proper perspectival conclusion. True, Kant does not affirm God's existence in any traditional sense that would correspond to systemt, and his reconfirmation of his own practical postulates is ambiguous at best; but what Sullivan misses is that Kant is building on these, and thus affirming the existence of God, when he interprets the moral imperative as God's immediate voice. There is no reason to suppose that in affirming an existential encounter with God through the moral law Kant must be denying the validity of his former arguments. The objective arguments of systemt can never establish anything but the hypothesis of an external God; the moral argument of systemp can only postulate God as a belief that reason needs; this new argument establishes God's presence as certain and immediate by the very fact that we are rational beings. An 'objective referent' is indeed missing, as Sullivan points out [Su71:131-2]; but this is because object and subject are indistinguishable in immediate experience [see KSPl:IV.l]. 26. See e.g., We26:66; Gr34:lxvi; Co88:321. Some agree with Adickes while disagreeing with his reasoning. Beck [Be60:275], for instance, rejects Adickes' claim that Kant regards the moral ar¬ gument as insufficiently subjective [see note XII.27, below]; instead, he thinks Kant rejects it after realizing that it is actually a theoretical argument. Wood effectively refutes Beck in Wo70:171-6. Ward says in Wa72:160 that in Kt9 'God becomes either a mere objectification of the moral law within, or the referent for a directly experienced personal being which makes itself felt immediately in the moral law.... Either view would constitute a radical change in Kant's doctrine of the relation of morality and religion.' But this 'change' turns out not to be so 'radical' after all, once we see it as a change of standpoint. Failing to appreciate Kant's perspectival methodology, Ward goes on to reject the second option, because for Kant 'a direct revelation of God is metaphysically impossible and morally dangerous' [162; s.a. 165]. What Ward fails to understand is that this is true only if theoretical knowledge-claims are believed to follow directly from such an experience. Provided the experience remains what it is, immediate, such a problem cannot arise.

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not there,27 it also fails to take account of the fact that the argument in Kt9 is not essentially moral, but judicial, if not existential. As Schrader explains, Adickes supports his position with three points: '(1) that Kant failed to restate ['the moral argument in the Opus Postumum']; (2) that he declared that no proof of God's existence can be offered; (3) that he stated that God is directly and immediately revealed in the categorical imperative' [Sc51a:235]. Let us take a closer look at each of these points in turn. The first point is merely negative and could just as well indicate 'that Kant was quite satisfied with the formulations of the argument which he already had' [Wa72:161]. This alternative is supported by the otherwise grossly inconsistent fact that Kant continues to support the general idea of a moral proof [see e.g., Kt9:22.60(217); 22.121(203)], regarding 'the knowledge of all duties as divine commands' as having 'the same force as if a real world-judge were assumed' [22.125(206)]. That he does not restate the details of the proof does not mean he no longer accepts it,28 but only that what is appropriate for practical critique may be irrelevant for the judicial metaphysics of Kt9. The second point is like¬ wise easily rebutted by anyone who is sensitive to Kant's use of the principle of perspective. Kt9's rejection of theological proofs 'is entirely consonant with Kant's Critical position, wherein he does not regard the moral argument as a theoretical proof [Wa72:161;s.a. Sc51a:236-40]. Kant apparently assumes the reader is familiar enough with his System of Perspectives to know he is refer¬ ring only to the inadequacy of all theoretical proofs. When the first two points are accounted for perspectivally, the third point loses its problematic character: an immediate apprehension of God is not a problem as long as we remember that it is valid only from the standpoint of judicial metaphysics [see X.3]. Against Adickes' third point, Schrader argues that certain passages in Kt9 'would seem to make it impossible to conclude that Kant had come to accept a personal subjective faith in God based upon a direct revelation in the categorical imperative' [Sc51a:237]. The passage he quotes, however, states that the ideas of freedom and God 'cannot be exhibited and proven directly (immediately) but only indirectly through a mediating principle:... namely, in the human, moral/ 27. Schrader makes a similar point in Sc51a:236-7 in his refutation of the position adopted by Adickes. He reports that 'Adickes found Kant's moral argument [in systemp] to be unsatisfactory on two counts: (1) that it failed to recognize the personal and subjective character of religious faith; (2) that it involved the introduction of a hedonistic element into Kant's ethics' [232; s.a. Si60:cxl]. He rightly denies the validity of both objections. The first ignores the perspectival difference between the practical and judicial standpoints: only the latter needs to take into account the 'personal' element in religion. And the second is a misinterpretation of Kant's argument in systemp [see KSP1:VIII.3J. Adickes' own dissatisfaction with the moral proof may explain why he was so intent on depicting Kant as rejecting it in Kt9. 28. Peters makes the same point in Pe93:98, but does not go on to relate it to a shift in standpoint.

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practical reason' [Kt9:21.30]. This simply means the immediate experience of God through practical reason cannot serve as a direct theoretical proof; Kant is not here denying or contradicting his claims elsewhere in Kt9 that our con¬ sciousness of God is direct and immediate.29 Thus Adickes' third point is valid, but provides no evidence that Kant intends to repudiate the moral argument proposed in systemp. Because of their lack of attention to the principle of perspective, the positions represented by Adickes and Schrader both fail to take account of the crucial fact that the argument in systemp is significantly different from that in Kt9: the former argues for the need to postulate God in order to make sense out of our morality; the latter argues that God is, in fact, present in our immediate experience. There is therefore no good reason to regard the two arguments as mutually exclusive; both can be accepted, provided we distinguish clearly between their respective standpoints. The distinctive character of Kant's argument in Kt9 can be brought out still further by examining its epistemological status. I shall do this in more detail in XII.3 when considering Kant's claims regarding the mysterious substance that underlies and unifies our immediate experience of nature. At this point a few brief suggestions will suffice. Copleston uses the phrase 'religious a priori' to describe 'the idea that man is by nature oriented to God or open to the Transcendent'.30 Kant would reject such a claim, not because he denies our 29. Nor is he merely 'stating his inner personal convictions for the first time'; as Schrader rightly observes, this would be 'trivial', since Kant makes it clear enough in many other writings that he is 'convinced of the reality of God' [Sc51a:237]. 30. Co74:7-8. The phrase 'religious a priori' was popularized by Rudolph Otto in Ot50. As Chapman points out [Ch92:476], Otto credits Schleiermacher with the insight of adding to Kant's first two questions a third, 'What do we experience in the soul?' I would argue, however, that Kant already intends his own fourth question, 'What is man?', to cover such issues concerning our inner experience. Otto bases much of his thinking on Fries' attempt to improve Kant's philosophy by allowing 'direct access to things-in-themselves' [496]. Otto believes that in so doing Fries provides 'a philosophical refinement of Schleiermacher' [494]. Davidovich [Da93b:182-3; s.a. 185] calls Otto's religious category 'an immediate awareness of reason.' As such, it has an obvious affinity with Kant's view of our immediate awareness of the moral law; the difference is that Kant would never refer to such awareness as a 'category', because it is not a knowledge-forming power of the human mind. In response to those such as Otto, who posit a '"category" of blind and irrational feeling' [Wo70:204], Wood points out, quite rightly, that Kant does not ignore such irrational elements in religion, but rather [202] 'attempts] to make a rational assessment of them.' Wood quotes Kant's assertion in Kt8:114(105) that this 'inversion' is 'the death of reason' [q.i. Wo70:204]. Noting that in Kant's writings 'the religious sentiment is never treated as rendering it nonrational', Webb claims 'Kant was... wrong in identifying the religious with the moral sentiment' [We26:204]. But this neglects the subtlety of what Kant was trying to accomplish in Kt9. For Kant theology (knowledge of God) and religion (actions in response to God's commands) must always be rational; but the root experience that gives rise to these thoughts and practices lies beyond reason; it is perspectiveless. This is why Kant continually struggles with the paradoxical character of any attempt to describe this experience. Otto himself recognized that only the base experience out of which religion develops is supra-rational. Thus I agree with Webb's claim [205] that 'Kant's ...own sentiment towards the sublimities and ingenuities of nature really implies the existence of

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theocentric orientation—he does not [see 1.3]—but because it is not part of our nature in the same way the synthetic a priori conditions for knowledge are. Unlike space, time, and causality, as well as freedom and the moral law, we do not find 'God' in our reason as a constituent element, epistemologically prior to all experience; rather, we make it a part of our nature, in response to and in proportion with our encounter with transcendent reality. That is, our openness to God is 'by nature' in a very different way: it is an a posteriori response,31 whereby we impose the concept of the transcendent (analytically) onto our experience. The analyticity of this imposition explains why Kant says in Kt9:21.153(Su71:133): 'It is absurd to ask whether there is a God.' To ask such a question, from Kt9's existential standpoint, is tantamount to asking: 'Do I exist?' For a basic 'self-perceiving' (Selbstanschauung—i.e., 'making one¬ self the object of one's own perception') lies at the root of our awareness of God. Describing its status as analytic yet a posteriori can help us appreciate why Kant speaks of it in such a paradoxical way [see AIV.4]. Although he does not express his position so clearly, he does hint at it on several occasions, as when he refers in Kt9:22.442(163) to our 'self-intuition' as both analytic and synthetic [s.a. 465(131)]. Does Kant's appeal to a direct experience of God merely take us back to the preKantian practice of philosophers calling on God to fill the 'gaps' they could not fill in with empirical evidence or rational proof? No. The difference between Kant's appeal to God and the typical 'God of the gaps' approach is something other than what is distinctively ethical, which is yet capable of arousing the religious sentiment.' What I disagree with is the notion that Kant was unaware of this point. Kant's empha¬ sis on the God-relation as being ethical-for-us does not require him to deny the possibility that God's hidden nature [see Fig. V.3] may be supra-ethical. Neglecting Kant's openness to the transcendent in Kt9 (and in a great many other texts), Kim claims in Ki88:367 that 'the rationality Kant champions is an "immanent" rationality forever alienated from its transcendent object...; the transcendent does not announce its presence within [the horizons of human subjectivity].' This may be true for system^ and perhaps even for systemp, but not for systemj, which is why religion is the true focal point for Kant's System. Only here do we have access to the transcendent, and only here can the alienation Kim laments be overcome. Yet Kim concludes [367]: 'The whole philosophy of Kant emerges as a paradox', as 'an intellectual panic' that comes close to Kierkegaard's 'absurd'. The problem with this conclusion is that Kim's poorly defended argument focuses mainly on Kt4 and Kt5. It would be more feasible if it were not for the fact that Kant balances the judicial with other standpoints that are not merely existential leaps. Kim claims that Kant fails to meet the demand of '[r]eligious consciousness' for 'an intelligible account of the openness of human subjectivity to the transcendent' [367]. To some extent this may be true; but I am arguing that this is exactly what he was attempting in Kt9. Akhutin expresses much the same point [Ak91:78]: 'One can approach the meta-physical only as one would approach the meta-logical.' Kant sees this in terms of 'the noumenal darkness of the "thing in itself" [78] and regards 'philosophizing' as 'preserving the memory of that primordial perplexity which constitutes the root of human existence' [84]. This tantalizing perplexity is just what Kant is experiencing in Kt9. 31. As Sullivan says, Kant's argument for God in Kt9 is concerned with 'the experience of the moral life' [Su71:132], not with its rational basis, as in Kt4. As such, it is a posteriori.

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that the latter treats God as an element in the system, so that our knowledge of God is regarded as absolutely certain, whereas Kant appeals to a person's experience of God, interpreted through an act of faith, as a paradoxical awareness of the presence of transcendence within the world—a purely subjective validation of a System that begins and ends with a recognition of objective ignorance of the transcendent.32 To some, this may be an inadequate, intellectually dissatisfying way to conclude such an impressive philosophical System. But to Kant it is the only way to be philosophical without letting our philosophy rob us of what is most authentically human. As Norburn puts it in No73:442, 'when we have acquired the humility to accept [the] truth [that 'our situation' is 'indefensibly human'], then all our thinking, says Kant, centers our minds upon the idea of God. Can we ask for more?' 3. The World: Matter's Living Force as Philosophy's Technical End The main focus of Kant's attention in the sections of Kt9 dealing with the idea of the world (i.e., with the transitions between physics, Ktl, and Kt3) is on the philosophical implications of the phenomenon we experience as heat. In keeping with a common conviction among physicists of his day, Kant believed this and other phenomena require the postulation of a hidden substance, called 'caloric' or 'ether'33—i.e., 'a matter for which all bodies are permeable, but which is itself expansive' [Kt9:22.193(53)]. He regards 'caloric' as the 'presupposition' that 'an internally moving matter' exists and fills 'the whole of cosmic space'.34 This 'inward' undulation or 'vibration' does not as such expand the material object, but vibrates 'in the space which it occupies' [22.142(48)]. Kant maintains that 'the function of its activity is not [merely to generate] warmth'; instead, 'heat may only be one particular effect of its moving forces' [21.228-9(76); s.a. 21.584-5(92), 21.602(96)]. The resulting 'idea of the whole of moving forces... is the basis of ...matter' [21.581(90)]; we experience it as 'a sense-object' [e.g., 21.582(91)]. Kant sees this universal 32. Akhutin expresses a similar point when he says [Ak91:83] that with the metaphysical ideas, '[r]eason is not simply recognizing its own ignorance...: it perceives ... that the metaphysical is something that sustains its world but is not part of it.' This 'perception' of the transcendent is the main focus of Kt9, though as Akhutin rightly says, we always remains ignorant of it in the process. 33. Kant sometimes identifies ether with heat or 'caloric' [e.g., Kt9:21.214-5(33-4),21.226(74)], but he elsewhere makes a technical distinction between two kinds of ether: 'light-material' and heatmaterial or caloric [22.214(33)]. On the identity of caloric and heat, see Kt9:22.141(47). Although he explicitly calls ether an 'hypothesis' in Kt9:22.193(53), Kant insists elsewhere that this underlying material is not 'merely hypothetical' [21.226,228(74-5)]. 34. Kt9:22.138-9(46). At one point [21.583(91)] Kant describes this in terms of a 'gap'. Though we may be tempted to identify this with the 'gap' Kant refers to in AA12:254(Zw67:251) [q.i. XI.l], the latter was a gap in the Critical philosophy, whereas here Kant is referring to a gap in our experience of the natural world.

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and never-ending movement at the inner core of all matter as leading to 'the concept of an animated matter' [21.184(59)]. That is, 'the totality of our world', taken as itself 'an organic body', can be thought of as being alivel35 Although Kant unfortunately does not explicitly connect the basic energy of nature with his other concerns in Kt9, he does provide us with enough hints to develop a coherent reconstruction. For example, he poses the basic problem of this aspect of his Final Transition project as follows [Kt9:22.120(203)]: 'There is a God in the soul of man. The question is whether he is also in nature.' That Kant wants to encourage an affirmative answer to this question seems beyond reasonable doubt, given the weight of textual evidence. In this passage, after reminding us that 'God and the world contain the totality of exis¬ tence' [22.124(205)], Kant draws an explicit analogy between God and 'the ether': 'God regarded as a natural being is [also] a hypothetical being, assumed for the explanation of appearances' [22.126(206)]. Indeed, by taking such tan¬ talizing hints seriously and regarding cosmotheology (God-in-the-world) as a key expression of Kt9's aim [see 21.17(224)], we can interpret Kant's long and hard focus on the topic of ether/caloric as an expression of his belief that this 'living force' [e.g., 22.142(48)] is a real manifestation of God's fiery presence in the natural world. Not just the matter that constitutes the bodies of plants and animals [Kt9: 22.210(3)], but all matter is, in this metaphorical sense, alive. Kant thus portrays the hidden, internal side of matter as endlessly vibrating in ways that do not expand the space it fills in the visible world, but which alone explains how heat can come about. "These pulsations constitute a living force'.3* Despite appearances to the contrary, this view does not require Kant to change or reject any of his Critical doctrines; rather, it merely indicates Kt9's change of standpoint. For just as the thing in itself is unknowable in systemt, so also we 35. Kt9:21.210-l(64). A few pages later he expresses this point by saying 'our all-producing globe' is itself 'an organic body' [21.213-4(66)]. Kant's emphasis on organisms [e.g., 22.546-8(84-5)] provides further evidence supporting my claim in KSP1:III.4 that Kt9 belongs to systemj, not systemt. As we saw in KSP1:IX.3.A, organisms are one of the main topics dealt with in the second partofKt7. Likewise, Kant emphasizes that the 'primitive moving forces of matter' being examined in Kt9 are all 'dynamic', inasmuch as 'the mechanical are only derivative' [Kt9:22.239(55); s.a. 22.241(57)]—a distinction that also suggests Kt9's closer association with the dynamical explanations typical of Kt7. 36. Kt9:21.310(25). That Kant's focus on understanding the significance of 'living forces' in nature marks a return to the theme of his very first publication [Kt40] is a neat bit of symmetry that is typically overlooked by commentators. Likewise, his doctoral dissertation [Kt44] consisted of reflections on fire, a topic that comes up again in Kt9. With respect to his early interest in natural philosophy, just as in the case ofhis early interest in philosophical theology [see e.g., note XII.ll], Kt9 therefore brings Kant's philosophical life's-work full circle with the ripened fruition of a Critical mysticism that has a physical as well as a spiritual side, aptly reflecting the dual interest of his youth.

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are 'incapable of knowing [the ether] and its weight by any experience' [21:387-8(13)]; despite the crucial role they play in the transition, both ether and caloric are 'imponderable' (i.e., they lack density). Kant shows special interest in the force of gravity, because (unlike ordinary forces that act externally to objects in order to propel them into motion) gravity 'acts upon the inside of matter immediately' [Kt9:21.308(24)]. Likewise, to account for our 'sensation of warmth', Kant posits at one point a sixth sense, 'an inward one', in contrast to the 'five outer senses' [22.343 [112]). Given Kant's insistence that 'a highest—namely, originally indepen¬ dent—understanding' underlies the 'one universal [matter]' [21.183(60)], we are justified in regarding such comments as yet further evidence of Kant's interest in highlighting the natural basis of God's immediate presence. Indeed, the foregoing quote is followed by a single word that ends a section: 'agitatio.' This seems to be Kant's shorthand way of indicating his intention to portray God as underlying the material world as its agitating force, a primal fire that shakes up and warms the entire universe. As Sullivan puts it, Kant regards 'phlogiston, the principle of fire' as '[t]he most common example' of a phenomenon that requires us to posit God as 'a hypothetical being' in order to explain its occurrence [Su71:127]. Physics, it seems, is revealing to us at its very root the same 'ImmanueP ('God in us') we find at the foundation of true religion: 'The primum movens is not locomotive but rather internal' [Kt9:22.200(55)], for 'this matter is... to be assumed as the prime mover..., subjectively' [21.553(82)]. Since 'intention' cannot be a property of matter, Kant reasons, we must suppose an immaterial basis for the unifying force that makes organisms what they are—what some would call 'a world-soul', though this can never be demonstrated [22.548(85); cf. 22.100(197)]. Indeed, Kant warns on a number of occasions that he is not supporting the notion of a 'world-soul' [e.g., 21.18-9(224-5); 21.92(252]; rather, his view is that our '[m]oral-practical reason is one of the moving forces of nature and of all sense-objects.' [22.105(199)]. That he has an analogical connection in mind here is suggested in Kt9:21.153: 'To say absolutely that a God is... is analogous with the propositions that space is and time is. All these objects of knowledge are mere products of our own self-made representations (ideas) among which that of God is the uppermost.' This analogy confirms the view of God proposed in Figure V.3, whereby God is viewed as being immanent (omnipresent) to our moral reason in the same way space and time are to our experience of the phenomenal world. Kant sometimes expresses this so forcefully that he seems almost to be forgetting its analogical status [Ad20: 827(We26:199)]: 'The idea of that which the human Reason itself makes of the

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universe is the active representation of God, not as the substance of a separate personality outside of me, but as the thought of a personality within me'. Elsewhere Kant expresses this 'panentheism' even more explicitly: 'space is the phenomenon of the divine omnipresence.'37 Kant's reason for referring in a number of Kt9 passages to Spinoza's view that we 'intuit all things [Sache]... in God' [e.g., 21.50-1(241-2); s.a. Ktl9: 410] is not easy to discern. These jottings may simply be reminders of a position he intends to refute later on. Such an interpretation could find backing from Hamann's report that Kant 'had never properly studied Spinoza' [Ba03: xxxv] and that 'Kant could never make anything of Spinoza, though he had many long conversations on the subject with his intimate friend Kraus.' Yet I believe there is more to such references than this. For Spinoza's formula expresses in a nutshell a view Kant himself seems to be elaborating throughout Kt9 and serves as a significant means of expressing the culminating step of Kt9's tantalizing task: to unite together the two most diverse human ideas: God and the world. For by 'things' Kant is referring not to the abstract epistemological construct of the thing in itself (Ding an sich), but to the manifold phenomena (Sache) we actually experience in the world. Kant's point, then, seems to be that Spinoza provides us with a means of conceiving how the knowing subject unites God and the world in every act of intuition. Here again we have met the sort of paradox that typifies all the transitions, with their character as the synthesis of a pair of opposites: the living forces of matter are alive ('in God'), even though matter as we know it (as 'all things') is dead [see e.g., Kt9:475(40)]. Let us therefore examine the epistemological status of Kant's claims regarding the mysterious substance that underlies and unifies the continuum we experience as space-time.38 As I have argued in KSPl:IV.3-4 and elsewhere, one of Kant's chief shortcomings was to limit his epistemological framework to three basic types of knowledge instead of 37. Kt25:113 (Politz edition), q.i. PaO2:262n; s.a. Ktl9:409-10. Panentheism differs from pantheism in the crucial respect that it does not merely identify God with the world, but views God as present and participating in every aspect of the world, but ultimately transcending it [see e.g., Kt9:21.18 (224)]. The importance of this distinction can be illustrated by noting Jaki's use of Kant's claim 'I am God! [Ich bin Gott!]' as evidence of 'Kant's gradual shifting into pantheism' [Ja81:33,224]. Jaki rejects Kant's starting-point at the outset [8] and shows no awareness of the principle of perspective, so it is not surprising that he takes such a comment as a shift in Kant's position. In fact, as we have seen, the comment in question, and many others like it in Kt9, are simply Kant's extreme way of expressing his existential confidence in the presence of God in himself and in all that is. (For a thorough critique of Jaki's treatment of Kant, see Pa87c.) 38. Kant's tendency in Kt9 to talk about space and time together (e.g., as 'one space and one time' [Kt9:21.227(74); s.a. 21.549(80),22.416(182)]) seems closer to Einstein than to Newton. The extent to which Kant's philosophy can serve as a foundation for the former as well as the latter will be examined in the third volume in this series, Kant's Critical Science.

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recognizing the role of the analytic a posteriori as the proper status of those el¬ ements in his System that must be taken on faith. In an early draft for a Preface to Kt9 [21.524(36)] Kant confesses his love of architectonic in terms that reveal why he remained blind to the power of the analytic a posteriori: As far as philosophy is concerned it is my plan—and lies ... in my natural vocation—to remain within the boundaries of what is knowable a priori: to survey, ' where possible, itsfield,and to present it as a circle (orbis), simple and unitary, that is, as a system prescribed by reason, not one conceived arbitrarily.

Here Kant reveals his absolute bias for the a priori—a bias that may be regarded as the single most important reason Kant's goal remains, as we saw in Chapter XI, a tantalizing ideal that he is unable to grasp. For he has rightly identified the status of physics as an empirical science: its specific knowledgeclaims must be synthetic and a posteriori. He has alsorightlyidentified his own philosophical foundations for physics (established in Ktl-Kt3) as providing synthetic a priori principles for science. He is even right to recognize that a gap still remains between the empirical status of physics and the foundations provided in Kt3. He goes wrong only by insisting that the gap he is searching for must be filled by something a priori. Kant's treatment of this problem in Kt9 shows he is aware of the paradoxi¬ cal nature of his search: he is looking for something that could be a priori and yet empirical at the same time. As he points out at several points, 'the transition is a descent' from a priori principles to the empirical [e.g., Kt9:21.476(40); s.a. 21.525(36-7)]. Kant seems well aware that he is on to something crucial to the unity and completeness of his philosophical System; but how to describe the status of this tantalizing transition repeatedly alludes his grasp.39 For the remainder of this section I shall argue that his search for an appropriate description for all the transitions, but especially for the vital role played by ether/caloric, can be satisfied by classifying them as analytic a posteriori. Despite his repeated attempts to force it into his favorite, transcendental (synthetic a priori) mold, Kant elsewhere leaves no doubt as to the analytic

39. The paradoxical and mystical character of Kant's transition project is brought out by MacKinnon's description of mystical perception in general [Ma78:136]: 'It is by way of discarding the particular experience that the authentic incommunicable is communicated. If mystical experience is properly spoken of as one in which the opposition of subject and object is overcome, it must also be characterized as an experience in which the object is so totally transparent that one must speak of the subject as reduced to the near locus of its transparency.' Learning to perceive the world with this kind of 'simplicity', however, is a skill the mystic gains at 'the end rather than [at] the beginning and very few achieve it.' To this I would add that an unconscious participation of such immediate experience comes at the beginning of every human being's quest for knowledge; but the ability to become consciously aware of what I call the analytic a posteriori feature of human life is indeed an end product rather than a starting point.

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status of his ether proof.40 For example, he states in Kt9:21.226(74) that its principle—the principle of 'full space', the opposite of the Newtonian concept of 'empty space' [21.223-4(72-3)]—is inferred 'according to the principle of identity' from the impossibility of empty space [s.a. 21.228-9(75-6)]. More¬ over, he comes right out and calls it analytic in passages such as Kt9:21.233 (78): 'the universally distributed caloric... is the basis for the system of moving forces which emerges analytically, from concepts—that is, according to the rule of identity—from the principle of agreement with the possibility of experience in general.' By referring to 'the possibility of experience in general' he intends, no doubt, to suggest an a priori (transcendental) origin for the ether principle. Yet he also wants to regard it as empirical—wherein, he admits, 'appears to lie a contradiction' [e.g., 21.230(77); s.a. 21.244(79)]. Once again, he could have resolved (or at least, found a valid epistemological status to clarify) the paradoxical character of this ultimate principle by fully embracing its purely conceptual starting-point as analytic, but treating it as a regulative hypothesis that we impose onto our experience of the world, a posteriori. This would have given him a conceptual handle for describing how the concept of ether/caloric can at first be 'a mere thought-object' (an analytic relation between concepts), yet can come to be experienced as a real sense-object (an a posteriori relation between intuitions).41 The impasse in Kant's reasoning is caused by his unquestioned assumption that the concept of ether/caloric must be a priori in order to fulfill a significant philosophical function. Thus when he portrays the caloric essence of all matter as 'an idea that emergefs] from reason' [Kt9:22.551-2(87)], he assumes this must make it a priori, even though he is quick to point out the paradoxical fact that it is also 'to be regarded altogether as an object of experience {given).' 'Caloric is', as he puts it in Kt9:21.584(91), 'a categorically given material.' Once we recognize its emergence from reason as analytic (contained within the categories), we are set free to regard its material givenness as an a posteriori characteristic. Along these lines Kant here admits that the concept of caloric can have a 'hypothetical' use whenever we use it 'to explain certain phenomena'. (Recall that Kant's hypothetical perspective corresponds to the analytic a

40. In Kt9:21.581-2(9O) Kant seems to support both positions. Although he states on the one hand that the ether proof is synthetic, he also says it derives 'experience from concepts', which would make it a type of analyticity, whereby experience is somehow 'contained in' the concept. 4 1 . Kt9:21.604-5(97). Kant explains here that to regard caloric as 'the object of a single possible experience' implies 'that its assertion is an empirical proposition.' Such passages are hopelessly incoherent, unless we recognize that he was attempting to explain something fundamentally paradoxical: the analytic a posteriori. The 'pain like that of Tantalus' [see XI. 1,4 above] was caused by Kant's insistence on binding himself to the chains of the a priori [see e.g., Fo95:99-100].

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posteriori stage in my reconstructed version of Kant's architectonic, as depicted in Figure III.4.) Although the ether proof makes use of the concept of 'possible experience', as do all ordinary transcendental arguments, there is an important difference that demands a new epistemological status: the ether proofs are con¬ cerned not with the form (as 'merely thought'), but with the content of possible experience [22.580(90)]—a point again suggesting they are a posteriori. Kant says in Kt9:22.241(57) that the four principles of transition are 'derived analytically from the mere concept of physics.' Earlier in the same sentence he also says the transition is 'a priori'. But if the transition were both analytic and a priori, then it would be nothing but a merely logical operation. What Kant has in mind, however, seems to be much more subtle—something akin to logic, but with deeper implications for the way we actually experience the world; he simply has no access to terminology that enables him to express such a quasi-logical status. The subtlety comes to the fore in the paradoxical note that appears at the end of the same paragraph: 'Regulative principles which are also constitutive.' Being analytic enables a principle to regulate our knowledge conceptually; in order also to be constitutive of our experience, it would need to be a posteriori, not a priori. Kant's treatment of the nature of organisms in Kt9 provides yet another example of his groping towards the concept of analytic a posteriority. "The idea of organic bodies', he claims, can be established a priori, though only 'indirectly', through 'the concept of a real whole'; yet '[Regarded directly', or¬ ganisms 'can be known only empirically' [Kt9:21.213(66); s.a. 22.356(115)]. He goes on to explain that we learn what an organism is from our (a posteriori) consciousness of ourselves as organizing (rational, architectonic) beings, then we classify the objects we have organized according to the conceptual struc¬ tures we impose upon our experience. He calls these structures 'a priori'; but if the focus is on their conceptual status, he should have called them 'analytic'. The analytic a posteriori status of Kt9's transitions is even more clear in an earlier passage, where Kant calls the four categorial forms of transition 'a priori laws ... drawn, not from the elements of physics [which would be syn¬ thetic] ... but from concepts (to which we subordinate the elements of physics)' [21.183(59)]. To draw a law directly from concepts is an analytic procedure; to subordinate elements of physics to such a concept can have only a posteriori validity. This, as I have argued more fully in Pa87d, is essentially what takes place every time we name something. When Kant refers to his Transition pro¬ ject as 'the general-physiological' link with 'a priori conceivability' [22.189 (51); s.a. 22.191(52)], we should read him as naming a process that confers an analytic a posteriori status on the Transition—a status he assumes without

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argument to be a priori. Likewise, his claim that caloric 'is determined for ex¬ perience' [21.603(96)] can now be regarded as epistemologically equivalent to the way naming an infant establishes a certain concept to determine a person's experience analytically, yet in an entirely a posteriori fashion. The difference is that this creative function is now expanded to cover the whole of our experience [22.554(89)]: 'Caloric is actual, because the concept of it... makes possible the whole of experience.' As such, Kant's doctrine of caloric/ether functions as the analytic a posteriori equivalent of what Kant elsewhere calls 'substance'. Kant makes numerous direct comparisons between the God-hypothesis and the ether-hypothesis [see e.g., Kt9:22.128-9(208-9)]. Not only are both regarded as 'substances' with a necessarily hypothetical status; both must also refer only to singular realities (one God and one world). We should not be surprised, therefore, to find that Kant has just as much difficulty in assigning an epistemological status to the former as to the latter. The assertion of God's existence, he tells us, 'is neither an analytic nor a synthetic proposition' [22.128 (208)]. The reason Kant is forced to make such vague and inconclusive statements, I believe, is that he never considers the possibility that the status of propositions such as 'God exists' is actually analytic a posteriori. 4. The Ideal Human: Christ as Philosophy's Highest Religious End Like it or not, interpreters must recognize that the mysterious quality of Kt9 comes not so much from its disorderly, unfinished form—though this does add confusion to the mystery—as to the essentially mystical aim Kant has in view: to describe the one in the many. Along these lines, even Forster acknowl¬ edges at one point that some of Kant's theories are related, at least indirectly, to 'cabalistic ideas' [F693:277, n.105; see Kt9:22.421(184)]. Those who follow the common practice of portraying Kant as a philosopher who synthesized rationalism and empiricism [cf. KSP1:355,383] rarely take into consideration that such a synthesis can be effected only by subsuming both of these extremes under a third term. We are now in a position to suggest that the Critical mystic¬ ism that has been gradually emerging here in Part Four is this third 'ism'. For reason-based philosophy and experience-based philosophy can be held together at the most profound level only by a rational experience, based on a 'believing reason' [Ak91:73]—i.e., a Critical mysticism. This is the spiritual legacy bequeathed to us by Kant. The transcendent Fire of God-in-the-world eventually encompasses every¬ thing in Kant's System, forming a panentheism of the profoundest type. The 'idea of the whole' that Kant hopes will unify this System in Kt9, complete with the three transitions suggested by Figure XII. 1—God to humanity; humanity

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ONE GOD

[the thing in itself (unknowable)] \ the transcendental object / the transcendental subject \ space, time, and the categories / freedom and the moral law (= transcendental knowledge) (= practical knowledge)

scientific and technical laws / ppolitical and moral rules (= metaphysical basis of empirical knowledge)

items of empirical knowledge / items of practical knowledge (outer sense) (inner sense) \ [ether (unknowable)]

1

ONE WORLD

Figure XIL2: The Unity of Transcendental Philosophy in Kt9 to the world; and (combining the first two) God-and-the-world to humanity— can be aptly depicted in the form of the flow chart given in Figure XII.2. Note that the role Kant gives to human beings ('man') in Kt9 is a direct application of his conviction that philosophy is essentially concerned with four questions, the first three Critical questions (concerning knowledge, action, and hope) being summarized in the fourth ('What is man?').42 Kant's repeated references 42. See note III.5. Similarly, Collins claims in Co67:93-4 that 'the theme of man in the world... is not

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to 'man' in Kt9 should be read on one level as a general reference to 'the human individual as understood in terms of the transcendental conditions set out in the three Critiques'; however, Kant also seems to have a more specific referent in mind—the ideal God-man. Kant consistently emphasizes in Kt9 that there can be but one God and one world: 'it is as little the case that there are many Gods as that there are many worlds' [22.125(205)]. It should come as no surprise, therefore, that when he seeks to unite these two in humanity, he tends to focus his attention on one man. My central argument in this section is that this 'man' can be identified as the highest known expression of the human individual: Jesus, the Christ, who seems to be ever lurking at the back of Kant's mind [cf. Co67:177-8]. The great merit of this conjecture is that it enables us to understand what Kant is doing when he makes odd, almost 'new age' sounding statements, such as that God 'judges me within...; and I as man am myself this being, and it is no substance external to me' [Ad20:824(We26:198)]. He is developing his own philosophi¬ cal interpretation of the Christian view that all human beings are, at least potentially, 'little Christs'—that is, sibling participants in the wholeness (i.e., perfection) first represented by Christ Jesus, the God-man. This position is already suggested in Kt8:60(54), where Kant paraphrases John 1:1 in such a way that '[m]ankind... in its complete moral perfection' is presented as existing with 'the Supreme Being' from the beginning [cf. Mc86:78]. Since Kant proceeds to depict the 'archetype' as the personal embodiment of this perfection, we can regard this passage as an attempt to present a symbolic interpretation of the Christian doctrine of Jesus Christ as the alpha and omega [cf. Rev. 1:8; 21:6; 22:13], the Son of God who makes it possible for every person to become a child of God [see e.g., Rom. 8:16-23]. If Kant's hidden intention is indeed to propose a philosophical interpreta¬ tion of such notions, then it means Galbraith and others are quite mistaken when they charge 'that Kant's theology does not have Christ at its centre.'43 Towards the end of her book [Ga96:184] she affirms that in Kt9 'Kant comes closest to realising that the philosophical system which has been the peripheral but the founding principle of philosophical inquiry itself.' The fourth question thus represents the innermost revolution in the spiral of transcendental philosophy, as shown in Figure III.8. 43. Ga96:v; s.a. IX.4, above. Likewise, McCarthy [Mc86:101] claims Kant's 'reworking of this central Christian teaching [i.e., the trinity] means the dismissal of Christocentricity as traditional¬ ly understood. Yet the example of Christ will be at the epicenter of moral-religious thought.' This subtle 'yet' makes McCarthy's comment a much more accurate rendering of Kant's position. For Kant does reject the traditional view—or to be more precise, he leaves it conspicuously undefended. But he does not do away with Christocentricity altogether. For Christ remains as an ideal example (i.e., the 'archetype' of all examples) here at the 'dead center' of his entire System!

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preoccupation of his life, has in fact been grounded in theism.' She adds, however, that Kant's 'tendency to cling to Christianity is entirely absent.' Insofar as 'Christianity' refers to an organized historical faith consisting of specific doctrines and duties, the latter is certainly correct, as evidenced by Kant's many existential statements such as '[r]eligion is conscientiousness' [Kt9:21.81(248)]; yet this does not mean he has lost his tendency to cling to Christ as an existential ideal. Nor should we take this to mean Kant was previ¬ ously unaware of his System's theocentric orientation. For the notable absence of any doctrinal affirmations in Kt9 does not imply that Kant has given up the beliefs he affirmed in Kt8; it only means he sees no more need to repeat those theories in this metaphysical context than he does in the case of the many doctrines of the theoretical and practical Critiques that are also absent. That Kant's entire philosophical System culminates in this 'one man'—that is, Kant himself, and each of us, as representatives of the ideal God-man—can help us to understand an aspect of his philosophy that might otherwise cause undue confusion and/or concern. As Cooke observes [Co88:313], 'Kant thinks about the self in a way very similar to the way he thinks about God.' For example [315], the subject in itself, like God, 'is not situated in time.... [I]t is a timeless acting uncaused cause.' Kant thinks of God as well as the self [317] as 'a simple, unchanging, timeless, spontaneous agent that produces effects in the spatio-temporal world without itself being influenced or determined by the spatio-temporal world.' That 'Kant can speak grandly of the self as lawgiver to nature' [320] is perhaps less surprising when its direct correspondence with God is taken into account. 'Starting with a Godlike notion of the self can, over a period of time, lead to the idea that the self really is God.' Here [322] Cooke is thinking specifically of Kt9 as Kant's attempt to bring his long-term tendency to its final culmination. We are now in a position to see this as quite accurate, but only from the specific standpoint of judicial metaphysics. Cooke regards such an implication as casting doubt on the religious significance of Kant's System. Yet this is only because he pays inadequate attention to the paradoxical nature of Kant's overall conception of the God-man relation. For as we saw in V.I, God is also transcendent and fundamentally different from us [see e.g., Fig. V.3]. Cooke does acknowledge [322] that God is 'distinguished from human selves in so far as God is a purely rational agent, while human selves are also sensuous.' But he fails to recognize the ultimate significance of this crucial difference; for this enables Kant to avoid a complete identification between God and humanity. Instead, the latter functions as the principle of synthesis between God and the world. If Kant is referring cryptically to the ideal God-man (the 'Christ') whenever

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he refers to 'man' as the synthesis of God and the world, to what extent is he also thinking of human beings in general or of ordinary human individuals? We can answer this question by comparing Kant's treatment of 'man' to his treatment of 'experience' in Kt9: 'There is only one experience, and, if experi¬ ences are spoken of..., ... what are meant thereby are merely perceptions...' .44 If this 'one experience' corresponds to the perfection of humanity in the person of Christ, then each of us in our attempts to live like Christ would correspond to the status of 'perceptions'. As we saw in VII.2.B and VIII.2.B, we should each therefore endeavor to make ourselves a living example of this 'divine man within us' [Ktl:597]; and as long as faith in the historical Jesus helps us reach that goal, rather than hindering us—as it would for anyone who regards Jesus as the only possible instance of a human being who exhibits God's nature— such faith is quite compatible with Kant's System. Thus, he expresses his entire argument in a nutshell as follows [Kt9:22.131(209)]: 'I am a principle of synthetic self-determination to myself, not merely according to a law of the receptivity of nature, but also according to a principle of the spontaneity of freedom.' Here again, the T refers to the ideal human as the synthesis of God and the world. Kant says of the three metaphysical ideas that when we idealize God, the world, and humanity by regarding them as 'archetypes' (i.e., noumenal objects of hypothetical knowledge), we must keep in mind that we can never know for certain if they actually exist [Kt9:21.51(242); s.a. 21.33(236); 22.128-9(2089)]. This reference to the ideas as archetypes is reminiscent of step five in system r , where the 'archetype' refers to the 'personified idea of moral perfection' [see VIII.2.B], and suggests that Kant's repeated use of the term 'man' in Kt9 should be read as being not merely equivalent to 'the human race', but on a deeper level, as a reference to the ideal human person. For Christians, that person is Jesus. The Christian reader of Kt9 can therefore safely read this text (as I believe Kant himself would have regarded it) as arguing not that every human individual is a real expression of the mystical union of God-and-the-World, but that this function is fulfilled by the most authentic man-in-the-world ever to live, the person who came to be called 'the Christ'. To be true to Kant (and perhaps also to the Bible) we must add, however, that every true follower of Jesus' Way can also be regarded as a participant in (and so also, an example of) this mystical union. The Christian 44. Kt9:22.661(98); s.a. 22.104(198). Note the striking similarity of form between the statement quoted here, repeated frequently throughout Kt9, and Kant's claim in Kt8:107(98) that 'There is only one (true) religion; but there can be faiths of several kinds.' This supports my claim that Kt9 is an extension of the same standpoint adopted in Kt8, the judicial, only applied now to metaphysics.

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reader, therefore, need not reject Kant's System on the grounds that it leaves insufficient room for Jesus to occupy a central role in human salvation. Being a philosophical System, it rightly leaves open the question of which individual(s) make(s) the archetype real. But it does not disallow Christians from placing faith in Jesus as the one archetypal Person in whom the metaphysical union of God and the world have become a reality on earth. If anything, Kt9 encourages such faith, by showing how it is metaphysically possible. This, then, is the ultimate philosophical transition, the transition from an abstract, reflective standpoint (either theoretical and world-oriented or practical and God-oriented) to a concrete, existential standpoint wherein one intuits (immediately experiences) God in the world and the world in God. Philosophy, as Plato pointed out so long ago, begins in wonder and thereby gives birth to reflection and logical reasoning; but its proper end lies not in a theoretical un¬ derstanding of ideal 'forms', but in a mystical experience of the oneness of all that is. This end, as we have seen, is the literal purpose (the telos or 'goal') of human reason, even though it is also reason's symbolic death (its termon or 'boundary').45 Thus, what we might call 'Kant's Socratism' must be viewed, following Velkley, as 'an inversion of Plato's' [Ve85:102], for 'the philoso¬ pher' in Kant's ideal [104] 'shows us how little we need in the way of theory to attain our ends.' Immediate experience, as the end or goal of all philosophy, is indeed phi¬ losophy's death; for here we come face to face with what Kant calls the 'funda¬ mental relations' where 'philosophy has no business any more' [Ktl5:117]. Just as reason has its birth in the unknowable, transcendent womb of the thing in itself, so also must we now acknowledge that it dies in the supra-rational im¬ mediacy of an individual's inward experience of God. That Kant was himself a closet mystic is therefore, despite its strangeness,46 the inescapable conclusion 45. This understanding of the 'birth' and 'death' of reason is filled with ironies. First, the Critical System was born out of the generating seed produced by Kant's analysis in Ktl8 of Swedenborg's alleged communications with people who had died (i.e., departed spirits). Second, Kant was only able to witness the birth of (most of) his System when he was on the verge of death (i.e., entering old age). And third, Kant himself passed over into the realm of departed spirits (if such a realm exists) before he was able to complete his elaboration of the death of his own System. 46. This conclusion sounds strange not because there is a huge volume of literature providing evidence against it, but simply because the opposite conclusion is often repeated as if it were so obvious as to be beyond the need for support. Thus, when considering Kant's view of God in Kt9, Macquarrie notes a similarity to a view expressed by mystical writers [Ma90b:431n], then quickly and dogmat¬ ically adds: 'But Kant was no mystic' Wood says Kant 'had no patience at all for the mystical' [Wo92:414], and calls asuggestion to the contrary 'absurd' [Wo96:331]. But as Sewall pointed out acenturyago[SeOO:32]: 'It all depends on what is meant by the [term] mystic. Truly the whole ideaof freedom is with Kant amystic one.' Kant's use of this term, of course, is extremely one-sided [see e.g., Ktl:882]. The many undefended denials of Kant's mystical tendencies [see X.2 and notes X.7,18; s.a. Bu84:83 and Co60b:184] are therefore unjustified [but cf. Jo97:31 and Gr34:lxxvii; Gr78:77].

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of our study, for only in light of this awareness can his System be viewed as truly complete. The 'death' of reason is lamentable only when the roles of the unknowability of the thing in itself and the mystical awareness of immediate experience are interchanged: the rationalist, believing knowledge of the thing in itself can be obtained, mistakenly regards the beginning of philosophy as its end; and the empiricist, believing experience can never be immediate, mistakenly regards the end as the beginning. Critical mysticism is the proper acknowledg¬ ment of our theoretical ignorance at philosophy's birth and of our judicial ig¬ norance at its death, combined with the recognition that all our knowledge arises only between these two extremes. This places definite limits on the Enlighten¬ ment's naive trust in the all-sufficiency of reason, balancing its 'sapere aude' motto with a corresponding 'non sapere aude': 'have the courage not to know',47 but to experience—i.e., to let reason die in the immediate experience of God, in the hope that it will rise again with wisdom48 and holiness. Kant mentions on several occasions the salto mortale, the 'death leap of human reason',49 referring to the fanatic's tendency to treat unjustified specula¬ tions about the transcendent realm as if they were certain truths [see AVII.l]. Such a practice is philosophically disreputable when it is purely speculative; what Kant does not fully acknowledge is that, as Kierkegaard later argued, such a death leap may have a profound philosophical justification when taken instead on the basis of genuine existential awareness. This philosophical death of reason is not 'the euthanasia (painless death)' that Kant says results from hedonism [Kt6:376-7]; rather, it is the painfully self-conscious death of a suffer¬ ing servant. As we saw in IX.2, the heart of the Christ-love that characterizes 47. Although self-knowledge can be regarded as the fruit of Kant's Critical mysticism, this knowing ignorance is its root. This is at least part of what I have in mind by coining the term 'philopsychy' (literally, soul-loving): an approach to philosophical ignorance that regards psychological selfknowledge as its choicest fruit; and an approach to psychological self-knowledge that acknowl¬ edges philosophical ignorance as its root. For examples of these two approaches, see Pa97 and PaOOa, wherein I develop a kind of Critical mysticism—though without using the term itself. 48. Hegel's critique of Kant is based on the assumption that such a limitation of reason is the mark of philosophy's 'failure' [Fr86b:521]; but as Friedman rightly observes, 'Kant sees it as wisdom.' This is because 'Kant speaks of a human and not an absolute standpoint.... While reminding me of the unseen[, reason] restricts my knowledge to the seen.' In this respect, Friedman observes [522], 'Kant's position is strangely Socratic' Both great philosophers affirm their ignorance while remaining faithful to their principles—though in the end 'Socrates falls back on myth.' Some would regard the theological orientation and religious end of Kant's System as an indication that Kant follows Socrates in this respect as well; but I believe Kant's defense of the Transcendental Perspective makes a significant advance on Socrates' highly suggestive but ultimately mythical approach. In any case, Friedman's conclusion, that Kant's philosophy ends not in 'hypocrisy', as Hegel claimed, but 'in humility' [522], is surely valid. Indeed, it is the key to Kantian wisdom. 49. Kt8:121(lll); s.a. 174(163). The footnote [121n(lll-2n)] illustrates the proper response to rea¬ son's death: Kant reinterprets the doctrine of predestination as a deep trust in the judgment of the timeless, 'All-Seeing' One. This affirmation of reason's 'death leap' supports Ronald Green's claim that this is one of the several ways Kierkegaard develops themes first raised by Kant [Gr89:403-5].

XII. Transition to the End of All Philosophy

38 ]

the ideal human being is not pleasure and inclination, but suffering and (if necessary) death. Likewise, we can now see that Kant's entire System acknowl¬ edges a fundamentally tragic element in the human situation: like Tantalus, we are constrained to seek after the unconditioned (e.g., as the highest good in systeirip), in spite of the extreme unlikeliness of ever attaining it. Yet this is a tragedy not without significant rewards for those who are willing to endure it; for as Peccorini observes [Pe72:65], 'one feels prouder of being a man after having accompanied Kant through his painful, but most rewarding, critical journey.' As Goldmann puts it, 'the critical philosophy [is] one of the great expressions of the tragic vision of the world,... a "metaphysics of tragedy".'50 Thus, when Kant makes statements such as that an appeal to the supernatural implies that 'all use of reason ceases' [Kt8:53(48)], we must not rush to assume he is disapproving entirely of reason's death [e.g., Ga96:77; see AVII.l]. Kantian reason is an 'organ', a living substance that has both a beginning and an end. An appeal to the supernatural is only damaging, therefore, when it comes too soon and would put philosophy to death before its appointed time. (The details of this kairos will be examined in KSP4.) Critical philosophy on its own (i.e., apart from the corresponding meta¬ physical works) promotes a balanced view of religious life that is not so explic¬ itly 'tragic'. Despland aptly expresses this balance in De73:269: 'The mature form of Kant's understanding of religion emphasizes the finitude of our facul¬ ties [cf. Ktl], the moral maturity of the religious man [cf. Kt4], and his confi¬ dence in a gracious Providence [cf. Kt7-8].' The tragic as an aspect of this life comes into full view only when we discover that our immediate experience of God cannot take the place of our own struggles for knowledge and virtue. This contrast between the judicial and the practical ways of dealing with God is neatly captured by Smith's claim [Sm68:19] that 'God is in one perspective [the judi¬ cial, as in Kt9] a religious solution and a philosophical problem, and in another [the practical, as in Kt4] a philosophical solution and a religious problem.' Philosophy's highest religious end is to pave the way for an experience of this mystical center. The promise it gives is that, out of reason's death will spring a new life, a new awareness of the proper way of relating our reasoning to the world we inhabit. In particular, wisdom and holiness manifest themselves 50. Go71:170. Note the stark contrast between this view of systemp and the view that portrays it as an unsuccessful attempt to transcend the limits set by systemi. In Kt4 as here in Kt9, there would be no tragedy if Kant were not so careful to avoid making pretentious claims about having attained something that we humans can never succeed in attaining. As Kwan puts it in Kw84:286, 'matured morality is always tragic!' While this sense of the tragic, as a practical 'process of self-ennoble¬ ment' [286], is a suitable description of the first three stages of systemp, the fourth stage (with its postulation of God and immortality) seems at first to remove the tragedy from living the moral life.

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as the twin ideals that can be realized only when this religious death has been ex¬ perienced. Wisdom is the spiritual fulfillment of science (i.e., knowledge), just as metaphysics follows critique, and is especially the goal of the metaphysics of nature [see e.g., Kt9:21.156(255)]; holiness is the spiritual fulfillment of humanity's political history (i.e., action) and is the goal of the metaphysics of morals. But wisdom and holiness are not possible apart from a fundamental recognition that these ideals ultimately belong to God alone. As Kant affirms in Kt9:22.38(177): 'Wisdom is the highest principle of reason.... Only the supreme being is wise.' Likewise, as we saw in V.4, Kant consistently regards holiness as an attribute of the divine. The humility that fills anyone who truly becomes aware of this 'religious feeling' prepares us 'to be educated by God,... to obey and respect a higher moral authority than our own current insights and those of mankind.'51 Despland argues that this step, far from entailing a merely agnostic admission that God's existence is possible, requires an active worship of God: ... this feeling becomes further characterized as a sense of the holiness of God. The God who is an educator of mankind is presented as a rational idea and as a necessary postulate. This should not obscure the fact that for Kant he is also—and he is primarily—the highest reality before which all knees bend. [De73:267]

Kant's claim in Kt4:lln that 'wisdom and holiness' are 'fundamentally and objectively identical' is obviously untrue from the standpoint of the three Critiques; it must rather be interpreted as a claim about the union of knowledge and action in immediate experience, where knowledge and action are ultimately unified in the God-man, the empirical realization of both holiness and wisdom. This may well be what Kant has in mind in Kt8:83-4(78) [q.i. VIII.4] when he enigmatically calls the teachings of reason 'holy' and those of Christ, 'wise'. We saw in V.3 [s.a. KSP1:IX.3.B and AA18:713-4,485-6] that the God who is transcendent in systemt and immanent in systemp is paradoxically both transcendent and immanent in system) (and so also in systemr). The mystery we are now faced with is that at the center of Kant's entire System, God is in a sense neither transcendent nor immanent. Contrary to interpreters such as Ward, who claims that 'God remains a remote and impassive being for Kant' [Wa72:66], the God of Kt9 is the God of immediate experience—a realm where all distinctions (like language itself) ultimately break(s) down. Here God is no mere (transcendent) 'idea', and even a more positive (immanent) term such as 'postulate' does not do justice to the experience Kant describes. Rather, 5 1 . De73:267. In Kt8:113(104) Kant says religious feelings can result from 'the operation of the moral law which fills man with fervent respect and hence deserves to be regarded as a divine command.' This respect is directed towards the divine commander, 'and the lawgiver is God' [Kt9:22.106].

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what Kant alludes to is a mystical feeling or intuition that somehow corresponds to the intellectual intuition of God's own nature [see V.I; cf. Gr34:lxi], yet avoids contradicting any Critical principles by virtue of the fact that it produces nothing tangible in the way of knowledge (theoretical or practical). What it produces is the far more important (yet ineffable) respect for life (and by extension, for both oneself and one's fellow human beings), for nature (and by extension, for both the universe and the products of human culture), and for God that characterizes all of Kant's thinking, yet finds its ultimate expression only here. Anyone who reads Kt9 as part of a mono-perspectival philosophy of science is bound to regard it as contradicting Critical principles. But once we see it as developing from a new perspective a philosophy of wisdom, the problem of alleged inconsistency falls away. The conclusions of Kt9 are not treated as knowledge claims ('Kat' 'aJuiGeiav'), but as holistic claims worthy of analytic a posteriori belief ('rat' "av6pamov') [Kt69:306]. Kant's System can now be seen to revolve, like a hurricane, around a 'dead center', a place of peaceful calm that has to be experienced in order to be believed—especially for anyone who is being tossed about on the stormy sea of philosophical speculation. The Critical philosophy is to function like a set of navigational tools that can guide the sailor safely into this place of rest. Here at the heart of the System, reason lies mysteriously dormant, resting from all the mighty endeavors that seemed so important just moments before. The philo¬ sophical 'sailor' who is fortunate enough to locate this 'end' of Kant's theocentric metaphysics will be empowered to venture back out into the stormy 'spiral' of human reasoning, with a newfound appreciation of the moral order that makes nature, art, and even theoretical knowledge itself worthwhile [cf. Fig. III.8; s.a. Kt7:482]. Kant makes a similar point using a rather different metaphor in Kt6:441: 'Only the descent into the hell of self-knowledge can pave the way to godli¬ ness.' (Tracing this vivid maxim to Hamann, Collins [Co67:140] says Kant regards it 'as the first condition for orienting myself and humanity toward God, in the religious relationship.') If reason dies when it reaches the latter and ascends to 'heaven', if in so doing we have reached the still point at the mystical center of the Critical storm, then what is there to look forward to in the remaining two volumes of Kant's System of Perspectives! What we will find is that the metaphysical ideas of the world (freedom) and the soul (immortality) bring us face to face with the same paradox we have met in our examination of Kant's Critical religion, but in new forms. The realms of science and political history, respectively, will be the focus of our study in KSP3 and KSP4. There we shall find that Kant is transcending the religio-philosophical mandate of

384

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Socrates' 'know thyself and replacing it with the maxim 'cultivate thyself .52 Friedrich expresses a similar point by saying [Fr49:vii-viii] 'Kant's philos¬ ophy, existentially speaking, revolves around "peace" and not around "cogni¬ tion."' That this peace is an allusion to what the immortal soul can look forward to after the body's death is suggested by Kant's admission in his 'Perpetual Peace' essay that its title refers to 'a satirical inscription on a Dutch innkeeper's sign upon which a burial ground was painted' [Kt32:343]. Once we recognize that Kant's concern with politics and history extends beyond the grave, to the afterlife, the problem Yovel points out becomes all the more intense: 'How can a bridge be built between the history of reason and empirical history?'53 Yovel argues that because the 'supreme end round which [Kant's] system is organized is the supreme practical end' [Yo80:20n], therefore 'the historical ideal is placed not just within [Kant's] system, but in fact at its "architectonic" center.' As we shall see in KSP4, this—though something of an exaggeration (for history as such is not at the System's center, but rather the immediate experiences out of which all history is woven)—is accurate insofar as it highlights the unexpectedly historical focus of many of Kant's later writings. Moreover, when we adopt the practice of viewing history as God's way of educating humanity, '[t]he person of Christ', as Despland affirms, 'becomes... the surest ground of hope.'54 52. This interesting suggestion comes from Raschke [Ra75:227], who relates it primarily to Kant's philosophy of history. Unfortunately, Raschke writes as if history replaces God for Kant [225-7]. This, as we shall see in KSP4, is a serious misconstrual of Kant's intentions. A more defensible view of the role of political history for Kant is that human destiny is the key to understanding in what sense human nature is 'good'. (This is especially true in light of the final step in systemr: humanity somehow becoming well-pleasing to God.) A student of mine, Cheng Kwan, pointed this out to me in 1988, adding that in this respect Kant and Confucius are very similar. 53. Yo80:21. Yovel goes on to opine 'that Kant does not and cannot have a sufficient answer' to this question. I shall argue in KSP4, by contrast, that the principle of perspective is itself the bridge that enables us to recognize how rational history and empirical history fit together. I hope also to have an opportunity to compare and contrast Kant's philosophy of history with Hegel's—the two having 'a close affinity' in spite of their differences [Yo80:l 1,23-5]. Whereas Kant moves from the transcendental to the empirical, Hegel's thought flows in the opposite direction, with concrete empirical facts serving to reveal the transcendental forms of experience. In KSP4 I shall demonstrate how wrong Webb is to accuse Kant of being 'profoundly unhistorical and individualistic' [We26:208]. The fact that he also rejects the legitimacy of Kant's Copernican revolution as a whole [21 Of] explains why he finds Kant's transcendental neglect of history so difficult to accept. Webb wants to see Kant taking socio-historical factors into consider¬ ation within his transcendental philosophy, but Kant's Copernican Perspective assumes that these two must be carefully distinguished in order for either to be understood properly. 54. De73:246; s.a. VIII.2.B, above. Despland earlier explains this point in more detail: 'in the life of Jesus... a genuine existential breakthrough took place then and there. The hope in the growth of good on earth became a really live hope only in the Son of God.... Kant began to insist that in his person, through his work in history, Jesus Christ liberated us from an enslavement from which we could not liberate ourselves.' Despland cites Kt65:43 and Kt8:82-3(77-8) as examples of passages where Kant develops such views.

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385

Etymologically, the word 'transcendental'—the name Kant chose to denote the overall Perspective of his entire System [see KSP1:IL4]—is closely related to the word 'trance'. Whereas 'trance' means 'pass away' (as in death, or total loss of consciousness) and 'transcendent' literally means 'climb over' (e.g., a mountain), 'transcendental' refers to the boundary that determines what is to be transcended. The similarity between these words is more than accidental; for Kant's Transcendental Perspective, as we have seen, is the outworking of a new 'dream' to replace the old dream of speculative metaphysics and fanatical mysticism. This new dream requires us to 'climb across' (trans-cend) the 'valleys' of our experience to reach the 'mountains' of our metaphysical ideas, yet without losing our awareness of who we are in the world we inhabit—thus only allowing us to travel up to the boundary itself. This is possible only because the Copernican 'compass' provided by the philosopher's use of architectonic logic enables us to live in the 'hypnogogic trance' of Critical mysticism—a state of mind that enables us to stay 'awake' to the world of our experience without losing our awareness of the mystery and meaning of the 'dream' world that lies just beyond the reach of our cognitive fingertips.55 Is the death of all philosophy in the mystical awareness of the God-man dwelling within us a mere tragedy? Or is it the realization of philosophy's true end? A decisive answer to this final question is suggested by comparing it with a parallel issue Kant addresses far more directly: the fate of ecclesiastical faith. As we saw in Part Three, Kant accepts that churchly structures serve a legiti¬ mate purpose; but once their purpose (conveying moral-spiritual enlightenment to those who would otherwise have gone without it) has been served, all such structures are best put aside. Their death is not something to be lamented, but a natural developmental process we should accept as promoting the highest good.56 55. In his study of primitive cultures, Duerr observes [Du78:122]: 'The "dream place" is in the centre, and that centre is both everywhere and nowhere.' We humans must 'live an alienated life', he adds, because we stand between wilderness and civilization. Duerr's basic insight holds true for Kant's System as well, though Kant would have chosen other terms—perhaps 'ignorance' and 'knowledge' —to describe the fundamental existential dichotomy. The point of resonance here is that the Transcendental Perspective arises out of a dream-like center that provides the only reliable access to the speculations that lie at the circumference [see Figure III.8]. This center is the proper 'end of reason', as opposed to the attempt of some mystics to have 'dealings with spirits'—a position Kant thinks 'would make the use of my reason impossible' [Kt25:28.1.446(Jo97:18)]. That this dream is fundamentally rteocentric [see 1.1-3] is confirmed in Kt9:21.7(256) when Kant says that because philosophy aims at wisdom, it is 'directed toward something founded on God himself.' 56. As we saw in KSP1:VIII.3.B, the highest good is one of the key concepts in Kant's System. I have not emphasized its significance here in KSP2, because it relates more significantly to the idea of immortality (and so, to the political history of the human race) than to the idea of God (and religion). Weshall therefore examine its metaphysical implications extensively in KSP4. For now it is enough to note that Kant describes a world ruled by the highest good as 'a corpus mysticum' [Ktl:836]—a phrase derived from corpus Christi mysticum, the mystical body of Christ (or church) [Pe93:35-7].

386

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In a similar fashion, philosophy too should not be regarded as an end in itself, to be kept alive at all costs, but as a means to the furtherance of human develop¬ ment towards our proper end. Lest this realization lead philosophy to a pre¬ mature closure, however, we must also recall that Kant thinks this ideal end, where all ecclesiastical faiths (and all philosophies) will become useless appendages thanks to a new level of human self-awareness, is still far off in the distant future of mankind. Once we have attained the insight that is its goal, philosophy as such may be laid to rest. In KSP4 we shall examine in detail the political structure of this ideal future and the path that will lead to it. Here we may affirm that philosophy, like ecclesiastical faith, retains its value for the time being. We are still so far from the point when humanity can safely live continu¬ ously in the moment of immediate experience that we, as much as Kant, must be satisfied if we can experience a few tantalizing glimpses of our final destiny.

Appendix I The Story of Kant's Critical Religion That this book was completed just over 200 years after the appearance of Kant's last published book, The Conflict of the Faculties [Kt65], is not without significance.1 On a trivial level, this is because many unexpected delays in completing the book were caused by the need for me to engage in various 'conflicts' relating to my university life. (Unfortunately, these were not always as healthy as Kant envisages such conflicts to be in Kt65.) More significantly, Kt65 itself played a crucial role in the development of my interpretation of Kant's philosophy of religion. When I first read Kant's Religion [Kt8], I was disappointed by what I perceived to be an unexpectedly negative and dismissive view of the nature and purpose of religion. This seemed to confirm the common view of many commentators, that Kant attempts in that book to reduce religion to morality. A few years later, when I read Kt8 a second time, I had a totally different impression: as if scales had fallen from my eyes, I now perceived a deeper and far more significant line of thinking pervading Kt8. The main difference, aside from the fact that I had in the meantime significantly refined my own interpretation of Kant's philosophy by writing most of the first draft of KSP1, was that I had read Kt65. That book explicitly advocates a more positive interpretation of Kant's intentions in Kt8 and thus encouraged me to rethink my initial assessment of the latter. My work on Kant's System of Perspectives formally began in the summer of 1983, when I changed the topic of my doctoral dissertation at Oxford University from human nature to Kant. In January of that year, I had decided to take a month to write a journal article devel¬ oping my interpretation of Kant in more detail than would be possible in my thesis on human nature. As explained in Appendix I of KSP1, that one month break turned into six months and the article turned into five, all eventually published in scholarly journals. One day I realized I had already written half of a new dissertation on Kant's philosophy. In discussing my intent to change topics with my supervisor, one of my main concerns was that, as a student in the Theology Faculty, my new topic would be too philosophical. I therefore requested permission to change from the Theology to the Philosophy Faculty. However, Pro¬ fessor Macquarrie explained that Faculty divisions at Oxford are quite loose, and advised me to go ahead and write on the philosophy of Kant from within the Theology Faculty. Although my initial interest in Kant was limited to his philosophy as such, and my first reading of Kt8 left me rather cold, I decided that a Theology dissertation ought to say something about Kant's views on theology. This was the occasion for the reading of Kt65 and rereading of Kt8 that set me on the path to develop a thoroughly perspectival interpreta¬ tion of Kant's Critical religion. The first version of my thesis (submitted in 1985) therefore contained an introductory section on the generally theological orientation of Kant's System and ended with a Chapter on Kant's theology. After my dissertation was 'referred' (returned for major revisions), due mainly to the examiners' dissatisfaction with my use of diagrams [see KSP1:AI], I decided to expand the part on theology and religion. By the time the thesis was ready for resubmission in 1987,1 had added two additional chapters, examining Kant's views on religion and mysticism, respectively. Revised versions of these chapters were included in the original manuscript of Kant's System of Perspectives, submitted to University Press of Kt65 was published in 1798. This appendix, together with the nearly-completed manuscript for Kant's Critical Religion, was first sent to the publisher in December of 1998, though the final version was not actually ready until one year later. The delay means that my age when completing this volume is the same as Kant's when he published Ktl8, another book that plays a significant role in my interpretation.

AL The Story qffSpit's Critical Religion

389

America in January of 1991.2 UPA's anonymous reviewer recognized that the first section of the book as well as the last three chapters were not very well integrated with the other nine chapters, dealing almost exclusively with issues relating to the interpretation of Kant's Critical philosophy as such. He or she therefore wisely recommended that the material on religion and theology be removed and written up separately as a sequel.3 In the process of revising Kant's System of Perspectives with this advice in mind, I came to a clearer understanding of how theology is related to the other basic metaphysical appiications of Kant's philosophy that must be included in any complete description of his architectonic: theology, science, and political history correspond, respectively, to the metaphysical ideas of God, freedom, and immortality. I therefore included as Part Four of KSP1 brief chapters summarizing my proposed treatment of each of these applications in a series of three sequels. Kant's Critical Religion, as the first of these sequels, is Volume Two of the projected four-volume work, Kant's System of Perspectives. Soon after the publication of this volume, 1 therefore also hope to publish a slightly revised version of the first volume, with the new title: Kant's Critical Philosophy. Work on the third and fourth volumes is already underway (see Pa90 and Pa94b, respectively), though my involvement in other projects means that once again there will inevitably be gaps of several years between the publication of each. Much of the material in the present volume can be traced back to work that was included in my doctoral dissertation. As already mentioned, the dissertation's introductory section [I.I] was cut from £artr'.s System of Perspectives (i.e., fromKSPl) when the project was split into four volumes; but it is included here in a revised form as 1.1-3. The dissertation's Chapter X became the basis for all three chapters in Part Two, though most of the material appears in Chapter V. The dissertation's Chapter XI likewise became the basis for the current Part Three, with most of the material being used in Chapter VII. And the dissertation's Chapter XII became the basis for Chapters II and X. Earlier versions of various parts of this volume have been presented at seminars/confer¬ ences and/or published as independent essays—a fact that has given rise to a certain amount of unavoidable repetition in this book. I have done my best to rectify this situation through careful editing; but in some cases short passages that appear elsewhere could not be omitted without destroying the continuity of a particular argument. Some of these, especially passages providing a general overview of my approach to interpreting Kant, would not have been necessary, had the book been composed in a different way. I would like to take this opportunity to express thanks to the editors and publishers of the publications named below, for allowing some of the material they published to be republished here. The first seeds of my interpretation of Kant's view of religion were presented in a little Faith and Philosophy article [Pa89]. That article was a manifesto, setting out my plans to develop a thoroughgoing interpretation of Kant's philosophy of religion (see The version of KSP1 eventually published in 1993 is now out of print. However, the full text (excluding the diagrams) is on my web site, currently located at www.hkbu.edu.hk/~ppp/kspl. This advice was wise because the delay in publishing the theological implications of my interpreta¬ tion has given me the opportunity to do much more research and to change the way I view its significance. In 1991 I saw my work on Kant's theology and philosophy of religion as a ground¬ breaking study, pulling together strands that had only been touched upon by previous interpreters. Over the past eight years, however, a great deal of new work has been published in this area, much of it very much along the lines I had already begun to develop. Incorporating all of this new mate¬ rial has contributed significantly to the excessive length of this book. But as a result, it has now taken on the character of a coup de grace, laying to rest once and for all an old paradigm and estab¬ lishing a new one as the standard among contemporary Kant scholars as we begin a new century.

390

APPENDICES

AIII.2, below, for a brief discussion). It was originally written in January of 1985 as a talk I gave for Oxford's Fellowship of Research Students in Theology. A short passage from this article has been included here in IX. 1. Most of Chapter I was first published as 'Kant's Theocentric Metaphysics' in Analele Universitatii Din Timisoara 4 (1992), pp.55-70. Prior to that, as mentioned above, an early version of this material was used as the opening section of my D.Phil, thesis. Earlier (and barely intelligible4) versions of Chapters II and X—formerly combined as Chapter XII of my D.Phil, thesis—appeared as 'Kant's Critique of Mysticism: (1) The Critical Dreams' and 'Kant's Critique of Mysticism: (2) Critical Mysticism' in Philosophy & Theology 3:4 (Summer 1989), pp.355-83, and Philosophy & Theology 4:1 (Fall 1989), pp.67-94, respectively. Excerpts from II.2 also appeared, along with much of Chapter XI, in 'What is "Tantalizing" about the "Gap" in Kant's Philosophical System?', Studies in Early Modern Philosophy IV, ed. Stanley Tweyman and David A. Freeman (Delmar, N.Y.: Caravan Books, 1997), pp.171-94. Much of Chapter IV appeared in two rather different forms as parts of 'Kant's Theistic Solution to the Problem of Transcendental Theology', Rodica Croitoru (ed.), Kant and the Transcendental Problem (Bucharest: University of Bucharest Faculty of Philosophy, 1991), pp.148-78, and 'Kant's "Appropriation" of Lampe's God', Harvard Theological Review 85:1 (January 1992), pp.85-108 [Pa92b]. The latter was initially a paper presented under the same title for the Staff Seminar of the Hong Kong University Philosophy Department in December, 1991. The former was initially a paper read at a conference on 'Kant and the Transcendental Problem', sponsored by the Romanian Kant Society and held at Bucharest University in Romania, 20-22 September, 1991. Some of this material, together with material now in Chapter V, was also read in an earlier form (as Chapter X of my D.Phil, thesis) for Professor John Lucas' Philosophy of Religion seminar at Oxford University in November of 1984. Chapter VI is a revised version of 'Does Kant Reduce Religion to Morality?', KantStudien 83:2 (1992), pp.129-48. Prior to publication an earlier version of this paper was presented under the same title for a colloquium of the Department of Religion and Philosophy at Hong Kong Baptist College, held in March, 1989. Three appendices contain some material that was previously presented or published elsewhere. Some of the material in AIII.3, as well as in the last subsection of AIII.2, was included in my part of a paper jointly presented by Paula Manchester and I at the World Congress of Philosophy in Boston (August 1998). Our paper was entitled 'Kant's Architectonic Turn as a Model for Philosophic Practice: The Philosopher as Architect, Teacher, or Friend?'. AV includes a revised version of my article, 'Four Perspectives on Moral Judgement: The Rational Principles of Jesus and Kant', The Heythrop Journal 32 (1991), pp.216-32. And AVI is a revision of 'Kant's Critical Hermeneutic of Prayer', The Journal of Religion 11 :A (October 1997), pp.584-604. Much of the latter article was based on material from two talks I gave on similar topics: 'Kant's Philosophy of Prayer' for the Erasmus Society at Westmont College, Santa Barbara, on 8 September 1995; and 'Why

4. Unfortunately, the pair of articles identified in the main text appeared in a highly corrupted form, with literally hundreds of editorial and typographical errors. These were caused in part by the editors' indiscriminate use of a computer program for automatically converting footnotes into main text (thus often interrupting the flow of the argument), in part by some horrendous layout errors (repeatedly cutting out or duplicating several lines of text at page changes), and in part by their failure to proofread adequately or (in the case of the first installment) provide me with proofsheets prior to publication. Sadly, the publishers adamantly refused to publish any corrections or even to acknowledge that the text had been severely corrupted.

