---
type: article
status: Published
slug: "kant-groundwork"
title: "Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals"
author: "Immanuel Kant"
tradition: "european"
language: "de"
genre: "moral philosophy"
period: "1785"
source_url: "https://archive.org/details/kantsgesammeltes04kant"
certainty: observed
source: "https://archive.org/details/kantsgesammeltes04kant"
---
# Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals

## Original

### Preface

[385] Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten von Immanuel Kant.

[387] Vorrede.

Die alte griechische Philosophie theilte sich in drei Wissenschaften ab: Die *Physik*, die *Ethik* und die *Logik*. Diese Eintheilung ist der Natur der Sache vollkommen angemessen, und man hat an ihr nichts zu verbessern, als etwa nur das Princip derselben hinzu zu thun, um sich auf solche Art theils ihrer Vollständigkeit zu versichern, theils die nothwendigen Unterabtheilungen richtig bestimmen zu können.

Alle Vernunfterkenntniß ist entweder *material* und betrachtet irgend ein Object; oder *formal* und beschäftigt sich bloß mit der Form des Verstandes und der Vernunft selbst und den allgemeinen Regeln des Denkens überhaupt ohne Unterschied der Objecte. Die formale Philosophie heißt *Logik*, die materiale aber, welche es mit bestimmten Gegenständen und den Gesetzen zu thun hat, denen sie unterworfen sind, ist wiederum zwiefach. Denn diese Gesetze sind entweder Gesetze der *Natur*, oder der *Freiheit*. Die Wissenschaft von der ersten heißt *Physik*, die der andern ist *Ethik*; jene wird auch Naturlehre, diese Sittenlehre genannt.

Die Logik kann keinen empirischen Theil haben, d. i. einen solchen, da die allgemeinen und nothwendigen Gesetze des Denkens auf Gründen beruhten, die von der Erfahrung hergenommen wären; denn sonst wäre sie nicht Logik, d. i. ein Kanon für den Verstand oder die Vernunft, der bei allem Denken gilt und demonstrirt werden muß. Dagegen können sowohl die natürliche, als sittliche Weltweisheit jede ihren empirischen Theil haben, weil jene der Natur als einem Gegenstande der Erfahrung, diese aber dem Willen des Menschen, so fern er durch die Natur afficirt wird, ihre Gesetze bestimmen muß, die erstern zwar als Gesetze, nach denen alles

[388] geschieht, die zweiten als solche, nach denen alles geschehen soll, aber doch auch mit Erwägung der Bedingungen, unter denen es öfters nicht geschieht.

Man kann alle Philosophie, so fern sie sich auf Gründe der Erfahrung fußt, *empirische*, die aber, so lediglich aus Principien a priori ihre Lehren vorträgt, *reine* Philosophie nennen. Die letztere, wenn sie bloß formal ist, heißt Logik; ist sie aber auf bestimmte Gegenstände des Verstandes eingeschränkt, so heißt sie Metaphysik.

Auf solche Weise entspringt die Idee einer zwiefachen Metaphysik, einer *Metaphysik der Natur* und einer *Metaphysik der Sitten*. Die Physik wird also ihren empirischen, aber auch einen rationalen Theil haben; die Ethik gleichfalls, wiewohl hier der empirische Theil besonders *praktische Anthropologie*, der rationale aber eigentlich *Moral* heißen könnte.

Alle Gewerbe, Handwerke und Künste haben durch die Vertheilung der Arbeiten gewonnen, da nämlich nicht einer alles macht, sondern jeder sich auf gewisse Arbeit, die sich ihrer Behandlungsweise nach von andern merklich unterscheidet, einschränkt, um sie in der größten Vollkommenheit und mit mehrerer Leichtigkeit leisten zu können. Wo die Arbeiten so nicht unterschieden und vertheilt werden, wo jeder ein Tausendkünstler ist, da liegen die Gewerbe noch in der größten Barbarei. Aber ob dieses zwar für sich ein der Erwägung nicht unwürdiges Object wäre, zu fragen: ob die reine Philosophie in allen ihren Theilen nicht ihren besondern Mann erheische, und es um das Ganze des gelehrten Gewerbes nicht besser stehen würde, wenn die, so das Empirische mit dem Rationalen dem Geschmacke des Publicums gemäß nach allerlei ihnen selbst unbekannten Verhältnissen gemischt zu verkaufen gewohnt sind, die sich Selbstdenker, andere aber, die den bloß rationalen Theil zubereiten, Grübler nennen, gewarnt würden, nicht zwei Geschäfte zugleich zu treiben, die in der Art, sie zu behandeln, gar sehr verschieden sind, zu deren jedem vielleicht ein besonderes Talent erfordert wird, und deren Verbindung in einer Person nur Stümper hervorbringt: so frage ich hier doch nur, ob nicht die Natur der Wissenschaft es erfordere, den empirischen von dem rationalen Theile jederzeit sorgfältig abzusondern und vor der eigentlichen (empirischen) Physik eine Metaphysik der Natur, vor der praktischen Anthropologie aber eine Metaphysik der Sitten voranzuschicken, die von allem Empirischen sorgfältig gesäubert sein müßten, um zu wissen, wie viel reine Vernunft in beiden Fällen leisten

[389] könne, und aus welchen Quellen sie selbst diese ihre Belehrung a priori schöpfe, es mag übrigens das letztere Geschäfte von allen Sittenlehrern (deren Name Legion heißt) oder nur von einigen, die Beruf dazu fühlen, getrieben werden.

Da meine Absicht hier eigentlich auf die sittliche Weltweisheit gerichtet ist, so schränke ich die vorgelegte Frage nur darauf ein: ob man nicht meine, daß es von der äußersten Nothwendigkeit sei, einmal eine reine Moralphilosophie zu bearbeiten, die von allem, was nur empirisch sein mag und zur Anthropologie gehört, völlig gesäubert wäre; denn daß es eine solche geben müsse, leuchtet von selbst aus der gemeinen Idee der Pflicht und der sittlichen Gesetze ein. Jedermann muß eingestehen, daß ein Gesetz, wenn es moralisch, d. i. als Grund einer Verbindlichkeit, gelten soll, absolute Nothwendigkeit bei sich führen müsse; daß das Gebot: du sollt nicht lügen, nicht etwa bloß für Menschen gelte, andere vernünftige Wesen sich aber daran nicht zu kehren hätten, und so alle übrige eigentliche Sittengesetze; daß mithin der Grund der Verbindlichkeit hier nicht in der Natur des Menschen, oder den Umständen in der Welt, darin er gesetzt ist, gesucht werden müsse, sondern a priori lediglich in Begriffen der reinen Vernunft, und daß jede andere Vorschrift, die sich auf Principien der bloßen Erfahrung gründet, und sogar eine in gewissem Betracht allgemeine Vorschrift, so fern sie sich dem mindesten Theile, vielleicht nur einem Bewegungsgrunde nach auf empirische Gründe stützt, zwar eine praktische Regel, niemals aber ein moralisches Gesetz heißen kann.

Also unterscheiden sich die moralischen Gesetze sammt ihren Principien unter allem praktischen Erkenntnisse von allem übrigen, darin irgend etwas Empirisches ist, nicht allein wesentlich, sondern alle Moralphilosophie beruht gänzlich auf ihrem reinen Theil, und auf den Menschen angewandt, entlehnt sie nicht das mindeste von der Kenntniß desselben (Anthropologie), sondern giebt ihm, als vernünftigem Wesen, Gesetze a priori, die freilich noch durch Erfahrung geschärfte Urtheilskraft erfordern, um theils zu unterscheiden, in welchen Fällen sie ihre Anwendung haben, theils ihnen Eingang in den Willen des Menschen und Nachdruck zur Ausübung zu verschaffen, da dieser, als selbst mit so viel Neigungen afficirt, der Idee einer praktischen reinen Vernunft zwar fähig, aber nicht so leicht vermögend ist, sie in seinem Lebenswandel in concreto wirksam zu machen.

Eine Metaphysik der Sitten ist also unentbehrlich nothwendig, nicht bloß aus einem Bewegungsgrunde der Speculation, um die Quelle der a

[390] priori in unserer Vernunft liegenden praktischen Grundsätze zu erforschen, sondern weil die Sitten selber allerlei Verderbniß unterworfen bleiben, so lange jener Leitfaden und oberste Norm ihrer richtigen Beurtheilung fehlt. Denn bei dem, was moralisch gut sein soll, ist es nicht genug, daß es dem sittlichen Gesetze *gemäß* sei, sondern es muß auch *um desselben willen* geschehen; widrigenfalls ist jene Gemäßheit nur sehr zufällig und mißlich, weil der unsittliche Grund zwar dann und wann gesetzmäßige, mehrmals aber gesetzwidrige Handlungen hervorbringen wird. Nun ist aber das sittliche Gesetz in seiner Reinigkeit und Ächtheit (woran eben im Praktischen am meisten gelegen ist) nirgend anders, als in einer reinen Philosophie zu suchen, also muß diese (Metaphysik) vorangehen, und ohne sie kann es überall keine Moralphilosophie geben; selbst verdient diejenige, welche jene reine Principien unter die empirischen mischt, den Namen einer Philosophie nicht (denn dadurch unterscheidet diese sich eben von der gemeinen Vernunfterkenntniß, daß sie, was diese nur vermengt begreift, in abgesonderter Wissenschaft vorträgt), viel weniger einer Moralphilosophie, weil sie eben durch diese Vermengung sogar der Reinigkeit der Sitten selbst Abbruch thut und ihrem eigenen Zwecke zuwider verfährt.

