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. [Kt15:163(366)]

 

1. The Problem of Transcendental Theology

       Having completed (in Chapter III) our review of the systematic founda­tions of Kant’s Critical philosophy and examined (in Chapter II) the extent to which the seeds of those foundations were already present in Kt18, 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 as­sump­tions 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 thorough­going 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 Königsberg who became so familiar with Kant’s rigid sched­ule that they used to set their clocks by his daily comings and 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 preju­dice 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., Ba03: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 Kt1. 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 man’, I shall briefly explain the problem that was supposedly disturbing Lampe in the first place.

       Kant devotes the first half of Kt1 (i.e., three of the four stages in his theo­retical system) to the task of solving the problem of how synthetic a priori judgments are possible. In solving this epistemological problem Kant demon­strates how transcendental knowledge (i.e., knowledge of the synthetic a priori conditions for the possibility of experience) is possible only when its applica­tion 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 Kt1: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 Kt1, the Transcenden­tal Dialectic (i.e., the fourth stage in systemt) 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 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 philoso­phers 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:

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. Kt7:480-1; s.a. Pa02:207-8].

 

The problem, then, is to discover the proper foundation to substitute for the false one offered by speculation.

       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’ [Kt1:667], 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 IV.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 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 [Kt1:671-732], 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 Kt1:643 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 princi­ples 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 ... [Kt1:644-5, 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.

       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’ [Kt1:729, 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.

 

       The main purpose of Kant’s treatment of the idea of God in Kt1 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 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 misunder­stand­ing 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’ [Kt1:630-1]. 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’ [Kt1:395n]. 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]

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’ [Kt1:597], 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 knowl­edge. 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 knowl­edge of God’s existence and nature.[11] 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 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 exis­tence will testify to the richness and depth of his theology, while confirming the ubiquity of this ‘guiding-thread’ in his System [cf. Kt7:389 and I.4, above].

       Despite his rejection of the physicotheological proof in Kt1 [see AIV.1], 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 Kt1 Kant explicitly allows for such a usage: he argues that we are ‘undoubtedly’ permitted, if not required, ‘to assume a wise and om­nipotent 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’ [Kt1:656]. Instead, 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 world-cause 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 Kt1, 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 prepa­ration or propaedeutic and is only suf­ficient for this purpose when supple­mented by a further principle on which it can rely’ [442]. Physicotheology fails in Kt1 not because it is physicotheological, but because its ‘further principle’ is provided by the speculative (ontological and cosmologi­cal) arguments; it suc­ceeds 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:

 

 

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 recog­nized by commentators. In its simplest form, his argument is fairly straight­forward. After arguing that the highest good consists of the distribution of hap­piness 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 con­strained 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.

       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.

 

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 bet­ter 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 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 struc­ture 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]

       Kant’s moral argument, therefore, is not to be regarded as ‘an incontrover­tible proof’, along the lines attempted by the traditional theoretical arguments [Kt1:665]. Kant himself writes in Kt7:450-1:

 

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’ [Kt1:853], which means it is, ‘from an objective perspective, an expres­sion of modesty, and yet at the same time, from a subjective perspective, an ex­pression of the firmness of our confidence’ [855]. Those who accept this prac­tical 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]

       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’ [Kt1:847]:

 

[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 specula­tion, 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 Ca09:470]. 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 reason­ableness 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 ser­vant (and all others who humbly recognize, with Kant, the universal limits of ‘common human understanding’ [see e.g., Kt1:xxxii]) from the mis­use he knew many philosophers would make of his rejection of theoretical ar­guments for God in Kt1. 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 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 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]

       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 ‘knowl­edge’ only as an aid in coping with our earthly existence, especially with respect to our moral activity. One of the main purposes of Kt1 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 re­garded as belonging to the Original Being. —In this way moral teleology sup­plements the deficiency of physical teleology, and for the first time establishes a [moral] theology.’[20] Thus the moral theology towards which the physical 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 Kt1:664], 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 sus­tained 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 in­terpreters. 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 utterly unknowable’, and that therefore ‘theology is a useless effort’.[22] The lat­ter 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, how­ever, 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 be­ing’; 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. Kt1:659]. The ‘knowledge of everything in God’, which Kant calls ‘theologia archetypa’, 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’ [Kt1:659; s.a. 660-1; Kt26:1001(29-30)]. Kant therefore believes the dis­tinction between a theist and a deist concerns not only one’s theoretical stand­point, 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 posi­tive 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 empir­ical 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, Kant asserts ‘that the deist believes in a God, the theist in a living God ...’.[24]

       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 [Kt1:856]: ‘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 knowl­edge 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 prepara­tions of meta­physics are directed’ [Kt7:473]. His System, moreover, is intend­ed 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 unequiv­ocally favors theism.[25] 

       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.1-4]; 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 [h uperbolh thV dunamewV] belongs to God and not to us’.

 

  [1].  E.g., HA52:vi; Da93c:323; Wa90:12. Bax puts this story in context by quoting at length from Jachmann [Ba03: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 [Kr56:38-40].

  [3].  Gulick regards ‘the notion of Ideas’ [Gu94:105] as ‘one of Kant’s great but most unnoticed con­tributions 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 Pa00a], but a bold leap forward—even if it be a leap of faith.

  [4].  In Pa02:265 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’ [Kt20:137]. 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 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 Pa02:264: ‘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.

  [6].  ‘Hypotheses’, Kant urges in Kt1:805, 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.’

  [8].  Kt1:709; 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. Kt1:723-4].

                  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]. Unfortunate­ly, 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’ [Kt19:418(We26:45)], 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 I.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 disposi­tion 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 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 under­standing 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 old-fashioned 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 him­self allows for a kind of theological meditation without claiming it constitutes knowledge of God.

[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.

[14].    Kt1:857. This balanced statement guards against the error Kim makes in portraying Kant’s posi­tion 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 com­mentators 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 [Kt1], 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 aban­doned 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 founda­tion 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 con­clusions 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 [270], but a ‘commitment to a practical attitude.’ Walsh observes ‘striking similari­ties between the case Kant puts up in [Kt1] for the need to assume God ... and the case he deploys in his moral theol­ogy 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 Kt1:856 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 affirma­tion 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 KSP1:IV.1. 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 rather tenuous. Thus Bax, having boiled the moral argument down to a form of wish-fulfillment [Ba03: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 un­conscious material revealed by such criticisms is the critic’s own lack of awareness of or apprecia­tion for Kant’s principle of perspective.

[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 kat’ anqrwpon valid for all men as rational [i.e., moral] beings in general’, and ‘the theoretical-dogmatic argument kat’ alhqeian’ [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 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, unknowability by no means implies unthinkability. 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 subjec­tively and objectively’ [Kt1:850]. 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’. Never­theless, 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].

[19].    Kant offers the theologian a number of different means of coping with the realities of human ig­no­rance, 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 therefore correct, but irrelevant, since this type of teleology is clearly distinguishable from that in systemj proper [cf. Wo70:135]. Figure IV.1 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].

[22].    Ja84:1; 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 I.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)].

[24].    Kt1:660-1. 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 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 quasi-mystical 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.’

[26].    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.

 

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