AI. The Story of Kant's Critical Religion

391

Should We Pray? An examination and critique of Kant's views on prayer' for a colloquium of the Department of Religion and Philosophy at Hong Kong Baptist University, on 16 November 1995. I would like to thank the many people who contributed comments and questions on those two occasions. Without their input the article, and so also AVI, would have been considerably less clear. Of the several reasons for the unexpectedly long time-span between the publication of Volume One and Volume Two (including several unfortunate bureaucratic diversions and a deepening involvement in the valuable but often time-wasting wonders of the internet), the most significant has been my decision to start a publishing company in early 1993. Shortly after sending off the camera ready copy of the revised manuscript of Volume One [KSP1], I completed an introductory text entitled The Tree of Philosophy, now in its fourth edition [PaOOa]. At the encouragement of several of my students, and in response to some frustrating experiences in dealing with conventional publishers, I decided to self-publish The Tree. The results were so pleasing that in the five intervening years I also completed and published three other books: Biblical Theocracy [Pa93]; Four Neglected Essays by Immanuel Kant; and Dreams of Wholeness [Pa97]. Obviously, working on these projects delayed my completion of the present volume. One reason I allowed these delays to happen—because it has of course been my own choice to put off Kant's Critical Religion until now—is that I wanted to wait until after the publication of the above-mentioned essay on the tantalizing 'Gap' in Kant's System. That essay ended up taking a full four years from submission to publication. This reason, however, was in retrospect really just an excuse to cover up the more substantial fact that I did not feel ready to write what I believed would be one of the most important chapters: Chapter IX. For I knew this chapter would require something approaching a personal confession of faith, and I was not sure how best to proceed with this task. My detailed study of Kant's philosophy of prayer (mentioned above; published here as AVI) provided a much-needed impetus for working out a biblical theology that is consistent with Kant's System. Once the 'Gap' essay appeared and my excuse disappeared, I finally gave this book in general, and Chapter IX in particular, the attention it required in order to be completed. A work of this magnitude is quite literally never finished. Every year since 1994 I expected to be finished within the coming year. But with every delay in my expected comple¬ tion date, the amount of remaining work seemed to increase rather than decrease. The list of secondary literature that remained to be read grew longer, not shorter: new material appeared faster than I could process it. What I was able to read and digest inevitably produced new insights and/or clarifications to incorporate, thus making my own text longer and more unwieldy with each further delay. When I finally set the end of the millennium as a firm dead¬ line, to be met regardless of how incomplete I knew the project would still seem, I inevitably ran out of time to finish everything I had planned to include. Of the many improvements I would have made to the manuscript, had I extended the project beyond 1/1/00, the most sig¬ nificant would have been to include more of the evidence I have collected from the text of Kt9 to back up the interpretation I present in XII.2-4, to incorporate the many notes I took upon reading the new translation of Kt25 (which supports numerous aspects of my interpretation in many ways), to do a more thorough job of researching Kant's influence on the various mystics mentioned in AII.l, and to respond to many more of the scholarly objections to Kant's criticisms of the theoretical arguments for God's existence [AIV.1-2]. Also, during the final proofreading, I realized that steps four and five in system,- should probably be reversed, so that practical faith is the material element and divine assistance (i.e., grace) is the formal and inexplicable element. However, at that late stage, I simply had no time left to make such

392

'

APPENDICES

a complex change. Likewise, I did not have enough time to revise most of my quotations of Kant's own writings so they would conform to The Cambridge Edition of the Works of Immanuel Kant, as I had hoped to do. Although I consulted this important new resource when necessary, most of my research on Kant's own writings was done before the first of the projected fourteen volumes appeared in 1992 (the same year I completed the manuscript for KSP1), so with a few notable exceptions (as indicated in Part One of the Bibliography) quotations of Kant are from other (formerly) standard translations. I would like to acknowledge the part played by various other persons in the making of this book. Thanks to a grant from Hong Kong Baptist University, I have benefited from the help of the following research assistants: Patricia Gillatt, Joanna Lai Wai Sum, Siti Afendras, Judy Isaac, So Po Man, Debbie Yee Fung Ping, and Winston U Wing On. The following people have read parts of this manuscript and/or discussed my interpretations in various ways, sometimes suggesting improvements that have led to numerous changes: various family members (especially my wife, Dorothy, and my parents, Richard and Dolores); my Oxford supervisors (especially John Macquarrie, W.H. Walsh, and David Brown); friends I met in Oxford (especially Richard Mapplebeckpalmer, Alan Padgett, and Milton Wan Wai Yu); friends I first 'met' via email (especially Steven Hoath, Philip Rudisill, and Lars Svendsen); members of email discussion groups (especially Hugh Chandler, Bruce Merrill, and Rick Wells on Kant-L, along with many others whose names I have now forgotten or never knew); other professional colleagues (especially Sidney Axinn, Christopher Firestone, and Paula Manchester); colleagues at HKBU (especially Jonathan Chan Keung Lap, Lo Ping Cheung, and Tsang Lap Chuen); former students at HKBU (especially Susanna Lam Oi Chi, Mannon Man Sui On, and Patrick Woo Pak Chuen); and numerous other students who have written honors projects on Kant's philosophy of religion and/or participated actively in various classes I have taught wherein Kant's views on religion have been discussed. Thanks of a different kind go to those who have sacrificed countless hours that we could and perhaps should have been spent together in order to allow me to complete this book. I am thinking especially of my three children, Daniel, Joy, and Jonathan, to whom the three sequels to KSP1 are dedicated. All three books will be dedicated to all three of them, but in each case I shall single out one of them for special mention, inasmuch as they correspond in a striking (though perhaps somewhat fanciful) way to the ideas of God, freedom, and immortali¬ ty. Most of all I would like to thank my beloved wife, Dorothy, whose patience with my persistent questioning of the simple truths of our faith has been matched only by her ability to put up with the idiosyncrasies of my own self-transformations—hopefully from evilheartedness to good. Hong Kong

Appendix II Kant, Swedenborg, and Kantian Mystics 1. Kantian Mystics—Old and New Kant's notoriously cryptic way of dealing with mystical visions in Ktl8 has made it easy for many Kant scholars to misunderstand his true attitude towards mysticism in general and Swedenborg in particular. Few contemporary interpreters are aware of the profound influ¬ ence Kant has had on mystics and on scholars interested in mystical experience. After a tantalizingly brief sketch of some of these influences, diis appendix supplements Chapters II and X by examining three recent studies of Swedenborg's influence on Kant. In AII.2 I respond to an interpretation of Kant's relation to Swedenborg that differs markedly from the one I presented in Chapter II. AII.2 then summarizes the views of Florschiitz, who sees Kant's relation to Swedenborg in a more positive light. The appendix concludes with an overview of Johnson's exhaustive study of Kant's references to Swedenborg in his Lectures on Metaphysics [Kt25]. Kant's lengthy quotation of Wilmans' letter on mysticism [see X.2] is the first of many examples of mystics or scholars interested in mystical experience who have seen Kant as a friend rather than a foe and Kantian philosophy as supporting their outlook. Due to the limits of length placed on this book, I can only briefly mention some of the long line of subsequent examples. In his Introduction to the first English translation of Ktl8, Sewall summarizes and quotes extensively from the writings of four German Kant scholars who saw varying degrees of mystical strains in Kant's philosophy: Vaihinger, Heinze, von Lind, and Du Prel. Heinze, for instance, assures us 'that both in modern and earlier times the "mystics" have claimed Kant as being of their number' [q.i. Se00:32]. Sewall's impressive collection of evidence, both here and in a series of appendices that quote extensively from Swedenborg as well as Kant, reveals a significant degree of overlap in their ideas. Unfortunately, there is insufficient space here to summarize this evidence, much less to do justice to the work of those Sewall cites. Let it suffice instead merely to mention that one of these writers, Carl Du Prel, published a German edition of Kt25 and wrote Du89, an impressive (though now outdated) two-volume application of Kantian philosophy to a range of mystical experiences.1 Manolesco's more recent translation of Ktl8 likewise includes a significant amount of supplementary material. In addition to an introductory essay [see notes 11.3,13,35, above] and a running commentary in the form of 140 footnotes to the text,2 Manolesco provides an Ap¬ pendix containing translations of relevant supplementary material. This includes three letters written by Kant, extracts of two others, an extract of Kt51, and Karl Kehrbach's 1880 Preface to Ktl8, which conveys a wealth of information on the text's numerous versions and variants. Neither Sewall nor Manolesco mentions Kant's influence on one of the most important eighteenth-century movements that was significantly mystical in its orientation: Romanti¬ cism.3 Hedge, writing in 1849, notes that Kant 'is commonly cited as the founder of modern See e.g., note 11.18. In the second chapter of volume two, Du Prel defends a 'monistic doctrine of the soul', appealing repeatedly to Kant for support [e.g., Du89:2.195-8]. He claims that 'Kant, in [Ktl8], has declared Mysticism possible' [302]. Likewise, as mentioned in note 11.36, Du Prel's Kt25 includes an essay entitled 'Kants mystische Weltanschauung', wherein (as Johnson [Jo96:34] puts it) he 'argues that Kant's treatment of Swedenborg in particular and spiritual matters in general ... constitute a mystical worldview.' See X.3-4 for evidence in support of a similar claim. Ma69:99-146. The Cambridge Edition's translation of Ktl8 also includes 71 factual notes [pp.449456]; but these supply little if anything that is not already available in previous editions. Sewall does note that 'Schopenhauer has... turned Kant's transcendental idealism to the support of

394

APPENDICES

Transcendentalism, which in the popular estimate is equivalent to Mysticism' [He49:59]. Coleridge in particular was keenly interested in Kantian thought and even considered translat¬ ing Ktl into English at one point. Unfortunately, limitations of time and book length again prevent me from exploring the details of Kant's influence here [but see Ma74], as well as with other transcendentalists such as Wordsworth, Emerson, and Thoreau. Although twentieth-century studies of mysticism rarely do justice to Kant,4 his influence on certain scholars outside the field of philosophy is more evident. These scholars, who could be called the New Mystics, tended to be innovators in their fields, many providing the basis for revolutionary new approaches to various scientific disciplines. Much of KSP3 will be devoted to examining these new theories and demonstrating the influence of Kant and/or their consistency with Kant's Critical mysticism. At this point one brief illustration will suffice. Carl Jung's works are thoroughly and consistently salted with Kantian ideas and perspectives and lightly peppered with direct references—so lightly that few have recognized how thoroughly Kantian Jung's psychology is. I hope to demonstrate the many correlations between their systems in a later work, tentatively entitled Two Philopsychers: A Kantian Critique of Jung's Analytic Psychology and a Jungian Analysis of Kant's Critical Philosophy. Though he denied the charge, Jung was regarded by many as a mystic, largely because of his belief in an unseen spiritual connection between all human beings, the socalled 'collective unconscious'. In his autobiography Jung acknowledges Kant's influence on him at several points, saying he read Ktl8 'just at the right moment' [Ju83:120], followed by 'Karl Duprel, who had evaluated these ideas philosophically and psychologically' and 'seven volumes of Swedenborg.' Later he adds [122] that his time as a medical student was so busy that he 'was able to study Kant only on Sundays.' CD. Broad has a chapter on 'Immanuel Kant and Psychical Research' in Br53:116-55. After summarizing the contents of Kant's letter to Charlotte von Knoblock and of Ktl 8, Broad analyses various issues relating to Kant's interest in spirits in general and Swedenborg in particular. He speculates that Kant's reason for writing Ktl8 anonymously and with such an uncharacteristically 'condescending tone' may have been largely prudential [Br53:127]: as an ordinary lecturer with his eye on a professorship, 'a reputation for having carefully read Swedenborg's writings and having paid serious attention to the evidence for his alleged feats of clairvoyance, would be enough to condemn [Kant] to remain in that position for the rest of his life.' An interesting 'Postscript' [147-55] conveys Broad's assessment of Kant's actual at¬ titude towards Swedenborg and reports on the results of his own empirical investigations into the reliability of Kant's account of Swedenborg's famous vision of the Stockholm fire. On the former issue, Broad concludes that, although the consistently respectful attitude towards Swedenborg in Kt25 must not be given too much weight (since the lectures are based only on students' notes), Kant's 'private opinion may have been that something like this part of Swedenborg's doctrine [i.e., the views affirmed in Kt25; see AII.4, below] may well be true, or at any rate that it may be the nearest approximation to the truth which is... expressible in our language.'5 On the latter, he points out several serious 'discrepancies' [Br53:152] between

mysticism' [SeOO:17]; but Schopenhauer was hardly typical of his era. 4. Such studies typically allude to Kant's mystical tendencies [see e.g., Un55:58,301; St6O:87,274, 325; Cu98:114-5], but do not examine them in any depth. Forman rightly argues against using Ktl's epistemology to interpret mysticism [Fo99:56-63,78-9], but ignores other options. Butts' work, with its extensive section on Swedenborg and Ktl 8 [s.e. Bu84:63-98], focuses primarily on Kant's philosophy of science, so I shall incorporate his views into KSP3 as appropriate. 5. Br53:150. Broad attributes most of the evidence presented in the Postscript to his contacts with various Swedish friends, especially an article by Alf Nyman, entitled 'Kant:—en Mystiker?'[147].

AH. Kant, Swedenborg, and Kantian Mystics

395

currently available facts and the report Kant says his English friend brought back to him from Sweden, compares this report with other available accounts, and concludes that 'independent evidence of the truth of this story' is unlikely to be found at this point [155]. The amount of further evidence that could be cited here is almost unending.6 But instead of attempting the impossible, let us proceed now to a more detailed examination of three recent scholars who have devoted considerable attention to the issue of Kant's interest in Swedenborg and its implications (or lack thereof) for the former's alleged mystical tendencies. 2. Laywine's Account of Swedenborg's Influence on Kant Alison Laywine's book, Kant's Early Metaphysics [La93], constitutes a thoroughgoing evaluation of the extent of Swedenborg's influence on Kant. Laywine's Introduction portrays Kant's early works as being concerned primarily with a defense of the theory of 'real interaction' between creatures [3] and of how it relates to 'the problem of the soul's presence in the body' [7]. She explains Kant's interest in Swedenborg's work as resulting from a basic similarity in their views, with '[t]he only significant difference between the two" [8] being 'that Swedenborg had a system of pre-established harmony, Kant, a system of real interaction.' She therefore sees Ktl8 as 'a key moment' in the line of thinking that led Kant to develop the Critical philosophy [9-10], just as I argued in Chapter II. However, the details of her account of this development differ from my understanding in several key respects. My main concern in this section will be to comment on those differences. The chief weakness of Laywine's account shows itself early in Chapter One: she has very little sensitivity to Kant's life-long penchant for perspectival reasoning. As a result, she fails to recognize the progression of Kant's arguments in Part One of Ktl8 from the dogmatic, through the skeptical, to the Critical, regarding them instead as being 'highly equivocal' [La93:14]. She provides a helpful account of some interpreters, such as Vaihinger, who have regarded Kant as 'a student of Swedenborg' and as having 'incorporated some of Swedenborg's ideas into his own metaphysics' [15]. Claiming this position has been defended mainly by 'an odd assortment of mystics, quacks and charlatans' [16], Laywine concludes [18] that it is unreasonable to regard Kant as 'one of Swedenborg's pupils or followers.' Of the

6. Moody is something of a modern-day, nonreligious Swedenborg. His book, Reunions, describes his experiments in assisting people to have visions of loved ones who have passed away. While admitting that '[t]he existence of this Middle Realm [between life and death] defies scientific proof [Mo93:xvii], he claims that, to those who experience them, such visions are as real as their daily experiences—even 'realer than real' [18,22]. He stresses that experiencing visions nearly always has a 'healing' effect rather than being frightening [6]; they promote 'growth and development' of the personality [25; s.a. 164]. Having studied philosophy, Moody points out philosophical impli¬ cations of his research from time to time. For example, he suggests that Plato's cave analogy may well have been a 'parody of the Oracle of the Dead at Ephyra', where an elaborate series of under¬ ground chambers had been constructed and were used to facilitate visions of departed spirits [45]. If so, then Plato's philosophy can be regarded as the first instance of what I call in Part Four a 'Critical mysticism'; for Plato calls us to step out of the cave, just as Kant calls us to wake up from our spiritual and metaphysical 'dreams'. Moody also notes that a person's perception of time is affected during a vision [89; s.a. 84-5], and boasts that his method of promoting psychological healing 'seems to take less time' than ordinary psychotherapy [129-30]. The danger of this 'fastfood' approach to psychotherapy is that, without being approached with the healthy skepticism of Critical philosophy, it can end up providing about as much nourishment as a regular McDonalds diet would. This approach is nevertheless superior to Swedenborg's in two respects: Moody insists that his visions have nothing to do with the occult, seances, etc. [xv-xvi,140-1]; and he 'makes no claims whatsoever about the metaphysical status of these experiences.' The latter proviso, as argued in X.3, is one of the primary requirements of Critical mysticism.

396

APPENDICES

three alternatives to this position, the one that best describes my approach is the third [21], that in Ktl8 'Kant was not so much skeptical of metaphysics [and Swedenborg] as he was critical.' The problem Laywine finds with this position, as defended by de Vleeschauwer and Beck, is that it fails to account for Kant's satire and for his appeal to a Humean empiricism [22]. But this omission would not apply to my account in Chapter II, above. La93's second chapter examines Kant's earliest attempts to solve the problem of soulbody interaction in terms of the theory of 'physical influx' (i.e., the claim that souls exert a real physical influence on bodies, rather than merely acting in parallel form according to a 'preestablished harmony'). Laywine shows how Kant bases three metaphysical principles on 'the principle of succession' [35], with the interaction between finite substances being ultimately sustained by 'the divine intellect' [37]. The third chapter then argues that Kant's theory, despite its apparent promise, carries an undesirable implication: in order to explain how the soul can influence anything material (such as the body) Kant found it necessary to argue that 'the soul must occupy a place' [43]. Yet how the soul as an immaterial substance can occupy space is inexplicable. According to Laywine, this was a major problem Kant faced in the mid-1760s: 'what moved Kant to write [Ktl8]' was his desire 'to reclaim the soul from the ordinary sensible conditions of space and time' [54]. Chapters Four and Five examine Swedenborg's Arcana Coelestia and Kant's response to it in Ktl8. The chief lesson Kant learned from his exposure to Swedenborg, according to Laywine [La93:55], concerned 'the dangers and follies of subjecting immaterial substances in metaphysics to the ordinary spatio-temporal conditions under which bodies are given to the senses.' Swedenborg had used a Leibnizian system of pre-established harmony to interpret his mystical visions [56]; although Kant never claimed to see visions, his reading of Swedenborg seems to have made him keenly aware that his own theory also allowed for direct contact with disembodied souls. Laywine regards Ktl8's call for an examination of reason's limits as Kant's response to this unwelcome realization. She regards as 'ludicrous' [57] the claim of some scholars 'that Kant was unconsciously drawn to the ideas of Swedenborg in spite of himself.' While her conjecture that Kant 'was intellectually put off by Swedenborg' [57], whose writings exhibited 'everything that went wrong in his own system of physical influx' [68] has considerable merit, she does not successfully refute the claim I defend in II.2-4, that Kant's own mature philosophy was nevertheless profoundly influenced by this contact. Although Chapter Four offers a good introduction to Swedenborg's life and ideas, portraying him as a somewhat 'unbalanced' man of great learning who 'sought full-scale reform of the Church' [La93:61], Laywine pays little attention to the aspects of his thought that prefigure Kant's Critical philosophy [cf. II.3 above]. She does succeed in showing that a great many of Swedenborg's ideas bear little if any resemblance to anything Kantian; but this does not justify her explicit denial of the 'claim that Kant acquired any new insight into his own work by reading' Swedenborg's work [159n]. Provided we understand that Kant remained properly Critical in his adoption of Swedenborgian ideas, my interpretation therefore remains unchal¬ lenged by Laywine's arguments. Laywine begins Chapter Five by citing textual evidence that suggests Ktl8 'is distinctly hostile [to Swedenborg] throughout', despite his apparent openness in other contexts [La93: 74; cf. II.2, above]. Not noticing the Critical strategy Kant employs in Part One of Ktl8 [see II.2], Laywine sees it as 'an exercise in satire' [78] and argues 'that the lesson Kant draws from Swedenborg's work is that we may not take for granted the possibility of encountering immaterial substances...; that immaterial substances are not subject to the conditions of sensible things; and that metaphysics ... [must] investigate the limits of human reason.' While Kant certainly does defend the latter claim in Ktl8, Laywine's wording of the first two

All.

Kant, Swedenborg, and Kantian Mystics

397

claims neglects the implications of reason's limits and mistakenly identifies Kant's skeptical perspective as representing his final view: the Critical position Kant settles on in Ktl8 is that the possibility of an encounter with spirits cannot be denied (and therefore can, in a sense, be 'taken for granted'), even though an actual encounter could never be positively affirmed, and that we are therefore unable to say for certain whether or not immaterial substances are ever subject to sensible conditions. Laywine rightly recognizes that in Ktl8 Kant frequently adopts an 'assumed voice' for the sake of argument [La93:85]—even referring to these as announcing a 'change of perspec¬ tive' [91]—but her account differs significantly from the one I defend in II.2. She claims only the third chapter of Ktl8's first part represents Kant's true position [85]. Despite noting that the first chapter accurately repeats content that is also contained in Kant's lectures [Kt25], she fails to take Kant at his word, that he still believes these views. Instead, she thinks his real goal is to bring 'discredit on the whole enterprise' [86] in Chapter Three and that the conclud¬ ing comments in Chapter Four should be read as 'the uncritical metaphysician' returning 'to confess his errors and promise reform.' This assumption conveniently supports her hypothe¬ sis regarding the hidden agenda in Ktl8; but it requires us to reject as mere diversions nearly everything Kant himself says about his motives. The alternative explanation I give in II.2, by contrast, enables us to avoid Laywine's disagreeable claim 'that Kant is apparently playing games in [Ktl8]' [86]. Instead, he is playfully illustrating the very serious implications of acknowledging perspectival differences in philosophy. Laywine goes into impressive detail to defend her view of the assumed voices in Ktl8, raising in the process a number of valuable points. But, while she aptly demonstrates that Chapter One is not Kant's final word on the subject [La93:87-90], she neglects the fact that this is always true of the initial perspective in a Kantian system. (If we apply Laywine's reasoning to Ktl, we would need to regard the entire Aesthetic as a 'satire' merely because the Analytic develops the theory in some surprising and unexpected ways.) Indeed, she ends up demonstrating in admirable detail that Chapter One just repeats what 'Kant himself had said in 1764 (in Ktl7) regarding the need for a 'strong proof [La93:89]. This is hardly an 'assumed voice'! But because her basic hypothesis requires her to take it in this way, she later has to appeal to 'irony' [99] when she admits the allegedly 'uncritical metaphysician' speaking in Chapter One gets some key points right. The actual irony is that Laywine never considers this as clear evidence against her central hypothesis. Onequalml have about Laywine's treatment of Chapter Two is that, failing to recognize that Kant has now assumed the dogmatist's stance, she speculates that this voice is the same as that in Chapter One [90]. Her evidence that 'Kant no longer endorses this theory in 1766' [91] is that 'in Chapter Three, he clearly speaks up for himself and shows contempt for it.' Yet this alleged evidence is not as 'clear' as Laywine seems to think! For if, as I argue in II.2, Chapter Three's adoption of the skeptic's voice is only temporary, then Laywine loses her only rationale for claiming Ktl8's main purpose is to refute that theory, and the keystone of her entire argument falls to the ground. Oddly enough, the main reason she cites for regarding Chapter Three as representing Kant's authentic voice is that 'nothing like' it is found in the lectures he had given a few years earlier [92]. Apparently, she thinks this must be Kant speak¬ ing because we have no evidence from other sources that he ever held such views for himself! Without reviewing her treatment of Kant's development after Ktl8, we can conclude by noting that Laywine's study is valuable in a number of important respects: in particular, she demonstrates that the early Kant was more concerned with the traditional problem of soulbody interaction than has commonly been acknowledged and that he cannot be regarded merely as a gullible follower of Swedenborg. However, her interpretation is tenuous, to say the least,

398

I

APPENDICES

for two reasons. First, in spite of her rhetoric, she provides but scanty evidence that Kant ever explicitly defended such a radical version of the soul's 'bodily' nature. Aside from quoting a few passages wherein Kant admittedly hints at the sort of view she imputes to him, Laywine's 'evidence' consists mainly of a frequent repetition of her basic claim. After her initial defense, she takes her assumption for granted throughout La93, using it as the premise of numerous arguments without adding further support—as, for example, when she says '... Kant himself subjects immaterial things to the conditions of sensibility ...'? She does point out that 'spiritual impenetrability is inconsistent with his view that the soul is everywhere present in every part of the body' [77]; yet her basic assumption prevents her from considering that Kant's alleged support for the former view may not have been strong enough to cause him the kind of angst she imputes to him. If not, then we should read Ktl8 not as implying that Kant panicked at the recognition that he 'himself had nothing much better to offer' than Swedenborg [78], but rather as arguing that the theories the two scholars held in common could never be proved and must therefore never be mistaken for knowledge, as Swedenborg had done so boldly and with such dubious consequences. The second problem with La93 is that if Laywine is right, then Kant should have clearly and explicitly abandoned his alleged commitment to the theory of physical influx in Ktl8. But her attempt to read such a repudiation into the text fails. Instead, he shows the reader both sides of the coin (a dogmatic defense and a skeptical rejection), demonstrating that such a theory can never be supported by incontrovertible proofs. Laywine neatly tucks away (on the penulti¬ mate page of her footnotes) an acknowledgment that in Ktl9 Kant once again 'hazards an account of the soul's presence in space' [La93:166], yet without pointing out that this destroys her entire hypothesis. Moreover, nowhere does she seriously consider the possibility that, if Kant was already applying his fully-formed Critical method (as I have claimed), then his intent would have been (was!) to draw valuable insights from Swedenborg, while ruthlessly exposing his weak points. This realization frees us from the need to view Ktl8 as the result of a panic attack by a philosopher who was afraid to continue affirming an otherwise good theory of the soul simply because doing so might legitimize someone like Swedenborg. The driving force behind Ktl8 was not, as Laywine claims [La93:93], a sudden need to deny that 'immaterial substances... could somehow fall under the senses.' Rather, as I argue in Chapter II, it was the gradually emerging need to recognize our ignorance of both sides of such debates.8 Only as such can Ktl8 be regarded as the best example we have prior 7. La93:77. Laywine actually softens her claim as late as Chapter Six to read that in his early work Kant 'came very close to ascribing repulsive forces to the soul' [103, e.a.]—a much more plausible position, but not one that can carry the weight she has loaded it with in the foregoing chapters. She likewise hints at its conjectural character by prefacing 'he had located the rational soul in [space]' with the caveat 'to all intents and purposes' [117]. Another typical example of Laywine's tendency to argue by reading between the lines comes when she attempts to account for the obvious Humean influence in certain parts of Ktl8 by claiming [La93:84] that 'the problem for Kant is to ward off the conclusion that the soul might be impenetrable and thus an object of sensation.... So Kant must now figure that he can appeal to Hume's reflections in order to frustrate this line of thought.' Yet there is absolutely no basis for such a conjecture in Kant's text. Laywine explains its absence on the grounds that Kant's argument in Ktl8 'forestalls this line of thought before it can get going' [85]! This is a classic example of a scholar learning so much about an author's historical context that hidden motives are imputed that probably never occurred to the original author himself. Despite her frequent use of phrases such as 'as I have argued', Laywine never actually raises her central thesis above the status of a conjecture. 8. Laywine really has no excuse for not making more of this point. For in La93:166 she ends her comments on Kant's (she thinks) unexpected restatement of his (allegedly) outdated theory by quot¬ ing Kant's Critical claim in Ktl9:419 that, although 'the absolute and immediate location of the

AIL Kant, Swedenborg, and Kantian Mystics

399

to Ktl of Kant's reasoned (though spirited!) application of the Critical method to a meta¬ physical issue. 3. Florschutz's Account of Swedenborg's Influence on Kant The history of how Swedenborgian scholars (including any scholar sympathetic towards Swedenborg, not just 'believers' in the New Church) have used and/or abused Kant is far too complex to be treated properly in the brief space available in this appendix. Among this group of scholars, the notion that Swedenborg had a positive influence on Kant's intellectual development is not uncommon.9 Two recent scholars have explored this influence in some detail: Gottlieb Florschiitz [F193a and F193b] and Gregory Johnson [Jo96 and Jo97]. Without claiming to exhaust the insights conveyed by these two scholars—to say nothing of the whole tradition—I shall devote the last two sections of this appendix to summaries of their views. Contrary to the impression given by Laywine's study, Florschiitz claims that in Ktl 8 Kant is 'not denying the existence of a spiritual world' [F193a:6]; rather, 'he explicitly presup¬ poses it.' While aiming to show that Kant's view of paranormal events such as those Sweden¬ borg claimed to experience 'is decidedly ambivalent' [1], Florschiitz provides considerable textual evidence that many parallels exist between the views defended by these two scholars. For instance [9], Kant assumes in Ktl8 'that there is an ideal world of spirit, that the human soul belongs to this world, that the earthly existence of living creatures is only incidental,... and finally, that... the soul of the earthly individual can receive influences from the spiritual world.' Although Kant's lpreoccup[ation]... with the question of the conditions under which it might be at all possible that a mortal would have actual views of the ideal world' predated his acquaintance with Swedenborg's writings [5; s.a. 9], reading Swedenborg's Arcana Coelestia seems to have focused his understanding of numerous points that later became key compo¬ nents of his mature philosophical System. Not only theories relating directly to the 'two worlds' hypothesis are shared by Swedenborg and (especially post-Ktl8) Kant, but also specific moral theories, such as that good should be done for its own sake.10 Since many of these parallels refer to Kant's views on the nature and destiny of the human soul, I shall defer commenting on them until KSP4, where Kant's rather surprising view of the 'big picture' of human political history (from pre-birth to post-death) will emerge. Florschutz opines at one point [F193a:8] that, '[i]n spite of intensive parapsychological research for the past hundred years, the question ['whether as earthly mortals we can look be¬ hind the veil that separates the two worlds'] is still open.' What he does not say is that this is quite close to the view Kant himself adopts in Ktl 8, representing his most fundamental soul can be denied, a hypothetical and mediate location can be attributed to it'—that is, both the dogmatic and the skeptical responses to the theory are wrong. Laywine merely remains silent about why Kant did not simply deny the theory at this point in his development, as her hypothesis would require. But on my account, Kant's response is exactly what we should expect. For an outright de¬ nial would have made it impossible for him to develop his mature System into a Critical mysticism. 9. The web site entitled 'Wiirttembergische Landesbibliothek Stuttgart' has a page on literature relating to Kant, at http://www.wlb-stuttgart.de/%7Ewww/referate/theologie/skkant%7E%7E.html. It lists numerous studies on the relationship between Kant and Swedenborg, mostly in German or Swedish. The only English study listed that I have not mentioned elsewhere in this appendix is: Robert H. Kirven, 'Swedenborg and Kant revisited: the long shadow of Kant's attack and a new response', in Swedenborg and his influence: Symposium '88 (Bryn Athyn: 1988), pp. 193-120. Unfortunately, I was not able to obtain a copy before the publication deadline for this book. 10. F193a:8. Horschiitz closes with a list of ten points of agreement between Kant and Swedenborg [20-1], amounting to the framework for a rational psychology that concludes with the claims: 'The voice of conscience is the voice of the transcendent subject'; and 'The "other side" is simply the other side of a perceptual threshold.'

400

v

;

APPENDICES

criticism of Swedenborg. Whereas Swedenborg gives an unequivocally positive answer, Kant is content to distinguish between what is and is not possible. Thus Kant explicitly denies 'the possibility of simultaneous experience of both worlds' [16], but allows that a person might be able to move back and forth between the two [17]. Florschiitz rightly rejects du Prel's suggestion that Kant might be 'a closet spiritualist' [15], for Kant is too firmly committed to developing his philosophical understanding of what we can know about the phenomenal world's transcendental basis to sacrifice this for an 'intuitive' awareness of what we cannot know (but can only feel) about the transcendent realm of spirits. This openness-cum-reluctance is the source, I believe, of the ambivalence Florschiitz detects in Kant's views on these matters. But as Florschiitz also points out, the view of Swedenborg presented in Kt25 is far more consistently positive, indicating that as he developed his own Critical philosophy, Kant became more and more secure in his understanding of the proper role for (Critical) mysticism. In F193b Florschiitz systematically examines a much broader range of topics and texts dealing with, as the title puts it, Swedenborg's Hidden Influence on Kant. Kant's relation to Swedenborg. After a general introduction to the nature of 'occult' (parapsychological) phenomena, Florschiitz describes Swedenborg himself at some length, then examines Ktl8, covering much of the same ground as in F193a (though often in more detail11)- He takes his view significantly further, however, claiming that Kant's idea of freedom and the moral law, interpreted as 'occult phenomena' on the basis of Schopenhauer's metaphysical theory of the will, constitute the key to synthesizing the various strains of Kant's approach [0.2]. Summarizing this aspect of Florschiitz's position would take us too far beyond the scope of our present study. It is enough to say that his study attains a level of scholarly thoroughness and perspectival awareness that merits far more attention by Kant-scholars than it has so far been given. 4. Johnson's Account of Kant on Swedenborg in Kt25 Johnson's two-part study [Jo96 and Jo97] constitutes a significant part of a book he is writing, to be entitled Signatures of the Noumenal: Kant's Hidden Debt to Swedenborg.12 He agrees with the view I supported in II.2-4, that 'many elements of Kant's mature metaphysics ... are sketched out in [Ktl8]' [Jo96:l], listing 'the ideality of space and time,... the kingdom of ends' and 'hermeneutics' as three of the most significant 'positive Swedenborgian influences on Kant' [2]. We also agree in rejecting [13] 'the received view that Kant's judgment of Swedenborg in [Ktl8] is wholly and unambiguously hostile.' After a concise synopsis of Swedenborg's basic ideas [13-7], highlighting a number of points that are remarkably similar

11. He argues, for example, that Kant's harsh ridicule in Ktl8 had a profound and lasting effect on Swedenborg's reception (or lack thereof), especially in German universities [F193b:I.1.3], and that this contributed significantly to the need for Swedenborg's early followers to keep their movement a secret [1.1.4]. He also describes the parallels between the two scholars in much more detail, including separate discussions of their cognitive theories (especially the distinction between a priori and a posteriori) [1.2.1], their cosmogonies [1.2.2], and their rational psychologies [1.2.3]. Other notable features include an extensive discussion of ways Ktl8 foreshadows Kant's mature Critical philosophy [1.4.2], an overview of reviews of Ktl8 [1.4.3], and an examination of the implications Kant's theoretical and practical systems have for occult phenomena [1.5 and 1.6]. 12. Jo96:ln. Johnson also cites his doctoral dissertation, A Commentary on Kant's Dreams of a SpiritSeer, and several of his other essays that will be incorporated into his book. In those essays he argues [37-8] 'that Swedenborg's image of the spiritual world exercised a major positive influence on the development of Kant's mature moral philosophy and that Swedenborg's spiritual world is the model of Kant's Kingdom of Ends.' Unfortunately, I did not have access to these other sources by the time the present volume went to press.

AH. Kant, Swedenborg, and Kantian Mystics

401

to corresponding views held by Kant, the remainder of Jo96 and Jo97 consists mostly of a detailed examination of Kant's references to Swedenborg in Kt25, with some references to parallel texts in Ktl8. 13 Jo96 concludes with a few comments on the positive interpretations of Du Prel, Vaihinger, and Broad [Jo96:34-6] and a brief response to some points raised by the 'hostile' assessments of Butts andLaywine [36-8]. Kant lectured regularly on metaphysics throughout his career—forty-nine times altogeth¬ er [Jo96:3]. Ten out of eighteen known sets of students' notes (some partial, some complete) are published in Kt25 (eight in the English translation). All eight of the sets that include a discussion of 'the state of the soul after death' in the unit on rational psychology refer to Swedenborg, seven explicitly [Jo96:4]. The lectures in question span 'a period of more than thirty years' [11]. As Johnson points out, Kant always speaks of Swedenborg in Kt25 in a serious, 'respectful' tone, both before and after writing Ktl8 [Jo96:24], with the only exception being his claim at one point that Swedenborg 'appears ... to have been a deliberate fraud' [q.i. 7]. There is otherwise no hint of the tone of ridicule prevalent in Ktl8. Thus, for example, he introduces Swedenborg in the Herder notes as 'perhaps [a] genuine visionary' [Kt25:28.1.113-4(Jo96:19,21)], arguing that 'we are not entitled to dismiss Swedenborg's claims a priori.' In the most extensive set of Kt25 lecture notes, edited by Politz (viz., the so-called Metaphysik LI), Kant discusses issues relating to Swedenborg in a passage that extends over six pages [Kt25:28.1.296-301(Jo96:25-30)]. Here he presents a basically Swedenborgian view of the nonlocal presence of the spirit in the body and of the nature of heaven and hell as the spiritual 'locations' of spirits even while they are still attached to earthly bodies [see AVI.3]. After distinguishing between the spiritual and natural worlds by relating them to different kinds of 'intuition', he admits 'this opinion of the other world cannot be demonstrated'; yet 'it is a necessary hypothesis of reason' [298(27)]. He then explicitly cites Swedenborg's 'sublime' thoughts on the 'community' of all spirits [298-9(28)], and of 'the other world' that 'consists not of other things, but of the same things, which ... we intuit in another way.' Kant concludes by claiming it is 'not possible' to see the spiritual world 'in the visible world through visible effects' [300(29)], because we 'cannot simultaneously be in this and also in that world', and recommends that it is most consistent with 'sound reason' not to attempt to communicate with the spirit world until after our bodies pass away. Although 'God and the other world are the only aim of all our philosophical investigations', our proper stance in this life is to make morality our chief concern [301(30)]. In Jo97 Johnson translates and comments on all the other references to Swedenborg in Kt25. For our purposes, nothing essential is added in these other texts, except the confidence of Kant's consistent and lifelong interest in such matters, clearly indicating [Jo97:16] 'that the Swedenborgian element in Kant's thought not only survived his "Copernican Revolu¬ tion," but also was integrated into his mature metaphysics.' Although Kant's repeated appeal to Swedenborg may not prove that Kant actually took all these ideas from Swedenborg, it certainly provides evidence that could be used in support of such a position. Kant himself most often claims neutrality with respect to Swedenborg's position [Kt25:28.1.447-8(20)]: 'I can neither prove it nor thoroughly refute it, for experience gives us no instruction on it.' I shall leave the readers to judge for themselves on this sensitive issue. In any case, Johnson's closing statement also makes an appropriate conclusion for this appendix [Jo97:39]: 'Perhaps it is time for Kant scholars to take Swedenborg as seriously as Kant did.'

13. He points out, for example, that Ktl8 actually allows for the possibility of having a 'genuine awareness of spiritual entities', provided it is 'symbolic in nature' [Jo96:23; s.a. 30-1].

1. Three New Maps of Kant's System

This Appendix consists of four sections. In this first section, I suggest three new that can be used to clarify the complex relationships between the three standpoints an four perspectives in Kant's System. In the next section, I respond to several scholars have criticized or pointed out weaknesses of various sorts in KSPl. The third section m up for a serious omission in KSPl by providing a textual analysis of Kant's use of the 'architectonic'. And AIII.4 supplies some minor corrections I shall make to KSPl, if/wh second printing or revised edition is published. A question that might arise about my account of Kant's System of Perspective precisely how are the standpoints related to the perspectives, and why are there three o former, yet four of the latter? Is this merely an arbitrary device, or is it grounded in the lo structure of reason's architectonic unity? There is indeed such a logical ground. perspectives are, as it were, second order applications of the standpoints to themselve other words, the perspectives arise as a direct result of the connections between a g standpoint and each of the three standpoints (including itself)- There are exactly four pos connections in each case, as follows: 1. A standpoint's relation to itself (= the transcendental perspective). 2. A standpoint's relation to opposing standpoint A (= the logical perspective). 3. A standpoint's relation to opposing standpoint B (= the empirical perspective). 4. A standpoint's relation to the relation between standpoints A and B (= the hypo¬ thetical perspective). These complex inter-relations can be mapped quite simply and precisely onto three intersecting circles, arranged in such a way that they describe eight discrete spaces, as shown in Figure AIII.l. The three questions that give rise to the 3LAR are specified to the right of the figure. By using each circle to represent one standpoint (with the — com¬ ponent representing transcendent reality, which does not play any constitutive role in the System), the relationship between the standpoints and the perspectives comes into full view. The unshaded portion of each map in Figure AIII.2 represents a given stand¬ point. When the term that represents the stand¬ point itself (as defined by the three questions given in Figure AIII.l) is put in brackets, the four remaining two-term components in the circle constitute a 2L AR. The arrows show how the system generated by each standpoint starts with transcendent reality as unknowable (and so, empty [-—]), and proceeds by four

First term: Is it in the top circle? Second term: Is it in the bottom circl Third term: Is it in the middle circle?

Figure AIII.l: Three Intersect Circles as a 3LAR1

1. I would like to thank Man Sui On, perhaps the most insightful of all ray former students

MIL Further Reflections on KSP1

403

(b) Four practical (+--) perspectives


(a) Four theoretical (-+-) perspectives

Figure AIII.2: The Standpoint-Perspective Relation

successive stages to construct a rationally acceptable picture of reality as we can know it (in its fullness [+++]).2 Thus, the four arrows in the first two figures—(a) and (b) in Figure AIII.2, corresponding to the first two Critiques—depict the four transformations that take place when we move clockwise around the perimeter, starting from the top of a standard 2LAR cross

devising this helpful method of using three intersecting circles to map the close relationship between a 1LSR (the three standpoints), a 2LAR (each set of four perspectives), and a 3LAR (the Perspective of the whole System). Note that in this way the three intersecting circles depict all three of the main 'levels of perspectives' discussed in KSP1.II.4 [s.e. Fig. II.l]. 2. Making this point was one of my main reasons for using a spiral in KSP1:IX.4 to map the inter¬ relations between the three systems [s.a. Fig. III.8, above]. The spiral, like the three intersecting circles here, starts with the unknowable thing in itself and passes through the System to rest in the fullness of immediate experience. The advantage of expressing this in terms of three circles is that it accurately reflects the fact that each system aims at such fullness, in its own way.

404

APPENDICES

(usually labeled ++, but at the outset of a twelve-step system, assumed to be empty— see the (0) at the bottom of Figures III.6-7). That the third standpoint does not access transcendent reality directly, but only through the mediation of the other two standpoints, corresponds nicely with Kant's division of the third Critique into two discrete parts. The first part explores the judicial standpoint's access to the transcendent via the practical standpoint, while the second explores its access via the theoretical standpoint. The third diagram [Fig. AIII.2(c)] accurately depicts this twofold entry by showing the two ways of accessing transcendent reality (---) from the third circle. The reason for this is that systeirij has no direct access to the thing in itself, but can

Figure

>' Part I of Kt7 (+-) AIII.3: An Architectonic

approach it only through one of the other two Justification

for Kt7's Two Parts3

systems, and that in so doing it serves as a synthesizing bridge between system, and systemp. Figure AIII.3 further depicts the closer association Part I of Kt7 has with Kt4 and Part II with Ktl. This new map nicely illustrates how the need for two parts in Kt7 is rooted in the essential architectonic relationship between a 1SLR and a 2LAR, with the 2LAR's impure components arising out of the ISLR's x term by extending the arrows beyond the x. The first-level distinction assumed here is between nature-based (-) and freedom-based (+) standpoints, while the second level contrasts subjective (-) and objective (+) forms of finality.

2. Responses and Rejoinders to Critics of KSP1 Anthony Perovich Long before KSP1 appeared in print (and before splitting the work into four volumes), I wrote a brief paper giving a synopsis of my intent to put forward a new interpretation of Kant. Three years after this relatively brief article [Pa89] was published, the same journal published a response by Anthony Perovich [Pe92]. The response was largely skeptical, rais¬ ing concerns about the lack of support provided for the claims I put forward, and about ambiguities in my account of Kant's various 'perspectives'. In a rejoinder [Pa94a] I explained that the article was intended as a 'manifesto', not as the actual demonstration of the positions sketched. Interestingly, the alternative line of interpretation suggested by Perovich turns out to be remarkably close to the position defended here in KSP2. Since these articles are pub¬ lished elsewhere and are now somewhat outdated, I shall not discuss them any further here. Jennifer McRobert In a generally accurate review of KSP1, published in Canadian Philosophical Reviews [Mc94], Jennifer McRobert raises two criticisms that merit a brief response. First, she says KSP1 'reduces the roles of such faculties as imagination and sensibility in Kant's epistemol-

3. This new way of depicting how the synthesizing function of Kt7 is related to the fact that it con¬ sists of two unusually distinct divisions was also suggested to me by Man Sui On [see note AIII.l] in a conversation we had in February of 1995. His acute understanding of and appreciation for the geometry of logic has been an enormous benefit and encouragement to me.

AM. Further Reflections on KSPl

405

ogy.' This simply is not true: the proper role of sensibility as the governing faculty for the entire first stage of Kant's theoretical system is clearly emphasized in KSP1:VII.1-2.A [see e.g., Fig. VII.3]; and my strategy of not assigning imagination to any one stage, but regard¬ ing it as a 'floating faculty' [KSPl:60n] is not meant to diminish its importance, but to highlight it! On the latter point, McRobert later claims I omit imagination altogether from my 'framework of interpretation'. Although the footnote she cites [60n] could give this mis¬ taken impression, the fact is that imagination's crucial role of linking each of the four stages is explicitly acknowledged at numerous points in Part Three [see e.g., 213,223-4,239-41]. The one point McRobert makes on this issue that is fully justified and worth pursuing (in a revised edition of KSPl) is that the imagination's role in 'the Typic in the second Critique' could have been brought out more fully in Chapter VIII. For there is indeed a suitable place for the imagination in step seven of systemp. In the meantime, let it suffice to say that I recognize the imagination as a crucial part of Kant's System, but did not see it as a focal point of my own study. I would hope the interpretation developed in KSPl can serve as a framework for those who wish to explore this aspect of Kant's philosophy in greater depth. (The interested reader would do well to consult Ma90c along these lines.) McRobert's second criticism, also mentioned twice, is more significant. She casts a dark shadow over '[t]he grade of textual support' in KSPl by citing as 'typical' a quotation she claims is taken out of context. In KSP1:16O I quote a passage from Kt43:222(82), where Kant says 'faith... provides... a clear light to enlighten philosophy itself; whereas I treat this as Kant's own view, McRobert protests that it should be read as 'part of a hypothetical objector's complaint' against Kant's position [Mc94:120]. While it is true that the statement in question appears at the close of a paragraph devoted to a possible objection, there is nothing in that passage indicating Kant would reject the quoted claim. On the contrary, the very force of the objection depends on the assumption that Kant would want to affirm this and the other views mentioned in that paragraph. These other views—viz., that God exists as a world-governor, that natural beauty is a good way of demonstrating a divine Author of the world, and that Christian morality is superior to Epicureanism—all refer to positions Kant explicitly defends elsewhere; so the most natural interpretation of the fourth claim (the one I quoted) would be that Kant also wishes to affirm it in spite of the objection. McRobert's attempt to cite an example of my alleged tendency to quote out of context therefore fails. Near the end of her review, McRobert again laments 'that Palmquist so often fails to deem it necessary to back controversial interpretations with substantial arguments and ade¬ quate textual support', adding that it is unclear 'whether his book is intended as an exposition of or as a redeployment of the critical philosophy.'4 The answer, quite simply, is both\ The best 'interpretation', I believe, consists of both exegesis and eisegesis. The two factors are complementary, not mutually exclusive: exegesis without eisegesis is like a dead corpse; eisegesis without exegesis is like a disembodied spirit. With this in mind, a fair-minded reader cannot avoid recognizing that many points of my interpretation are well-grounded in clear and straightforward textual references. Herein lies its weight of conviction—a weight that cannot be ignored—though being admittedly imperfect, I may have inadvertently taken some quotes out of context. At the same time, a mere exposition of Kant's theory inevitably contains gaps that can be filled only with a reconstruction. My attempts to reconstruct are so thoroughgoing 4. Mc94:121. Thus, she criticizes my 'theocentric reading of the architectonic' as 'requiring] a substantive defense that is not provided here.' The reason for this, however, is that the three Chapters constituting Part Four of KSPl are intended only as sketches of subsequent volumes, not as demonstrations in and of themselves. The missing substance is provided here in KSP2, one key purpose of which is to demonstrate the 'theocentric' thesis [see 1.3].

406

APPENDICES

(applying as they do to Kant's entire System and lifelong philosophical development) that they are bound to be sketchy on points of minute detail. Such points, when raised at all, are intended more to be thought-provoking than to convince all readers by their logical rigor. They are not intended to have the force of incontrovertible proof, but to lift the reader to the heights from which a vision of Kant's overall architectonic idea can be clearly seen. Susan F. Krantz After giving a brief but accurate synopsis of KSP1, Susan Krantz's book review in The Review of Metaphysics [Kr94] raises some 'problems' about my use of the term 'perspective' and its relation to 'the system of graphic models' [420]. She argues that, although I 'may be right in some other cases', my claim that various forms of der Gebrauch can be regarded as perspectival equivalents [see KSP1:II.3.C] is misleading: it transforms the 'dynamic connota¬ tions' of a faculty's use into a 'static image'. While admitting that the strategy of represent¬ ing perspectival relationships in terms of 'graphic models' lends clarity and consistency to the interpretation, she asks, in a rhetorical tone: 'Should not a translator or interpreter be wary when his or her version begins to look much "clearer" than the original?' In response to this charge let me first point out that my inclusion of der Gebrauch in the list of perspectival equivalents discussed in KSP1:II.3 was not indiscriminate. Variants of this term occur 427 times in Ktl. Before compiling Table II.3, I examined each of these occurrences individually, in both German and English, selecting only 256 occurrences (60%) for inclusion in the list of perspectival equivalents. The primary determining factor was context. Without a doubt, Krantz is right that der Gebrauch has dynamic connotations; indeed, sometimes these connotations do not in any way imply the presence of a perspective. My claim was that the dynamic connotations of the specific passages I selected do imply (or 'serve as a signpost, indicating' [KSPl:50]) the presence of an identifiable perspective. My decision to translate the selected passages with the term 'perspective' was defended by examining four typical examples [51-3], since it was not feasible to present my rationale for all 256 cases. In so doing, I did not mean to suggest that 'perspective' is the most accurate translation (though for some of the other perspectival equivalents, I believe it is), but only that using it in my quotations will help to highlight and clarify certain implications that really are there in the text. In other words, my expressed purpose was to make explicit what often remains implicit in Kant's text.5 The doubts raised by Krantz's rhetorical question are of a deep, hermeneutic nature. Clearly, a translator ought to be 'wary' of imposing such an interpretive bias onto the transla¬ tion (though to some extent even this may be inevitable). The translator's basic task is to present the text as accurately as possible to the reader, who must then attempt to make sense out of the ambiguities and innuendoes. Translators differ, however, in how far they are will¬ ing to go in 'clearing up' such ambiguities by translating the text more clearly than it was written. In any case, my reason for pointing out various perspectival equivalents in KSP1:II.3 was not to argue that previous translators have been wrong, but to suggest that certain (admittedly loose) translations can be used in the service of my interpretation. (Note that the KSP1:II.3 applies this purpose to all of Kant's perspectival equivalents, not only those that I claim in II.4 to be technical constituents of his System. Because Kant himself did not recognize the need for a set of technical terms to define his levels of perspectives, he sometimes used perspectival equivalents in very unsystematic ways. An unfortunate by-product of my decision to translate Kant's perspectival equivalents as such is that some of his nontechnical uses (e.g., 'human perspective', epistemological perspective', etc.) ended up appearing in KSP1. Although Krantz does not raise this issue, it was a major concern expressed by an anonymous reviewer of an early version of Chapter II, which I had hoped to present at a Kant Congress in the mid-1980s.

AM. Further Reflections on KSP1

407

word 'interpretation' in the subtitle of KSP1 is not without significance.) In other words, the perspectival terminology should be regarded in most cases as a hermeneutic device, not as a claim about the literal meaning of certain German words. When this is understood, the 'wariness' should fall away. For what is the task of an interpreter, if not to understand the original author better that he understood himself—just as Kant himself claimed with respect to Plato [see Ktl:370]? Interpreters should be wary when their attempted clarifications produce a conclusion that diverges from the original intentions or underlying 'spirit' of the author they are interpreting. This is a factor I always try to keep in mind. Thus, KSP1:I.3 specifically argues that Kant had a discernible preference for metaphorical thinking in general and geometrical metaphors in particular. This, taken together with Kant's undeniable love of architectonic, provides ample evidence that he would not have objected to the use of geometrical models in clarifying the perspectival relationships in his System. Jack Chun Ka-Cheong In his 1995 doctoral thesis at University of Toronto, entitled Kant's Objective Explana¬ tion of Our Objective Knowledge (especially Chapter 2, 'The Transcendental Turn'), Jack Chun takes issue with several points in my interpretation. His comments indicate that in KSP1:V and elsewhere, I used 'transcendent starting-point' in a potentially misleading way. Chun takes my view to be that the thing in itself serves somehow as a 'transcendent object' in systemt, akin to the false (positively noumenal) way of viewing the ideas in the Dialectic. But by 'transcendent starting-point', I mean something very different from 'transcendent ob¬ ject' . The former is rather a way of designating the need for some meta-Critical point of refer¬ ence, from which the entire Copernican Perspective can be viewed and in some sense justified. This has important implications for the proper understanding of my view of the role of faith in Kant's System. My claim in KSP1:V that faith has a theoretical as well as a practical application for Kant can indeed give the impression that faith actually operates within system,. But as the foregoing paragraph should have made clear, this impression was unintentional. For my actual position is that faith serves as a justification for transcendental reflection at the outset of the entire System. It is, as it were, the key that opens the door to the 'house' of Critical philosophy. Once we are inside, the key serves no purpose, except of course, when we think about leaving the house for one reason or another—just as Kant does in the Dialectic of each Critique, where faith, or some form of hypothetical reasoning akin to faith, comes back into the picture. Chun does raise a very important point with respect to the limitations of my claim. He points out that the thing in itself is most definitely not the starting-point of any of Kant's arguments. The refutation of the skeptic in particular must start from what the skeptic admits, and this must be our experience of phenomena. So Kant always begins with the appearance. If my claim about the thing in itself isregardedas implying that it serves as the logical startingpoint of his actual arguments, then such a claim will appear obviously flawed. But my actual intent is only to argue that the thing in itself is the architectonic starting-point of Kant's System. (On the relative importance of systemization versus argumentation, see KSPhl.l). Christopher L. Firestone As a graduate student who also served as my teaching assistant during the 1995-96 aca¬ demic year, Chris Firestone worked in close contact with me, developing his interpretation of Kant and applying it to various aspects of Kant's philosophy. In his subsequent publications and doctoral research, he has been developing his own version of a perspectival way of inter¬ preting Kant. Occasionally this has led him to take issue with specific points in my interpretation. Originally I intended to include a response to his criticisms and revisionary

408

APPENDICES

suggestions in this Appendix. However, due to limitations of space—the publisher thinks this book is already too long (and is probably right!)—and in order to give Firestone a fair chance to develop his views before I criticize them, I have decided not to offer a response at this point. Moreover, most (if not all) of the work in question relates to Kant's theology and philosophy of religion, whereas my focus here is on criticisms of KSP1. Paula Manchester (nee Hunter)

As my work on the present volume was approaching completion, Paula Manchester contacted me by email to inform me of her interest in Kant's conception of philosophy as 'architectonic'. After an interesting series of initial exchanges, we began to read each other's work. Her doctoral dissertation, Architectonic and Critical Philosophy [Hu81], is a wellresearched examination of the historical use of the term 'architectonic', from the classical period to Kant, within Kant's own writings, and from Kant's time to the first half of this century. Along the way, she offers some suggestions as to what she thinks is central to Kant's own view of architectonic. Had I come across this valuable work while I was writing KSP1,1 would surely have done a better job of defending my own interpretation of Kant's position. In our subsequent correspondence, Manchester has convinced me that KSP1 sorely lacks a clear account of the passages where Kant explains what he means by 'architectonic'. I have therefore devoted the next section of this Appendix to that task. For now I shall briefly explain the position defended in Hu81 and how it calls into question certain aspects of my ap¬ proach. Although it obviously does not contain any direct criticisms of KSP1, Manchester (rightly) regards her treatment of the subject as superior to and implicitly critical of mine.6 Manchester's thesis begins with a chapter introducing Kant's conception of architectonic, including a fascinating review of how Kant-scholars have interpreted it from Kant's day down to the present. After pointing out that the term is typically regarded as part of an architectural metaphor, she laments: The reduction of the term Architektonik to a vague metaphor has been so predominant that the specifically philosophical meanings of the term as it appears in the history of philosophy ... go unmentioned in discussions about Kant's presumed use of it. Hence, the philosophical issues that motivated Kant to write a chapter in the Critique called 'The Architectonic of Pure Reason' have never been brought to light. [Hu81:3]

Her aim in Hu81 is to fill this gap by examining these historical roots and by focusing primary attention on the Architectonic chapter in Ktl. On the latter point, she repeatedly emphasizes that Kant 'thinks of it as an "art" similar to that of teaching' [3]—especially 'the teaching of the scientific'7—and as a form of 'commanding' [4]. After examining Kant's use

6. Our initial debate was so engaging that Manchester and I decided to present a joint paper at the World Congress of Philosophy in Boston (August 1998), entitled 'Kant's Architectonic Turn as a Model for Philosophic Practice: The Philosopher as Architect, Teacher, or Friend?'. That paper raised many of the points made here and/or in AIII.3, but also went further in several respects. But after reading my strengthened position, Manchester asked me not to quote from her email messages and to avoid presuming to represent her current position. I am therefore unable to respond here to her specific criticisms of KSP1, several of them quite valid. What appears here should be regarded as my own inferences as to how Hu81 relates to KSP1, not as representing Manchester's most up-todate views on Kant, nor her best response to my treatment of Kant's architectonic. 7. This is Manchester's preferred interpretation of the phrase Kemp Smith translates as 'doctrine ...' in the sentence 'architectonic is the doctrine of the scientific in our knowledge' [Ktl:860]. What Kant means by this phrase, I believe, is that architectonic determines—i.e., 'teaches' or 'indoctri¬ nates'—science (i.e., knowledge) to be scientific; it does this by systematizing the empirical data. Oddly enough, Manchester herself gives no explanation or defense of her unusual translation, nor does she adequately explain what the sentence in question actually means, despite using this phrase

AM. Further Reflections on KSP1

409

of these and related phrases, Chapter I reviews the interpretations of architectonic advanced by G.A. Will, Arthur Schopenhauer, Benno Erdmann, Erich Adickes, and Norman Kemp Smith. After tracing in Chapter II the development of Kant's conception during various periods of his life, Hu81's third chapter examines the history of the term 'architectonic*. Manchester carefully examines how Plato, Aristotle, Aquinas, Leibniz, Wolff, and Lambert used the term. A surprising range of possible meanings is revealed, some very close to the conventional interpretation adopted in KSP1 (that 'Kant believed all architectonic patterns to be based on the structure of formal logic' [KSP1:359]) and others very close to Manchester's preferred interpretation. She provides no direct evidence that Kant was influenced more by any of these philosophers than by the others, though she does repeatedly assume that the ones closer to the position she prefers were the ones who influenced him. Hu81 concludes in Chapter IV with some reflections on how Kant's architectonic is founded on Critical principles, but admits in the end [187] that no attempt has been made 'to explain the critical doctrines founding Kant's conception in terms of their agreement or disagreement with the history of "architectonic."' In our extensive email correspondence Manchester made it abundantly clear to me that she regards my position as hermeneutically unsound, a virtual figment of my own imagination that could not be defended from Kant's actual usage. Her weightiest criticism, that I totally ignored the background influences on Kant's thinking, is undoubtedly correct. In writing KSP1, as well as the present volume, I made a conscious decision to eliminate certain types of work from my research, and historical background studies have as a result been low on my list of priorities (with the main exception being the influence of Swedenborg, discussed in II.2-4 and AII.2-4). However, this alone does not necessarily condemn my interpretation to the graveyard of total subjectivity. On the contrary, the task of deciding which predecessors' views were the ones that influenced Kant is, in the absence of any explicit word from Kant on this matter, itself a matter of interpretation that is inevitably subjective to some extent. My response to Manchester's valuable historical survey is that it opens up the new possibility of a debate concerning Kant's influences, but does not in itself provide any conclusive (non question-begging) answer. Manchester's other main objections to my interpretation, that it sees Kant's architectonic as bound up with reason's need to impose logical patterns onto the empirical data and that it treats 'architectonic' as part of an architectural metaphor, are less weighty. On the former point, her main evidence for rejecting such an approach comes not from Kant's use of 'architectonic', but from her belief that this term is connected for Kant to a distinction he makes between the 'school concept' of philosophy and the 'world concept' [see Ktl:867]. She points out that for Kant 'the Schulbegriff of philosophy is satisfied with a systematic unity which is merely logical, while the Weltbegriff seeks a system which teleologically relates those cognitions properly called philosophical to the essential ends of human reason' [Hu81:15]. Later she goes so far as to say that the phrase 'logical architectonic' is 'a contraas the title of section 1.21. She merely repeats it throughout Hu81, as if this somehow justifies the assumption that architectonic is related to the art of teaching—an assumption that, as we shall see in the following section, is not supported in any of the other texts where Kant uses the term 'architectonic'. Moreover, Manchester's treatment of this aspect sometimes comes perilously close to the 'aggregate' approach to philosophizing that Kant explicitly regards as the antithesis of the architectonic approach. For instance, she says in Hu81:174: 'Architectonic as a teaching of the scientific seems to be a kind of pedagogical exercise in which actually existing attempts at philosophy are given for critical examination.' Maybe. But such 'critical examination' is not architectonic just because it involves teaching; it will be architectonic only if the teacher provides an 'idea of the whole', on the basis of which each failed philosophy can be explained and given its proper place in the historical realization of the essential ends of human reason.

410

APPENDICES

v.

diction in terms' because of its neglect of the Weltbegriff-Schulbegriff distinction [29; s.a. 94-5]. What she fails to recognize is that Kant does not say the 'world concept' repudiates the former's logical unity; rather, his point is that mere logical unity must be raised to the status of a higher, teleological unity by imposing on it 'the idea of the whole'. Only then does phi¬ losophy deserve to be called 'architectonic'. Kant's point, in other words, is not that architec¬ tonic unity is not rooted in logical patterns, but rather that it raises these patterns to a new level by interpreting them as manifestations of a single unifying idea. 'Logical architectonic' is therefore not a contradiction in terms, though 'merely logical architectonic' would be. On the second issue, Manchester never clearly explains what it is about being an archi¬ tect that is so disagreeable. It is apparently nothing more than a bias she holds against the text. For many of the features she readily admits to being essential to the art of architectonic —features such as '"leading," "conducting," "directing," and "lawgiving"' [Hu81:86]—are, in fact, tasks that could be regarded as describing an actual architect's function in relation to the builder(s). Yet she neglects such similarities, without providing any supporting rationale. This bias is particularly noteworthy in Hu81's summary of the view advanced by Will, the first interpreter of Kant's architectonic. Will thought 'that Kant conceived of Architektonik as a kind of "philosophical architecture," and ... that the "system" executed in the transcendental doctrine of elements represented "Kant's architectonic"' [37]. Manchester suggests that, if these claims had been challenged, this 'would have gone a long way to clarifying Kant's conception of architectonic' But this is an extremely weak argument. Will's interpretation, published in 1788, would surely not have gone unchallenged during the last 16 years of Kant's life, had it been as disastrously misconceived as Manchester claims it was. Why did Kant remain silent? Perhaps it was because Will had properly understood his intended meaning!8 After all, he is the only interpreter Manchester acknowledges who ever praised Kant for his architectonic, treating it 'as the instrument of Kant's success' [39]. That Kant may have approved of Will's interpretation is a highly significant possibility, because Will's interpretation prefigures my own in some remarkable ways: 'For Will the "system" of the "fine and artful philosophical Architekt" consisted of the frame of "fourfolds and threefolds" found in the table of categories, the schemata, the classification of the basic propositions, and finally, the metaphysical treatment of natural science' [38]. Unfortunately, instead of taking Will's position as an opportunity to have a closer look at Kant's text, Manchester responds dismissively [38-9]: 'It is inexplicable ... how Will can claim that this represents the execution of the plan described in the Architectonic since none of this is even mentioned there by Kant.' In the next section, I shall demonstrate that this claim is incorrect. Because her alternative account of Kant's architectonic consists mostly of a few key phrases (especially 'art of systems' and 'teaching of the scientific') repeated over and over, with no clear and detailed elaboration of what Kant actually means, Manchester's conclusions are highly questionable. She claims, for instance, that Ktl's infamous 'problems in A similar possibility can be raised in response to Manchester's treatment of Krug's entry on 'Architektonik' in his 1832 dictionary. After quoting his definition, she observes: 'Conspicuously absent is Kant's conception of architectonic' [155]. What she fails to note, however, is that the standard interpretation of Kant's conception is present in Krug's entry: he begins with an etymology that directly connects architectonic with architecture and architects, then proceeds immediately to call it 'the art of building a scientific teaching structure, for which logic gives instruction, or a scientific basic outline' [q.i. 155, e.a.]. So Manchester is begging the question. She falsely assumes that architecture and logic have nothing to do with Kant's conception of architectonic, then proceeds to declare anything relating to these two to be contrary to Kant's conception, and finally dismisses as irrelevant any texts that seem to connect these factors to Kant's conception. All along the outcome has been predetermined by her presupposition.

AM. Further Reflections on KSP1

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presentation are not rooted in Kant's Architektonik. Quite to the contrary, Kant is rarely—if ever—"architectonical" at all' [Hu81:40]! She defends this surprising claim on the grounds that a connection between the Doctrine of Elements and the Architectonic chapter 'is neither obvious nor discoverable on the surface of the textual arrangement of the doctrines presented' [41]. And 'in any case', she insists [42], 'the organizational structure that Kant describes in the Architectonic as indicative of the "art of systems" in no way resembles... an architectural scaffold, or any building that could be built up out of materials no matter how firm the foundation or ingenious the plan of its architect.' That these claims are unjustified will be shown in A1II.3, where I shall demonstrate how the text itself supports an interpretation that bases Kant's architectonic on the 4x3=12 pattern of the categories. Manchester acknowledges that Kant's language in the Metaphysical Deduction suggests that he may be thinking there of his architectonic; but the problem, she claims (falling back now on the textbook account of Kant) [43], 'is that the idea of the whole which led to the discovery of the twelve [logical functions] has never really been satisfactorily uncovered by anyone other than Kant.' The solution to such a problem is not to throw up one's hands and abandon all hope of finding the architectonic unity Kant held so dear; in so doing, Manchester inadvertently joins forces with Kemp Smith and all the other commentators whose views she so forcefully criticizes.9 The solution is rather to search harder and more carefully than Kant himself (being the original pioneer) was able and to lay bare the structure of reason's architectonic form in all its detail. This is what I have attempted to do in KSP1, especially Chapter III, at least as it relates to Kant's System. I plan to provide a fuller explanation of reason's architectonic form, independently of its application to Kant's System, in a book entitled The Geometry of Logic}0 Manchester's hermeneutic relies so heavily on external evidence (i.e., on her reconstruc¬ tion of historical uses of the term 'architectonic') that the meaning of Kant's text is some¬ times grossly ignored. She tends to impose assumptions on the text that are supported by little or no internal evidence. The best example is her insistence that Kant was fundamentally opposed to any conception of architectonic as related to the tasks of building or architecture. That this was not the heart of its classical meaning in the writings of Plato and Aristotle, and that it only later came to be regarded in this way, she indisputably demonstrates in Chapter III. However, in Chapter II she totally ignores masses of evidence in Kant's texts (some even quoted in close proximity to her denials of their existence [see e.g., Hu81:72-5,93-4]) wherein he uses language that is obviously related to the standard architectural metaphor.11 At the 9. McFarland voices the majority opinion on the issue of Kant's architectonic when he says [Mc70: 39]: 'If Kant were as much in the grip of his architectonic as his critics make out, he would not be the great philosopher that he is.' He later [70n] provides a good sampling of references where English critics (Bennett, McFarland, Walsh, Weldon, and Wolff) adopt views of Kant's architecton¬ ic virtually identical to Adickes and Kemp Smith. 10. I wrote a complete first draft of the book in 1985-86, as a background for defending my use of diagrams in my doctoral dissertation [see AI, above]—diagrams I ended up omitting anyway, in response to an ominous warning from my supervisor about the dire consequences of presuming to challenge the examiner's initial impression of their incoherence. Though I have worked on revising that manuscript at various points over the past 14 years [see Pa99], the urgency of other projects (including this book) has prevented me from completing a publishable draft up to now. 11. Ignoring such facts, Manchester speaks loosely in Chapter III as if her hobby-horse comes directly from Kant [Hu81:106-7]: 'As [Kant] points out in the Critique, when architecture becomes the model for the philosopher's art, everyone goes off to erect a separate structure according to his own plan. But the deepest irony ... is the equation of leading and commanding with designing and construction.' Yet Kant never 'points out' anything of the kind in Ktl or any of his other writings! His criticisms, as I have explained, are not directed against the idea that philosophers should

412

APPENDICES

same time she adopts the questionable assumption that analyzing Kant's use of the term 'world' is the best way to discern the development of his view of architectonic. This is due to her conviction that Kant has identified architectonic with the 'world concept' of philosophy in the Architectonic chapter of Ktl. While it is true that he mentions this distinction in that Chapter, he does not do so in any of the paragraphs where the term 'architectonic' actually occurs. Manchester's preoccupation with the implications of Kant's 'world-concept' of philosophy, while intrinsically interesting and helpful in understanding Kant's general approach to philosophy, have led her on a 'wild-goose chase' that takes her far from anything Kant himself explicitly treats as essential to architectonic. When her discussion takes such side-tracks, Manchester does have some interesting things to say about Kant's development. But she never comes close to justifying her allergy to all talk of building or architecture. Kant's complaint against past philosophers is not that they wrongly regarded philosophy as a kind of 'building', nor that they naively compared the philosopher to an 'architect'; rather, his reproach is that those who built systems did so with¬ out a plan that would guarantee unity and completeness, and that instead they acted like archi¬ tects who design merely according to whim, rather than according to reason's essential ends.12 In making such dogmatic denials of the architectural aspects of Kant's conception of architectonic, Manchester does herself a disservice. Her approach is highly instructive in demonstrating that this is not all Kant intended by the term, that it goes far deeper and must encompass (for example) a philosopher's effort to direct his or her thinking (or that of the reader) towards reason's essential ends. What she fails to grasp is that the architectural meta¬ phor is meant to assist in achieving that goal, not detract from it. By never explaining why the architectural analogy is so dangerous, she cuts herself off from the riches of its possible applications; likewise, by never explaining how architectonic can survive without logic, she puts herself in a position of being unable to explain how architectonic could ever reveal to us an idea of the whole that helps reason to realize its own ends. 3. Textual Review of Kant's Conception of Architectonic In this section I shall review how Kant uses the term 'architectonic(ally)' in his primary systematic works (i.e., Ktl-KtlO), paying special attention to any evidence that Kant may have intended it to have a logical or architectural character. The term appears in Ktl only 14 times, nine of these being in Chapter III of the Doctrine of Method, entitled The Architec¬ tonic of Pure Reason'. Before looking at this key chapter, let us examine each of the five references that occur earlier in the book, one in the Introduction and four in the Doctrine of Elements. These will provide indispensable clues for understanding Kant's subsequent, more systematic treatment of the topic. The first occurrence appears in the last numbered section of Ktl's Introduction, entitled "The Idea and Division of a Special Science, under the Title "Critique of Pure Reason"' [24], where Kant explains the technical meaning of the term 'transcendental' for the first time [25]: 'I entitle transcendental all knowledge which is occupied not so much with objects as with the

design and/or construct systems—this would make Kant into the biggest of all hypocrites!—but against the idea that one's plans are improperly designed, so that the resulting building does not properly serve the 'essential end' of human reason, which is to attain unity. 12. A good example of Manchester's antipathy towards Kant's own chosen metaphors comes in Hu81:65, where she quotes from Ktl8:317(37). The point of Kant's complaint against philoso¬ phers who 'keep changing or rejecting the ground plans according to the building materials pro¬ vided' is not that philosophers have no business building or designing plans, but rather that in philosophy the plans ought to determine the nature of the building materials, not vice versa.

AM. Further Reflections on KSP1

413

mode of our knowledge of objects in so far as this mode of knowledge is to be possible a priori.' Transcendental philosophy, as the systematic exposition of such concepts in the form of a 'doctrine' or 'organon' [25-6], cannot be accomplished until preliminary groundwork is performed by a critique. The purpose of the latter 'is not to extend knowledge, but only to correct it' [26]. In this context the second paragraph of this section begins as follows: Transcendental philosophy is only the idea of a science, for which the critique of pure reason has to lay down the complete architectonic plan. That is to say, it has to guarantee, as following from principles, the completeness and certainty of the structure in all its parts. It is the system of all principles of pure reason. [27] Kant goes on to explain that the completeness of the plan is to be derived from the Critique's 'enumeration of all the fundamental concepts that go to constitute ...pure knowledge' [27]. That he is referring here to the table of 'the logical function of the understanding in judgments' [95, e.a.], and to the table of categories derived therefrom, is quite clear from the context. About no other part of his philosophy does Kant emphasize its completeness so adamantly; so it is not without significance that Kant uses 'complete' and its cognates no less than fourteen times in this section of the Introduction.13 This first passage says nothing explicit about what Kant means by the term 'architec¬ tonic'. Kant's grammar alone tells us, however, that 'architectonic' is a type of 'plan' and that this type of plan can be made 'complete'. Furthermore, we learn that laying down such a plan is Ktl's central task and that this plan will guarantee that, once transcendental philosophy is fully elaborated, its structure will be both complete and certain. Kant's use of words like 'plan' and 'structure' would seem, at first sight, to support the view that 'architectonic' is being used as part of a metaphor wherein the philosopher's work is being compared to that of an architect. The difference, as is clear from the context, is that the philosopher is designing a plan not for a physical structure but for a logically structured set of a priori concepts, complete and certain in their relation to each other and to all human knowledge. On its own, this initial reference would not be enough to build an interpretation on; but in conjunction with the next four occurrences of 'architectonic' and with Kant's many other references to the terms 'plan' and 'structure', the tentative suggestions made above can be con¬ firmed. The second occurrence appears in the introductory section of the Dialectic, entitled 'The Ideas in General'. The section's main purpose is to distinguish Kant's use of the term 'idea' from Plato's. Near the climax of this discussion [Ktl :375] we read: 'If we set aside the exaggerations in Plato's methods of expression, the philosopher's spiritual flight from the ectypal mode of reflecting upon the physical world-order to the architectonic ordering of it according to ends, that is, according to ideas, is an enterprise which calls for respect and imita¬ tion.' Here 'architectonic' is regarded as a mode of ordering 'according to ends' or 'ideas' and is directly contrasted with 'ectypal'. Earlier in the same paragraph [374] Kant uses the cognate term, 'archetype', to refer to Plato's view that the soul contains divinely predetermined ideas that 'are the original causes of things.' So we now know that Kant regards 'architectonic' as a teleological method of using ideas to impose order onto the physical world and that he has at least a qualified sympathy with Plato's employment of it.

13. See the relevant entries in Pa87a. That Kant intends the categories to be the chief organizing structure in his architectonic plan becomes more and more obvious in some of his subsequent works. Perhaps the best example is Kt3, whose unity and completeness, as Ellington argues in E170, is explicitly based on the table of categories. That the categories can apply to the order of Kant's exposition as much as to the order of reason is suggested by Kant's remark in Kt9, that the division of categories, as applied to the moving forces, 'constitute^] the stages of the transition from the metaphysics of corporeal nature to physics' [22.135(45), e.a.; s.a. 21.483(43)].

414

APPENDICES

The third and fourth occurrences of 'architectonic' appear together in a paragraph towards the end of Section 3 of 'The Antinomy of Pure Reason'. The relevant portions of the paragraph (omitting the comments relating solely to the antinomies) are as follows: Human reason is by nature architectonic. That is to say, it regards all our knowledge as belonging to a possible system, and therefore allows only such principles as do not at any rate make it impossible for any knowledge that we may attain to combine into a system with other knowledge.... Since ... the antithesis thus refuses to admit as first or as a beginning anything that could serve as a foundation for building, a complete edifice of knowledge is, on such assumptions, altogether impossible. Thus the architectonic interest of reason—the demand not for empirical but for pure a priori unity of reason— forms a natural recommendation for the assertions of the thesis. [Ktl:502-3] Here we find a number of new claims about 'architectonic', as well as some reaffirmations of hints mentioned earlier. First, architectonic is not merely a fabrication of some philosopher's imagination; it is part of the very nature of reason itself. Second, to say something is architectonic is to say it is systematically unified or unifiable. Third, once again we see Kant using language that suggests he has in mind an architectural metaphor: reason's architectonic system is compared to a 'building' that has a 'foundation' and stands as a 'complete edifice'. Finally, and most significantly, the phrase set off by dashes clarifies that 'architectonic' provides an a priori unity, not a unity that has been derived from empirical sources. Since Kant regards analytic a priori as the status of formal logic and synthetic a priori as the status of transcendental logic, we can now conclude with virtual certainty that Kant thinks architectonic performs its unifying function by means of logic (in one of its two forms). In its fifth occurrence [Ktl:736] 'architectonic' merely appears in a list of the four main divisions of the Doctrine of Method. Nevertheless, the context is informative. The sentence immediately preceding the list states that the Doctrine of Method concerns 'the determination of the formal conditions of a complete system of pure reason' [735-6]. It examines the form of systemt, whereas the Doctrine of Elements provides the material or content. This tells us that 'architectonic' relates in some way to a philosophical system's formal structure, rather than to the details of its arguments or theories. The sentence immediately following the list notes that a more common term for the four topics in question is 'practical logic' [736], The remainder of the paragraph calls into question the appropriateness of the term 'practical', but not the term 'logic'. Kant's criticism of the term boils down to the fact that the 'Schools' approach neglected the all-important considerations of transcendental logic. With these preliminary reflections in mind, let us turn now to our main source of information about Kant's meaning, the chapter on "The Architectonic of Pure Reason' [Ktl: 860-79]. We have already seen that Kant regards each chapter in the Doctrine of Method as examining an aspect of the form of the same system whose content is examined in the Doctrine of Elements and that the key feature of that content is the discovery of the four logical functions of the understanding in any act of judgment, functions that give rise to the categories and eventually, when synthesized with intuitions, to the principles of pure understanding. The fact that Kant chooses to discuss exactly four topics in the Doctrine of Method suggests that here, as in most of his fourfold divisions, he is consciously attempting to follow the pattern set by the four basic logical functions. If so, the Discipline, Canon, Architectonic, and History of Pure Reason could be regarded as expressing, respectively, the quantitative, qualitative, relational, and modal aspects of transcendental philosophy's form. At this point, of course, this is purely conjectural; but we should keep in mind the possibility that Chapter III may correspond somehow to the category of relation. After the title of Chapter III, the remaining eight occurrences of 'architectonic(ally)' all appear in four paragraphs. The chapter's opening paragraph contains the second and third

AM. Further Reflections on KSP1

415

occurrences: 'By an architectonic I understand the art of [constructing] systems. As systematic unity is what first raises ordinary knowledge to the rank of science, that is, makes a system out of a mere aggregate of knowledge, architectonic is the doctrine of the scientific in our knowledge'.14 The ambiguity in the first sentence [see note AIII.7] is probably best clarified by translating it as '... the art [exhibited by] systems' or perhaps '... the art of systematizing.' KempSmith's 'constructing' has the disadvantage of leading English readers to believe Kant is explicitly appealing to a 'building' metaphor. Kant is certainly not denying the applicability of this or any other metaphor, but he is also not explicitly using it. All we can infer from his initial definition is that philosophers who want to be architectonic must be systematic. But the following sentence then clarifies that Kant is referring to the making of a system out of something inherently unsystematic ('a mere aggregate of knowledge'). Kemp Smith's 'con¬ structing' therefore does have a basis in the context, though as we shall see, 'designing' would be a better metaphor than 'constructing' to describe what happens when we impose order onto something previously unordered. The newest and most intriguing aspect suggested by this passage is that Kant calls architectonic an 'art', even though it is at the same time, somewhat paradoxically, the formal factor that makes a body of knowledge scientific. The second paragraph explains what exhibiting or designing a system means in its architectonic sense (i.e., as one of the four formal aspects of transcendental philosophy). It means that reason prescribes laws that unify 'the manifold modes of knowledge under one idea' [Kt 1:860]. This idea, Kant tells us, is 'the concept... of the form of a whole' that determines both 'the scope of [reason's] manifold content' and 'the positions which the parts occupy relatively to one another.' This nicely supports our foregoing speculation: the task of architectonic should be to determine the relation between the otherwise unrelated parts of a transcendental system's form. (Two sentences later Kant again emphasizes this relational aspect. Apparently, he did have an architectonic reason for placing this chapter third!) In the Doctrine of Elements, we learned that this function is fulfilled by the categories, applied in the schematized form of principles of pure understanding. So Kant appears to be alluding here to a necessary connection between the formal structure of the categories and that of all architectonic reasoning. If this interpretation is accurate, then why did Kant not simply come out and state that architectonic uses the table of categories (or its predecessor) to impose systematic patterns onto our thought processes? The reason, I believe, is bound up with Kant's strategy in dividing the Critiques into Doctrines of Elements and Method. Each time he does this, the two sections are meant to be independent of each other, in the sense that they work towards the same goal, but from opposite perspectives: content first, then form. None of the chapters in the Doctrine of Method appeal directly to the results of the Doctrine of Elements; rather, they each reveal in different ways reason's need for just the sort of thing the foregoing Doctrine of Elements has provided. To connect architectonic too explicitly in Chapter III with the 4x3=12 pattern determined by the categories would have been to beg the question he was attempting to answer. To name the categories or even their numerical structure would be to focus on the content of architectonic; but as we have seen, Kant's focus here is on its form. The second paragraph of Chapter III also states that the purpose of imposing on the 14. Kt 1:860. Manchester rightly points out that Kant's German has nothing equivalent to the word 'constructing' in this passage; I have placed it in brackets to show that Kemp Smith merely inserted it to clarify his own understanding of Kant's meaning. (The Cambridge edition of Ktl leaves the passage ambiguous by translating the phrase merely as 'the art of systems.') Manchester also retranslates Kemp Smith's 'doctrine of the scientific' as 'teaching of the scientific'—a change that is advantageous to her purposes, but not necessarily an improvement on Kant's meaning.