Man denke doch ja nicht, daß man das, was hier gefordert wird, schon an der Propädeutik des berühmten *Wolff* vor seiner Moralphilosophie, nämlich der von ihm so genannten *allgemeinen praktischen Weltweisheit*, habe, und hier also nicht eben ein ganz neues Feld einzuschlagen sei. Eben darum, weil sie eine allgemeine praktische Weltweisheit sein sollte, hat sie keinen Willen von irgend einer besondern Art, etwa einen solchen, der ohne alle empirische Bewegungsgründe, völlig aus Principien a priori, bestimmt werde, und den man einen reinen Willen nennen könnte, sondern das Wollen überhaupt in Betrachtung gezogen mit allen Handlungen und Bedingungen, die ihm in dieser allgemeinen Bedeutung zukommen, und dadurch unterscheidet sie sich von einer Metaphysik der Sitten, eben so wie die allgemeine Logik von der Transscendentalphilosophie, von denen die erstere die Handlungen und Regeln des Denkens *überhaupt*, diese aber bloß die besondern Handlungen und Regeln des *reinen* Denkens, d. i. desjenigen, wodurch Gegenstände völlig a priori erkannt werden, vorträgt. Denn die Metaphysik der Sitten soll die Idee und die Principien eines möglichen *reinen* Willens untersuchen und nicht die Handlungen und Bedingungen des menschlichen Wollens überhaupt, welche größtentheils aus der Psychologie geschöpft werden. Daß in der allgemeinen

[391] praktischen Weltweisheit (wiewohl wider alle Befugniß) auch von moralischen Gesetzen und Pflicht geredet wird, macht keinen Einwurf wider meine Behauptung aus. Denn die Verfasser jener Wissenschaft bleiben ihrer Idee von derselben auch hierin treu; sie unterscheiden nicht die Bewegungsgründe, die als solche völlig a priori bloß durch Vernunft vorgestellt werden und eigentlich moralisch sind, von den empirischen, die der Verstand bloß durch Vergleichung der Erfahrungen zu allgemeinen Begriffen erhebt, sondern betrachten sie, ohne auf den Unterschied ihrer Quellen zu achten, nur nach der größeren oder kleineren Summe derselben (indem sie alle als gleichartig angesehen werden) und machen sich dadurch ihren Begriff von *Verbindlichkeit*, der freilich nichts weniger als moralisch, aber doch so beschaffen ist, als es in einer Philosophie, die über den *Ursprung* aller möglichen praktischen Begriffe, ob sie auch a priori oder bloß a posteriori stattfinden, gar nicht urtheilt, nur verlangt werden kann.

Im Vorsatze nun, eine Metaphysik der Sitten dereinst zu liefern, lasse ich diese Grundlegung vorangehen. Zwar giebt es eigentlich keine andere Grundlage derselben, als die Kritik einer *reinen praktischen Vernunft*, so wie zur Metaphysik die schon gelieferte Kritik der reinen speculativen Vernunft. Allein theils ist jene nicht von so äußerster Nothwendigkeit als diese, weil die menschliche Vernunft im Moralischen selbst beim gemeinsten Verstande leicht zu großer Richtigkeit und Ausführlichkeit gebracht werden kann, da sie hingegen im theoretischen, aber reinen Gebrauch ganz und gar dialektisch ist: theils erfordere ich zur Kritik einer reinen praktischen Vernunft, daß, wenn sie vollendet sein soll, ihre Einheit mit der speculativen in einem gemeinschaftlichen Princip zugleich müsse dargestellt werden können, weil es doch am Ende nur eine und dieselbe Vernunft sein kann, die bloß in der Anwendung unterschieden sein muß. Zu einer solchen Vollständigkeit konnte ich es aber hier noch nicht bringen, ohne Betrachtungen von ganz anderer Art herbeizuziehen und den Leser zu verwirren. Um deswillen habe ich mich statt der Benennung einer *Kritik der reinen praktischen Vernunft* der von einer *Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten* bedient.

Weil aber drittens auch eine Metaphysik der Sitten ungeachtet des abschreckenden Titels dennoch eines großen Grades der Popularität und Angemessenheit zum gemeinen Verstande fähig ist, so finde ich für nützlich, diese Vorarbeitung der Grundlage davon abzusondern, um das Subtile,

[392] was darin unvermeidlich ist, künftig nicht faßlichern Lehren beifügen zu dürfen.

Gegenwärtige Grundlegung ist aber nichts mehr, als die Aufsuchung und Festsetzung des *obersten Princips der Moralität*, welche allein ein in seiner Absicht ganzes und von aller anderen sittlichen Untersuchung abzusonderndes Geschäfte ausmacht. Zwar würden meine Behauptungen über diese wichtige und bisher bei weitem noch nicht zur Gnugthuung erörterte Hauptfrage durch Anwendung desselben Princips auf das ganze System viel Licht und durch die Zulänglichkeit, die es allenthalben blicken läßt, große Bestätigung erhalten: allein ich mußte mich dieses Vortheils begeben, der auch im Grunde mehr eigenliebig, als gemeinnützig sein würde, weil die Leichtigkeit im Gebrauche und die scheinbare Zulänglichkeit eines Princips keinen ganz sicheren Beweis von der Richtigkeit desselben abgiebt, vielmehr eine gewisse Parteilichkeit erweckt, es nicht für sich selbst, ohne alle Rücksicht auf die Folge, nach aller Strenge zu untersuchen und zu wägen.

Ich habe meine Methode in dieser Schrift so genommen, wie ich glaube, daß sie die schicklichste sei, wenn man vom gemeinen Erkenntnisse zur Bestimmung des obersten Princips desselben analytisch und wiederum zurück von der Prüfung dieses Princips und den Quellen desselben zur gemeinen Erkenntniß, darin sein Gebrauch angetroffen wird, synthetisch den Weg nehmen will. Die Eintheilung ist daher so ausgefallen:

1. *Erster Abschnitt*: Übergang von der gemeinen sittlichen Vernunfterkenntniß zur philosophischen.

2. *Zweiter Abschnitt*: Übergang von der populären Moralphilosophie zur Metaphysik der Sitten.

3. *Dritter Abschnitt*: Letzter Schritt von der Metaphysik der Sitten zur Kritik der reinen praktischen Vernunft.

### Section I

[393] Erster Abschnitt.

Übergang von der gemeinen sittlichen Vernunfterkenntniß zur philosophischen.

Es ist überall nichts in der Welt, ja überhaupt auch außer derselben zu denken möglich, was ohne Einschränkung für gut könnte gehalten werden, als allein ein *guter Wille*. Verstand, Witz, Urtheilskraft und wie die *Talente* des Geistes sonst heißen mögen, oder Muth, Entschlossenheit, Beharrlichkeit im Vorsatze als Eigenschaften des *Temperaments* sind ohne Zweifel in mancher Absicht gut und wünschenswerth; aber sie können auch äußerst böse und schädlich werden, wenn der Wille, der von diesen Naturgaben Gebrauch machen soll und dessen eigenthümliche Beschaffenheit darum *Charakter* heißt, nicht gut ist. Mit den *Glücksgaben* ist es eben so bewandt. Macht, Reichthum, Ehre, selbst Gesundheit und das ganze Wohlbefinden und Zufriedenheit mit seinem Zustande unter dem Namen der *Glückseligkeit* machen Muth und hiedurch öfters auch Übermuth, wo nicht ein guter Wille da ist, der den Einfluß derselben aufs Gemüth und hiemit auch das ganze Princip zu handeln berichtige und allgemein-zweckmäßig mache; ohne zu erwähnen, daß ein vernünftiger unparteiischer Zuschauer sogar am Anblicke eines ununterbrochenen Wohlergehens eines Wesens, das kein Zug eines reinen und guten Willens ziert, nimmermehr ein Wohlgefallen haben kann, und so der gute Wille die unerlaßliche Bedingung selbst der Würdigkeit glücklich zu sein auszumachen scheint.

Einige Eigenschaften sind sogar diesem guten Willen selbst beförderlich und können sein Werk sehr erleichtern, haben aber dem ungeachtet keinen

[394] innern unbedingten Werth, sondern setzen immer noch einen guten Willen voraus, der die Hochschätzung, die man übrigens mit Recht für sie trägt, einschränkt und es nicht erlaubt, sie für schlechthin gut zu halten. Mäßigung in Affecten und Leidenschaften, Selbstbeherrschung und nüchterne Überlegung sind nicht allein in vielerlei Absicht gut, sondern scheinen sogar einen Theil vom *innern* Werthe der Person auszumachen; allein es fehlt viel daran, um sie ohne Einschränkung für gut zu erklären (so unbedingt sie auch von den Alten gepriesen worden). Denn ohne Grundsätze eines guten Willens können sie höchst böse werden, und das kalte Blut eines Bösewichts macht ihn nicht allein weit gefährlicher, sondern auch unmittelbar in unsern Augen noch verabscheuungswürdiger, als er ohne dieses dafür würde gehalten werden.

Der gute Wille ist nicht durch das, was er bewirkt oder ausrichtet, nicht durch seine Tauglichkeit zu Erreichung irgend eines vorgesetzten Zweckes, sondern allein durch das Wollen, d. i. an sich, gut und, für sich selbst betrachtet, ohne Vergleich weit höher zu schätzen als alles, was durch ihn zu Gunsten irgend einer Neigung, ja, wenn man will, der Summe aller Neigungen nur immer zu Stande gebracht werden könnte. Wenn gleich durch eine besondere Ungunst des Schicksals, oder durch kärgliche Ausstattung einer stiefmütterlichen Natur es diesem Willen gänzlich an Vermögen fehlte, seine Absicht durchzusetzen; wenn bei seiner größten Bestrebung dennoch nichts von ihm ausgerichtet würde, und nur der gute Wille (freilich nicht etwa als ein bloßer Wunsch, sondern als die Aufbietung aller Mittel, so weit sie in unserer Gewalt sind) übrig bliebe: so würde er wie ein Juwel doch für sich selbst glänzen, als etwas, das seinen vollen Werth in sich selbst hat. Die Nützlichkeit oder Fruchtlosigkeit kann diesem Werthe weder etwas zusetzen, noch abnehmen. Sie würde gleichsam nur die Einfassung sein, um ihn im gemeinen Verkehr besser handhaben zu können, oder die Aufmerksamkeit derer, die noch nicht genug Kenner sind, auf sich zu ziehen, nicht aber um ihn Kennern zu empfehlen und seinen Werth zu bestimmen.

Es liegt gleichwohl in dieser Idee von dem absoluten Werthe des bloßen Willens, ohne einigen Nutzen bei Schätzung desselben in Anschlag zu bringen, etwas so Befremdliches, daß unerachtet aller Einstimmung selbst der gemeinen Vernunft mit derselben dennoch ein Verdacht entspringen muß, daß vielleicht bloß hochfliegende Phantasterei insgeheim zum Grunde liege, und die Natur in ihrer Absicht, warum sie unserm Willen

[395] Vernunft zur Regiererin beigelegt habe, falsch verstanden sein möge. Daher wollen wir diese Idee aus diesem Gesichtspunkte auf die Prüfung stellen.

In den Naturanlagen eines organisirten, d. i. zweckmäßig zum Leben eingerichteten, Wesens nehmen wir es als Grundsatz an, daß kein Werkzeug zu irgend einem Zwecke in demselben angetroffen werde, als was auch zu demselben das schicklichste und ihm am meisten angemessen ist. Wäre nun an einem Wesen, das Vernunft und einen Willen hat, seine *Erhaltung*, sein *Wohlergehen*, mit einem Worte seine *Glückseligkeit*, der eigentliche Zweck der Natur, so hätte sie ihre Veranstaltung dazu sehr schlecht getroffen, sich die Vernunft des Geschöpfs zur Ausrichterin dieser ihrer Absicht zu ersehen. Denn alle Handlungen, die es in dieser Absicht auszuüben hat, und die ganze Regel seines Verhaltens würden ihm weit genauer durch Instinct vorgezeichnet und jener Zweck weit sicherer dadurch haben erhalten werden können, als es jemals durch Vernunft geschehen kann, und sollte diese ja obenein dem begünstigten Geschöpf ertheilt worden sein, so würde sie ihm nur dazu haben dienen müssen, um über die glückliche Anlage seiner Natur Betrachtungen anzustellen, sie zu bewundern, sich ihrer zu erfreuen und der wohlthätigen Ursache dafür dankbar zu sein; nicht aber, um sein Begehrungsvermögen jener schwachen und trüglichen Leitung zu unterwerfen und in der Naturabsicht zu pfuschen; mit einem Worte, sie würde verhütet haben, daß Vernunft nicht in *praktischen Gebrauch* ausschlüge und die Vermessenheit hätte, mit ihren schwachen Einsichten ihr selbst den Entwurf der Glückseligkeit und der Mittel dazu zu gelangen auszudenken; die Natur würde nicht allein die Wahl der Zwecke, sondern auch der Mittel selbst übernommen und beide mit weiser Vorsorge lediglich dem Instincte anvertraut haben.

In der That finden wir auch, daß, je mehr eine cultivirte Vernunft sich mit der Absicht auf den Genuß des Lebens und der Glückseligkeit abgiebt, desto weiter der Mensch von der wahren Zufriedenheit abkomme, woraus bei vielen und zwar den Versuchtesten im Gebrauche derselben, wenn sie nur aufrichtig genug sind, es zu gestehen, ein gewisser Grad von *Misologie*, d. i. Haß der Vernunft, entspringt, weil sie nach dem Überschlage alles Vortheils, den sie, ich will nicht sagen von der Erfindung aller Künste des gemeinen Luxus, sondern sogar von den Wissenschaften (die ihnen am Ende auch ein Luxus des Verstandes zu sein scheinen) ziehen, dennoch finden, daß sie sich in der That nur mehr Mühseligkeit auf

[396] den Hals gezogen, als an Glückseligkeit gewonnen haben und darüber endlich den gemeinern Schlag der Menschen, welcher der Leitung des bloßen Naturinstincts näher ist, und der seiner Vernunft nicht viel Einfluß auf sein Thun und Lassen verstattet, eher beneiden als geringschätzen. Und so weit muß man gestehen, daß das Urtheil derer, die die ruhmredige Hochpreisungen der Vortheile, die uns die Vernunft in Ansehung der Glückseligkeit und Zufriedenheit des Lebens verschaffen sollte, sehr mäßigen und sogar unter Null herabsetzen, keinesweges grämisch, oder gegen die Güte der Weltregierung undankbar sei, sondern daß diesen Urtheilen insgeheim die Idee von einer andern und viel würdigern Absicht ihrer Existenz zum Grunde liege, zu welcher und nicht der Glückseligkeit die Vernunft ganz eigentlich bestimmt sei, und welcher darum als oberster Bedingung die Privatabsicht des Menschen größtentheils nachstehen muß.

Denn da die Vernunft dazu nicht tauglich genug ist, um den Willen in Ansehung der Gegenstände desselben und der Befriedigung aller unserer Bedürfnisse (die sie zum Theil selbst vervielfältigt) sicher zu leiten, als zu welchem Zwecke ein eingepflanzter Naturinstinct viel gewisser geführt haben würde, gleichwohl aber uns Vernunft als praktisches Vermögen, d. i. als ein solches, das Einfluß auf den *Willen* haben soll, dennoch zugetheilt ist: so muß die wahre Bestimmung derselben sein, einen nicht etwa in anderer Absicht als *Mittel*, sondern *an sich selbst guten Willen* hervorzubringen, wozu schlechterdings Vernunft nöthig war, wo anders die Natur überall in Austheilung ihrer Anlagen zweckmäßig zu Werke gegangen ist. Dieser Wille darf also zwar nicht das einzige und das ganze, aber er muß doch das höchste Gut und zu allem übrigen, selbst allem Verlangen nach Glückseligkeit die Bedingung sein, in welchem Falle es sich mit der Weisheit der Natur gar wohl vereinigen läßt, wenn man wahrnimmt, daß die Cultur der Vernunft, die zur erstern und unbedingten Absicht erforderlich ist, die Erreichung der zweiten, die jederzeit bedingt ist, nämlich der Glückseligkeit, wenigstens in diesem Leben auf mancherlei Weise einschränke, ja sie selbst unter Nichts herabbringen könne, ohne daß die Natur darin unzweckmäßig verfahre, weil die Vernunft, die ihre höchste praktische Bestimmung in der Gründung eines guten Willens erkennt, bei Erreichung dieser Absicht nur einer Zufriedenheit nach ihrer eigenen Art, nämlich aus der Erfüllung eines Zwecks, den wiederum nur Vernunft bestimmt, fähig ist, sollte dieses auch mit manchem Abbruch, der den Zwecken der Neigung geschieht, verbunden sein.

[397] Um aber den Begriff eines an sich selbst hochzuschätzenden und ohne weitere Absicht guten Willens, so wie er schon dem natürlichen gesunden Verstande beiwohnt und nicht sowohl gelehrt als vielmehr nur aufgeklärt zu werden bedarf, diesen Begriff, der in der Schätzung des ganzen Werths unserer Handlungen immer obenan steht und die Bedingung alles übrigen ausmacht, zu entwickeln: wollen wir den Begriff der *Pflicht* vor uns nehmen, der den eines guten Willens, obzwar unter gewissen subjectiven Einschränkungen und Hindernissen, enthält, die aber doch, weit gefehlt daß sie ihn verstecken und unkenntlich machen sollten, ihn vielmehr durch Abstechung heben und desto heller hervorscheinen lassen.

Ich übergehe hier alle Handlungen, die schon als pflichtwidrig erkannt werden, ob sie gleich in dieser oder jener Absicht nützlich sein mögen; denn bei denen ist gar nicht einmal die Frage, ob sie *aus Pflicht* geschehen sein mögen, da sie dieser sogar widerstreiten. Ich setze auch die Handlungen bei Seite, die wirklich pflichtmäßig sind, zu denen aber Menschen unmittelbar *keine Neigung* haben, sie aber dennoch ausüben, weil sie durch eine andere Neigung dazu getrieben werden. Denn da läßt sich leicht unterscheiden, ob die pflichtmäßige Handlung *aus Pflicht* oder aus selbstsüchtiger Absicht geschehen sei. Weit schwerer ist dieser Unterschied zu bemerken, wo die Handlung pflichtmäßig ist und das Subject noch überdem *unmittelbare* Neigung zu ihr hat. Z. B. es ist allerdings pflichtmäßig, daß der Krämer seinen unerfahrnen Käufer nicht übertheure, und, wo viel Verkehr ist, thut dieses auch der kluge Kaufmann nicht, sondern hält einen festgesetzten allgemeinen Preis für jedermann, so daß ein Kind eben so gut bei ihm kauft, als jeder andere. Man wird also ehrlich bedient; allein das ist lange nicht genug, um deswegen zu glauben, der Kaufmann habe aus Pflicht und Grundsätzen der Ehrlichkeit so verfahren; sein Vortheil erforderte es; daß er aber überdem noch eine unmittelbare Neigung zu den Käufern haben sollte, um gleichsam aus Liebe keinem vor dem andern im Preise den Vorzug zu geben, läßt sich hier nicht annehmen. Also war die Handlung weder aus Pflicht, noch aus unmittelbarer Neigung, sondern bloß in eigennütziger Absicht geschehen.