416

'

APPENDICES

aggregate of our knowledge an idea that clearly relates the parts to each other within a whole is to 'further the essential ends of reason' [Ktl:860]. Kant unfortunately does not explain what he means by this phrase. However, the remainder of the paragraph suggests he is thinking here of reason's ultimate goal, the unification of all knowledge; for he claims this prescriptive function of reason (i.e., reason's architectonic nature) 'makes it possible for us to determine from our knowledge of the other parts whether any part be missing, and to prevent any arbitrary addition', thus guaranteeing the completeness of the system being constructed [860-1]. Kant shows us no method of achieving such lofty aims in the Doctrine of Elements other than by patterning our systematic divisions on the formal structure established by the tables of categories and logical functions. To illustrate this point, he concludes the paragraph by comparing a rational system's potential to 'grow from within ..., but not by external addition' to that of 'an animal body' [861]. This metaphor is easily understood as referring to Kant's conviction that, when designing a categorial table in reference to any set of conceptual relations, we must resist any temptation to add a single new member (e.g., 4+1=5), for this destroys the unity of the conceptual relations under consideration. Instead, we must account for any new members by making further internal divisions, just as Kant does when he divides each category into three 'moments' (4x3=12). The third paragraph contains the next two references to 'architectonic'. It begins by distinguishing between two ways in which a schema and an idea can be related. When viewed from the empirical perspective, the schema presents the manifold of knowledge to us independently of any unifying idea, whereas from reason's a priori perspective, the schema 'originates from an idea' without 'wait[ing] for [its ends] to be empirically given' [Ktl:861]. The latter alone, Kant states, 'serves as the basis of architectonic unity.' One of the main differences between these two forms of relation is that when the schema is viewed 'empiri¬ cally', 'the number [of its ends] cannot be foreseen'. But science requires certainty in its dis¬ tinctions and so must impose them a priori, 'in architectonic fashion, in view of the affinity of its parts and of their derivation from a single supreme and inner end' [862]. This is the best evidence yet that the a priori unity imposed on the aggregate by reason's architectonic art has to do with the 4x3=12 pattern of the categories. For Kant's point is precisely that reason's architectonic form (as revealed in the categories) enables us to do what would be impossible using a merely empirical method: to determine the appropriate number of items composing any given set of concepts. Reason's ability to discern the pattern in advance is the source of the 'affinity of [the manifold's] parts' in an architectonic system. The fourth paragraph warns the reader that, although the founder of every new science bases it on a single idea, the initial attempts to schematize that idea are 'very seldom adequate', because 'this idea lies hidden in reason' [Ktl:862]. As a result, Kant encourages us to be willing to go beyond the descriptions given by the founders of any new science, whom we often find 'are groping for an idea which they have never succeeded in making clear to themselves'; our focus should instead be on the idea and its grounding in reason. With this in mind, I believe my articulation of the logical structure of the architectonic form of Kant's System, as given in KSPl:III.3-4, would meet with Kant's approval. If Kant is to avoid being hypocritical, he would have to confess that he, too, like the founder of any new science, had only a vague grasp of the 'idea of the whole' that brought unity and completeness to his System of transcendental philosophy. My conscious goal in KSP1 was to apply this advice of Kant's to the task of interpreting the architectonic structure of his own System. The next three occurrences of 'architectonic(ally)', coming in the fifth paragraph of Chapter III, do not tell us anything fundamentally new about Kant's understanding of the term. The paragraph begins by lamenting that systems are typically put together initially as

AIII. Further Reflections on KSP1

417

aggregates [862-3], and that only after 'a long period... does it first become possible for us to discern the idea in a clearer light, and to devise a whole architectonically in accordance with the ends of reason.' (The fact that Kant makes substantially the same point in Ktl: 105-7, with respect to Aristotle's collection of categories, provides yet further evidence for my claim that the table of categories provides the most important clue to the formal structure of Kant's architectonic.) After likening the development of systems to that of 'lowly organisms' [863], he claims that so much 'human knowledge' has now been gathered that 'an architectonic of all human knowledge... would not indeed be difficult.' He then announces that the remainder of the chapter will merely 'outline the architectonic of all knowledge arising from pure reason'. From this point much of Chapter III consists of a series of twofold divisions of reason and/or philosophy, intended to provide the reader with a bird's eye view of the architectonic divisions in transcendental philosophy. For our purposes here we can skip over the details of Kant's exposition, not only because the various divisions appear at times to be somewhat incompatible with each other, but also because they are advanced as examples of architectonic divisions, not as further explications of the meaning of the term as such.15 Instead of recount¬ ing the details of each division, we can pass on to Kant's final use of 'architectonic' in Ktl. Six paragraphs before the end of Chapter III, immediately after summarizing 'the whole sys¬ tem of metaphysics' in terms of 'four main parts' [Ktl:874], Kant reaffirms several aspects of the foregoing understanding we have gained of 'architectonic': 'The originative idea of a philosophy of pure reason itself prescribes this division, which is therefore architectonic, in accordance with the essential ends of reason... Accordingly the division is also unchangeable and of legislative authority.' Once again we see that this term entails that reason has prescribed a division (in this case, 4=2+2) 'in accordance with the essential ends of reason'; because it conforms to those ends (i.e., the categories as applied in the principles), the division can be regarded as authoritative and 'unchangeable'. We could now proceed to verify and deepen the foregoing analysis of the meaning of 'architectonic' in Kant's writings in two ways. First, we could examine his usage elsewhere in Ktl of other terms that we now know are closely related to his conception of architectonic. In particular, a thorough study of words such as 'plan', 'science', 'unity', and 'complete(ness)' —especially when they appear in close proximity—would provide added insight into the details of Kant's conception of architectonic. For instance, we would find that some of the key terms used in Chapter HI of the Doctrine of Method are also used in the second edition Preface, where Kant first introduces the analogy between his philosophical approach and the Copernican revolution. Perhaps most significant, however, is that, shortly after introducing the table of categories in Ktl, Kant says: 'this table is extremely useful in the theoretical part of philosophy, and indeed is indispensable as supplying the complete plan of a whole science, so far as that science rests on a priori concepts, and as dividing it systematically according to determinate principles' [109]. When the language of the Architectonic chapter of the Doctrine of Method is kept in mind, such statements can hardly be interpreted as anything other than a direct confirmation that the table of categories is the key to the formal structure of reason's architectonic unity.

15. Overlooking this fact, Manchester takes one of these examples, Kant's division of all philosophy into the 'school concept' and 'world concept' types [Ktl:866-8], to be an essential part of Kant's discussion of the conception of architectonic as such [see e.g., Hu81:87-100 and passim]. While she may be correct to claim that Kant takes the 'Weltbegriff of philosophy' to be the only concept that properly accommodates architectonic, so that an indirect relation holds between them, Manchester's tendency to treat anything Kant says about this Weltbegriff as ipso facto a characteristic of architectonic is wholly unjustified by the text.

418

'

APPENDICES

The task of examining all instances of Kant's use of such language would quickly get out of hand, of course, and is not strictly necessary here in order for me to fulfill my goal of setting out a thorough analysis of Kant's conception of architectonic. A more manageable way to conclude the discussion will be to examine how Kant uses 'architectonic' in texts other than Ktl. Without attempting to exhaust all occurrences in Kant's corpus, let us look briefly at the other occurrences in Kant's main systematic works. Kant does not use the term 'architectonic' in Kt2, Kt3, Kt5, Kt6, Kt8, or Kt9. But he does use it once in the Preface to Kt4, four times in Kt7, and twice in KtlO. Let us therefore examine these passages in order. In Kt4:10 Kant reminds us that the Critical task 'of determining the origin, contents, and limits of a particular faculty' must by its very nature 'begin with an exact and... complete delineation of its parts.' But in order for such a task to succeed, something more than just a collection of parts is needed, something 'which is of a more philosophical and architectonic character'—namely, 'to grasp correctly the idea of the whole, and then to see all those parts in their reciprocal interrelations, in the light of their derivation from the concept of the whole, and as united in a pure rational faculty.' So here again we see that Kant's architectonic has to do with the relation between the parts as they are united together in a complete system under a single organizing idea of reason. Although Kant does not use the term 'architectonic' in the first half of Kt7, he does provide some reflections on architecture (Baukunsi) that are at least indirectly relevant to his metaphorical use of the former term. He points out that in architecture, as in all fine arts, 'design is what is essential' [225]. Later, he defines architecture as 'the art of presenting concepts of things which are possible only through art, and the determining ground of whose form is not nature but an arbitrary end' [322], adding that the 'adaptation of the product to a particular use is the essential element in a work of architecture' [322]. With these comments in mind, it seems highly unlikely that Kant would have dared refer to architectonic as an 'art' [Ktl:860] if he were actually attempting to combat the tendency to draw analogies between it and architecture. As it stands, his reference now seems to imply that, just as the architect imposes a conceptual design onto a physical structure so it can be used for a given purpose, so also the architectonic philosopher imposes a logical design (the idea of the whole and the ordering of its parts) onto a conceptual structure so it can serve the purposes (ends) of reason more adequately. The second half of Kt7 refers to architectonic twice in the main text and twice in the Appendix. By highlighting the relevant terms in the first passage, we can see that it provides clear evidence that Kant has an architectural analogy in mind: Every science is a system in its own right. It is not enough that in building [something] in the science we follow principles and so proceed technically; we must also set to work with the science architectonically, treating it as a whole and independent building, not as an annex or part of another building, though we may later construct, starting from either building, & passage connecting the one to the other. [381 (tr. Pluhar), t.b., e.a.] Here Kant is referring to the relation between different natural sciences, but the same applies to Kt7's role in the architectonic of his System as the 'passage' that connects system, and systeirip. A few pages later he mentions in passing that our ability to determine 'actual natural purposes' is based not on the mechanical principles of nature, but 'on a wholly different kind of original causality, namely, an architectonic understanding' [388-9]. The first Appendix passage merely affirms this identification of 'an architectonic understanding' with our ability 'to assume a teleological principle for judging... natural purposes' [420]. Whereas these passages all emphasize the scientific aspect of architectonic, the second Appendix passage emphasizes its artistic aspect. Kant explains that a teleological conception of nature

AIII. Further Reflections on KSP1

419

requires us 'to subordinate the mechanism of nature to the architectonic of an intelligent author of the world', that is, to God, regarded as the 'supreme artist' [438]. Finally, the term 'architectonic' appears twice in KtlO. Near the end of a section of the Introduction entitled 'Specific Logical Perfections of Cognition', Kant describes 'the architectonic of sciences' [48-9(54)] as 'a system according to ideas in which the sciences are considered in respect of their relationship and systematic connection in a whole of cognition that is of interest to mankind.' The second passage further explains that a science's 'idea' is 'the general delineation or outline of it, thus the extension of all cognitions belonging to it' and that '[s]uch an idea of the whole... is architectonic' [93(98)]. Here again we see architec¬ tonic being depicted as the unifying aspect of science, whereby an idea is used to establish a systematic relationship between the parts of a whole in order to fulfill the interest (i.e., ends) of humanity. Although I freely admit that I wrote KSP1 without having first carried out a thorough¬ going word-study of 'architectonic' in Kant, the foregoing correction of that oversight has not necessitated any substantial change in the position I previously attributed to Kant. On the contrary, this section has confirmed my interpretation of Kant's architectonic as a method of using logical divisions such as those embodied in the table of categories to organize otherwise haphazard collections of concepts in order to provide an 'idea of the whole' that will guarantee both completeness and systematic unity in any science. The new insights provided by this more in-depth study—e.g., that the function of architectonic in the Doctrine of Method corresponds to the category of relation, and that architectonic divisions must serve the 'essential ends' of reason (i.e., reason's drive towards unity in all of its manifestations)— constitute refinements rather than alterations of my previous position. 4. Minor Corrections to KSP1 The following are corrections of the minor errors I have come across in the text of KSP1. Any future printing(s)/edition(s) of that volume should incorporate these changes. They are presented here for the benefit of those who already own a copy of the 1993 edition: p.60: in the indented quote, two words are partially missing, apparently due to a paste-up error; they should read 'which' and 'forms', p. 101 (Figure III.9): the 'theoretical' cross should be positioned beneath the 'practical' cross, rather than above it. In this way the structure will correspond more appropriately to the parallel diagram given above, in Figure AIII.2, as well as to the arrangement shown in Figure VI. 1, below. p.285 (Fig. VIII. 1): 'categorial' in step eight should read 'categorical' (as shown on p.273). p.339 (line 14): ' ] ' should read ')'. p.342 (line 11): 'I Cor.' should read '1 Cor.'. p.351 (line 12): 'in tact' should read 'intact'. p.434 (line 2 of footnote): 'W4' should read 'W5'. p.447 (listing for Pql5): 'in press' should read 'pp.85-108'. p.447 (listing for Pql7): 'in press' should read 'pp.129-48'. p.447 (listing for Pql9): 'Theocracy' should read 'Biblical Theocracy' and 'the publishing information should read '(Hong Kong: Philopsychy Press, 1993).' p.467 (Index listing for 'hope'): '37b' should read '37n'.

Appendix IV How To Be a Theist without Proving that God Exists 1. Kant's Critique of the Traditional Theoretical Arguments As mentioned in IV. 1, Kant groups all theoretical arguments for the existence of God under three headings: the 'ontological', 'cosmologicaT, and 'physicotheological' types.1 Given his preference for fourfold divisions, we might expect Kant to have exposed not three Ideals of reason, but four, especially because such a 2LAR would accord well with the fourfold divisions of the paralogisms and antinomies. A fourfold division of ideals would bring the Dialectic of Ktl into perfect conformity with the structure of the categories, making it a complete architectonic system of the twelve basic illusions into which the speculative metaphysician can fall when reasoning about questions concerning ultimate reality. Despite his apparently threefold division, Kant does not disappoint our architectonic expectations. For the 'Ideal of Pure Reason' [Ktl:595-670] begins by exposing the illusion inherent in a fourth type of proof, originated by Kant himself nearly twenty years earlier, in Ktl5. Especially relevant in this respect is Section III of Ktl5 [155-63(355-66)], where Kant describes the systematic relation between the four types of arguments in terms of a perfect 2LAR. This special form of argument, based on the 'complete determination' of empirical objects and sometimes referred to as the 'possibility proof [e.g., Wo78:40-79], is discussed separately in Ktl not only because it cannot be classified as 'traditional', but also because Kant believes it forms the theoretical basis for—i.e., 'the only possible ground for the demonstration' [cf. Ktl5's title] of—the other three proofs [cf. Go71:84-5n]. Since the character of this type of proof is not as well known as that of the other three, I shall begin by discussing it in more detail than the other three. In preparation for this account, let us examine the logical relationship between the four types of proof. Kant summarizes the difference between the three traditional proofs by pointing out the different theological perspectives they assume: 'ontotheology ... considers God merely in terms of concepts... Cosmotheology presupposes ... the existence of a world in general. And finally, physicotheology makes use of experience of the present world' [Kt26:1003(31-2); s.a. Ktl:633,660]. These three forms of 'speculative theology' correspond directly and unambigu¬ ously to the logical, transcendental, and empirical perspectives, respectively.2 Kant's own possibility proof, as we shall see, corresponds in a similar fashion to the speculative/hypo¬ thetical perspective. Thus we can clarify the systematic relationship between these types of proof by plotting them onto the 2LAR model of Kant's four perspectives,3 as follows: 1. Kant does not include in his discussions of the possibility of proving God's existence those powerful arguments against such a belief, based on the problem of evil. But he does deal with the problem at length in Kt64 and more briefly elsewhere. For a discussion of his position, see AVI.l. 2. Unfortunately, Kant does not draw attention to this clear correspondence in his discussion of their relationship in Ktl:618-9. Instead, he suggests that the ontological argument should be discussed first because it is transcendental, whereas the others contain an 'empirical factor'. But this is true only in the loose sense of 'transcendental' [see KSP1:114], whereby all the arguments have a transcendental aspect. The transcendental perspective as such is concerned with experience in general (as in the cosmological argument); the perspective dealing only with the relation between concepts (as in the ontological argument) is the logical [see Ktl:624n], 3. Cf. Fig. III.4. Collins adds ethicotheology to the three types of theoretical theology and presents the relationship between them in the form of a fourfold diagram [Co67:102; s.a. De73: 138]—a procedure I also follow in V.3 [s.e. Fig. V.4]. This results, however, in a less perfect 2LAR than that given in Figure AIV.l, because ethicotheology (or 'moral theology', as Kant sometimes calls it [e.g., Ktl:660,842]) belongs to an entirely different standpoint than the others. Whereas the three types of theoretical theology correspond directly to the three types of theoretical proof,

A1V. How To Be a Theist without Proving that God Exists

421

possibility (++) (logical, world)

physico-theological (-+) ^ (causal, world)

cosmological (-) (causal, ideas)

x

'

'•

:

•''•

•

ontological ontological (+-) (+-) (logical, (logical, ideas) ideas)

Figure AIV. 1: The Four Types of Theoretical Argument for God's Existence Kant defines the relationship between these four arguments as a perfect 2LAR in Ktl5: 155-62(355-65), where he explains how 'the four imaginable arguments' can be 'reduced to two principle sorts' [162(365)], as represented in Figure AIV.l by the vertical and horizontal axes. He explains the logical structure of their relationship in Ktl5:155-6(356): 'All argu¬ ments for the existence of God can be taken but either from the intellectual conceptions of the merely possible [+], or from the conceptions of the existing [-] taken from experience.' The former type either treats 'the possible as a ground! and 'the existence of God as a consequence' (-) or else treats 'the possible as a consequence' and 'the Divine existence as a ground' (+). The latter type argues either 'from that, whose existence we experience' to 'the existence of a first and independent cause' (-) or else 'from what experience teaches are immediately inferred' to 'his existence and his attributes' (+). In Wa63a:267 Walsh clarifies this fourfold distinction (without referring to Ktl5), by stating a simpler version of the two lLARs that generate this 2LAR: (1) the ontological and possibility proofs are based on logical (+) grounds, whereas the cosmological and physicotheological proofs are based on causal (-) grounds; and (2) the physicotheological and possibility proofs begin 'from a truth about the world' (+), whereas the cosmological and ontological proofs begin 'from an idea' (-).4 Using this model [i.e., Fig. AIV.l] as a map to guide our steps will enable us to steer our way swiftly through Kant's discussion of the errors committed by each type of argument. Kant hints at his possibility proof as early as 1755. For he claims in Ktl 1 that all reality must be united in a single being.... God... is given as the absolutely necessary principle of all possibility.... [For] in God, the source of all reality, there [must exist] everything that is in a real notion.... Among all beings God is the only one in whom existence is prior, or, if you prefer, identical with possibility. And no notion of that possibility remains as soon as you separate it from his existence. [394-6(224-5)] He fully develops this notion in Ktl5, where he argues [83(247)]: 'All possibility presup¬ poses something actual, wherein and whereby all that is cogitable is given. There is therefore a certain actuality, whose annulling would annul even all internal possibility in general.' ethicotheology corresponds only indirectly to the possibility proof (by virtue of the correlation between the hypothetical perspective and the practical standpoint). 4. That the cosmological argument begins not with evidence from induction but with the concept or 'thinkability' of God's existence is well explained by Dell'Oro in De94:61,68. Likewise, she correctly identifies the possibility proof as starting from 'the real' [133].

422

APPENDICES

Since 'all that exists is thoroughly determined' [85(250)], there must be a 'necessary Being [who] compriseth the last real ground of all other possibility' [86(253)]. As Wood puts it, Kant's possibility proof contends 'that the idea of God takes its rational origin from the fact that it is presupposed by any attempt to think of individual things in general as thoroughly determined, and hence as absolutely possible.'5 Kant explains 'the principle of complete determination' in Ktl:599-600 by saying: 'if all the possible predicates of things be taken together with their contradictory opposites, then one of each pair of contradictory opposites must belong to [any given thing]. This principle ... concerns, therefore, the content [of our knowledge of things], and not merely the logical form.' Although we can never 'know every possible [predicate]' of a thing, and so can never exhibit its complete determination in concreto [601, t.b.], the idea of complete determination, when applied to 'the concept of an individual object', becomes 'an ideal of pure reason' [602]. This ideal is 'the concept of an individual being' who 'possesses all reality' (i.e., 'the concept of an ens realissimum'); hence it is 'the concept of a thing in itself as completely determined'.6 As such it 'serves as basis for the complete determination that necessarily belongs to all that exists.' But reason presupposes only the idea of such a being, and this only for the purpose of deriving from an un¬ conditioned totality of complete determination the conditioned totality, that is, the totality of the limited. The ideal is, therefore, the archetype (prototypon) of all things, which one and all, as imperfect copies (ectypa), derive from it the material of their possibility ... [605-6] This means the possibility of all individual things, if we are to think of them as thoroughly determined objects of knowledge, must be derived from 'limitations of a greater, and ulti¬ mately of a highest, reality': viz., 'the possibility of that which includes in itself all reality', the ens realissimum [606; s.a. 609]. This, Kant concludes, is 'the concept of God', which, taken as an 'ideal of pure reason... is thus the object of a transcendental theology' [608]. Kant does not want to criticize this argument too severely, for, as we saw in IV.2, his affirmation of God as an 'idea' is in some respects dependent on the notion of God developed here, but proceeds on hypothetical rather than logical (i.e., speculative) grounds. In this sense Wood is correct to say [Wo78:59] 'it was precisely Kant's critical doctrines... which made it possible for him to accept the concept of God as an ens realissimum.' The problem with the speculative form of the argument is that it 'hypostatises' the idea of God by assuming it can be used to determine the nature of God as a real individual object of knowledge, whereas its proper (practical) use is only to clarify the concept of God, 'without requiring that all this re¬ ality be objectively given and be itself a thing. Such a thing is a mere fiction' when hypostatized as an object (i.e., a constituent element) in systemt.7 Kant blames this illusion on a 5. Wo78:62; s.a. En29:48-62,118-21. Greene's summary of Kant's position, as arguing 'that it is impossible that nothing should exist, hence that something must necessarily exist' [Gr34:xliiin], fails to highlight its most essential features. Webb's synopsis in We26:32 is more helpful: 'Briefly stated, [Kant's possibility proof] is that something is possible, that any possibility presupposes a real being, and that in this way the existence of a real being antecedent to any mere possibility of the existence of anything else is demonstrable from the very fact of possibility.' 6. Kt 1:604. The fact that our way of determining an object requires in addition to intuition a power of conception leads us to assume, Kant notes, that the ens realissimum is not only a thing in itself, but also 'a supreme understanding' [61 In]. These two characteristics correspond to the two aspects of divine reason discussed in V.I: intellectual intuition and intuitive understanding. On a different but related note, Dell'Oro points out that in Ktl5 Kant associates the ens realissimum with 'the Principle of Identity', regarding these as together constituting the 'principle grounding all positive truths'—the principle of negative truths being the Principle of Contradiction [De94:135]. 7. Ktl:608. That this relates only to the speculative perspective and therefore does not commit Kant

AIV. How To Be a Theist without Proving that God Exists

423

'transcendental subreption' [Ktl :611 ], according to which a person substitutes 'dialectically for the distributive unity of the empirical perspective, the collective unity of experience as a whole' [610]—i.e., of the transcendental perspective. Despite its tendency to confuse these two per¬ spectives, Kant's possibility proof does establish, as it were, the grounds for speculation: it demonstrates 'that reason requires' the concept of an ens realissimum [620] as 'the primal concept in thought' [Kt69:302], but it establishes no conclusions whatsoever as to its actual existence. Although it is not technically a theological proof, it sets the stage for each of the three traditional proofs by establishing, from the speculative/hypothetical perspective, a defi¬ nition of the theoretical concept of God that is assumed by the three traditional arguments. The general characteristic of ontological arguments, according to Kant, is that they attempt to prove the existence of 'something the non-existence of which is impossible.' 8 In their simplest form such arguments suggest that the very concept of God as 'an absolutely necessary being' [Ktl:620] necessitates God's existence. Kant criticizes this simple form as 'arguing from the logical possibility of concepts to the real possibility of things' [624n; s.a. 626]. If the term 'necessary' refers to a judgment, then its object may be quite intelligible, as, for example, in the case of geometrical judgments such as 'a triangle has three angles'. 'But', warns Kant, 'the unconditioned [logical] necessity of judgments is not the same as an absolute [real] necessity of things' [621]. On the contrary, the former 'is only a conditioned necessity of the thing'. Thus, the above judgment does not imply 'that three angles are absolutely necessary, but that, under the condition that there is a triangle (that is, that a triangle is given), three angles will necessarily be found in it' [622]. The rather obvious point being made here is that if we 'reject the predicate [e.g., 'is omnipotent'] while retaining the subject [e.g., 'God'], contradiction results... But if we reject subject and predicate alike, there is no contradiction; nothing is then left that can be contradicted.'9 'The concept of necessity', to regarding God as a mere figment of our imagination will be argued in AIV.4. Ktl:620. Webb calls the possibility proof 'a modified form of... the Ontological Argument' [We26: 30]. Yet such a claim could be misleading, since Kant carefully distinguishes between the two: 'Either the existence of a most real being is deduced from its concept [as in an ontological (+-) proof], or the determinate concept that we must form of it is deduced from the necessary existence of some being [as in the possibility (++) proof]' [Kt69:3O2-3; s.a. 331-2]. Treash claims Kant's new proof reconstructs the usual analytic a priori argument on synthetic a priori grounds [Tr79:13-4]. By contrast, I believe Kant's remarks suggest, rather appropriately (given its position in Figure AIV.l), that the possibility proof can best be interpreted in terms of what I have called the 'analytic a posteriori' perspective [III.2; s.e. Fig. III.4]. For both proofs are analytic (deductive), but the latter alone stipulates its concept on the basis of an a posteriori fact (an existing being), as is characteristic of all analytic a posteriori reasoning [see KSPl:134-9]. Dell'Oro has a golden opportunity to acknowledge this status in her discussion of the views of Campo and Lamacchia [De96:124-5]: the former points out that the proof 'is cast in a strongly formalistic language' and yet it 'appears to proceed a posteriori', while the latter says the proof 'shifts from the domain of the purely thinkable [i.e., the analytic] to the domain of existent things [i.e., the a posteriori].' Unfortunately, instead of grasping the paradox, she merely accepts their assessment that the proof is 'fundamentally equivocal'. Kant lends support to my position when he says his 'method' in Ktl5 is 'to ascend from what is immediately certain by observation [i.e., a posteriori] to the more general [i.e., analytic] judgment' [97(267)]. This account of the epistemological status of the possibility proof could form the basis for a Kantian response to the defense of St. Thomas' a posteriori ap¬ proach in Fo95. It may also explain why Kant warns in Kt69:303 that this proof makes progress in metaphysics only 'through the back doors.' Later, he warns again that in this proof, 'the concept of a necessary being is by no means the concept of a being that is in any way determinate' [326n], as it would be if it were based (like the ontological argument) on analytic a priori reasoning. Ktl:622; s.a. Kt69:304. Kant points out this characteristic of the ontological argument as early as Ktl 1:394-5(224): 'In framing for ourselves a notion of a certain being which we call God, we have framed it in such a manner that existence is included in it. If, then, the preconceived notion be true,

424

APPENDICES

Kant therefore concludes, 'is only to be found in our reason, as a formal condition of thought; it does not allow of being hypostatised as a material condition of existence' [648]. The only option for the proponent of the ontological argument, Kant contends, is to ground it in the concept of God as ens realissimum, established by the possibility proof [Ktl: 614,624]. The argument would then assert that in this case real existence is 'contained in the concept of a thing that is possible' because '"all reality" includes existence' [624]; a God who is the ens realissimum, the most real being, must exist. It is in response to this particular version of the ontological argument, and not to all versions whatsoever, that Kant makes his famous proclamation that existence is not a predicate. There are instances, of course, where existence is a predicate: any empirical acknowledgment of a thing's existence does add some¬ thing to our concept of a thing—it adds an intuition, enabling us to make a synthetic judg¬ ment about that thing (e.g., that it exists). But the ontological argument, we must remember, presupposes the logical perspective, where 'is' is used only in analytic judgments, and so, never serves as a predicate. 10 Viewed from the logical perspective, 'is' serves either a real function by indicating 'merely the positing of a thing', or a logical function by acting as 'the copula of a judgment' [Ktl:626], but it can never convey reality itself [s.a. 667]. This is why it is also true that God exists.' Along these lines, Webb points out that the problem with the ontological argument is that 'if I conceive [of God] at all, I conceive [of God] as being real; whether [God is] real or not, does not affect the conception' [We26:32]. England explains in En29:54 why Kant did not regard his own possibility proof as falling under the same condemnation: 'We cannot pass from a concept to the affirmation of existence. But ... we can and must pass from the inner possibility of things in general to ... the affirmation of the existence of that which makes possibility itself possible.' In other words, for Kant 'the merely possible ... is a pure abstraction from actuality. The possible presupposes something actual' [48]. But England concludes his discussion of Ktl5 by accusing Kant of committing an 'essential contradiction' [En29:62] by *maintain[ing] on the one hand that God is the one and only (unicus) being ...; and, on the other hand, that contingent things enjoy an individual existence different from the being of the one ultimate substance.' Yet this criticism merely belies England's failure to recognize Kant's reliance on the principle of perspective. For the two views England claims are contradictory Kant would regard as arising out of two distinct perspectives—or rather, out of the distinction between our 'perspectiveless' immediate experience (the 'one') and the perspectives of our empirical knowledge (the 'many'). That Kant never abandons such a position (as England suggests), but merely modifies it, is demonstrated by the evidence given throughout Part Four. 10. Cf. Wo78:107. In a section of Ktl5 entitled 'Existence is no Predicate ...', Kant notes that from God's Perspective 'no predicate at all can be wanting' [72-3(230-2)]. He then distinguishes between two human perspectives: the logical, which erroneously attempts to derive existence 'from merely possible concepts', and the empirical, from which existence is properly viewed 'not so much [as] a predicate of the thing itself, as rather of the thought that one has of it.' In the next sec¬ tion Kant further explicates this perspectival distinction: 'Existence is the absolute [i.e., real, empirical] Position of a Thing and is thereby distinguished from every Predicate, which as such is always laid down but relatively to another Thing'—i.e., as 'a mark', functioning as a 'respectus logicus' [73(232); s.a. 82(245)]. Thus he recommends the proposition 'God is an existing thing' be rephrased as 'Something existing is God', so that 'the thing itself together with all the predicates is absolutely posited' [74(234)]—i.e., as real from the empirical perspective. He makes the same perspectival distinction in a slightly different way in Ktl5:75(235-6) [s.a. 79(241)]: 'in an existing [thing] nothing more is posited than in a mere possible [thing]..., but by something existing more is posited than by a mere possible, for that refers to absolute position of the thing itself.' (The term 'thing itself in these passages must be regarded as referring to what Kant was later to call the 'phenomenon' [see KSP1:IV.3], since he had not yet formulated his mature theory of the thing in itself. This is especially clear in Ktl5:124(308), where Kant says 'things themselves ...constitute the raw materials of nature'; for the 'thing in itself in systemt constitutes, as it were, the raw material of our knowledge. His distinctions between 'the logical perspective' and 'the real perspective' [83(247)] in general, and between 'logical necessity' and 'real necessity' [82(245-6)] in particular, are among the most significant contributions of Ktl5.

AIV. How To Be a Theist without Proving that God Exists

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Kant says '"Being" is obviously not a real predicate' [626, e.a.]: nothing is really real from the logical perspective, for when one's attention is limited wholly to concepts, 'the real', as a characteristic attributed to a concept, 'contains no more than the merely possible' [627]. 'Hence the conception of an absolutely necessary being, while doubtless an indispensable idea of reason, is for human understanding an unattainable problematic conception' [Kt7:402]. For the sake of criticizing their general character, Kant reduces all cosmological argu¬ ments to a single form: 'If anything exists, an absolutely necessary being must also exist. Now I, at least, exist. Therefore an absolutely necessary being exists' [Ktl:632]. The minor premise is an empirically observable fact whose inner certainty is not open to serious doubt. But the major premise depends on the assumption of a series of conditioned existents, caused by other conditions, and ending in some necessary unconditioned existent [cf. 649-51]. This proof, Kant says, appears to be 'the most convincing' of all the proofs, for it 'sketches the first outline of all the proofs in natural theology' [632]; yet for this very reason it rests on even more 'pseudo-rational principles' than the others [634]. He criticizes rather briefly four such 'deceptive principles' [637-8]: (1) the category of causality does not 'enable us to advance beyond the sensible world' [cf. 663-4]; (2) rather than leading to a 'first cause', the empirical series of conditions may well be infinite; (3) the unconditioned cannot be regarded in terms of 'real necessity', since the 'removal of all the conditions' would eliminate the only context in which the concept of real necessity has any meaning;" and (4) 'logical possibility' and 'transcendental possibility' must not be confused. But his major criticism is that this ar¬ gument, which 'professes to lead us by a new path', ends up requiring for its validity the ontological argument [637], with its concept of a necessary being as the ens realissimum [636]. Kant's criticism here is not that the cosmological argument is based on the ontological, but that the former must be used in conjunction with the latter in order for its conclusion to establish knowledge of God (just as an appearance must be conceptualized before it can become an object of knowledge): 'although the cosmological proof presupposes an experience in general,... it soon abandons this guidance and relies on pure concepts alone.'12 Kant aptly describes the mutual interdependence of these two types of argument in Kt 1:640: 'The whole problem of the transcendental ideal amounts to this: either, given [real] absolute necessity, to find a concept which possesses it [as in the ontological argument], or, given the concept of something, to find that something to be absolutely necessary [as in the cosmological argu¬ ment].' But neither of these tasks can be fulfilled without conflating the transcendental and logical perspectives, and thus giving rise to dialectical illusion. Once he realized the perspectival illusion inherent in this type of argument, Kant came to regard its object as 'not a rational entity', but 'afictitious logical entity' [Kt7:468]. He therefore concludes in Ktl:630 [t.b.] that 'we can no more extend our stock of [theoretical] insights by mere ideas, than a merchant 11. In Ktl:645 Kant adds that 'absolute necessity is a necessity that is to be found in thought alone.' That is, absolute necessity cannot be real necessity, since it is confined to the logical and/or hypothetical perspectives. 12. Ktl:642-3; s.a. 639. Likewise, in Ktl5:159(36O) Kant says 'whatever may be done to [cosmo¬ logical proofs], they never can become any thing else than conclusions from conceptions of possible things, but not from experience ...'. Wood defends an interpretation similar to the one presented here [Wo78:125]: 'Kant's criti¬ cism of the cosmological proof is not that the ontological serves it as a tacit premise, but rather that if we assume that the cosmological proof works, then we are committed to holding that the ontological argument works as well.' After analyzing the logic behind the argument, Wood concludes that Kant's position 'does not follow' [129]. However, Wood fails to take into con¬ sideration what was uppermost in Kant's mind in making this claim: viz., the systematic and perspectival relationship between these arguments in their purest forms. Given this relationship [see Fig. AIV.l], Kant's position is not only consistent, but architectonically correct.

426

APPENDICES

can better his position by adding a few noughts to his cash account.' If, however, we leave the logical and transcendental perspectives and allow our particular experiences of the world to serve as a major factor in the argument, perhaps more satisfactory results can be obtained. As long as we regard them as purely theoretical proofs intended to establish certain truths about God, such arguments as we have discussed so far, Kant warns, 'will never descend from the schools and enter into every-day life or be able to exert the smallest influence on ordinary healthy intelligence' [Kt7:476]. The final type, however, is somewhat closer to home, for the 'physicotheological' (better known as 'teleological') argument makes use of our 'determinate experience... of the things of the present world' [Ktl:648], and so proceeds entirely 'by the empirical road' [656]. Kant includes here arguments from particular causes to a 'supreme cause' [s.e. 649-51], which would nowadays be considered by many to be cosmological.13 However, the main emphasis of the argument [cf. 653-4,660] is that the immeasurable 'variety, order, purposiveness, and beauty' of the world require us to 'assume something to support it* [650]—viz., 'a supreme Author' [652]. Kant has a deep respect for this argument, 'the oldest, the clearest, and the most accordant with the common reason of mankind' [651], and believes it would be 'utterly vain to attempt to diminish in any way [its] authority'.14 But 13. In Sw74:ll-2 Swinburne condemns Kant for dividing all theoretical arguments into three distinct types on the grounds that teleological arguments in particular take a variety of forms, establish sometimes quite different conclusions, and may carry varying degrees of validity. Such a complaint is misplaced, however, inasmuch as Kant's divisions are not intended as historically accurate classifications of the aggregate (i.e., empirical variety) of actual proofs. Rather, he is making an architectonic observation about how each perspective of systenu gives rise to an ideal type of proof. That the structure of some real proofs makes them difficult to classify does not invalidate the point Kant is making, any more than a scientist's inability to determine the cause of specific event in nature would invalidate the principle of causality [see KSP3]. Swinburne's unsympathetic reading of Kant [see e.g., Sw74:17n,58n] is rather ironic, since his own theory of 'prior probability', focusing on the 'explanatory power' of a hypothesis, adopts the same (hypothetical) perspective as Kant's possibility proof. Without recognizing any histori¬ cal connection with Kant, he even supports a position akin to the 'primacy of practical reason': scientific explanation is ultimately grounded in personal explanation [115-6]. What he apparently fails to realize is that, from the standpoint of scientific explanation, personal explanation must be regarded as regulative, not constitutive of knowledge. A careful background study of Kant would have helped Swinburne to clarify his position in a number of such instances. Kant, however, rejects any attempt (such as Swinburne's) to use theoretical arguments to prove 'it is probable that there is a God' [Kt69:299]; for 'the expression probability is wholly absurd in such an application.' This is because God, as 'supersensible', 'transcends all cognition possible for us. Thus there is no way to achieve progress to the supersensible through the sensible ..., and so there is no approach to certainty and thus no assent whose logical value can be termed probability.' 14. Ktl:652. In Ktl5 Kant likewise praises the 'physicotheological method' as 'extremely sensible' and 'more natural than any other', since 'it furnishes a more intuiting conception of the supreme wisdom' [117(297-8)). Here the curious phrase 'intuiting conception' should not be regarded as a pre-Copernican reference to intellectual intuition, but rather as a precursor of his mature theory of schematism. Since schematism appears in the third stage of systenu [see Fig. III.6], Kant's allusion to it here supports the placement of the physicotheological proof on the -+ pole of the map in Figure AIV.l. 'The method has its faults', Kant continues in Ktl5:l 18(298), 'though they are indeed to be imputed but to the procedure of those who have used it.' Kant's main complaint is against those who, in using this method of proof, portray God as creating individual things merely for their use by mankind, apart from their contextual role in nature, as determined by universal laws [see 118-22 (298-305)]. Thus, he agrees in Ktl5:123(306-7) that 'the cohesion of useful laws with a necessary unity [i.e., the 'order and fitness' in nature] ... afford a proof of a wise Author; though the dependence on him from this standpoint must be represented from another perspective.' For although physicotheology produces 'a very beautiful argument, ... it is never capable of the strictness of a demonstration.... There is only one God and only one argument, by which it is

AIV. How To Be a Theist without Proving that God Exists

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it operates 'in accordance with the principles of analogy', so it can never establish anything greater than 'probability' [654], though it can help strengthen the other arguments [651-2]: The physico-theological proof, as combining speculation and intuition, might there¬ fore perhaps give additional weight to other proofs (if such there be); but taken alone, it serves only to prepare the understanding for theological knowledge, and to give it a natural leaning in this direction, not to complete the work in and by itself. [665]

Thus it is doomed to failure from the outset if its proponents believe it can establish 'apodeictic certainty' [652]; for no 'experience [can] ever be adequate to an idea' [649]. Kant is very careful to clarify the constructive intentions of his criticism of this argu¬ ment: 'It cannot hurt the good cause, if the dogmatic language of the overweening sophist be toned down to the more moderate and humble requirements of a belief adequate to quieten our doubts, though not to command unconditional submission' [Ktl:652-3]. The physicotheological argument can serve this function best when it is used in conjunction with the other arguments, for the most it can prove on its own is the need for 'an architect of the world who is always very much hampered [just as the human architect is] by the adaptability of the material in which he works, not a creator of the world to whose idea everything is subject' [655; cf. Wo78:140]. Thus, proponents of such an argument who wish to define the concept of God in a manner sufficiently high to match the 'loftiness' of the idea of God must fall back upon the a priori proofs, which alone are concerned with 'the existence of an absolutely necessary being' [Ktl:657, e.a.]. In the end the physicotheological argument, if it is intended to be a rigorous proof, will therefore suffer from the same illusions as those suffered by the arguments it seems at first to circumvent.15 Each argument fails because each is based on the same general assumption: each treats the idea of God as an ideal—i.e., as an object that can be instantiated 'not merely in concreto, but in individuo, that is, as an individual thing' [Ktl:596]. Yet such an assumption is mistaken [Kt7:463; s.a. 466]: No intuition corresponding to the conception of a being which has to be sought beyond nature is possible for us. So far, therefore, as that conception has to be determined theoretically by synthetic predicates, it always remains for us a problematical conception.... The particular conception of a supersensible being cannot possibly be subsumed in any way under the universal principles of the nature of things ... To succeed in doing so, Kant says, would require 'attributing omniscience to yourself [480]. If God is conceived as a being who transcends our categories of thought, no argument that depends upon these categories—i.e., no theoretical argument—will be able to bring us any closer to the goal of knowledge of the existence of such an object from the standpoint of possible to perspect his existence ... [viz.,] that the negation of the Divine existence is absolutely nothing' [162(365-6)]. The main difference between Ktl5 and Kant's more mature theological reflection is that this new perspective is regarded in Ktl5 as established by the possibility proof, whereas in his mature System it is established, as we saw in IV.4, from an entirely different ('moral') standpoint. Recognizing the close architectonic connection between the hypothetical perspective and the practical standpoint [see KSP1:II.4] can help us to appreciate the high degree of affinity between his early and later writings on theology, despite their subtle differences. 15. Ktl:657-8. Wood complains that Kant 'makes no real case at all that physicotheology, by its very nature, involves any hidden dependence on... a priori arguments' [Wo78:132]. But Kant's point is not that such a dependence necessarily holds; rather it is that it holds if physicotheology is to operate with a sufficiently well-determined concept of God. For the validity of such a concept can be defended only by the a priori arguments. The relationship in question is parallel to that between judgments and their corresponding concepts and intuitions. A judgment could, in principle, be made quite apart from any intuition and/or concept, but only at the cost of losing all sense and meaning.

428

APPENDICES

systemt: all such attempts 'are altogether fruitless and by their very nature null and void, and ... do not lead to any theology whatsoever.'16 For the problem is not so much with these various attempts to answer the question of God's existence, as with the question itself. As Barth points out in his elaboration of Kant's theology, 'to speak of existence or non-existence is per se not to speak of God' [Ba72:275]. For to answer the question of God's 'existence'— i.e., to solve the problem once and for all—would require us to be able to say: 'This, not that, is the necessary being' [Ktl:640]. And this is why to regard God as an ideal object, one that 'designates an individual as being among the things that are possible' [639-40], always leads us into illusory thinking. Thus Kant's criticisms are not intended so much to close the books on all theoretical ar¬ guments for the existence of God17 as to curb the pretensions of those who mistakenly be¬ lieve such arguments can prove what no argument can ever prove, that the transcendent can be known to exist as such, without ever having to become immanent. Before we can regard it as pointing towards a real object, and so to act as the starting point of theology, our idea of God requires us to adopt a rational faith—much as does the thing in itself, in order to be justified as the starting point of Critical philosophy.18 Kant readily admits that the arguments can supplement our faith by providing good reasons 'to postulate the existence of an all-sufficient being', but warns that 'in presuming so far as to say that such a being necessarily exists [i.e., with real, not just logical necessity], we are no longer giving modest expression to an admis¬ sible hypothesis, but are confidently laying claim to apodeictic certainty.'19 That he regards 16. Ktl:664. Walsh interprets Kant's claim that the concept of God is itself 'devoid' of meaning by explaining that, although it is possible to use categories beyond the limits set by sensible intui¬ tion in order to think the concept of God, to do so we would need to use pure categories, which 'we simply do not know how to apply' [Wa63a:265]. In other words, when Kant says the concept of God is unthinkable, he really means that it presents us with a thought that cannot be schematized, and thus, can never become an object of empirical knowledge. As Wiebe argues in Wi8O:531, Kant's view is really quite similar to the medieval theological view that 'God, even if he is the first in the order of being [cf. the ground of all possibility] is still... last in the order of knowing.' The extent to which this similarity holds becomes most evident in XII.2, where we examine Kant's view of the ontological priority of God as an immediately experienced reality. Unfortunately, Wiebe ignores the significance of the difference between Kantian and medieval theology, as entailed by Kant's shift from a natural (i.e., theoretical) to a moral (i.e., practical) starting point. 17. Rohatyn, for example, takes Kant's criticism to be an actual 'disproof of God's existence [Ro74:30]! But far from ruling out the use of analogy [31], Kant's moderate treatment of the proofs prepares the way, as I argue in V.2-4, for a modern view of religious language as symbolic. 18. See KSP1:V. Kant draws a similar analogy in Kt4:101, where he says the distinction 'between the attributes of divine existence as independent of all temporal conditions and that of a being in the world of sense... is precisely that between the existence of a thing-in-itself and that of a thing in appearance.' But because both of them are transcendent and unknowable, the ideal and the thing in itself cannot, from any human perspective, be objectively differentiated. In both cases 'the absence ... of all definition [leaves us] merely with the conception of a not-sensible something containing the ultimate ground of the world of sense' [Kt7:466]. This is what leads Kant to call the idea of God 'a merely transcendental object, of which, as it is in itself, we have no conception whatsoever' [Ktl:725-6]. (In both cases the conceptual form of the object requires no faith; faith is needed only to posit a relation to some transcendent reality [see KSP1:V.2]. Of course, we use analogies to speculate about how they might be differentiated [724-5], as Kant does when he calls the ideal 'the thing in itself as fully determined' [604]. This implies that only the thing in itself (as well as its manifestation as the transcendental object) is 'inscrutable' in the strict sense: the ideal 'can never be said to be inscrutable. For since it... is in no sense given as thinkable object, it cannot be in¬ scrutable in the manner in which [the transcendental] object is' [642]. Rather, our difficulty in com¬ prehending it has to do with the fact that it is based on 'a mere idea' [see IV.2]. 19. Ktl:640. On the other hand, Kant would be no more sympathetic to those recent philosophers who regard theoretical proofs as supplying not certainty but 'probability' [see AIV.2 and note AIV.13].

AIV. How To Be a Theist without Proving that God Exists

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these arguments as evidence of our insatiable desire to reach out towards an unattainable knowledge of the transcendent—evidence that can be used to draw tentative conclusions about God's nature [see V.2-3]—is implied in Ktl:651, where he observes that the postulate of God is in conformity with the demand of our reason for parsimony of principles; it is free from self-contradiction, and is never decisively contradicted by any experience; and it is likewise of such a character that it contributes to the extension of reason's empirical perspective, through the guidance which it yields in the discovery of order and purposiveness. Kant has nothing against the proper use of rational arguments in order to clarify our con cept of God, and so to 'prepare the path for a religious response to Him' [Co67:126]. Indeed, he says: 'If what we have in view is the coming to a decision [an act]—if, that is to say, the existence of some sort of necessary being is taken as granted...—then [such arguments] must be allowed to have a certain cogency' [Ktl:615; cf. Wa63b:128]. For as Collins explains in Co67:113: 'A reversal in perspective takes place [in Kant's treatment of rational theology], so that now the critically aware mind comes to view the entire theoretical approach to God as a development out of a fundamental moral and religious belief in Him, rather than the converse relationship.' This is correct, as long as we regard this 'reversal' as referring far more to the tradition, than to a sharp differentiation between Kant's early and more mature position. For even in his first theological essay, in spite of its more positive attitude towards theoretical proofs in general, Kant concludes [Ktl5:163(366)] by warning us of their relative insignifi¬ cance: 'It is absolutely necessary to convince one's self of the existence of God; but it is not just so necessary that it should be demonstrated.' Accordingly, his criticisms of such proofs, in both Ktl5 and Ktl, are directed only against those 'incautious' thinkers who 'are easily de¬ ceived... into taking the limits by which the human mind is circumscribed as limits within which the very essence of things is contained' [Ktl9:389]. To do so is to ignore the supreme principle of Critical philosophizing, the principle of perspective. 2. Recent Attempts to Revive the Ontological Argument The foregoing account of Kant's arguments against the traditional theoretical proofs for the existence of God largely ignored the huge volume of secondary literature that exists on this subject—one of the most discussed aspects of Kant's entire philosophy. 20 The variety of Copleston supports a position similar to Kant's (though without acknowledging Kant's agreement) when he says in Co74:ll-2: 'the existence of the One...is affirmed by... "philosophic faith". The traditional metaphysical arguments for the existence of God make explicit for reflective thought this basic movement of the mind or spirit; but they cannot compel it. They presuppose and rest on philosophic faith. This is why it is possible for a man to admit the force of, say, Kantian criticism of the arguments and yet feel that there is something in them. For they represent a real act of transcending towards that which eludes man's grasp.' Many of the original proponents of the traditional arguments saw them in much the same way. Anselm's famous defense of the ontological argument, for example, was not intended to convince unbelievers that knowledge of God's exis¬ tence is necessary or even possible. On the contrary, Anselm clarifies his position at the outset: 'For I do not seek to understand so that I may believe, but I believe so that I may understand. For I believe this also that "unless I believed I shall not understand" [Is. 7:9]' [An65:115]. Thus Alston rightly interprets Anselm's intentions as attempting to prove only an existence 'in the under¬ standing' [A16O:1O5], which says nothing about a real God unless it is accompanied by faith. 20. Some typical examples of the many summary accounts of Kant's position on the theoretical proofs, aside from those discussed later in this section, are Co60b:294-307, Co67:102rll, Fo93, and Gr34:xlii-xliii [s.e. the three notes]; s.a. Ke23:522-40. In addition, almost any of the numerous introductory and/or critical interpretations of Ktl listed in Part Two of the KSP1 Bibliography contain a section or chapter on the proofs. De94 is a somewhat awkward, though impressively focused study of Kant's view of the proofs, convincingly arguing that there is a high degree of

430

APPENDICES

criticisms of Kant's claims is almost as great, though worthy of a brief and somewhat random overview. To make this task more manageable, I shall concentrate in this section on just a few of the more influential attempts that were made in the twentieth century to save the ontological argument from Kant's devastating criticisms. Writing at the very beginning of the century, Paulsen points out the insufficiency of Kant's version of the ontological argument [see PaO2:223], claiming that Kant sets up a 'spurious and vulgar representation of God as a particular being', not because this is what pro¬ ponents of the ontological argument believe in, but because it was easy to refute. Ironically, claims Paulsen, Kant himself ends up supporting the idea of God as a transcendental unity, which is what most proponents of the ontological argument would claim the argument is actually about! This is to some extent a valid point, though Paulsen may be underestimating how many dogmatically-minded philosophers and philosophically-minded religious believers really do, for all practical purposes, adopt the vulgar idea of God as a particular being. For this reason, the general aspect of Kant's refutation is not simply a straw man. One of the most detailed accounts of Kant's position is given in Wo78:95-145; but Wood's treatment typifies such accounts by failing to see the importance of the principle of perspective in Kant's arguments. As a result he ends up concluding that Kant's 'famous but badly unargued' criticism 'of the traditional theistic proofs is on the whole unsuccessful', in spite of the merely historical fact that his 'attack succeeded in bringing these proofs into disrepute' [123,149]. Wood judges the relative value of the proofs in the reverse order as Kant: for Wood the ontological argument is to be highly regarded, with the cosmological a close second, and the teleological is thought to be nearly worthless. But Wood gives away the rationalist bias that lies behind his interpretation (and is continually hinted at by his use of rigorous logic as the sole means of judging the meaning and validity of an argument) when he says 'the ontological proof... might well succeed in the context of a more rationalist epistemology' [123]. Kant, of course, would agree, but counter that an argument is not valid simply by virtue of its consistency with a mistaken set of presuppositions: Kant's criticisms of the traditional arguments are directed far more to such presuppositions than to any of their particular formulations, which may account for Wood's inability to grasp their force. Concerning the ontological argument in particular, Wood acknowledges that 'Kant's view has been, and still is, widely accepted'; yet he casts doubt on its validity, for 'no one as far as I can tell has ever presented a really persuasive argument for it' [Wo78:110]. He therefore believes he is justified in giving the ontological argument more validity than Kant allows. Apparently Wood is looking for a formal (i.e., logical) argument in defense of Kant's criticism. He fails to see that such an argument is not available, and is indeed irrelevant, since Kant's whole approach is rooted in the principle of perspective. Once this principle is recog¬ nized as the foundation for Critical philosophy, the perspectival difference between logical and transcendental reality obviously implies that existence cannot be a real predicate in the re¬ quired sense: no proof is required as long as this doctrine is properly explained in terms of its perspectival context. Indeed, the negation of the proposition is unmistakably self-contradictory when its perspectival terms are fully explicated: to assert that logical existence can serve as a real (transcendental) predicate is to conflate the logical and transcendental perspectives. Malcolm's earlier attempt to sneak the ontological argument past Kant's criticism [Ma60:145-56] suffers from this same mistake. After describing the terms 'impossible' and continuity on this issue throughout his writings; for a summary and detailed response, see Pa98. MacKinnon [Ma90a: 363] refers to C.C.J. Webb's Problems in the Relation of God and Man and R.C.S. Walker's The Coherence Theory of Truth as excellent attempts to defend the ontological arguments; unfortunately, limitations of time have prevented me from consulting these works.

AIV. How To Be a Theist without Proving that God Exists

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'necessary' as logical terms [145], he argues: 'God's existence is either impossible or necessary.... Assuming [the former] is not so, it follows that He necessarily exists' [146]. In order for this to be an ontological argument at all, 'God's existence' must here refer to God's real existence. Malcolm's acceptance of this assumption indicates his failure to recognize that real existence and logical necessity or impossibility belong to different perspectives, and so cannot be used in a single argument without falling victim to a category mistake. It is quite true both that God's real existence is either really impossible or really necessary and that necessary existence is a logically necessary constituent of the concept of God. (The former dichotomy is supported by the fact that a rejection of the latter leads directly to Findlay's proof for God's non-existence [Fi63:96-104].) But nothing in Malcolm's argument—or anyone else's for that matter—can bridge the gap between these two truths: the choice we face in considering the question of God's reality cannot (validly) be decided simply by clarifying what is logically involved in the mere concept 'God', as Malcolm claims [Ma60:149]; for the conclusion of such arguments, 'God's real existence is logically necessary', represents what might be called a 'perspectival incongruity'. Smart is quite right to say 'there can never be any logical contradiction in denying that God exists' [Sm55:34]—provided 'exists' is viewed from the empirical or transcendental per¬ spectives, but not the logical. Malcolm fails to appreciate Smart's nonlogical perspective when he argues that such a denial is itself a logical contradiction [Ma60:154-6]. The contra¬ diction would be to hold that the concept of God denotes a perfect being whose real existence is not necessary; to claim that the object to which such a concept refers might not exist in the empirical world is in no sense logically contradictory. This is essentially Plantinga's point in P161, though the extent of his awareness of the perspectival source of Malcolm's confusion [e.g., 171] is shrouded by the fact that he couches his rebuttal in unnecessarily complex logi¬ cal terminology. Coburn [Co71] responds to Plantinga by charging that he neglects Kant's claim that existence is not a property [20-2,27-8], but then ironically (having clarified this important point) turns around and disagrees with Kant's claim [26]. Coburn's disagreement, however, is once again rooted in a failure to realize that for Kant 'exists' is being taken solely from the logical perspective.21 Kant does not deny that empirical existence is a property (this being Coburn's view); his claim is that existence is not a property of a concept. Engel [En63] claims Kant intends a threefold distinction between real predicates, nonreal predicates, and the logical use of the copula, 'is'. He claims commentators are wrong to con¬ nect 'nonreal' with 'logical', because the latter applies only to the use of the copula. Engel's basic idea of a threefold distinction is perceptive and has considerable potential, but his account of it suffers from a subtle conflation of perspectives. The copula is the root of logic and is thus the defining feature of the logical standpoint (a standpoint Kant never critiques as such); Kant's distinction between 'real' and 'logical' in Ktl, however, falls entirely within the theoretical standpoint. Engel's failure to base his threefold distinction on these clear perspecti¬ val distinctions leads him into a hopelessly confused interpretation, concluding (not surprisingly) with a negative assessment of the validity of Kant's position. Another major proponent of such a priori arguments in the twentieth century has been Hartshorne, who argues: '//""God" stands for something conceivable, it stands for something actual' [Ha41:135]. He thinks this form of the ontological argument avoids Kant's 'slavishly accepted criticism' [HR53:97] by allowing that the concept of God might be unintelligible 2 1 . This tendency to misread Kant's critique of the ontological argument is widespread. See e.g., Vi70, who argues that Kant is wrong to think existence is not a predicate, but constructs arguments that assume the empirical perspective rather than the logical [s.e. 363,365n]. For a list of several other articles related to the ontological argument but not discussed here, see De94:72n.

432

APPENDICES

(thus justifying atheism), but insisting that if it is to be intelligible, then 'existence'—and not just logical, but real existence—must be a necessary part of the concept (thus justifying theism). Hartshorne, however, fails to grasp the essential perspectival point of Kant's criticism. For Kant's rebuttal would simply be that Hartshorne has never stepped out of the logical perspective, so his conclusion cannot refer to God as a real object, but only to our concept of God. That is, if he has proved anything, it is that the concept of God must stand for something conceived as actual; its actual actuality, so to speak, necessarily remains uncertain as long as we limit ourselves to the logical perspective; for this perspective, by definition, abstracts from all existing objects. Hartshorne's other formulation of the argument is also covered by Kant's criticism. 'The necessary being', argues Hartshorne, is 'that individual which existence implies' [Ha41:132]. This is technically not an ontological argument at all, but more like a cosmological argument. Though it may perhaps be too severe a criticism, one is tempted to say of Hartshorne what the young Kant says in Ktl4:(67) of someone who uses 'mixed ratiocination' (i.e., syllogisms with more than three elements): 'It is a pity to see the trouble that an able man takes trying to improve a useless thing. The only useful thing one can do with it is to annihilate it.' The difference, as we saw in the previous section and in IV.1-3, is that Kant does see a certain degree of usefulness in such arguments, as long as they are not regarded as proofs establishing irrefutable conclusions. 3. Clarifications of the Nature and Status of Kant's Moral Argument In IV.4 I have already considered several commentators' views on the nature and status of Kant's moral argument [s.e. notes IV.15,17,18]. But that treatment only scratches the surface of the secondary literature on this subject, so in this section I shall respond to a wider range of possible objections. For instance, Kant's attempt to put the fact of human obligation in place of the traditional proofs as a rational ground for faith in God is regarded by many as 'artificial' [e.g., We26:65] and contrived, since his own arguments in the first three stages of systeirip demonstrate that moral laws are valid quite apart from any postulation of God's existence. Kant attempts to clarify this point in Kt35:(40): 'Moral laws can be right without a third being [i.e., without a God in addition to the moral agent and the moral law], but in the absence of such a being to make their performance necessary they would be empty.... Knowledge of God is, therefore, necessary to make the moral laws effective, but it is not necessary for the mere apprehension of those laws.' In this sense, the relationship between duty and the postulate of God is analogous to that between intuition and conception, at least to the extent that we could say: God without moral laws would be dumb, moral laws without God would be powerless. Michalson takes this argument a step further in Mi86 (and repeated in Mi90:22-5). He claims the moral proof is based on certain 'non-moral elements' related to what Kant calls the 'needs of reason', requiring 'symmetry, proportion, and coherence in the universe' [Mi86:5O5]. Kant presents these as undefended assertions that he seems to think everyone will take as self-evident. The argument of Kt4, 'culminating in the postulate of God's existence, is in effect Kant's explicit demonstration of his implicit confidence in the rationality of the universe' [509]. Michalson's claim, in a nutshell, is that the moral argument rests not on the moral law so much as on Kant's assumption of 'a universe that makes sense' [509]. Thus he observes [512]: "The believer does not assent to belief in God in order to be moral, but only in order to satisfy reason's demand for symmetry.' All of this is quite accurate; but I see no sense in which it detracts from the central arguments Kant is advancing [see IV.4], especially when we keep in mind that Kant's demand for symmetry is part and parcel of the architectonic

AIV. How To Be a Theist without Proving that God Exists

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implications of his central Copemican hypothesis. Michalson's observations are rendered harmless once we recall that the moral argument in systemp is not meant to be part of a 'philosophy of religion', but only the bare foundation for a moral theology. Nuyen [Nu94:122] challenges Kant's moral argument by attempting to show that 'the promotion of the highest good can be a moral duty for a rational nonbeliever.' The 'religious postulates'22 are therefore not necessary, mainly because [130] 'given the limits of human cognition, we do not know whether the task of trying to attain the highest good is ultimately possible. Thus, it is not incoherent for the nonbeliever to pursue the highest good.' Kant would agree, but would add that it would be foolish to do so, given the empirical evidence against morality producing happiness. Nuyen's argument amounts to the view that a person can simply ignore the fourth stage of systemp, though in so doing he or she will not have any basis for hoping in the ultimate fulfillment of the highest good [131]. Ironically, this is precisely Kant's point: morality is hopeless for the 'rational nonbeliever'! Kant, however, would regard acting without hope as irrational. Nuyen is certainly right that the nonbeliever can promote the highest good, because this duty does not require 'that we attain the highest good.' But he neglects to point out that there is no reason to obey duty in this case. Nuyen himself admits 'there is something absurd about' such a scenario, due to the 'uncertain' outcome of such action [132]. But the latter is not Kant's focus. His claim is stronger, that we must at least be able to conceive of the possibility of its fulfillment; and this, the rational nonbeliever cannot do, so his or her continued adherence to the moral law becomes irrational. Nuyen concludes with another tacit confession of the weakness of his objection to Kant's position [132]: 'In the end, it could well be more rational to be religious.' In response to the view defended by Walsh and others [see note IV. 15], Friedman argues that Kant's moral argument 'does not merely enable the moral believer to defend his belief as something which he requires. The argument establishes that there is a God' [Fr86a:8]. But this ignores the subjective nature of the moral argument: it establishes that moral persons can be convinced there is a God. Friedman goes on to acknowledge this point [9]: 'Don't look to the world, Kant is saying, where the objects in question cannot, in principle, be found; look to the subject... In a practical argument / am the evidence.... The / of the practical argument is a universal /.' Indeed, this raises an important point about certainty: 'I am not less certain of God for not knowing Him.' That is, moral and theoretical certainty are different types of certainty, not different degrees. Friedman points out that here Kant and Kierkegaard are quite distinct from each other [10-1]. 'Kierkegaard believes... [t]he human subject is not certain of God.' The remainder of Fr86a is an excellent discussion of Kierkegaard's understanding of faith and uncertainty. Unfortunately, Friedman leaves the reader hanging by never returning to assess Kant's view from a post-Kierkegaardian perspective. In Wo89 Wood accuses Kant of 'violating an important moral principle' [417]: 'Kantian moral faith' is itself immoral 'simply because it is faith, that is, belief held in the absence of sufficient proof or evidence' [419]. Wood bases his entire argument on what he calls 'Clifford's Principle', the claim 'that a belief can be morally justified only if it is epistemically justified' [420]. Yet this is not so much a 'moral principle', as Wood applies it, but a direct challenge to Kant's emphasis on the primacy of practical reason. As a result of rejecting this fundamental Kantian principle, Wood ends up using unKantian notions of 'belief and 'evidence'. He totally ignores Kant's sharp distinction between theoretical belief (intended to produce knowledge) and practical belief (arising out of a pursuit of moral goodness). Thus, his claim that 'Good evidence produces belief irresistibly' [431] applies only 22. Nu94:124 and passim. This should read 'theological postulates', because the postulates on their own do not require religion. Deism suffices if we never progress beyond systemp.

434

APPENDICES ,

to theoretical belief (whose aim is to produce knowledge); moral beliefs are notorious precisely for being incapable of finding evidence sufficient to produce 'irresistible' belief. Kantian moral faith deals with objects (God and immortality) that cannot possibly be epistemically justified, because they are transcendent. Clifford's Principle, however, properly applies only to beliefs that have empirical objects, objects that could have some epistemic justification. Wood fails to distinguish between these two and therefore too readily assumes that Kant's moral faith falls under (and is thus made 'immoral' by) Clifford's Principle. Kant would actually agree with this principle insofar as it condemns a person for acting in a way that ignores clear empirical evidence to the contrary; but he would regard actions based on such unjustified theoretical belief as reason for calling a person not 'immoral', but foolish. Wood's main point is 'that Kant's moral argument is not capable by itself of producing rational conviction that God exists', because its conclusion 'is not that God exists, but rather that there is a rational inconsistency between disbelief in God and a disposition to promote the highest good' [Wo89:434; see note IX.28, above]. A good theoretical argument, by contrast, 'cannot fail to convince [even an atheist] that there is a God.' Instead of proving that God exists, Kant's argument shows [435] 'that belief in God would be [a] very desirable thing for a moral agent to have.' Wood thinks Kant is forced in the end to justify his moral faith in God's existence by making a Kierkegaardian appeal to 'emotional attachments' [432,436]. Such a 'clandestine', 'nonrational' basis for faith supposedly amounts to 'heteronomy' [437], thus introducing the allegedly immoral element into Kant's moral theory. What Wood neglects is that 'nontheoretical' is not the same as 'nonrational' for Kant, and that practical evidence can be—or even is—properly subjective without being heteronomous. Indeed, Wood has unwittingly turned Kant on his head: by rejecting the primacy of practical reason, he fails to recognize that for Kant an insistence on 'objective evidence' and theoretical justification [436] is far more likely to condone an 'immoral' disposition than a proper focus on the subjectivity of moral-practical reason. Wood's position does away altogether with practical reason as a standpoint distinct from and superior to the theoretical. As a result, he ironically ends up dubbing what is genuinely practical as 'heteronomy' and places his trust in a kind of theoretical claim to certainty that Kant would regard as heteronomous.

4. Kant's Alleged Atheism: Can a 'Fiction' Replace All Theoretical Proofs? The conclusion of IV.2 alludes to those interpreters who erroneously think Kant's occasional references to God as a 'fiction' imply that Kant does not actually believe in a real God at all.23 The notion that Kant is really a closet atheist is based on a total failure to appreciate the perspectival subtleties in his System, by treating systemt as Kant's final word on such matters. Friedman [Fr86b:515], for example, asserts that Kant's God is not real, but a mere 'thought thing'; he shows how Hegel related this criticism directly to Kant's criticism of the theoretical arguments [516]: 'Kant's God does not have the "reality" that a metaphysical or speculative argument might bestow on him.' While this is in a sense true, it is misleading. Kant's view is that this metaphysical type of 'reality' is a false hope and thus an improper or even dangerous foundation for religion. As argued in Chapter V, God's transcendence prevents us from successfully 'proving' God's existence as an external reality; the moral argument confirms God's reality, but only as a force we experience as immanent in human reason, through the moral law [see Fig. V.3]. When Kant calls God a 'fiction', he is referring only to the status of the concept, 'God', as 23. See e.g., Kw83:lll and Va81; s.a. note VI.5. Perhaps the best known advocate of this position was Vaihinger, whom Kemp Smith reports as believing 'that all our concepts of noumenal being, including that of Divine Existence, are but fictions' [Ke23:609; see Va81].

AIV. How To Be a Theist without Proving that God Exists

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viewed as an object from the speculative perspective of systemt. When the hypothetical per¬ spective replaces the speculative, this fiction attains the more secure status of a regulative 'idea' [see IV.2]. Along these lines Hicks [Hi74:382] says: 'Knowledge of God is precluded... [yet] the thought of God is indispensable because of the fragmented structure of human knowl¬ edge.' This is correct, but does not imply that Kant's God is a mere thought; the limitation is on our side, not God's. When Kant uses terms such as 'fiction', he is seeking to protect God from those who would storm heaven, so to speak, with their uncritical knowledge-claims. This problem becomes more pronounced when Kant makes statements such as 'the Idea [of God] proceeds entirely from our own reason and we ourselves make if [Ktl:442; s.a. Kt6: 443]. In Kt8:168-9(157n) Kant clarifies that, although 'it does indeed sound dangerous, it is in no way reprehensible to say that every man creates a God for himself, nay, must make such a God according to moral concepts..., in order to honor in Him the One who created him.' That this 'making' refers to a transcendental condition of necessitation that makes honoring God possible, not to an empirical act of fabrication that would make such honoring a farce, is confirmed by Ward: 'We make God only in the sense that we make every rational structure in the world' [Wa72:163]. In a 1794 letter to Beck Kant again confirms that this way of talking about God does indeed apply to all our knowledge: 'we can only understand and communicate to others what we ourselves can make' [AA1 l:496(Zw67:216)]. This is the proper context for Kant's many otherwise uninterpretable assertions about God in Kt9,24 such as that the idea of 'God is the moral-practical self-legislative reason' [21.145]; 'God is not a thing existing outside me, but my own thought' [21.153]; this idea is 'the product of our own reason' [22.117(201)], which 'is not a hypothetical thing but pure practical reason itself in its personality' [22.118(201-2)]. Ignoring the perspectival context of such comments, some interpreters take them to imply that Kant is seeking to identify God with practical reason. Ward, for example, claims that in Kt9 'Kant makes explicit a doctrine which is implicit in many earlier works, that God and practical reason are identical.'25 Since practical reason also belongs to human persons, this means human beings are also 'identical with God' [Wa72:164]. Likewise, Sullivan [Su71:123-4] interprets such claims to mean: "The source of this moral obligation, this "God," is not really anything other than reason itself.' Collins correctly charges such a view with failing 'to give due weight to Kant's distinction between the being of God and our idea of God (only the latter being assimilated to the moral imperative)' [Co67:119n]. McCarthy says aspects of Kant's theory in Kt8 already lead the reader to 'suspect an imminent dissolution of God' [Mc82:204]. Elsewhere he calls attention to 'passages of [Kt9] with an atheistic drift' [Mc86:63]. These raise the question of whether 'God is reason' [97-8]; but the text provides no decisive answer [98], except that somehow 'God escapes dissolution.' Copleston also regards the evidence as inconclusive, but believes Kant still upholds, even in Kt9, God as 'a Being distinct from man' [Co60b:392]. As 24. When reading Kt9 we must always keep Webb's reminder [We26:194] in mind, that 'we have before us rather the juxtaposition of different points of view than a synthesis of them in a unified system.' This is why Chapter XII is preceded by a chapter that attempts to locate the gap Kt9 is to fill in Kant's System. Only by keeping in mind its place in the System can we hope to weave Kant's diverse and conflicting comments into a coherent synthesis. 25. Wa72:164. Ward softens his claim [164] by explaining that Kant intends 'to identify God with the unknowable, unitary, self-positing source of the rational structures of reality; and, in particular, with this source as it is expressed in the morally practical reason of the individual rational agent.' To call God the source of practical reason is not as radical as to say God is practical reason. Yet Ward goes on to promote the stricter claim once again, saying that this 'identification of God and practical reason... is not explicitly stated in any prior works' [165] and implies 'God is identical with my real, or rational, self, and with the selves of all rational men.'

436

APPENDICES

evidence he quotes Kt9:21.15: 'the concept of God is the concept of an obligation-imposing subject outside myself [e.a.]. Given that Kant himself criticizes the 'sophistry' of those who transform 'an objective question of what the thing is into the subjective question of what the word, by which we signify the thing, means' [Kt8:89n(84n)], he would be unlikely to commit a similar fallacy by denying God's reality on the basis of the radically subjective nature of our idea of God. As Schrader points out, such a strict identification of 'God with the moral law' is really 'a Fichtean position' [Sc51a:231n], not to be confused with Kant's. A related problem has to do with the issue of whether God is a merely subjective and internal reality (e.g., a mere idea) or whether God has some objective and external existence as well (e.g., as a 'Being'). Peters thinks that even when Kant argues in Kt9 that 'the categorical imperative leads directly to God, and affords surety of His reality' [quoting Ad20:790-l], he is relating this only to the idea of God, not to any real God existing outside the human mind [Pe93:98; s.a. Su71:121-2,128]. The basis for this view lies in numerous comments Kant makes, such as [Kt9:21.144; s.a. 22.108] that 'God must be represented not as a substance outside me, but as the highest moral principle in me.' Ward regards this type of claim as being 'in open contradiction' [Wa72:161] with Kant's other claims, such as that our 'concept of God is that of a Being as supreme cause of the world-beings and as a person'.26 Indeed, Kant elsewhere unambiguously affirms the need for God to exist 'outside of mankind' .27 Likewise, Kant acknowledges in Kt23:405 that the inner 'voice' we associate with our aware¬ ness of God could come either from our 'own reason' or 'from an other' (or both) and that the habit of personifying the former in terms of the latter is acceptable within Critical limits. I therefore argue in XII.2 that in making the former type of claims Kant is stressing the immediacy of the categorical imperative and not intending to give a dogmatic denial of the possibility that God may also have some existence independent of human beings.28 Once we understand that Kant's reason for limiting our understanding of God to the 26. Kt9:21.19(Wa72:161). England highlights the same contradictory tendencies, aptly regarding them as different 'point[s] of view' [En29:199]. He cites Kt9:21.417 as an example of Kant's view that God is 'not a thing existing outside myself and Kt9:21.323,325,327-8 as some of the many passages where Kant writes freely as if God is an actual external reality. England also notes [En29: 199-200n] that Kant sometimes declares the idea of God to be a mere 'Dichtung' ('fiction') [e.g., Kt9:21.390,609], yet elsewhere explicitly denies this to be the case [e.g., 21.358,341]. And he observes that, although 'Kant speaks of God as "a mere Idea of reason'" [En29:200, quoting Kt9: 21.410], 'this "mere Idea" is said to have the greatest inward and outward reality.' (England's references are to Reicke's version of Kant's Werke, not to the AA edition.) Such apparent contra¬ dictions may be what led Jaki to call Kt9 'a classic morass of subjectivism' [Ja81:ll]; yet such an assessment can be avoided by appealing to the principle of perspective [see below and Ch. XII]. 27. Kt8:6(5-6). One of Kant's clearest statements in this regard comes in Kt2:361, where he says the ideas of reason depict 'the relation between that which lies beyond [the boundary of our knowledge] and that which is contained within it.' Kant goes on to explain that reason is 'constrained to look beyond this boundary' and that in so doing it leads us 'to something which is not itself an object of experience but is the ground of all experience. Reason does not, however, teach us anything concerning the thing in itself...'. Likewise, in Kt7:474 Kant argues that freedom gives us the basis for determining the idea of God in a way that constitutes (practical) 'knowledge' not only of 'the supersensible within us', but also of 'the supersensible without [i.e., outside of] us'. Such passages might imply an 'imaginative projection' [Da93c34O4]; but they surely confirm the link made in note V.21 between Kant's theory of God's nature and Tillich's notion of God as the Ground of Being. 28. Ward sometimes portrays Kant's position as being more self-contradictory than it actually is, as in Wa72:163, when he quotes Kt9:22.117 as saying 'God is "the product of our own reason".' For Kant actually says this about our idea of God, not about God as such. Nevertheless, Ward does aptly summarize '[t]he whole point of Kant's argument' [Wa72:164] as being 'that one should come to recognise that the dichotomy "real/fictional" simply cannot apply to the concept of "God". The concept is necessary but practical.'