Dagegen sein Leben zu erhalten, ist Pflicht, und überdem hat jedermann dazu noch eine unmittelbare Neigung. Aber um deswillen hat die oft ängstliche Sorgfalt, die der größte Theil der Menschen dafür trägt, doch keinen innern Werth und die Maxime derselben keinen moralischen

[398] Gehalt. Sie bewahren ihr Leben zwar *pflichtmäßig*, aber nicht *aus Pflicht*. Dagegen wenn Widerwärtigkeiten und hoffnungsloser Gram den Geschmack am Leben gänzlich weggenommen haben; wenn der Unglückliche, stark an Seele, über sein Schicksal mehr entrüstet als kleinmüthig oder niedergeschlagen, den Tod wünscht und sein Leben doch erhält, ohne es zu lieben, nicht aus Neigung oder Furcht, sondern aus Pflicht: alsdann hat seine Maxime einen moralischen Gehalt.

Wohlthätig sein, wo man kann, ist Pflicht, und überdem giebt es manche so theilnehmend gestimmte Seelen, daß sie auch ohne einen andern Bewegungsgrund der Eitelkeit oder des Eigennutzes ein inneres Vergnügen daran finden, Freude um sich zu verbreiten, und die sich an der Zufriedenheit anderer, so fern sie ihr Werk ist, ergötzen können. Aber ich behaupte, daß in solchem Falle dergleichen Handlung, so pflichtmäßig, so liebenswürdig sie auch ist, dennoch keinen wahren sittlichen Werth habe, sondern mit andern Neigungen zu gleichen Paaren gehe, z. E. der Neigung nach Ehre, die, wenn sie glücklicherweise auf das trifft, was in der That gemeinnützig und pflichtmäßig, mithin ehrenwerth ist, Lob und Aufmunterung, aber nicht Hochschätzung verdient; denn der Maxime fehlt der sittliche Gehalt, nämlich solche Handlungen nicht aus Neigung, sondern *aus Pflicht* zu thun. Gesetzt also, das Gemüth jenes Menschenfreundes wäre vom eigenen Gram umwölkt, der alle Theilnehmung an anderer Schicksal auslöscht, er hätte immer noch Vermögen, andern Nothleidenden wohlzuthun, aber fremde Noth rührte ihn nicht, weil er mit seiner eigenen gnug beschäftigt ist, und nun, da keine Neigung ihn mehr dazu anreizt, risse er sich doch aus dieser tödtlichen Unempfindlichkeit heraus und thäte die Handlung ohne alle Neigung, lediglich aus Pflicht, alsdann hat sie allererst ihren ächten moralischen Werth. Noch mehr: wenn die Natur diesem oder jenem überhaupt wenig Sympathie ins Herz gelegt hätte, wenn er (übrigens ein ehrlicher Mann) von Temperament kalt und gleichgültig gegen die Leiden anderer wäre, vielleicht weil er, selbst gegen seine eigene mit der besondern Gabe der Geduld und aushaltenden Stärke versehen, dergleichen bei jedem andern auch voraussetzt, oder gar fordert; wenn die Natur einen solchen Mann (welcher wahrlich nicht ihr schlechtestes Product sein würde) nicht eigentlich zum Menschenfreunde gebildet hätte, würde er denn nicht noch in sich einen Quell finden, sich selbst einen weit höhern Werth zu geben, als der eines gutartigen Temperaments sein mag? Allerdings! gerade da hebt der Werth des Charakters an, der moralisch

[399] und ohne alle Vergleichung der höchste ist, nämlich daß er wohlthue, nicht aus Neigung, sondern aus Pflicht.

Seine eigene Glückseligkeit sichern, ist Pflicht (wenigstens indirect), denn der Mangel der Zufriedenheit mit seinem Zustande in einem Gedränge von vielen Sorgen und mitten unter unbefriedigten Bedürfnissen könnte leicht eine große *Versuchung zu Übertretung der Pflichten* werden. Aber auch ohne hier auf Pflicht zu sehen, haben alle Menschen schon von selbst die mächtigste und innigste Neigung zur Glückseligkeit, weil sich gerade in dieser Idee alle Neigungen zu einer Summe vereinigen. Nur ist die Vorschrift der Glückseligkeit mehrentheils so beschaffen, daß sie einigen Neigungen großen Abbruch thut und doch der Mensch sich von der Summe der Befriedigung aller unter dem Namen der Glückseligkeit keinen bestimmten und sichern Begriff machen kann; daher nicht zu verwundern ist, wie eine einzige in Ansehung dessen, was sie verheißt, und der Zeit, worin ihre Befriedigung erhalten werden kann, bestimmte Neigung eine schwankende Idee überwiegen könne, und der Mensch, z. B. ein Podagrist, wählen könne, zu genießen, was ihm schmeckt, und zu leiden, was er kann, weil er nach seinem Überschlage hier wenigstens sich nicht durch vielleicht grundlose Erwartungen eines Glücks, das in der Gesundheit stecken soll, um den Genuß des gegenwärtigen Augenblicks gebracht hat. Aber auch in diesem Falle, wenn die allgemeine Neigung zur Glückseligkeit seinen Willen nicht bestimmte, wenn Gesundheit für ihn wenigstens nicht so nothwendig in diesen Überschlag gehörte, so bleibt noch hier wie in allen andern Fällen ein Gesetz übrig, nämlich seine Glückseligkeit zu befördern, nicht aus Neigung, sondern aus Pflicht, und da hat sein Verhalten allererst den eigentlichen moralischen Werth.

So sind ohne Zweifel auch die Schriftstellen zu verstehen, darin geboten wird, seinen Nächsten, selbst unsern Feind zu lieben. Denn Liebe als Neigung kann nicht geboten werden, aber Wohlthun aus Pflicht selbst, wenn dazu gleich gar keine Neigung treibt, ja gar natürliche und unbezwingliche Abneigung widersteht, ist *praktische* und nicht *pathologische* Liebe, die im Willen liegt und nicht im Hange der Empfindung, in Grundsätzen der Handlung und nicht schmelzender Theilnehmung; jene aber allein kann geboten werden.

Der zweite Satz ist: eine Handlung aus Pflicht hat ihren moralischen Werth *nicht in der Absicht*, welche dadurch erreicht werden soll, sondern in der Maxime, nach der sie beschlossen wird, hängt also nicht von

[400] der Wirklichkeit des Gegenstandes der Handlung ab, sondern bloß von dem *Princip des Wollens*, nach welchem die Handlung unangesehen aller Gegenstände des Begehrungsvermögens geschehen ist. Daß die Absichten, die wir bei Handlungen haben mögen, und ihre Wirkungen, als Zwecke und Triebfedern des Willens, den Handlungen keinen unbedingten und moralischen Werth ertheilen können, ist aus dem vorigen klar. Worin kann also dieser Werth liegen, wenn er nicht im Willen in Beziehung auf deren verhoffte Wirkung bestehen soll? Er kann nirgend anders liegen, *als im Princip des Willens* unangesehen der Zwecke, die durch solche Handlung bewirkt werden können; denn der Wille ist mitten inne zwischen seinem Princip a priori, welches formell ist, und zwischen seiner Triebfeder a posteriori, welche materiell ist, gleichsam auf einem Scheidewege, und da er doch irgend wodurch muß bestimmt werden, so wird er durch das formelle Princip des Wollens überhaupt bestimmt werden müssen, wenn eine Handlung aus Pflicht geschieht, da ihm alles materielle Princip entzogen worden.

Den dritten Satz als Folgerung aus beiden vorigen würde ich so ausdrücken: *Pflicht ist die Nothwendigkeit einer Handlung aus Achtung fürs Gesetz*. Zum Objecte als Wirkung meiner vorhabenden Handlung kann ich zwar *Neigung* haben, aber *niemals Achtung*, eben darum weil sie bloß eine Wirkung und nicht Thätigkeit eines Willens ist. Eben so kann ich für Neigung überhaupt, sie mag nun meine oder eines andern seine sein, nicht Achtung haben, ich kann sie höchstens im ersten Falle billigen, im zweiten bisweilen selbst lieben, d. i. sie als meinem eigenen Vortheile günstig ansehen. Nur das, was bloß als Grund, niemals aber als Wirkung mit meinem Willen verknüpft ist, was nicht meiner Neigung dient, sondern sie überwiegt, wenigstens diese von deren Überschlage bei der Wahl ganz ausschließt, mithin das bloße Gesetz für sich kann ein Gegenstand der Achtung und hiemit ein Gebot sein. Nun soll eine Handlung aus Pflicht den Einfluß der Neigung und mit ihr jeden Gegenstand des Willens ganz absondern, also bleibt nichts für den Willen übrig, was ihn bestimmen könne, als objectiv das *Gesetz* und subjectiv *reine Achtung* für dieses praktische Gesetz, mithin die Maxime*), einem

*) *Maxime* ist das subjective Princip des Wollens; das objective Princip (d. i. dasjenige, was allen vernünftigen Wesen auch subjectiv zum praktischen Princip dienen würde, wenn Vernunft volle Gewalt über das Begehrungsvermögen hätte) ist das praktische *Gesetz*.

[401] solchen Gesetze selbst mit Abbruch aller meiner Neigungen Folge zu leisten.

Es liegt also der moralische Werth der Handlung nicht in der Wirkung, die daraus erwartet wird, also auch nicht in irgend einem Princip der Handlung, welches seinen Bewegungsgrund von dieser erwarteten Wirkung zu entlehnen bedarf. Denn alle diese Wirkungen (Annehmlichkeit seines Zustandes, ja gar Beförderung fremder Glückseligkeit) konnten auch durch andere Ursachen zu Stande gebracht werden, und es brauchte also dazu nicht des Willens eines vernünftigen Wesens, worin gleichwohl das höchste und unbedingte Gute allein angetroffen werden kann. Es kann daher nichts anderes als die *Vorstellung des Gesetzes* an sich selbst, *die freilich nur im vernünftigen Wesen stattfindet*, so fern sie, nicht aber die verhoffte Wirkung der Bestimmungsgrund des Willens ist, das so vorzügliche Gute, welches wir sittlich nennen, ausmachen, welches in der Person selbst schon gegenwärtig ist, die darnach handelt, nicht aber allererst aus der Wirkung erwartet werden darf*).

*) Man könnte mir vorwerfen, als suchte ich hinter dem Worte *Achtung* nur Zuflucht in einem dunkelen Gefühle, anstatt durch einen Begriff der Vernunft in der Frage deutliche Auskunft zu geben. Allein wenn Achtung gleich ein Gefühl ist, so ist es doch kein durch Einfluß *empfangenes*, sondern durch einen Vernunftbegriff *selbstgewirktes* Gefühl und daher von allen Gefühlen der ersteren Art, die sich auf Neigung oder Furcht bringen lassen, specifisch unterschieden. Was ich unmittelbar als Gesetz für mich erkenne, erkenne ich mit Achtung, welche bloß das Bewußtsein der *Unterordnung* meines Willens unter einem Gesetze ohne Vermittelung anderer Einflüsse auf meinen Sinn bedeutet. Die unmittelbare Bestimmung des Willens durchs Gesetz und das Bewußtsein derselben heißt *Achtung*, so daß diese als *Wirkung* des Gesetzes aufs Subject und nicht als *Ursache* desselben angesehen wird. Eigentlich ist Achtung die Vorstellung von einem Werthe, der meiner Selbstliebe Abbruch thut. Also ist es etwas, was weder als Gegenstand der Neigung, noch der Furcht, betrachtet wird, obgleich es mit beiden zugleich etwas Analogisches hat. Der *Gegenstand* der Achtung ist also lediglich das *Gesetz* und zwar dasjenige, das *wir uns selbst* und doch als an sich nothwendig auferlegen. Als Gesetz sind wir ihm unterworfen, ohne die Selbstliebe zu befragen; als uns von uns selbst auferlegt, ist es doch eine Folge unsers Willens und hat in der ersten Rücksicht Analogie mit Furcht, in der zweiten mit Neigung. Alle Achtung für eine Person ist eigentlich nur Achtung fürs Gesetz (der Rechtschaffenheit etc.), wovon jene uns das Beispiel giebt. Weil wir Erweiterung unserer Talente auch als Pflicht ansehen, so stellen wir uns an einer Person von Talenten auch gleichsam das *Beispiel eines Gesetzes* vor (ihr durch Übung hierin ähnlich zu werden), und das macht unsere Achtung aus. Alles moralische so genannte *Interesse* besteht lediglich in der *Achtung* fürs Gesetz.

[402] Was kann das aber wohl für ein Gesetz sein, dessen Vorstellung, auch ohne auf die daraus erwartete Wirkung Rücksicht zu nehmen, den Willen bestimmen muß, damit dieser schlechterdings und ohne Einschränkung gut heißen könne? Da ich den Willen aller Antriebe beraubet habe, die ihm aus der Befolgung irgend eines Gesetzes entspringen könnten, so bleibt nichts als die allgemeine Gesetzmäßigkeit der Handlungen überhaupt übrig, welche allein dem Willen zum Princip dienen soll, d. i. ich soll niemals anders verfahren als so, *daß ich auch wollen könne, meine Maxime solle ein allgemeines Gesetz werden*. Hier ist nun die bloße Gesetzmäßigkeit überhaupt (ohne irgend ein auf gewisse Handlungen bestimmtes Gesetz zum Grunde zu legen) das, was dem Willen zum Princip dient und ihm auch dazu dienen muß, wenn Pflicht nicht überall ein leerer Wahn und chimärischer Begriff sein soll; hiemit stimmt die gemeine Menschenvernunft in ihrer praktischen Beurtheilung auch vollkommen überein und hat das gedachte Princip jederzeit vor Augen.

Die Frage sei z. B.: darf ich, wenn ich im Gedränge bin, nicht ein Versprechen thun, in der Absicht, es nicht zu halten? Ich mache hier leicht den Unterschied, den die Bedeutung der Frage haben kann, ob es klüglich, oder ob es pflichtmäßig sei, ein falsches Versprechen zu thun. Das erstere kann ohne Zweifel öfters stattfinden. Zwar sehe ich wohl, daß es nicht gnug sei, mich vermittelst dieser Ausflucht aus einer gegenwärtigen Verlegenheit zu ziehen, sondern wohl überlegt werden müsse, ob mir aus dieser Lüge nicht hinterher viel größere Ungelegenheit entspringen könne, als die sind, von denen ich mich jetzt befreie, und da die Folgen bei aller meiner vermeinten *Schlauigkeit* nicht so leicht vorauszusehen sind, daß nicht ein einmal verlornes Zutrauen mir weit nachtheiliger werden könnte als alles Übel, das ich jetzt zu vermeiden gedenke, ob es nicht *klüglicher* gehandelt sei, hiebei nach einer allgemeinen Maxime zu verfahren und es sich zur Gewohnheit zu machen, nichts zu versprechen als in der Absicht, es zu halten. Allein es leuchtet mir hier bald ein, daß eine solche Maxime doch immer nur die besorglichen Folgen zum Grunde habe. Nun ist es doch etwas ganz anderes, aus Pflicht wahrhaft zu sein, als aus Besorgniß der nachtheiligen Folgen: indem im ersten Falle der Begriff der Handlung an sich selbst schon ein Gesetz für mich enthält, im zweiten ich mich allererst anderwärtsher umsehen muß, welche Wirkungen für mich nicht wohl damit verbunden sein möchten. Denn wenn ich von dem Princip der Pflicht abweiche, so ist es ganz gewiß böse; werde ich aber meiner Maxime der

[403] Klugheit abtrünnig, so kann das mir doch manchmal sehr vortheilhaft sein, wiewohl es freilich sicherer ist, bei ihr zu bleiben. Um indessen mich in Ansehung der Beantwortung dieser Aufgabe, ob ein lügenhaftes Versprechen pflichtmäßig sei, auf die allerkürzeste und doch untrügliche Art zu belehren, so frage ich mich selbst: würde ich wohl damit zufrieden sein, daß meine Maxime (mich durch ein unwahres Versprechen aus Verlegenheit zu ziehen) als ein allgemeines Gesetz (sowohl für mich als andere) gelten solle, und würde ich wohl zu mir sagen können: es mag jedermann ein unwahres Versprechen thun, wenn er sich in Verlegenheit befindet, daraus er sich auf andere Art nicht ziehen kann? So werde ich bald inne, daß ich zwar die Lüge, aber ein allgemeines Gesetz zu lügen gar nicht wollen könne; denn nach einem solchen würde es eigentlich gar kein Versprechen geben, weil es vergeblich wäre, meinen Willen in Ansehung meiner künftigen Handlungen andern vorzugeben, die diesem Vorgeben doch nicht glauben, oder, wenn sie es übereilter Weise thäten, mich doch mit gleicher Münze bezahlen würden, mithin meine Maxime, so bald sie zum allgemeinen Gesetze gemacht würde, sich selbst zerstören müsse.

Was ich also zu thun habe, damit mein Wollen sittlich gut sei, dazu brauche ich gar keine weit ausholende Scharfsinnigkeit. Unerfahren in Ansehung des Weltlaufs, unfähig auf alle sich eräugnende Vorfälle desselben gefaßt zu sein, frage ich mich nur: Kannst du auch wollen, daß deine Maxime ein allgemeines Gesetz werde? Wo nicht, so ist sie verwerflich und das zwar nicht um eines dir oder auch anderen daraus bevorstehenden Nachtheils willen, sondern weil sie nicht als Princip in eine mögliche allgemeine Gesetzgebung passen kann; für diese aber zwingt mir die Vernunft unmittelbare Achtung ab, von der ich zwar jetzt noch nicht *einsehe*, worauf sie sich gründe (welches der Philosoph untersuchen mag), wenigstens aber doch so viel verstehe: daß es eine Schätzung des Werthes sei, welcher allen Werth dessen, was durch Neigung angepriesen wird, weit überwiegt, und daß die Nothwendigkeit meiner Handlungen aus *reiner* Achtung fürs praktische Gesetz dasjenige sei, was die Pflicht ausmacht, der jeder andere Bewegungsgrund weichen muß, weil sie die Bedingung eines *an sich* guten Willens ist, dessen Werth über alles geht.

So sind wir denn in der moralischen Erkenntniß der gemeinen Menschenvernunft bis zu ihrem Princip gelangt, welches sie sich zwar freilich nicht so in einer allgemeinen Form abgesondert denkt, aber doch jederzeit wirklich vor Augen hat und zum Richtmaße ihrer Beurtheilung braucht.