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status of a practical, subjective belief is to keep us humble, his position seems quite compati¬ ble with theism—albeit, in a refined, Critical form. Thus Baillie rightly says [Ba39:161] that for Kant 'what is revealed to us is not theoretical knowledge but practical guidance, and ... what is asked of us in return is not intellectual assent but willing obedience.' Kant gives no decisive answer to the question about God's external reality precisely because it is a theoreti¬ cal question. He does ask the question, sometimes very clearly, as in Kt9:22.120(Su71:119): "There is a God in the soul of man. The question is whether he is also in nature.' As suggested in V.3 [s.e. Fig. V.3], Kant's answer would have been: theoretically we do not and cannot know, so it is best to assume a negative answer; but practically and therefore in our everyday (moral) life, we can act as if a moral God lies at the foundation of the natural world. As Collins rightly affirms, God 'becomes the God of our religious hope and desire' only when viewed as both 'the author of nature and [of] moral order' [Co67:152]. As such, God is not merely a substance, but is Substance itself. And Kant's motive for restricting his affirma¬ tions about God to the internal, subjective realm is to heighten (not diminish) the sense of submissiveness we ought to have towards this voice within. This, as we shall see in Chapter XII, is the key to the unity of Kant's entire philosophical System. A softening of the 'atheism' charge leads many interpreters to regard Kant as a deist. Perhaps chiefly responsible for this trend is Heine, who caricatures Ktl as 'the sword that slew deism in Germany' [He59:268], while seeing Kt4 as a feeble attempt to revive deism.29 Its popularity may be due more to Greene's claim in his strategically located introductory essay to Kt8, that this work is 'a deistic classic' [Gr34:lxxvii; s.a. lxvi]. Webb implies that Kant was a deist for most of his life when he says that in Kt9, Kant 'was prepared to repudiate... the deism which had been so predominant in his youth—the deism which taught a merely transcendent God' [We26:200-1]. Ironically, Vleeschauwer sees Kt9 itself as 'a public confession of deism' [V162:177]. Following this trend, Zweig infers from Hamann's 1759 letter to Kant that Kant equates 'deism' with 'sanity' [Zw67:35n]. Yet in this letter Kant actually sets himself up as an arbitrator between Hamann the Christian and Berens the deist. Zweig's placement of Kant on the side of Berens is not justified from the content of the letter, which shows us a typical example of Kant acting in his Critical position as a middle man. Fortunately, a growing rank of scholars now rejects such interpretations. Despland, for example, argues that in his philosophy of religion 'Kant... moved beyond the classical deist position' [De73:198; s.a. 199-201,228,262; No73:431; Wi80:515]. Michalson agrees that 'Kant's flexible attitude towards [the parerga in Kt8] helps to distinguish him from the main¬ stream deism of his day' [Mi89:265; see AVII.l], while McCarthy says the same about Kant's use of symbols [Mc86:69; see V.2]. As Collins puts it [Co67:117], 'Kant regards religious deism and the varieties of nature-based theism as incomplete, preliminary forms of religious life.' Indeed, as I demonstrate in Part Two, Kant moves beyond these to form a moral theism30 that is thoroughly compatible with his Critical principles. Kant's theistic outlook is 29. See IV.l for more on Heine. Gulick questions the ability of a 'purely intellectual abstraction' such as 'God' to 'motivate moral behaviour' [Gu94:103] and claims that 'God as architect and creator is a lifeless deistic being serving the philosophical quest for unity and order.' But surely the symbol of an architect connotes a God who is alive [see note IV.24]! 30. S.e. IV.4, V.4, and VI.2; cf. Lo81:303. McCarthy [Mc86:63] affirms that 'those who would interpret Kant's position in [Kt8] as ultimately deism' must admit after reading Kt26 'that Kant himself regarded his God-concept as theistic' McCarthy later [90-1] develops this view in a way that is strikingly similar to the position I defend in VI.4, though I had already published the article version of that chapter when I first came across Mc86: 'Christianity is not... simply morality. It is moral theism.... [It] is beyond both the plain theism of natural theology and the deism of transcendental theology. If this definition reduces the life of religion to morality, it does not make

438

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acknowledged so consistently throughout his writings that I would even call into question the assumption that Kant ever seriously defended a deistic position. Hare concurs with this view, arguing 'that Kant is not a deist' even 'in the ordinary sense' of the term [Ha96:41,45]. Admittedly, Kant usually expresses his rejection of deism in very cautious terms. This is understandable, given the dominance of deism in the philosophical climate of his day. Nev¬ ertheless, some texts reveal his dissatisfaction with deism so clearly that all debate on this question ought to be a thing of the past. In a 1789 letter to Jacobi, for instance, Kant ap¬ proves of his friend's refutation of 'the syncretism of Spinozism and the deism of Herder's God' [AAll:74(Zw67:158)]. And in Kt2:356-7, Kant says that if theism and anthropomor¬ phism are both abandoned, then 'nothing [would] remain but deism, of which nothing can come, which is of no value and which cannot serve as any foundation to religion or morals.' The only way deism can plausibly be attributed to Kant is by defining the term in a way that is foreign to him and arguing that, because his Critical theology defends positions that others associate with deism, we are justified in calling Kant a deist. This is Wood's strategy in Wo91:l [s.a. Wo89:435], where he regards Kant's 'idiosyncratic' definition of 'deism' as merely 'a device to deflect reproach from Kant's own heterodox religious views.' He argues that Kt8's title is a direct reference to deism (in its ordinary sense)—though he admits that 'the title by itself does not necessarily imply that Kant embraces the deistic position that reli¬ gion can get along without revelation' [Wo91:2; cf. VI.2, above]. Yet he merely assumes that Kant's numerous expressions of openness to revelation and other orthodox Christian beliefs [cf. VIII.2-4 and AVII-AVIII] 'are meant to appease those who think [religion] cannot [get along without revelation].' (I refute this all-too-common assumption in notes VI.28, VIII.4, 27, and 45.) Wood gives an accurate account of Kant's reasons for rejecting most manifesta¬ tions of ecclesiastical faith [3-7] and rightly points out that Kant supports 'rational or natural religion' [7]; but he neglects the fact that for Kant some empirical manifestation is necessary in order for religion to be genuine, and that this will inevitably involve an appeal of one kind or another to revelation, even though 'bare reason' is incapable of saying in advance which revelation is true [see VII.3.A and VIII.3.A]. Thus, when Wood defines a 'deist', quite cor¬ rectly, as 'someone who believes in a natural or rational religion rather than a religion based on supernatural revelation' [10, e.a.], he inadvertently excludes Kant from the ranks of deism. For Kant is always careful never to deny revelation a priori (as any good deist must), but al¬ ways to put revealed religion in its proper context, allowing for its possibility and even pro¬ priety, as long as it remains in partnership with rational religion. In the end [e.g., 11-2], Wood's own deism shows through, for he demands knowledge, rather than being satisfied with rational belief—the latter being the only basis for the religion Kant wishes to defend. So when Kant confesses his ignorance, Wood reads this as a rejection rather than a humble acceptance. In a similar fashion Sokol assumes Kant ought to reject theism, if he wishes to advocate the 'secular humanism' implied by his 'Principle of Autonomy' [So86:424]. Sokol admits Kant does enter 'into the territory of the theist' [430]; but he regards this as an 'unjustified step' from 'the standpoint at which he began, a secular humanism' [431]. The key difference is that '[t]he secularist... can have no higher motivation for acting morally ... than acting out of respect for the moral law ... But the theist recognizes another authority'—i.e., God. What Sokol neglects is Kant's dependence on the principle of perspective: Kant's whole point, as shown in Chs. VI-VIII, is that the so-called 'secular humanist' perspective that is religion thereby merely equivalent to morality.... [Rather, it] elevates Christianity above morality to moral religion.' McCarthy's account of Kant's 'moral theism' differs from mine in a number of ways, however, as when he claims [104] Kant's 'theos is remote, transcendent, and impersonal.' See V.2-4 and XII.2,4 for a refutation of this claim.

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appropriate for moral philosophy, and is admittedly deistic, must be transformed into the perspective of religious theism, if morality itself is to attain its highest ends. (See note VIII.30 for more on Sokol's interpretation.) One of the most significant factors in understanding how Kant can be a theist without proving that God exists is his conviction that logical argumentation has definite (and rather narrow) limits of proper applicability. He demonstrates this throughout the Dialectic of Ktl, but most notably in the Antinomies, where he demonstrates that logical arguments can be concocted to prove either of two opposing theses. The lesson he wants us to learn from this, I believe, is that philosophers must resist the temptation to treat pure logic as their god—i.e., as a sufficient method for obtaining truth on any and every issue. For Kant, 'reason' includes more than just logical cognition; logic is, in fact, a derivative of willing; and even aesthetic and/or teleological judging (as the standpoint of genuine critique) have architectonic priority over abstract logical argumentation. Indeed, to depend on purely logical forms of argument (see e.g., my comment on Plantinga in AIV.2) can sometimes be unethical, inasmuch as it can lead a person to support conclusions that contradict the clear demands of practical reason. Kant's refusal to give priority to the theoretical application of logic in the grounding of theology can be regarded as an antidote to the kind of Humean theology advanced by Flew in F166. For Flew is a good example of the approach to philosophy that Kant regards as harmful to the best interests of humanity: an uncritical trust in the all-sufficiency of logic plus empirical evidence to prove or disprove any and every point at issue [see e.g., 2.16,49-52], and a neglect of the perspectival difference between human beings (beings necessarily bound by perspectives) and God (a perspectiveless Being) [see e.g., 2.40]. For instance, he argues [2.21] that in order to form a concept of God, there must be 'some definite and positive statements which are literally true, if the whole enterprise is to be capable of getting off the ground at all.' He cites 'God exists and possesses such and such basic characteristics' as 'the very least' that is required. I argue in Chapters IV-V, by contrast, that for Kant belief in God coupled with a symbolic description of basic divine characteristics is all philosophical theology can ever hope to demonstrate. Perhaps for this very reason, Flew never engages fully with Kant's position: to do so would be to threaten the viability of his own approach. Instead, he argues primarily with orthodox (mostly Catholic) theologians, such as St. Thomas, who share his own bias for the power of theoretical reason. Whenever he touches upon the views of theologians who do take a Kantian (perspectival) approach seriously, he dismisses them without argument, charging them with being 'an abstraction' [2.18], 'rash' [2.19], or 'uncongenial' to the true Christian [2.44; cf. 1.16]. Flew reveals the full extent of his logicoempirical bias when he concludes his book [9.29] with the claim 'that the universe itself is ultimate; and, hence, that whatever science may from time to time hold to be the most fundamental laws of nature must... be taken as the last words in any series of answers to questions as to why things are as they are.' Kant's critique of all theoretical proofs of God's existence is chiefly responsible for giving him the reputation of being the 'destroyer' of metaphysics in general and theology in particular [see I.I]. But we have now seen that his position is disastrous only for types of theology that claim to establish knowledge of God's existence. Kant's critique puts such proofs in their proper place by showing how they can be pointers to an unknowable reality, even though we remain necessarily ignorant of whether or not what they point to actually exists. Such pointers must ultimately be grounded in moral belief in order to be convincing. In this way he actually protects theistic religion from philosophical sophisticates by insuring that the unconditioned reality we call 'God' cannot be apprehended as such by our limited powers of understanding and reason.

Appendix V Jesus and Kant: Four Perspectives on Moral Judgment 1. A Model for Kant-Based Dialogue between Philosophers and Theologians In arguing against the common trend in both theology and philosophy, whereby philosophers such as Heidegger and theologians such as Barth stand willingly back to back, facing opposite directions, Copleston urges 'that an adequate understanding of the Christian faith requires philosophical reflection, and that it is not facilitated by a wholesale rejection of metaphysics' [Co74:53]. Taking into account the theocentric orientation of Kant's philosophy [see 1.3] may help to reverse this trend, which is traceable in both disciplines to various misinterpretations of Kant. Theologians and philosophers might be more willing to stand face to face—the only posture from which meaningful dialogue is possible—if both recognized that Kant destroyed the old parent-child relationship of theology to philosophy not in order to make them complete strangers, but rather to enable them to work side by side towards a common goal. 'The ultimate aim' of such cooperation, Smith suggests, is 'to overcome the emptiness and formality of philosophy and to frustrate the obscurantist and parochial tendencies in theology' [Sm68:8]. A thorough study of Kant's philosophy and its theological and religious implications, such as that carried out in the first two volumes of Kant's System of Perspectives, can be particularly helpful in stimulating such dialogue because Kant is respected almost universally by philosophers as one of the great thinkers in the history of Western philosophy—if not the greatest. Indeed, many would agree that 'Kant, in modern times, has replaced Aristotle as a kind of intellectual reference system' [Ge69:135], and would join MacKinnon in hailing him as 'surely the supreme German philosopher' [Ma79:135; s.a. Ma68:22-6 and Le65:16]. The number of theologians and philosophers of religion who would also acknowledge Kant as a major influence on their ideas is virtually unlimited. Even Gilson, who has fundamental disagreements with Kant, regards him as the primary philosophical alternative to Thomas Aquinas for the Christian [Gi41:114]. What Barth says of Kant's influence on nineteenthcentury theologians would apply to most twentieth century theologians as well: 'He stands by himself... a stumbling-block and rock of offence..., someone determinately pursuing his own course, more feared than loved, a prophet whom almost everyone even among those who wanted to go forward with him had first to re-interpret before they could do anything with him' [Ba72:267]. If indeed Kant is the primary figure in the modern Western philosophical tradition, the theologian can hardly ignore him. For, as Wood suggests: 'To face up squarely to the prob¬ lems of the tradition, as Kant did, remains by far the most straightforward and intellectually honest way for a modern theologian to discharge his philosophical responsibilities' [Wo78: 151]. To interpret Kant in a way that is philosophically acceptable and yet leaves open a legitimate field for the theologian to work would therefore provide an effective basis for inter¬ disciplinary dialogue by establishing much-needed common ground between philosophy and theology. But the respect Kant evokes from philosophers and theologians is not the only reason for embarking on a new, theologically-conscious interpretation of this over-worked philoso¬ pher. An even more important reason stems from a problem we have already acknowledged [see 1.1-2]. Kant is far too frequently interpreted in a one-sided fashion, especially by those who (conveniently) claim that large portions of his work are irrelevant to or inconsistent with the 'truly Kantian' material. Because of the confusion this creates, especially for anyone whose primary concern is not philosophical, many theologians and philosophers of religion

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have ignored or repudiated the importance of Kant. Flew's book on the philosophy of religion [F166] is a typical example: it entirely ignores the relevance of Kant's views on the subject, devoting only two paragraphs [5.44-5] to a brief description and trite criticism [cf. AIV.4]. Rather than pedantically listing other works that suffer from such an oversight, let us examine one case in slightly more detail. Hartshome's treatment of Kant is even more misleading than Flew's, because he ac¬ knowledges Kant's importance, but fails to give him a fair hearing. With Reese, he voices the common objection: 'Of all criticisms of philosophical theology, probably none has been so influential as those of Kant.... [However,] Kant's criticisms depend, more than is commonly noted, on certain features of his own system which are now usually rejected' [HR53:142]. They then severely misinterpret and trivialize, among other things, Kant's doctrine of sensi¬ bility [147]. As evidence of their failure to grasp the essential thrust of Kant's philosophy, they accuse him of being 'imprisoned in the half-truths in which the monopolar prejudice, the neglect of the principle of polarity, is bound to result' [146]. Each of these criticisms, how¬ ever—especially the latter—betrays an acceptance of an overly simplified or one-sided inter¬ pretation of Kant. Such interpretations lead naturally to the assumption that theologians who accept Kant must give up most or all of their endeavors. The implications of such an ap¬ proach are brought out more clearly in Hartshome's defense of the ontological argument [Ha65], which itself neglects Kant's principle of perspective [see AIV.2]. Describing Kant as a 'calamitously overestimated German philosopher' [221], Hartshorne explicitly rejects Kant's Copernican revolution [232] and evinces his lack of appreciation for Kantian methodology in general when he boldly states: 'Unbelief [in God] is confusion or else belief is confusion. There is no third possibility' [135]—thus totally ignoring the crucial role of mystery and the recognition of ignorance in Kant's System [see V.I and PaOOa:55-8]. Such theologians and philosophers of religion remain unaware of—or at least, nonreceptive towards—the lasting, though sometimes subtle, contribution Kant has made to their subject. This alone, if nothing else, calls for a fresh statement of just what that contribution is, so that the doors of theological reflection can remain open even (or especially) for the Kantian—and, indeed, vice versa. Making such a fresh statement is the main task of this book. The remainder of this appendix will therefore present one obvious example of how philosophers and theologians can find common ground in Kant. Jesus' well-known admonition 'Do not judge lest you be judged yourselves' [Matt. 7:1] is often interpreted as a radical principle requiring people not to make moral judgments at all.1 The next verse reads: 'For in the way you judge, you will be judged; and by your standard of measure, it shall be measured to you.' The Old Testament contains a text that is similar to Matthew 7:1. Ezekiel 7:27 reports God as saying: 'According to their conduct I shall deal with them, and by their judgments I shall judge them.' Quotes from biblical texts in this Appendix are taken from the New American Standard Bible (Carol Stream, 111.: Creation House, Inc., 1960): When read in conjunction with the parallel passage in Luke 6:37 ('do not pass judgment and you will not be judged; and do not condemn, and you shall not be condemned; pardon, and you will be pardoned'), Jesus' principle is often regarded simply as a specific warning not to condemn others. However, his statement can also be interpreted more generally as laying down an absolute principle banning all moral judgment whatsoever. Thus, for example, Schweizer suggests that Matthew 7:1-2 asks us 'to forgo judging entirely', because 'we are lost as long as we live at all by the categories of weighing, measuring, and classifying' [Sc75:168-9]. He continues [170]: 'When we realize that we no longer have to judge, that is, assign people to higher or lower positions, then we will no longer judge ourselves—no longer be judged, and we will be able to stand confidently and fully before the judgment of God.' (In Th70:188-199 Thomas adopts an interpretation similar to Schweizer's, which I shall criticize below.)

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He apparently puts in the place of all moral 'absolutes' (such as the rules found in the Old Testament and Jewish tradition) a pragmatic principle that can be applied more flexibly to each particular situation (viz., the so-called 'golden rule'): 'whatever you want others to do for you, do so for them, for this is the Law and the Prophets' [Matt. 7:12]. Similarly, his summary of 'the whole Law and the Prophets' [Matt. 22:40] in terms of the twofold greatest commandment, 'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart...' and 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself' [Matt. 22:37,39; cf. Lev. 19:18], seems to imply that fixed (and apparently objective) rules to guide our moral judgment are not as important as the more subjective principle that our actions be performed in a spirit of love [see IX.2]. These three principles seem at first sight to stand in sharp contrast to Kant's principle of moral judgment, the categorical imperative [Kt4:30]: 'So act that the maxim of your will could always hold at the same time as a principle establishing universal law.' S.B. Thomas, for example, regards Kant's principle as implicitly contradicting the first of the abovementioned admonitions of Jesus, because one requires, while the other forbids, 'the stance of being the moral-judge of [Th70:191]. If regarded as a strict moral principle, the golden rule seems to render morality completely subjective, to the extent that it could border on hedonism ('what pleases you is what you should do to others')—two tendencies that are obviously contrary to the emphasis on universality and formalism in Kant's moral philosophy. In Kt4:83-5 Kant himself acknowledges the difference between the categorical imperative and Jesus' summary of the Law in terms of the greatest commandment (which I shall refer to as 'Love God and man'): he warns against the danger of the latter principle giving rise to 'a nar¬ row moral fanaticism', which is immoral because it involves the 'overstepping of limits which practical pure reason sets to mankind.' These prima facie differences between the moral principles of Jesus and Kant should not, however, lead us to conclude that their viewpoints are incompatible. On the contrary, Kant in his writings on religion shows the deepest respect for Jesus (to the extent that he avoids using his name in Kt8 by referring to him indirectly, with descriptions [see note VIII.21]), and par¬ ticularly for his teachings. He goes so far as to argue that true Christianity (i.e., the teaching of Jesus, properly interpreted) is virtually identical with the 'universal religion of mankind', towards which he believes his own moral philosophy points.2 It seems very unlikely, there¬ fore, that Kant himself would want to deny the validity of such key teachings of Jesus as the three mentioned above. In the remainder of this appendix I shall argue that if we properly understand these four principles, In this appendix I adopt a position midway between these two traditional interpretations by treating Jesus' words as putting forward a moral principle that primarily requires us not to impose our own moral maxims on other people. The context clearly supports such a moderate interpreta¬ tion, since Jesus goes on to talk about paying attention to 'the log that is in your own eye' (i.e., your own inability to follow your own moral maxims) before presuming to 'take the speck out of your brother's eye' [Matt. 7:3-5]. Schweizer notes (but glosses over the fact) that the strict interpretation of 'Do not judge' actually contradicts the implication in Matthew 7:2 that some kind of moral judgment is permissible [Sc75:168]. But he fails to mention the even clearer implications in verses 3-5, which seem to require that i/we have cleansed our own eye, then we ought to help our peers to cleanse theirs. Just how the 'Do not judge' can be consistent with the moral judgment needed to do the latter is one of the main issues to be discussed below. 2. See VIII.1-3. In the Preface to Kt8 [6(5)], Kant proclaims: 'Morality thus leads ineluctably to religion' [s.a. 8n(7n) and 155(143)]. In Kt65:9 Kant describes his attitude towards Christianity quite clearly: 'I have evidenced my great respect for Christianity in many ways... Its best and most lasting eulogy is its harmony, which I demonstrated in [Kt8], with the purest moral belief of religion.' The sense in which Kant's system of religion can be regarded as an attempt to portray Christianity as 'the universal religion of mankind' is examined in detail in Chapter VIII, above.

AV. Jesus and Kant: Four Perspectives on Moral Judgment

and

443

(1) Jesus' 'Do not judge', (2) Kant's categorical imperative, (3) Jesus' golden rule, (4) Jesus''Love God and man',

then we can regard them not as mutually exclusive, but as expressing four complementary perspectives on the nature of moral judgment. This will give us a good example of how a perspectival interpretation provides a suitable foundation for cooperation between philosophers and theologians. 2. The Transcendental and the Logical Perspectives Let us begin by looking more closely at S.B. Thomas' treatment of this matter, because his way of resolving the conflict between (1) and (2) is quite similar to the method I shall adopt for understanding the relationship between all four principles. He points out, quite rightly, that there is a perspectival difference between the standpoints (or as he calls them, 'stances') assumed by these two principles. Jesus adopts a 'religious' standpoint, or 'a way of being', whereas the moral judgment involved in Kant's 'rational* standpoint 'appears to belong to a wholly different sphere of thought' [Th70:194]. "The "judge not" of Jesus' applies only 'at the religious level' [196]. Thomas points out that 'the Christian ... is at a great advantage [over the rational moralist] by virtue of having existential access to the solution to the moral problem' [196]. He argues that 'the apparent discrepancy can be reconciled if one first adopts the existential standpoint of Jesus, and then only secondarily takes up the rational position of Kant as expressing the requirements of his [i.e., Jesus'] religion stripped of their religiosity, so to speak' [194]. Kant would agree that religiosity and rational moral principles belong to entirely differ¬ ent standpoints [see VI.2]. Yet Thomas ignores the fact that Kant himself not only recognizes this difference, but develops his system of religion with precisely this perspectival distinction in mind. Although Thomas' conclusion is therefore not entirely fair to Kant (except as a statement about systemp on its own), its main thrust is unobjectionable: Kant and the Kantians need Jesus and the Jesusians far more than the latter need the former; for it is far more important for the Kantian [i.e., for a proponent of Kant's practical system] to allow his incipient moral dogmatism to be tempered with the quality of love and acceptance ... than it is for a follower of Jesus to be able to give rational stability to his external actions [199]. If Jesus' religion is what he (and Kant!) claim it to be, then this is certainly true; but it ignores the fact that Kant would agree that his moral theory on its own is too narrow to encompass religion. In Kt8:12(ll) Kant explains that the historical and revelatory elements of a real (empirical) religion compose 'the wider sphere of faith, which includes within itself the [sphere consisting of the practical or moral essence of pure religion], as a narrower one (not like two circles external to one another, but like concentric circles).' He tries to make room for the wider sphere in his philosophical System by expounding what we can 'hope' in his third, 'judicial' system, to which his theory of religion properly belongs.3 Thomas has, I believe, hit upon the right method for explaining the relationship between the moral principles of Jesus and Kant, yet he has applied that method in the wrong way. Although it is true that much of Jesus' teaching could be called 'existential', and that Kant explains on several occasions that the standpoint of his System's third division is determined by the question, 'What may I hope?' [see note III.5]. That his theory of religion is a crucial part of this third division, and not a mere appendage to systemp, is defended at length in VI.2-4 and throughout Part Three.

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APPENDICES

>

nearly all of it is intended primarily to encourage a certain type of religiosity (i.e., a certain way of life), this does not mean his teaching is devoid of rational principles. On the contrary, all three of Jesus' admonitions listed in the previous section ought to be regarded as funda¬ mental rational principles for moral judgment. This, of course, means that Jesus and Kant are adopting the same standpoint after all (viz., the standpoint of 'practical reason')- The apparent conflict between their respective principles can be resolved once we recognize that different perspectives operate within the same standpoint [see III. 1-2 and AIII.l]. In other words, even though Kant and Jesus are trying to do roughly the same thing (viz., establish rational principles for moral judgment), moral judgment itself can be viewed in different ways, and the character of the principle is determined by the perspective it assumes. When Jesus commands 'Do not judge', he is not denying the legitimacy of all moral judgment (which would, in fact, contradict what he goes on to say in Matt. 7:3-11 [see note AV.l]); on the contrary, he is laying down what we can call a transcendental principle for (i.e., a necessary condition for the possibility of) all moral judgment. The implications of the condition Jesus lays down are completely consistent with the transcendental condition of moral judgment in Kant's practical system—viz., freedom. For Kant the moral law itself, as expressed in the categorical imperative, would be impossible were it not for the fact that each individual person starts with a fundamental (though inexplicable [see Kt4:72]) freedom of the will. To judge another person (i.e., to impose one's own moral maxims onto someone else) is to deprive that person of their right to be judged according to their own maxims, implying that one wills that the other not be free. To do this is to fail to respect the other person.4 When Jesus adds to his 'Do not judge' the explanation 'For in the way you judge, you will be judged...' [Matt. 7:2], he is warning that our own moral freedom depends on our mutual willingness to give moral freedom to other people. However, the full force of his claim is rarely acknowledged: he appears to be saying that God will judge us according to the way we judge others, so that, for example, if we leave others to determine what is right for them, God will leave us to determine what is right for us. In any case, the implication of Jesus' claim is that our ability to make free moral judgments concerning our own actions depends on the extent to which we give that same freedom to others. In this sense, then, his 'Do not judge' is not just a piece of good, 'existential' advice; it is the very foundation of the possibility of any real moral judgment (and hence, can be called transcendental). When Kant sets forth his categorical imperative, by contrast, he is assuming the freedom of the individual and trying to explain in logical terms just what the self-legislating freedom of the moral law implies for the moral agent. In other words, he is asking: On what basis can we analyze our own moral maxims in order to determine whether or not they provide us with proper rules for the right course of action? Kant's suggestion that we make such judgments on the logical basis of a consideration of whether or not our maxim can be universalized does not imply that we have to defy the commandment 'Do not judge' in order to understand the difference between right and wrong courses of action. Rather it indicates that we have to judge ourselves by our own internal and self-legislative moral law before we act, and that the proper way of doing so is to test each maxim by considering whether or not it would be rational to make it a universal law (i.e., to conceive of it as being a maxim all people naturally legislate to themselves). Respect, of course, is also an important element in Kant's moral theory. It applies not only to our attitude towards the moral law (see below), but also to our attitude towards persons. Thus, Kant's second formulation of the categorical imperative incorporates this factor: 'Act so that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in that of another, always as an end and never as a means only' [Kt5:429].

AV. Jesus and Kant: Four Perspectives on Moral Judgment

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We can avoid Thomas' problematic assumption that Jesus and Kant are speaking on entirely different levels as long as we recognize that Jesus' 'Do not judge' lays down a transcendental requirement for moral freedom (viz., that moral judgment is first and foremost an individual matter), whereas Kant's categorical imperative explicates a logical means of analyzing one's own moral maxims (viz., that we must be able to conceive of them as universal). It may seem as if Kant's criterion of universality contradicts Jesus' requirement of not judging others, since the former requires us to determine what maxims others 'ought' to hold. However, this is a misunderstanding of Kant's principle. Kant is not suggesting that the categorical imperative justifies us in forcing everyone else to abide by our maxims, nor in condemning them for not so abiding; he is suggesting instead that it enables us to understand what we ourselves are commanded to do.5 In other words, the moral law presents its impera¬ tives to me as categorical ('I ought to...'), yet it can never give me anything more than hypothetical knowledge about anyone else's duties ('If you were me, you ought to...'): the moral law does not give me commands about what you ought to do! Hence, it is fully compatible with Jesus' 'Do not judge', though each assumes a different perspective. With this perspectival distinction in mind, we can therefore turn now to the third and fourth principles of moral judgment in order to consider their relationship with each other and with the two discussed in this section. 3. The Empirical and the Hypothetical Perspectives The perspectival interpretation of these four principles of moral judgment, as interacting within the standpoint of practical reason, has several benefits: it not only clarifies the compatibility between the principles of Jesus and Kant, but also provides the basis for a reconstruction of Kant's moral philosophy that renders it more credible than on the standard formalistic interpretation. A good example can be seen by considering Kant's claim that the human will, as subject to the moral law, cannot contradict itself [e.g., Kt5:424]. This doctrine is often regarded as evidence of the inadequacy of his moral philosophy, since in ordinary experience it is not unusual for us to come face to face with apparently irresolvable ethical conflicts. Nevertheless, if we place this doctrine in its proper, perspectival context, then the difficulty can be resolved. When Kant says duties cannot contradict each other, we should in¬ terpret him as meaning that the moral law is a logical law, a law that defines moral worth and in so doing commands us to do one thing and not its opposite. Kant would admit, though, Kant does assume the moral law will appear to each individual in the same way, so that ethical absolutes (such as 'Do not lie') can be established. Establishing such guidelines is possible, he maintains, only if the negation of the maxim in question (e.g., 'Sometimes it is right to lie') gives rise to an irrational conception of the world. Kant's views on the application of his moral philosophy to the determination of such ethical absolutes have given rise to considerable debate. For our present purposes, however, this debate is irrelevant, because within the confines of Kant's practical system (as opposed to his view of its application to real situations) the moral law is strictly intended to be applied only by individuals to make moral judgments for themselves. In this connection it is worth noting that Jesus offers & fourth moral principle that can be taken as performing the same function in the Sermon on the Mount as Kant's categorical imperative performs in systemp. After showing with several examples how the 'letter' of the Law must be intensified by attending to its true 'spirit', Matthew 5 concludes with Jesus' summary of his message in the form of a principle: 'Therefore you are to be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect' [Matt. 5:48]. Most of Chapter 6 then deals with the proper relationship between external actions and internal motivations. Seen in this context, the point of Jesus' statement is very similar to Kant's point in arguing that duty must be done only for the sake of the moral law, not in order to fulfill one's inclinations. Indeed, Kant would fully accept Jesus' repeated warning to those who follow the latter way: 'Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full' [Matt. 6:2,5,16].

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APPENDICES

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that in real human situations we are often simply incapable of reasoning consistently enough (or perhaps, of being open enough to the law of freedom) to 'hear' the voice of conscience clearly. As a result we are often torn between two or more options and left more or less empty handed in difficult ethical situations. Kant's moral philosophy is not meant to suggest that all moral decisions are straightforward, but only that if we could open ourselves completely to the voice of the moral law in each situation, then the way would be clear. That human weakness often prevents us from achieving such clarity should not detract from the fact that morality is inherently rational (and thus, not self-contradictory). The golden rule is a principle designed to help people cope with such human weakness. In contrast to the apparently 'iron' rigidity of the moral law, the golden rule, like pure gold, is pliable and readily applicable to virtually any situation. This principle can therefore be regarded as offering an 'empirical' or 'existential' guideline. Regardless of what Kant himself may have thought about the golden rule,6 it is quite consistent with a perspectival interpretation of his moral system. For the command 'whatever you want others to do for you, do so for them' really boils down to something quite similar to Kant's emphasis on respect.

Kant describes respect for the moral law as an unpleasant feeling, or even a 'pain', that arises because the moral law 'humiliates' our 'self-conceit' (or 'self-love') by disciplining us to subordinate our desire to be happy (by fulfilling our inclinations) to our obligation to do our duty (by following the moral law) [Kt4:73-82]. Such respect makes us aware of the fact that 'the idea of the moral law deprives self-love of its influence and self-conceit of its delu¬ sions' [75]. This 'moral feeling' of respect [76] 'does not serve for an estimation of [the moral worth of] actions or as a basis of the objective moral law itself but only as an incentive to make this law itself a maxim.' Nevertheless, it is not merely an 'incentive to morality; it is morality itself, regarded subjectively as an incentive' [76]. In other words, respect for the moral law is not identical with the moral law (which, as we have seen, is primarily logical), but can be regarded as the moral law viewed from the empirical perspective of its effects on our life. The golden rule, properly interpreted, actually functions in much the same way as Kant's doctrine of respect. It tells us that, if we want something, the right course of action is to respect the rights of others by giving up our self-centered inclinations and humbly showing the other person the generosity we wish they would show us.7 The golden rule is wrongly 6. In Kt5:430n Kant calls the negative form of the golden rule (i.e., 'quod tibi non vis fieri, etc.')— sometimes called the 'silver rule'—a 'banal' principle that 'cannot be a universal law'. In Ca73: 412 Carmichael cites this text (though he incorrectly claims it comes from Kt4:48) as the primary evidence for rejecting Thomas' claim (discussed above) that 'the Categorical Imperative and the golden rule are two sides of the same coin' [Th70:199]. Unfortunately, by not quoting Kant's entire footnote, Carmichael hides the important fact that Kant is here referring only to the negative form of the golden rule, whereas the form Thomas is interested in is the quite different positive form used by Jesus [see note AV.7]. He also fails to consider the possibility that the golden rule might have its proper place as one basic principle in a rational system of moral principles that contains the categorical imperative as a necessary precondition. Kant's criticism of the golden rule is directed only against those who regard it as replacing the categorical imperative. 7. Confucius' negative form of the golden rule, 'Do not do to others what you would not want them to do to you' [Analects 12:2], comes closer in form and function to Jesus' 'Do not judge' than to the positive form of the golden rule, with its implied emphasis on self-giving. Schweizer [Sc75:174-5] points out that the negative form of the golden rule can also be found in Greek tradition as early as the fourth century B.C., but adds that Jesus seems to be the first to put it in the 'terse and universal form' found in Matthew 7:12, where it 'represents the most radical of summons to love one's neighbor.'

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447

interpreted when it is regarded as a kind of 'tit-for-tat' principle, for it says nothing about the 'other' actually doing anything in return for us. If we truly follow the golden rule, we will discipline ourselves to give to others without ever requiring anything in return. The problem, of course, is that the things a person does for others on this basis may not actually be in their best interest—they may even be immoral—especially if 'what you want others to do for you' is to fulfill your inclinations! This, in fact, is why it is crucial to see the golden rule as an empirical principle which, in order to be truly effective, must be subordinated to, and thus informed by, some higher level (i.e., logical and/or transcendental) moral principle(s). Thus, if a person who understands and accepts the superiority of the moral law over inclinations attempts to follow the golden rule in everyday (empirical) situations, then that person will, at the same time, be showing Kantian respect for the internally prescribed, categorical demands of the moral law. Peter Carmichael argues against Thomas' perspectival interpretation by pointing out that Jesus breaks both his own moral principles and the categorical imperative whenever he pronounces judgment on people such as the Pharisees.8 His argument is defective, however, because he fails to consider the implications of the fact that Jesus' moral judgment is always directed against hypocrites—i.e., against people who condemn others for breaking rules they themselves break. Jesus' harsh criticism of such people always proceeds by pointing out that they are not matching up to their own standards (e.g., 'the Law and the Prophets'). The principle 'Do not judge', as I have interpreted it [see note AV.l], requires that we not judge others by our standards, but allow them to obey their own conscience; it does not disallow a critical attitude towards those who do not live up to their own standards, provided the person judging is abiding by his or her own standards [see Matt. 7:5]. Thus an important exception to the 'Do not judge' principle is that those who break this absolute, transcendental standard for all morality—e.g., by imposing their own moral maxims on other people, as the Pharisees did—are thereby making themselves worthy to be judged. Likewise, the categorical imperative bids us to judge ourselves (not others) according to the form of universal law. Judging hypocrites would transgress this imperative only for someone who believes people should not be judged by their own standards, but solely on the basis of some absolute empirical standard, such as a fixed set of written laws. Yet this is contrary to the moral theories of both Jesus and Kant, because it takes away the freedom of the individual, and thus breaks the fundamental condition for all truly moral judgment. If the point of Jesus' 'Do not judge' is indeed that people should judge (and be judged) only accord¬ ing to their own standards, then his judgment of hypocrites is entirely consistent with the categorical imperative. In fact, Jesus' criticism of hypocrites does not even break the golden rule (adapted in the form 'in whatever types of situation you would want others to criticize you, criticize them when they are in such situations'), since those who strive to live consistently with their conscience should welcome any criticism that awakens them to a situa¬ tion wherein they are inadvertently doing something that is inconsistent with their own rules.

Ca73:414. Carmichael's criticism of Thomas' interpretation (discussed in the previous section) is based on two mistaken assumptions. The first is that the 'judge not' of Jesus is identical to 'the golden rule' [412], which, as we have seen, it is not. (The fact that Kant criticizes the golden rule [see note AV.6] is therefore irrelevant to Thomas' point.) Carmichael's second assumption is that Jesus' teaching 'is a formalization of [the same kind as]... the Categorical Imperative' [413]. Yet Thomas never says the two positions are supposed to 'match' [413] or to be 'virtually identical' [415], as Carmichael assumes, but only that they represent compatible standpoints, the latter being the rational formalization of the former. I have suggested a sense in which these two principles do 'match' in AV.2.

448

APPENDICES

Jesus' summary of all moral commandments in the maxim 'Love God and man' is related to Kant's categorical imperative in much the same way as is the golden rule: both stand in danger of being misused, but can have a very important proper use if employed in conjunction with their complementary moral principles. Thus, in Kt4:83-5, where Kant discusses the relationship between his moral theory and Jesus' 'Love God and man', he not only warns against the misuse of this principle (as mentioned earlier), but goes on to claim that, if properly employed, it is entirely consistent with his own moral theory [s.a. Kt8:160161(148)]. He claims that this 'law of all laws ... presents the moral disposition in its complete perfection' [Kt4:83]. This 'kernel of all laws' is an 'ideal' principle [83], one that is properly considered not as a law of morality or virtue (which would take human limitations into consideration), but rather as a law of 'holiness' [84]. The real danger, according to Kant, is that some people misinterpret this principle as meaning that we should obey God by inclination ('pathological love'), rather than out of respect for the moral law we find in our hearts ('practical love') [cf. Kt5:399]. Not only is it 'self-contradictory' to 'command that one do something gladly' [Kt4:83], but such an assumption can lead to a fanatical devotion to inclination that ends up choking out morality itself [84-5]. 'To love God means in [its proper, practical] sense to like to do His commandments, and to love one's neighbor means to like to practice all duties towards him' [83]. The problem is that only a holy being can be so free from inclinations contrary to the moral law that such obedience always results in pleasure. Because a person's natural self-conceit is humbled by the respect for the moral law that accompanies human obedience, all such obedience is not holiness, but virtue [84]. Kant's rather cautious attitude towards Jesus' 'Love God and man' command should not be regarded as outright skepticism. If we recall that for Kant 'ideal' does not mean 'impossible', but rather, something transcendent that can regulate, but does not constitute our action (or knowledge) [see Ktl:595-599,675], then we can see how even this command has its proper place in a Kantian system of moral principles. Kant is not joking when he calls the greatest commandment the 'kernel of all laws'; rather he is alluding to the fact that it is so great that we must view it as a hypothetical moral principle—i.e., as a principle that cannot constitute the difference between right and wrong in any given situation, but should nevertheless regulate the way we go about performing all our moral actions. We should aim for the ideal of a holy will by acting as if OUT disposition is perfect, so that our acts tend more and more to display a holy inclination to love God, an enjoyment arising out of our obedience to and respect for the moral law. Kant emphasizes the role of happiness in systemp only in its final stage for the same type of reason: although our own happiness cannot serve as a motivation for virtuous action, it can (and should) be introduced hypothetically by anyone who is already obeying the moral law in order for morality to reach its 'final end' in 'the highest good' .9 In the same way, love of God and of the duties commanded by God (via the moral law we find in our hearts) should not be regarded as a logical principle defining the difference between right and wrong; yet those who seek to act morally can (and should) work towards perfecting that action by subsuming it under what might be called an 'irrational rational principle' of morality—i.e., by regarding it in the idealized context of a hypothetical love for God and all human beings. (See IX.2 for a more detailed discussion of this possibility.)

These doctrines, too complex to describe in detail here, are developed in the Dialectic of Kt4, where Kant sets out the fourth and final stage in systemp. (As shown in KSPl:VIII.2-3, the three chapters of the Analytic establish the first three stages.) The 'highest good' is Kant's term for the ideal of a perfect correspondence between virtue and happiness.

AV. Jesus and Kant: Four Perspectives on Moral Judgment

449

4. An Analytic Map of the Four Perspectives on Moral Judgment Kant's doctrine of the moral law and its application in the categorical imperative has traditionally been interpreted as requiring a rigid formalism in ethics, whereby particular ethical rights and wrongs are, and can be known to be, absolute. Indeed, Kant's reason for stressing the categorical character of the moral law's prescription of duties is to bring home precisely this point: our knowledge of moral rights and wrongs comes first and foremost in a rational and necessary (or absolute) form, rather than in the form of hypotheses (if-clauses) regarding the particular situations we may or may not be in. This fact about Kant's doctrine of moral judgment (i.e., that it is possible because the moral law within us commands duties categorically) may seem to render invalid everything I have said so far about the relation between the moral principles of Kant and Jesus. In other words, it may look as if I have taken Kant's doctrine so far out of its original context that it no longer remains Kantian. The best reply to such an objection is to direct attention to the perspectival character of all Kant's thought,10 and to show how an appreciation of the perspectival character of the particular relation between the four moral principles we have been considering reveals that such a treatment of the categorical imperative does not involve, after all, a compromise with regard to its categorical nature (which would indeed be untenable as an interpretation of Kant). Let us therefore briefly review the perspectival interrelationships between the four principles of moral judgment we have been examining. Each of the four principles suggests quite a different answer to the question 'How should we make moral judgments?' Yet they do not contradict each other, because each views the question from a different perspective and together they constitute a 2LAR. Thus, their per¬ spectival relationship has the same form as all such fourfold distinctions [see note AV.10], each running parallel to Kant's fundamental distinction between the four perspectives on knowledge (viz., 'synthetic a priori', 'analytic a priori', 'synthetic a posteriori' and 'analytic a posteriori' [see Fig. III.4]). This can be made clear by describing each of these four principles as either an 'objective' or a 'subjective' principle (i.e., as either valid independent of the indi¬ vidual judging person or valid only as applied individually to oneself), and as either 'absolute' or 'relative' (i.e., as giving rise to maxims that are either independent of the context, or de¬ pendent upon it).11 So the subjective/objective and absolute/relative distinctions correspond

10. See III. 1-2. As we have seen over and over again in this volume, Kant himself was a great lover of 2LAR-type perspectival distinctions in particular. See e.g., Ktl:95,106,200,348; Kt2:303; Kt4: 66; Kt7:197; Kt6:398,413. Kant uses other types of diagrams in Ktl0:103(109),108(114),126 (130). His most common use of geometrical figures, however, remains implicit: he uses metaphors such as 'line', 'circle', 'sphere', 'horizon', etc. on many occasions [see KSP1:I.3]. An instructive example comes in Kt4:39-40, where Kant not only makes a fourfold distinction between different types of 'material determining grounds in the principle of morality' (which his formal ground—the categorical imperative—is intended to supersede), but also specifies the two first-level distinctions (viz., between 'subjective' and 'objective' and between 'external' and 'internal') that give rise to the 2LAR he has in mind. Then, as he often does, he constructs a table that 'visually' represents 'all possible cases' of material principles. 11. The precise meaning of 'absolute' and 'relative' is discussed in notes AV.12-13, below. This distinction could also be formulated as a distinction between the 'formal' and the 'material' principles (i.e., those defining in themselves a necessary condition for all moral judgment as opposed to those requiring the individual to supply some additional content from the situation at hand). According to Kant's terminology in the second Critique, the former would be 'categorical' and the latter would be 'hypothetical'. Kant pays little attention to the latter (material, or hypothetical) type because his search in Kt4 is for the one principle that is 'universal' in the sense of being (subjectively) absolute (see below). However, by distinguishing carefully between their perspectives, we can see that, as long as we do not confuse one type of fundamental principle with

450

s

APPENDICES

(but are not identical) to Kant's analytic/synthetic and a priori/a posteriori distinctions, respec¬ tively: both sets contain two first-level (i.e., twofold) distinctions that combine together to form a single second-level (i.e., fourfold) distinction. Moral judgment is a complex human activity with many facets. Its four primary facets are governed by the principles we have been considering, each of which answers the question of the nature of moral judgment from a distinct perspective. We can now summarize the fore¬ going discussion by describing these four perspectives on moral judgment in concise terms: 1. Transcendental. 'Do not judge' is an objectively absolute principle establishing the very possibility of moral judgment. It is 'absolute' in the 'objective' sense that without it (and the freedom it implies) the boundaries of what can be included as 'moral judgment' will be drawn incorrectly. It establishes that truly moral judgment must be prescribed freely—i.e., only by individuals and only to themselves. 2. Logical. The categorical imperative defines all such moral judgment as the placing of individuals (by themselves) under a universal law, so that all their moral maxims (not those of others) can be regarded as subjectively absolute.1^ Such maxims are categorical because they speak to our innermost being, which is abstracted (as much as any theoretically logical law) from the empirical (and largely hypothetical) world of our everyday situations. Because they are absolute (and hence, abstract), (1) and (2) are necessary, but not sufficient principles to guide a person in making concrete moral judgments in actual human situations. 3. Empirical. The golden rule provides what could be regarded (loosely, on analogy with respect for the moral law) as a schematization of the moral law: like (1), it is an objective principle; and like (2), it gives rise to real moral judgments. Yet it has a pragmatic advantage over both (1) and (2), because it is not absolute (in the sense of being abstracted from particular situations); rather it assists us more directly in making concrete moral judgments, the precise nature of which is entirely relative to the situation. 4. Hypothetical. The principle 'Love God and man' unites all these in an ideal picture of the holistic moral life (i.e., the one that presses on from virtue towards holiness), in which the nature of one's moral judgment in each situation is regarded as relative to (i.e., regulated by) the absolute task of continually learning more and more about how to enjoy pleasing God and other persons, within the limits prescribed by the moral law. 13

Picturing a 2LAR in the form of a 'map' [see III.l and KSPl:III.3-4] is often a helpful way of clarifying the perspectival relationship between its components, because in such cases the map (if properly understood) can lay bare at a single glance the logic that governs the fourfold distinction. From the above summary of the four principles of moral judgment, the map shown in Figure AV. 1 can therefore be constructed, using the subjective/objective and absolute/

another, it will be possible to view both types as working together with each other and with the opposing pair to form one coherent system of moral principles. 12. The word 'absolute' here has the logical meaning: 'Of such a kind that I can conceive of (and therefore will) that my maxims be applicable to everyone' [cf. Kt5:424]. It does not mean I can actually judge that they are empirically applicable to everyone. (Kant sometimes seems to lean towards the latter [see note AV.5], but in his best moments I believe he plants himself firmly in the former position.) 13. The 'relative' nature of both (3) and (4) is suggested by the fact that Jesus refers to both of these principles as summing up the essential content of 'the Law and the Prophets' [cf. Matt. 7:12 and 22:40]. These two are 'relative' not in the sense that they apply only to some cultures or certain individuals, but in the sense that they directly give rise to the particular laws that are relative in this (ordinary) sense—laws such as those in the Law and the Prophets used by the Jews as practical guides to everyday living. The same distinction could be made by using the terms 'abstract' and 'concrete' in place of 'absolute' and 'relative', since in one respect all four principles are absolute (i.e., universally applicable to all human beings).

The Logical (2) The Categorical Imperative (subjective, absolute)

Figure AV.l: The Four Moral Principles as a 2LAR relative distinctions to define the first and second terms of each component. 14 This diagram enables us to see at a glance all the fundamental relationships (similarities and differences) between the principles arising from the four perspectives on moral judgment. 15 Thus, if we assume the above discussion has established the connection between each moral principle and the description given to it in the above diagram, then all the interrelationships between these principles can be stated as follows: 1. Both (1) and (2) are absolute conditions for moral judgment (i.e., both concern the formal conditions that apply to moral rules universally), but (1) prescribes an objective principle whereas (2) prescribes a subjective principle. 2. Both (1) and (3) are concerned with objective moral judgments, but (1) is itself an absolute rule whereas the rules derived from (3) will be relative to each situation. 3. (1) and (4) rest on opposite defining characteristics, yet they share a similar (and complementary) function: they are both ideal principles that give rise to corresponding real principles [see note AV.14]. 4. (2) and (3) rest on opposite defining characteristics, yet they share a similar (and complementary) function: both principles enable us to tell the difference between right and wrong in the real world. 5. Both (2) and (4) are subjective principles, in the sense that they define rules that are primarily internal to the human subject; but (2) prescribes its rules in an absolute form, whereas (4) prescribes its rules in a form that is relative to the situational context. 6. Both (3) and (4) are principles the character of which is relative to the situational context, but the rules derived from (3) will be objective, whereas those derived from (4) will be subjective.

14. The arrows in this diagram suggest that not judging our neighbors by our own self-set standards leads to (or implies) doing to them what we would have them do to us, and that the ideal of loving God first and our neighbor as ourselves leads to (or implies) acting in such a way that we could will our maxims to be universalized. These are interesting suggestions, but this is not the place to argue either for or against them. 15. I should also point out that this diagram actually supports Thomas' real point (though his terminology is misleading), that Jesus' 'Do not judge' is experiential (horizontal), while Kant's categorical imperative is rational (vertical). Thomas' shortcoming was to separate these principles from each other too radically by neglecting the fact that Jesus' principles have to do with practical reason just as much as Kant's.

452

APPENDICES

I am not arguing that this map of the four perspectives on moral judgment exhausts all possible fundamental moral principles, nor would I claim that the foregoing discussion has succeeded in making their interrelationships entirely clear. However, I do believe I have demonstrated that these four principles are related, and that (viewed perspectivally, as answer¬ ing different sorts of questions about the nature of moral judgment) they can be regarded as mutually compatible without straying from a basically Kantian and Christian framework. The extent to which philosophers and theologians will be able to engage in meaningful dialogue will be largely dependent on their willingness to adopt just such shared frameworks of think¬ ing on various key issues. A possible objection to this whole line of argument is that any talk of moral 'principles' seems out-of-date during these days when nearly everyone thinks (or at least, acts as if) morality is nothing but a matter of personal preference. If 'right and wrong' is something entirely determined by each individual, then are we forced to do away with all absolutes? Perhaps not. On the contrary, my interpretation of Jesus' 'Judge not' reveals it to be in a sense a fundamental principle that itself establishes a kind of relativism! But the resulting relativism is not one that replaces the dogmatic absolutes of traditional religio-cultural systems of Thou shalt nots' with the opposite extreme of an unprincipled chaos of skeptical rule-lessness (i.e., 'anything goes'). Rather, it offers a balanced, 'Critical relativism' that recognizes an absolute foundation for moral judgments, even though the validity of each particular judgment we make may be properly described as relative. Thus, when viewed together, as constituting a system of principles, the four perspectives on moral judgment discussed above, far from being outdated, may constitute a much-needed standpoint for criticizing and evaluating our own ethical decisions in the modern age of relativism. And this is a task that both philosophers and theologians ought to pursue with the utmost urgency.

Appendix VI Faith in the Face of Evil: Kant's Solutions to Five Standard Theological Problems 1. Critical Theodicy and the Problem of Evil The fact that Kant's Critical religion as expounded in Kt8 is grounded so firmly in the assumption that human beings must struggle to overcome evil1 gives rise to several problems for his Critical theology—problems that have vexed philosophical theologians long before and after Kant. This appendix will examine four problems typically addressed by philo¬ sophical theologians but not bound up too closely in Kant's case with his systematic account of the nature of religion. Because Kant's solution to each of these problems does not constitute any of the formal elements of system,-, we can deal with them separately at this point. First we shall look at how Kant thinks the reality of evil impinges on the moral concept of God, as presented in V.4. The second section will then deal with two of the three 'difficulties' Kant raises in Book Two of Kt8, concerning how a moral God can forgive a person's present and past sins (i.e., personal evil). The remaining difficulty, relating to assur¬ ance of future salvation, will be examined in AVI.3. The final section will then clarify some common misunderstandings about Kant's views on the age-old controversy over the relation¬ ship between faith and works. For Kant the 'problem of evil' is not a mere logical conundrum to be overcome with a clever argument; it is an existential threat posed by the reality of evil in human life, directly challenging the rationality of our moral moral evil concept of God and therefore calling into question the legitimacy of believing in (God's holiness) such a God. Thus, in the two main texts where Kant deals with this problem most fully [viz., Kt26:1076-81(115-21) and Kt64], he relates it directly to the three inequity moral attributes we discussed in V.4: (God's justice) moral evil challenges God's holiness; natural evil challenges God's benevolence; and the inequity in the way the latter > relates to the former (i.e., the fact that bad natural evil things often happen to good people and (God's benevolence) vice versa) challenges God's justice [see Fig. AVI.l; cf. Fig. V.5]. Figure AVI.l: Three Types of Evil The purpose of a 'theodicy' (literally, as Challenges to God's Nature a 'justification of God') is to defend God's moral character against these challenges, in the hope of reducing the tendency this problem has of being the single greatest stumbling-block to belief in God. In Kt64 Kant argues, somewhat surprisingly at first, that all attempts to 'solve' the problem of evil through ratio¬ nal argumentation are bound to fail: construing the problem in terms of the need to reconcile the reality of evil with the moral nature of God leaves us with an insurmountable task [see See VI.3, VII.2, and VIII.2. Treloar surmises [Tr89:339] that 'Kant's struggle with the problem of evil might have been a crisis point for Kant's enlightenment understanding.' But as this section will demonstrate, Kant's struggle with the problem of evil was not so much a 'crisis' as an abiding concern that informed the whole course of his System. Treloar is on the right track, though, to rec¬ ognize that Kant's concern with evil runs counter to Enlightenment tendencies [see note VIII.50].

454

APPENDICES

258-62(195-202)]. Instead, a 'theodicee ought... to be an explication of nature, so far as God makes known by it the design of his will' [264(204)]. We can conceive how this is possible by recalling the theory of God's transcendence mapped in Figure V.3: 'first everything should be attributed to nature, and then nature itself attributed to God' [Kt39:494(213)]. Along these lines, Kant's 'conjectures' in Kt46:458(137), concerning the positive aspects of natural evil, are aimed 'to move men to the desire of being grateful to the Supreme Being who, even when he chastiseth, is worthy of adoration and love.' Galbraith explains the new element in Kant's approach as follows [Ga96:37]: 'whereas traditional theodicy claims that the world is a mani¬ festation of God's will, authentic [i.e., Critical] theodicy claims that our reason is a manifes¬ tation of God's will.' The problem with traditional, theoretical theodicies [40] is that they 'always claim an insight into the ways of God which is not possible.' The text where Kant develops this idea most thoroughly is Kt64, an essay devoted to an interpretation of the biblical story of Job and a Critical response to traditional philosophical 'theodicy'. In a course of lectures delivered several years before writing that essay, Kant defends a theodicy that many have taken to be diametrically opposed to his own subsequent position. In Kt26:1076-81(115-21) he adopts one of the standard solutions to the problem: ... the evil in the world can be regarded as the incompleteness in the development of the seed [i.e., the predisposition] toward good. Evil has no special seed. For it is only... a limitation of what is good.... A special seed for evil is unthinkable. It is rather the first development of our reason towards goodness which is the origin of evil.... Evil, therefore, is inevitable.2 Many interpreters [see e.g., Vo88:183] regard this as very different from the theory of 'radical evil' developed in Kt8 [see VII.2.A]. But I believe in this passage Kant is not so much defending his own position, as presenting to his students one of the standard ways of accounting for the existence of evil. For this reason, and because Kt8 is more obviously consistent with the more original position defended in Kt64,1 shall not dwell as much as some scholars have on the apparent differences between Kt26 and Kt8. Moreover, the latter positions may not be incompatible after all, inasmuch as the 'special seed' mentioned here is not the same as the 'propensity' to evil defended in Kt8 [cf. note AVI.2 and the translators' note at Kt26:(117)]. Before looking more closely at Kt64, however, an overview of some of Kant's other passing references to evil will help us appreciate the consistency of his position. Kant first discusses evil in Ktl 1:403-5(235-8), where he argues God's determining power must be regarded as having 'started a [causal] series which includes... moral evils, and ... physical evils. But it does not follow from this that God can be reproached as being the originator of morally perverse actions.' Such evils, he claims, must be regardedas having entered the causal nexus through people's own powers of moral determination. What Kant Kt26:1078(117); s.a. Ba72:294-5 and Sc93:77. Scharf says this passage treats evil as being basi¬ cally equivalent to immaturity [78]: 'So humans have not fallen from perfection into "evil."' In this important sense, the theories of evil in Kt26 and Kt8 are quite compatible; for in the latter Kant portrays us as starting out not perfect but only potentially good (i.e., 'innocent'), and regards evil not as a 'seed' but as a corrupting influence ('propensity') on the 'seed' of goodness [see VII.2.A]. As we shall see in AVI.2-3, reason leads us to hope that God will provide immortality and fair judgment so that we have a chance to mature to our maximum potential. Borrowing Tillich's terminology, Scharf goes on to assert that 'God's rule, or theonomy, does not operate by force', but by 'autonomy' [80] and charges that in Kt8 'Kant's God... upsets the envisioned harmony of autonomy and theonomy. God's rule becomes a heteronomous force ...; thus it is God's grace and salvation that become the real determinants of human conduct instead of free volition'. Yet Scharf is surely mistaken here, failing once again to recognize Kant's changes in perspective. Kant never treats God constitutively in Kt8, but always only regulatively. Autonomy is preserved, because Kant never assumes a determinate knowledge of salvation [see AVI.4 and notes VIII.16,17].

AVI. Faith in the Face of Evil

455

seems to have in mind, here and elsewhere, is that God permits evil at such a 'problematic' level as one way of insuring that we rely on faith, rather than on our own finite reason, in accepting God's existence. Something of this sort seems to be Kant's intention when he says earthquakes (like all forms of evil) give us 'a humiliating reminder that man never can be anything more than a man' [Kt47:472(Wa72:12)]. Interestingly, this early comment could also be taken as a description of one of the main purposes of the Critical philosophy Kant was later to develop—a System that acted, and still acts, as a 'philosophical earthquake'. Kant argues in Kt46:431(95) that natural evils are 'implanted in nature (by God)' in order to motivate us to view nature as more than just 'the arena of [human] desires': they remind us 'that the goods of the earth cannot satisfy our instinct for happiness' [460(141); s.a. Kt39:495(216)]. 'Man must learn to accommodate himself to nature; but he would have nature to accommodate herself to him' [Kt46:456(134)]. 'Such is the nature of the incidents that befall the human species. The joys of the one and the misfortunes of the other have frequently a common cause' [437(104-5)]. Later (in Kt65) Kant claims that the businessmen of the higher faculties (clergymen, lawyers, and physicians) unfortunately tend to be viewed as miracle-workers who can make up for the problems that result from our improper attitudes towards nature [see note VH3]. lbs. problem concerning natural evil, therefore, actually stems not from its incompatibility with God's moral character, but from the inappropriately high self-estimate human beings tend to have about ourselves and our species, and from our resulting failure to adapt to nature properly by humbly recognizing the thoroughgoing extent of God's providence [see Kt46:458-60(l37-40)]. 'We are Apart of [God's interest in nature] and would be [i.e., we tend to view ourselves as] the whole' [460(140), e.a.]. Kant summarizes the relation between radical (moral) evil and natural evil in his discussion of progress in Kt63:115-6: ... while for the species the direction of this road [of progress] may be from worse to <••-. better, this is not true for the individual.... The history of nature ... begins with good, for it is the work of God, while the history of freedom begins with wickedness, for it is the work of man.... Hence the individual must consider as his own fault... all the evils which he suffers; and yet at the same time..., he must admire and praise the wisdom and purposiveness of the whole arrangement.

More is said about Kant's admiration of nature in X.3-4. And in VIII.2.A we find that Kant's account of the perspectival difference between the holy lawgiving of God in creating nature and the badness of human beings in acting wickedly serves as a rational confirmation of the biblical story of the Creation and Fall. But Kant's response to the biblical story of Job's suffering goes even further than this. With this background information on Kant's views on the problem of evil, let us turn now to his systematic assessment of all past attempts at theodicy. In Kt64 he distinguishes between 'doctrinal' and 'authentic' forms of theodicy. The former approach adopts the theoretical standpoint in order to explain how God's moral nature can withstand the threat posed by evil, whereas the latter adopts the practical standpoint in order to understand 'what ought to be done when facing evil.'3 Kant distinguishes between three main types of doctrinal theodicy, each implicitly modeled after one of the three theoretical arguments for proving God's existence. Although Kant does not make this architectonic connection explicit, doing so will enable us to come up with conveniently descriptive names for each type: ontological theodicy excuses God by denying the very being of evil; cosmological theodicy provides God Wo94:45. Some of the ideas expressed in the remainder of this section were first suggested to me by my former student, Patrick Woo Pak Chuen, whose honors project on Kant's theodicy first inspired me to include a section on this topic.

456

APPENDICES

with an 'escape clause' on the grounds that evil, though real, is an inevitable component of any natural universe, so God cannot be blamed for its existence; and physicotheological theodicy, while accepting that evil is both real and often avoidable, exonerates God by claiming that this was not part of his original design.4 Each of these three can be used to defend challenges made to each of God's three moral attributes, thus making a total of nine types of arguments in theodicy. Kant rejects all three types of doctrinal theodicy in each of its three manifestations [see Table AVI.l]. Ontological theodicy argues that God's holiness remains intact because evil has some hidden purpose making it not actually evil in the long run, that God's benevolence is secure because human life contains far more happiness than suffering, and that God is just even though evil people sometimes appear to be happier than good people, because the former actually experience a far greater inner suffering due to the reproach of their conscience. To the first point Kant responds that for God to condone evil for some hidden motive or higher purpose would not make the evil any less evil, but would render God immoral and unholy and thus unworthy of our trust and obedience. Concerning God's benevolence, Kant claims that most people do not, in fact, experience more happiness than suffering, but quite the reverse, otherwise people would not so frequently wish their life could be better (happier) in one or several ways. The third point is also fallacious, he argues, because evil people do not, in fact, have a more sensitive conscience. Many evil people experience virtually no guilt for their selfish actions; instead, good people are the ones who more often are plagued by inner suffering. So in each case, the arguments of ontological theodicy only make matters worse. Cosmological theology fares no better in Kant's hands. The proponent tries to preserve God's holiness by portraying evil as an inevitable aspect of the way the world is structured, to safeguard God's benevolence on the grounds that we inherit most of the pain and suffering in human life from our parents, and to protect God's justice by stressing that the nature of moral

Table AVI.l: Nine Types of Failed Theodicy "^j^^attribute attribute of of theodicy! -ficd^ ontological: Denies the reality of evil; it is an illusion.

holiness God's hidden pur¬ poses make evil good. (But this makes God evil.)

benevolence Happiness outweighs suffering. (But most people wish they were happier.)

justice People suffer guilt for doing evil. (But good people suffer

far more)

God had to structure Most suffering is in¬ Suffering enhances a cosmological: Treats evil as real the world with evil. herited. (But a good person's moral worth. but unavoidable; it (But evil must be a God would not create (But we long to set is a natural principle. right this imbalance.) such a system.) free choice.) physicotheological: God is not respon¬ Suffering prepares us All wrongs will be Although evil is real sible for evil. (But for future bliss. (But set right in the end. and avoidable, it is God is responsible this will not console us (But this hope can our fault, not God's. for making us free.) during our suffering.) never be proved.)

4. Woo calls these 'The Theodicy of Denying', 'The Theodicy of Inevitability', and 'The Theodicy of Responsibility-Shift' [Wo94:29-38], but does not point out their correlation to the theoretical arguments for God's existence.

AVI. Faith in the Face of Evil

457

worth is such that it is heightened by suffering and pain, thus making it worthwhile in the long run to experience evil. This time Kant rejects the first argument on the grounds that evil is and must be a matter of free choice for human beings and that the choice is not genuinely free if we actually have no possibility of avoiding evil; the holiness of a God who would give us free choice while yet knowing that it would lead to evil is still in question. The second argument, he claims, makes no sense; how could a genuinely benevolent God choose to have us transmit suffering from one generation to the next? And God's justice is not safeguarded simply by an awareness that being unhappy due to virtuous actions makes us morally praise¬ worthy; we still naturally long for a setting right of this imbalance, either in this life or in the life to come. Physicotheological theodicies, like their counterparts in the proofs for God's existence, are the best of the three failed types in Kant's estimation. They argue that God can be holy even if evil is real and inevitable, because God is not responsible for it, that God can be benevolent in spite of the frequent occurrence of undeserved suffering as long as this is re¬ garded as a preparation for future bliss, and that God can be just in spite of the injustice of life on earth if all the wrongs we suffer unfairly will be set right in the next life. These arguments bear a striking resemblance to some of the theories Kant himself defends in systemp [see KSP1:VIII.3.B]; the difference is that they are here being used for a theoretical purpose, to justify God's character before the court of human reason. With this in mind, Kant again re¬ futes each claim. There is no physicotheological escape-route for God's holiness, because God created the world in such a way that human beings would have such freedom, so God must bear the ultimate responsibility for the evil that results. To a suffering person the claim that he or she is being prepared for future bliss is of little if any consolation, so God's benevo¬ lence is not thereby justified. And the hope of a future life where all is set right is merely gratuitous as long as we have no proof that it will actually come about—and we do not. Kant's strategy here seems to run directly counter to his own confident affirmation of God's moral character [see V.4], until we come to appreciate how an authentic theodicy differs from these failed doctrinal attempts. Turning to the biblical story of Job for guidance, Kant notes that each of Job's so-called 'comforters' adopts some version of a doctrinal theodicy in order to explain to Job why he is experiencing such intense suffering. But Job is unwilling to accept their explanations, preferring instead to maintain his conviction that God has put him in a situation that is genuinely unfair. From the fact that Job is obviously the hero of the story (God rewards him at the end and punishes his well-meaning friends), Kant draws several conclusions about the nature of an authentic theodicy. First, it is not the place of human beings to justify God's moral character with rational arguments. Such arguments are more likely to backfire, keeping a person away from a genuine experience of the living God. A bet¬ ter response to an evil or unfair situation is to imitate Job's sincerity by admitting ignorance of how the situation fits into the divine scheme of things5 and to concentrate instead on responding in a way that maintains one's own moral integrity. This nondefense or even nontheodicy is the only 'authentic theodicy' because it is the only approach that lets God be God. This conclusion implies that nonreflective (immediate) experience is superior to sophis¬ ticated (false philosophical) reflection when responding to the harsh realities of life on earth— even if one's experience leads to the expression of doubts about the traditional 'pat' answers often provided by religious dogmas. Whereas Job's friends appear to be more reasonable to 'speculative reason' and to demonstrate a more 'pious humility', Job exhibits a genuine 'sincerity of the heart, not the preference of knowledge, the honesty to acknowledge his 5. Woo connects sincerity with ignorance in Wo94:45. On the crucial role recognizing ignorance has in philosophy, see PaOOa, Part One. Kant discusses sincerity at length in Kt8:185-90(173-8).

458

APPENDICES

doubts openly ... chiefly before God' [Kt64:266-7(208)]; these 'are the properties, which in the Divine judgment have decided the preference of... Job, over the religious flatterer.' Job 'did not ground his morality upon the belief, but the belief upon the morality'.6 Thus 'authentic theodicy' is 'an affair of belief that 'does not depend so much on reasoning, as upon sincerity in the observation of the inability of our reason... [For] sincerity [is] the chief requisite in affairs of faith' [267(209)]. Later [270(213)], Kant adds: 'sincerity is the property, with which human nature is the least endowed. A melancholy observation! As by that only all other properties... can have an intrinsic value.' Critical theodicy rejects the doctrinal approach because it imposes dishonest interpretations of God's will onto our life experiences, whereas authentic theodicy will let God's will be manifested in whatever form it may appear. Collins [Co67:209] regards this openness to existential encounter as one of the main lessons Kant wants us to learn from Job: 'In Job's conduct, we hear the invitation to enter into dialogue with God Himself and not with our own moral reason alone.' Thus we can see that Kant's critique of theodicy is one aspect of the way of life his System is promoting, what I call his 'Critical mysticism' in Part Four. Paulsen succinctly expresses Kant's justification for this view of theodicy when he says: "The faith of pious and wise simplicity is more modest in acknowledging that God's ways are unsearchable' than in trying to argue 'that the lot of individuals... is good and beneficent.'7 2. Critical Soteriology and the Problem of Atonement for Sins 'Everyone can convince himself... of the impossibility of ever holding himself to be justified before God through his own life-conduct, and, at the same time, of the necessity for such a justification in His eyes' [Kt8:162(151)]. This dilemma, that God's character as holy 6. Kt64:267(209); s.a. Ga96:40. Galbraith is therefore correct to say that [50,49] 'the most signifi¬ cant element of Kant's theodicy rests in the fact that it is a matter of faith'—faith 'that God's justice will finally be vindicated.' The key point, according to Despland [De73:281] is that in Kant's view, 'Job... is robbed of everything history has to offer but is not robbed of his integrity.' Job accomplishes this by maintaining his sincerity and not allowing the respect he owes God to lead him into a dishonest interpretation of his own experience. It is worth noting that this is a mood often exemplified by mystics. 7. Pa02:102. Akhutin's survey of Russian interpretations of Kant puts an interesting twist on Kant's theodicy. After pointing out that Dostoyevsky was studying Ktl while working on The Brothers Karamazov and citing Golosovker's view that Ivan is in fact 'the dialectical hero of the Kantian antinomies' [Ak91:61], Akhutin quips: 'After all, "critique" is in general an attribute of the devil.' However, this is subtly inaccurate. The devil's specialty is not balanced, perspectival critique, but one-sided, logical accusation; critique is the only effective response to the devil—and to most of philosophy, replete as it is with undigested accusations against competing views. Yet Akhutin gradually takes his metaphor further and further, referring to '[t]he countenance of Kant the devil' [62], portraying Kant as 'all but the devil himself [63], quoting Florenskii's claim that 'Kant is The Great Cunning One himself [63], and finally reaching a dramatic climax [63-4]: 'Kant is the devil! Not a boring epistemologist, not an utterly tedious methodologist, who understands little about spiritual questions with his Protestant soul, but the devil, no more, no less.' This 'Russian Kant', he adds [64], is 'a tempter, an enemy whose essence was illuminated by the reflections of the fires of hell.' Akhutin's strategy, though, seems to be to discredit this view of Kant by portraying it as a result of the Russian interpreters' identification of philosophy with 'Sophia' [65-6]. Thus he reminds us [70] that '[tjhe devil's dialectic consists... in the fact that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, ideas of salvation, absolute truths, and godlike idols.' Kant only looks like the devil, because he is attacking these false gods. Akhutin asks [81]: 'Can it be that the transcendental subjectivist, the spokesman of an ethics of formal duty, the respectable Protestant aspires to the devil's role?' He assumes a 'yes' answer, but for a purpose [85]: Kant appears so often as the devil's advocate because he knows 'we surmount the philosophical gap [between our rootedness in metaphysical reality and our ignorance of it] by faith.'

AVI. Faith in the Face of Evil

459

and just [see V.4] demands a level of perfection no human being can ever hope to achieve, is the occasion both for some of Kant's deepest theological thinking and for some of the grossest misinterpretations by his critics.8 Kant tackles three specific 'difficulties' relating to this dilemma in Book Two of Kt8. Each difficulty concerns a different aspect of how we can conceive of God as saving us in spite of the personal evil (i.e., sins) we have committed. Each corresponds to a standard problem systematic theologians typically deal with under the heading 'soteriology' (i.e., doctrine of salvation).9 The first and third concern different aspects of atonement (i.e., how, if at all, our sins can be forgiven by God) and will be dealt with in this section. The second difficulty is more closely related to the area of systematic theology known as eschatology, and will be discussed separately in AVI.3. Kant raises and resolves the first difficulty in two short paragraphs: it arises out of the discrepancy between the noumenal act (the 'change of heart') that makes our disposition good [Kt8:66(60)] and the impossibility of actually 'conforming our course of life to the holiness of the law... in any given time.' After asking 'How can a disposition count for the act itself, when the act is always... defective?' [67(60)], Kant sketches a solution that depends on a basic perspectival distinction. 'According to our mode of estimation' (i.e., from the human Perspective, as governed by empirical evaluations), our conduct can at best appear as an 'endless advance' towards the perfection we glimpse in the archetype. Yet when 'judged by Him who knows the heart' (i.e., from the divine Perspective governed by noumenal realities), it is possible that 'this endless progress' would appear, 'through a purely intellectual intuition, as a completed whole, because of the disposition' [67(60-1); s.a. 74-5n(69n)]. For a good disposition 'makes up for... the failure ... ever wholly to be what we have in mind to become.'10 This religious hypothesis enables us to believe our whole life may be pleasing to God even though our individual acts remain imperfect and inevitably require some atonement. Interpreters who expect Kant to provide incontrovertible proofs to dispel these difficulties once and for all are bound to be highly dissatisfied with this 'solution'. If instead we understand Kant's purpose here as being not to provide anything like a proof, but only to demonstrate the possibility of a rationally acceptable solution, then his efforts deserve to be evaluated more positively. For he shows that religion within the bounds of bare reason does leave open a space for those who regard themselves as being in the midst of a long process of sanctification to conceive of how God can be pleased with them, 'at whatever instant' their life is 'terminated' [Kt8:67(61)] even though they could not claim to be perfect. Attention to 8. The dilemma prompts Quinn, for example, to conclude his essay on Kant's view of atonement with a section entitled 'Unjustified Justification?' [Qu86:456]—a phrase that would not be altogether inappropriate if it were viewed as a meaningful paradox rather than (as Quinn portrays it) as a clever way of pointing out Kant's alleged failure to defend his own viewpoint adequately. As a meaningful paradox, by contrast, such a phrase could mean that God's justification for our sins must remain ultimately unjustifiable in order for it to be an object of religious hope [see below]. 9. Ronald Green [Gr93:101] says Kant develops his 'concern with sin and problems of soteriology' as early as the second half of Kt4 (apparently referring here to the Dialectic). But this is potentially misleading: none of the elements of systemp allow for the perverting influence of evil; both sin and salvation are therefore extraneous to the practical standpoint as such. Kant mentions his views on these topics in passing, to be sure; but what he says about them in works such as Kt4 must be treated with considerable caution, given the perspectival difference between morality and religion. 10. Kt8:67n(61n). Kant expresses the same view more succinctly in Kt35:(36): 'God... does not look upon the action, but upon the heart. The heart is the principle of moral disposition, and it is moral goodness which God demands.' In discussing this view of Kant's Nuyen makes the important point that we attain 'holiness ...in the eyes of God only.... Thus, holiness is both attainable and not attainable', depending on a person's 'perspective' [Nu94:124]. As we shall see in AVI.3, this prevents us from ever becoming overly smug in the assurance of our own salvation.

460

APPENDICES

moral progress provides a tangible means of distinguishing between the imperfection of a good-hearted person and the wickedness of an evil-hearted person [cf. 67n(61n)], through a hypothetical appeal to God's Perspective that does not require any uncritical knowledge of God's actual judgment in any given situation. Whereas the first difficulty corresponds to the doctrine of sanctification (i.e., a gradual transition from being virtuous to being made holy), the third and 'greatest difficulty' [Kt8:71(65)] corresponds to the doctrine of justification (i.e., a sudden conversion from being evil-hearted to being good-hearted). It is unreasonable for a person to 'regard the fact that he incurs no new debts subsequent to his change of heart as equivalent to having discharged his old ones' [72(66)]. No matter how good a person becomes after experiencing a change of heart, 'he nevertheless started from evil, and this debt he can by no possibility wipe out'; nor can it even 'be discharged by another person, so far as we can judge according to the justice of our human reason', for it is 'the most personal of all debts, namely a debt of sins' [72(66)]. The only way Kant sees of rendering 'satisfaction... to divine justice' is to think of 'the infliction of punishment..., consistently with divine wisdom' as taking place 'neither before nor after the change of heart', but 'during the change of heart itself'.11 Elaborating on the 'before' and 'after' sides of this 'single act', he says: The coming forth from the corrupted into the good disposition is, in itself (as 'the death of the old man,' 'the crucifying of the flesh' [cf. Rom. 6:2,6; Gal. 5:24]), a sacrifice and : an entrance upon a long train of life's ills. These the new man undertakes in the j disposition of the Son of God [i.e., of the divine archetype of perfect humanity dwelling , within us]..., though really they are due as punishments to another, namely to the old man (for the old man is indeed morally another).12 Kant is here attempting to get to the rational root of the traditional Christian doctrine of justification. Interestingly, the only four times the word 'deduction' is used in Kt8 it refers to this idea [76(70-1)], thus indicating that this problem relates to the logical perspective of system,- [see VII.2.B]. As a philosophical theologian, Kant cannot appeal to the vicarious atonement of Jesus, since it can be known only through revelation. Moreover, taken literally, Kant thinks it could be detrimental to our moral development. In hopes of guarding against this danger while preserving the essential meaning of the Christian doctrine, he transfers the same imagery to each individual believer. Each person must, in the moment of conversion, 11. Kt8:73-4(67). The best summary I have read of Kant's solution to this third difficulty came in an email message from Philip Rudisill dated 18 November 1996: Now since 1. the sin of the 'old man' (now 'dead') has not been punished, and since 2. the 'new man' deserves no punishment, and since 3. justice requires a punishment of sin, and since 4. the good works of the 'new man' are not a surplus (but rather merely the result of the Holy Spirit in his heart), it follows that if 5. there is to be a justice, then 6. a punishment must be contained in the act of conversion itself. Rudisill aptly summarizes the main problem Kant is dealing with as 'how justice and grace can co¬ exist within a framework of rationality and real morality.' 12. Kt8:74(68). In Kt8:75n(69n) Kant notes: 'The use of the term "punishment" signifies merely that, in his quality of new man, he now willingly takes upon himself, as so many opportunities for the testing and exercising of his disposition to goodness, all the ills and miseries that assail him, which the old man would have had to regard as punishments and which he too, so far as he is still in the process of becoming dead to the old man, accepts as such.' Thus conversion inevitably leads to suffering (e.g., in the form of injustice, the third 'contrary-to-end' mentioned in note VII.20). Kant encourages us in Kt4:156 by pointing out that 'it is in suffering that ['the law of morals and the image of holiness and virtue'] most notably show themselves.'