[404] Es wäre hier leicht zu zeigen, wie sie mit diesem Compasse in der Hand in allen vorkommenden Fällen sehr gut Bescheid wisse, zu unterscheiden, was gut, was böse, pflichtmäßig, oder pflichtwidrig sei, wenn man, ohne sie im mindesten etwas Neues zu lehren, sie nur, wie Sokrates that, auf ihr eigenes Princip aufmerksam macht, und daß es also keiner Wissenschaft und Philosophie bedürfe, um zu wissen, was man zu thun habe, um ehrlich und gut, ja sogar um weise und tugendhaft zu sein. Das ließe sich auch wohl schon zum voraus vermuthen, daß die Kenntniß dessen, was zu thun, mithin auch zu wissen jedem Menschen obliegt, auch jedes, selbst des gemeinsten Menschen Sache sein werde. Hier kann man es doch nicht ohne Bewunderung ansehen, wie das praktische Beurtheilungsvermögen vor dem theoretischen im gemeinen Menschenverstande so gar viel voraus habe. In dem letztern, wenn die gemeine Vernunft es wagt, von den Erfahrungsgesetzen und den Wahrnehmungen der Sinne abzugehen, geräth sie in lauter Unbegreiflichkeiten und Widersprüche mit sich selbst, wenigstens in ein Chaos von Ungewißheit, Dunkelheit und Unbestand. Im praktischen aber fängt die Beurtheilungskraft dann eben allererst an, sich recht vortheilhaft zu zeigen, wenn der gemeine Verstand alle sinnliche Triebfedern von praktischen Gesetzen ausschließt. Er wird alsdann sogar subtil, es mag sein, daß er mit seinem Gewissen oder anderen Ansprüchen in Beziehung auf das, was recht heißen soll, chicaniren, oder auch den Werth der Handlungen zu seiner eigenen Belehrung aufrichtig bestimmen will, und, was das meiste ist, er kann im letzteren Falle sich eben so gut Hoffnung machen, es recht zu treffen, als es sich immer ein Philosoph versprechen mag, ja ist beinahe noch sicherer hierin, als selbst der letztere, weil dieser doch kein anderes Princip als jener haben, sein Urtheil aber durch eine Menge fremder, nicht zur Sache gehöriger Erwägungen leicht verwirren und von der geraden Richtung abweichend machen kann. Wäre es demnach nicht rathsamer, es in moralischen Dingen bei dem gemeinen Vernunfturtheil bewenden zu lassen und höchstens nur Philosophie anzubringen, um das System der Sitten desto vollständiger und faßlicher, imgleichen die Regeln derselben zum Gebrauche (noch mehr aber zum Disputiren) bequemer darzustellen, nicht aber um selbst in praktischer Absicht den gemeinen Menschenverstand von seiner glücklichen Einfalt abzubringen und ihn durch Philosophie auf einen neuen Weg der Untersuchung und Belehrung zu bringen?

Es ist eine herrliche Sache um die Unschuld, nur es ist auch wiederum

[405] sehr schlimm, daß sie sich nicht wohl bewahren läßt und leicht verführt wird. Deswegen bedarf selbst die Weisheit—die sonst wohl mehr im Thun und Lassen, als im Wissen besteht—doch auch der Wissenschaft, nicht um von ihr zu lernen, sondern ihrer Vorschrift Eingang und Dauerhaftigkeit zu verschaffen. Der Mensch fühlt in sich selbst ein mächtiges Gegengewicht gegen alle Gebote der Pflicht, die ihm die Vernunft so hochachtungswürdig vorstellt, an seinen Bedürfnissen und Neigungen, deren ganze Befriedigung er unter dem Namen der Glückseligkeit zusammenfaßt. Nun gebietet die Vernunft, ohne doch dabei den Neigungen etwas zu verheißen, unnachlaßlich, mithin gleichsam mit Zurücksetzung und Nichtachtung jener so ungestümen und dabei so billig scheinenden Ansprüche (die sich durch kein Gebot wollen aufheben lassen) ihre Vorschriften. Hieraus entspringt aber eine *natürliche Dialektik*, d. i. ein Hang, wider jene strenge Gesetze der Pflicht zu vernünfteln und ihre Gültigkeit, wenigstens ihre Reinigkeit und Strenge in Zweifel zu ziehen und sie wo möglich unsern Wünschen und Neigungen angemessener zu machen, d. i. sie im Grunde zu verderben und um ihre ganze Würde zu bringen, welches denn doch selbst die gemeine praktische Vernunft am Ende nicht gut heißen kann.

So wird also die *gemeine Menschenvernunft* nicht durch irgend ein Bedürfniß der Speculation (welches ihr, so lange sie sich genügt, bloße gesunde Vernunft zu sein, niemals anwandelt), sondern selbst aus praktischen Gründen angetrieben, aus ihrem Kreise zu gehen und einen Schritt ins Feld einer *praktischen Philosophie* zu thun, um daselbst wegen der Quelle ihres Princips und richtigen Bestimmung desselben in Gegenhaltung mit den Maximen, die sich auf Bedürfniß und Neigung fußen, Erkundigung und deutliche Anweisung zu bekommen, damit sie aus der Verlegenheit wegen beiderseitiger Ansprüche herauskomme und nicht Gefahr laufe, durch die Zweideutigkeit, in die sie leicht geräth, um alle ächte sittliche Grundsätze gebracht zu werden. Also entspinnt sich eben sowohl in der praktischen gemeinen Vernunft, wenn sie sich cultivirt, unvermerkt eine *Dialektik*, welche sie nöthigt, in der Philosophie Hülfe zu suchen, als es ihr im theoretischen Gebrauche widerfährt, und die erstere wird daher wohl eben so wenig als die andere irgendwo sonst, als in einer vollständigen Kritik unserer Vernunft Ruhe finden.

### Section II

[406] Zweiter Abschnitt.

Übergang von der populären sittlichen Weltweisheit zur Metaphysik der Sitten.

Wenn wir unsern bisherigen Begriff der Pflicht aus dem gemeinen Gebrauche unserer praktischen Vernunft gezogen haben, so ist daraus keinesweges zu schließen, als hätten wir ihn als einen Erfahrungsbegriff behandelt. Vielmehr, wenn wir auf die Erfahrung vom Thun und Lassen der Menschen Acht haben, treffen wir häufige und, wie wir selbst einräumen, gerechte Klagen an, daß man von der Gesinnung, aus reiner Pflicht zu handeln, so gar keine sichere Beispiele anführen könne, daß, wenn gleich manches dem, was *Pflicht* gebietet, *gemäß* geschehen mag, dennoch es immer noch zweifelhaft sei, ob es eigentlich *aus Pflicht* geschehe und also einen moralischen Werth habe. Daher es zu aller Zeit Philosophen gegeben hat, welche die Wirklichkeit dieser Gesinnung in den menschlichen Handlungen schlechterdings abgeleugnet und alles der mehr oder weniger verfeinerten Selbstliebe zugeschrieben haben, ohne doch deswegen die Richtigkeit des Begriffs von Sittlichkeit in Zweifel zu ziehen, vielmehr mit inniglichem Bedauern der Gebrechlichkeit und Unlauterkeit der menschlichen Natur Erwähnung thaten, die zwar edel gnug sei, sich eine so achtungswürdige Idee zu ihrer Vorschrift zu machen, aber zugleich zu schwach, um sie zu befolgen, und die Vernunft, die ihr zur Gesetzgebung dienen sollte, nur dazu braucht, um das Interesse der Neigungen, es sei einzeln oder, wenn es hoch kommt, in ihrer größten Verträglichkeit unter einander, zu besorgen.

[407] In der That ist es schlechterdings unmöglich, durch Erfahrung einen einzigen Fall mit völliger Gewißheit auszumachen, da die Maxime einer sonst pflichtmäßigen Handlung lediglich auf moralischen Gründen und auf der Vorstellung seiner Pflicht beruht habe. Denn es ist zwar bisweilen der Fall, daß wir bei der schärfsten Selbstprüfung gar nichts antreffen, was außer dem moralischen Grunde der Pflicht mächtig genug hätte sein können, uns zu dieser oder jener guten Handlung und so großer Aufopferung zu bewegen; es kann aber daraus gar nicht mit Sicherheit geschlossen werden, daß wirklich gar kein geheimer Antrieb der Selbstliebe unter der bloßen Vorspiegelung jener Idee die eigentliche bestimmende Ursache des Willens gewesen sei, dafür wir denn gerne uns mit einem uns fälschlich angemaßten edlern Bewegungsgrunde schmeicheln, in der That aber selbst durch die angestrengteste Prüfung hinter die geheimen Triebfedern niemals völlig kommen können, weil, wenn vom moralischen Werthe die Rede ist, es nicht auf die Handlungen ankommt, die man sieht, sondern auf jene innere Principien derselben, die man nicht sieht.