AVI. Faith in the Face of Evil

461

symbolically go to the cross and (though now morally good, due to the change in disposition) suffer a punishment on behalf of 'the old man'. The believer at this point 'is physically the self-same guilty person' (i.e., from the theoretical standpoint); 'yet, because of his disposition [i.e., from the practical standpoint], he is ...morally another in the eyes of a divine judge' [74(68)]. In this way we can conceive how forgiveness is possible, even in the face of God's third moral attribute (justice), because this moral disposition ...—or, (if we personify this idea) this Son of God, Himself —bears as vicarious substitute the guilt of sin for him ...; as savior He renders sat¬ isfaction to supreme justice by His suffering and death; and as advocate He makes it possible for men to hope to appear before their judge as justified. [Kt8:74(69)] Passages such as this, where Kant so explicitly expresses his agreement with and support for traditional Christian imagery, show how wrong Cassirer is to characterize Kant's view of morality as 'radically antireligious', to the extent that he supposedly 'has nothing but contempt for the remedy recommended by Christianity.' 13 Kant's contempt is directed neither against grace, nor the doctrine of vicarious atonement as such,14 but against any interpretation of these that encourages a person to neglect good life-conduct. A similar instance of Kant's intention to bring out the pure meaning in the Christian doctrine of salvation comes in Kt8:82(77). After asserting that 'the good principle [as reawakened by the archetype] has descended in mysterious fashion from heaven into humanity not at one particular time alone but from the first beginnings of the human race' [e.a.], Kant explains why it is nevertheless of utmost importance to see how 'it made its appearance in an

13. Ca88:93,76. Cassirer thinks that for Kant 'giving the principle of divine grace admittance into the moral life of man must have the effect of degrading man' [82], He likewise believes [89] any hint of grace 'is bound to be repudiated with a feeling of disdain and revulsion by every true Kantian.' Moreover, he criticizes Kant [83] for 'assigning] to man a power of unlimited freedom.' The latter comment ignores the fact that human freedom is limited by the restrictions placed on it by the moral law. And the former need not hold at all, if a proper balance is kept between grace and good life-conduct [see AVI.4]. The extent of Cassirer's misreading of Kant becomes evident when he accuses Kant [80] of never even 'suggesting] that man needs anyone but himself to extricate himself from his dilemma.' This appendix provides ample evidence of how erroneous this claim is. Friedman's interpretation is based on a similar misreading [Fr86b:515]: 'Kant's view [is] that hope is not for forgiveness but for justice.' A more accurate interpretation of Kant's position is that the only forgiveness he regards as worth believing in is a forgiveness that has some sem¬ blance of rationality to it—i.e., forgiveness that can be conceived to be in some sense just. Friedman also claims here that 'Kant... does not develop the God of the postulates as an entity who can extend grace.' Yet this is simply false. Kant does not do this in systemp, but he does do it in systemr. Friedman continues: 'God may have omniscience and omnipotence but he lacks a will and therefore Grace, mercy, and choice are beyond his capacity.' That this is a gross misrepresentation of Kantian theology has already been demonstrated in V.4, where we saw that the nature of God's will (holiness, etc.) is far more central to Kant's theology than is the nature of God's intellect. 14. Galbraith [Ga96:152] accuses Kant of dodging 'the significance of Jesus to the realm of humanity', claiming [158] that he 'opposed the idea that Jesus died for our sins.' She complains: 'Kant was not able to appreciate that the significance of the cross of Jesus for the Christian attitude towards evil and suffering does not have to be interpreted... literally.' Yet Kant's official view, as exemplified by the passage just quoted in the main text, is that philosophical theologians should remain neutral about such historical issues, focusing instead on the dangers of an over-literal interpretation and the benefits of a symbolic rendering. Galbraith apparently overlooks this key aspect of Kant's approach. Garrett Green present a more accurate interpretation on this issue [Gg93:10], explaining that to solve the problem of past evil Kant introduces 'a set of dual perspectives' [10-11]: 'It looks like grace from the human perspective ... From the supersensible vantage point, however, ... the justification is fully merited by the sacrifice of the "new man.'" Thus Davidovich recognizes [Da93a:25] that Kant's notion of grace 'underscores our moral responsibility and accountability.'

462

APPENDICES

actual human being' (viz., Jesus): 'by example (in and through the moral idea) he opens the portals of freedom to all who, like him, choose to become dead to everything that holds them fettered to life on earth to the detriment of morality...'. Once again, however, we must be careful not to assume that, because Kant often emphasizes the role of Jesus as an example, this is the only way he conceived of him. Indeed, considerable evidence to the contrary is presented in VIII.2.B. Kant's emphasis here is due to the fact that Jesus' role as an example is thoroughly related to morality, while his status as savior and advocate is a theoretical claim: in light of the primacy of practical reason, the latter properly merits less attention in a philosophical theologian's account of system,-. The above-quoted phrase 'if we personify this idea' must not be taken to imply a dog¬ matic rejection of Jesus' divinity by reducing it to a mere 'personification'. Nothing could be further from Kant's intentions, as we saw in VI.2-4. Yet Quinn thinks Kant's solution to this third difficulty, whereby 'a moral person makes vicarious satisfaction for the physical person to whom he or she is tied' [Qu86:452], means the moral person takes the place of Christ. 'What our reason reveals to us is that there can be no vicarious atonement' [456]. But Kant is not denying Christ's work, as Quinn claims; he is rather providing us with a philosophical explanation of how we must interpret its meaning, if it is to be compatible with rational religion.15 What Quinn fails to recognize is that 'reason cannot understand p' is not equiva¬ lent for Kant to 'p is impossible'. A more accurate interpretation reads Kant as arguing that, quite apart from the question of its empirical instantiation in a real individual, the archetype exhibits certain personifiable characteristics. If there is any hidden intention in this passage, it is to defend the adequacy of a symbolic interpretation of the doctrine of Jesus as savior and ad¬ vocate, by drawing attention to its consistency with pure religion. Nothing in Kant's text jus¬ tifies a strict reductionist interpretation of this or either of the other two soteriological diffi¬ culties. The problem Rossi raises in response to Kant's solution to the third difficulty is similarly misplaced, due to his insufficient application of the principle of perspective. Rossi complains that Kant's solution 'does not... follow the contours of the distinction between the sensible and the intelligible', as does Kant's treatment of related issues in Kt4 and Kt5 [Ro91:291]. But this is because Kt8 adopts the judicial standpoint, where Kant seeks to overcome his infamous dualism.16 Rossi does admit that Kant hints at a possible response along these lines [292]: we can '"heal" that split by affirming the necessity of taking a timeless perspective on the temporal;... we can also look morally at the timeless from the perspective of the temporal.' While this is a good start, I believe Kant goes beyond both of these and wants us to focus on the experience of conversion—that is, the experience of the timeless coming into time and of time reaching out to eternity. As a key component of his Critical mysticism, this suggestion is developed further in Part Four. 15. This supports Wood's claim that Kant is 'very far from rejecting the doctrine of vicarious atonement' [Wo70:237]. Michalson finds this judgment 'provocative but questionable' [Mi89: 266n]. My goal in this section is to make such a claim less questionable. 16. Along these lines Davidovich says Kant's appeal to divine assistance only makes sense in the context of 'the reflective recognition of a transcendental unity of Nature and Freedom (in [Kt7])' [Da93a:24]. This is quite right. The judicial standpoint already assumes that nature and freedom, the world and God, operate as a synthetic unity in humanity; so God's assistance is not a careless admission of an improperly supernatural element into systemr, so much as a proper admission of the judicial communion of God and the world. As Davidovich adds, this is because 'the supreme principle of reflective judgment is a thought about a moral governor of the universe [i.e., a God-inthe-world] who designed the laws of nature in harmony with the final ends of morality.' That this is the ultimate goal of Kant's entire System is demonstrated in XII.4.

AVI. Faith in the Face of Evil

463

Gibbs' criticism of Kant's position rests on an even more serious misinterpretation than Quinn's or Rossi's. Concerning Kant's view that a good-hearted person 'takes on this pain' as payment for the debt owed divine justice as a result of sins committed when this person was evil-hearted [Gi89:33O], he opines: 'This is a thinly veiled attempt to make a person the forgiver of himself, through moral improvement. This result denies the reality of past action'. Yet this totally ignores the subtleties of Kant's position, its whole purpose being to face up to the reality of our past evil with the responsible eyes of a rational faith. We do not forgive ourselves, in Kant's view, we undergo an experience that enables God to forgive us without giving up the character of being a just judge. Gibbs goes on to claim that Kant's 'limited view of repentance' exhibits 'a distinct fear of forgiveness. He excludes the resources of religion from his discussion.' Kant does limit the role of repentance and exclude the details of revelation; but this is an entirely appropriate result of adopting the philosophical theologian's Perspective [see VIII.1 and IX.1]; Gibbs unfairly expects him to adopt the biblical theologian's Perspective as well.17 But Kant has no intention of denying the possibility or right of the latter to exist; his task as a Critical philosopher is to determine what form the revelation must take if it is to contain a message about divine forgiveness. And, far from exhibiting a fear of forgiveness, the formal philosophical requirements of Kant's symbolic interpretation match the biblical message of Jesus' crucifixion perfectly! Gibbs is certainly correct to argue [Gi89:331] that 'a painful feeling is neither true repentance, nor can it alleviate the weight of the guilt of the world.' The converse, however, is not true. True repentance is a painful experience, and without it, the consequences of guilt cannot be alleviated; and this is just Kant's point! A person who claims to be converted without experiencing the pain of guilt over past sins and the humility of repentance would not, according to Kant, have rational grounds for believing that a genuine change of heart had taken place.18 Likewise, a revelation that claims to tell how God has alleviated the guilt of the world would need to correspond in its form to the rational requirements Kant sets down—a test the biblical account of Jesus' crucifixion passes with flying colors. Ignoring this deep, existential insight contained in Kant's solution to the problem of justification, Gibbs charges 'Kantian practical reason' with 'not allowing] God to forgive' us for 'the guilt of the past' [332]. Yet Kant would never accept such a starkly negative statement as a construal of the position he defends. Far from fearing divine forgiveness, his goal is to put it in its proper place, as a hope we can have good reasons for harboring, even though we can never be absolutely certain God has granted us such a gift.19 Despland is therefore quite right to say 17. Kant's way of reasoning, based on the assumption that our moral progress can in some sense justify abelief in atonement, is admittedly too calculating for ordinary, nonphilosophical believers to appreciate. Kant's philosophical theology does not—and is not meant to—encourage believers to be lovers of God\ The whole idea of measuring our worthiness to receive grace is foreign to the biblical emphasis on the beloved merely resting in God's gracious provisions. Nevertheless, I argue in IX.2-3 that such a biblical theology can be almost entirely consistent with Kant's philosophical theology. Gibbs' abhorrence for Kant's position seems to be directed more against the very Perspective of philosophical theology than against Kant's specific arguments. 18. A good illustration of this principle is the deathbed conversion [see Kt8:69-71n(63-5n)]. Kant's advice to the priest assisting someone who is about to die demonstrates how wrong McCarthy is to regard Kant's view of conversion as inadequate because it requires only an internal change [Mc86: 80]: 'The evil that I may have done in the physical world, and which may still affect others, goes unmentioned.' For in his discussion of deathbed conversions, Kant explicitly requires a person to show with outward acts that the internal conversion is genuine. And the same is true for anyone who wishes to make a rational evaluation of the genuineness of any given conversion experience. 19. Vossenkuhl [Vo88:184] says Kant rejects the view that bases atonement solely on belief in a revealed gift. 'He takes it to be rational instead for man to believe that satisfaction is only possible

464

APPENDICES

[De73:251] 'Kant is no naturalist and divine forgiveness constantly stands on the edge of his discourse.' It stands on the edge because this is its proper place in a philosophical theology; Kant's hope is that biblical theologians will accept his position as a philosophical foundation for God's revelation of the way forgiveness is actually manifested to us. 3. Critical Eschatology and the Problem of Assurance An insightful yet often neglected aspect of Kant's Critical theology is the policy it recommends concerning the tendency of religious people to judge their own and/or other people's eternal destiny. Because the good and evil character of our actions depends on our maxims and ultimately on our disposition, not on the nature of our outward acts as such, Kant claims that we can never be certain whether other people (or indeed, even we ourselves) are good or evil [see e.g., Kt8:20(16),51(46); s.a. Kt5:407]. His solution to the first difficulty suggests that, given our ignorance of God's Perspective, the only rational procedure is to infer the character of our disposition from the progress (or lack thereof) in our moral development over time. 20 This appeal to progress in place of God's Perspective gives rise to the second of Kant's three difficulties, concerning what level of certainty we can have of our eternal destiny. This problem relates to a believer's assurance of being accepted by God at the final judgment and has given rise to the Christian doctrine sometimes known as 'eternal security' or 'per¬ severance' (viz., the conviction that a person God has saved can never become 'unsaved'—or, to use Kant's terms, that once a person's disposition changes from evil to good, it can never revert to evil). As such, it is one small but important component in the area of systematic theology called 'eschatology'. 21

through his own merit in a good life.' But the word 'only' here is grossly misleading. Kant's view is that the only rational basis for believing one is worthy to receive the supplementary gift of God's grace is by an appeal to one's good life-conduct. As we shall see in more detail in AVI.4, Vossenkuhl misses the subtlety of Kant's view here. 20. E.g., Kt8:48(43),77(71). Michalson opines [Mi89:264] that the 'genius' in Kant's approach to divine aid is 'employing an epistemological limitation to help him make a constructive religious point.' That is, our ignorance of our own disposition means we can trust God to see it as it is, even though we see ourselves only as 'progressing' towards a distant goal. In this form, 'Divine aid... amounts to something like God's willingness to treat our moral progress as a kind of promissory note.... Kant appears to eliminate the duration necessary for moral perfection that had played a key role in the postulation of immortality.' Michalson's 'promissory note' metaphor is a good one. However, the problem he raises for the postulate of immortality is easily solved. First, the postulates relates to systemp, not to systemr. From the latter standpoint, the need for a future life would still be present if God's judgment is based on a projection of our moral progress to infinity (i.e., an eternal projection). Michalson argues that Kant's notion of divine grace 'is not so much divine grace as it is a divine limitation' [269], because God has no choice but to 'see' us from the divine Perspective; 'God is not exercising an altogether free and gracious option in viewing our moral change as complete; instead God is viewing things in the only way God can.' This appeal 'does not account for the revolution's occurrence', he argues, because it does not tell us how it hap¬ pens. But Kant's position is that our knowledge of such things is limited; reason is powerless to tell us how it the revolution happens; this is a problem that can be solved only by believing in a specific historical tradition. What Michalson takes as a weakness of Kant's argument is merely the point Kant is trying to make! 21. Technically, eschatology is the study of the 'end times'; but it often includes an overview of the entire course of human history, from creation to the final judgment. KSP4 will include a thorough¬ going study of Kant's eschatology in this broad sense. Our present discussion of the problem of assurance will only scratch the surface of this aspect of Kant's System, concerned as it is with the metaphysical idea of immortality rather than with that of God, the topic of this volume. Galbraith supports Moltmann's contention that a key deficiency of Kant philosophy of religion is its lack of any eschatology in the form of a resurrection hope [Ga96:158]. This is

AVI. Faith in the Face of Evil

465

Kant expresses this second difficulty as a problem relating to 'moral happiness' or 'contentment', thus highlighting how it corresponds to the second of God's moral attributes (i.e., benevolence). (Likewise, the first and third difficulties constitute potential challenges to the attributes of holiness and justice, respectively.) The problem here is whether we can have 'assurance of the everlasting possession of... a disposition which ever progresses in goodness' [Kt8:67(61)]. Can we be sure we will never become discontent with our good disposition and fall back into an evil-hearted life? The feeling that we 'could never fall so low as again to love evil' is not trustworthy, since we are 'easily deceived' in our own self-appraisals [68(61-2)]. Too much confidence in the permanence of our moral disposition could actually deter our moral progress; but some degree of confidence is needed if we are 'to persevere steadily' towards 'the goal of perfection'. What then is the rational basis of such confidence? Kant argues that, if we can 'conjecture' on the basis of 'the steady improvement' we observe down through the years that our disposition really has changed, then this, in turn, gives us 'reasonable grounds for hope... that [we] will never forsake this course' [68(62)], neither in this earthly life nor in any afterlife that may follow. This is rather bleak news for anyone whose self-reflection reveals a person 'who is ever falling back into evil', or whose lifeconduct always seems to slip 'evermore from bad to worse.' For this person can only conjecture that 'the corruption [is] rooted in his very disposition'; and this means there is 'no reasonable hope' of progression towards perfection in the future.22 That Kant's concern in discussing the second difficulty is eschatological becomes evident when he relates his solution to the symbolic value of believing in heaven and hell. These traditional concepts, as he points out earlier in Book Two, are 'philosophically correct' [6On(53n)] in depicting the fate of people with good and evil dispositions, respectively, as being a fundamental difference of kind rather than a mere difference of degree. He carries this further in Kt8:69-70(63-4), regarding the notions of 'a blessed or cursed eternity' as useful practical ideas, but warning against the dangers of interpreting them dogmatically: 'In making such assertions and pretensions to knowledge, reason simply passes beyond the limits of its own insight.' In a lengthy footnote on the 'childish' issue of whether 'the punishments of hell [will] be terminable or everlasting' [69n(63n)], Kant claims both options have disagreeable consequences, but appears to side in the end with a temporary hell, claiming that 'neither rational insight nor Scriptural exegesis warrants' a dogma of eternal doom. The foot¬ note goes on for three pages, recommending that the best option is to give each person over to his or her own conscience, which being free, cannot be bribed and is therefore likely to judge the person 'with the greatest severity' [70n(64n); s.a. 77-8(71-2), Kt25:28.1.446-7, 28.2.770]. The bottom line for Kant, as always, is to ascertain what is most likely to make the individual 'a genuinely good person' in this life . The idea of heaven is useful because it can 'strengthen [good-hearted people] in goodness'; the idea of hell, by contrast, can 'awaken in [evil-hearted people] the voice of conscience commanding them still to break with evil' [Kt8:69(63)]. Kant develops this view of the final Judgment and the afterlife in greater detail in Kt31:327-31. Arguing against a theoretical use of the notions of heaven and hell, he asks in Kt31:329: 'For what person knows himself and others so thoroughly as to decide whether, in the all-seeing eye of a Judge of the world, one man has an advantage in every respect over another in his inner moral worth admittedly a weak point in Kant's theology; nevertheless, this section provides ample evidence that Kant cherished more hope in this respect than Galbraith would have us believe [s.a. AVII.2]. 22. Kt8:68-9(62). For an excellent study of what constitutes a 'reasonable hope' for Kant, see Ax94. Axinn's crucial insight for our purposes is that 'we can hope for something only if we are ignorant of whether or not it will occur' [3], for 'one does not hope for a certainty or an impossibility' [13].

466

APPENDICES

...?' What must be kept in mind in reading such passages is that Kant is not denying the symbolic value of such concepts, but is warning against over-literal interpretations that threaten to divest them of their inner (symbolic) meaning. In KSP4 I shall comment further on how Kant's philosophy can provide the basis for a rational doctrine of heaven and hell.23 Kant concludes his discussion of the second difficulty by expressing his position in terms of the Christian belief in the Holy Spirit as 'our Comforter (Paraclete)' [Kt8:71(65)]. He refers to the good disposition symbolically as a 'spirit presiding over us', creating 'a confidence in its own permanence and stability' [70-1(65)]. The confidence it provides is moral, rooted in the practical standpoint: it is the 'comfort and hope (though not certainty)' that always accompanies 'a good disposition' [76(70)]. From the theoretical standpoint, cer¬ tainty of the permanence of a good disposition 'is neither possible to man, nor,... morally beneficial.' The doctrine of eternal security can therefore best be regarded as a 'regulative' guide for our moral life, not as an item of 'constitutive' knowledge concerning God's final judgment [cf. 71n(65n)]. Hare associates Kant's three difficulties with the three persons of the Trinity (Father, Spirit, and Son) and correlates both triads to the future-present-past distinction [Ha96:53-57]. These suggestions are little more than fanciful speculations until they are linked to Kant's deep belief in the architectonic structure of reason. With the latter in mind, we can defend a revised version of Hare's suggestions by linking them to the three moral aspects of God's nature [cf. Fig. V.5]. Kant's first difficulty challenges us to explain how God's holiness (the moral attribute associated most closely with God the Father) can allow a person to be saved even though the present state of our sanctification has not yet reached the final goal of perfec¬ tion. The second difficulty calls for an account of how God's benevolence (the attribute of God the Son) can be preserved even though we can never have complete assurance of salvation based on our as yet unknown future state. And the third difficulty asks us to explain how God's justice (the attribute of God the Spirit) can allow for the forgiveness of our past sins. Kant provides us with a reason to maintain our faith in the face of each difficulty. His solutions each appeal to the same time-frame: our disposition (whether good or evil) is a present reality that God views in lieu of our individual acts; our moral progress (or regress) can be projected into the future to provide hope that our good disposition will remain; and an atoning punishment (awareness of guilt) took place during the conversion we experienced in the pa jr. This revised version of Hare's correlations can be mapped onto the same triangle used to depict God's moral attributes in V.4, as shown in Figure AVI.2. Hare's association of the Spirit with the second difficulty and the Son with the third admittedly has some basis in the text, inasmuch as Kant does refer to those persons of the Trinity in his discussion of the corresponding difficulties.24 However, benevolence (God's will¬ ingness to look after our happiness) is the fundamental attribute being challenged in the second 23- In Kt25:28.1.297-301(Jo96:26-7) Kant proposes a surprisingly Swedenborgian theory of heaven and hell as present spiritual realms that persons inhabit even before they die. Upon death the soul and body separate, thus giving rise to a 'transformation of sensuous intuition into spiritual intuition', enabling us to intuit this spiritual world 'not ... as it appears, but rather as it is.' Johnson goes so far as to say Kant's theory here 'is an exact description of Swedenborg's visions' [see Jo96:31n]. Kant makes similar comments in Kt25:29.1:919-20. 24. Hare's correlation of the time-frames—Father with the future; Spirit with the present; Son with the past—is not justified by the text. The lack of symmetry between his account and mine on this issue is due to the fact that we are applying the time-frames differently: he is referring to when the 'work' of each person of the Trinity is carried out [Ha96:55], whereas I am referring to the time-frame that poses the greatest challenge ('difficulty') to each person of the Trinity. Hare's version is quite consistent with conventional usage; but mine is closer to Kant's usage.

AVI. Faith in the Face of Evil difficulty, as is God's justice in the third. Why does Kant appear to reverse his standard association of benevolence and justice with the Son and the Spirit? This may be due to his awareness of the need to view these two persons of the Trinity as supporting each other's work in order to overcome the diffi¬ culties. That is, even though benevolence is the primary attribute of the Son, the indwelling of the Spirit is needed before we can rest assured in the hope of God's grace. Likewise, even though justice is the primary attribute of the Spirit, the sacrificial suffer¬ ing of the Son turns out to be the best sym¬ bol for the pain we must endure (through the strict voice of the Spirit, in the form of our conscience) in order for atonement to take place. This same relationship of mutual interdependence is expressed in Christian theology by referring to God's Spirit as the Spirit of Jesus.

467

1. Holiness of the Father (sanctification in the present)

3. Justice of the Spirit (atonement for the past)

2. Benevolence of the Son (assurance of the future)

Figure AVI.2: Time-Frames for the Difficulties as Correlated to Kant's Trinity of Divine Attributes

To these architectonic correlations I would add the more substantial observation that the three difficulties are also Kant's attempt to assess and Critically reform the doctrinal extremes defended by three major church traditions: belief in penance (Roman Catholic), eternal security (Lutheran/Baptist), and predestination (Calvinism), respectively. Penance falsifies genuine faith by failing to trust that a good disposition is all God requires of us in the present. Perseverance (especially in the extreme form of 'eternal security') falsifies genuine

Table AVI.2: Standard Solutions to Kant's 'Difficulties' difficult doctrine

Kant's solution

standard solution

sanctification (How can sins com¬ mitted after conver¬ sion be forgiven?)

God overlooks our present sins by judging our disposition.

(Our expressions of sorrow help make us holy.)

final judgment (How can we be sure God will save us?)

Moral progress gives us grounds for future hope, not absolute certainty.

(Once we accept Jesus, our salvation can never be lost.)

atonement (How are pre-conversion sins justified?)

Just punishment for past sins occurred during the change of heart.

(God chose in ad¬ vance who would be forgiven.)

church tradition

penance

Roman Catholic

perseverance

Lutheran/ Baptist

predestination

Calvinist

468

APPENDICES

faith by replacing humble belief with an unrealizable claim to certain knowledge.25 And predestination falsifies genuine faith by irresponsibly dissociating God's justice from any requirement that a person take responsibility for any evil deeds done in the past. The summary of these correlations in Table AVI.2 illustrates an important, yet often neglected, fact about Kant's Critical theology and philosophy of religion: it presents us not only with an abstract theological system that claims to carry a measure of universal validity, but also with specific suggestions for historical reformation, based on a keen awareness of the historical development of religion up to Kant's day. The whole story of how religion fits into Kant's understanding of the historical and political development of the human race goes far beyond the scope of the present study. This will be the topic of KSP4. For now it is enough to observe that the eschatological hope Kant expresses in response to the second difficulty expresses in a nutshell his optimistic faith in a divinely ordained destiny for the human race. 4. Critical Redemption and the Problem of Good Works Kant's keen awareness of the theological difficulties caused by the reality of evil in human life and his efforts to solve them by appealing to the rationality of a philosophical faith in a moral God, a God who resembles the Christian God in many respects, would all be thrown into relief and call for a thoroughgoing rebuttal if one common claim about Kant's position turns out to be accurate. He is regarded all too often as defending a religion of salvation by works, devoid of any genuine appreciation for divine forgiveness and grace—a position that is not only anti-Christian but theologically suspect for purely philosophical reasons. The inaccuracy of this interpretation should be evident enough by now. But because it has been so rampant among readers and interpreters of Kant, I shall conclude this appendix by demonstrating how Kant's emphasis on good works is consistent with a faithful openness to God's unmerited grace. This aspect of Kant's theory falls under the category of 'redemp¬ tion' in systematic theology—i.e., the explanation of how human beings are set free from the consequences of their sins. In particular, it is a response to the long-standing controversy over the proper relationship between faith and good works. The Bible seems to teach that faith redeems us regardless of whether or not we perform good works, yet sometimes seems to treat the latter as a necessary requirement for salvation.26 How then does Kant deal with this issue? Kant's insistence on viewing redemption as primarily practical (i.e., viewing it actively, as related in some way to good life-conduct), rather than theoretical (i.e., as related solely to a passive receiving of God's grace) is often taken out of its proper perspectival context. Interpreters tend to neglect his simultaneous recognition that the reality of evil implies the insufficiency of good life-conduct and the real need for a morally-attuned faith in God's inscrutable grace.27 As a result, Christian readers in particular are often quick to reject Kant's position. But such a rejection is premature: it reflects the failure of interpreters to take Kant's 25. McGrath calls this doctrine 'one of the leading features of Protestant spirituality' and traces it as far back as Luther himself [Mc88:53]. 26. On the one hand, the Bible affirms that 'faith without deeds is useless' [Js. 2:20], yet elsewhere clearly insists that 'you have been saved through faith ... not as a result of works, that no one should boast' [Eph. 2:8-9]. 27. One of several notable exceptions is Wood, who thoroughly examines the role of moral faith in Wo70:160-87. For a detailed discussion of the role of nonreligious faith in Kant's System, as it relates to both the theoretical and the practical standpoints, see KSP1:V. On the issue of the insufficiency of our good works to save us, the passage quoted in VII.2.B is worth repeating here: 'Every man must guard against moral self-conceit, against believing himself morally good and having a favourable opinion of himself. This feeling of moral self-sufficiency is self-deception; it is an incurable hallucination' [Kt35:(246); s.a. Kt8:68(62)].

AVI. Faith in the Face of Evil

469

principle of perspective into consideration. Otto typifies this tendency when he says Kant 'will have no gospel, and no scheme of morals ever stood in more need of one. His yoke is not easy and his burden is not light.'28 As we saw in VI.2, Kant is careful to distinguish between pure religion (religion viewed solely from the practical standpoint) and ecclesiastical faith (religion viewed primarily from the theoretical standpoint). Accordingly, he does indeed refuse to take refuge in a gospel in systemp ('morality does not need religion at all' [Kt8: 3(3)]); yet what is frequently ignored is that he readily admits that a doctrine of redemption does have a proper place in system,, inasmuch as this system assumes the judicial standpoint. I discuss Kant's view of good life-conduct as a necessary, but not sufficient, condition for salvation near the end of VIII.2.B [s.a. VII.2.B]. His caution on this issue is closely connected with his intent to avoid a dogmatic acceptance of the morally-transcendent idea that arises as a by-product of the first stage in systemr (i.e., 'workings of grace' [see AVII.l]). With this danger in mind, let us take a closer look at Kant's Critical solution to the theological problem of the conflict between faith and works. Kant's clearest account of the role of good works in redemption comes in Kt8:l 15-20 (106-11), where he reveals 'a remarkable antinomy of human reason' [116(107)]. 'Saving faith involves two elements... The first is the faith in an atonement...; the second, the faith that we can become well-pleasing to God through a good course of life in the future' [116(106)]. But which comes first, faith in vicarious atonement, or faith in one's own works? A belief in the priority of the former ignores that, for any 'thoughtful person', such faith implies a commitment to 'improve his way of life' [117(107)]; but a belief in the priority of the latter ignores the seriousness of the threat posed by the thoroughgoing 'power of the evil principle' [117(108)]. In this form the antinomy 'cannot be resolved theoretically', but only by appealing to the practical standpoint [117-8(108)]: 'The acceptance of... faith in a vicari¬ ous atonement is ... necessary only for the theoretical concept [of salvation]; in no other way can we make comprehensible to ourselves such an absolution. In contrast, the necessity for the second principle [good life-conduct] is practical and, indeed, purely moral.' This conflict between genuine good works and genuine faith is only apparent, once we recognize the perspectival relationship between their fundamental principles [Kt8:l 19(110)]: [they] are not two principles which in themselves so differ that to begin with the one, or the other, would be to enter upon opposing paths, but only one and the same practical idea... representing the archetype now as found in God and proceeding from Him [to which a person responds with faith as the basis for good works], and now, as found in us [to which a person responds with good works as the basis for faith], but in both instances as the gauge for our course of life. Kant is here describing a perspectival shift that occurs from Book Three to Book Four of Kt8 (i.e., from the empirical to the hypothetical perspective of systemr). In the former grace (in the form of the archetype) precedes good works, whereas in the latter good works precede and lead to the hope of salvation, inasmuch as a person's 'saving faith' is authentic only if it is also a 'pure religious faith, [which] is practical.' (The paradoxical relation between saving faith and good life-conduct is therefore system/s equivalent to the antinomy of practical reason in stage four of systemp [see Vo88:185]. For both, the antinomy has no theoretical solution, only a practical one.) The biblical theologian rightly relies more on the empirical and logical perspective (revelation being the experience of a communication of the divine X070Q, just as 28. Ot50:186; s.a. note AVI.8. Kant presents a concise explanation of why such a criticism is unjusti¬ fied in Kt8:179n(167n). Obedience to the moral law is a light burden because we impose it upon ourselves freely, whereas ecclesiastical ordinances tend to be burdensome because they are imposed upon us by another. This key position is one Kant and Jesus surely have in common [see AV.2-3].

470

APPENDICES

the philosophical theologian relies more on the transcendental and hypothetical perspectives. For a complete understanding of a living religious faith and its proper relation to genuinely good works, these two complementary Perspectives must work together [see IX. 1]. Kant further clarifies the problem of faith and works by distinguishing between truly good works (i.e., morally good actions) and works that are wrongly believed to be good pre¬ cisely because there is no reason to do them other than to please God [see e.g., Kt8:106(97)]. Kant would assess Luther as being right for rejecting the Catholic Church's belief that 'good works' of the latter type (i.e., churchly activities) can effect salvation in themselves, but wrong to 'throw out the baby with the bathwater' by also downplaying the importance of truly moral deeds [cf. note IX.19]. From the Perspective of human reason, the latter provide the proper basis for hope in salvation, even though, with Luther, Kant agrees that from God's Perspective they may never be sufficient to redeem us [see e.g., note VI.26 and VII.3.B]. The fact that Kant treats good life-conduct as a philosophical litmus test for a genuine faith must not be construed to mean that he thinks good works can themselves redeem us or that an appeal to God's grace is but an optional extra. Kant makes his position crystal clear in a 1775 letter to Lavater, where he says his trust 'in the unknown and mysterious help of God' is most emphatically accomplished 'without meritorious "works" of any sort' [AA10:170 (Zw67:81-2)]. In the same letter [169(81); s.a. 171(83)] he says: 'By "moral faith" I mean the unconditioned trust in divine aid, in achieving all the good that... lies beyond our power.' In the process of solving the three difficulties, especially the third, Kant frequently appeals to the need for such a faith in God's forgiveness and grace. Because 'we really have no legal claim' to the 'surplus ... over the profit from good works', it must be 'reckoned to us by grace' [Kt8:75(70)]. When the philosophical 'deduction' of God's redemptive forgiveness is taken as a regulative symbol, its 'negative benefit to religion and morality ... is very far-reaching' (e.g., it prevents us from a false sense of self-sufficiency); nevertheless, this deduction has no 'positive use' (i.e., one that can be manipulated as an item of theoretical knowledge), for it presupposes that 'the individual in question is already in actual possession of the required good disposition' [76(70-1)]. This does not mean Kant has no use for divine grace, nor does it make him a Pelagian (a charge I dispute in IX.4). Rather, it means we cannot take credit for earning God's grace at all; the most we 'can credit to ourselves' is for our 'capability of receiving' grace [75n(70n)]. This Critical view of redemption defines grace as 'a superior's decree conferring a good for which the subordinate possesses nothing but the (moral) receptivity'. This 'receptivity' is what Kant means by 'moral faith'; it is moral insofar as its rational support is based on evidence drawn from the good works we perform. In spite of the bad press Kant's doctrine of redemption has so often been given, aperspectival interpretation reveals it to be a plausible theological account of the relationship be¬ tween faith and works—one that is both philosophically sound and consistent with Christian teaching. Although redemption is admittedly connected at some points in the New Testament with a simple 'declaration of repentance', as when John the Baptist calls the people to 'repent and believe in the gospel' [Mk. 1:15; see Kt65:42], most Christians would agree that such a declaration only constitutes a genuine conversion when it comes from the heart; and if it comes from the heart it will result in a change of life-conduct [see e.g., Js. 2:14-26; Rev. 20: 12-13]. Duties that were put to one side in favor of inclinations will now become far more important because they will be viewed as carrying the full weight of divine commands [see VI.2]. The view that grace is imputed only to those who give a merely theoretical assent to a given proposition, so that a change in lifestyle becomes an optional extra, is clearly a perversion of biblical teaching: 'No thoughtful person can bring himself to believe this' [Kt8: 117(107)]. Kant argues only against such erroneous approaches to Christianity [See e.g.,

AVI. Faith in the Face of Evil

471

Kt65:42], not against an authentically biblical theology. For he is careful to distinguish between 'good works' as morally good actions that are intrinsically pleasing to God and 'good works' as nonmoral actions that some religious people believe can induce God to redeem them without requiring any change in their moral disposition.29 Having no direct access to our disposition, we must regard its reworking from evil to good as a free gift from God; good works are the evidence we can use to prove to ourselves (not to God!) that our faith in God's redemption is not in vain. Grace cannot be a reward for good works, because it comes to us while our disposition is still in its corrupted, evil state.30 Still less can nonmoral works serve to appease divine displeasure for one's lack of good works in the moral sense—this being but a futile attempt to control God. The primacy of practical reason entails that good life-conduct is logically, though not necessarily chronologically, prior to faith. (Chronologically, the two types of faith would best be depicted as occurring simultaneously in the conversion experience.) Thus our obedience, not our faith in atonement, 'must be the effect of our own action and not... of a foreign influ¬ ence in the presence of which we are passive* [Kt8:118(108-9); s.a. 184-5(172-3)]. However, this does not imply that the latter form of belief has no place; on the contrary, Kant criticizes those who hold such 'naturalistic unbelief for 'cutting the knot (by means of a practical maxim) instead of disentangling it (theoretically)' [118-9(109)]. He argues that 'the theoretical demand can be satisfied' by recognizing the perspectival relationship between the two types of faith. The theoretical misunderstanding caused by the dogmatic tendency to view our ability to do good works as a matter of grace and our belief in a vicarious atonement as a matter of duty must therefore be replaced by a practical understanding of good works as a matter of duty and vicarious atonement as a matter of grace?1

29. Kant's whole intention in formulating notions such as 'practical faith', in urging us to pursue actively the goal of good life-conduct, and in criticizing those who replace this goal with 'works' directed solely to God, is to expound and defend the consistency and rationality of the true Christian message as conveyed in the Bible. What Christian would deny that the Bible teaches this very same position: that a person 'who does what he can, and trusts God to do whatever else may be lacking, has a truer faith than he who insists upon knowing what God will do, and cherishes the hope that his praise of this may somehow do instead of his own moral service' [We26:154-5]? This is just what Kant is saying when he concludes his book in Kt8:202(190) with the claim 'that the right course is not to go from grace to virtue but rather to progress from virtue to pardoning grace.' 30. From the Perspective of the biblical theologian, as adopted in IX.2-3, grace is best regarded as being transmitted through the loving relationship God establishes with human individuals [cf. IX.2.A]. The relationship renews the person's heart, and this in turn motivates the person to engage in good life-conduct. A person who believes God will be pleased by the mere observance of statutory laws and rituals is allowing these churchly works to take the place of the God-relation¬ ship. Ironically, the very acts such people believe render them worthy to receive God's grace are thereby blocking the acceptance of grace in their disposition. Thus, the real problem of 'good works' relates to pseudo-religious 'works' rather than genuinely good conduct. From the biblical theologian's Perspective, the gift of grace and its corollary, freedom, mean that God loves us no matter what our deeds turn out to be like. But this knowledge increases our responsibility, it does not decrease it. On this I believe Paul and Kant are in complete accord. The difference is that Paul, as a biblical theologian, infers from this that we can be secure in the knowledge of our salvation, whereas Kant, as a philosophical theologian, warns that such certainty cannot have a theoretical basis and that to believe it does is to risk having too low an estimate of our level of responsibility before God [see AVI.3]. 31. Kt8:l 18(109). In Kt65:65 Kant says 'it is a superstition to hold that historical belief is a duty and essential to salvation.' Indeed, 'faith in a merely historical proposition is, in itself, dead' [66, e.a.]; if not accompanied by pure inner religion, it can be used by the clergy to dominate the laity [50]. As Kant puts it in Kt8:133(123), 'true religion... consists] not in the knowing or consider¬ ing of what God does or has done for our salvation but in what we must do to become worthy of it.'

Appendix VII The Four Parerga: Reason's Need for Divine Assistance 1. Workings of Grace (Gnadenwirkungen)1 Kant examines four types of 'parerga'—one for each of the General Observations appended to Kt8's four 'books'.2 He defines parerga as by-products of reason's operation in religious matters, whose purpose is '[t]o remove the difficulties' obstructing the pure moral religion [Kt8:52(48)] 'when these difficulties have reference to transcendent questions.' These 'high-flown ideas' [52(47)] 'do not belong within ['religion within the bounds of bare reason'] but border upon it.' That is, they arise directly out of a moral need but satisfy that need by positing theoretically inscrutable cause-and-effect relationships between God and human persons [52-3(48)]. As a result, although they are freely available to reason for use in accordance with 'her good will', and 'may yet be necessary as a complement to her moral in¬ sufficiency', they can be dangerous if misused. When a person replaces an unassuming 'reflec¬ tive' faith in these parerga with a presumptuous 'dogmatic faith, which proclaims itself as a form of knowledge', various types of religious error are bound to result. As we saw in VII. 1, a theoretically 'dishonest' belief in workings of grace, miracles, mysteries, and means of grace produces the corresponding errors of 'fanaticism', 'superstition', 'illumination', and 'thaumaturgy' [52-3(48); s.e. Fig. VII.3]. Applying the parerga to Kant's concentric circles metaphor [see Fig. VII. 1] clarifies why each historical faith adopts its own versions of the parerga. In addition to showing the parerga arising directly out of the boundary of pure rational faith, Figure AVII.l depicts Kant's important distinction between direct and indirect forms of service to God [see VII.3.B]. Any indirect service (nonmoral actions or beliefs that enhance a moral disposition)

pseudo-service (nonmoral actions or beliefs that are put in place of moral improvement)

direct service (morally good actions)

TRlJE RELIGjION ideal, moral religion/ (= pure rationalA faith) - _ — real, empirical religion (= historical faith with moraly religion at its core)^

FALSE RELIGION (= historical faith without moral religion at its core)

Figure AVII.l: Parerga as Rational By-Products of Moral Religion 1. Greene and Hudson translate this term as 'works of grace'. This is misleading, inasmuch as it could lead to a confusion between this parergon and the fourth, means of grace—i.e., works we can perform to earn God's favor. Webb's 'operations of grace' [We26:162] is an improvement. The new Cambridge Edition uses 'effects ...'. I use the more literal 'workings' throughout this volume to preserve the contrast between God's 'workings' within us and 'works' we perform [cf. AVI.4]. 2. See Fig. VII.3. All the examples of parerga in Kt8 are closely related to specific Christian doctrines. This is simply because Kant chose Christianity as the historical faith to make the object of his 'second experiment' [see VIII. 1 and Fig. VII.l].

AVII. The Four Parerga: Reason's Need for Divine Assistance

473

ecclesiastically-determined religious action that immediately satisfies a demand of the moral law is a direct way of serving God. Nonmoral religious actions or beliefs can also be said to 'serve God', though only indirectly on Kant's view, if they enhance a person's moral disposi¬ tion. Outside of true religion lies the false forms of religious service, wherein a person believes God is pleased with actions that have no relation to morality and may even induce neglect of the moral law. The parerga are located on the boundary between pure and empirical forms of true religion, as Kant suggests [Kt8:52(47)], for they can either enhance or detract from the pure moral core of religion, depending on how the devotee interprets them. Since Kant's second 'experiment' [see VII.l] takes Christianity as a test case [see Ch. VIII], he tends to focus on the typical Christian version(s) of each parergon. The parerga that arises out of stage one of systemr Kant calls 'workings of grace'. This phrase refers to 'supernatural moral influences in relation to which we are merely passive' [Kt8:194(182)]. The dependence of religious fanatics on an 'imagined experience' of such divine action is seen by Kant as a misguided way of avoiding the seriousness of the implica¬ tions of radical evil in human nature. Dependence on a redeemer in the material stage of our religious development can cause a person to replace God-given freedom (and the responsibility that comes with it) with an imagined feeling of emotional closeness to God. This tends to give rise to moral laziness, whereby a person proudly assumes God's grace is sure to erase any evil the believer does [201 (189)]. Against this misuse of the parergon Kant argues not that all workings of grace are impossible, but that 'it is impossible to define these things theoretically ... because our use of the concept of cause and effect cannot be extended beyond matters of experience' [53(48)]. This should not be taken as an outright denial of supernatural interven¬ tion. Kant is very careful to leave a space open for God's grace [see AVI.4], but believes the philosopher (who as such cannot appeal to divine revelation) must not presume to understand how it works: 'we can admit a working of grace as something incomprehensible, but we cannot adopt it into our maxims either for theoretical or for practical use' [53(49)]. A person who gives first priority to 'feeling' the inner workings of God's grace, thereby obscuring the voice of conscience (and so also the likelihood of good life-conduct), is com¬ mitting the religious error Kant calls 'fanaticism'.3 Kant defines 'fanaticism in its most general sense' as 'a deliberate overstepping of the limits of reason' [Kt4:85]. In religion, it is 'the illusion of wishing to [be made good by grace] by striving for what is supposed to be communion with God' and is characterized by the belief that we can detect grace in operation and even 'produce [it] within ourselves' [Kt8:174(162)]. This illusion is fanatical when the very means it contemplates, as supersensible, are not within man's power ...; for this feeling of the immediate presence of the Supreme Being and the distinguishing of this from every other, even from the moral feeling, would constitute a Kant's term, Schwdrmerei, indicates that he is carrying on the tradition of the Protestant Reforma¬ tion, for this word 'and its many cognates were favorite terms of abuse for Luther' [Fe93:x-xii]. Fenves argues that the usual translation, 'fanaticism', has some misleading connotations. After rejecting 'zealotry' and 'enthusiasm' as alternatives, he opts for 'exaltation' on the grounds that Schwdrmerei 'derives from the swarming of bees.' His suggestion is that Kant's use of this term implies an analogy between 'the congregations of swarming churchmen' and 'the aggregates of swarming bees'—a similarity 'between human beings and animals—not human beings and God' [xi], 'Like bees, Schwdrmer fly through the air on erratic paths, and ... hover there without any easily understood means of support.' While he admits that this term is 'too closely connected with an uplifting emotion' [xii], it has the benefit of accurately connoting the 'danger, of becoming so uplifted that there is no place to go but down.' For our purposes it is enough merely to note that these interesting connotations imply that anyone (including mystics!) who can feel the presence of God without losing the capacity to 'think for oneself is not a fanatic in Kant's sense.

474

APPENDICES receptivity for an intuition for which there is no sensory provision in man's nature.... The fanatical religious illusion ... is the moral death of reason; for without reason, after all, no religion is possible, since, like all morality in general, it must be established upon basic principles. [175(163)]

Kant's complaint here is that fanaticism puts reason to death before it has had a chance to bear fruit in a genuinely religious (morally-attuned) disposition. As we shall see in XII.4, this does not mean Kant would object to the notion of reason coming to 'rest' when it fulfills its natural goal. What is important to keep in mind is that Kant's warnings about the dangers of dwell¬ ing on the workings of grace do not in any way imply that he sees no role whatsoever for grace. We have seen in AVI.2-4 [s.a. VII.2.B and VIII.2.B] that quite the contrary is true. Kant is deeply convinced that grace is a necessary component for any true religion. His criti¬ cism here is meant to warn against the danger of believing we can know so much about how God dispenses grace that we can control God's ways. As Galbraith aptly points out [Ga96:79], Kant's concept of grace 'strongly implies a power that is, at least in some respects, beyond our control.' (In IX.4 I show how this calls into question the common notion that Kant is Pelagian.) Moreover, Kant's pessimism here does not imply that all claims to have experienced God are harmful. As I argue at great length in Part Four, Kant's mind was wide open to the possibility of religious experiences, provided the workings of grace are always morally enlightened—to the extent that his own position can best be described as Critical mysticism.

2. Miracles (Wundern) The morally-transcendent idea arising out of the second stage in systemr, with its emphasis on the need for supernatural assistance in making humanity pleasing to God, is a theoretical dependence on miracles—i.e., on the importance of 'knowing through experience something whose occurrence, as under objective laws of experience [i.e., in system,], we ourselves recognize to be impossible' [Kt8:194(182)]. A common misconception of Kant's Critical philosophy is that the theoretical limitations imposed in Ktl rule out the possibility of miracles at the very outset.4 However, there is no justification in the text for this interpretation, as long as we accept Kant's definition of a miracle as an event 'in the world the operating laws of whose causes are, and must remain, absolutely unknown to us' [86(81)]. For Ktl leaves plenty of room for unknown causes of events; what it denies is the possibility of obtaining knowledge of uncaused events. (If miracles were defined as events not caused by Thus Friedman [Fr86b:515] says Kant's God 'does not spontaneously institute action, does not respond to pleas and prayers.' The latter part of this claim is inaccurate because Kant never puts such limits on what God can or cannot do and because it gives the wrong impression that prayer is useless [butcf. AVIII.1-4]. But Friedman is far from being alone in his views. McCarthy [Mc86:57], for example, agrees that Kant 'dismissed all prayer' as well as any 'claims of direct divine intervention in human affairs.' Earlier he had admitted that Kant gives 'no outright refutation of all miracles' [Mc82:203]. In Mc86:92-95, while discussing Kant's four parerga, McCarthy clarifies that 'Kant avoids outright dismissal of miracles, not in order to abet traditional religion but rather in order not to give aid to the new enemies of religion.' But I do not see why Kant could not have been motivated by both concerns. McCarthy admits that in Kt8:84(79) 'Kant grants the role of miracles in the Scriptures' [Mc86:93], but he excuses this by saying 'Kant grants the place of miracles only in narrative, not in fact.' The passage in question does indeed appear in a discussion of the Gospel narrative, but this does not mean Kant denies miracles any other realm of legitimacy; instead, he claims ignorance, thus (as usual) leaving room for faith. Yet McCarthy claims miracles 'cannot be a tenet of faith.' This is partially correct: they cannot be a tenet of pure rational faith; but they can be accepted as a legitimate part of historical faith.

*^|BI^^^^WHH

AVI1. The Four Parerga: Reason's Need for Divine Assistance

475

nature, then every act of free will would be a miracle for Kant.) Causes can be unknown to us because of our ignorance either of natural laws or of supernatural intervention. Thus Kant distinguishes between 'natural wonders' and 'a real miracle':5 'the first opens up the prospect of a new acquisition for the nourishment of reason; that is, it awakens the hope of discovering new laws of nature: the second... arouses the fear that confidence shall be lost in what has been hitherto accepted as known.' This fear may be what led Kant even in his pre-Copernican days to believe miracles in the natural order 'are either not at all or but seldom necessary' [Ktl5:l 12(289)]. He explains his position more fully in Kt46:460-l: 'Supreme Wisdom' designed 'the course of nature' in such a way that it has an 'accuracy which requires no amendment'; yet God 'has often made the most weighty exceptions to the universal rules of nature' so that the 'superior ends' of human beings (especially relating to the 'government of the world') could be furthered. After adopting the Copernican Perspective, Kant recognizes two, more extreme possibilities: 'miracles must be admitted as [occurring] daily... or else never' .6 Viewed from the theoretical standpoint, miracles must remain unknown, so 'the modesty of reason demands' that they be regarded as useless for science;7 viewed from a morally-enlightened judicial standpoint, however, we can see miracles everywhere in nature. Thus Kant calls attention to the beauty of the rebirth of a plant from a mere 'seed' each spring [Ktl:89n(84n)], and exclaims that 'no one... will assert that this is a mere result of natural laws; no one, indeed, can claim to comprehend whether or not the direct influence of the Creator is required on each occasion.' One of Kant's clearest accounts of miracles comes in Kt32:361-2n. The predetermining influence of 'divine providence' is a perfectly acceptable concept, he claims, provided we understand it in the general sense of establishing and maintaining the laws of nature. But, he claims, to apply this 'formal' concept 'materially, i.e., with respect to objects in the world... is false and self-contradictory', because it requires 'the perfect cause of events in the world [to] supplement its own predetermining providence in the course of the world'. Along these lines Kant says in Kt35:(94-5) that a good event is certainly part of God's providential scheme of things, but it is presumptuous to claim to have been specially selected by God for fortune's favours. God's intentions and purposes are universal in their nature, and an event may be the concomitant of a wider, not the result of an ad hoc intention.... In the course of the world taken as a whole 5. Kt8:88n(83n). For a similar comment alluding to Kant's belief in miracles, see note AVII.6. 6. Kt8:89n(84n). In a similar tone [86n(81n)] Kant notes that 'for God no distinction of easy and difficult is to be thought of.' Comments such as this readily confirm Galbraith's claim [Ga96:78] that in the parerga 'Kant is not denying what is beyond the limits, but rather, acknowledging the limits of the human capacity for comprehension.' Thus in an unpublished essay [AA18:320-2] Kant explicitly argues against the theoretical impossibility of miracles [cf. De73:333]. McCarthy points out that 'Kant's real position' in Kt8:89n(84n) is that having 'daily' miracles is not a real option, because it 'is not at all compatible with reason' [Mc86:93]. I n sum, ... there can be no such miracles today, nor is there any possible use for them.... The only real 'miracle' that Kant is prepared to accept, without terming it such, is the marvelous event of one's being accounted well-pleasing to God.' While there is no doubt that this is the primary miracle for Kant, and the only necessary miracle, he never dogmatically denies the possibility of other types, as McCarthy repeatedly claims. 7. Kt8:89n(84n). In Ktl:700 Kant likewise argues that, 'as we have no knowledge of these ['intelligi¬ ble grounds of the appearances'] whatsoever, we must never attempt to make use of them in our explanations of nature.' Nevertheless, he is careful to point out in Kt8:88n(83n) that a person's decision not to 'incorporate belief in miracles into his maxims (either of theoretical or practical reason)... does not impugn their possibility or reality.' Settle captures the essence of Kant's position in Se71:346: 'The method of thinking in science today does not deny miracles, as Bultmann [et. al.] claims; rather, as Kant suggests, it ignores them.'

476

APPENDICES everything is grounded in His good providence ... Universal Nature, not particular circumstances ought to evoke our thankfulness; for though the latter touch us more nearly, the former attitude is a nobler one.

To suppose God operates on specific natural events is to confuse the theoretical standpoin with the judicial (teleological) standpoint; but this does not mean the latter is invalid 'Although we can very well explain the physico-mechanical cause of these extraordinary cases' [Kt32:361n]—i.e., apparent miracles—'we must not overlook the teleological cause which intimates the foresight of a wisdom commanding over nature.' As an example of the legitimacy of such a dual explanation, Kant cites the healing work of a physician [362n]: God is the author of the physician and all his medicines, and if we insist on ascending to the highest but theoretically inconceivable first cause, the effect must be ascribed entirely to Him. Or we can ascribe it entirely to the physician, so far as we consider the occurrence as explicable in a chain of causes under the order of nature.

This passage clearly supports the view that Kant's criticism of miracles in Kt8 is mean to imply not that they cannot happen, but that a superstitious trust in their theoretical reality can do more harm than good to the furtherance of universal religion. The danger is that a person may 'count on miracles' as an excuse for avoiding moral improvement 'in the affairs of life' [Kt8:87(82)], or may believe that professing belief in certain historical miracles is a 'means whereby we can render ourselves well-pleasing to God' [85(80)]. Such demands indicate a person's 'moral unbelief, that is,... his lack of faith in virtue' .8 'However pious an humble such talk may be, it is full of self-conceit' [Kt32:361n]. Indeed, 'a really firm theoret¬ ical faith in miracles' can even lead to 'a senseless conceit', whereby a person believes 'man could himself perform them and so storm heaven' [Kt8:88(83)J. Arguing against this perver¬ sion of religion in Kt8:84(79), Kant says 'the true religion'—i.e., (Kantian) Christianity—'is now here, and from now on is able to maintain itself on rational grounds', even though miracles may well have played an important part in its foundation. Christianity is based on 'the moral disposition' [84(79)]; nevertheless, 'it is wholly conformable to man's ordinary ways of thought... for [its] historical introduction ... to be accompanied ... by miracles, in order to announce the termination of the earlier religion, which without miracles would neve have had any authority.' Far from denying the validity of the miracles recounted in the Bible Kant suggests we 'honor the trappings which have served to bring into public currency a doctrine whose authenticity rests upon a record indelibly registered in every soul and which stands in need of no miracle.'9 That is, miracles are needed as a prop for human weakness, no because of any lack in the content of ideal Christianity; by making true religion more appeal¬ ing, they hasten the day of its universal acceptance [see KSP4]. In addition to Kant's official theoretical meaning of 'miracle', and his occasiona allusion to a secondary, judicial meaning [see e.g., Kt8:89n(84n), q.a.], this word can be (and often is) used from a practical standpoint to refer to the otherwise inexplicable change in a person's disposition [see note AVII.6]. The miracles Kant says we should honor but ignore from the theoretical and practical standpoints are exclusively natural miracles; his own

8. Kt8:63(56); s.a. Kt35:(87). By 'faith in virtue', Kant simply means believing that people are sometimes capable of doing good. Thus he declares [(128-9)]: 'It is certainly right and proper tha man should recognize how weak he is, but not by the sacrifice of his good dispositions, for if he is to receive God's help he must at least be worthy of it. If we depreciate the value of human virtues we do harm, because if we deny good intentions to the man who lives aright, where is the difference between him and the evil-doer?' 9. Kt8:84(79). Kant expresses a very similar view in AA10:168(Zw67:80): 'miracles and revelations were needed, in those days' to combat Judaism, but now 'the scaffolding must be taken down.'

AVII. The Four Parerga: Reason's Need for Divine Assistance

All

description of conversion would easily qualify as the prime example of a personal miracle. This is implied, for instance, when he asserts that the realm wherein good and evil principles 'have might is a realm not of nature but of freedom, i.e., a realm in which one can control events only so far as one can rule hearts and minds [or 'spiritual natures' (Gemiither)]',10 Kant adopts this view of miracles explicitly in Kt32:362n: 'From amorally practical standpoint... the concept of the divine concursus [i.e., of personal miracles] is quite suitable and even necessary. We find this, for instance, in the belief that God will compensate for our lack of justice, provided our intention was genuine...'. But he is careful to warn, as usual, 'that no one should try to explain a good action (an event in the world) as a result of this concursus, for this would be a vain theoretical knowledge of the supersensuous and therefore absurd.' 'Even the Bible', in its treatment of conversion, 'seems to refer, not to supernatural experi¬ ences and fantastic feelings which should take reason's place in bringing about this revolu¬ tion, but to the spirit of Christ, which he manifested in teachings and examples so that we might make it our own' [Kt65:59]. Kant stresses both the personal validity of miracles and the danger of dogmatizing on them in Kt8:63(56): 'Only this idea [of the archetype of perfect humanity]... can establish the truth of miracles as possible effects of the good principle; but it can never itself derive from them its own verification.' The most important Christian miracle, the resurrection of Jesus, does not escape Kant's attention in Kt8. Kant treats this miracle as a part of Jesus' private ministry, occurring after his public ministry had been completed [128-9n(119n); see note VIII.32]. In so doing he is not discounting the resurrection as a figment of the disciples' imagination. His purpose is rather to emphasize that an understanding of the pure meaning of the event is more important than a dogmatic claim to understand exactly what actually happened. Thus, he discounts the importance of a literal, physical resurrection, because overemphasizing this purely theoretical aspect can eclipse the practical significance of Jesus' claim that he 'would still be with his disciples, even to the end of the world' [129(120); cf. Matt. 28:20], in the spiritual form of the archetypal ideal of humanity well-pleasing to God. Kant readily admits that 'historical belief in Jesus as the God-man, considered apart from the pure religion for which it serves as an important vehicle, does 'stand in need of verification through miracles', explaining that such miracles 'can be authenticated... only by scholarship.''' For the Christian, this implies that, regardless of what happened to Jesus' bones, it is rationally acceptable to believe he arose in a form that gave (and mysteriously gives) new life to all who are open to receive it. The resulting resurrection faith is what really matters, not a theoretical understanding of the precise nature of the miracle. To put the latter above the former is to succumb to a mistaken belief in the primacy of theoretical reason, thus divesting the parergon of miracles of any valid practical use it might otherwise have.

10. Kt8:82(76). The chief personal miracle Kant affirms is salvation by grace [see AVI.2-4]. McCarthy agrees: 'Kant in the end allows for the miracle of grace to complement human effort' [Mc82:199]. 11. Kt8:129(120). This interpretation provides support for Harp's (undefended) claim in Ha96:51 that Kant's 'polemics' should not be read 'anachronistically ..., as evidence that he did not believe in central doctrines of Christianity, like the historical resurrection of Christ.' As here, Kant is always careful neither to support nor to deny such doctrines in any absolute sense. Sometimes, however, he does reveal an unfortunate lack of toleration for paradox when interpreting them. This is nowhere more obvious than in his dismissive treatment of the idea of bodily resurrection: 'Those who accept this are materialists, to which class the apostles also belong, who place personality m matter. The transfigured body is a word without sense. — Why should our calcerous flesh [be] in heaven?' [Kt25:28.2.769(Jo97:33), t.b.; s.a. Jo97:37].

478

APPENDICES

3. Mysteries (Geheimnissen) Out of the third stage of systemr arises the morally-transcendent idea of a 'divinely prompted' understanding of holy mysteries [Kt8:137-8(129)]. For Kant a 'mystery' is a transcendent 'object of reason' that can be understood in terms of the practical standpoint, but cannot be comprehended in terms of the theoretical standpoint.12 In Ax94:247-55 Axinn elucidates Kant's view of mysteries by distinguishing between two types of ignorance: 'unknowability' and 'mystery'. Something unknowable 'can be mentioned but not used', while something mysterious 'can be used but not mentioned' [251]—'use' being practical in its orientation and 'mention', theoretical. Kant's point is that God's activities really are mysterious, inasmuch as we can know why God must act, but not what God's actions will be. This parergon leads to false religion only when a person neglects this point and believes the mysteries of God's actions can become objects of theoretical knowledge. The only genuine holy mysteries are the ideals presented to us by practical reason (such as the good disposition in stage one, the archetype in stage two and the kingdom of God in stage three), 'which God alone can do and the performance of which exceeds our capacity' [Kt8: 139n(130n)]; in such cases 'it may well be expedient for us merely to know and understand that there is such a mystery, not to comprehend it.' A dogmatic belief in divine revelation, however, can lead a religious person to believe that we can actually comprehend mysteries from the theoretical standpoint, through a 'merely passive' process of 'inner illumination' [83(78)]. Our conception of the transcendent is then mistakenly regarded as a knowledge of God's nature, not just as it appears to us 'as moral beings', but as it is in itself [139(130)]. This failure to distinguish between God's Perspective and our own leads to speculations that tend to overshadow the possibility of seeing a moral meaning in a mystery; hence 'a bare literal faith in it hurts rather than improves the truly religious disposition' [147(138)]. '[I]t is an easy thing for a man to accept these statutes ..., whereas the moral improvement of his attitude of will is a long and difficult struggle' [Kt65:60n]. Kant's advice is not to discard the mysteries altogether, but to 'read a moral meaning into' them, so they 'no longer contain an inconsequential belief but an intelligible one that refers to our moral vocation' [39]. The example Kant gives of a holy mystery that need not be regarded as such is the doctrine of the Trinity. If we regard this doctrine in terms of 'the requirement of practical reason' to believe in God as a 'holy Legislator', a 'benevolent Ruler', and a 'righteous Judge', then, as we saw in V.4, it 'really contains no mystery, because it merely expresses the moral relation of God to the human race' [Kt8:139-40(131); s.a. Kt35:(8O)]. Thus Kant argues that, even though God must be regarded as 'one and the same Being' when viewed 'physically' (i.e., from the theoretical standpoint), when viewed from the practical standpoint 'God wills to be served under three specifically different moral aspects'.13 The Trinity is a mystery only if we regard it as merely a revealed truth—one that is otherwise 'unsuited to man's comprehension' [Kt8:142(133)]. 12. Kt8:137(129),144(134-5),194(182). For Kant 'mystery' refers not to a feeling for or experience of the transcendent—Kant's views on that subject are considered in X.3-4 and AVII.l—but to 'secret knowledge' of what is transcendent. Swedenborg's Arcana Coelestia (which means 'Heavenly Secrets') is filled with such alleged mysteries and was probably in the forefront of Kant's mind when he wrote about such matters, even in Kt8. 13. Kt8:141(132); s.a. 146-7(136-7). Kant's belief in the Trinity is further demonstrated by his reference to three distinct types of 'founders' of true religion. He describes Jesus as the founder of the first true church [159(147),179n(167n)], God as the founder of the kingdom of heaven [152 (140)], and the Holy Spirit as the ultimate source of the inner judging of the conscience [145-6n (136-7n)]—the latter being, through the mediation of the moral law, the foundation of true religion. (I would like to thank one of my past students, Ida Ng, for pointing these correlations out to me.)

AVII. The Four Parerga: Reason's Need for Divine Assistance

479

By no means is Kant denying that the Trinity is a revealed truth; all he is denying is that this is the only (or even the best) standpoint for understanding it. In fact, his intention is to show how reason can come to the aid of revelation without in any way destroying its au¬ thority, but instead confirming it. Thus he explains (with a rather ironic and potentially mis¬ leading choice of words, if read without an appreciation of its perspectival emphasis) that the doctrine of the Trinity is in one sense 'revealed' in the incomprehensible form of 'a mystery (from one standpoint [i.e., the theoretical]) and can yet (from another [practical standpoint]) be revealed' (i.e., understood), for it is 'revealed to us through our [practical] reason' [Kt8:142 (133)]. Kant then lists, in the order of the aspects of the Trinity, three theoretical mysteries whose practical meaning reason reveals: (1) 'The mystery of the divine call... is absolutely in¬ comprehensible' if regarded theoretically, in terms of how a createdbeing can be/reeto answer such a call, yet is 'quite clear' if regarded in terms of 'a call to citizenship in a divine state'; (2) 'The mystery of atonement' is contradictory if regarded theoretically, since moral 'good cannot come from another but must arise from man himself, yet 'such vicarious atonement' can be understood 'from the practical standpoint' as a necessary assumption of faith, 'a means of supplementing' our inevitable weakness; and (3) 'The mystery of election', if regarded theoretically as an arbitrary 'decree' of divine will, 'is for us an absolute mystery', yet it can be understood, if regarded practically, as God's response to 'a morally-believing acceptance of [vicarious atonement]'.14 If the thoroughly perspectival character of Kant's treatment of the Trinity is overlooked, this passage will almost certainly be misunderstood. Kant is not reject¬ ing the legitimacy of these doctrines, but is authenticating them, by arguing that, although 'our understanding is by nature unsuited' to attain such theoretical knowledge [144n(135n)], the mysteries can be clearly understood if we view them from the practical standpoint.15

4. Means of Grace (Gnadenmitteln) The morally-transcendent idea that arises as a by-product of the fourth stage of systemr is the concept of 'a supernatural accession to our moral... capacity' [Kt8:191(179)]. As with the other parerga, the main thrust of Kant's discussion of this idea is constructive. He describes the notion of supernatural aid in moral matters 'as a sacred thing'; as such, we should hold it 'at a respectful distance' [191(180)]. 'The true (moral) service of God' is the invisible 'service of the heart'; nevertheless, 'for man the invisible needs to be represented through the visible (the sensuous)... in the interest of practicability' [192(180)]. Because of this need, it is good and proper that people should use outward religious ceremonies and acts of worship as a means to further the inward religious disposition.16 However, Kant warns that this is 'a means which, although really indispensable, is extremely liable to the danger of misconstruc¬ tion; for, through an illusion that steals over us, it is easily held to be the service of God itself [192(180)]. Thus Kant criticizes such a 'means of grace' only when it is employed by a 14. Kt8:142-3(133-4). These three mysteries correspond to the three 'difficulties' Kant examines in Book Two, Section One, subsection C, though they are given here in a different order and expressed in slightly different terms. See Table AVI.2 for a summary of the difficulties. 15. Despland claims Kant's discussion of miracles and mysteries is 'inconclusive' because they are irrelevant to his main concern [De73:218]: 'the wind is taken out of the sails of this whole debate with the standpoint of criticism.' My goal, by contrast, has been to show that these parerga, though peripheral, are a significant concern of Kant's, and that his discussion is as conclusive as is humanly possible, given the restrictions established by Critical philosophy. 16. See note VIII.34. In a 1776 letter to Wolke, Kant shares his views on religious education, openly supporting just such an indirect affirmation of the value of 'devotional exercises... as a means of animating an effective conscience and a fear of God' [AA10:179(Zw67:84-5)]. He even recommends that a particular child be allowed to attend 'religious ceremonies' with proper guidance.

480

APPENDICES

person who believes 'that if he honors the custom (the formality), God will surely accept it in lieu of the act [of adopting a good disposition] itself [193(181-2)]. For this is a 'selfdeception' that 'is internally self-contradictory', because 'that divine aid... itself really aims at nothing but our morality' [192(180)]. Once the 'service of God' is 'brought back to its spirit and its true meaning, namely to a disposition dedicating itself to the kingdom of God within us and without us', it 'can be divided, even by reason, into four observances of duty' [Kt8:192(181), e.a.]. The Christian tradition normally expresses these duties in the form of: (1) 'private prayer', awakening the intention to establish 'goodness in ourselves'; (2) 'church-going', encouraging this intention outwardly 'through public assembly'; (3) 'baptism', whereby the 'public assembly' encour¬ ages goodness by receiving a member 'into the fellowship of faith'; and (4) 'communion', whereby such fellowship is maintained, through the symbol of a 'joint participation in all the fruits of moral goodness' [193(181); s.a. We26:161-2]. These observances, together with the type of duty each focuses on, can be mapped onto the 2LAR cross in the following way: communion (++) (corporate, outer)

private prayer (—) (personal, inner)

church-going (-+) (personal, outer) "

. baptism (+-) (corporate, inner)

Figure A VII.2: The Four Means of Grace This 2LAR is based on the 1LAR distinctions (1) between an individual's personal expression of the intention to be good (-) and a church's corporate expression of its intention to prop¬ agate goodness in its members (+), and (2) between the inner (-) and outer (+) forms of each. (I have reversed the order of the second and third items in Kant's list, so that this 2LAR will correspond more directly to Kant's list of characteristics of the invisible church, as shown in Figure VII.5.) Kant devotes far more attention, in Kt8 and elsewhere, to the topic of prayer than to any of the other three means of grace. This, I believe, is not because he opposes it more strongly, but because he values it more highly. (This is reflected in Figure AVII.2 by prayer's transcen¬ dental (—) status in relation to the other means of grace [cf. Fig. III.4]; the transcendental perspective, of course, is the basis for Kant's entire System.) Because prayer plays such an inexorable role in the religious life of most Christians and is so central to any genuine biblical theology, I shall defer discussion of that topic until AVIII. Kant's concept of prayer has been so grossly misunderstood by his critics that a detailed and careful examination will be required in order to dispel the many misconceptions surrounding it. At this point let us therefore look more briefly at the other three rituals. Kant criticizes 'church-going' as a dangerous 'means of grace' only when a person uses it 'to conceal the bad moral content of his disposition from the eyes of others, and even from his own eyes' [Kt8:199(187)]. Church ceremonies then become 'an opiate for the conscience

AVII. The Four Parerga: Reason's Need for Divine Assistance

481

of such people and a pillow on which they hope to sleep tranquilly' [Kt39:495(215); sa. 494(214)]. Against this tendency Kant warns that 'we do not profit God by uttering His praises.... True religion is the religion of the fear of God and of a good life. If a man's actions show no signs of it, he has no religion, let him say what he will.'17 Kant's unwillingness to tolerate such illusory forms of religion is as stringent as Jesus' own: To this end man busies himself with every conceivable formality, designed to indicate how greatly he respects the divine commands, in order that it may not be necessary for him to obey them; and, that his idle wishes may serve also to make good the disobedience of these commands, he cries: 'Lord, Lord,' so as not to have to 'do the will of his heavenly Father.' [Kt8:201(189), quoting Matt. 7:21] Nevertheless, Kant endorses this 'ceremonial public service of God", when properly employed, as being 'not only a means to be valued by each individual for his own edification but also a duty directly obligating ['the community of believers'] as a group, as citizens of a divine state which is to appear here on earth' [198(186-7)]. Such edification 'does not consist in feelings' produced by 'listening or reading and singing', but rather signifies 'the result of devotion in the actual improvement of the man' [198n(186n)]. Among the various activities performed in church, Kant expresses special approval of 'public prayer' as 'a moral ceremony': a clergyman's public prayer, for instance, 'cannot only raise the feelings to the point of moral exaltation...; it also possesses in itself a more rational basis than does private prayer for clothing the moral wish', because it encourages the partici¬ pants to be united towards a common moral end [Kt8:196-7n(185n)]. (This distinction between public and private prayer will be examined more thoroughly in AVIII.4.) Webb's description of Kant's view of public worship as 'just a machinery for stimulating the moral sentiment in us' [We26:154] is therefore potentially misleading. For Kant is not reducing public worship to an austere means of motivating mechanical obedience to moral laws, but confirming its rightful status [see VI.4] as a means of encouraging truly devout participants to serve God freely in their lives. Thus he says in Kt39:485(196): 'A religion which makes men gloomy is false; for they should serve God with a joyous heart and not from compulsion.' Kant's treatment of baptism and communion in Kt8:199-200(187-8) is short and to the point. Baptism 'aims at something holy ... but ... is not in itself holy or productive of holiness'; it is an 'illusion' to believe this human ritual is itself 'capable, in an instant, of washing away all sins'. Nevertheless, it 'is a highly significant ceremony' when viewed as a commitment to work towards 'the development of a man into a citizen in a divine state'. Likewise, communion 'is a religious illusion which can do naught but work counter to the spirit of religion' if we 'assert that God has attached special favours to the celebration of this solemnity'. Yet, when viewed as a means of propagating churchly community under laws of equality, [it] contains within itself something great, expanding the narrow, selfish, and unsociable cast of mind among men, especially in matters of religion, toward the idea of a cosmopolitan moral community; and it is a good means of enlivening a community to the moral disposition of brotherly love which it represents. 17. Kt35:(113); s.a. (41). Kant elaborates on this point in Kt35:(104-5): 'true service does not consist of observances and external usages: it is to be found in sanctified dispositions put into practice in our everyday activities ... Thus we serve God not by particular acts, but in all our activities; our service must be incessant and must embrace our whole life; service of God does not consist of particular acts performed at particular times.... The effect of our activities cannot reach beyond this world; we cannot affect God in any way. We can only dedicate our dispositions submissively to Him.... True service of God is a life purified by the true fear of God. Accordingly, we do not enter a church to serve God there: we do so in order to prepare ourselves to serve Him in our lives.'

482

APPENDICES

That Kant does not exhaust the depths of the symbolism contained in these Christian sacraments should not obscure the fact that his intention, at least, is to guard against their misuse by providing a rational explanation of how they can help promote universal religion. His insistence on replacing an idolatrous literal interpretation of such rituals with a symbolic interpretation is an example worth emulating, though Christian theologians will no doubt wish to expand on Kant's own account of what that symbolism actually is. In concluding this appendix, it may be helpful to point out that this account of the four basic ways of expressing reverence for God provides conclusive proof that Kant's Critical religion cannot justly be described as a 'religion of works', as is so often assumed. As we saw in AVI.4, this charge would perhaps be valid for systemp, if Kant had attempted to squeeze religion within that system, but not for systemr, and even less so for its specifically Christian form [see VIII. 1]. For systemp is not a religious system at all, but a moral one that points to the need for a distinct religious system that can 'save' it from total impracticability. 'Only if religion is added to [morals]', Kant explains even in Kt4:130, 'can the hope arise of someday participating in happiness in proportion as we endeavored not to be unworthy of it.' The uncritical equation of systemp and systemr is the source, as it has so often been through¬ out this study, of the mistaken ascription of a 'salvation by works' religion to Kant. And a proper understanding of the fourth parergon likewise reveals that Kant allows a place (though indirect) even for works directed solely to God.

Appendix VIII Kant's Critical Hermeneutic of Prayer 1. Prayer in Perspective: The Copernican Revolution in Religion Chapter VI argued against the strict (eliminative) reductionist interpretation of Kant's philosophy of religion by demonstrating that his true intention is to confirm rather than eliminate the essential meaningfulness of basic religious beliefs and practices. This appendix provides an extended illustration of that point by presenting a systematic exposition and partial defense of Kant's philosophy of prayer. Such a bold claim is likely to surprise some readers. A typical response might be: 'I didn't know Kant had a philosophy of prayer!' Those who are familiar with Kant's writings on religion are more likely to respond by assuming the content of what follows will be entirely negative. For on the rare occasions when commentators refer to Kant's views on prayer, they tend to depict his position as one that aims to render prayer superfluous to the practice of 'true religion'.1 Webb, for instance, claims Kant condemned 'a supposed personal intercourse with God in prayer' as 'a harmful and demoralizing self-illusion' [We26:20]. There is undoubtedly some truth to this conventional portrayal of Kant's position: as we shall see, it is not difficult to find passages where Kant comes down hard on those for whom prayer is a means of manipulating God and/or avoiding personal responsibility. But is there another side to prayer that Kant regards as more palatable, if not necessary, to the practice of true religion? The affirmative answer I shall give to this question in this appendix cannot be adequate¬ ly understood without setting Kant's view of prayer against the background of his overall theory of religion. The key point—often overlooked or only dimly perceived in the standard interpretations of Kant's position—is that his 'Copernican revolution' in philosophy applies just as much to his theory of religion as it does to his epistemology.2 In a nutshell, this revolution is the hypothesis that, when it comes to doing transcendental philosophy, the subject plays the active role in determining our knowledge (as concerns its form), while the object (as concerns the matter) plays a passive role. This new, 'transcendental perspective' does not contradict our ordinary, empirical way of interpreting the world. On the contrary, Kant believes it provides the only possible justification for its trustworthiness: only the 'transcendental idealist' can be a genuine 'empirical realist' [Ktl:A371; s.a. A375 and KSP1: 173-5]. The same holds true for all Kant's applications of the Copernican revolution, includ¬ ing its application to religion. We must therefore keep in mind throughout this appendix that statements intended to serve as transcendental foundations might at first (if interpreted without an awareness of their perspectival character) appear to contradict the very thing they are attempting to justify. As applied to religion, the Copernican revolution implies that the philosopher's abstract formulation of 'pure rational religion' will at one and the same time provide the necessary conditions for the possibility of genuine empirical religion, and yet also manifest characteristics that appear to stand in opposition to the latter. Such opposition, however, need not be regarded as a contradiction, provided we interpret it in terms of the principle of perspective. Consider a typical, but important, example. As noted in VI.3 and VII.3.B, Kant See e.g., note VI.30. Kant uses phrases such as 'true religion' and 'true church' on a number of occasions throughout Kt8. As I argued in Chapter VI, such phrases designate not the abstract ideal of 'moral' (or 'pure') religion, but rather any real-life manifestations of religion that embrace reason's pure moral religion as their core element [see e.g., Kt8:115(106)]. See VIII. 1. For a fuller explanation of the Copernican revolution as it relates to Kant's epistemolo¬ gy, see KSPl:III.l, summarized briefly in III. 1, above.

484

APPENDICES

starts a new section of Book Four by formulating the following principle [Kt8:170-1(158-9)]: §2 The Moral Principle of Religion Opposed to the Religious Illusion To begin with, I take the following proposition to be a principle requiring no proof: Whatever, over and above good life-conduct, man fancies that he can do to become well-pleasing to God is mere religious illusion and pseudo-service of God. I say, what man believes that he can do; for here it is not denied that beyond all that we can do there may be something in the mysteries of the highest wisdom that God alone can do to transform us into men well-pleasing to Him. According to the standard, reductionist (mono-perspecti val) method of interpreting Kant's philos¬ ophy of religion, this principle is construed to be yet one more attempt on Kant's part to depict religion as nothing but good conduct in disguise. But is this what Kant is actually saying? If we look again at this passage through the eyes of the Copernican hypothesis, it takes on an entirely new character. No longer must we read between the lines and assume that Kant was merely trying to please the king's censors when he admits that 'there may be something ... God alone can do to transform us into men well-pleasing to Him.' Instead of adopting this highly dubious, yet all-too-common hypothesis, we can take such surprising claims (scattered throughout the entirety of Kt8) at face value, as an expression of the attitude permitted, if not mandated, by the transcendental boundaries Kant establishes for 'pure religion'. In other words, a perspectival interpretation of this passage enables us to regard it as one of many passages where Kant treats empirical religion as a form of 'false [or pseudo-Jreligion' not ipso facto, but only when it over-steps its bounds by seeking to please God with actions that are 'over and above good life-conduct'. This phrase 'over and above' is a crucial one that deserves more attention. Greene and Hudson use it to translate Kant's term, 'ausser' (literally, 'outside of). By paraphrasing the literal meaning of this word, the translators have unfortunately obscured an important nuance that is conveyed by Kant's formulation of the principle in question. As explained in VII. 1, VIII. 1, and AVII.l [s.e. Figs. VII. 1 and AVII.l], Kant compares his two-fold task in Kt8 to two concentric circles [12(11)]: the core circle marks the boundary of the pure (i.e., transcen¬ dental) religion of moral reason, while the wider circle defines the area occupied by any historical religion that has this pure religion as its highest priority or true end. Kant's expressed reason for introducing this metaphor is to explain the second experiment he intends to conduct throughout Kt8: namely, examining the details of the Christian religion in hopes of determining to what extent they incorporate, or at least promote, the moral core of all true religion. The area of the wider circle that overlaps the inner circle represents those aspects of Christianity that incorporate and therefore lie entirely 'within the bounds of bare religion', while the area between the boundary of the inner circle and the boundary of the outer circle represents those aspects that promote bare religion only indirectly, by clothing it with appropriate nonmoral means of support. With this metaphor in mind, the connotation of the word ausser becomes clear. Kant is saying that any so-called religious action that lies 'outside of these two circles—i.e., any action that neither incorporates nor promotes pure religion— and yet is believed by its practitioner to be an effective means of 'becoming] well-pleasing to God', can be nothing other than 'religious illusion and pseudo-service of God.' This is a far cry from the strict reductionism so many interpreters have adopted [see VI. 1]. Rather than denying that any nonmoral action can play a proper role in true religion, Kant's principle can now be seen to fulfill an entirely negative function: it guards against the illusion that arises when religious people see their actions as being entirely cut off from morality. The positive side of this coin is that when religious actions retain their link to the moral core of pure religion, they are thereby justified as legitimate elements in a true and healthy religious way of life, even if they lie between the two circles rather than within the

AVI1L Kant's Critical Hermeneutic of Prayer

485

core itself. With this in mind, Kant concludes the section in question by restating the same 'basic principle' in its positive form [see note VII.55]. He does this by replacing the key word, 'ausser', with a different spatial metaphor, 'neben' ('next to'): 'a principle that remedies or prevents all religious illusion' is 'that such a faith must contain within itself, next to the statutory articles..., still another principle, of setting up the religion of good life-conduct as the real end'. 3 This, then, is the essential feature of Kant's Copernican Perspective as it relates to religion: from the transcendental perspective, religion is 'pure', so it can be virtually identified with morally good life-conduct; yet from the empirical perspective, religion as we experience it is necessarily historical, so it is bound to include nonmoral elements that can (and should) lend support and vitality to the moral core. Keeping this review of Kant's Copernican revolution in religion clearly in view, we shall now turn our attention to Kant's philosophy of prayer. 2. The Moral 'Spirit' of Transcendental Prayer Although the term 'transcendental' never appears in Kt8, the observant reader familiar with Kant's three Critiques can see the concept operating throughout the entire book. Kant's decision not to employ the very term that best characterizes his philosophical approach (the so-called transcendental philosophy) is admittedly rather odd.4 It was probably due to his desire to make Kt8 palatable to a wider audience [14(12-3)], rather than to any notion that the arguments in this book somehow fall outside the realm of transcendental philosophy.5 Evidence for the transcendental character of Kant's basic arguments could be drawn from many aspects of his exposition. Perhaps the most important is his frequent use of the word 'pure' (a close relative to 'transcendental'). But a detailed demonstration of this point is beyond the scope of this appendix.6 For our purposes here it will suffice merely to recall that the various characteristics of Kant's 'true religion' constitute, by virtue of their association with 'pure religion', the formal elements of a Critical (hence Transcendental) Perspective on religion [see notes III. 11 and VI. 14]. Prayer is no exception to the general rule that Kant is careful to distinguish between transcendental 'fundamentals' and empirical 'extras' in discussing every aspect of historical religious beliefs and actions. Indeed, he gives more attention to prayer than to any of the other three examples of standard ecclesiastical activities in the catalog of the latter given in the General Observation to Book Four of Kt8 [seeAVII.4, above]. This, I believe, is not because he was opposed to it more strongly, but because he valued it more highly, perhaps because it is a form of service that is (or ought to be) inherently transcendental [cf. Figs. III.4 and AVII.2]. Kant's formal definition of prayer contains both an empirical and a transcendental aspect. The former is expressed in terms of verbal messages spoken to God, and the latter in terms of a certain 'spirit' that is to permeate the entirety of a religious person's life. He begins his 1,700-word excursus on prayer with the following two sentences [Kt8:194-5(182-3); cf. 1 Thes. 5:17]: 3. Kt8:175(163), alt. Greene and Hudson have 'along with' for Kant's neben, thus further obscuring Kant's implicit reference to his concentric circles metaphor. Kant clarifies the implications of this principle in a 1792 letter to Fichte: 'a religion may contain no article of faith other than one that exists for pure reason as well. I think this proposition is completely innocent and denies neither the subjective necessity of a revelation nor the fact of miracles' [AAll:308(Zw67:186)]. 4. He does, however, use various other forms of the word 'transcend' on eleven different occasions. See Kt8:52(48),72(66),117(107),118(108),142(133),182(170),191(179),191(180),193(182). 5. McCarthy holds this position in Mc86:60, stating that Kt8 'is not ... an application of the Critical Philosophy to religion.' Fichte, he opines, did a better job of this than Kant! 6. See Chapters VII-VIII, above. On the relation between 'pure' and 'transcendental', see KSP1:110-2.

486

APPENDICES Praying, thought of as an inner formal service of God and hence as a means of grace, is a superstitious illusion (a fetish-making); for it is no more than a stated wish directed to a Being who needs no such information regarding the inner disposition of the wisher; therefore nothing is accomplished by it, and it discharges none of the duties to which, as commands of God, we are obligated; hence God is not really served. A heart-felt wish to be well-pleasing to God in our every act and abstention, or in other words, the dis¬ position, accompanying all our actions, to perform these as though they were being executed in the service of God, is the spirit of prayer which can, and should, be present in us 'without ceasing.'

Without the benefit of a clear understanding of Kant's Copernican Perspective on reli¬ gion, the first sentence in this passage might appear to be a straightforward universal condem¬ nation of prayer as nothing but a wish-fulfillment, 'a superstitious illusion'. Yet such a one¬ sided reductionist interpretation is too superficial to represent Kant's true intentions. Far from categorically denying the value of prayer, Kant is making an essentially hermeneutic point: the value of prayer depends on how the devotee interprets his or her actions.7 Only for those who interpret prayer 'as an inner formal service of God and hence as a means of grace' does it thereby become a form of false religion. Why is it false? Because the devotee in this case is detaching the act of praying from the moral core that gives it its ultimate value as a religious act. Instead of using prayer (an essentially nonmoral act) as a stimulus to live a better life, the devotee uses it as an excuse to avoid his or her genuine moral responsibilities, in the hope that prayers can stand in as a substitute for a moral life. This false interpretation of prayer is without exception what Kant is condemning whenever he makes derogatory comments about the futility of prayer.8 7. Nuyen examines the hermeneutic emphasis of Kant's approach to philosophy in general [Nu93: 164]: 'For him, the harmony produced by the hermeneutic movement from the whole to the parts and back again is the sure sign that we have understood, that we have grasped the truth.... Kant's criterion of truth is distinctively hermeneutic' Significantly, the passage he quotes actually refers only to 'reason's hypothetical perspective' [Ktl:675]; we saw in KSPl:IV.2-3 that each perspec¬ tive has its own criterion of truth, with only the hypothetical being hermeneutic. Thus, Nuyen's almost exclusive focus on the Dialectic and Doctrine of Method should come as no surprise, these being the sections of Ktl that develop the hypothetical perspective. Nuyen goes on to claim [Nu93:165] that 'once the possibility of some other architectonic containing ideas other than those deduced by Kant is admitted, the epistemological edifice so carefully and elaborately constructed by Kant comes crashing down.' As a result, according to Nuyen [166]: "The spectre of crippling relativism looms large.' What Nuyen neglects is the fact that the Dialectic concerns metaphysics, not epistemology; the latter is laid out in the first half of Ktl and is not directly dependent on the metaphysical ideas. Kant therefore avoids relativism by rooting the ideas in an epistemology that depends on correspondence to reality, not hermeneutics. By rooting hermeneutic truth in nonhermeneutic perspectives, he is able to provide a means of appreciating the signifi¬ cance of hermeneutic truth (via the hypothetical perspective), yet without drowning this and all other forms of truth in a meaningless relativism—as so often happens in contemporary approaches to hermeneutics. (In Go89 Godlove ably refutes the common practice of viewing the relativism of conceptual schemes as a modern 'improvement' on Kant; see Pa95b for a sympathetic review.) 8. A good example comes in Kt8:176(164): 'We can indeed recognize a tremendous difference in man¬ ner, but not in principle... between the wholly sensuous Wogulite who in the moming places the paw of a bearskin upon his head with the short prayer, "Strike me not dead!" and the sublimated Puritan and Independent in Connecticut: for, as regards principle, they both belong to one and the same class, namely, the class of those who let their worship of God consist in what in itself can never make man better (in faith in certain statutory dogmas or celebration of certain arbitrary observances).' Even here, Kant balances such comments by affirming a better way to interpret prayer—one that is not 'ausser' true religion. He continues: 'Only those who mean to find the service of God solely in the disposition to good life-conduct distinguish themselves from those others, by virtue of having passed over to a wholly different principle andone which is farnobler than

AVIII. Kant's Critical Hermeneutic

of Prayer

487

Kantian critique is never negative without offering an equal and opposite positive per¬ spective as a complement, and Kant's view of prayer is no exception. In the second sentence quoted above, Kant defines 'the spirit of prayer' as the 'heart-felt wish to be well-pleasing to God in our every act and abstention, or in other words, the disposition, accompanying all our actions' [Kt8:194-5(183)]. Whereas the first sentence emphasizes the empirical act of stating a wish, the emphasis now shifts to the transcendental disposition, via the moral feeling of respect for God's commands. In other words, Kant is suggesting that the true heart (or pure core) of all prayer is an internal, dispositional spirit, not an external, verbal construction. Much the same point is made in a number of related passages. Some of these include an explicit (Copernican) attempt to save verbal, empirical prayer from utter meaninglessness by stressing its connection to the transcendental spirit of prayer: ... the purpose of [verbal] prayer can only be to induce in us a moral disposition; its pur¬ pose can never be pragmatic, seeking the satisfaction of our wants. It should fan into flame the cinders of morality in the inner recesses of our heart ...9 The spirit of prayer is a devout and godly disposition. The letter is necessary to us only in order to awaken within us the spirit of prayer. [Kt35:(102)] Whether the devotee... brings his formulas of prayer to the court of heaven with his lips, or by means of a prayer-wheel, like the Tibetan...—whatever be substituted for the moral service of God, it is all one and all equal in value. What matters here is not a difference in the external form; everything depends upon the adoption or rejection of the unique principle of becoming well-pleasing to God—upon whether we rely on the moral disposition alone, so far as this disposition exhibits its vitality in actions which are its appearances, or on pious playthings and on inaction. [Kt8:173(161)] Such passages are totally misread when construed as attempts to expunge prayer from the realm of true religion; for they actually highlight the importance of interpreting the two human perspectives on prayer—the empirical (or verbal) and the transcendental (or spiritual)— in their proper order of priority. Properly interpreting this order (i.e., identifying which element is the means and which is the end) is important not because one element is good and the other is bad, but because both elements are good, yet one is better, subsuming the superior under the inferior good can hamper a person's moral growth. Thus, after again emphasizing the significance of priority, Kant exclaims: 'So much depends, when we wish to unite two good things, upon the order in which they are united! True enlightenment lies in this very distinction; therein the service of God becomes first and foremost a free and hence a moral service.' 10 When we take into consideration this Copernican aspect of Kant's the other, the principle ... whereby they confess themselves members of an (invisible) church which includes within itself all right-thinking people and, by its essential nature, can alone be the true church universal.'In a similar vein, Kant's deprecation of the religious person who tries to 'anticipate his penalties by offering rueful self-inflicted penances...; or else to mollify [God] with prayers and entreaties, or with formulas and confessions in which he claims to believe' [77(72)] is directed only against those who use such practices as a way of concealing an evi/ disposition, not against those who use the same outward forms as a means of enhancing a moral life. 9. Kt35:(99); cf. 2 Tim. 1:6. This and the following quote are both part of a whole section of Kt35 devoted to the topic of prayer [(98-103)]. That section and Kt8:194-8(182-6) constitute the two main texts for any attempt to interpret Kant's views on prayer. Since the Kt35 passage is reconstructed from students' lecture notes and was not written by Kant himself, I am putting more weight on the Kt8 passage. 10. Kt8:179(167). One of the many passages that emphasize priority in this way refers explicitly to both prayer and interpretation. On the issue of whether or not 'prayer for revenge' is right on the grounds that the Psalms contain prayers of this type [HOn(lOln)], Kant replies by lrais[ing] the [hermeneutic] question as to whether morality should be expounded according to the Bible or

488

APPENDICES

philosophy of religion, his purpose in the two passages quoted in the preceding paragraph becomes clear: he is not trying to convince us to stop praying; rather, he is awakening us to a higher moral end or 'spirit' that serves as the proper (though mysterious, and to a large extent, inexpressible) aim of all verbal prayer. To invert this priority by regarding the 'letter' of prayer as an end in itself is to risk the total obstruction of prayer's pure religious core by a lesser, merely human 'good'.11 3. The Paradoxical 'Letter' of Empirical Prayer Kant's views on the transcendental spirit of prayer require the empirical act of praying to be more than merely an illusion that is to be avoided at all cost. For Kant associates prayer with the very heart of all true religion: when properly interpreted by the practitioner, it serves to 'fan into flame the cinders of morality in the inner recesses of the heart' [Kt35:(99)]. Kant's complaint against prayer as it is commonly practiced is that an emphasis on the letter (i.e., on the words uttered) can often lead a person to hold the false belief that the uttering of such words is, in itself, pleasing to God. Kant treats all nonmoral religious activities in a similar way: they lead to false religion only if regarded as a direct way of serving God [Kt8:103-6(94-7)]; if they are treated as an indirect form of service, intended 'to induce in us a moral disposition' [Kt35:(99)], then they are not only valid, but can be vital to true religion [Kt8:192(180-1)]. A similar point is made by the clothing-nakedness metaphor imbedded in the title of Kt8 ('...bare reason' [see VI.2]). This metaphor also crops up on numerous occasions throughout Kant's exposition, including in his account of prayer. The dispositional 'wish' to become a better person that defines the spirit of prayer is like a naked body (i.e., the true religious core of all genuine prayer), while the verbal expression of prayer is like clothing (i.e., the presentational form) that can be put on or taken off at will [see Kt8:195(183), 197n(185n); Kt35:(98,100)]. With this additional hermeneutic and perspectival distinction at our disposal, we shall in this section examine more closely Kant's attitude towards the letter of prayer. Thinking philosophically about the empirical practice of prayer inevitably leads, like metaphysical speculation concerning the ideas of God, freedom, and immortality, to paradoxi¬ cal conclusions. Kant calls attention to one such paradox when he says: 'if [a prayer] is to be heard, it must be made in faith. For if the practitioner has faith, he does not need to ask for it; but if he does not have faith, his petition cannot be heard' [Kt65:10; s.a. 56; cf. Matt. 17:20]. The paradox is heightened by Kant's insistence that only a prayer prayed in 'the moral spirit of prayer... can be prayed with faith, and by this faith we mean the assurance that the prayer will be heard" [Kt8:196n(184n)]. For if the spirit of prayer is nonverbal, how can it be heard"} Anyone who thinks of prayer solely in terms of its verbal expression is likely to assume Kant's point here is to force religious believers into a 'catch-22' situation, where all prayer is a meaningless waste of time: as soon as you open your mouth, you are testifying to your lack of faith in God, so always resist the urge to pray! Kant's Copernican Perspective, however, mandates a radically different interpretation of his intent. Such paradoxes, especially when formally elaborated in terms of antinomies, function as a Critical means of disciplining our reason to look beyond the theoretical standpoint (i.e., pure logic) to the practical standpoint whether the Bible should not rather be expounded according to morality.' Kant's answer, of course, would be the latter [see VIII.3.A]. 11. Kant clarifies the spirit-letter relationship in the following two passages: To perform an action ... without a good disposition is to comply with the letter of the law but not with its spirit* [Kt35:(47)]. 'The spirit of the moral law commands the disposition, its letter commands action' [(73)].

AVIII. Kant's

Critical Hermeneutic

of Prayer

489

(i.e., morality). If we keep in mind that 'prayer' for Kant designates most fundamentally a moral-spiritual disposition, then we can recognize in this paradox a profound acknowledgment of the mysterious practical connection between the spirit and the letter of prayer. Kant provides a more detailed explanation of the 'paradoxical' nature of prayer in Kt35, where he assigns a genuine purpose to verbal prayer by explaining how it can serve as a means to a moral end [(98-102)]: ... Objectively, prayer is certainly not necessary.... Subjectively, however, prayer is necessary.... ... It is a weakness in man that to give his thoughts expression he must put them into words... Those whose minds are practised in harbouring Ideas and dispositions can discard the aid of words and formal expression. Subtract these from prayer, and what remains? Only the spirit of prayer, the sense of devotion, the guide-line leading the heart to God by way of faith... It is the spirit of the prayer alone which matters. .... Thus, prayers are not to be regarded as a special way of serving God, but only as a means of awakening within us the spirit of devotion. We do not serve God with words, ceremonies and gestures: we serve Him only by actions which reflect our devotion to Him.... Prayer [as verbally expressed] appears to be a presumptuous act and an act of distrust in God. It seems to imply distrust in God's knowledge of what is good for us.... [Hence] the object of the prayer must be general and not particular... .... In faith we can only pray to be made worthy of God's goodness. In this respect we can believe with assurance that God will hear our prayers.

Here we see clearly that verbal prayer is not entirely meaningless. Rather, its purpose is to compensate for an inevitable weakness in human nature: as creatures of sensibility, we must express the dispositional (wordless) essence of prayer in an outward form (words) in order to awaken our moral disposition. This weakness is ours, not God's (whose 'all-seeing eye pene¬ trates into our innermost souls and reads our thoughts' [(98)]), so we must always keep in mind that in uttering a verbal prayer we are not serving God, but ourselves. That is, we are testifying to our lack of awareness of our own disposition, and/or our inability to trust whole¬ heartedly that God will honor this disposition. If the devotee prays with this in mind—i.e., if the letter is not viewed as the end, but as the means to a spiritual awakening—then Kant has no objections to the use of verbal prayer. The problem, of course, is that, in an effort to hide this natural weakness, those who engage in verbal prayer tend to interpret their self-help as if it were intrinsically pleasing to God. Verbal prayer then becomes an end in itself. When this happens, it actually obstructs the person's moral-spiritual growth and alienates the prayer from its true dispositional spirit. This is why Kant says: 'It is the spirit of the prayer alone which matters.' The letter only 'matters' in the purely functional sense of producing a desired result; no particular verbal formulation can claim to 'matter' more than another, provided they both awaken the moral disposition within. (This is why Kant recommends praying in generalities rather than specifics.) As religious believers grow more and more mature, their dependence upon verbal prayer ought to decrease, until they 'can discard the aid of words and formal expression.' The fact that '[t]hose whose minds are practised in harbouring Ideas and dispositions' (i.e., philosophers and morally-minded mystics, respectively) can readily do this does not mean it is possible (or even advisable) for everyone, at any stage of religious development, to discard verbal prayer.12 12. Kant likewise says in Kt8:197(185) that 'not all men stand in need of this means (of conversing within and really with oneself, but ostensibly of speaking the more intelligibly with God).' This negative statement clearly implies that some people do stand in need of such a means. Kant's parenthetical remark should not be taken merely as a sarcastic jibe poking fun at anyone who is foolish enough to believe prayer enables them to communicate with God; while he would no doubt

490

APPENDICES

On the contrary, Kant is elsewhere very clear about the fact that phrases such as 'can discard' do not indicate that the verbal expression must cease, but only 'that it be able to cease' in appropriate situations. 13 In light of this evidence that Kant does see a genuine purpose and function for verbal prayer, we must guard against the tendency to assume he wishes to grasp only one side of the paradox of prayer. In order to clarify his true intentions, let us reconstruct the paradox in terms of a full-fledged antinomy, as follows: 1. Thesis. The verbal expression of prayer is necessary; prayer could not be genuine if it were to cease. Proof. Human nature consists of both sensi¬ bility and rationality. Rational constructs cannot have a meaningful content unless they relate to something sensible. Prayer is a ra¬ tional construct that is intended to be heard by ahigher Being. In order to be heard, and thus to be put to use in a meaningful way, prayer must be expressed in a sensible form—i.e., in words. Since words carry meanings with them, all other aspects of prayer could cease; as long as the words remain, the prayer will carry a genuine meaning. Praying with faith means believing God will hear and understand one's words.

2. Antithesis. The verbal expression of prayer is unnecessary; it must cease in order for prayer to be genuine. Proof. A prayer prayed without faith will not be heard by God. But a person with genuine faith believes God will already do exactly what is needed in every situation. The purpose of using words to express one's prayer is to tell God what is needed in a given situation. As such, verbal prayer is inevitably a sign of faithlessness and cannot be genuine. God sees and judges according to a person's moral disposition. A good disposition is therefore the true spirit of prayer. Words will only cloud the purity of this disposition and must be eliminated in order for prayer to be genuine.

Like all antinomies, this parallel exposition of two opposing arguments is intended to demonstrate that, as long as the subject (prayer) is analyzed from the theoretical standpoint alone, there is no way out of the paradox. Kant's position is perhaps closer to the Antithesis than to the Thesis in the above reconstruction; but ideally he would not want to accept either conclusion as definitive, for each side contains aspects of prayer that the Copernican Perspective enables us to preserve. Kant's method of resolving the dilemma is, as suggested above, to call attention to the practical interpretation of a prayer's function for a given devotee. By defining verbal prayer as a practical means directed towards the end of deepening the spirit of prayer, Kant synthesizes the two extremes: the spirit of prayer (like the Antithesis) is necessary but (unlike the Antithesis) insufficient, given the weakness of human

be reluctant to interpret prayer in the literal way many religious believers do (to the extent that he claims people who do interpret prayer in this way cannot be entirely sincere and draws special attention to the embarrassment and confusion experienced by a person who is found by others to be engaged 'in behavior indicative of prayer' [195n(183n)]), Kant himself does assume in numerous other passages that prayer has some authentically communicative aspect. His point here is more subtle and must be interpreted in light of his conviction that God is best conceived as living within us, so that the line between getting to know God and getting to know one's own true self cannot be clearly demarcated. Indeed, Kant's whole philosophy can be regarded as the elaboration and defense of a new, morally-sensitive or 'Critical' mysticism, as I argue throughout Part Four of this volume. 13. Kant makes this point most clearly in reference to historical faith. In a pair of footnotes in Kt8:135(126), he interprets the biblical vision, that God will someday be 'all in all' [1 Cor. 15:28], 'to mean that historical faith... will itself cease and pass over into a pure religious faith ... To this end we ought even now to labor industriously, by way of continuously setting free the pure religion from its present shell, which as yet cannot be spared.' In the second edition, Kant adds a second footnote to the end of this first footnote: 'Not that it is to cease (for as a vehicle it may perhaps always be useful and necessary) but that it be able to cease; whereby is indicated merely the inner stability of the pure moral faith.' Kant makes the same point even more explicitly in Kt35:(102): 'as man is sensuous and the religious appeal to his senses has its uses, it can be said that man can have no pure religion.'

AVIII. Kant's Critical Hermeneutic of Prayer

491

nature; the letter of prayer (like the Thesis) is useful but (unlike the Thesis) cannot be the source of prayer's ultimate meaning. Kant's position, then, is that God will 'hear' a verbal prayer as long as it truly is being used as a vehicle for the pure spirit of prayer. In hopes of encouraging this moderate ('Critical') view of prayer, Kant recommends a number of specific guidelines as to how we ought to pray and interpret our verbal prayers. First, the way to overcome the aforementioned paradox (or antinomy) is to focus our prayers on dispositional issues [Kt35:(102)]: 'In faith we can only pray to be made worthy of God's goodness. In this respect we can believe with assurance that God will hear our prayers.' Such assurance results from the fact that becoming worthy is a necessarily cooperative effort between the moral agent and God [see e.g., Kt8:44(40),100-l(92)], where a person's responsibility lies only on the human side.14 Along these lines Kant cites the following principle [52(47)]: '"It is not essential, and hence not necessary, for every one to know what God does or has done for his salvation;" but it is essential to know what man himself must do in order to become worthy of this assistance.' Before God's assistance can do any good, 'man must first make himself worthy to receive it' [44(40)]—and this worthiness refers not merely to 'doing good deeds' (a view often wrongly imputed to Kant [see AVI.4]), but to fostering a receptivity for goodness in one's disposition. A person who prays to become worthy of God's goodness is (or ought to be) conforming to this principle. For in uttering such a prayer, the person does not presume to know what God might do; the prayer serves rather as a key to open the dispositional door that empowers a person to become more conscientious in doing good. Notwithstanding his approval of prayers that will awaken our disposition to the reality of 'God's goodness' [Kt8:196-7(185)], Kant warns that verbally expressed prayer 'can have no direct bearing upon the divine approval; and for this very reason it cannot be a duty for everyone.' To regard verbal prayer 'as a peculiar service of God and intrinsically good'—i.e., even apart from its spirit—'is superstition' [Kt35:(101)]. It does not please God in and of itself. Kant readily admits, however, that, like all aspects of pure religion, the spirit of prayer on its own is naked [bloss]; so in order for it to be useful to universal religion, we often need 'to clothe this wish ... in words and formulas'—an exercise that possesses value only as 'a means whereby that disposition within us may be repeatedly quickened' [Kt8:195-6(183-5)]. As an example, Kant praises the special prayer Jesus taught his disciples for the way it expresses 'the spirit of prayer most admirably in a formula' [195n(183n); see Matt. 6:9-13]. It avoids superstition by being self-negating—i.e., by 'rendering] dispensable ... the prayer itself (as a verbal utterance).' For 'it contains no actual request for something which God in His wisdom might well refuse us, but simply a wish which, if it is genuine ..., of itself achieves its object (to become a man well-pleasing to God).' Kant therefore approves of reciting the Lord's Prayer, on the grounds that it counteracts the temptation to manipulate God, replacing it with a spirit of humility that focuses our attention away from our words and

14. Kant emphasizes this responsibility and its relation to the efficacy of faith in Kt8:196n(184n): 'It is... not only a preposterous but also a presumptuous illusion to try to divine whether, through the persistent importunity of one's request, God cannot be diverted (to our present advantage) from the plan of His wisdom. Hence we cannot hold that any prayer which is for a non-moral object is sure to be heard, that is, we cannot pray for such an object in faith. Nay, more: even were the object indeed moral, but yet possible only through supernatural influence (or at least awaited by us from this source alone because we do not wish to trouble ourselves to bring it about—as, for example, the change of heart, the putting on of the new man, called rebirth) it is at least so very uncertain that God will find it conformable to His wisdom to supplement in supernatural fashion our (self-incurred) deficiency that we have reason, rather, to expect the opposite. Man cannot therefore pray even for this in faith.'

492

APPENDICES

towards our disposition.15 This example highlights another of Kant's Critical guidelines: the devout person should try to get along with as few words as possible, because 'the letter' (as opposed to the spirit of prayer 'rather weakens the effect of the moral idea' [Kt8:197(185)]. We should aim at the ideal of a form of contemplative prayer that remains entirely wordless; but like all ideals, the reality of any devout person's life is bound to include moments when words must be brough into play in order to fulfill the purpose of prayer—i.e., 'firmly to establish this [moral] good¬ ness in ourselves, and repeatedly to awaken the disposition of goodness in the heart [193(181)]. Depending too much on the words used in formulating prayer can render it a false way of serving God. This can be avoided only when the prayer (like any of the 'four obser¬ vances of duty' discussed in the final General Observation of Kt8 [see AVII.4] is 'brough back to its spirit and its true meaning, namely, to a disposition dedicating itself to the kingdom of God within us and without us' [ 192( 181)]. In keeping with the dispositional focus of all prayer, Kant insists elsewhere that verba prayer must not be directed towards our own advantage: We must never regard prayer as a means to getting our own way; if a prayer concerns our corporeal advantage, we ought to say it both with a trust in God's wisdom and with a submission to this wisdom. The greatest utility of prayer is indisputably a moral one, be¬ cause through prayer both thankfulness and resignation toward God become effective in us. 1 6

<•

Here again Kant emphasizes dispositional issues ('thankfulness and resignation toward God') and discourages any attempt to interpret prayer as a means of influencing God. As we saw in the previous section, a Critical attitude towards prayer interprets it as a tool by which 'man seeks but to work upon himself, rather than 'to work upon God' [Kt8:195n(183n)]. In order to abide by this hermeneutic principle, Kant suggests [Kt35:(100)] only prayers relating directly to good life-conduct 'can be categorical and unconditional: for other things I must pray conditionally.' Whereas uttering verbal prayers with a view towards influencing God takes for granted certain metaphysical dogmas about God's existence and nature, prayers that adopt this conditional, meditative spirit 'can be offered with perfect sincerity even though the man praying does not presume to be able to affirm that the existence of God is wholly certain' [Kt8:195n(183n)]. In this respect Kant's Critical hermeneutic of prayer provides an appropriately modest alternative to the Pharisee whose temple prayer Jesus condemned so

15. S.a. Kt35:(100). Along these lines, Kant advises that children be taught 'set forms of prayer..., so that the language ... may possess here no value in itself but may be used merely to quicken the disposition to a course of life well-pleasing to God, those words being but an aid to the imagination' [Kt8:198(186)]. Incidentally, Kant justifies his positive assessment of the Lord's Prayer with the following hermeneutic twist [195n(183-4n)]: 'Even the wish for the means of sustaining our existence (for bread) for one day, since this wish is expressly not directed to its continuance but is the effect of a felt need which is merely animal, is more a confession of what nature in us demands than a special deliberate request for what the man [in us] wills. The latter's request would be for bread for another day; but this is here clearly enough ruled out.' In the next paragraph Kant admits that, although 'morality in us gives rise to this assurance' that such a prayer will be heard, our confidence does not amount to absolute certainty: 'for even were the petition to be for this day's bread alone, no one can be assured that it will be heard, i.e., that its granting stands in necessary conjunction with God's wisdom; it may perhaps comport better with this wisdom to let the suppliant die today for lack of bread.' 16. Kt26:l 112(155). It is important to note that when Kant claims in Kt8:197(185) that the quicken¬ ing of the 'spirit of prayer' will require 'that the letter of it... [must] finally fall away', he adds the following qualification in brackets: 'at least as directed to our own advantage', thus implying that other forms of verbal prayer may well be wholly compatible with the spirit of prayer.

AVIII. Kant's Critical Hermeneutic of Prayer

493

pointedly [see Luke 18:10-14]. For the guidelines it establishes not only determine the minimum requirements necessary to insure that the use of verbal prayer will conform to the true spirit of prayer, but in so doing, they also embody a spirit of humility.

4. Contemplation and Critique: A Framework for Assessing Prayer Immanuel Kant was a man of prayer. This statement would be laughed out of court by many of the most accomplished and well-respected Kant-scholars over the past two centuries. 'Kant'—the man who complained about the nearby prison inmates whose noisy hymn singing disturbed his concentration—'a man of prayer"} Preposterous!' Yet, in spite of the widely accepted caricature of Kant as an essentially anti-religious agnostic, the foregoing exposition of his Critical hermeneutic of prayer enables us to view such a formerly 'preposterous' claim as plausible, if not probable. For Kant to call someone 'a man of prayer' would mean such a person's life-conduct is governed by the spirit ofprayer. And this, in turn, means the person would need to have a 'good disposition' (i.e., an intention to abide by the moral law at all times) and would need to regard that disposition as related in some way to a morally-oriented Supreme Being. There is ample evidence that Kant himself qualifies as a man of prayer on both accounts.17 This conclusion, of course, does not commit us to the claim that the mature Kant actu¬ ally engaged in verbal prayer on a regular basis. For he seems to be thinking of himself in the various passages we have considered, where he says philosophers (and others accustomed to working with ideas and dispositions) can totally dispense with verbal prayer. Kant's own bad childhood experiences with forced prayer in a religious school may have had something to do with his preference for a more contemplative form of prayer.18 In any case, our conclusion does require us to see in Kant a person whose essential goal with respect to prayer is to pre¬ serve and uphold it as an essential and meaningful religious activity. The common assump¬ tion that in such passages in Kt8 he is merely trying to appease the governmental authorities [see notes VI.28,VIII.4,45] must itself now be regarded as quite preposterous. For one thing, the censor was far from pleased with Kant's book! And rightly so; for he perceived its true goal, which is to weaken any illegitimate ecclesiastical powers and replace them with a more authentic and effective alternative. Moreover, soon after the period of censorship ended, Kant repeated many of the same ideas, sometimes even more forcefully, as in Part I of Kt65. Kant's own genuine belief in prayer as a form of wordless contemplation is suggested by numerous passages scattered throughout his works. Here it will suffice to mention just a few [s.a. note AVIII.19]. Consider, for instance, the following moving passage, neatly tucked away in the middle of Kant's account of prayer in Kt8 [197-8(185-6)]: the contemplation of the profound wisdom of the divine creation in the smallest things, and of its majesty in the great... is a power which cannot only transport the mind into that sinking mood, called adoration, annihilating men, as it were, in their own eyes; it is also, in respect of its own moral determination, so soul-elevating a power that words, in comparison, ... must needs pass away as empty sound because the emotion arising from such a vision of the hand of God is inexpressible. Men are prone ... to transform 17. Much of the relevant evidence is presented in Chapter X of this volume. Note especially the passage from Kt65:9-10 [q.i. X.4], where Kant openly admits his habit of imagining a 'judge as standing at my side to keep me not only from error that corrupts the soul, but even from any careless expression that might give offense.' With suitably broad parameters, this application of imagination could surely qualify as what might be called 'imaging prayer'. The need for belief in a Supreme Being is implied by Kant's very definition of religion [see e.g., Kt8:153(142)]. 18. K152:17-20. Klinke reports [19] that Kant once 'told his friend Hippel, that looking back on that enslavement of youth filled him with terror and dread.'

494

APPENDICES what really has reference solely to their own moral improvement into a courtly service, wherein the humiliations and glorifications usually are the less felt in a moral way the more volubly they are expressed.

It is difficult to imagine a person writings such words without having first practiced this kind of contemplation, without having seen the inexpressible vision referred to, and without having felt the emotion in the depths of his soul. This same 'Critical mysticism', as I call it in Part Four, is evident when Kant warns that 'even the attempts to attune the mind to the comprehension of the idea of God, which is to be brought nearer to intuition' can produce 'nothing but hypocritical veneration of God instead of a practical service of Him' ;/ the feelings are given more weight than the moral service they are meant to engender [198(186)]. For here he is not in any sense denying the legitimacy of such 'devout attestations of awe'. Once again, far from revealing an unbelieving skepticism, such comments must be read as making fine distinctions in a hermeneutic critique. The word 'even' attests to Kant's essentially positive attitude towards 'attun[ing] the mind to... God'; for such contemplation performs the crucial function of bringing 'the idea of God... nearer to intuition'. The purpose of this section is not to confirm or deny this historical point regarding Kant's contemplative inclinations [but see X.4]; instead, our main task will be to assess his view of prayer. In particular, to what extent can Kant's Critical hermeneutic of prayer provide traditional religious believers with a viable way of interpreting their actions when they pray? At the end of his lengthy footnote on prayer, Kant gives a surprisingly affirmative assessment of the value of public prayer in a church [Kt8:166-7n(185n)]: As regards the edification sought in attendance at church, here too public prayer is indeed no means of grace, yet it is a moral ceremony, whether it consists in united singing of the hymn of faith, or in the address formally directed to God, through the mouth of the clergyman and in the name of the whole congregation, and embracing all the moral concerns of men. Such an address, since it presents these last as a public concern, wherein the wish of each individual ought to be represented as united with the wishes of all toward the same ends (the ushering in of the kingdom of God), cannot only raise the feelings to the point of moral exaltation (whereas private prayers, because they are uttered without this sublime idea, lose little by little, through habituation, their influence upon the heart); it also possesses in itself a more rational basis than does private prayer for clothing the moral wish, which constitutes the spirit of prayer, in a formal mode of address.... For here there is a special purpose, namely, to set in more active motion the moral motivating forces of each individual through a public ceremony, representing the union of all men in a common desire for the kingdom of God; and this cannot be accomplished more appropriately than by speaking to the Head of this kingdom just as though He were specially present in that very place.

; .,

This passage is a good illustration of Kant's unusual preference for public prayer over private prayer. Like his preference for set prayers over spontaneous ones, this goes against the grain of many who were brought up to believe that a prayer's conceptual content must be kept at the forefront of the devotee's mind. Kant's position, by contrast, downplays this content, emphasizing instead that the main purpose of prayer is to awaken the disposition of each person who prays, not to change God's mind or perform some sort of miracle (though the possibility of these latter effects cannot, strictly speaking, be ruled out in advance [see 196n(184n)andAVII.2]. An important question raised by this passage, as by many of Kant's other comments on prayer, is whether or not the purposes he highlights are sufficient to justify all the forms of prayer practiced by most religious believers.19 That Kant's hermeneutic supports morally-

19. In a passage that strongly suggests a negative answer, Kant says a church should contain 'no

AVIII. Kant's Critical Hermeneutic of Prayer

495

attuned contemplative prayer can be taken as established. But what about more conventional, verbal prayers? Verbal prayers are often classified into five types: praise, thanksgiving, con¬ fession, petition, and supplication.20 Confession easily passes Kant's moral test, as long as it is uttered with a genuine intention to set right the crooked disposition that one is acknowledg¬ ing to be at the root of one's sin. Kant himself mentions praise and thanksgiving as poten¬ tially serving to awaken and/or enhance a moral disposition, provided the person praying resists the temptation to interpret such prayers as intrinsically pleasing to God (and hence, as capable of taking the place of good life-conduct). Petition and supplication, however, do not meet with such approval from Kant because of how readily they are interpreted as ways of manipulating God and because they do not seem to have any positive effect on one's own dis¬ position. Despite Kant's own pessimism in this respect, is it possible to use Kant's Critical hermeneutic to justify even petition and supplication as legitimate forms of verbal prayer? Before answering this question, we must note that Kant never outright denies that God hears prayers, nor does he deny that prayers can have an effect on external situations. Such denials, though often read 'between the lines' by readers trained to expect strict reductionism, would contravene Kant's most basic Critical principles. For such claims are theoretical; as such, the proper philosophical response to them is agnosticism. Kant's position on the efficacy of prayer (had he stated it) would surely be in line with his (stated) positions on other theoretical religious issues: from 'big' issues like the very existence of God to 'small' issues like whether or not Jesus was 'born of a virgin', we cannot definitely affirm or deny the claim from the theoretical standpoint, for this reason, the question must be passed over to the practi¬ cal standpoint, so that we can determine whether or not there are good (moral) reasons to believe in spite of our inability to know with theoretical certainty. When it comes to prayer, Kant's positive statements, as we have seen, all stress that prayer is rationally justifiable as long as it enhances the moral disposition of the person pray¬ ing. But this cannot be taken to imply that, in situations where there is no significant influence on a person's disposition, prayer must be categorically rejected. On the contrary, such prayer is permissible, even though it is not positively justifiable, provided it does not obstruct the healthy operation of a person's moral disposition. There are, then, four discrete classifications implied by Kant's hermeneutic of religious activities. Each classification comes with a distinct mandate for the religious believer, as follows: 1. Religious actions/beliefs that are coextensive with the pure (moral) core of religion are necessary, though they may not be sufficient to please God in a less-than-ideal world. 2. Religious actions/beliefs that lie outside the pure (moral) core, but actively serve to support and encourage morality, are not strictly necessary, though some such assistance formalities which might lead to idolatry and so burden the conscience, e.g., certain prayers to God, with His infinite mercy personified under the name of a man' [Kt8:199(187)]. Although this seems to rule out praying in Jesus' name, the context shows that (as usual) Kant is not dogmatically denying the legitimacy of such a practice. Rather, he is making an essentially hermeneutic point: imagining oneself as praying directly to the man, Jesus (especially when using an icon or other sensible representation for assistance), leads all too easily to the false attitude that this act is in itself efficacious and pleasing to God. Such an interpretation of one's mode of prayer leads directly to 'idolatry', not the mode of prayer itself. Thus, the 'illusion' Kant goes on to mention is one that views the church externally, as 'a political commonwealth', rather than internally, as 'the kingdom of God'. That it is possible to pray in Jesus' name without falling into such an illusion is a possi¬ bility I believe Kant would readily consider, especially in light of his highly suggestive discussion of the personified 'archetype' of moral perfection (the pure rational religion's equivalent to Jesus) in the early pages of Book Two [see VII.2.B and VIII.2.B]. 20. I would like to thank my colleague, Lo Ping Cheung, for suggesting that I relate my interpretation to these five types of prayer.

496

APPENDICES

should be available for anyone who needs a way to strengthen their weakness. 3. Religious actions/beliefs that lie outside the pure (moral) core and do not actively support or encourage morality are strictly optional, but can be accepted as long as they do not obstruct a person's moral disposition. 4. Religious actions/beliefs that lie outside the pure (moral) core and do obstruct a person's moral disposition are false and must be actively discouraged.

Contemplative prayer and confession are (when properly employed) identical to the dispositional spirit of prayer, so they fall into the first class. The second class includes morally acceptable forms of praise and thanksgiving. The third is where I believe Kant would place petition and supplication. These are forms of prayer that are as significant to the goodness of a person's moral disposition as belief in (for example) the historicity of Adam and Eve are to the correctness of one's theological understanding. All five forms, when interpreted in terms of what Kant repeatedly calls the 'religious illusion' (i.e., the hope that nonmoral actions can take the place of moral actions in God's eyes), fall into the fourth classification. Numerous passages from the Bible could, in fact, be cited in support of Kant's view of prayer. Without going into the intricacies of biblical hermeneutics, I shall merely suggest the following correspondences. Matthew 6:5-8 teaches that words are of secondary importance (and can be counter-productive if over-emphasized); inner communion with God is the key to prayer. Romans 8:26 suggests that the deepest form of prayer is a spiritual communion that takes place without any intelligible verbal expression. Mark 11:25 reminds us to reconcile our grudges before participating in public prayer. 2 Corinthians 13:9 takes this moral mandate even further by praying directly for 'perfection'. Mark 12:38-40 and Luke 18:10 are just two of the many passages that condemn those who use prayer as a form of self-aggrandizement or to cover up their own evil disposition. The well known mandate of 1 Thessalonians 5:17, that we should 'pray without ceasing', could refer to a constant conversation with God (as is often assumed); but it could just as well refer (as Kant interpreted it) to an abiding spiritual disposition, thus saving it from being reduced to a potentially meaningless, neurotic babble. Matthew 21:22 makes a direct connection between faith and the efficacy of prayer (though Kant's explanation of how this is possible is admittedly rather unorthodox). And James 5:16 associates prayer's efficacy directly with the moral character of the person praying. All of these passages, and many others like them, reveal a surprising degree of overlap between Kant's Critical hermeneutic of prayer and biblical (or at least, New Testament) views on prayer. Naturally, there are also some important differences. The Bible merely assumes that prayer is directed towards a real God, whereas Kant believes philosophers should remain ag¬ nostic about such theoretical questions. The Bible conveys numerous examples of prayers that Kant would regard as, at best, religiously neutral and at worst, positively detrimental to the moral character of the devotee.21 Biblical prayer is typically expressed in the confident terms of the imperative voice, whereas Kant speaks of prayer more cautiously in terms of a 'wish'. The main difference, though, is that in the Bible prayer and worship tend to be viewed as the focal point of one's religious life, with good life-conduct following on it as an effect or 'fruit' of one's relationship with God, whereas Kant's position is closer to the opposite—a difference I account for in IX.2-3. In the end, this hermeneutic point is surely the most significant difference between conventional religious views on prayer and Kant's Critical position: it marks a difference of emphasis in one's interpretation of what is actually happening during the act of praying. It is perhaps inevitable for ordinary devotees to interpret their prayers literally, as acts directed towards God that form the focal point of their religion. Kant, in direct contrast to this 2 1 . See e.g., Psalm 59:11-16; cf. Kt8:110n(101n).

AVIII. Kant's

Critical Hermeneutic

of Prayer

497

approach, treats the internal, moral and symbolic aspects of the prayer as essential, viewing the others as, at best, means to a moral end. Is Kant's position, then, in opposition to that of the ordinary believer after all? Only if we forget the nature and significance of the Copernican Perspective outlined in AVIII.I. 22 In the first edition Preface to Kt8, Kant himself expresses his hope that 'the Biblical theologian' might 'be at one with the philosopher', despite their naturally opposing starting-points (i.e., revelation and reason, respectively). 23 The perspectival character of Kant's hermeneutic method therefore entails that the special, transcendental critique of prayer is intended not to do away with this time-honored way of practicing religion, but to complement it by establishing prayer once and for all as a philosophically justifiable act.

22. S.a. VIII. 1 and IX. 1. The compatibility between these two Perspectives is the main topic of Chapter IX. 23. Kt8:10(10). On Easter Sunday, 1996, just before completing the initial draft of this appendix, I attended an Anglican church in Hong Kong. The prayers, jointly led that day by a family from the congregation (and quoted here by permission), provided an excellent case study for a Kantian interpretation of prayer. From the first words ('Loving Father') to the last, every part of the prayer served to awaken the moral spirit of love and self-sacrifice in the dispositions of all who listened. After a few uplifting words of praise and thanksgiving, the father set the scene by announcing that we would 'pray for our world, our community and ourselves' and by asking that we be given God's disposition in these matters ('to see the world through your eyes...'). One daughter then prayed for the poor, asking for God's intervention, then adding: 'show us what we can do to help this happen.' The mother followed with a prayer for orphans and those who work with orphans, including the petition: 'We pray that people's eyes would be opened to see the need and their hearts would be moved to action.' After the father prayed 'for Hong Kong at this time of uncertainty', asking for wisdom to be given to the political leaders, the second daughter prayed 'for the street sleepers and prisoners in Hong Kong that we would be generous towards them...'. The son then asked God to 'help us to be quick to say sorry' and 'to love one another'. Following a time of silent prayer, the second daughter closed with a brief reminder of the meaning of Easter. Of course, any of these prayers could be improperly used as an excuse not to improve one's life-conduct, to wait instead for God to do the changing. However, that would be contrary to their obvious intent, which was to stir the hearts of all who prayed along. Kant might not be willing to affirm some of the more doctrinal statements included in the prayers offered on that day; but he would undoubtedly acknowl¬ edge that the exercise as a whole can readily be justified philosophically, because of its clear moral content. Likewise, the theological beliefs of the family saying those prayers might prevent them from appreciating Kant's reasons for maintaining an agnostic position on various theoretical issues; but they would certainly appreciate and affirm his concern that prayers must not be used to conceal lazy or immoral life-conduct. This is a living example of what Kant means when he encourages the two sides to be 'at one' [see IX.l].

Appendix IX Kantian Christianity: 95 Theses and a Critical Catechism 1. Kantian Christianity as a Catholic-Protestant Synthesis Is Kant's Critical religion more amenable to Protestant or to Catholic forms of Christian faith? Since Kant was raised as a Protestant and directed a considerable amount of attention to the task of reforming the Reformers (i.e., being even more 'protestant' man the Protestants), many have assumed he has more in common with Luther than with Erasmus [e.g., Cr94:128]. But Galbraith goes to the opposite extreme [Ga96:107], arguing mat 'Kant's account of human freedom actually turns the Lutheran account on its head. For Kant, human freedom amounts to no less than the freedom that Luther attributes only to God.' She explicitly denies the com¬ mon view mat Kant was trying to 'demythologize Luther' [109], preferring to read Kant as defending and/or revising the Catholic position represented by Erasmus [116]. Galbraith ably defends her positive thesis regarding Erasmus' affinity with Kant [93-135; s.a. Wh90:16]; but a more plausible position, I believe, is to regard Kant as seeking to establish a third approach to Christian faith, one that unites the opposites of Catholicism and Protestantism, while going beyond both, as shown in Figure AIX.l. This suggestion will be defended in KSP4. Protestant ^ a n t w a s n e v e r e n o u g h °f a political activist to emulate Luther by actually posting his viewpoints on the door of, for example, the University Church in Konigsberg, nor was he sufficiently interested in developing Kantian his own ideas into a new tradition to express 'Christianity them in the Catholic form of a catechism. Nevertheless, expressing the fundamental tenets and implications of system,- in these two opposite, yet equally provocative forms Catholic would show the extent to which his ideas effect a reformation no less radical than Figure AIX.l: Kantian Luther's 95 theses, yet constitute a body of Christianity as a Catholicbeliefs no less teachable than Catholic dogma Protestant Synthesis - ^ n e n e x t t w 0 P 8 1 ^ °f m i s appendix will carry out this task by listing 95 theses Kant defends in Kt8 (given in larger print, to facilitate strategically posting them on relevant doors in the reader's own locale) and by using a question-and-answer format to elaborate the same 95 points in more detail. Kant's philosophy of religion can thereby be seen to carry Luther's reformation of the Catholic Church one step further, by reforming the Protestant Church as well, in those areas where it is still enmeshed in idolatrous beliefs and practices. The catechism should likewise dispel any notion that Kant's theory is too abstract or idealistic to become the basis for a real, living religion. Most of the 95 theses and their corresponding questions represent key issues addressed in Kt8, though some minor points are included because of their special relevance to Christianity. While Kant certainly does present other religious theses in Kt8, these 95 (gathered here roughly in their order of appearance) represent his most significantly protestant (i.e., reforming on principle) and catholic (i.e., universally teachable) ideas.

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2. Kant's 95 Theses for Religious Reformation {Prefaces: Religion vis-a-vis morality and theology} 1: Morality is transcendentally prior to religion. 2: Morality points beyond itself to a God beyond mankind. 3: Biblical theology is based on revelation but uses reason. 4: Philosophical theology should not be subject to censorship. 5: Moral religion and revealed religion are like concentric circles. {Book One: The religious problem} 6: Human beings have a predisposition to do good. 7: Every person inevitably starts out in life with an evil disposition. 8: Human actions only appear to be partly good and partly evil. 9: God judges according to a person's disposition, not their actions. 10: Sin reverses the proper priority in the ground of one's maxims. 11: Bare reason cannot discover the rational origin of evil. 12: Evil is radical, corrupting the root of a person's nature. 13: Self-love is evil only when it opposes the moral law. 14: The workings of grace are mysterious, having no rational use. 15: Dependence on the workings of grace produces fanaticism. {Book Two: The religious individual} 16: Reason constrains us to believe conversion is necessary. 17: Bare reason cannot discover how conversion happens. 18: The archetype of perfection is the universal vehicle of God's grace. 19: Examples of good people should awaken this archetype within us. 20: Faith is a rational commitment based on moral certainty. 21: Faith is more important to religion than knowledge. 22: We can be morally but not theoretically certain of God's acceptance. 23: Hope of salvation requires progress in moral living. 24: Good life-conduct cannot be complete enough to earn salvation. 25: Sin incurs a personal debt that cannot be transferred to anyone else. 26: Death of the old self during conversion pays for past sins. 27: Forgiveness of lapses helps a good-hearted person become better. 28: Moral improvement is evidence of a genuine conversion. 29: The idea of hell is useful only if it helps evil people convert to good.

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30: Even deathbed conversions should give rise to good acts. 31: God incarnate must not cease to be a moral example. 32: 'God incarnate' means a person has God's disposition. 33: Belief in a virgin mother has no theoretical justification. 34: Belief in a virgin mother can help us resist temptation. 35: A miracle is an event caused by unknowable laws. 36: Miracles are possible because human knowledge is limited. 37: Human beings should not try to perform miracles. 38: Human beings should not depend on miracles happening. 39: A miracle cannot be from God if it contradicts morality. {Book Three: The religious community) 40: People must band together in order to overcome evil. 41: Political alliances cannot make people virtuous. 42: An ethical community is bound to fail without God. 43: An ethical community governed by God is a church. 44: A true church must be unified, pure, free, and unchangeable. 45: People have a duty to implement these principles in a visible church. 46: God alone is capable of founding a true church. 47: People should act as if the church's success depends on them. 48: Historical faiths should be grounded in pure rational faith. 49: In the ideal 'kingdom of God', visible churches will not be needed. 50: Real churches today do need to be 'clothed' in a visible form. 51: There is only one true religion, as far as its rational form is concerned. 52: Many types of church faith can reflect this one true religion. 53: Christianity is the only universalizable ecclesiastical tradition. 54: The statutes taught by a true church should serve a moral end. 55: Moral improvement is the highest aim of Scriptural interpretation. 56: Saving faith is hope that God will supplement good life-conduct. 57: Good works alone are insufficient to produce salvation. 58: The division between clergy and laity is harmful to pure religion. 59: Divine revelation is available to all human beings through reason. 60: The original Christian message was purely moral. 61: The Bible's moral content is the most trustworthy of all scriptures. 62: The Bible unveils the ideal form of both true and false religion.

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63: The Bible's moral content enables us to view it as God's revelation. 64: As a theoretical dogma, the Trinity is an empty mystery. 65: As a practical symbol, the Trinity profoundly describes God's nature. 66: Belief in a divine call can encourage moral improvement. 67: Hope for atonement is rational only for good-hearted people. 68: Divine election is an absolute mystery with no practical value. 69: 'God is love' means people's worthiness is judged benevolently. 70: The Holy Spirit judges people's guilt through their own conscience. [Book IV: Rational guidelines for serving God} 71: The true service of God is morally good life-conduct. 72: Nonmoral religious actions, as such, do not please God. 73: True religion includes nonmoral acts that encourage goodness. 74: A religious person is one who views duties as God's commands. 75: True religion contains no special duties to God. 76: Revealed and natural religion hold opposite views on duty's origin. 77: Both supematuralism and naturalism are inferior to pure rationalism. 78: Pure rationalism sees religion as both natural and revealed/learned. 79: Christianity is destined to become the universal religion of mankind. 80: Jesus (God's 'Son') was the founder of the first true church. 81: Judaism promotes legalism, while Christianity fosters pure morality. 82: Christians should try to free themselves from their historical roots. 83: Belief in revealed propositions is not a religious duty. 84: Dogma is useful as a means to moral awakening. 85: Putting anything (even reverence for God) above virtue is idolatry. 86: Human beings cannot control God in any way. 87: Devotion attunes the mind to a godly disposition. 88: To insist on knowing how salvation works disguises moral unbelief. 89: Clerics should let people have doubts about dogmas and creeds. 90: Effective service requires some form of nonmoral religious activity. 91: The true spirit of prayer is moral self-improvement. 92: Church-going is a duty when it promotes virtue. 93: Baptism aims at, but does not produce, holiness. 94: Communion promotes community and brotherly love. 95: Virtue is the basis for pardoning grace, not vice versa.

502

APPENDICES

3. A Catechism Based on Kant's Critical Religion {Prefaces: Morality vis-a-vis morality and theology} Ql: Which has primary influence over you, morality or religion? Religion as a cultural phenomenon (i.e., as historical faith) has empirical priority over morality; as the arena for transmitting moral concepts to each successive generation, it influenced me first in time. Nevertheless, morality as such does not depend on any particular religion. I can use reason alone to determine what is morally good for me to do in any given situation, without referring to any specific religious beliefs or revelation. From the transcen¬ dental perspective, therefore, morality is prior to religion. Q2: Does God exist as a real Being, or is God just an idea in your mind? Although theoretical reason naturally produces the idea of God in my mind, it does not provide a proof that can conclusively demonstrate God's existence. Nevertheless, the universal human experience of morality points beyond itself to a highest moral Being 'outside of mankind'. I must believe such a God really exists in order to explain why morality itself is rational. Moreover, I can successfully obey the universal duty to form an ethical community only if a God exists to guide each individual member from within his or her own reason. Q3: As a biblical theologian, shouldyou depend more on reason or revelation? Although I must make use of reason when doing biblical theology, my discipline is properly based on revelation. I use reason as a tool to clarify and defend what revelation teaches me. My use of both theoretical and practical reason is therefore always subject to criticism from philosophers. Q4: To what extent should your theology be subject to censorship? Insofar as I claim to present revealed truths to the general public, I must be prepared to subject my theology to official censorship. But unlike biblical theology, philosophical theol¬ ogy is grounded in reason, even when it takes some alleged revelation as its subject-matter. Critical theology gives priority to practical considerations, treating morality rather than mere logic as the rational touchstone for determining what is and is not of value for theology and religion. As a philosophical theologian I dialogue mainly with philosophers and biblical theologians, not with the general public; my theology should therefore be exempt from any government censorship of theology. Q5: How is pure (moral) religion related to revealed (historical) religion? The two are like concentric circles, with pure religion in the center and historical reli¬ gion wrapped around it. This means the former is the kernel that lends meaning and worth to the latter, while the latter is the 'clothing' that enables the 'bare body' of the former to function effectively in real historical situations. {Book One: The religious problem} Q6: As a human being, are you good by nature? Each of the three aspects of human nature (animality, humanity, and personality) implies that human beings have a good predisposition: to be alive, rational, and responsible are all essentially good attributes. But this does not make me good in actuality; it only means I start life with the potential to do good. Q7: As a human being, are you evil by nature? The essence of human nature is not evil. However, the actual disposition (or 'heart') of every human being starts out being evil. I must therefore have done something (made some 'noumenal choice') at the outset of my moral development that corrupted my disposition. In

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other words, as a human being, my first truly free act must have been based on a decision to break the moral law. Q8: As a human being, are you therefore partly good, partly evil by nature? Viewed from the Empirical Perspective, everything I do can be regarded as a mixture of good and evil; so also every person appears to be good in some ways and evil in others. Philosophy of religion, however, is properly based on the Transcendental Perspective, from which my actions must always be regarded as either good or evil. As a human being, I am therefore either good or evil by nature, not a mixture of both. Q9: How does Godjudge whether you are good or evil? When making judgments about my moral status, God does not look at my outer actions but at my inner disposition. This must be the case because morality itself is rooted in the latter, not the former, and because God must be a moral being in order to be worthy of our devotion. Knowing this does not enable me to predict God's judgments, because I cannot see my own disposition clearly enough to make an accurate assessment. Q10: What is sin? For the philosophical theologian, sin is moral evil, which can be defined as the reversal of the proper order in the ground of a person's maxim. That is, I sin if, instead of regarding duty as more important than happiness, I treat my own happiness as more important than the call to obey the voice of duty. Ql 1: Where does evil come from? Reason on its own cannot answer this question, though it prompts us to look for an answer. This is the first of several respects in which bare reason needs to clothe itself with revelation. Unfortunately, some traditions attempt to fill this gap with an account of the origin of evil in time; but this fails to address the issue of evil's rational origin. Any coherent solution to this mystery must take into account that moral evil always arises out of a person's free choice. Q12: What is original sin? Original sin does not refer to a literal inheritance of moral evil passed on from one generation to the next. Rather, it means that evil originates in my disposition and that its influence is 'radical' (i.e., evident in my very first free act). Radical evil corrupts the very heart of my will, making it impossible (without a conversion) for me to be genuinely good. Q13: Is self-love good or evil? In and of itself, my natural inclination to act in accordance with my own happiness (i.e., self-love) is neither good nor evil. It becomes evil only when I must disobey the moral law in order to satisfy an inclination. Q14: Can belief in inward experiences of God ('workings of grace') be rational? As a principle for either theoretical knowledge or practical action, such a belief is not rational. However, this does not prevent me from accepting the possibility of such experiences as a mysterious supplement to my faith, provided I am careful not to base any theological knowledge on them and not to use them as an excuse to neglect my duties. Q15: What happens if you over-emphasize such inward experiences? I would be in danger of becoming a religious fanatic. Fanaticism is the habit of letting presumed inner illumination take the place of external actions devoted to promoting moral goodness. The fanatic uses devotional exercises in hopes of manipulating God into bestowing grace, regardless of whether the devotee may be neglecting his or her moral duties.

504

APPENDICES {Book Two: The religious individual}

Q16: Is a conversion necessary for everyone? Yes, as far as we know. By demonstrating the inevitability of radical evil, bare reason shows us that every human person needs a conversion (a radical change of heart). A revealed faith must be consistent with this claim, though we need not appeal to revelation to know it is true. Whether or not exceptions to this rule are possible is an empirical question that must be answered by anthropological research, not by philosophy. But I have no empirical grounds for regarding myself as such an exception. Q17: Is there a rational explanation for-how a conversion takes place? Bare reason cannot tell us how conversion happens. One of the tests of a revealed faith is its ability to clothe reason with an appropriate answer to this question—i.e., one that helps us experience conversion without contradicting or diminishing our commitment to pure religious (moral) faith. Q18: What is grace and how does God communicate it to you? Grace is God's offer to accept me as an imperfect human being. God communicates this offer to me by means of the 'archetype' (i.e., original idea) of moral perfection that is rooted in my good predisposition. This archetype is the vehicle through which God's grace can be and is manifested in human nature. Its presence enables me to recognize examples of moral goodness in the world and empowers me to follow the moral law. Without an awareness of this archetype, no conversion would be possible. Q19: What is the function of examples in your religious development? Examples ofmoral goodness can awaken the archetypeofperfecthumanity within me. But I must be careful not to regard any single example as absolutely necessary for my salvation. Otherwise, I might easily neglect my responsibility to make myself into a living example of this archetype. Thus, for instance, I may choose to honor Jesus as the most perfect realization of the archetype, as long as his example empowers me to live a better life; but if my belief in Jesus becomes an excuse for moral laziness, then it will actually block God's ability to communicate grace through the archetype. Q20: What kind of certainty does faith produce ? Faith is a manifestation of practical reason. It therefore provides me with moral cer¬ tainty, not theoretical certainty. That is, I cannot expect to be able to prove the basic tenets of my religious faith by using logical arguments on their own (i.e., in abstraction from consid¬ erations based on my moral nature). This would replace faith with (presumed) knowledge and would replace the humility that is proper for a religious person with a sophisticated pride that is contrary to the spirit of religion. Q21: How are faith and knowledge related in a true religion ? Practical reason (faith) has primacy over theoretical reason (knowledge) in religious matters. If theoretical reason leaves me ignorant of agiven truth-claim, then I am permitted to believe it if practical reason provides moral grounds for doing so. Since most religious issues are theoretically indeterminate (i.e., unknowable), moral faith should be the focus of a theolo¬ gian's concern. Belief in such a truth-claim cannot be part of a true religion, however, if it is contrary to practical reason—i.e., if it discourages obedience to the moral law. Q22: Can you ever be absolutely certain God has accepted you? No, theoretical certainty is not possible on the issue of our eternal destiny. But such theoretical uncertainty is good for my moral development: if I had absolutely no doubt that God accepts me, I would probably begin to neglect my moral duties. Instead, my confidence

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is (or should be) directly proportional to my commitment to obey the moral law. On this basis, I can have a high degree of hope (or moral confidence) that God accepts me. Q23: What is the rational basis for your hope that God will save you ? My moral certainty of God's acceptance (i.e., of my salvation) does not require me to live a perfect life (i.e., never again to break the moral law). Even after conversion, I will continue to do evil things from time to time. Since I cannot be certain that my disposition has really changed (i.e., that my conversion was genuine), the only rational basis for hoping that God will provide the assistance needed to effect my salvation is if I can detect moral progress as I assess my life over a period of time. This is because a person with a good disposition will always be striving to live a better life. If I cannot see evidence of such attempts in my own life, my disposition may not be good. Q24: Can you earn God's acceptance simply by living a virtuous life? No, because radical evil guarantees that nobody can live a perfectly good life. Each person begins with an evil disposition, and this inevitably gives rise to some evil (sinful) acts. Since my life-conduct cannot be perfectly good, I am in need of God's grace. This is why morality cannot succeed if it stands on its own, but must point beyond itself to religion. Nevertheless, good conduct is a firm basis for my hope that God will provide what is lacking. Q25: Is belief in the doctrine of vicarious atonement rationally justifiable? No. The view that God will atone for my sins by punishing someone else (e.g., Jesus) is irrational because moral debts cannot be transferred to others the way financial debts can. Practical reason requires me to reject any literal interpretation of vicarious atonement, because believing it could entice me to be morally irresponsible, to ignore the moral law on the grounds that someone else has suffered instead of me. The doctrine may nevertheless have some symbolic value, if I identify myself with the one who suffers (e.g., by regarding Jesus as atoning for my sins insofar as I participate in his suffering). Q26: What is the rational basis for believing in the doctrine o/justification? Belief in personal justification, the doctrine that God has forgiven me for the moral evil I did before my conversion, can be grounded in reason only if I can show that I have suffered some punishment for my sins. This suffering cannot have occurred before my conversion, because my disposition was evil at that time, so God would have condemned me no matter how much suffering I experienced. Likewise, it could not occur after my conversion, because the 'new me' is a morally different person from the 'old me', and moral debts cannot be transferred. The process of conversion itself, the transition from the 'old me' to the 'new me', must therefore involve a form of suffering that is sufficient to enable a just God to view the 'new me' as innocent of the evil deeds performed by the 'old me'. This is what Christians call 'dying to self. Q27: What is the rational basis for believing in the doctrine 0/sanctification? The belief that God forgives me for any moral evil I continue to do after my conversion can be grounded in reason by recognizing that God judges people's underlying disposition, not their actions. If I am genuinely a good-hearted person, this continued forgiveness will have the effect of encouraging me to be more and more diligent in following the moral law—an effect often called 'sanctification'. Sanctification thereby enables me to come closer to being an example of the archetype of perfect humanity (e.g., it makes me more like Jesus). Q28: How can you know whether or not your conversion is genuine? A genuinely good-hearted person will experience gradual moral improvement over time. Although I cannot see my own disposition, the way God can, I can see my actions and judge

506

APPENDICES

their moral worth with a moderate degree of accuracy, based on my own limited awareness of my motives. When I look back over my life story since being converted, if I can detect clear signs of moral improvement (i.e., an increasing ability to choose right actions with good motives), then I have ample reason to believe my conversion was genuine. Q29. Will the punishments of hell be terminable or everlasting? This is a childish question, because we cannot possibly know the answer. Believing either answer could weaken my moral resolve, so even practical reason provides no clues. Nevertheless, an indeterminate belief in hell can be meaningful and appropriate as a way of emphasizing the gravity of a person's decision to follow the evil principle. If I include the idea of hell in my teaching, it should therefore be for the sole purpose of providing an added incentive for evil people to be converted to the cause of good. Q30: Can a deathbed conversion serve as a reliable basis for hope in salvation? The only way we can judge whether a deathbed conversion is genuine is to see if it changes how the person acts. Anyone ministering to a person in this situation should there¬ fore encourage him or her to do anything possible to set right any wrongs he or she is aware of having committed earlier in life. A genuine conversion will make a person want to use the last few moments of life to do whatever good remains in their power. Q31: Is there any danger in viewing a person as a special incarnation of God ? Yes. The chief danger is that we may cease to regard such a person as a moral example. For instance, a Christian who thinks of Jesus as the Son of God, but fails to regard all Christians as 'God's children' (i.e., as Jesus' younger siblings), is likely to believe that worshipping Jesus can take the place of his or her own obedience to the moral law. This is as example of the most dangerous type of religious illusion. Q32: In what sense could it be rational to call a human being 'God incarnate' ? This phrase can be both meaningful and religiously beneficial if we interpret it to mean that the person in question has God's disposition, despite being a normal human being in every other respect. It then becomes another way of saying such a person has attained a level of holiness that makes him or her a living example of the archetype of perfect humanity—an example any other normal human being may also hope to emulate. Q33: Does the idea of a virgin mother have any theoretical value? No. The idea contradicts what we know about how childbirth normally takes place and so could never be proved theoretically. Even if it could, relying on such an idea as the basis of one's faith would do nothing but harm to a person's moral disposition. It is based on an incorrect theory of sexuality that assumes anyone born out of the pleasure of intercourse must be corrupted with evil, and that such evil is passed on only through the man's sperm. Q34: Can the idea of a virgin mother have any practical value? Yes. A person's belief in a virgin mother can serve as a practical symbol of the need for human beings to rise above the temptation to evil, in order to achieve a holy disposition. Q35: What is a miracle? A miracle is an empirical event caused by laws that necessarily remain unknown to human beings. Miracles can be either good ('theistic' or 'angelic') or evil ('demonic' or 'devilish'). Q36: Are miracles possible? Yes. Our necessary ignorance of transcendent reality means we cannot rule out the pos¬ sibility of miracles from the standpoint of theoretical reason. However, any miracle devoid of practical value has no place in a true religion.

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Q37: Could you, as a human being, perform a miracle? Perhaps. But it would be wrong for me to desire this. Those who try to perform miracles are storming heaven and attempting to take control of the power of God. The timing of miracles, if any, must be left entirely up to God. Q38: Shouldyou, as a human being, depend on miracles? No. Depending on miracles would make me passive and morally irresponsible. God wants me to be responsible for my own moral and spiritual growth. Only those who do not depend on miracles are worthy of benefiting from them. Q39: How can you judge whether or not a purported miracle is from God? Negatively, if an alleged miracle contradicts the moral law in any way, then it cannot be from God. Positively, if what appears to be miraculous helps to bolster my moral disposi¬ tion, then I may safely regard it as a gift from God. However, I should not speak as if I am theoretically certain of its status as a miracle. For such certainty is never possible for us human beings. {Book Three: The religious community} Q40: Must you be part of an organized community in order to overcome evil? In one sense my moral character is an entirely individual issue: I am solely responsible for my own free choices and cannot expect others to become good on my behalf. In practice, however, my motives are frequently corrupted as a direct result of my contacts with other persons. Even other good-hearted individuals can have a bad influence on me. Most human evil, in fact, arises in just this way. Overcoming evil is therefore a goal for the entire human race, requiring individuals to band together in a moral community. Only in this way can we assist each other in making good choices and in overcoming the evil desires and motives that inevitably crop up. Q41: Can a community based on political laws achieve this goal? No. Political alliances utilize external coercion, which detracts from the possibility of ethical {internally legislated) motivations for action. Political systems can enforce right actions, but they cannot force people to be virtuous. Yet only the latter (virtuous action) is pleasing to God. A political community is therefore powerless in overcoming evil. The community must be ethical. Q42: Can an ethical community overcome evil without assuming God exists? No. To reach the goal of helping its members become virtuous by overcoming evil, a community based on ethical laws must assume good will conquer evil in the end. But it cannot use external coercion to guarantee uniformity among its members. The only way to empower the members to trust each other (given their inevitable differences of opinion) is for them to regard God as the lawgiver for the community. Only by trusting in a God who legislates internally to each individual can an ethical community avoid a situation of hopeless diversity. In order to be effective an ethical community must therefore be a church. Q43: What is a church? The term 'church' can refer either to an invisible or to a visible organization. The invis¬ ible church consists of all good-hearted human persons who regard human duties as divine commands. God guides this organization in ways no human being can fully comprehend. A visible church, by contrast, is any human organization that claims to be governed by God. A true church is a visible church whose basic principles conform to those of the invisible church.

508

APPENDICES

Q44: What are the basic principles of a true church's organization? The basic principles of any true church must conform to the categories: for the invisible church is unified (having a quantity of one, and therefore nonsectarian), pure (having a moral quality, unencumbered by superstition or fanaticism), free (both in the internal relations between members and in the relation of the church to political authorities), and founded on an unchangeable constitution (one whose modality is necessary, though specific administrative decisions may change over time). Q45: Do you really expect a visible church to implement these principles? Yes. In fact, trying to realize the principles of the invisible church in a real human community is a universal human duty. The fact that I cannot say in advance how this can ever come about is not a good reason to abandon my duty. Rather, it strengthens my trust in God as the community's ultimate guide. Q46: How then can a true church actually be realized on earth? As just explained, I do not know how. In fact, I believe only God is capable of founding a visible church with genuinely invisible roots. Human organization on its own will always fall short of this goal. This is why an ethical community cannot succeed unless it becomes a church. Q47: Why don't you just relax, then, and just let God do it alone? To respond in this way would be to make myself unworthy of receiving God's assis¬ tance. In building a church I must act as if everything depends on human effort. Realizing that our efforts will inevitably be inadequate, I must hope that God will respond to my good will by supplying whatever is lacking. Q48: What is the proper relationship between historical and pure rational faith? Faith in a specific historical tradition is, or ought to be, a vehicle for pure rational (i.e., religious) faith—the latter being the essence of all genuine (moral) religion. No historical tradition can claim to be absolutely necessary or final; but each person should embrace some historical faith as a vehicle. As long as we are imperfect, embodied creatures, pure rational faith cannot stand on its own, though we should still regard this as an ideal goal. Q49: Will some form of visible church always exist? No. When the kingdom of God arrives in all its fullness, it will be identical to pure rational religion. Everyone will then participate in the invisible church, without any outward historical form being needed. However, at the current stage of human history we must regard such a future state as a visionary ideal. Q50: Must good-hearted people today support some visible form of church? Visible forms of church being contingent, membership cannot be treated as an absolute requirement. Salvation comes through membership in the invisible church (as determined by God alone), not through any of its various visible approximations. Nevertheless, good-hearted people should fulfill their duty to help the latter conform more and more closely to the former. The decision as to whether this is best accomplished as a member of a particular church or as an outsider may depend on how closely the reality conforms to the invisible ideal. Q51: Can there be more than one true religion? No, not in the transcendental sense of 'religion'. Insofar as religion is rational, its true form must be necessary and universal. Many different religious traditions may capture aspects of this truth. But this simply means that different traditions may share the same rational form. Q52: Can there be more than one true ecclesiastical faith? Yes, as long as 'true' here means 'accurately reflecting true religion'. More than one

AIX. Kantian Christianity

509

faith—i.e., more than one empirical manifestation of religion—can and do effectively encour¬ age the implementation of true, moral religion. Q53: Could one church tradition be necessarily applicable to everyone? Church traditions are typically not universalizable, because they consist of a mixture of statutes that are moral with those that are nonmoral and of dogmas that can be rationally jus¬ tified with those that cannot be. Only the moral statutes and rationally justifiable dogmas can be universalized. If a particular tradition were to consist solely of these, universalizing that tradition would be possible. Christianity, in its purest form as originally taught by Jesus, is the only example to date of such a universalizable ecclesiastical tradition. Q54: What is the proper function of statutes within a visible church? The statutes (rules of conduct) taught by a church should either be a direct application of the moral law or else they should encourage attitudes and forms of behavior that are likely to predispose the followers to be moral. No statute should exist that contradicts the moral law, and following church statutes in general should not be regarded as necessarily pleasing to God. The belief that obedience to a nonmoral statute testifies more fully to a person's devotion to God is a sure sign of false religion. Q55: What is the church's highest principle for interpreting Scripture? When church members interpret Scripture, their main aim should be to gain insight into the moral improvement of human beings. Pastors and other church teachers sometimes loose their genuinely religious focus by looking to theologians or historical scholars for guidance as to the original author's meaning. But knowing the text's historical background is of no religious value unless it deepens our understanding of its moral meaning. Too much attention to theoretical or dogmatic interpretations can be as detrimental to religion as the approach that allows subjective feeling to determine the text's meaning. Q56: What constitutes a saving faith? The common belief that good life-conduct is totally irrelevant to the saving power of faith is a religious illusion. There is no rational basis for believing God will save people merely as a response to their intellectual assent to a dogma. Faith has saving power only if it is based on a person's good life-conduct. That is, I have good reason to believe God will save me, in spite of any evil deeds I may do, only if I seek to obey the moral law. Saving faith is the rational hope that God will supplement what is lacking in my good life-conduct. Q57: Could your good works be sufficient to earn your salvation? No, because I am still influenced by radical evil. The 'antinomy' of faith and works is that historical faith (e.g., faith in some event God may have used to save all those who believe) is rationally justifiable only for people who endeavor to obey the moral law, yet nobody can ever hope to obey the moral law completely enough to earn salvation on this basis. The solution is to regard faith and works as two sides of the same archetype: just as faith must be grounded in the human side of the archetype (the reality of good life-conduct) in order to be rational, so also good life-conduct must be supported by its divine side (the possibility of moral perfection) in order to be practically viable. Q58: Should a true church make a distinction between clergy and laity? Ideally, no. Such class divisions foster a misuse of religious power, obscuring people's awareness of their equal status as members of the invisible church. If such a division does exist in a visible church, the clergy should seek to empower the laity with a clear sense of their freedom before God.