Man kann auch denen, die alle Sittlichkeit als bloßes Hirngespinst einer durch Eigendünkel sich selbst übersteigenden menschlichen Einbildung verlachen, keinen gewünschteren Dienst thun, als ihnen einzuräumen, daß die Begriffe der Pflicht (so wie man sich auch aus Gemächlichkeit gerne überredet, daß es auch mit allen übrigen Begriffen bewandt sei) lediglich aus der Erfahrung gezogen werden müßten; denn da bereitet man jenen einen sichern Triumph. Ich will aus Menschenliebe einräumen, daß noch die meisten unserer Handlungen pflichtmäßig seien; sieht man aber ihr Tichten und Trachten näher an, so stößt man allenthalben auf das liebe Selbst, was immer hervorsticht, worauf und nicht auf das strenge Gebot der Pflicht, welches mehrmals Selbstverleugnung erfordern würde, sich ihre Absicht stützt. Man braucht auch eben kein Feind der Tugend, sondern nur ein kaltblütiger Beobachter zu sein, der den lebhaftesten Wunsch für das Gute nicht sofort für dessen Wirklichkeit hält, um (vornehmlich mit zunehmenden Jahren und einer durch Erfahrung theils gewitzigten, theils zum Beobachten geschärften Urtheilskraft) in gewissen Augenblicken zweifelhaft zu werden, ob auch wirklich in der Welt irgend wahre Tugend angetroffen werde. Und hier kann uns nun nichts vor dem gänzlichen Abfall von unseren Ideen der Pflicht bewahren und gegründete Achtung gegen ihr Gesetz in der Seele erhalten, als die klare Überzeugung, daß, wenn es auch niemals Handlungen gegeben habe, die aus solchen reinen Quellen

[408] entsprungen wären, dennoch hier auch davon gar nicht die Rede sei, ob dies oder jenes geschehe, sondern die Vernunft für sich selbst und unabhängig von allen Erscheinungen gebiete, was geschehen soll, mithin Handlungen, von denen die Welt vielleicht bisher noch gar kein Beispiel gegeben hat, an deren Thunlichkeit sogar der, so alles auf Erfahrung gründet, sehr zweifeln möchte, dennoch durch Vernunft unnachlaßlich geboten seien, und daß z. B. reine Redlichkeit in der Freundschaft um nichts weniger von jedem Menschen gefordert werden könne, wenn es gleich bis jetzt gar keinen redlichen Freund gegeben haben möchte, weil diese Pflicht als Pflicht überhaupt vor aller Erfahrung in der Idee einer den Willen durch Gründe a priori bestimmenden Vernunft liegt.

Setzt man hinzu, daß, wenn man dem Begriffe von Sittlichkeit nicht gar alle Wahrheit und Beziehung auf irgend ein mögliches Object bestreiten will, man nicht in Abrede ziehen könne, daß sein Gesetz von so ausgebreiteter Bedeutung sei, daß es nicht bloß für Menschen, sondern *alle vernünftige Wesen überhaupt*, nicht bloß unter zufälligen Bedingungen und mit Ausnahmen, sondern *schlechterdings nothwendig* gelten müsse: so ist klar, daß keine Erfahrung, auch nur auf die Möglichkeit solcher apodiktischen Gesetze zu schließen, Anlaß geben könne. Denn mit welchem Rechte können wir das, was vielleicht nur unter den zufälligen Bedingungen der Menschheit gültig ist, als allgemeine Vorschrift für jede vernünftige Natur in unbeschränkte Achtung bringen, und wie sollen Gesetze der Bestimmung *unseres* Willens für Gesetze der Bestimmung des Willens eines vernünftigen Wesens überhaupt und nur als solche auch für den unsrigen gehalten werden, wenn sie bloß empirisch wären und nicht völlig a priori aus reiner, aber praktischer Vernunft ihren Ursprung nähmen?

Man könnte auch der Sittlichkeit nicht übler rathen, als wenn man sie von Beispielen entlehnen wollte. Denn jedes Beispiel, was mir davon vorgestellt wird, muß selbst zuvor nach Principien der Moralität beurtheilt werden, ob es auch würdig sei, zum ursprünglichen Beispiele, d. i. zum Muster, zu dienen, keinesweges aber kann es den Begriff derselben zu oberst an die Hand geben. Selbst der Heilige des Evangelii muß zuvor mit unserm Ideal der sittlichen Vollkommenheit verglichen werden, ehe man ihn dafür erkennt; auch sagt er von sich selbst: was nennt ihr mich (den ihr sehet) gut? niemand ist gut (das Urbild des Guten) als der einige Gott (den ihr nicht seht). Woher haben wir aber den Begriff von Gott

[409] als dem höchsten Gut? Lediglich aus der *Idee*, die die Vernunft a priori von sittlicher Vollkommenheit entwirft und mit dem Begriffe eines freien Willens unzertrennlich verknüpft. Nachahmung findet im Sittlichen gar nicht statt, und Beispiele dienen nur zur Aufmunterung, d. i. sie setzen die Thunlichkeit dessen, was das Gesetz gebietet, außer Zweifel, sie machen das, was die praktische Regel allgemeiner ausdrückt, anschaulich, können aber niemals berechtigen, ihr wahres Original, das in der Vernunft liegt, bei Seite zu setzen und sich nach Beispielen zu richten.

Wenn es denn keinen ächten obersten Grundsatz der Sittlichkeit giebt, der nicht unabhängig von aller Erfahrung bloß auf reiner Vernunft beruhen müßte, so glaube ich, es sei nicht nöthig, auch nur zu fragen, ob es gut sei, diese Begriffe, so wie sie sammt den ihnen zugehörigen Principien a priori feststehen, im Allgemeinen (in abstracto) vorzutragen, wofern das Erkenntniß sich vom gemeinen unterscheiden und philosophisch heißen soll. Aber in unsern Zeiten möchte dieses wohl nöthig sein. Denn wenn man Stimmen sammelte, ob reine von allem Empirischen abgesonderte Vernunfterkenntniß, mithin Metaphysik der Sitten, oder populäre praktische Philosophie vorzuziehen sei, so erräth man bald, auf welche Seite das Übergewicht fallen werde.

Diese Herablassung zu Volksbegriffen ist allerdings sehr rühmlich, wenn die Erhebung zu den Principien der reinen Vernunft zuvor geschehen und zur völligen Befriedigung erreicht ist, und das würde heißen, die Lehre der Sitten zuvor auf Metaphysik gründen, ihr aber, wenn sie fest steht, nachher durch Popularität *Eingang* verschaffen. Es ist aber äußerst ungereimt, dieser in der ersten Untersuchung, worauf alle Richtigkeit der Grundsätze ankommt, schon willfahren zu wollen. Nicht allein daß dieses Verfahren auf das höchst seltene Verdienst einer wahren *philosophischen Popularität* niemals Anspruch machen kann, indem es gar keine Kunst ist, gemeinverständlich zu sein, wenn man dabei auf alle gründliche Einsicht Verzicht thut, so bringt es einen ekelhaften Mischmasch von zusammengestoppelten Beobachtungen und halbvernünftelnden Principien zum Vorschein, daran sich schale Köpfe laben, weil es doch etwas gar Brauchbares fürs alltägliche Geschwätz ist, wo Einsehende aber Verwirrung fühlen und unzufrieden, ohne sich doch helfen zu können, ihre Augen wegwenden, obgleich Philosophen, die das Blendwerk ganz wohl durchschauen, wenig Gehör finden, wenn sie auf einige Zeit von der vorgeblichen

[410] Popularität abrufen, um nur allererst nach erworbener bestimmter Einsicht mit Recht populär sein zu dürfen.

Man darf nur die Versuche über die Sittlichkeit in jenem beliebten Geschmacke ansehen, so wird man bald die besondere Bestimmung der menschlichen Natur (mitunter aber auch die Idee von einer vernünftigen Natur überhaupt), bald Vollkommenheit, bald Glückseligkeit, hier moralisches Gefühl, dort Gottesfurcht, von diesem etwas, von jenem auch etwas in wunderbarem Gemische antreffen, ohne daß man sich einfallen läßt zu fragen, ob auch überall in der Kenntniß der menschlichen Natur (die wir doch nur von der Erfahrung herhaben können) die Principien der Sittlichkeit zu suchen seien, und, wenn dieses nicht ist, wenn die letztere völlig a priori, frei von allem Empirischen, schlechterdings in reinen Vernunftbegriffen und nirgend anders auch nicht dem mindesten Theile nach anzutreffen sind, den Anschlag zu fassen, diese Untersuchung als reine praktische Weltweisheit, oder (wenn man einen so verschrienen Namen nennen darf) als Metaphysik*) der Sitten lieber ganz abzusondern, sie für sich allein zu ihrer ganzen Vollständigkeit zu bringen und das Publicum, das Popularität verlangt, bis zum Ausgange dieses Unternehmens zu vertrösten.

Es ist aber eine solche völlig isolirte Metaphysik der Sitten, die mit keiner Anthropologie, mit keiner Theologie, mit keiner Physik oder Hyperphysik, noch weniger mit verborgenen Qualitäten (die man hypophysisch nennen könnte) vermischt ist, nicht allein ein unentbehrliches Substrat aller theoretischen, sicher bestimmten Erkenntniß der Pflichten, sondern zugleich ein Desiderat von der höchsten Wichtigkeit zur wirklichen Vollziehung ihrer Vorschriften. Denn die reine und mit keinem fremden Zusatze von empirischen Anreizen vermischte Vorstellung der Pflicht und überhaupt des sittlichen Gesetzes hat auf das menschliche Herz durch den Weg der Vernunft allein (die hiebei zuerst inne wird, daß sie für sich selbst auch praktisch sein kann) einen so viel mächtigern Einfluß, als alle andere Triebfedern*),

*) Man kann, wenn man will, (so wie die reine Mathematik von der angewandten, die reine Logik von der angewandten unterschieden wird, also) die reine Philosophie der Sitten (Metaphysik) von der angewandten (nämlich auf die menschliche Natur) unterscheiden. Durch diese Benennung wird man auch sofort erinnert, daß die sittlichen Principien nicht auf die Eigenheiten der menschlichen Natur gegründet, sondern für sich a priori bestehend sein müssen, aus solchen aber, wie für jede vernünftige Natur, also auch für die menschliche praktische Regeln müssen abgeleitet werden können.

[411] die man aus dem empirischen Felde aufbieten mag, daß sie im Bewußtsein ihrer Würde die letzteren verachtet und nach und nach ihr Meister werden kann; an dessen Statt eine vermischte Sittenlehre, die aus Triebfedern von Gefühlen und Neigungen und zugleich aus Vernunftbegriffen zusammengesetzt ist, das Gemüth zwischen Bewegursachen, die sich unter kein Princip bringen lassen, die nur sehr zufällig zum Guten, öfters aber auch zum Bösen leiten können, schwankend machen muß.