510

APPENDICES

Q59: Does rational religion leave any room for divine revelation? Yes. But such revelation comes to us internally, through our own reason, not externally, as an empirically constructed master-plan. The recognition that all human beings have access to revelation, and that external forms are vehicles for true religion that should be gradually transformed into their pure rational forms, is the basis for the 'coming' of God's kingdom. Q60: What, then, was the original purpose of the Christian message? Jesus' teaching is the best example of pure moral religion in any existing Scripture. Nonmoral elements were grafted on to the Christian tradition by its subsequent proponents. Jesus' central message, that the kingdom of God is at hand, was an attempt to break people's illusory belief that false religious 'works' could save them, thus empowering them to improve their life-conduct. Q61: Can you trust the Bible as a reliable guide for discovering true religion? Yes, provided I focus on its moral content, not on its dogmatic or historical claims. Q62: Is the Bible's religion consistent with the pure religion of reason? The Old Testament shows us an ideal example of false religion, in the form of the Jewish belief in nonmoral works as a form of expiation. The New Testament, by contrast, unveils the ideal example of true religion, in the life and teachings of Jesus. Q63: To what extent can we regard the Bible as the revelation of God? The fact that it contains teachings on the purest form of moral religion and that it repre¬ sents a huge improvement over anything that came before it provides a good practical reason for treating it as a revelation from God, though this could never be proved theoretically. Q64: Does the concept of God as a Trinity have any theoretical meaning? From the standpoint of theoretical reason the Trinity is, at best, a mystery. This means it might have a private meaning aroused by each believer's feelings; but it has no meaning that can be publicly shared. Believing in it too literally leads to a dangerous, morally deficient form of anthropomorphism. Q65: Does the concept of God as a Trinity have any practical meaning? Yes! From the practical standpoint, the Trinity has a profound meaning. The moral nature of God must be regarded as having three distinct aspect: God is a holy Legislator (cf. the theoretical standpoint), a benevolent Ruler (cf. the practical standpoint), and a just Judge (cf. the judicial standpoint). If the Trinity is interpreted in this way as a practical symbol, then it can be a meaningful part of a truly religious outlook. Q66: Does the mystery of the divine call have a rational meaning? Theoretical reason gives us no tools with which to comprehend the reality or nature of a divine call. Practical reason, however, provides ample room for interpreting such a call in a rationally meaningful form. For instance, all members of the invisible church are called to be citizens in a divine state by virtue of their commitment to work continuously on moral selfimprovement. Q67: Does the mystery of atonement have a rational meaning? Theoretical reason provides no tools for comprehending the reality or nature of a divine atonement. Practical reason, however, warns against the dangers of a false, theoretical inter¬ pretation of atonement. That is, if I claim to know that God has made me good irrespective of my own moral responsibility, then I am deceiving myself and may use this as an excuse to continue doing evil. But if I believe God will somehow (mysteriously) make up for my inevitable moral weakness because of my good disposition (i.e., after I have experienced a change of heart), then hope for atonement can be part of a truly religious outlook.

AIX. Kantian Christianity

511

Q68: Does the mystery of divine election have a rational meaning? Neither theoretical nor practical reason enables me to comprehend the reality or nature of divine election. That some form of grace must be presupposed in order to comprehend the possibility of a change of heart has already been affirmed. But how that grace is distributed to some and not to others is an issue that lies wholly beyond the boundaries of reason. Q69: What is the rational meaning of the statement 'God is love' ? This statement refers to the second aspect of God's nature as distinct from the third— i.e., to God the Son in Christian tradition. In this aspect God judges me not by my guilt or innocence but by my worthiness or unworthiness to receive grace. I cannot merit grace as result of my individual actions, because radical evil makes me imperfect. This aspect of God's judgment is therefore based on my disposition—i.e., on whether or not my heart is open to receive God's assistance. An open heart results in what Christians call 'justification'. Q70: How does judgment by the Holy Spirit differ from the judgment of love? The Holy Spirit judges me through the agency of my own conscience. Unlike the Son's benevolent acceptance of anyone whose heart is open, this form of judgment must be just: it determines whether a person is guilty or not guilty in any given situation. Such judgment synthesizes the fear of God (as Legislator) with the love of God (as Ruler). It makes an evilhearted person aware of the need for a change of heart and enables a good-hearted person to continue improving. The latter is what Christians call 'sanctification'. {Book IV: Rational guidelines for serving God} Q71: How does God wish to be served ? What matters to God is good life-conduct. This, not the performance of nonmoral acts directed exclusively to God, constitutes true religious service. Q72: Can nonmoral actions please God? Nonmoral actions, as such, do not please God. To act as if God can be served by per¬ forming nonmoral actions alone is /«et«io-service. If I perform such actions and they do not encourage me to live a better life, then they are contrary to the purposes of true religion. Q73: Can nonmoral actions play any legitimate role in true religion? Yes. Nonmoral actions can be a good and healthy part of a true religion if the perfor¬ mance of such actions encourages good life-conduct. Q74: What is the best definition of religion's subjective nature? Religion is a special form of reason's judicial standpoint, whereby a person views hu¬ man duties as God's commands. This does not reduce religion to a form of morality, for morality as such concerns the practical standpoint. Rather, religion empowers morality to fulfill its true task: realizing the highest good by making humanity well-pleasing to God. Q75: Do you as a human being have any special duties to God? No. Duty relates only to human beings: I have duties to myself and duties to other per¬ sons. What many religious people regard as direct duties to God (e.g., praise and worship) are at best indirect ways of serving God, because they please God only if they promote good lifeconduct. The latter, by contrast, is inherently pleasing to God, so human duties can all be regarded as direct ways of serving God. Q76: How does revealed religion differfrom natural religion? This question has to do with the origin and possibility of divine commands. In a revealed religion a person must know a command comes from God before regarding it as a duty, whereas in a natural religion duties must be identified as such before taking them as God's

512

APPENDICES

commands. The latter can be shared and spread by appealing to nothing but reason; the former requires special learning and guidance from those who already know and understand the revelation. Q77: Do you prefer supernaturalism or naturalism? Both positions are equally incompatible with Critical religion. The supernaturalist regards revelation as absolutely necessary, whereas the naturalist denies the possibility of all revelation. As a believer in Critical religion, I accept the possibility of revelation without regarding it as absolutely necessary. This position, whereby a religion could be both natural and revealed/learned, can be called 'pure rationalism'. Q78: How can an empirical religion be both natural and revealed/learned? This is possible if the religion teaches principles that anyone can and ought to discover through reason alone, but that in fact remained undiscovered until God revealed them at a spe¬ cific time and place. It is then objectively natural even though it is subjectively revealed. Any revealed (and thus learned) content of a true religion can (and should) serve as a means to the realization of the pure (moral) core of natural religion by its proponents. Q79: Could a specific revealedreligion become the universal religion of mankind? Yes, provided the objective content of the revelation it teaches consists of the purest natural religion. This is more true of Christianity than of any other world religion. Although it is typically viewed as a learned religion, Christianity is therefore destined to become the universal religion of mankind. Q80: Who was the founder of the first true church? Jesus of Nazareth. He was not the first to teach aspects of true religion to mankind. True (moral) religion, as such, can have no unique human founder, but is established (at least in potential form) by God in the heart of every human person. However, Jesus was the human vehicle through whom Christianity began. And the fact that God alone is capable of founding a true church lends symbolic meaning to the Christian view of Jesus as 'God's Son'. Q81: What is the essential difference between Judaism and Christianity? In practice these two religious traditions exist in many different forms. But the essential difference is that Judaism adopts a legalistic stance, viewing obedience to external statutes as intrinsically pleasing to God, regardless of their moral content, whereas Christianity adopts a pure moral stance, viewing obedience to God as an internal issue tied to each person's response to the moral law. As such, the former represents false religion and the latter, true religion. Q82: Should ideal Christianity be extractedfrom its historical roots? Yes, except insofar as the contrast with its Jewish roots helps to clarify Christianity's distinctive character. Historically, Christians have all-too-often/o/fowW the Jewish tendency to emphasize statutory faith over good life-conduct. Clearly distinguishing between these two approaches to religion is crucial to the task of universalizing Christianity. Moreover, too much attention to historical forms of Christian belief and practice can easily obscure the pure moral core of Jesus' teaching. No visible church is a perfect realization of pure religion, so we should expect every historical form eventually to pass away. Q83: Should theology begin with unconditional belief in revealed propositions? No. Propositions are required as vehicles for the expression of religious truth. But reli¬ gious faith is to be directed towards reason's moral content, not towards the theoretical content contained in any given propositions. In a religion based on belief in revealed propositions the thinking of ordinary church members is likely to be controlled by the learned interpretations of scholars and church officials. This form of religion is not free and therefore not moral.

AIX. Kantian Christianity

513

Q84: What is the properfunction of dogma in a true church? Dogma can have a good and proper function in a church if it is constructed in such a way as to encourage, either directly or indirectly, good life-conduct. Specific dogmas are often first proposed with moral awakening in mind. Unfortunately, this feature tends to be lost over time as the dogma comes to be affirmed abstractly, as an absolute truth. Q85: What is idolatry? Idolatry happens whenever a person regards some object or action (including reverence for God) as more important than (or, at its worst, exclusive of) good life-conduct. An idol is any object, person, or action (whether hypothetically imagined or empirically observed) that a person venerates in hopes of pleasing God without the need to perform virtuous acts. Q86: Can human being control God in any way? No. Yet the beliefs and actions promoted by a great many historical faiths are based on the false assumption that God can be manipulated. This is the essence of false religion. Q87: What is the nature and purpose of devotion to God (or any religious acts)? Devotion is an attitude of mind that aims at acquiring a godly (i.e., morally good) disposition. All religious activities should be forms of devotion in this sense. To perform religious acts in the belief that such displays of devotion, in and of themselves, are pleasing to God constitutes pseudo-service. God does not need my displays of devotion; / do, whenever my moral resolve is weak. Q88: Must a person know how salvation comes to pass in order to be saved? No. In fact, those who insist on having such 'knowledge' before they will place their hope in God's saving grace are thereby testifying to their (moral) u/tbelief. True believers in this sense are those who believe God will supplement their good life-conduct, as needed, even though they cannot claim theoretical certainty as to how such an act of grace will take place. Although I cannot know how God dispenses grace, I can know how to be virtuous: the laws of freedom are available to me immediately, in my own conscience. Q89: Should clerics urge people to ignore all doubts about dogmas and creeds? No. This is often done by church leaders who wrongly believe it is better to profess too much belief than too little. But in so doing they encourage dishonesty in people's religious professions. As a result, a confession of faith that supposedly saves a person ends up being a serious violation of conscience that could render them unworthy to receive salvation. To guard against this, I think of myself as standing before God whenever I make a confession of faith. I need not have absolute certainty that what I claim to believe is true. (Indeed, this is not even possible in matters relating solely to historical faith.) But I should have a heart-felt moral cer¬ tainty that what I am professing is not contrary to pure religion. With this in mind, clerics should welcome expressions of doubt as an inevitable part of any historical faith. Q90: Should a visible church abolish all outward forms ofnonmoral religious service? No, this would be going too far. As long as we remain human, some vehicle must be used to 'clothe' religion's 'naked body'. But church leaders should be careful not to present any particular outward form as necessary in and of itself. Just as human knowledge begins with sensory input, even though its core is intellectual, so also a visible church requires some form of outward activity in order to direct its members to religion's invisible moral core. Q91: Should we not regard prayer, at least, as a necessary religious activity? That depends on what you mean by 'prayer'. The invisible spirit of prayer —i.e., a heart-felt wish to become a better person—is necessary to all true religion. The letter of prayer must serve this purpose if it is to be an authentically religious activity, but such out-

514

APPENDICES

ward expression is not strictly necessary. The problem is that churches often teach people to view prayer superstitiously, as if God is pleased merely by visible expressions of devotion, regardless of whether they lead to an improvement in the person's life-conduct. Even worse is the tendency to regard verbal prayer as a means of meriting grace, or to pray as if we can manipulate God into doing what we think needs to be done. I do need to spend time praying in order to remain keenly aware of God's voice within my conscience, but the fewer words I use to accomplish this, the better. Q92: Is church attendance a duty? No, not taken in the literal sense, as an outward act. Helping to build up the one invisible church is a universal duty of human beings. For most people, this will involve active participation in some visible church. Otherwise, we are unlikely to take seriously our common membership as citizens of a divinely-governed state. Unfortunately, religious people tend to think of church attendance as a means of grace—i.e., as pleasing to God in and of itself. This is a religious illusion, promoted all too often for the self-interest of the clergy. Q93: Can baptism make a person holy? No. Baptism should be regarded as a symbolic expression of a person's intent to work towards the goal of becoming holy. As such, practicing this ritual within a visible church can remind the members to be more responsible in their accountability towards each other. To regard it, by contrast, as actually producing holiness is a harmful religious illusion that can easily lead to moral laziness, communal irresponsibility, and an inappropriate sense of control over God's final judgment of people's eternal destiny. Q94: What is the true purpose of communion? To regard the communion ritual as an activity whereby God bestows special favors on those who participate is yet another religious illusion. Such an interpretation implies that people (especially the clergy) can control when God gives or withholds favors. Instead, com¬ munion should be regarded as a ceremony for uniting church members in mutual love and kindness. Q95: What is the relationship between virtue and grace ? Regarding grace as a gift that produces virtue within the recipient would tend to make people less responsible about fulfilling their duties. Instead, I regard virtue (i.e., the habit of doing what is right even when it is likely to make me unhappy) as the rational basis for hoping that God will pardon me for my inevitable lapses. This viewpoint ensures that a doctrine of grace will promote, rather than detract from, the moral core of all true religion.

Bibliography Introductory Note Following the pattern set by KSP1, the Bibliography for this second volume is divided into two parts: 'Kant's Works' and 'Other Sources'. The second part lists in alphabetical order all the secondary sources actually referred to in the text, including (for convenience of cross-referencing) separate listings for collections that have more than one essay cited within the Bibliography. Of course, numerous other works have also been consulted (especially those to be used in KSP3 or KSP4), but are not listed, since no mention was made of them in the present text. The code that appears to the left of each entry uses a slightly revised method, compared to the one used in KSP1: here it consists of the first two letters of the author's surname (or the first letter of the first two authors' surnames, in the case of multiple authorship), plus the last two numbers of the publication year; entries that would have identical codes are distinguished by changing the second letter in one case to the first letter of the author's first name, or by appending lower case letters (a, b, etc.) to both. References to my publications now use the Pa prefix, instead of Pq, as in KSP1. For more infor¬ mation on the use of abbreviations, see the Note on References, pp.xiii-xiv. The first part again abbreviates all Kant's published works as 'Kt'; but this time references to the standard German edition use the abbreviation 'AA' (for Akademie Ausgabe). This part is again divided into four sections: (I) Kant's primary systematic works, arranged in logical order, as determined in KSP1: III.4 [see III. 1, above]; (II) all other publications and lectures included in AA19, classified first according to their dominant 'standpoint', then chronologically; (III) summary of the other, unpublished writings included in AA 10-29; and (IV) collections of original English translations. Section I lists each work first by its German title, original year of publication, and location in AA, followed by the equivalent location in the new Cambridge Edition of Kant's works (abbreviated CE, followed by the volume number, as itemized in section IV). Next, each entry specifies the English translation I have (or would) most often use(d) in quoting that work. A separate paragraph (in smaller print) then lists chronologically any other original English translations that include at least half of the entire work. Translations of shorter extracts are included only for works that have not been translated in full. If I use one of these alternative translations in a quote, I specify the translator's name after the relevant reference in the text. The order of the Kt numbering used in KSP1 remains unchanged here, except that Kt67 and Kt68 (previously used, somewhat inconsistently, for minor Reflections) now represent two published works that had been omitted from the KSP1 listing. The information on translations has, of course, been thoroughly revised, in line with the more complete data given in Pa94c:104-18 and taking into consideration subsequent publications.

Part One: Kant's Works (Kt) I. Primary Systematic Works Ktl: Kritik der reinen Vernunft,2 1787(1781), AA3:passim (second edition) and AA4:1-252 (passages unique to first edition) = CE2:passim (both editions). Tr. Norman Kemp Smith, 1929, as Immanuel Kant's Critique of Pure Reason (London: Macmillan & Co. Ltd). References are to the 1787 edition, unless the page number is preceded by 'A'. Tr. anonymously (F. Haywood), 1838 (London: William Pickering), revised 1848; J.M.D. Meiklejohn (1787 edition), 1855 (London: H.G. Bohn), innumerable revisions and reprints, such as 1899 (New York: The Colonial Press); F.M. Muller, 1881 (London: Macmil¬ lan), revised 1896; numerous reprints; J.H. Stirling (incomplete), 1881, in Text-book to Kant (Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd); J. Watson (long extracts), 1882 (Wl:l-222); selections by H. Palmer, 1983 (Cardiff: University College Cardiff Press), reprinted 1992 (New York: E. Mellen); W.S. Pluhar, 1996 (Indianapolis: Hackett), abridged E. Watkins, 1999.

Kt2:

Prolegomena zu einerjeden kiinftigen Metaphysik die als Wissenschaft wird auftreten konnen, 1783, AA4:253-383 (cf. CE3). Tr. Paul Cams, revised Lewis White Beck, 1950, as Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics (New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Co., Inc.); extracts in B6:156-233. Tr. J. Richardson, 1818 (London: Simpkin and Marshall), reprinted 1836 (in R3); J.P. Mahaffy, 1872, in Kant's Critical Philosophy for English Readers, vol. Ill (London: Longmans, Green), revised with J.H. Bernard, 1889, as vol. II (London: Macmillan); E.B. Bax, 1883 (BL1-134); P. Carus, 1902 (Chicago: Open Court), numerous reprints, such as 1996, in B. Logan (ed.), Immanuel Kant's Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics: In focus (London: Routledge), pp.27-138; C.J. Friedrich (incomplete), 1949 (F2:40-115); P.G. Lucas, 1953 (Manchester: Manchester University Press); J. Ellington (revising Carus), 1977 (Indianapolis: Hackett), reprinted 1985 (E2, Bk. I); G. Hatfield, 1997 (in CT).

Kt3:

Metaphysische Anfangsgriinde der Naturwissenschaft, 1786, AA4:465-565. Tr. James Ellington, 1970, as Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science (New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Co., Inc.); reprinted 1985 (E2, Bk. II). Tr. E.B. Bax, 1883 (Bl:137-245).

Kt4:

Kritik der praktischen Vernunft, 1788, AA5:1-163 = CE4:137-271. Tr. Lewis White Beck, 1956, as Critique of Practical Reason (Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Co., Inc.); revision of B2:118-260; revised again in B6:244-98. Tr.J.W. Semple(incomplete), 1836 (Sl:81-149); T.K.Abbott, 1873 (A1:87-262);J. Watson (long extracts), 1888 (Wl:261-303); C.J. Friedrich (long extracts), 1949 (F2:209-64); M. Gregor, 1997 (in CT); H.W. Cassirer, 1998 (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press).

Kt5:

Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten, 1785, AA4:385-463 = CE4:41-108. Tr. Lewis White Beck, 1959, as Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals (B3:3-83);

<"

KJ&

revision of B2:50-117; extracts revised again in B6:304-27. Tr. anonymously (J. Richardson), 1798 (R2:l. 15-133); J.W. Semple, 1836 (Sl:3-78); T.K. Abbott (revising Semple), 1873 (Al:l-84), reprinted 1949 (Indianapolis: BobbsMerrill); J. Watson (long extracts), 1882 (Wl:225-58); O. Manthey-Zorn, 1938 (New York/London: D. Appleton-Century); H.J. Paton, 1948, in The Moral Law (London: Hutchinson's University Library), numerous reprints, such as 1964 (New York: Harper & Row); C.J. Friedrich (incomplete), 1949 (F2:140-208); B.E.A. Liddell, 1970, in Kant on the Foundation of Morality (Bloomington: Indiana University Press); J. Ellington, 1981 (Indianapolis: Hackett), reprinted 1983 (El, Bk. I) and 1993 (E3:l-62); M. Gregor, 1997 (in CT).

DieMetaphysikderSitten, 1797, AA6:203-493 = CE4:363-6O3. Tr. Mary J. Gregor, 1991, as The Metaphysics of Morals (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press); reprinted 1996 in CE4 and in the CT series.

518

BIBLIOGRAPHY Tr. anonymously (J. Richardson), 1799 (London [Hamburg]: William Richardson). Part I (AA6:203-372) tr. W. Hastie, 1887, as The Metaphysical Principles of the Science of Right, in The Philosophy of Law (Edinburgh: T.&T. Clark), reprinted 1974 (Clifton: A.M. Kelly); J. Ladd (incomplete), 1965, as Metaphysical Elements of Justice (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill), reprinted 1985 (New York: Macmillan), revised 1999; H.B. Nisbet (long extracts), 1970 (Nl:132-75). Part II (AA6:203-28,373-491) tr. J.W. Semple (incomplete), 1836 (S1:153-31O), revised H. Calderwood, 1869 (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark); M.J. Gregor (using bracketed numbers to mark the end of the corresponding AA page), 1964, as The Doctrine of Virtue (New York: Harper & Row), reprinted 1971 and revised 1980 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press).; J. Ellington, 1964 (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill), reprinted 1983 (in El, Bk. II).

Kt7:

Kritik der Urtheilskraft, 1790, AA5:165-485 (cf. CE5). Tr. James Creed Meredith, 1952, as Kant's Critique of Judgement (Oxford: The Clarendon Press); reprinted from his 1911 and 1928 translations of the two Parts. Tr. J. Watson (extracts of Introduction and Part II), 1888 (Wl:307-49); J.H. Bernard, 1892 (London: Macmillan), reprinted 1951 (New York: Hafher Publishing); W. Cerf (extract of Part I), 1963, in The Analytic of the Beautiful (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill); W.S. Pluhar, 1987 (Indianapolis: Hackett).

Kt7i: Erste Einleitung in die Kritik der Urteilskraft, 1790 (unpublished; later published by J.S. Beck), AA20:193-251 (cf. CE5). Tr. James Haden, 1965, as First Introduction to the Critique of Judgment (Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Co., Inc.). Tr. H. Kabir, 1935 (Calcutta: University Press); W.S. Pluhar, 1987 (in his Kt7:(383-441)). Kt8:

;

Kt9:

Die Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der bloflen Vernunft, 1793, AA6:1-202 = CE6:55215. Tr. Theodore M. Greene and Hoyt H. Hudson, 1960(1934), as Religion Within the Limits of Reason Alone2 (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers). Tr. J. Richardson (paraphrased extracts prepared by J.S. Beck), 1798, in Part Four of The Principles of Critical Philosophy (London), revised anonymously (J. Richardson), 1799 (R2:2.367-422); J.W. Semple, 1838 (Edinburgh: Thomas Clark), revised 1848; T.K. Abbott (Bk. I), 1873 (A1:323-6O); A.W. Wood and G. di Giovanni, 1998 (in CT). Opus Postumum, c. 1796-1803 (unpublished notes), AA21-22passim = CEl2:passim. Tr. Eckart Forster and Michael Rosen, Opus Postumum, ed. Eckart Fo'rster (1993). This translation gives the AA pagination in the margins, but rearranges the order of the text. This makes it difficult to trace references by AA page numbers. For this reason, and because I often take Kt9 quotations from other translators, I specify the pages of the English translation used (if any) when citing a quoted text. Unless another source is specified, numbers in curved brackets refer to pages of the CE12 translation.

KtlO: Logik, based on lectures delivered from 1755-1798 (ed. G.B. Jasche, 1800), AA9:l-150 = CE9:521-640. Tr. Robert S. Hartman and Wolfgang Schwarz, 1974, as Logic (New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Co., Inc.). Tr. J. Richardson, 1819 (London: Simpkin and Marshall), reprinted 1836 (in R3); T.K. '; Abbott, 1885 (A2:l-78). II. Other Publications and Lectures (mostly in volumes 1-9 of AA) 1. The Theoretical

Standpoint

Ktl 1: Principiorum primorum cognitionis metaphysicae nova dilucidatio, 1755, AA1:385416 = CEl:3-45. Tr. F.E. England, 1929, as A New Exposition of the First •' Principles of Metaphysical Knowledge in Kant's Conception of God (London: Allen & Unwin), pp.211-52; reprinted 1968 (New York: Humanities). Tr. J.A. Reuscher, 1986 (B5:57-106).

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Ktl2: Metaphysicae cum geometria iunctae usus in philosophia naturali, cuius specimen I. continet monadologiam physicam, 1756, AAl:473-87 = CEl:49-66. Tr. Lewis White Beck, 1986, as The Use in Natural Philosophy of Metaphysics Combined with Geometry Part One of Which Contains Physical Monadology (B5:115-32). Ktl3: Versuch einiger Betrachtungen iiber den Optimismus, 1759, AA2:27-35 = CE1:69-83. Tr. David Walford with Ralf Meerbote, 1992, as An Attempt at Some Reflections on Optimism. Ktl4: Diefalsche Spitzfindigkeit der vier syllogistischen Figuren erwiesen, 1762, AA2:4561 = CE1:87-1O5. Tr. T.K. Abbott, 1885, as The Mistaken Subtilty of the Four Syllogistic Figures (A2:79-95). Tr. anonymously (J. Richardson), 1798 (R2:l. 135-57).

Ktl5: Der einzig mogliche Beweisgrund zu einer Demonstration des Daseins Gottes, 1763, AA2:63-163 = CE 1:109-201. Tr. anonymously (John Richardson), 1799, as The Only Possible Argument for the Demonstration of the Existence of God (R2:2.217-366). Tr. G. Treash, 1979 (New York: Abaris Books).

Ktl6: Versuch den Begriff der negativen Grofien in die Weltweisheit einzufiihren, 1763, AA2:165-204 = CE1:2O5-41. Tr. David Walford with Ralf Meerbote, 1992, as Attempt to Introduce the Concept of Negative Magnitudes into Philosophy.

D.Irvine, 1911, in 11:117-56. Ktl7: Untersuchung iiber die Deutlichkeit der Grundsdtze der natiirlichen Theologie und der Moral, 1764, AA2:273-301 = CEl:245-75. Tr. Lewis White Beck, 1949, as An Inquiry into the Distinctness of the Principles of Natural Theology and Morals (B2:261-85); revised in B6:29-47. Tr. anonymously (J. Richardson), 1798 (R2:1.339-83); E.W. Balduf, 1926, in Kant's Prize Essay on Natural Theology and Morals (Chicago: University of Chicago Dissertation); G.B. Kerferd and D.E. Walford, 1968 (Kl:3-35).

Ktl8: Traume eines Geistersehers, erlautert durch Tra'ume der Metaphysik, 1766, AA2:31573 = CEl:303-59. Tr. E.F. Goerwitz, 1900, as Dreams of a Spirit Seer Illustrated by Dreams of Metaphysics, ed. F. Sewal (London: Swan Sonnenschein & Co.). Tr. J. Manolesco, 1969 (M 1:29-98). Ktl9: De mundi sensibilis atque intelligibilis forma et principiis, 1770, AA2:385-419 = CE1.375-416. Tr. G.B. Kerferd and D.E. Walford, 1968, as On the Form and Principles of the Sensible and Intelligible World (Kl:45-92); often referred to as Kant's'Inaugural Dissertation'. Tr. W.J. Eckoff, 1894 (New York: Columbia College), reprinted 1970 (New York: AMS Press); J. Handyside, 1928 (Hl:31-85), reprinted with Beck's revisions, 1986 (B5:145-88) and 1988 (B6:54-76). Kt20: Was heifit: Sich im Denken orientiren?, 1786, AA8:131-47 = CE6:7-18. Tr. Lewis White Beck, 1949, as What is Orientation in Thinking? (B2:293-305). Tr. anonymously (J. Richardson), 1798 (R2:1.385-407); H.B. Nisbet, 1991 (Nl:235-49). Kt2I: Einige Bemerkungen zu LH. Jakob's Prufung der Mendelssohn'schen Morgenstunden, 1786, AA8:149-55. Extracts tr. Gabriele Rabel, 1963, as On Mendelssohn's Morning Hours (R1:174-5). Kt22: Uber eine Entdeckung, nach der alle neue Kritik der reinen Vernunft durch eine dltere entbehrlich gemacht werden soil, 1790, AA8:185-251. Tr. Henry E. Allison, 1973, as On a Discovery According to which Any New Critique of Pure Reason Has Been

520

BIBLIOGRAPHY Made Superfluous by an Earlier One (A3:107-60).

Kt23: Von einem neuerdings erhobenen vornehmen Ton in der Philosophie, 1796, AA8:387-406. Tr. anonymously (John Richardson), 1798, as Of a Gentle Ton Lately Assumed in Philosophy (R2:2.159-87). Tr. P. Fenves, 1993 (Fl:51-72). Kt24: Ausgleichung eines auf Miflverstand beruhenden mathematischen Streits, 1796, AA8.407-10. Extracts tr. Gabriele Rabel, 1963, as Settlement of a Mathematical Controversy (Rl:286). Kt25: Vorlesungen UberMetaphysik, various sets of student notes based on lectures delivered from 1762 to 1795, AA28.1, AA28.2.1, and AA29 = CElO.passim. Tr. Karl Ameriks and Steve Naragon, 1997, as Lectures on Metaphysics. Kt26: Vorlesungen Uber die philosophische Religionslehre, based on lectures delivered in c.1783-1784 (ed. K. Beyer, 1937), AA28.993-1126 = CE6:339-451. Tr. Allen W. Wood and Gertrude M. Clark, 1978, as Lectures on Philosophical Theology (London: Cornell University Press); revised Wood, 1996, for CE6. Page numbers in curved brackets refer to the 1978 translation, which did not supply the AA pagination.

2. The Practical Standpoint A. Ethics and Politics Kt27: Recension von Schulz's Versuch einer Anleitung zur Sittenlehre fur alle Menschen, ohne Unterschied der Religion, nebst einem Anhange von den Todesstrafen, 1783, AA8:9-14 = CE4:5-10. Tr. Mary J. Gregor, 1996, as Review of Schulz's Attempt at. an Introduction to a Doctrine of Morals for All Human Beings Regardless of Different Religions. Kt28: Von der Unrechtmafiigkeit des Buchernachdrucks, 1785, AA8:77-87 = CE4:27-35. Tr. anonymously (John Richardson), 1798, as On the Injustice of Counterfeiting Books (R2:1.225-39); revised Palmquist, 1994 (Pl:38-45). Kt29: Recension von Gottlieb Hufeland's Versuch uber den Grundsatz des Naturrechts, 1786, AA8:125-3O = CE4:113-7. Tr. Mary J. Gregor, 1996, as Review of Gottlieb Hufeland's Essay on the Principle of Natural Right. Kt30: Uber den Gemeinspruch: Das mag in der Theorie richtig sein, taugt aber nichtfUr die Praxis, 1793, AA8:273-313 = CE4:277-309. Tr. H.B. Nisbet, 1970, as On the Common Saying: 'This May be True in Theory, but it does not Apply in Practice' (Nl:61-92). Tr. anonymously (J. Richardson), 1798, (R2:1.159-223); W. Hastie (Parts II and III only), 1891 (H2:31-76); C.J. Friedrich (incomplete), 1949 (F2:412-29); E.B. Ashton, 1974 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press); T.B. Humphrey, 1983 (H5:61-89). Kt31: Das Ende alter Dinge, 1794, AA8:325-39 = CE6:221-31. Tr. Robert E. Anchor, 1963, as The End of All Things (B4:69-84). Tr.anonymously (J. Richardson), 1799 (R2:2.423-44); T.B. Humphrey, 1983 (H5:93-103). Rt32: Zum ewigen Frieden, 1795, AA8:341-86 = CE4:315-51. Tr. Lewis White Beck, 1963, as Perpetual Peace (B4.85-135); revision of B2:306-45 (also 1957 [New York: Liberal Arts Press]); revised again in B6:430-57. Tr. anonymously, 1796 (London: Vernor & Hood), reprinted 1932, N.M. Butler (Los Angeles: U.S. Library Association) and 1939 (New York: Columbia University Press);

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anonymously (J. Richardson), 1798, (R2:1.241-314); J.E. Cabot (incomplete), 1847 (H4: 71-4); J.D. Morell, 1884 (London: Hodder & Stoughton); W. Hastie, 1891 (H2:77-148); B.F. Trueblood, 1897 (Boston: American Peace Society); M.C. Smith, 1903 (London: Swan Sonnenschein and Allen & Unwin), numerous reprints, such as 1972 (New York: Garland Publishing), revised 1948, A.R. Caponigri (New York: Liberal Arts Press); H. O'Brien, 1927 (London: Sweet & Maxwell); CJ. Friedrich (incomplete), 1948, in Inevitable Peace (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press), pp.245-81, reprinted 1949 (F2:430-76); H.B. Nisbet, 1970 (N4:93-130); T.B. Humphrey, 1983 (H5:107-39); W. Schwarz, 1988, in Principles of Lawful Politics (Aalen: Scientia Verlag, 1988), pp.41-135.

Kt33: VerkUndigung des nahen Abschlusses eines Tractats zum ewigen Frieden in der Philosophie, 1796, AA8:411-22. Tr. Peter Fenves, 1993, as Announcement of the Near Conclusion of a Treaty for Eternal Peace in Philosophy (Fl:83-93). Kt34: Uber ein vermeintes Recht aus Menschenliebe zu lugen, 1797, AA8:423-30 = CE4:609-15. Tr. Lewis White Beck, 1949, as On a Supposed Right to Lie from Altruistic Motives (B2:346-50). Tr. A.E. Kroeger, 1873, in The Journal of Speculative Philosophy 7.2 (St. Louis: George Knapp), pp.14-19; T.K. Abbott, 1873 (Al:361-5); J. Ellington, 1993 (in E3:63-7). Kt35: Eine Vorlesung Kants uber Ethik, based on students' notes from lectures delivered between 1775 and 1781, ed. P. Menzer (Berlin, 1924). Tr. Louis Infield, 1930, as Lectures on Ethics (London: Methuen & Co. Ltd). Translation does not follow AA text. Cf. CEIL B. Philosophy of Education Kt36: Nachricht von der Einrichtung seiner Vorlesungen in dem Winterhalbenjahre von 1765-1766, 1765, AA2:3O3-13 = CEL289-300. Tr. David Walford with Ralf Meerbote, 1992, as M. Immanuel Kant's Announcement of the Programme of His Lectures for the Winter Semester 1765-1766. Tr. E.F. Buchner, 1904, in B9:256-7,263-7 (incomplete); R. Bolin (Part 4), 1968 (in B8).

Kt37: Aufsatze, das Philanthropin betreffend, \116-\111, AA2:445-52. Extracts tr. E.F. Buchner, 1908, as Letters on the Philanthropinum at Dessau (B9:242-6), and Gabriele Rabel, 1963 (Rl: 101). Kt38: Beantwortung der Frage: Was ist Aufkldrung?, 1784, AA8:33-42 = CE4:15-22. Tr. Lewis White Beck, 1963, as What Is Enlightenment? (B4:3-10); revision of B2:28692 and B3:85-92; revised again in B6:462-7. Tr. anonymously (J. Richardson), 1798 (R2:l.l-14); CJ. Friedrich (incomplete), 1949 (F2:132-9); H.B. Nisbet, 1970 (Nl:54-60); T.B. Humphrey, 1983 (H5:41-6). Kt39: Pddagogik, based on lectures delivered from 1776-1787 (ed. F.T. Rink, 1803), AA9:437-99. Tr. E.F. Buchner, 1908, as Lecture-Notes on Pedagogy (B9:99-222). Tr. A. Churton, 1899 (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner) and 1900 (Boston: D.C. Heath), reprinted 1960 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press). 3. The Judicial

Standpoint

A. Philosophy of Nature Kt4O: Gedanken von der wahren Schatzung der lebendigen Krdfte und Beurtheilung der Beweise, deren sich Herr von Leibniz und andere Mechaniker in dieser Streitsache bedient haben, nebst einigen vorhergehenden Betrachtungen, welche die Kraft der Kb'rper uberhauptbetreffen,\141,hk\:\-\%\. Extracts tr. Norman Kemp Smith, 1929, as

522

BIBLIOGRAPHY Thoughts on the True Estimation of Uving Forces (HI: 1-15), and Gabriele Rabel,

1963(Rl:l-8). Kt41: Untersuchung der Frage, ob die Erde in ihrer Umdrehung urn die Achse, wodurch sie die Abwechselung des Tages und der Nacht hervorbringt, einige Verdnderung seit den ersten Zeiten ihres Ursprungs erlitten habe und woraus man sich ihrer versichern kb'nne, welche von der Konigl. Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin zum Preisefiir das jetztlaufende Jahr aufgegeben worden, 1754, AA1:183-91. Tr. William Hastie, 1900, as Whether the Earth Has Undergone an Alteration of its Axial Rotation (H3:157-65). Reprinted 1968, ed. Willy Ley (New York: Greenwood), and 1969, ed. M.K. Munitz (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press). Kt42: Die Frage, ob die Erde veralte, physikalisch erwogen, 1754, AA1:193-213. Extracts tr. Gabriele Rabel, 1963, as The Question: 'Whether the Earth Grows Old?' considered

physically (Rl:ll-2). Kt43: Allgemeine Naturgeschichte und Theorie des Himmels oder Versuch von der Verfassung und dem mechanischen Ursprunge des ganzen Weltgebaudes, nach Newtonischen Grundsdtzen abgehandelt, 1755, AAl:215-368. Tr. Stanley L. Jaki, ' 1981, as Universal Natural History and Theory of the Heavens (Edinburgh: Scottish Academic Press). Tr. W. Hastie (incomplete), 1900 (H3:l-155); reprinted 1969 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press); rev. W. Ley, 1968 (New York: Greenwood).

Kt44: Meditationum quarundam de igne succincta delineatio, 1755, AAl:369-84. Tr. Lewis White Beck, 1986, as Succinct Exposition of Some Meditations on Fire (B5:23-44). Kt45: Von den Ursachen der Erderschutterungen bei Gelegenheit des UnglUcks, welches die westliche Lander von Europa gegen das Ende des vorigen Jahres betroffen hat, 1756, AAl:417-27. Extracts tr. Gabriele Rabel, 1963, as On the Causes of Earthquakes On the occasion of the Calamity which hit the Western Lands of Europe towards the end oflast year (Rl:27-8). Kt46: Geschichte und Naturbeschreibung der merkwiirdigsten Vorfdlle des Erdbebens, welches an dem Ende des 1755sten Jahres einen grofien Theil der Erde erschuttert hat, 1756, AA1.429-61. Tr. anonymously (John Richardson), 1799, as History and Physiography of the Most Remarkable Cases of the Earthquake which towards the End of 1755 Shook a Great Part of the Earth (R2:2.93-142); revised Palmquist, 1994 (Pl:2-30). Kt47". Fortgesetzte Betrachtung der seit einiger Zeit wahrgenommenen Erderschutterungen, 1756, AAl:463-72. Extracts tr. Rabel, 1963, as Continued Observations (Rl:30). Kt48: Neue Anmerkungen zur Erlauterung der Theorie der Winde, 1756, AAl:489-503. Extracts tr. Gabriele Rabel, 1963, as Magister Immanuel Kant's New Remarks Offering an Explanation of the Theory of the Winds: by which he invites to his lectures (Rl:334). Kt49: Entwurf und Ankiindigung eines Collegii der physischen Geographie nebst dem Anhange einer kurzen Betrachtung iiber die Frage: Ob die Westwinde in unsern Gegenden darumfeucht seien, weil sie iiber ein grofies Meer streichen, 1757, AA2:112. Tr. Ronald Bolin, 1968, as West Winds (in B8). Kt50: Neuer Lehrbegriff der Bewegung und Ruhe und der damit verknupften Folgerungen in

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den ersten Griinden der Naturwissenschaft, 1758, AA2:13-25. Extracts tr. Gabriele Rabel, 1963, as Magister Immanuel Kant's New Doctrine of Motion and Rest: and of the consequences attached to it in the first Principles of Natural Science, by which at the same time his lectures in the present half-year are announced (Rl :37-9). Kt51: Versuch iiber die Krankheiten des Kopfes, 1764, AA2:257-71. Extracts tr. John Manolesco, 1969 (Ml: 162-8), and Gabriele Rabel, 1963 (Rl:60). Kt52: Von dem ersten Grunde des Unterschiedes der Gegenden im Raume, 1768, AA2:37583 = CEl:363-72. Tr. G.B. Kerferd and D.E. Watford, 1968, as Concerning the Ultimate Foundation of the Differentiation of Regions in Space (Kl:36-43). Tr. D. Irvine, 1911 (11:157-65); J. Handyside, 1928 (Hl:17-29). Kt53: Uber die Vulkane im Monde, 1785, AA8:67-76. Tr. anonymously (John Richardson), 1799, as On the Volcanos in the Moon (R2:2.143-57); revised Palmquist, 1994 (Pl:31-7). Kt54: Uber den Gebrauch teleologischer Principien in der Philosophie, 1788, AA8:157-84. Extracts tr. Gabriele Rabel, 1963, as On the Use of the Teleological Principle in Philosophy (Rl: 184-9). Kt55: Etwas uber den Einflufi des Mondes auf die Witterung, 1794, AA8:315-24. Tr. anonymously (John Richardson), 1799, as Something on the Influence of the Moon on the Temperature of the Air (R2:2J9-9\); revised Palmquist, 1994 (Pl:46-52). Kt56: Physische Geographie, based on lectures delivered between 1756-1796 (ed. F.T. Rink), AA9:151-436. Introduction (AA9:156-65) tr. J.A. May in Kant's Conception of Geography and its Relation to Recent Geographical Thought (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1970. Tr. R. Bolin, 1968 (B. B. Philosophical Anthropology Kt57: Beobachtungen uber das Gefiihl des Schonen und Erhabenen, 1764, AA2:205-56. Tr. anonymously (John Richardson), 1799, as Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and the Sublime (R2:2.1-78). Tr. J.T. Goldthwait, 1960 (Berkeley: University of California Press); revised from 1957 dissertation, Kant's Pre-Critical Esthetic (Northwestern University).

Kt58: Recension von Moscatis Schrift: Von dem korperlichen wesentlichen Unterschiede zwischen der Structur der Thiere und Menschen, 1771, AA2:421-5. Extracts tr. Gabriele Rabel, 1963, as Review of Moscati's Paper on the Difference in the Structure of Man and Animals (Rl:95). Kt59: Von den verschiedenen Racen der Menschen, 1775, AA2:427-43. Extracts tr. Gabriele Rabel, 1963, as On the Different Races of Men with the Announcement of Lectures on Physical Geography (Rl :98-10O). Kt60: Idee zu einer allgemeinen Geschichte in weltbiirgerlicher Absicht, 1784, AA8:15-31. Tr. Lewis White Beck, 1963, as Idea for a Universal History from a Cosmopolitan Point of View (B4:11-26 and B6:415-25). Tr. anonymously (J. Richardson), 1798 (R2:1.409-32); W. Hastie, 1891 (H2:l-29); T. de Quincey, 1927 (Hanover, N.H.: Sociological Press); C.J. Friedrich (incomplete), 1949 (F2:l 16-31); H.B. Nisbet, 1970 (Nl:41-53); T.B. Humphrey, 1983 (H5:29-39). Kt61: Recensionen von J.G. Herders Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit,

524

BIBLIOGRAPHY 1785, AA8:43-66. Tr. Robert E. Anchor, 1963, as Review of Herder's Ideas for a Philosophy of the History of Mankind (B4:27-52). Tr. W. Hastie, 1891 (H2:l-29); H.B. Nisbet, 1991 (Nl:201-20).

Kt62: Bestimmung des Begriffs einer Menschenrace, 1785, AA8:89-106. Extracts tr. Gabriele Rabel, 1963, as Determination of the Concept of a Human Race (Rl: 150-2). Kt63: Muthmafilicher Anfang der Menschengeschichte, 1786, AA8:107-23. Tr. Emil L. Fackenheim, 1963, as Conjectural Beginning of Human History (B4:53-68). Tr. anonymously (J. Richardson), 1798 (R2:1.315-38); J.E. Cabot, 1847 (H4:74-80); T.B. Humphrey, 1983 (H5:49-59); H.B. Nisbet, 1991 (Nl:221-34). Kt64: Uber das Mifilingen aller philosophischen Versuche in der Theodicee, 1791, AA8:25371 = CE6:24-37. Tr. anonymously (John Richardson), 1799, as On the Failure of All the Philosophical Essays in the Theodicee (R2:2.189-215). Tr. M. Despland, 1973, in Kant on History and Religion (Montreal: McGill-Queen's University Press), pp.283-97. Kt65:* Der Streit der Facultdten, 1798, AA7:1-116 = CE6:237-327. Tr. Mary J. Gregor, 1979, as The Conflict of the Faculties (New York: Abaris); Part II tr. Robert E. Anchor, 1963 (reprinted from B4:137-54). Part II tr. H.B. Nisbet, 1970 (Nl:177-90). Part III tr. J.C. Colquhoun, 1807, in J. Sinclair (ed.), TheCodeofHealthandLongevity... (Edinburgh: A. Constable), vol. Ill, pp.246-59, numerous reprints and revisions. Kt66: Anthropologie in pragmatischer Hinsicht, 1798, AA7:117-333. Tr. Mary J. Gregor, 1974, as Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff). Tr. A.E. Kroeger (Book I, in 11 installments), 1875f (St. Louis: American Journal of Speculative Philosophy, vols. 9f); W. Cerf (incomplete), 1963 (in his Kt7); V.L. Dowdell and H.H. Rudnick, 1978 (Southern Illinois University Press). Kt67: Vorrede zu Reinhold Bemhard Jachmanns Priifung der Kantischen Religionsphiloso: phie, 1800, AA8:439-41 = CE6:333-4. Tr. Allen W. Wood, 1996, as Preface to ' Reinhold Bemhard Jachmann's Examination of the Kantian Philosophy of Religion. Tr. P. Fenves, 1993 (Fl:109-10). * Kt65 could also be placed into sections II.2.A or II. 1 of this Bibliography. I have placed it here because it sums up Kant's three main metaphysical interests, just as philosophical anthropology sums up his three main Critical interests [see note III.5, above, and note XI.3ofKSPl].

III. Unpublished Writings 1. Letters (volumes 10-13 of AA) In CE14 Arnulf Zweig translates (in some cases extracts of) 215 of the most important letters to and from Kant (including the 97 translated earlier, in Zw67), as preserved in AA10 and AA11. Letters are also translated in smaller numbers in many other places, as listed in KSP1:433 and updated in Pl:114. All references to Kant's letters cite the pagination of the first edition of AA10-13. AA's second edition includes the earlier pagination in the margins. 2I Handwritten Notes and Essays (volumes 14-23 of AA) The subjects of the 'Reflections' in these volumes of AA are as follows: 14 = Mathematics, Physics, Chemistry, Physical Geography.

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15 = Anthropology (2 vols.). 16 = Knowledge and Reason. 17 and 18 = Metaphysics. 19 = Moral, Legal, and Religious Philosophy. 20 = Aesthetics, Metaphysics and Miscellaneous (including Kt7i). 21 and 22 = Opus Postumum (Kt9). 23 = Notes found in the margins of Kant's books. There is nothing even close to a complete translation of these volumes of AA; but see A3:171-7 (for excerpts from AA20:419-22); B9:225-37; Fl:101-5; and the following: Tr. R. Meerbote, 1986, as 'Concerning Sensory Illusion and Poetic Fiction' B5:20213 (Reflection 1525, t AA15:903-35). Reflection 1526, AA15:939-53. Tr. M.J. Gregor, 1986, as 'On Philosophers' Medicine of the Body' (B5:228-38). Kt68: 'On Inner Sense' (a newly discovered fragment), tr. Hoke Robinson, International Philosophical Quarterly 29.3 (Sept. 1989), pp.249-61. Not in AA. Kt69: Welches sind die wirklichen Fortschritte, die die Metaphysik seit Leibnitzens und Wolf's Zeiten in Deutschland gemacht hat?, c.1791 (ed. F.T. Rink, 1804), AA20:253-311. Tr. T.B. Humphrey, 1983, as Progress in Metaphysics (New York: Abaris Books). 3. Reconstructions of Lectures (volumes 9, 24-29 of AA) The subjects of the lectures in these volumes of AA are as follows: 9 = Logic, Physical Geography and Pedagogy. 24 = Logic (2 vols.). 25 = Anthropology (2 vols.) 26 = Physical Geography (forthcoming). 27 = Moral Philosophy (3 vols.). 28 = Metaphysics and Rational Theology (3 vols.). 29 = Minor Lectures and Supplements (2 vols.).

IV. Collections of Translations Over the past eight years Cambridge University Press has made significant progress in setting right what I called in 1992 '[t]he most serious crime in two centuries of Englishspeaking Kant scholarship'—viz., 'the lack of a single, uniform edition of Kant's Works in English' [KSP1:434]. If progress continues according to schedule, my hopeful prediction— that 'the scholarly world will not have to celebrate the second centenary of Kant's death with this scourge still on its record—may well be fulfilled. The most significant difference between this Bibliography of Translations and the one that appears in KSPl is the correlation that now appears between the AA location of each of Kant's published writings and its corresponding location in the 'CE' (Cambridge Edition). By the "time KSP3 appears, all the CE volumes should have appeared, so the correlations between AA and CE will be complete. As explained in Appendix I, so much of my basic research for this book was completed before the CE volumes began to appear that it has not been practical for me to make full use of the new translations in some cases. I have therefore kept the two-tiered system of referencing used in KSPl, with the most used translation appearing in larger print immedi¬ ately after the German reference and other translations following in smaller print. As a result,

526

BIBLIOGRAPHY

many of the references to Gabriele Rabel's collection of excerpts have been omitted. Since the publication of KSP1, Richardson's collection has been reprinted and can now be said to have come fully out of the 'virtual oblivion' [KSP1:435] it had been in up to that point. As in KSP1, the following list specifies the contents of all the books I could find that contain original English translations of two or more of Kant's published writings and/or lectures (i.e., Ktl-Kt69). Though even more extensive than before, it is still bound to be in¬ complete, since it excludes not only the innumerable translations of single works, but also collections that merely gather previously translated works without significant editing, such as T.M. Greene's Kant Selections (London: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1957[1929]) and E. Behler's Immanuel Kant: Philosophical Writings (New York: Continuum Publishing Co., 1986). Because my referencing system has been modified slightly, the works listed below are no longer listed in Part Two of this Bibliography ('Other Sources'); complete bibliographical information is therefore given here. Al: Abbott, T.K., Immanuel Kant's Critique of Practical Reason and Other Works on the Theory of Ethics (London: Longmans, Green & Co., Ltd, 1873): Kt4, Kt5, Kt34 and extracts from Kt6 (Introductions), Kt8 (Book I) and Kt30. A2: Abbott, T.K., Kant's Introduction to Logic (London: Longmans, Green & Co., Ltd, 1885); reprinted 1963 (London: Vision Press Ltd) and (New York: Philosophical Library): KtlO and Ktl4. A3: Henry E. Allison, The Kant-Eberhard Controversy (London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973): Kt22, two letters, and selections from AA20. Bl: Bax, Ernest Belfort, Kant's Prolegomena and Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science (London: G. Bell & Sons, 1883); revised 1891: Kt2, Kt3, and numerous letters (mostly extracts; two complete). B2: Beck, Lewis White, Immanuel Kant: Critique of Practical Reason and Other Writings in Moral Philosophy (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1949): Kt4, Kt5, Ktl7, Kt20, Kt32, Kt34, Kt38 and extracts of Kt6. B3: Beck, Lewis White, Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals (Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Co., Inc., 1959): Kt5 and Kt38. B4: Beck, Lewis White, Kant On History (New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Co., Inc., 1963): Anchor's Kt31, Kt61, and Part II of Kt65; Beck's Kt32, Kt38, and Kt60; and Fackenheim's Kt63. B5: Beck, Lewis White, Kant's Latin Writings (New York: Peter Lang, 1986): Ktl 1, Ktl2, Ktl9, Kt44, Kt67 and Kt68. B6: Beck, Lewis White, Kant Selections (New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., 1988): revisions of his previous translations of all of Kt5, Ktl7, Kt38 and Kt60, most of Kt2, Kt32 and a 1772 letter to Herz, and extracts from Kt4; also most of Handyside's Ktl9 and extracts of Miiller's Ktl (revised) and Bernard's Kt7. B7: Blakney, Raymond B., An Immanuel Kant Reader (New York: Harper & Row Publishers, 1960): short extracts, interspersed with commentary, of Ktl, Kt2, Kt4, Kt5 and Kt7 (not included in the listings of translations given above). B8: Bolin, Ronald, Immanuel Kant's Physical Geography (Bloomington: Indiana University M.A. thesis, 1968): Kt49, Kt56, and short extracts of Kt36, Kt50, and Kt59. B9: Buchner, Edward Franklin, The Educational Theory of Immanuel Kant (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott Co., 1904); reprinted 1971 (New York: AMS Press): Kt39, extracts of Ktl, Kt36, and Kt37, one letter, and some Reflections. CE: Guyer, Paul, and Allen W. Wood (eds.), The Cambridge Edition of the Works of Immanuel Kant, 14 volumes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992-).

f

Part One: Kant's Works (Kt)

527

Numbers below follow the order listed on the page before each volume's title page. Dates and other details given for unpublished volumes are tentative only. 1. Tr. and ed. David Walford with Ralf Meerbote, Theoretical Philosophy 1755-1770 (1992): Ktll, Ktl2, Ktl3, Ktl4, Ktl5, Ktl6, Ktl7, Ktl8, Ktl9, Kt36, and Kt52. 2. Tr. and ed. Paul Guyer and Allen W. Wood, The Critique of Pure Reason (1998): Ktl (1781 and 1787 editions). 3. Ed. Henry Allison and Peter Heath, Theoretical Philosophy after 1781 (in process, c.2001): Kt2 and other short works. 4. Tr. and ed. Mary J. Gregor, Practical Philosophy (1996): Kt4, Kt5, Kt6, Kt27, Kt28, Kt29 (tr. and ed. Wood), Kt3O, Kt32, Kt34, Kt38, one essay not by Kant (from AA8:451-60) and two letters (tr. Wood from AA8:433-7). 5. Tr. Paul Guyer and Eric Matthews, Critique of the Power of Judgment, ed. Paul Guyer (in press, c.2000) [was 'Aesthetics and Teleology']: Kt7 and Kt7i. 6. Ed. Allen W. Wood and George di Giovanni, Religion and Rational Theology (1996): Kt20, Kt26, Kt31, and Kt68 (tr. Wood); Kt8 and Kt64 (tr. di Giovanni); and Kt65 (tr. Gregor and Anchor). 7. Ed. Guenter Zoeller, Anthropology, History and Education (in process, c.2001). Lectures on Anthropology to be published as a separate volume, ed. Allen W. Wood (c.2000). 8. Ed. Eric Watkins, Natural Science(in process, c.2002). 9. Tr. and ed. J. Michael Young, Lectures on Logic (1992): Blomberg, Vienna, Hechsel (selections), Dohna-Wundlacken, and Jasche versions of KtlO. 10. Tr. and ed. Karl Ameriks and Steve Naragon, Lectures on Metaphysics (1997): Herder (selections), L! (incomplete), Mrongovius, Volckmann (selections), L2 (incomplete), Dohna (selections), K2 (selections), and Vigilantius (K3) versions of Kt25. 11. Tr. Peter Heath, Lectures on Ethics, ed. Peter Heath and J.B. Schneewind (1997) [was 'Lectures on Practical Philosophy']: Herder (selections), Collins, Mrongovius (selections from second set), and Vigilantius versions of Kt35. 12. Tr. Eckart Forster and Michael Rosen, Opus Postumum, ed. Eckart Forster (1993): selections from Kt9. 13. Tr. Curtis Bowman, Paul Guyer, and Frederick Rauscher, Notes and Fragments, ed. Paul Guyer (in process, c.2003). 14. Tr. and ed. A. Zweig, Correspondence (1999): 215 letters to and from Kant (including often revised versions of the 97 letters in Zw67). CT: Cambridge Texts in the History of Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press): an unnumbered series of texts including Hatfield's Kt2, Gregor's Kt4, Kt5, and Kt6, and Wood's and di Giovanni's Kt8; also tr. H.B. Nisbet, Political Writings, ed. Hans Reiss (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). El: Ellington, James, Ethical Philosophy (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1983): Kt5 and Part II of Kt6. E2: Ellington, James, The Philosophy of Material Nature (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1985): Kt2 and Kt3. E3: Ellington, James, Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals? Indianapolis: Hackett, 1993[1981]. Kt5 and Kt34 (added in third edition). Fl: Fenves, Peter, Raising the Tone of Philosophy (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993): Kt23, Kt33, Kt67, one letter (AA11:138-40), four Reflections (6050-3, in AA17:434-8), and one unpublished essay (AA23:195). F2: Friedrich, Carl J., The Philosophy of Kant (New York: Random House, Inc., 1949):

528

HI:

H2: H3:

H4: H5:

II: Kl:

Ml: Nl:

PI: Rl: R2:

R3:

SI:

Wl:

BIBLIOGRAPHY most of Kt2, Kt5, Kt30, Kt32, Kt38 and Kt60; long extracts of Kt4, Meredith's Kt7 and G15's Kt8; and shorter extracts of Ktl, Ktl8 and Kt57. Handyside, J., Kant's Inaugural Dissertation and Early Writings on Space, ed. Norman Kemp Smith (London: The Open Court Publishing Co., 1928): Ktl9, Kt52 and extracts of Kt40. Hastie, W., Kant's Principles of Politics (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1891); reprinted 1970 (New York: Johnson Reprint Corporation): Kt30 (Parts II and III), Kt32 and Kt61. Hastie, W., Kant's Cosmogony (Glasgow: James Maclehose & Sons, 1900); reprinted 1968, ed. Willy Ley (New York: Greenwood Publishing Corporation), and 1969, ed. M.K. Munitz (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press): Kt41 and most of Kt43. Hedge, Frederic H., Prose Writers of Germany,2 (Philadelphia: Carey and Hart, 1849[1847]): Kt63 and long extracts of Kt7 and Kt32, translated by J. Elliot Cabot. Humphrey, Ted B., Perpetual Peace and Other Essays on Politics, History, and Morals (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co., Inc, 1983): Kt30, Kt31, Kt32, Kt38, Kt60 and Kt63. Irvine, David, The Metaphysical Rudiments of Liberalism (London: 1911): Ktl6 and Kt52. Kerferd, G.B. and Walford, D.E., Selected Pre-Critical Writings and Correspondence with Beck (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1968): Ktl7, Ktl9, Kt52 and 19 letters. Manolesco, John, Dreams of a Spirit-Seer (New York: Vantage Press, 1969): Ktl8 and extracts from Kt51. Nisbet, H.B., Kant: Political Writings,2 ed. Hans Reiss (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991[1970]): Kt30, Kt32, Kt38, Kt60, Kt65 (Part II) and extracts from Kt6 and Ktl:373-4. The 1991 edition adds: Kt20, Kt61 and Kt63. Palmquist, Stephen R., Four Neglected Essays by Immanuel Kant (Hong Kong: Philopsychy Press, 1994): revisions of Rl's Kt28, Kt46, Kt53, and Kt55. Rabel, Gabriele,Kant (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1963): extracts from nearly all of Kant's published writings and from 12 letters. Richardson, John (anonymous translator), Essays and Treatises on Moral, Political, Religious and Various Philosophical Subjects, 2 vols. (London: William Richardson, 1798-9); reprint ed. Giuseppe Micheli (Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 1993). Vol. 1 (1798): Kt5, Ktl4, Ktl7, Kt20, Kt28, Kt30, Kt32, Kt38, Kt60, and Kt63. Vol. 2 (1799): Kt8, Ktl5, Kt23, Kt31, Kt46, Kt53, Kt55, Kt57, and Kt64. Richardson, John, Metaphysical Works of the Celebrated Immanuel Kant (London: W. Simpkin & R. Marshall, 1836): his 1819 translations of Kt2 and KtlO, along with an essay paraphrasing Kant's views on God. Semple, John William, The Metaphysic of Ethics (Edinburgh: Thomas Clark, 1836), numerous revisions and reprints, such as (ed.) Henry Calderwood (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1871). Kt4 (incomplete), Kt5, and Part II of Kt6. Watson, John, The Philosophy of Kant (Kingston: William Bailie, 1882), numerous reprints and revisions, such as 1888 (New York: Macmillan) and 1978 (Folcroft, Pa.: Folcroft Library Editions): long extracts of Ktl, Kt4, Kt5, and Kt7.

Part Two: Other Sources This part of the Bibliography lists all works specifically referred to in this book. References are to page numbers unless otherwise specified. The Index includes a list of every page where a reference to each of these works appears. An asterisk (*) at the end of an entry indicates that, although I read the work in question and intended to incorporate critical comments, constraints of time and/or the allotted number of pages prevented me from including any direct references. AA#: Kants gesammelte Schriften, PreuBischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (eds.), 29 vols. (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1902-). The # after the 'AA' {Akademie Ausgabe) stands for the volume number, and is followed by page number(s); where relevant, the page number(s) of the translation quoted are also given in curved brackets. Ad20: Adickes, Erich (ed.), Kants Opus Postumum (Berlin: Rather & Reichard, 1920). Ak91: Akhutin, A.V., 'Sophia and the Devil: Kant in the Face of Russian Religious Metaphysics', Soviet Studies in Philosophy 29 (1991), pp.59-89. A176: Allison, Henry, 'Kant's Refutation of Idealism', Dialectica 30.2/3 (1976), pp.223-53. A185: Allison, Henry, 'The Originality of Kant's Distinction between Analytic and Synthetic Judgments', Richard Kennington (ed.), The Philosophy of Immanuel Kant (Washington D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1985), vol. 12 of Jude P. Dougherty (ed.), Studies in Philosophy and the History of Philosophy. A196: Allison, Henry, 'Reflections on the Banality of (Radical) Evil: A Kantian Analysis', in Henry Allison, Idealism and Freedom: Essays on Kant's Theoretical and Practical Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp.169-212. A160: Alston, William P., 'The Ontological Argument Revisited' (PI68:86-110); reprinted from The Philosophical Review 69 (1960). An65: Anselm, St., Proslogion. Tr. M.J. Charlesworth in St. Anselm's Proslogion, (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1965), pp. 101-55. Ax89: Axelsen, Diana E., 'Kant's Metaphor For Persons and Community', Philosophy & Theology III.4 (Summer 1989), pp.301-21. Ax94: Axinn, Sidney, The Logic of Hope: Extensions of Kant's View of Religion (Amsterdam/Atlanta: Editions Rodopi, 1994). Ba68: Baelz, Peter, Christian Theology and Metaphysics (London: Epworth Press, 1968). Ba39: Baillie, John, Our Knowledge of God (London: Oxford University Press, 1939). Ba72: Barth, Karl, Die Protestantische Theologie im 19. Jahrhundert, 1952. Tr. B. Cozens and J. Bowden as Protestant Theology in the Nineteenth Century (London: SCM Press Ltd, 1972). Ba03: Bax, Ernest Belfort, 'Preface', 'A Biography of Kant', and 'Kant's Position in Philosophy', in his translation of Kt2 and Kt3, pp.i-vi, xi-lxxi, and lxxii-cix. Be60: Beck, Lewis White, A Commentary on Kant's Critique of Practical Reason (London: The University of Chicago Press, 1960). Be69: Beck, Lewis White, Early German Philosophy (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1969). Be72: Beck, Lewis White (ed.), Proceedings of the Third International Kant Congress (Dordrecht, Holland: D. Reidel Publishing Co., 1972). Be86: Beck, Lewis White, Kant's Latin Writings (New York: Peter Lang, 1986). Be87: Beck, Lewis White, review of G. Gawlick and L. Kreimendahl's Hume in der deutschen Aufkldrung, in Eighteenth-Century Studies (1987), pp.405-8. Be92: Beiser, Frederick C, 'Kant's Intellectual Development: 1746-1781' (Gu92b:26-61). Br53: Broad, CD., Religion, Philosophy and Psychical Research (London: Routledge &

530

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Kegan Paul Limited, 1953). Bu82: Buchdahl, Gerd, 'Reduction-Realization: A Key to the Structure of Kant's Thought', Philosophical Topics 12.2 (1982), pp.39-98. Bu08: Buchner, Edward Franklin, The Educational Theory of Immanuel Kant (London: J.B. Lippincott Co., 1908). BP93: Burgess, Andrew, Joseph Pickle and Hans Schwarz (eds.), Papers of the Nineteenth Century Theology Working Group, vol. 19 (Colorado Springs: The Colorado College, 1993). Bu84: Butts, Robert E., Kant and the Double Government Methodology: Supersensibility and Method in Kant's Philosophy of Science (Dordrecht: D. Reidel Publishing Company, 1984). By79: Byrne, Peter, 'Kant's Moral Proof of the Existence of God', Scottish Journal of Theology 32 (1979), pp.333-43. Ca09: Caird, Edward, The Critical Philosophy of Immanuel Kant,2 1 vols. (Glasgow: James Maclehouse and Sons, 1909[1889]). Ca73: Carmichael, Peter, 'Kant and Jesus', Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 33.3 (Mar. 1973), pp.412-6. CaO2: Carus, Paul, 'Kant's Philosophy', in his translation of Kt2, pp.165-240. Ca81: Cassirer, Ernst, Kants Leben undLehre2,1921(1918). Tr. J. Haden as Kant's Life and Thought (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981). Ca88: Cassirer, Heinrich Walter, Grace and Law: St. Paul, Kant, and the Hebrew prophets (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub. Co.; Edinburgh: Handsel Press, 1988). Ch92: Chapman, Mark D., 'Apologetics and the Religious A Priori: The Use and Abuse of Kant in German Theology: 1900-20', Journal of Theological Studies 43.2 (Oct. 1992), pp.470-510. Co71: Coburn, Robert C , 'Animadversions on Plantinga's Kant', Ratio 13(1971),pp.l9-29. Co60a Collins, James, God in Modern Philosophy (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1960). Co67: Collins, James, The Emergence of Philosophy of Religion (London & New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967). Co88: Cooke, Vincent M., 'Kant's Godlike Self, International Philosophical Quarterly 28 (1988), pp.313-23. Co60b: Copleston, Fredrick C , A History of Philosophy, vol. VI, Wolff to Kant (London: Burns and Oates Limited, 1960). Co74: Copleston, Frederick C , Religion and Philosophy (Dublin: Gill and Macmillan Ltd, 1974). Cr96: Crichlow, Harold E., 'Kant and Hegel: Their Religious Philosophies Compared', Bulletin of the Hegel Society of Great Britain 33 (1996), pp.87-102. Cr94: Crosby, Donald A., 'Kant's Ideas about Ultimate Reality and Meaning in Relation to His Moral Theory: Critique of an Enlightenment Ideal', Ultimate Reality and Meaning 17.2 (1994), pp.117-36. Cu82: Cupitt, Don, 'Kant and the Negative Theology' (HS82:55-67). Cu98: Cupitt, Don, Mysticism after Modernity (Maiden, Mass; Blackwell Publishers, 1998). Da93a: Davidovich, Adina, 'Kant's Notion of Reflective Faith' (BP93:20-40). Da93b Davidovich, Adina, Religion as a Province of Meaning: The Kantian foundations of modern theology (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993). Da93c: Davidovich, Adina, 'Kant's Theological Constructivism', Harvard Theological Review 86(1993),pp.323-51. De94: Dell'Oro, Regina O.M., From Existence to the Ideal: Continuity and Development in

Part Two: Other Sources

531

Kant's Theology (New York: Peter Lang, 1994). De70: Descartes, Rene, Discours de la methode, 1637. Tr. E.S. Haldane and G.R.T. Ross as Discourse on the Method of Rightly Conducting the Reason, in The Philosophical Works of Descartes (London: The Cambridge University Press, 1970). References are to section and page numbers. De73: Despland, Michel, Kant on History and Religion (London and Montreal: McGillQueen's University Press, 1973). Di72: Dister, John E., 'Kant's Regulative Ideas and the "Objectivity" of Reason' (Be72:262-9). Du89: Du Prel, Carl, Die Philosophie der Mystik, 1885. Tr. C.C. Massey as The Philoso¬ phy of Mysticism, 2 vols. (London: George Redway, 1889); reprinted in 1976 (New York: Arno Press). Du78: Duerr, Hans Peter, Traumzeit: Uber die Grenze zwischen Wildnis und Zivilisation, 1978. Tr. Felicitas Goodman as Dreamtime: Concerning the boundary between wilderness and civilization (Oxford: Basil Blackwell Ltd, 1985). Ed94: Eddy, Paul R., 'Religious Pluralism and the Divine: Another Look at John Hick's Neo-Kantian Proposal', Religious Studies 30 (1994), pp.467-78.* Ed79: Edwards, Rem B., Reason and Religion (Washington D.C.: University Press of America, Inc., 1979). E170: Ellington, James, 'The Unity of Kant's Thought in His Philosophy of Corporeal Nature' (Kt3:(135-218)). En63: Engel, S. Morris, 'Kant's "Refutation" of the Ontological Argument', Philosophy andPhenomenological Research 24.1 (Sept. 1963), pp.20-35. En29: England, F.E., Kant's Conception of God (London: Allen & Unwin, 1929). Es94: Ess, Charles and Walter B. Gulick, 'Kant and Analogy: Categories as Analogical Equivocals', Ultimate Reality and Meaning 17.2 (1994), pp.89-99. Fa96: Fackenheim, Emil L., The God Within (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996).* Fa67: Fang, J., Kant-Interpretationen (Minister: Verlag Regensberg, 1967). Fe90: Fendt, Gene, For What May I Hope ? (New York: Peter Lang, 1990). Fe93 Fenves, Peter, 'A Note on the Translation of Kant' and 'Introduction: The Topicality of Tone', Raising the Tone of Philosophy: Late Essays by Immanuel Kant, Transformative Critique by Jacques Derrida (London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), pp.ix-xii and 1-48. Fi63: Findlay, J.N., Language, Mind and Value (London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd, 1963). Fi76: Findlay, J.N., 'Kant Today' (La76:3-16). Fi81: Findlay, J.N., Kant and the Transcendental Object (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1981). FiOO: Firestone, Christopher L., 'Kant's Two Perspectives on the Theological Task', The International Journal for Systematic Theology 2.1 (Mar. 2000), pp.63-78. Quote taken from a 1998 draft. F188: Flesher, Paul V., 'Structure and Argument: A Study of Immanuel Kant's Religion Within the Limits of Reason Alone', Journal of Religious Studies 15.1/2 (1988), pp.119-30. F166: Flew, Antony, God & Philosophy (London: Hutchinson & Co. Ltd, 1966). References are to chapter and paragraph numbers. F193a: Florschutz, Gottlieb, Emanuel Swedenborgs mystisches Menschenbild und die Doppelnature des Menschen bei Immanuel Kant, 1991. Tr. G.F. Dole as Swedenborg and

532

F193b:

••'•'••• Fo93: Fo95:

Fo88: Fo99: F687: F689: Fo93: Fr86a: Fr86b: Fr49: Fu74: Fu81: FS89:

Fu91: Ga96: Ga95: Ge69: Ge94:

Gi89: Gi37:

BIBLIOGRAPHY Kant: Emanuel Swedenborg's Mystical View of Humankind, and the Dual Nature of Humankind in Immanuel Kant (West Chester, Penn.: Swedenborg Foundation, 1993). Florschiitz, Gottlieb, Swedenborgs verborgene Wirkung auf Kant, 1992. Tr. J.D. Odhner and K. Nemitz as Swedenborg's Hidden Influence on Kant, in a series of installments published in The New Philosophy 96-98 (1993-95): vols. 96 (1993), pp. 171-225,277-307; 97 (1994), pp.347-96,461-98; 98 (1995), pp.99-108; etc. References are to the chapter and section numbers of the original version. Forgie, J. William, 'Kant on the Relation Between the Cosmological and Ontological Arguments', International Journal for Philosophy of Religion 34 (1993), pp.1-12. Forgie, J. William, 'The Cosmological and Ontological Arguments: How Saint Thomas Solved the Kantian Problem', Religious Studies 31.1 (Mar. 1995), pp.89100. Forman, Robert K.C., 'A Construction of Mystical Experience', Faith and Philosophy 5.3 (July 1988), pp.254-67. Forman, Robert K.C., Mysticism, Mind, Consciousness (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999). Forster, Eckart, 'Is There "A Gap" in Kant's Critical System?', Journal of the History of Philosophy XXV.4 (Oct. 1987), pp.533-55. Forster, Eckart, 'Kant's Notion of Philosophy' The Monist 72.2 (Apr. 1989), pp.285-304. Forster, Eckart, 'Introduction' (pp.xv-lvii) and 'Factual notes' (pp.257-88) to Kt9. Friedman, R.Z., 'Kant and Kierkegaard: The Limits of Reason and the Cunning of Faith', International Journal for Philosophy of Religion 19 (1986), pp.3-22. Friedman, R.Z., 'Hypocrisy and the Highest Good: Hegel on Kant's Transition from Morality to Religion', Journal of the History of Philosophy 24 (1986), pp.503-22. Friedrich, Carl J., 'Preface' and 'Introduction', The Philosophy of Kant (New York: Random House, 1949). Funke, Gerhard (ed.), Akten des 4. Internationalen Kant-Kongresses: Mainz 6.-10. April 1974, vol. II (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1974). Funke, Gerhard (ed.), Akten des 5. Internationalen Kant-Kongresses: Mainz 4.-8. April 1981, vol. 1 (Bonn: Bouvier Verlag Herbert Grundmann, 1981). Funke, Gerhard, and Thomas M. Seebohm (eds.), Proceedings of the Sixth Inter¬ national Kant Congress, 2 vols. (Washington, D.C.: Center for Advanced Research in Phenomenology & University Press of America, 1989-1991). Funke, Gerhard (ed.), Akten des Siebenten Internationalen Kant-Kongresses: Kurfiirstliches Schloss zu Mainz 1990, 2 vols. (Bonn: Bouvier, 1991). Galbraith, Elizabeth Cameron, Kant and Theology: Was Kant a Closet Theologian? (London: International Scholars Publications, 1996). Gass, Michael, 'Kant on Moral Alienation in Religion' (RB95:II.651-60).* Genova, A.C., 'Kant's Three Critiques: A Suggested Analytical Framework', KantStudien 60 (1969), pp.135-46. Gerding, Johan L.F., 'Was Kant a Sceptic?', Proceedings of the Parapsychological Association's 37th Annual Convention, ed. Dick J. Bierman (Utrecht: The Parapsy¬ chological Association, 1994). Gibbs, Robert, 'Fear of Forgiveness: Kant and the Paradox of Mercy', Philosophy and Theology, III.4 (Summer 1989), pp.323-34. Gilson, Etienne, The Unity of Philosophical Experience (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1937).

Part Two: Other Sources

533

Gi41: Gilson, Etienne, God and Philosophy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1941). Go89: Godlove, Terry F., Religion, Interpretation and Diversity of Belief: The Framework Model from Kant to Durkheim to Davidson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). Go71: Goldmann, Lucien, Introduction a la philosophie de Kant,1 1967. Tr. Robert Black as Immanuel Kant (London: NLB, 1971). Gg93: Green, Garrett, 'Kant's Christian Apologetic' (BP93:1-19). Gr78: Green, Ronald M., Religious Reason: The Rational and Moral Basis of Religious Belief (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978). Gr89: Green, Ronald M., 'The Leap of Faith: Kierkegaard's Debt to Kant', Philosophy and Theology 3 (1989), pp.385-411. Gr93: Green, Ronald M., 'Kierkegaard's Great Critique: Either/Or as a Kantian Transcenden¬ tal Deduction' (BP93:91-103). Gr34: Greene, Theodore M., 'The Historical Context and Religious Significance of Kant's Religion' (Kt8:ix-lxxviii). GH34: Greene, Theodore M. and Hoyt H. Hudson, 'Translators' Preface' to Kt8 (1934), pp.cxxxv-cxxxvii. Gm79: Gregor, Mary J., 'Translator's Introduction' to Kt65 (1979), pp.vii-xxxiv. Gr95: Grier, Michelle, 'Kant's Rejection of Rational Theology' (RB95: II/2.641-50).* Gu94: Gulick, Walter B., "The Creativity of the Intellect: From Ontology to Meaning. The Transmutation of the Sensible and Intelligible Worlds in Kant's Critical Thought', Ultimate Reality and Meaning 17.2 (1994), pp.99-108. Gu87: Gulyga, Arsenij, Kant, 1985. Tr. Marijan Despalatovic as Immanuel Kant: His Life and Thought (Boston: Birkhauser, 1987). Gu92a: Guyer, Paul, 'Introduction: The starry heavens and the moral law' (Gu92b:l-25). Gu92b: Guyer, Paul (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Kant (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). Ha90a: Habib, M.A.R., 'The Prayers of Childhood: T.S. Eliot's Manuscripts on Kant', Journal of the History of Philosophy 51 (1990), pp.93-113.* Ha83: Hand, William B., 'The Sublime and God in Kant's Critique of Judgement', The New Scholasticism 57 (1983), pp.42-70. Ha94: Hare, John E., book review of RW91 in Faith and Philosophy 11.1 (Jan. 1994), pp. 138-44. Ha96: Hare, John E., The Moral Gap: Kantian Ethics, Human Limits, and God's Assistance (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996). Ha90b: Hart, James G., 'Divine Truth in Husserl and Kant: Some Issues in Phenomenological Theology', D. Guerriere (ed.), Phenomenology of the Truth Proper to Religion, (Albany: SUNY Press, 1990), pp.221-46. Ha41: Hartshorne, Charles, "The Necessarily Existent' (P168:123-35); reprinted from Man's Vision of God (Harper & Row, Inc., 1941). Ha65: Hartshorne, Charles, Anselm's Discovery: A Re-Examination of the Ontological Prooffor God's Existence (Lasalle, 111.: Open Court Publishing Company, 1965). HR53: Hartshorne, Charles and William L. Reese, Philosophers Speak of God (London: The University of Chicago Press, 1953). HS82: Hebblethwaite, Brian and Stewart Sutherland (eds.), The Philosophical Frontiers of Christian Theology (London: Cambridge University Press, 1982). He49: Hedge, Frederic H., Prose Writers of Germany,2 (Philadelphia: Carey and Hart, 1849[1847]).

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541

Wa75: Walsh, W.H., Kant's Criticism of Metaphysics (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1975). Wa90: Walsh, W.H., Towards an Interpretation of Kant (Birmingham: Words & Images, n.d.[c.l990]). Wa72: Ward, Keith, The Development of Kant's View of Ethics (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1972). We26: Webb, Clement C.J., Kant's Philosophy of Religion (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1926). We88: Weiler, Gershon, Jewish Theocracy (Leiden: Brill, 1988). We80: Werkmeister, W.H., Kant: The Architectonic and Development of His Philosophy (London: Open Court, 1980). Wh90: White, Roger M., '"Ought" Implies "Can": Kant and Luther, A Contrast' (MM90:l72). Wi80: Wiebe, Don, 'The Ambiguous Revolution: Kant on the Nature of Faith', Scottish Journal of Theology 33 (1980), pp.515-32. Wi98: Willich, A.F.M., Elements of the Critical Philosophy (London: T.N. Longman, 1798). Wi73: Wink, Walter, The Bible in Human Transformation: Toward a new paradigm for biblical study (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1973). Wi90: Wisnefske, Ned, Our Natural Knowledge of God: A Prospect for Natural Theology after Kant and Barth (New York: Peter Lang, 1990). Wo60: Wolff, R.P., 'Kant's Debt to Hume Via Beattie* Journal of the History of Ideas 21 (I960), pp. 117-23. Wn91: Wolterstorff, Nicholas P., 'Conundrums in Kant's Rational Religion' (RW91:40-53).* Wo95: Wong, Wing-Chun, 'Kant's Conception of Ether as a Field in the Opus Postumum' (RB95:II.405-12). Wo94: Woo, Pak Chuen Patrick, God and Evil: A Study of Theodicy with Special Reference to Immanuel Kant (thesis for Honours Degree at Hong Kong Baptist University, 1994). Wo70: Wood, Allen W., Kant's Moral Religion (London: Cornell University Press, 1970). Wo78: Wood, Allen W., Kant's Rational Theology (London: Cornell University Press, 1978). Wo89: Wood, Allen, 'The Immortality [sic; should read 'Immorality'] of Moral Faith' (FS89:II/2.417-37). Wo91: Wood, Allen W., 'Kant's Deism' (RW91:1-21). Wo92: Wood, Allen W., 'Rational Theology, Moral Faith, and Religion' (Gu92b:394-416). Wo96: Wood, Allen W., 'Translator's Introduction' to Kt67 (CE 331). Yo68: Yovel, Yirmiahu, 'The God of Kant', Scripta Hierosolymitana 20 (1968), pp.88-123. Yo80: Yovel, Yirmiahu, Kant and the Philosophy of History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980). Yo73: Yovel, Yirmiyahu, 'Bible Interpretation as Philosophical Praxis: A Study of Spinoza and Kant', Journal of the History of Philosophy 11 (1973), pp.189-212. Yo89: Yovel, Yirmiyahu, 'Spinoza and Kant: Critique of Religion and Biblical Hermeneutics', in Spinoza and Other Heretics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), pp.3-26. Zw67: Zweig, Arnulf, Kant: Philosophical Correspondence 1759-99, tr. and ed. (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1967).

Glossary of Technical Terms Relating to Kant's Theology and Philosophy of Religion This Glossary supplements the Glossary in KSP1:453-61, providing brief definitions for selected technical terms that are specifically related to Kant's theology and philosophy of religion. (The only terms listed here that Kant himself does not use are 'Critical mysticism' and 'theocentric'.) Taken together, these Glossaries can serve as a study aide to help make the intricate web of Kant's terminology comprehensible to those who have little or no familiarity with Kant's writings. Where relevant, the opposite term is given in curved brackets at the end of the definition. When a word defined here (or a slight variation on such a word) is used in defining some other word in this Glossary, its first occurrence in that definition is given in italics. Likewise, terms already defined in KSPl's Glossary appear here in quotation marks. archetype: the 'idea' of perfect humanity that resides within each person. Calling Jesus the Christ signifies that his life fully realized this idea. atheism: the philosophical stance whereby a person believes there is no God. A strict atheist believes it is possible to prove God's nonexistence. (Cf. theism.) Bible: the scripture of the Jewish and/or Christian 'faiths'. Kant has a genuinely high regard for this book, viewing the New Testament in particular as a divine revelation enabling hu¬ manity to take a major step forward in its moral evolution. Nevertheless, regarding the propo¬ sitions themselves as literally God's words is a serious religious illusion. (See scripture.) biblical theology: any theology that takes the Bible as its primary starting-point. Kant warns that such a theologian must be careful not to deny the validity of 'reason'. (Cf. philosophical theology.) caloric: heat. This is an important aspect of Kant's theory of ether in Opus Postumum. Christ: a person anointed with such a God-like disposition that we can regard him as the perfect example of the archetype. Kant regards Jesus as the Christ in this sense. Christianity: an historical faith that accepts the Bible as its scripture and practises religion in a church tradition founded by Jesus Christ. church: an ethical commonwealth wherein the members regard themselves as being governed by God. The visible form promotes a particular historical faith, whereas the invisible form promotes pure rational faith. A true church is a visible church that is based on the four principles of the invisible church: universality, purity, 'freedom', and unchangeableness. cosmological argument: one of the three types of 'theoretical' proofs for God's existence, arguing that 'experience' in general provides us with 'knowledge' that God exists. Critical mysticism: the final goal of Kant's Critical System (though he never fully developed it himself), consisting of an openness to immediate experience in various forms, and an awareness that at this level the presence of God can be felt, but with the crucial qualifi¬ cation that no knowledge-claims can be constructed out of such ineffable experiences. deism: the philosophical stance claiming that God exists, but not as a living being who intervenes in the natural or moral worlds we inhabit (as in theism). Many deists believe there are proofs for the existence of God that succeed in making God's existence knowable. direct service of God: obeying the 'moral law' within. (Cf. indirect service.)

Glossary of Kant's Technical Terms

543

disposition: the 'noumenal' source of a person's moral motivation, also called the heart. It can be either evil (like the propensity) or good (like the predisposition), but not both at once. ecclesiastical faith: a form of historical faith that is focused on a church tradition. ens realissimum: a Latin term for the most real Being—i.e., God. Kant uses this term as the basis for his special possibility proof of God's existence. ether: the hypothetical material that fills empty space. Kant regards it as an unknowable substrate of nature that symbolizes how the hand of God operates. ethical commonwealth: a humanly organized group of persons who agree to live and let others live 'autonomously', according to the principles of the 'moral law'. evil: reversing the proper order of moral 'incentives', whereby & person regards 'maxims' promoting happiness as more important than maxims promoting 'duty'. (See radical evil) fanaticism: a form of religious enthusiasm that allows workings of grace to obscure the voice of 'conscience', thus encouraging moral laziness and false assurance of salvation. God: the ens realissimum who administers the 'moral law' to all persons. We can know this Being only as an 'idea' (i.e., as a 'hypothetical' 'concept' that cannot be absolutely proved to exist); but we must postulate such a Being in order to make sense out of our moral life, and we can feel this Being's presence in the 'moral law' and in nature. God's unique way of knowing consists of intellectual intuition and intuitive understanding. (See Trinity.) grace: unmerited assistance from God. Kant argues that, although radical evil prevents every¬ one from being worthy to receive grace, our good disposition, and the good life-conduct that comes from it, can nevertheless make us worthy to be made worthy by God. hand of God: Kant's metaphorical way of describing the ineffable experience of God's presence in nature. (Cf. voice of God.) historical faith: belief in and/or commitment to a religious tradition that looks back to specific past events, rather than to bare reason, for its grounding. Such a faith may or may not promote true religion among its believers. hope: the topic of the third of the three (or four) questions that Kant says define the task of philosophy. Kant views religion as establishing the human standpoint that best answers the question of what we may hope. ideal: in the first Critique, the 'idea' of God, viewed as an externally existing object. As such, God's existence is wholly unknowable to humans, though we may know God's nature. immediate experience: the fundamental contact between 'subject' and 'object' that gives rise to 'experience' in the sense of 'empirical' 'knowledge'. 'Representations' that are not mediated by the 'transcendental' conditions of 'space', 'time', and the 'categories', are useless for constructing knowledge, but we may nevertheless be aware of them in various ways. indirect service of God: doing or believing something that is not itself required by the 'moral law', but will encourage oneself to obey the latter. (Cf. direct service.) intellectual intuition: a form of knowing that creates its object in the very act of per¬ ceiving it. God is the concept of a Being possessing this power, lacked by humans. interpretation, scriptural: in a church, scripture should be interpreted morally whenever

544

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

possible, even if this was not the author's original intention; 'theoretical' interpretations are for historical scholars. Interpretation by personal feeling should be avoided, since it can easily be both morally harmful and theoretically inaccurate. intuitive understanding: a form of knowing that is immediate, and does not require perception. God is the concept of a Being possessing this power, lacked by humans. Jesus: the human being who, as founder of the first true church, can also be regarded as divine, in the sense of possessing the very disposition of God, to the extent that he was able to withstand the corrupting influence of radical evil. He can thereby be regarded as the Christ. Judaism: an historical faith based on adherence to externally legislated statutes and thereby used by Kant to exemplify the essence pseudo-service to God. kingdom of God: a political situation characterized by universal peace and respect between all human persons, with the 'moral law' being followed so consistently that external legal forms are no longer needed. Bringing this (or its moral equivalent, the kingdom of ends) about is the final goal of the ethical commonwealth, but will probably require assistance from God in order to become a reality in the distant evolution of the human race. means of grace: one of the four parerga, referring to ceremonies or rituals that make us aware of God's assistance. To believe such ceremonies can themselves make a person good is a religious illusion that leads to pseudo-service; but the same ceremonies can be an indirect service of God. Kant's four examples are prayer, church-going, baptism, and communion. miracles: one of the four parerga, referring to a presumed supernatural intervention in the 'empirical' world. Kant does not rule out this possibility, but claims such external 'experiences' of the impossible must be regarded as happening either almost never or else all the time. moral argument: Kant's new way of justifying belief in God's existence by arguing that a person who believes it is rational to act morally is acting as if God exists; so it would be ab¬ surd for that person to deny God's existence, even though it cannot be proved 'theoretically'. mysteries: one of the four parerga, referring to a divinely prompted 'understanding' of 'transcendent' 'objects' that incomprehensible by means of 'reason' alone. Kant examines the Trinity as his primary example. mysticism: a way of interpreting certain types of immediate experience as a direct encounter with God or with 'transcendent' 'reality'. Kant speaks harshly about mystics who tend to be fanatics or who make unjustified knowledge-claims based on such experiences. Ironically, his own philosophical 'System' can be interpreted as an attempt to transform mysticism into a philosophically justifiable (i.e., Critical) way of life. natural religion: any religion wherein a command must be recognized as a 'duty' before it can be regarded as God's command, and whose doctrines can therefore be spread to all human beings by the unaided use of universal 'reason'. (Cf. revealed religion.) ontological argument: one of the three types of 'theoretical' proofs for God's existence, arguing that the necessity of God's existence can be known from the 'concept' of God alone. parerga: 'transcendent' 'ideas' that arise as by-products of 'pure' rational faith in order to solve problems that 'reason' alone cannot solve. They are an acceptable part of a true religion only if used to direct believers to its moral core. The four parerga Kant discusses are:

Glossary of Kant's Technical Terms

545

workings of grace, miracles, mysteries, and means of grace. person: a living, rational, and responsible being, capable of being aware of the 'moral law'. philosophical theology: any theology that takes 'reason' as its primary starting-point. Kant argues that such an approach does not prevent a person from also taking a specific revelation into consideration; however, the latter must be consistent with the former. (Cf. biblical theology.) physicotheological argument: one of the three types of 'theoretical' proofs for God's existence, arguing that particular 'experiences' provide us with 'knowledge' that God exists. predisposition: a person's original disposition, before performing any moral acts. Our animal, rational, and personal natures all indicate that the human predisposition is good. Unfortunately, it is corrupted by radical evil in our first moral act. (Cf. propensity.) possibility proof: Kant's own preferred version of a 'theoretical' proof for God's existence, whereby Godis viewed as the ens realissimum, who must exist in orderfor anything else even to be possible. Kant never completely rejects this proof, but he does admit that it serves only to clarify what we mean by the word, God, without providing any theoretical 'knowledge'. prayer, spirit of: a heart-felt wish to live a life well-pleasing to God, based on a good moral disposition, and the good life-conduct that comes from it. The letter of prayer (i.e., verbal prayer) does not please God on its own, but only if it promotes this inner spirit. proofs for the existence of God: arguments attempting to establish 'theoretical' 'knowledge' that God exists. Kant demonstrates that all three types (the ontological, cosmological, and physicotheological) must fail. He puts his own special moral argument in their place, but insists this argument does not constitute a theoretical proof. This is important, because only the latter can provide a proper philosophical foundation for theism and religion. propensity: a person's tendency to act in either a good or an evil way. Prior to undergoing a change of heart (or disposition), a person's propensity is naturally evil. (Cf. predisposition.) postulate: a 'transcendent' 'idea' that we must regard as true, even in the absence of 'theoretical' proof, because it is 'practically' necessary to justify living a moral life. Kant's moral argument postulates God's existence, but does not claim to prove it. pseudo-service: attempting to please another person by performing an action that actually (usually inadvertently) hinders one's ability to please that person. Acts of divine worship fall into this category, for example, if the worshipper believes that because such actions are directed solely to God, they can take the place of good life-conduct. (Cf. service.) pure rational faith: religious belief that has the pure religion of reason at its core. pure religion of reason: the moral core of all genuine religion. Historical faiths are of value only if they serve as vehicles for pure religion; they are the shell that protects the inner core. Religion needs some such vehicle, because it raises questions 'reason' cannot answer. radical evil: a rationally inexplicable corruption at the very root of the moral life of every human being. As a result, each person's first moral act is evil, as is their initial propensity. rational theology: the metaphysical discipline that tries to prove the existence of God. Kant demonstrates that this discipline is bound to fail as long as it aims at 'knowledge'.

546

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

religion: the practice of viewing human duties as divine commands. For Kant this does not imply that religion is just a form of morality in disguise; rather, it means morality, though ontologically independent of religion, needs religion in order to reach its goal. revealed religion: any religion wherein a command must be recognized as being from God before it can be regarded as a 'duty', and whose doctrines are therefore available only to those human beings who are familiar with a given historical faith. (Cf. natural religion.) revelation: unprecedented moral insights, believed by a religious individual or community to be given by God. 'Reason' can test them by checking their consistency with the 'moral law'. scripture: a text believed by an historical faith to be revealed. (See Bible and interpretation.) service: attempting to please another person by performing an action that actually (sometimes even inadvertently) hinders one's ability to please that person. Good life-conduct falls into this category when viewed as a way of serving God. In addition to such direct service, any nonmoral act that encourages good life-conduct can be called indirect service. (Cf. pseudo-service.) statutes: external commands put forward by a scripture and/or an ecclesiastical faith on the grounds that God commands obedience to such rules—regardless of whether they are moral. supreme maxim: the fundamental 'maxim' that determines the disposition a. person has. symbol: any part of an historical faith (e.g., a doctrine or a ritual) that has, in addition to its literal meaning, another deeper meaning with a moral content. teleological argument: A 'theoretical' proof for the existence of God based on reference to specific designs or purposes 'experienced' in nature. Kant regards this as a type of physicotheological argument. Viewed from the 'judicial' 'standpoint', however, it can provide good reasons for believing in God, reasons that support rather than endangering theism. theism: the philosophical stance claiming not only that God exists (as in deism), but that God is alive and interacts with the human world. Kant regards theists as those who are willing to make a moral commitment to postulate God's existence, but argues that the various attempts to prove God's existence are harmful to theism in the long run. (Cf. atheism) theodicy: an attempt to justify God in the face of evil. Kant argues that all such attempts must fail, for they require a misuse of 'reason' that is ultimately harmful to religion. theology: 'knowledge' of God, based on either 'theoretical' or 'practical' 'reason'. Kant practices philosophical theology and believes this should complement biblical theology. Trinity: a mystery that arises in Christianity when believers attempt to 'understand' God's threefold nature. Kant proposes a moral version, viewing God as holy Legislator, benevolent Ruler, and righteous Judge. In this 'practical' sense, the Trinity ceases to be a mystery. true religion: any 'empirical' religion that has the pure religion of reason at its core. voice of God: Kant's metaphorical way of describing the ineffable experience of God's presence in the form of the 'moral law' within us. (Cf. hand of God.) workings of grace: one of the four parerga., referring to a presumed inner 'experience' of God's grace. Fanatics often (wrongly) believe this can replace the need for good life-conduct. worship: any action that pleases God. The most profound expression of a life of worship is good life-conduct. Praising God without having good life-conduct is pseudo-service.

This index is divided into four sections. Section I lists all Scripture references that appear on pp.1-514 of this book. Sections II and III, respectively, list all references to Kant's writings (Ktl71) and other sources appearing on the same pages. (See Parts One and Two of the Bibliography to identify the reference codes used in these sections.) Section III also lists the authors' names, together with all other names mentioned on pp.1-514. To avoid duplicating page numbers unneces¬ sarily, passages that use an author's name merely to introduce a quotation or summary of something from the text cited are indexed only under the bibliographical code for the book in question. That is, page numbers are listed next to an author's name only when it is mentioned along with some substantial commentary or criticism on his or her views (i.e., something more than a mere expres¬ sion of agreement or disagreement). Section IV concludes this index by listing an incomplete selection of terms and subjects. Constraints of both time and page length prevented a more exhaustive development of this final section of the index.

548

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

(Ezekial) 33:31 256n Daniel 9:4 Hosea 6:6 12:6

255n 254n 255n

Joel 2:13

253n

Amos 5:21-4

256n

Zephaniah 3:17 253n Micah 6:6-8

137-8, 256

(Matthew) 12:7 12:38 12:39 15:6 15:7-9 15:8-9 16:4 17:20 21:22 21:28-31 22 22:2-14 22:35-40 22:37,39 22:40 23:8-10 23:13 23:15 25:31-46

254n 208 294 276 254n 264n 294 488 496 254n 255 221n 250 442 442, 450n 278 269 225, 269 216,248n, 256,271-2 28:16-20 250 28:20 477

New T e s t a m e n t : 15, 177, 208, 224, 237, 271, 275, 279, 470, 510, 496

Mark 1:15 2:23-3:6 7:6-7 7:6-8 7:7-9 7:13 9:39-49 11:25 12:28-34 12:38-40

Matthew: 230, 261 3:10 208 . :. 5 445 n 244 5:15 5:48 , 215, 445n 6 445n 6:1 310 6:2,5 4 4 5 n >;••-.•: •: Luke 6:5-8 3:2 496 6:9-13 491 6:1-11 6:16 6:37 310, 445nf, 7:1 266, 441 10:25 7:1-2 441n 10:25-8 7:1-5 310 10:27 7:2 310, 442n, 444 10:29 7:3-5 442n 10:30-7 7:3-11 444 11:28 7:5 447 11:42 7:12 11:46 442,446n,450n 7:17-19 208 16:15 7:21 481 18:10 9:13 254n 18:10-4 11:30 232 ! 12:1-14 262 . : ;

470 262 264n 254n 276 276 239 496 250 496

John 1:1

215n,275,376

1:12 1:14

211 280

3:5

209n 213, 253n

3:16 4:48 5:1-18 6:28-9 8:42 10:35 13:35 14:10 14:15 14:20-1 16:27 21:15-7

281n 253 276 258 271

255n 271

253, 253n 255n

Acts 1:24 168 • 2:36 271 4:10,11 271n 275 4:31 275 6:2,7 8:12-4 275 ; : 10:48-11:1 275 . 15:8 168 / 15:11 28 In , • 28 In 16:31 17:18 17:22-5 297 17:27-8 297 22:18 281n • 3 6 0

;

••••-•:••:

Romans 3:8

275 262 441n 258 250 258 258 258 276 269 269 168 496 493

294 262

3:22 4:24

274 281n 281n

5:5 5:8

254

5:14 6:1-23 6:2,6 8:16-23 8:26 8:29-30 8:39 10:3 10:9

208

14

14:10-4 14:23 15:30

;*•'•,,:

253n / , ••;

262 460 376 496

••••„• ;

281n 253n 213

281n 266n 266 209n 254

;

Index 1 Corinthians: 419 1:9

1:10-16 1:20 1:20-1 1:23-4 1:25 1:29 2:2 2:7

2:6-7a 2:9-10 2:10a,13 2:15 3:2 3:3

8:1-3 8:9 13

13:8-12 15:22 15:26 15:28 15:44 15:45

Philippians 264 1:9-11

263 263 263 63 271

2:5-8 2:12 3:7-8

209n

63, 263

3:9

213

2:2

261 212 272

263, 271

Colossians

263 63 263 63 278 278 263 264 264

1:25,28 2:2-4

275 262

2:8

1, 262

2:16-9 2:16-23 3:14

1

1 1:4 2:8

260n

Thessalonians 281n

2:13

264 208

4:9

490n

5:17

175 281

254n 260n

281n

2:10 2:17 2:22

254n

276

211

2 Timothy 1:6 487n 215n 1:9 2:14,24 263 276 2:15

Philemon 7

1 Peter

2:9

4:5

209n

253n 261

168 211

2 Peter 1:17

253

1 John 2:14 2:29

276 139

3:1 3:5

211

3:10 3:16 3:17 3:23-4 4:7f 4:7-21 4:7-5:3 4:18 4:19 5:3

Ephesians 1:4-12 281n 253n 2:4-5 468n 2:8-9 3:17-9 253n 263 3:19 254 5:1-2 276 6:12

496

254n 485, 496

209n

Titus 3:4-6

262, 470 468n

275 278

276

271 261 460 272 272

281

281n

5:17 5:21 13:11

Galations 253n 2:20 271 2:20-1

2:14-25 2:14-26 2:20 5:16 1:2

4:2

255n

: V

1:23 2:1-2

2 Thessalonians 2:13 281n . 2:16 253n

204n, 208

'. James

258 275

1 Timothy 281n 1:16

5:22 5:24 5:24-5 6:14 6:15

(Hebrews) 271n 7:19 271n 7:28 254n 10:1-2 10:14 271n 11:40 271n 12:23-4 271n 12:28 271n 13:1 271n

263

2 Corinthians 496 3:19

3:1

549

253n 255n 259 258

281n 258

256n 254n 272

254n, 271 255n

Hebrews '

•

• •">'

1:5

271n

4:12 4:15

276

5:8-11

5:8,9 5:12,14 6:2

6:10

215n 205n, 213 271n 278 278 258

Revelation 221 376 M:8 275 19:13 20:12-3 470 376 21:6 376 22:13

550

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

II. Kt (Kant Text) Citations

77n, 83, 88, 92n, 93, 95, 96n, 97n, 98, 107n, 108, HOn, 114-36, 139-84, 185n, Academy Ausgabe: 436; for letters (AA10189-99, 201-8, 209n, 210-35, 238n, 23913) see section III: Zw67 41, 243-5, 246, 249, 251n, 255, 259, 261AA6: 125n 2, 267-8, 272-4, 281-2, 284, 288-9n, 289, AA12: 319n 293-6, 300-6, 308n, 309-11, 313-4, 317, AAI8: 93n, 95n, 382, 475n 320, 332, 336-9, 342-3, 356, 358, 365n, AA23: 210n 376-7, 378n, 380-2, 385n, 388, 412, 418, AA20: 227n 435-8, 442-3, 448, 453-4, 457n, 458-66, AA28: 25n 468n, 469-71, 472-81, 483n, 484-97, 498 Ktl: 3-7, 9-14, 18-21, 22-3n, 29n, 32-5, 37n, Kt9: 8n, 12, 16, 21, 43, 48, 62n, 77n, 92n, 38, 39n, 41-2, 44-5, 46n, 47-55, 61, 65-6, 103, 106n, 113, 124-5n, 292, 298, 300, 68-74, 77-9, 81-4, 86-9, 91 -2n, 93n, 96, 99- 302, 306, 317, 320-1, 323n, 324-6, 328100, lOln, 103-6, llln, 122-3, 124n, 127, 34, 336-7, 339-43, 345-79, 381-3, 385n, 141, 143n, 145n, 146-7, 151n, 155n, 162-3, 391, 412, 413n, 418, 435-7 172n, 184, 179n, 189, 192-4n, 197n, 200, KtlO: 1, 46n, 48, 154n, 412, 418-9, 449n 209, 228n, 241, 246, 252-3, 259, 268, 301, Ktll: 89, 421, 423n, 454 303, 308, 311-2n, 315-6, 322n, 323, 324-8, Ktl2: 321n, 353n 331n, 333-4, 335-6n, 337, 340-3, 346, 349, Ktl3: 157n 354-6, 367, 371, 378, 381, 394, 397, 399, Ktl4: 432 404, 406-18, 420, 422-9, 431, 435, 437, K t l 5 : 6, 11, 62n, 64, 91, 92n, 101, 105n, 439, 448, 449n, 458n, 474-5, 483, 486n 106, 200n, 298, 304n, 321n, 379, 420-1, Kt2: 17n, 36, 38, 40-1, 48, 55, 93, 100, 117, 422-7n, 429, 475 123n, 143n, 193n, 305n, 321n, 323n, 336-7, Ktl6: 261n, 310 343, 356, 371, 412, 418, 436n, 438, 449n Ktl7: 62n, 94-5, 397 Kt3: 11, 48, 323n, 324-9, 332-43, 345, Ktl8: 6, 14, 17-8, 19n, 21-37, 39, 40-3, 62, 64, 86, 88, 93n, 94, 96, 204, 298-300, 302, 348n, 354-6, 367, 371, 412, 413n, 418 Kt4: 3n, 5, 9, 10, 12, 25, 33n, 48, 56, 63, 65, 306n, 318n, 321, 323, 329-31, 334, 336, 339-40, 346, 347n, 379n, 388n, 393-401, 71, 72n, 76, 77n, 78, 80n, 89, 93, 96n, 412n 102-3, 105-7, 121-2, 123n, 124n, 127-8, 130n, 142, 143n, 145n, 147, 151n, 154n, K t l 9 : 17, 18n, 34-5, 38, 71n, 103n, 161n, 159n, 168-9n, 172n, 179n, 246, 259-60, 320, 350, 370, 398, 398-9n, 429 296, 297, 305, 307, 311n, 313-4, 316, 323, Kt20: 68, 97, 105, 147n 337, 342-3, 346, 363n, 366n, 381-2, 404, Kt23: 83n, 109n, l l l n , 302-4, 362n, 436 412, 418, 428n, 432, 437, 442, 444, 446, Kt25: 24n, 62n, 35On, 37On, 385n, 391, 448, 449n, 459n, 460n, 462, 473, 482 393-4, 397, 400-1, 465, 466n, 477n Kt5: 48, 56, 107, 112, 123n, 130n, 143n, Kt26: 10, 62n, 71n, 73-4, 77, 78n, 80, 83-5, , 172n, 209n, 259-60, 315n, 336-7, 343, 86-7, 91,95n, 100, 103-4, 107n, 124, 141-2, 205n, 289n, 31 In, 420, 437n, 453-4, 492n 366n, 412, 418, 444n, 445-6, 448, 450n, 462, 464 Kt31: 105n, 175n, 196n, 201, 260-ln, 304, 309, 465 Kt6: 48, 72, 75, 124n, 140, 147n, 201, 228n, 255n, 260, 260-ln, 273, 308-9, 315n, 320, Kt32: 159n, 175n, 198n, 240, 355, 384, 475-7 323n, 326n, 327, 332, 334-40, 342-3, 345, Kt35: 62n, 68, 84, 90-1, 105, 109-10, 112n, 354-6, 362n, 380, 383, 412, 418, 435, 449n 121, 124n, 127-8, 136, 142, 148n, 159n, 161n, 162-3, 164n, 181, 182n, 183, 197, Kt7: 2, 10, 16, 20, 32, 47, 48, 54-5n, 59, 60, 199, 206, 213n, 214, 224, 241, 243, 26068, 73-4, 76, 78-82, 83n, 84, 85n, 87, 91ln, 268, 273n, 301, 308-11, 362n, 432, 4, 96n, 98-100, 106-9, llln, 121n, 122-5, 459n, 468n, 475-6, 478, 481, 487-92 127, 142, 143n, 148-9, 150-ln, 197, 246, 296, 312, 314-5, 319, 319-20n, 323, 324, Kt38: 241 326n, 332, 335, 337-40, 342-3, 353n, 356, Kt39: 110, 124-5, 149n, 180n, 181, 183, 368n, 381, 383, 404, 412, 418, 425-7, 198n, 221n, 308-9, 313, 454-5, 481 428n, 449n, 462n Kt40: 368n Kt8: 3-4n, 8, 13-15, 32, 34, 48, 54n, 62, Kt43: lln, 319-20, 346-7, 405

551

Index Kt44: 368n Kt46: 313, 319, 454-5, 475 Kt47: 455 Kt51: 25n, 393 Kt53: 71n Kt55: 224, 241n Kt57: 33n, 148n, 305, 314n, 318 Kt60: 175n, 359n Kt61: 106n, 175n Kt62: 175n Kt63: 175n, 204n, 359, 455 Kt64: 62n, 96n, 108, 153-4n, 157n, 273n, 309, 317, 320-1, 420n, 453-4, 458 Kt65: 8, 25n, 61-2n, 118n, 119, 124n, 125n, 132n, 140-ln, 142, 154n, 178, 164n, 180n, 181, 183, 189, 192n, 193, 197-201, 210n, 218, 219n, 221, 225-8, 235, 238-43, 245, 249n, 273n, 279, 302-3, 305-6, 308, 3178, 361, 385n, 388, 442n, 455, 470-1, 4778, 488, 493 Kt66: 46n, 306n Kt68: 245, 317 Kt69. 7, 11, 80n, 87n, 93, 109n, 35On, 3534n, 383, 423, 426n

III. Names and Other Sources Cited Abraham: 283 Adam (and Eve): 202, 203n, 204, 208, 210, 236-8, 359, 496 Adickes, Erich: 349, 356n, 362-5, 409, 411n Ad20: 331, 332n, 349-50, 357n, 359n, 362, 369, 376, 436 Afendras, Siti: 392 Akhutin, A.V.: 458n, 367n Ak91: 7, 97n, 154n, 290, 366-7n, 374, 458n Allison, Henry: 51 A176: 13 A185: 13, 87 A196: 153-4n, 157n , , Alston, William P.; A160: 429n Anselm, St.. 429n An65: 429n Arendt, Hannah: 157n Aristotle/Aristotelian: 39n, 239n, 409, 411, 417, 440 Augustine, St.: 288, 289n Axelsen, Diana E.; Ax89: 10, 12n, 344 Axinn, Sidney: 392, 478 Ax94: 465n, 478 v:

Baal: 256n Baelz, Peter; Ba68: 300 Baillie, John; Ba39: 116, 301, 437 Barth, Karl: 2, 122n, 192n, 440 Ba72: 2n, 4, 7, 10, 122n, 130n, 175n, 192n, 352n, 428, 440, 454n Bax, Ernest Belfort: 65n, 79n BaO3: 3, 65, 79n, 227n, 312-3n, 318, 319n, 333n, 370 Beattie, James; Essay on the Nature and Immutability of Truth: 17n Beck, Johann Sigismund: 349, 352n, 435 Beck, Lewis White. 81-2n, 396 Be60: 81-2n, 363n Be69: 17n Be86: 321 Be87: 17n Beiser, Frederick C ; Be92: 19 Bennett, Jonathan: 41 In Berens, J.C.: 437 Berkeley, George: 9 Boerhaave, Hermann: 25n .,• Borowski, Ludwig Ernst: 7n, 23n Broad, CD.: 394, 401 Br53: 23n, 394-5 Brown, David: 392 Buchdahl, Gerd; Bu82: 355 Buchner, Edward Franklin; BuO8: 273 Bulgakov, S.N.: 290 Bultmann, Rudolf: 4n, 475n Butts, Robert E.: 401 Bu84: 18n, 379n, 394n Byrne, Peter: 81n

By79: 80-ln

/ .. '. '

Caird, Edward; CaO9: 79 Campo, Mariano: 423n Carmichael, Peter: 446n, 447 Ca73: 446n, 447 Carus, Paul; CaO2: 85n, 361 Cassirer, Ernst: 115, 142-3n, 193n, 196n, 3O5n Ca81: 16, 37n, 115, 129n, 142-3n, 193n, 196n, 3O5n, 318, 326 Cassirer, Heinrich Walter: 223n, 287 Ca88: 129-30n, 223n, 287, 461 Chan, Keung Lap Jonathan: 392 Chandler, Hugh: 2O5n, 392 Chapman, Mark D.: 2n, 312n Ch92: 2n, lOn, 195n, 245n, 312n, 365n Cheng, Kwan: 384n Christ: 1, 16, 113, 129n, 194n, 209n, 210, 212, 215n, 217n, 227n, 239, 259, 262-3, 266, 268, 271-2, 274-5, 278-80, 285, 287,

552

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

291-3, 299n, 374, 376-8, 380, 382, 384, 462, 477 Christus: 24n, 116n Chun, Ka-Cheong Jack: 407 Clarke, Samuel: 34, 39 Coburn, Robert C: 431 Co71: 431 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor: 394 Collins, James: 9n, 142n, 353n, 420n, 429 Co60a: 3, 9n, 353n Co67: 4n, 9n, 93n, 95n, HOn, 124n, 142n, 166n, 197n, 358n, 375-6n, 376, 383, 420n, 429, 435, 437, 458 Confucius: 89n, 384n, 446n Constantine: 237 Cooke, Vincent M.: 77n, lOln, 377 Co88: 66n, 77n, lOln, 363n, 377 Copernicus, Nicholaus: 45, 184, 189, 361 (see section IV: Copernican) Copleston, Fredrick C : 34, 352-3n, 361-3n, 365, 429n, 440 Co60b: 32n, 33n, 34, 331-2n, 353n, 356, 362-3n, 379n, 429n, 435 Co74: 12n, 93n, 306, 361-2n, 365, 429n, 440 Crichlow, Harold E.: 245n Cr96: 115-6, 181, 195n, 196n, 218, 245n Croitoru, Rodica: 390 Crosby, Donald A.: 171-2n, 194-5n Cr94: 4-5n, lOn, 171-2n, 194-5n, 243n, 318n, 498 Cupitt, Don: 82 Cu82: 2-3, 82 Cu98: 394n Darwin, Charles: 71 Davidovich, Adina: 99n, 11 In, 122n, 172n, 227n, 296, 365n, 462n Da93a: 4n, 65n, 122-3n, 171n, 210n, 31920n, 461n, 462n Da93b: 87,99, 11 In, 122n, 172n, 227n, 294n, 296, 365n

Da93c: 65n, 77n, 436n Dell'Oro, Regina O.M.: 304-5n, 423n De94: 4n, 19, 304-5n, 421-3n, 429-31n Descartes: 39n De70: 9 Despland, Michel: 166n, 172n, 176n, 207n, 223n, 384n, 463-4, 479n De73: 3n, 8n, 9n, 70n, 91n, 95, 96-7,

384, 420n, 437, 458n, 464, 475n, 479n Dister, John E.: 355 Di72: 355 Dostoyevsky, Fyodor Mikhailovich; The Brothers Karamazov: 458n Du Prel, Carl: 26n, 41, 393-4, 401 Du89: 26n, 41, 43, 301, 393 Kant's Vorlesungen ilber Psychologie: 42n, 393 Duerr, Hans Peter: 385n Du78: 385n Eckhart, Meister: 316 Edwards, Rem B.: 116n, 128n Ed79: 116, 128n Eichmann, Adolf: 157n Einstein, Albert: 370n Ellington, James; E170: 332n, 413n Engel, S. Morris: 431 En63: 431 England, F.E.: 358, 424n, 436n En29: 4, 10, lln, 87,97-8, 358, 422n, 424n, 436n Erasmus, Erasmus: 245n, 498 Erdmann, Benno: 65n, 409 Ess, Charles and Walter B. Gulick: 93-4 Es94: 93-4,98 Eve: (see Adam) Fang, J.; Fa67: 37n Farmer, Herbert: 295 Fendt, Gene: 164n Fe90: 46n, 164n, 175n, 312n Fenves, Peter: 473n Fe93: 473n Fichte(an), Johann Gottlieb: 225, 234n, 331, 349, 35On, 352, 354n, 436 Findlay, J.N.: Fi63: 431 Fi76: 4 Fi81: 4 Firestone, Christopher L.: 392, 407-8 FiOO: 193n, 290n

Flesher, Paul V.: 145n, 170n, 179n F188: 145n, 150n, 170n, 179n Flew, Antony: 361-2n, 439, 441 F166: 361-2n, 439, 441 Florenskii, Pavel: 458n Florschiitz, Gottlieb: 393, 399-400 F193a: 399-400 103n, 108, HOn, 142n, 146n, 157n, 166n, F193b: 22n, 399-400 172n, 174-5n, 176n, 184, 193n, 195, 196- Forgie, J. William; Fo93: 429n 7n, 203n, 207n, 210n, 223n, 225, 227n, Fo95: 372n, 423n Forman, Robert K.C.; Fo88: 316 243n, 313, 352-3n, 355, 359n, 360, 381-2,

Index Fo99: 394n Forster, Eckart: 324-9, 334-6, 338, 341-4, 348, 355n, 356n F687: 324-6, 329, 335n, 338, 341-3, 344n F689: 353, 356n Fo93: 331-2n, 374 Forsyth, Peter Taylor: 227n Francis of Assist, St.: 239 Frederick William II, King: 132n, 192, 193n, 234n Freeman, David A.: 390 Frei, Hans: 227n Friedman, R. Z.: 433, 434, 461n, 474n Fr86a: 433 Fr86b: 76, 129n, 140n, 353n, 38On, 434, 461n, 474n Friendrich, Carl J.; Fr49: 384 Fries, Jakob Friedrich: 365n Galbraith, Elizabeth Cameron: 160n, 199n, 215n, 292n, 376-7, 461n, 464-5n, 498 Ga96: 8n, 93n, 157n, 160n, 199n, 214-5, 281n, 292n, 376-7, 381, 454, 458n, 461n, 464n, 474, 475n, 498 Garve, Christian: lln, 39, 324, 328, 332, 336-8, 340-1, 344-5 Genova, A.C.; Ge69: 440 Gerding, Johan L.F: 43n Ge94: 43n •'•' ' Gibbs, Robert: 274n, 463 Gi89: 274n, 463 Gillatt, Patricia: 392 Gilson, Etienne: 440 G i 3 7 : 3-4, 352n

' •

'

Gi41: 440 Godlove, Terry F.; Go89: 87n, 486n Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von: 8n, 129n, 238n Goldmann, Lucien: 82n Go71: 6, 82n, 83n, 201, 203, 355, 381, 420 Golosovker, I.E.: 458n Gore, Charles: 227n Green, Garrett: 3n, 125n, 190n, 194-5n, 213n, 289-90 Gg93: 2n, 3 lOn, lln, 125n, 190n, 192n, 194-5n, 213n, 227n, 243n, 288-90, 461n Green, Joseph: 65n, 319n Green, Ronald M.; Gr78: 245n, 379n Gr89: 270, 38On Gr93: 267n, 459n Green, Thomas Hill: 227n Greene, Theodore M.: 12-3, 92n, 182, 273, 359n, 362n, 422n, 437 Gr34: 12-3, 90, 92n, 140n, 182, 293, 358,

553

359n, 362, 363n, 379n, 383, 422n, 429n, 437 Greene, Theodore M. and Hoyt H. Hudson: 118, 472n, 484, 485n GH34: 118n Gregor, Mary J.: 242 Gm79: 190n, 200-1, 242 Grenberg, Jeanine: 154n Gulick, Walter B.: 93-4, 437n (s.a. Ess) Gu94: 19, 66n, 93, 103n, 437n Gulyga, Arsenij; Gn87: 13, 18n, 65n, 102 Guyer, Paul; Gu92a: 140n Hamann, Johann Georg: 17n, 370, 383, 437 Hand, William B.: 314-5n Ha83: 314-5n, 320n Hare, John E.: 193n, 249n, 466, 477n Ha94: 174 Ha96: 193n, 196n, 223n, 249n, 296n, 306, 438, 466, 477n Hart, James G.: 72n, 88 Ha90b: 3n, 72n, 88, 102n, 107 ' Hartshorne, Charles: 431-2, 441 Ha41: 272, 431-2 < Ha6S: 441 Hartshorne, Charles and William L. Reese; HR53: 431-2, 441 Hedge, Frederic H.; He49: 312, 393-4 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich: 38On, 384n Heidegger, Martin: 440 He29: 315, 350n ';' Heine, Heinrich: 10, 65,79, 437n HeS9: 3, 10, 65, 194n, 312, 437 Heinze, Max: 393 Hendel, C.W.; He57: 10 Herder, Johann Gottfried: 129n, 438 Herz, Marcus: lln, 17, 33n Hick, John; The Myth of God Incar¬ nate: 215n Hicks, Joe H.: 98n, lOln, 112-3, 173n, 435 H i 7 4 : 65n, 89n, 90, 98n, l O l n , 103n, 111, 112-3, 173n, 311n, 435 Hippel, Theodor Gottlieb von: 493n Hoath, Steven: 392 Holmes, Arthur F.; Ho75: 201 Hudson, Hoyt H.: (see Greene, T.M.) Hume(an), David: 5-6, 17-8, 22, 32n, 34, 36-41, 65, 396, 439 Hunter, Paula Blanche: 408 Hu81: 408-12, 417n • • Husserl, Edmund: 72n

554

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

Hutchins, Robert Maynard, and Mortimer J. Adler; HA52: 65n Ignatius M. du Plessis, Samuel; Ig81: lOOn Isaac, Judy: 392 Jachmann, Reinhold Bernhard: 1 2 , 65n, 244, 318, 319n, 321n, 326 Jacobi, Friedrich Heinrich: 126n, 438 Jaki, Stanley L.: 319n, 37On, 436n Ja81: 37On, 436n Jantzen, Grace M.; Ja84: 82-3, 102n Jaspers, Karl: 93n Jehu: 256n J e s u s : 24n, 112n, 129n, 135, 137, 175n, 195n, 197n, 204-5n, 207-8, 209n, 210-6, 217n, 219-22, 225-6, 230, 232, 236-7, 243n, 249-56, 258-60, 262-3, 266, 269-72, 274-8, 280-1, 291-3, 309-10, 376, 378-9, 384n, 390, 440-52, 460-3, 467, 469n, 477, 478n, 481, 491, 492, 495, 501, 504-6, 50910,512 Job: 454-5, 457-8 John the Baptist: 470 Johnson, Gregory R.: 393, 400-1 Jo96: 393n, 399-401, 466n : Jo97: 379n, 385n, 399-401, 477n ,; Jonsson, Inge; Jo67: 39n Judge Williams: 267n Jung, Carl Gustav: 26n, 394 Ju83: 394 J u n g - S t i l l i n g , Johann Heinrich: 41, 224 Kant, Immanuel: passim (see section II) Kant, Anna Regina: 38, 318 Karamazov, Ivan: 458n Kehrbach, Karl: 393 Kemp Smith, Norman: 4, 331-2n, 363, 408n, 409, 411, 415 K e 2 3 : 4n, 331-3n, 333, 349-51, 353n, 356n, 363, 434n Kierkegaard(ian), S0ren: 270-1, 283, 366n, 380, 433, 434 Either/Or: 267n Kiesewetter, Johann Gottfried: 338 Kim, Chin-Tai: 77n, 366n Ki88: 77n, 366n Kirven, Robert H.: 399n Klinke, Willibald; K152: 18n, 223n, 244, 312, 318-9, 321n, 493n Krantz, Susan F.: 406-7 Kr94: 406-7 Kraus, Christian Jacob: 370 Kroner, Richard; Kr56: 65n, 89n, 115, 315n

Kr61: 239n Krug's Dictionary: 410n Kuehn, Manfred: 78n, 96n Ku83: 17 Ku85: 5n, 78n, 96n, 323n Kwan, Tze-wan: 116n, 191-2n Kw83: 116n, 434 Kw84: 191-2n, 381n Laberge, Pierre, et. al.; La Theologie Kantienne Precritique: 304-5n Lai, Wai Sum Joanna: 392 Lam, Oi Chi Susanna: 153n, 392 Lambert, Johann Heinrich: 11, 409 Lamacchia, Ada: 423n Lampe, Martin: 64-6, 79-80, 390 Laplace, Pierre Simon de: 319 Lavater, Johann Caspar: 224, 470 Laywine, Alison: 25n, 36n, 106n, 319n, 395-9, 401 La93: 22n, 23n, 25n, 36n, 103n, 105-6, 319n, 395-9 Lear, Jonathan: 203n Le90: 203n Leibniz(ian), Gottfried Wilhelm von: 17, 34, 39, 157n, 396, 409 Lenk, Hans; Le89: 80n, 167n Lewis, H.D.; Le65: 440 Lo, Ping Cheung: 392, 495n Loades, Ann: 136n Lo81: 8n, 93,95, 136n, 243n, 313, 437n Lucas, John: 390 Luik, J.C.: 83n Lu83: 83n Luther(an), Martin: 8n, 131, 159-60n, 195n, 245n, 260n, 281, 467, 468n, 470f 473n, 498 ; MacKinnon, Donald M.: 290-1, 371n Ma68: 16, 440 . ,. , Ma74: 394 Ma7S: 3n, 79, 137 ••• M a 7 8 : 371n

",

Ma79: 440 M a 9 0 a : 2n, 8n, lOn, lln, 136n, 227n, 268n, 290, 295, 430n Macquarrie, John: 215n, 379n, 388, 392 Ma90b: 379n Makkreel, Rudolf A.; Ma86: 347n Ma90c: 405 Malcolm, Norman: 430-1 Ma60: 430-1 Machester, Paula: 390, 392, 408-12, 415n, 417n (see also Hunter) Maimon, Solomon: 349

Index Man, Sni On: 392, 402-4n Manolesco, John: 318n Ma69: 8n, 18n, 23-4n, 42n, 3O5n, 313, 318n, 393 Mansel, Henry Longueville: 80n Ma58: 80n Mapplebeckpalmer, Richard : 392 Martin, Gottfried; Ma55: 6 Mary, mother of Jesus: 303 McCarthy, Vincent A.: 92-3n, 136n, 145n, 170n, 172n, 173, 194-5n, 204n, 209n, 217n, 230n, 274n, 292, 294-5, 318n, 362n, 376n, 437-8n, 463n, 474-5n Mc82: 8n, 24n, 92n, 172n, 193n, 194-5n, 217n, 243n, 292n, 293-4n, 435, 474n, 477n M c 8 6 : 4n, 93n, 98, 117n, 123n, 129n, 136n, 140n, 145n, 160n, 164n, 166n, 170n, 172n, 173, 194-5n, 204n, 209n, 217n, 230n, 238n, 243n, 259, 274n, 292, 294-5, 318, 362n, 376, 435, 437, 437-8n, 463n, 474-5n, 485n McFarland, John D.: 41 In Mc70: 41 In McGrath, Alister E.; Mc88: 468n , McRobert, Jennifer: 404-6 Mc94: 404-6 Mendelssohn, Moses: 3, 23, 218 Merrill, Bruce: 392 Michalson, Gordon E.: 96, 122n, 1457n, 159n, 169n, 172n, 193n, 432-3, 464n „ Mi79: 4n, 13n, 96, 146n, 172n, 193n Mi86: 432-3 M i 8 9 : 116n, 122n, 147n, 159n, 205n,, 243n, 437, 462n, 464n Mi90: 169n, 432 Mi93: 145-6n, 169n, 192n, Moltmann, Jiirgen: 244n, 464n r Mo74: 244n Moody, Raymond L.: 395n , Mo93: 395n ' Morrison, Roy D.; Mo94: 92n ( Mou, Tsung-san: 89n , Murdoch, Iris: 215n Newton(ian), Isaac: 370n, 372 Ng, Siu Mei Ida: 478n

•'.

Niebuhr, H. Richard; Ni70: lOn Noack, Hermann: 4n, 292 Norburn, Greville, No73: 72n, 214, 308, 362, 367, 437 Nuyen, A.T.: 433, 486n Nu93: 486n Nu94: 65n, 433, 459n Nyman, Alf: 394n

555

Oakes, Robert A.: 8In, 31 In ;, Oa73: 81n, 31 In Odero, Jose Miguel; Od91: 77n, 98 Oman, John; Om06: 7n I Otto, Rudolph: 294, 296, 315n, 317, 365n, 469 Ot50: 294n, 311-2, 315n, 365n, 469 Padgett, Alan: 392 Palmquist, Daniel S.M: 392 Palmquist, Dolores M.: 392 Palmquist, Dorothy M.-M.. 392 Palmquist, Jonathan P.E.: 392 Palmquist, S. Joy T.: 392 Palmquist, Richard H.: 392 Palmquist, Stephen R.: KSP1: 2, 3n, 4n, 7, 9, 11, 12n, 13n, 14-6, 20n, 21, 28-9, 31n, 34, 44-57, 59-62, 69, 73-5, 77n, 78n, 81, 86-8, 90n, 96n, 97, 99101, 106n, 107, 108n, 112, 116n, 122-3, 142, 143n, 144, 145n, 146, 148, 150n, 151, 154n, 155, 170, 176, 177n, 179, 184, 187, 189, 191, 193n, 197n, 229, 233, 235, 240, 246, 249-50, 271n, 272, 281, 298, 301-2, 314n, 315, 317, 32On, 323n, 325, 326n, 328n, 330-4, 336, 339, 343n, 349n, 353, 354n, 356, 361, 363n, 364, 368n, 370, 374, 382, 385, 388-9, 392, 402-9, 411, 416, 419, 420n, 423-4n, 427-9n, 440, 448-9n, 450, 457, 468n, 483, 485-6n K S P 2 : 46n, 48-9, 62n, 352n, 385n, 404, 405n, 440 KSP3: 49, 62n, 72n, 281, 349, 370n, 383, 394, 426n KSP4: 3n, 8n, 49, 62n, 112n, 117n, 167, 172n, 175n, 204n, 21 In, 217n, 221, 261n, 359, 381, 383-6, 399, 464n, 466, 468, 476, 498 Pa86: 264 Pa87a: 20n, 22n, 322n, 413n Pa87b: 319n Pa87c: 370n Pa87d: 88, 194n, 373 Pa89: 247n, 285, 389, 404 Pa90: 389 Pa92a: 46 Pa92b: 193n, 390' Pa92c: 193n Pa93: 72, 170n, 175n, 219n, 270, 278, 391, 419 Pa94a: 404 Pa94b: 117n, 167, 170n, 172n, 175n, 181n, 274, 389 ,, ,M .. ,.. Pa95a: 89n \',"''[••

556

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

Pa95b: 486n Pa97: 46n, 281, 380n, 391 Pa98: 46, 430n Pa99: 411 PaOOa: 44n, 46, 66n, 160n, 177n, 202n, 280n, 285n, 294n, 351, 380n, 391, 441, 457n

PaOOb: 193n, 249n Pascal, Blaise: 293 Paton, H.J.: 260n Pa67: 87, 159n, 244, 260-ln Paul, St.: 209n, 260n, 262-4, 265n, 266, 276, 278-9, 281, 287, 297, 299n, 471n Paulsen, Friedrich: 85n, 88, 430 PaO2: 4, 10, 12n, 17-8n, 23n, 68, 69n, 85n, 87n, 88, 328, 336n, 37On, 430, 458 Peccorini; Pe72: 105, 307, 381 Pelegrinis, T.N.: 93n Pe80: 93n Perovich, Anthony N.: 404 Pe92: 404 Peters, Curtis H.: 167n, 170n, 364, 436 Pe93: 167n, 170n, 364, 385n, 436 Plantinga, Alvin: 431, 439 P161: 431 Plato(nic/nism): 22-3n, 83n, lOOn, 109n, 228n, 301, 379, 395n, 407, 409, 411, 413 Pluhar, Werner S.: 418 Politz, Karl Heinrich Ludwig: 31 In, 370n, 401 Poncelet, A.: 363n Quinn, Philip L.: 459n, 462-3 Qu86: 459n, 462 Rabel, Gabriele; Ra63: 12n, 23n, 65, 193n, 310n, 313 Raschke, Carl A.: 108n, 384n Ra75: 108n, 384n Reardon, Bernard M. G.: 12n, 215n Re88: 12n, 243n Reicke, Rudolf: 436n Reiser, William E.; Re84: 255n Richardson, John: 118n Ritschl, Albrecht: 2 Rohatyn, Dennis A.: 428n Ro74: 428n Rose, H.J.; Ro58: 344 Rosen, Michael: 348n Rossi, Philip J.: 117n, 288-9n, 295n, 462-3 Ro89: 9n, 117n, 168n, 295n Ro91: 462 Ro93: 117n, 169n, 243n, 288n Rousseau, Jean-Jacques: 243n ,

Rudisill, Philip : 392, 460n Russell, Bertrand; Ru46: 65 Scharf, Uwe C: 152n, 161n, 205n, 213n, 289n, 454n Sc93: 129n, 152n, 161n, 205n, 213n, 289n, 454n Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von: 354n Sc78: 204n Schiller, Johann Christoph Friedrich von: 319n Schleiermacher, Friedrich: 352n, 365n Sc55: 352n Schmalenbach, Hermann: 243n Schmucker, Josef; Sc72: 91-2n Schopenhauer, Arthur: 393-4n, 400, 409 Schrader, George: 359, 364-5 Sc51a: 304, 358n, 359, 364-5, 436 Schulze, Johann: 349 Schiitz, C.G.: 335n Schweitzer, Albert: 298-9, 320 Sc31: 298-9 Sc51b: 299n Schweizer, Eduard: 441-2n Sc75: 441-2n, 446n Scott-Holland, Henry: 227n Seigfried, Charlene Haddock: 152n Se74: 152n, 155n Selle, C.G.: 344 Settle, Tom; Se71: 475n Sewall, Frank: 35, 393 SeOO: 22-3, 34-6, 41-2, 379n, 393, 393-4n Silber, John R.: 272-3 Si60: 197n, 272-3, 364n Smart, J.J.C.: 431 Sm55: 431 Smart, Ninian: 116n Sm69: 116n, 300 Smith, John E.; Sm68: 361n, 381, 440 So, Po Man: 392 Socrates: 379, 38On, 384 Sokol, Moshe Z.: 219n, 287-8, 438-9 So86: 219n, 287-8, 438 Spinoza(-zism), Baruch: 320, 370, 438 Stace, Walter Terence; St60: 394n Staudlin, Karl: 193n Stevenson, Charles; St44: 128n Sullivan, William J.: 35On, 363n, 366n Su71: 12, 35On, 357, 360, 363n, 366, 369, 435-7 Svendsen, Lars: 392 Swedenborg(ian), Emanuel: 18n, 21-3, 25n, 29, 34-7, 38n, 39, 41, 298-300, 305-

Index 6n, 329-30, 346, 347n, 379n, 393-401, 409, 466n Arcana Coelestia: 39, 396, 399, 478n The True Christian Religion: 39n Swinburne, Richard: 426n Sw74: 426n Sykes, S.W.; Sy82: 7-8, 10 T a n t a l u s : 324, 328-9, 334, 338, 343-6, 347n, 372n, 381 Tarbet, David W.; Ta68: 344 Temple, Denis: 112, 301 Te94: 112, 301 Thomas Aquinas, St.: 239, 409, 439, 440 Thomas, S.B.: 442-3, 445, 446n, 447, 45In Th70: 310, 441n, 442-3, 446n T i l l i c h , P a u l : 4n, 92n, 103n, 296, 436n, 454n Ti51: 103n Ti52: 103n Ti74: 204n Treash, Gordon: 423n Tr79: 92n, 423n Treloar, John L.: 152n, 2O3n, 453n Tr89: 151, 152n, 2O3n, 243n, 453n Troeltsch, Ernst: 2n, 192n, 195n, 245n Tsang, Lap-chuen: 392 Ts98: 314n Tweyman, Stanley: 390 U, Wing On Winston: 392 Underhill, Evelyn; Un55: 394n Vaihinger, Hans: 35, 41-2, 349, 393, 395, 401, 434n Va81: 4n, 434n Velkley, Richard L.; Ve85: 323n, 379 Vick, George R.; Vi70: 431n Virgin Mary, the: (see Mary) Vlachos, George: 355 Vleeschauwer, Herman-J. de: 331n, 352, 354n, 396 V162: 6, 331n, 333, 352, 354n, 437 Von Knoblock, Charlotte. 22-3, 394 Von Lind, P.: 393 Von Schoenborn, Alexander; V o 9 1 : 243n Vossenkuhl, Wilhelm: 238-9n, 463-4n Vo88: 84n, 116, 132n, 140n, 179n, 2389n, 454, 463-4n, 469 Walker, R.C.S.; The Coherence Theory of Truth: 430n Wallace, William; WaOl: 18n, 141, 301, 313n, 318-9 Walsh, W.H.: 78n, , 116n, 217n, 223n, 295, 321n, 35On, 392, 41 In, 428n, 433

557

Wa63a: 5n, 77-8n, 116n, 295, 315, 321n, 421, 428n, 429 Wa63b: 3 Wa67: 116, 192n, 217n, 350n Wa7S: 5n Wa90: 65n, 86n, 223n Wan, Wai Yu Milton: 392 Ward, Keith: 4n, 197n, 214, 242-3, 308, 357, 362-3n, 382, 435, 436n Wa72: 4n, 5n, 6, 10, 18, 107, 162-3, 164, 197n, 206n, 207, 214, 242-3, 272, 300-1, 304, 308, 311, 351, 357, 362-3n, 364, 382, 435-6, 455 Webb, Clement C.J.: 71n, 77n, 197n, 240-2, 300, 357n, 365-6n, 384n, 423n, 437, 481, 483 We26: 71n, 77n, 80n, 115n, 121n, 123n, 140-2, 149n, 152n, 163, 164n, 197n, 203, 205-7, 240, 242, 244, 273, 274n, 300, 309-13, 317, 320-1, 350n, 357, 358n, 363n, 365-6n, 369, 376, 384n, 422-4n, 432, 435n, 437, 47In, 472n, 480-1, 483 Problems in the Relation of God and Man: 430n Weber, A.; History of Philosophy: 361 Weiler, Gershon; We88: 219 Weldon, T.D.: 41 In Wells, Rick: 392 Werkmeister, W.H.: 22n, 23n, 38n " We80: 7n, 22n, 23n, 38n White, Roger M.: 159-60n, 192n, 228-9n, 26On, 306n Wh90: 8n, 159-60n, 192n, 195n, 228n, 260n, 3O6n, 498 Wiebe, Don: 428n Wi80: 83n, 301, 428n, 437 , Will, G.A.: 409-10 • Willich, A.F.M.; Wi98: 190n Wilmans, C.A.: 306-7, 393 Wink, Walter; Wi73: 228n ., Wisnefske, Ned: 71n, 173n Wi90: 46n, 71n, 173n, 313n, 315n Wittgenstein, Ludwig: 295 Wolff(ian), Christian von: 5-6, 17, 32n, 39n, 409 Wolff, R.P.: 31, 38, 411n Wo60: 17n Wolke, C.H.: 479n Wong, Wing-Chun; Wo95: Woo, Pak Chuen Patrick: 84n, 392, 4556n Wo94: 455, 456-7n Wood, Allen W.: 77-8n, 98n, 113n, 267-

558

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

8n, 425n, 427n, 430, 433-4, 438 Wo70: 4n, 5n, 9n, lOn, 74,77, 82n, 84, 97n, 198-9, 273, 363, 365n, 462n, 468n Wo78: 4, 5n, 9n, 10, 71,84,, 113n, 140, 196-7, 420, 422, 424-5n, 427, 430, 440 Wo89: 267-8n, 433-4, 438 Wo91: 438 Wo92. 98n, 167n, 379n • ' Wo96: 379n Yee, Fung Ping Debbie: 392 Yovel, Yirmiahu: 384 Yo68: 4n Yo80: 384 Zoroaster: 333, 350 Zweig, Arnulf: 352, 437 Zw67: 6, 11, 12n, 24, 33n, 39n, 46n, 62n, 123n, 124n, 126n, 193-4, 218n, 224-5, 234n, 324, 336n, 345-6, 349n, 352n, 367, 435, 437, 438, 470, 476n, 479n, 485n IV. Selected Subjects analytic a posteriori: 49-51, 88, 97, 1778n, 305n, 356, 371-4, 383, 423n, 449 anthropomorphic/-ism: 84-5, 94-5, 99100, 109, 213, 272, 438, 510 Areopagus: 297 atheism: 432, 434-7 Athens: 297 Baptist: 467 Berlin Academy of Sciences: 325 Bible: (see section I and section IV: theology) Bucharest University. 390 Calvinist: 207n, 467 Cartesian: 25 Catholic: lln, 170n, 245n, 439, 467, 470, 498 censorship: 132, 141n, 192, 192-3n, 224, 234n, 493 Christianity: 3, 4-5n, 8n, 15-6, 62, 85n, 90n, 92n, 98, 112, 118n, 121n, 123n, 124, 125n, 126, 129, 132n, 135-7, 140, 143-4, 164-5, 172n, 177-8, 184, 189, 190n, 1923n, 194, 195n, 196-8, 199n, 201-3, 206, 207n, 208, 209n, 210-2, 213n, 215-22, 225-6, 228-31, 233n, 234--8, 240-1, 2435, 246-8, 249n, 250-8, 259-60n, 262-7, 268n, 270, 271n, 274-80, 282-7, 289-94, 296n, 301, 306-7, 310, 312, 376-9, 405, 437.9, 440, 442-3, 452, 460-1, 464, 466-8, 470, 47In, 472n, 473, 476-7, 480, 482,

484, 498, 500-1, 505-6, 509-12 definition of: 284-5, 291, 437-8n Christocentricity: 291-2, 376-7, 383-4 Christology: 214-5, 291-2 Clifford's Principle. 433-4 Connecticut: 486n conscience, definition of: 233 conversion: 15, 112n, 131, 133, 140n, 149n, 159-65, 176, 185-6, 198, 215-6, 2189, 237, 244-5, 251, 273-4, 285, 289, 295, 460-3, 466, 470-1, 477, 499-500, 503-6 deathbed: 463n, 506 Copernican hypothesis/Perspective/ revolution: 5n, 18-21, 25n, 29, 34-6, 37n, 38-9, 41, 44n, 45-6, 59, 106n, 173, 184, 189-92, 194, 197-8, 200-1, 209n, 215n, 221-2, 225, 235, 238, 248-9, 251, 258, 267, 285, 298-9, 301, 318, 320, 328, 362-4n, 385, 401, 407, 417, 426n, 433. 441, 475, 483-8, 490, 497 deism: 9n, 10, 16, 65, 68n, 82-5, 94-5, 97-9, 179n, 193n, 201, 318n, 433n, 437-9 devil, the: 308, 458n (see Satan) Easter: 497n ecumenism: 245n Eden, Garden of: 173n, 202, 205, 236, 238 E/enlightenment: 13, 36, 37n, 65, 199n, 220, 227, 243-4, 245n, 247, 289, 323n, 331n, 380, 453n, 487 Ephyra, Oracle of the Dead at: 395n Erasmus Society: 390 ESP: 43n Euclidean, non-: 281 evil: 58-9, 129-31, 143, 145, 146n, 147, 149-63, 165-6, 172n, 179n, 186-7, 198, 202-12, 217n, 222, 239n, 249, 254n, 256n, 261n, 272, 274, 276, 278, 280, 288n, 289, 299, 310, 313, 453-6, 459-60, 461n, 4639, 471, 477, 487n, 496, 499-500, 502-3, 505-7, 509-11 definition of: 156-7, 503 problem of: 321, 420n, 453-5 radical: 15, 128-30, 133, 145, 147n, 149f, 152n, 154n, 155-62, 167, 169n, 173, 176, 186-7, 202-3, 207-10, 212, 217n, 238n, 243n, 268, 289n, 291, 454-5, 473, 499, 503-5, 509, 511 faith(s): 3n, 4, 11-2, 14n, 29, 31, 51-2, 57, 65, 66n, 68, 77-9, 80n, 82, 90n, 96-7n, 97, 116n, 119, 124, 125n, 128-9, 131-2, 132n, 134-6, 141-3, 147n, 152n, 160-ln, 162, 164n, 165, 167-8n, 170n, 172-5, 177-80, 181n, 186, 188, 190, 192, 195n, 197-201,

Index 208-10, 213-4, 216-27, 229-35, 237-8, 2401,243-6, 248, 251-2, 256, 259, 261-2, 267n, 271 n, 273-4, 276-9, 283-4, 285n, 290, 292, 295n, 301, 305, 311, 313n, 318n, 320n, 322, 353, 358, 361-2, 364, 367, 371, 377-9, 3856, 391-2, 405, 407, 428, 429n, 433-4, 438, 440, 443, 453, 455, 458, 463, 466-72, 474n, 476-80, 485, 485-6n, 488-91, 494, 496, 498500, 502-4, 506, 508-9, 512-3 fanaticism, definition of: 473-4 Freudian: 203n Galilee: 250 Gentiles. 271 God: 1-3, 7-12, 14-6, 22, 51, 55, 57, 59, 61113,114, 116-7n, 121, 122-3n, 124-5, 1278, 130-4, 136-8, 140-3, 145-6, 147n, 148, 152n, 159-60n, 161-4, 166-71, 173-88, 191, 197, 199, 202-3, 204n, 206, 207n, 208, 209lOn, 211-9, 221, 223n, 224, 228-40, 241n, 242, 244, 245n, 248-83, 285-323, 331, 333, 339-40, 344, 346, 348-51, 353, 355-70, 374-85, 389-92, 401, 405, 419-39, 453-514 as Judge: 107-8, 110, 123, 132n, 140n, 164, 309-10, 465, 478, 510 definition of: 107, 125n, 359, 423, 427 kingdom of: 2n, 133, 166, 169-71n, 1701, 175, 185-8, 211n, 220-1, 229, 245n, 267, 269-71, 275, 278, 420-34, 439, 478, 480, 492, 494, 495n, 500, 508, 510 loving: 441-4, 448, 450, 451n proof for the existence of: 10, 14, 62, 64-85, 92-3n, 97, 103n, 104-5, 108, 167, 252-3, 268n, 303, 307, 311n, 313n, 317, 362-6, 420-39, 457, 459, 502 Son of: 209n, 213-5, 217n, 250, 262, 268n, 276, 376, 384n, 460, 501, 506, 511-2 sons of: 211, 213, 215n golden rule: 442-3, 446-8, 450 Gospel(s): 3n, 15, 126n, 207-8, 210n, 2146, 219n, 224, 230, 239n, 261, 267, 271-2, 274-5, 278-9, 281, 290, 469-70, 474n grace: 10, 108n, 131-2, 136n, 140n, 152n, 159, 164n, 165, 166-7n, 168, 169n, 1723n, 210n, 213-4, 236-7, 243n, 257, 260n, 268n, 272-4, 281-2, 287-91, 299, 320n, 381, 391, 454n, 460n, 461, 463-4n, 46774, 477n, 499, 501, 503-5, 511, 513-4 definition of: 470 means of: 148,472,479-80,486,494,514 workings of: 147-8, 469, 472-4, 499, 503 great commission, the: 15, 249-50, 255, 267-8, 275 greatest commandment, the: 15, 249-

559

51, 254-5, 258-9, 265, 267-8, 270-1, 442, 448 Greek(s): 219, 271, 344, 446n heaven: 35, 105n, 107n, 161, 169n, 206, 210, 220, 221n, 250, 254n, 260n, 269, 278, 313n, 383, 465-6, 477n Heidelberg Catechism: 228n Heidelberg school: 349 hell: 105n, 206, 225, 269, 383, 465-6 Holy Spirit: 236-7, 250, 254, 262-3, 266, 275, 277-8, 285, 291, 460n, 466-7, 478n Hong Kong Baptist University: 390-2 Hong Kong University: 390 intellectual intuition: 15, 86-90, lOln, 111, 164, 362n, 383, 422n, 426n, 459 Jews/Jewish/Judaism: 199n, 210n, 21720, 224n, 226, 230, 245n, 266n, 271, 275, 442, 476n, 501, 510, 512 Kant Congress: 406n Kant-L (email list): 154n, 205n, 392 kingdom of ends: 400 Konigsberg. 64, 318, 322, 498 University of: 7n, 17, 62n, 318 Law: (see Mosaic) Loebenicht church: 319 Lord's Prayer, the: 491 love, definition of: 260, 262 Marburg school: 349 Masonic: 243n Mephistopholic. 313n miracle(s): 140n, 141n, 148, 174, 200n, 219, 270, 287, 294, 455, 472, 474-7, 485n, 494, 500, 506-7 definition of: 474-5 Mosaic Law: 27In, 287 and the Prophets: 442, 445n, 447, 450n mystic(ism), definition of: 298-9, 305, 320 Nazi: 157n New Testament: (see Section I) Nicene Creed: 170n Nietzschian: 333 Old Testament: (see Section I) orthodoxy: 3, 85, 135, 140n, 194-5n, 207n, 210n, 240, 246, 267, 279-80, 291, 305-6, 438-9 definition of: 180n Oxford University: 388, 390, 392 J -: • ! Pandora's Box: 160n Pascal's wager: 234 Pelagian: 288-9, 470, 474 Pharisee(s): 239, 269-70, 278, 447, 492 Pietism/Pietist(s): 140, 228n, 306n, 318n

560

KANT'S CRITICAL RELIGION

Pneumatology: 291 prayer: 16, 107n, 116n, 135-6, 223n, 255, 257, 263, 270-1, 273n, 276-7, 285, 287, 293, 310-1, 313, 483-97 definition of: 485-8, 490 pseudo-service: 133-4, 145, 176, 179-80, 182-3, 231, 235-6, 511, 513 definition of: 180 Protestant: 10-ln, 227n, 245n, 458n, 473n, 498 Puritan: 486n Reformation: 228n, 473n religion, definition of: 115, 116n, 117, 123-6, 128, 176-7, 229n, 238n, 493n, 511 natural vs. revealed: 124-7, 147n, 197, 201, 235, 238n (see also theology) resurrection: 208, 219n, 237, 259, 271-2, 280-1, 291, 464-5n, 477 revelation: 3n, 84n, 90n, 96n, 108n, 116n, 119n, 124n, 125-6, 134-6, 142n, 143, 170n, 172n, 173-9, 183, 186, 188, 190n, 192, 193n, 196-201, 203-4, 208, 214, 2248, 230, 233, 234n, 236-8, 238-9n, 241-2, 243n, 245, 248, 253, 263, 268, 275f, 278, 282-3, 287, 292, 301-3, 305, 307, 309, 357, 359, 364, 363n, 438, 443, 460, 463-4, 469, 473, 476n, 478-9, 485n, 497, 499504, 510-12 (see religion and theology) Romanian Kant Society: 390 Romanticist/ism: 331, 352n, 393 Sabbath: 1 Samaritan(s), the Good: 258 Satan: 206, 210-1, 236, 238, 254n S/scripture(s): 34, 84n, 90n, 125n, 172n, 174, 179, 190n, 193, 194n, 200, 202, 204, 211, 216-8, 220-8, 231-2, 234, 238-9, 241, 250, 256, 275-8, 282, 292, 296, 305, 309, 465, 474n, 500, 509-10 (s.a. Bible) Second Vatican Council: 10 Sermon on the Mount: 310, 445n sin, definition of: 206-7, 209n, 503 Sophia: 458n statutes, definition of: 219n Stockholm: 394 Talmud: 219n Tao: 37 Ten Commandments: 218, 244n theism: 390, 420, 430, 432, 437-9, 506 theology/-ical: 2-4, 9-13, 68, 140-1, 187n, 200, 215n, 217n, 223n, 226, 234-5, 244, 3O5n, 312, 313-4n, 328, 355, 362, 376, 389n, 408, 420-1, 427-8, 433n, 439, 461n, 465n, 496, 497n, 502-4, 509, 512

and morality: 14-5, 62, 64, 67-8, 84, 91, 92n, 105n, 108-10, 114f, 124-8, 137, 140n, 142n, 195-7 and philosophy: 2-4, 7-8, 13-6, 81n, 82-3, 90-1, 100, 140n, 192n, 200, 239, 241-2, 246-9, 286-7, 290, 294, 440-1, 443, 452 and religion: 11-2, 21, 64, 67-8, 84, 91, 92n, 105n, 108-10, 114f, 124-8, 137, 247, 295, 306, 365n, 389 biblical: 8, 15,90, 125n, 144, 147n, 167n, 175n, 192-4, 196, 200, 202, 204, 214, 228n, 231, 235, 238-9, 241-2, 246-58, 261-8, 2702, 274-7, 279-94, 295n, 360, 391, 463-4, 469, 471, 480, 496-7, 499, 502 Christian: 140n, 190n, 194n, 215n, 24696, 467, 482 (see also Christian) conservative: 290, 361n Critical: 7, 14-5, 63-138, 140, 142, 267, 438, 453, 464, 468, 502 definition of: 83 dogmatic: 10, 85 faculty of: 7n, 62n, 141n, 200, 318, 388, 390 hypothetical: 68-73 liberal: 137, 227n, 238-40, 251n moral: 68n, 75-85, 104-5, 108, 420-ln, 433 natural: 3, 73, 83, 192, 425, 437n of politics: 175n orientation of Kant's System: 7-14, 90-1, 192n, 300, 380n, 388 philosophical: 9, 90-5, 125n, 192, 194n, 197n, 218n, 252-5, 259, 265-8, 274-5, 277, 279-80, 283-4, 288n, 292, 368n, 453, 460, 461n, 463-4, 470, 471n, 499, 502-3 physico-: 67, 68n, 73-5, 79, 84n, lOln 31 In, 420-1, 426-7 problems of: 90, 97-8, 114, 453-71 rational: 10, 66-7, 90, 92, 94, 97, 104, 108, 113n, 125n, 334, 336n, 429 revealed: 8, 90, 99, 192n, 268 symbolic: 64, 86-113 transcendental: 14, 64-8, 73, 75, 82-3, 85, 105, 390, 422, 437n types of: 98-100, 104-5, 108 Trinity: 261-2, 466, 478-9, 501, 510 Ulpian's formula: 228n University Press of America: 388-9 Westmont College: 390 Wittgensteinian: 24, 93n World Congress of Philosophy, Boston: 390, 408n