Aus dem Angeführten erhellt: daß alle sittliche Begriffe völlig a priori in der Vernunft ihren Sitz und Ursprung haben und dieses zwar in der gemeinsten Menschenvernunft eben sowohl, als der im höchsten Maße speculativen; daß sie von keinem empirischen und darum bloß zufälligen Erkenntnisse abstrahirt werden können; daß in dieser Reinigkeit ihres Ursprungs eben ihre Würde liege, um uns zu obersten praktischen Principien zu dienen; daß man jedesmal so viel, als man Empirisches hinzu thut, so viel auch ihrem ächten Einflusse und dem uneingeschränkten Werthe der Handlungen entziehe; daß es nicht allein die größte Nothwendigkeit in theoretischer Absicht, wenn es bloß auf Speculation ankommt, erfordere, sondern auch von der größten praktischen Wichtigkeit sei, ihre Begriffe und Gesetze aus reiner Vernunft zu schöpfen, rein und unvermengt vorzutragen, ja den Umfang dieses ganzen praktischen oder reinen Vernunfterkenntnisses, d. i. das ganze Vermögen der reinen praktischen Vernunft, zu bestimmen, hierin aber nicht, wie es wohl die speculative Philosophie erlaubt, ja gar bisweilen nothwendig findet, die Principien von der besondern

*) Ich habe einen Brief vom sel. vortrefflichen *Sulzer*, worin er mich fragt: was doch die Ursache sein möge, warum die Lehren der Tugend, so viel Überzeugendes sie auch für die Vernunft haben, doch so wenig ausrichten. Meine Antwort wurde durch die Zurüstung dazu, um sie vollständig zu geben, verspätet. Allein es ist keine andere, als daß die Lehrer selbst ihre Begriffe nicht ins Reine gebracht haben, und indem sie es zu gut machen wollen, dadurch, daß sie allerwärts Bewegursachen zum Sittlichguten auftreiben, um die Arznei recht kräftig zu machen, sie verderben. Denn die gemeinste Beobachtung zeigt, daß, wenn man eine Handlung der Rechtschaffenheit vorstellt, wie sie von aller Absicht auf irgend einen Vortheil in dieser oder einer andern Welt abgesondert selbst unter den größten Versuchungen der Noth oder der Anlockung mit standhafter Seele ausgeübt worden, sie jede ähnliche Handlung, die nur im mindesten durch eine fremde Triebfeder afficirt war, weit hinter sich lasse und verdunkle, die Seele erhebe und den Wunsch errege, auch so handeln zu können. Selbst Kinder von mittlerem Alter fühlen diesen Eindruck, und ihnen sollte man Pflichten auch niemals anders vorstellen.

[412] Natur der menschlichen Vernunft abhängig zu machen, sondern darum, weil moralische Gesetze für jedes vernünftige Wesen überhaupt gelten sollen, sie schon aus dem allgemeinen Begriffe eines vernünftigen Wesens überhaupt abzuleiten und auf solche Weise alle Moral, die zu ihrer *Anwendung* auf Menschen der Anthropologie bedarf, zuerst unabhängig von dieser als reine Philosophie, d. i. als Metaphysik, vollständig (welches sich in dieser Art ganz abgesonderter Erkenntnisse wohl thun läßt) vorzutragen, wohl bewußt, daß es, ohne im Besitze derselben zu sein, vergeblich sei, ich will nicht sagen, das Moralische der Pflicht in allem, was pflichtmäßig ist, genau für die speculative Beurtheilung zu bestimmen, sondern sogar im bloß gemeinen und praktischen Gebrauche, vornehmlich der moralischen Unterweisung, unmöglich sei, die Sitten auf ihre ächte Principien zu gründen und dadurch reine moralische Gesinnungen zu bewirken und zum höchsten Weltbesten den Gemüthern einzupfropfen.

Um aber in dieser Bearbeitung nicht bloß von der gemeinen sittlichen Beurtheilung (die hier sehr achtungswürdig ist) zur philosophischen, wie sonst geschehen ist, sondern von einer populären Philosophie, die nicht weiter geht, als sie durch Tappen vermittelst der Beispiele kommen kann, bis zur Metaphysik (die sich durch nichts Empirisches weiter zurückhalten läßt und, indem sie den ganzen Inbegriff der Vernunfterkenntniß dieser Art ausmessen muß, allenfalls bis zu Ideen geht, wo selbst die Beispiele uns verlassen) durch die natürlichen Stufen fortzuschreiten, müssen wir das praktische Vernunftvermögen von seinen allgemeinen Bestimmungsregeln an bis dahin, wo aus ihm der Begriff der Pflicht entspringt, verfolgen und deutlich darstellen.

Ein jedes Ding der Natur wirkt nach Gesetzen. Nur ein vernünftiges Wesen hat das Vermögen, *nach der Vorstellung* der Gesetze, d. i. nach Principien, zu handeln, oder einen *Willen*. Da zur Ableitung der Handlungen von Gesetzen *Vernunft* erfordert wird, so ist der Wille nichts anders als praktische Vernunft. Wenn die Vernunft den Willen unausbleiblich bestimmt, so sind die Handlungen eines solchen Wesens, die als objectiv nothwendig erkannt werden, auch subjectiv nothwendig, d. i. der Wille ist ein Vermögen, *nur dasjenige* zu wählen, was die Vernunft unabhängig von der Neigung als praktisch nothwendig, d. i. als gut, erkennt. Bestimmt aber die Vernunft für sich allein den Willen nicht hinlänglich, ist dieser noch subjectiven Bedingungen (gewissen Triebfedern) unterworfen, die nicht immer mit den objectiven übereinstimmen; mit

[413] einem Worte, ist der Wille nicht *an sich* völlig der Vernunft gemäß (wie es bei Menschen wirklich ist): so sind die Handlungen, die objectiv als nothwendig erkannt werden, subjectiv zufällig, und die Bestimmung eines solchen Willens objectiven Gesetzen gemäß ist *Nöthigung*; d. i. das Verhältniß der objectiven Gesetze zu einem nicht durchaus guten Willen wird vorgestellt als die Bestimmung des Willens eines vernünftigen Wesens zwar durch Gründe der Vernunft, denen aber dieser Wille seiner Natur nach nicht nothwendig folgsam ist.

Die Vorstellung eines objectiven Princips, sofern es für einen Willen nöthigend ist, heißt ein Gebot (der Vernunft), und die Formel des Gebots heißt *Imperativ*.

Alle Imperativen werden durch ein *Sollen* ausgedrückt und zeigen dadurch das Verhältniß eines objectiven Gesetzes der Vernunft zu einem Willen an, der seiner subjectiven Beschaffenheit nach dadurch nicht nothwendig bestimmt wird (eine Nöthigung). Sie sagen, daß etwas zu thun oder zu unterlassen gut sein würde, allein sie sagen es einem Willen, der nicht immer darum etwas thut, weil ihm vorgestellt wird, daß es zu thun gut sei. Praktisch *gut* ist aber, was vermittelst der Vorstellungen der Vernunft, mithin nicht aus subjectiven Ursachen, sondern objectiv, d. i. aus Gründen, die für jedes vernünftige Wesen als ein solches gültig sind, den Willen bestimmt. Es wird vom *Angenehmen* unterschieden als demjenigen, was nur vermittelst der Empfindung aus bloß subjectiven Ursachen, die nur für dieses oder jenes seinen Sinn gelten, und nicht als Princip der Vernunft, das für jedermann gilt, auf den Willen Einfluß hat*).

*) Die Abhängigkeit des Begehrungsvermögens von Empfindungen heißt Neigung, und diese beweiset also jederzeit ein *Bedürfniß*. Die Abhängigkeit eines zufällig bestimmbaren Willens aber von Principien der Vernunft heißt ein *Interesse*. Dieses findet also nur bei einem abhängigen Willen statt, der nicht von selbst jederzeit der Vernunft gemäß ist; beim göttlichen Willen kann man sich kein Interesse gedenken. Aber auch der menschliche Wille kann woran ein *Interesse nehmen*, ohne darum *aus Interesse zu handeln*. Das erste bedeutet das *praktische* Interesse an der Handlung, das zweite das *pathologische* Interesse am Gegenstande der Handlung. Das erste zeigt nur Abhängigkeit des Willens von Principien der Vernunft an sich selbst, das zweite von den Principien derselben zum Behuf der Neigung an, da nämlich die Vernunft nur die praktische Regel angiebt, wie dem Bedürfnisse der Neigung abgeholfen werde. Im ersten Falle interessirt mich die Handlung, im zweiten der Gegenstand der Handlung (so fern er mir angenehm ist). Wir haben im ersten Abschnitte gesehen: daß bei einer Handlung aus Pflicht nicht auf das Interesse am Gegenstande, sondern bloß an der Handlung selbst und ihrem Princip in der Vernunft (dem Gesetz) gesehen werden müsse.

[414] Ein vollkommen guter Wille würde also eben sowohl unter objectiven Gesetzen (des Guten) stehen, aber nicht dadurch als zu gesetzmäßigen Handlungen *genöthigt* vorgestellt werden können, weil er von selbst nach seiner subjectiven Beschaffenheit nur durch die Vorstellung des Guten bestimmt werden kann. Daher gelten für den *göttlichen* und überhaupt für einen *heiligen* Willen keine Imperativen; das *Sollen* ist hier am unrechten Orte, weil das *Wollen* schon von selbst mit dem Gesetz nothwendig einstimmig ist. Daher sind Imperativen nur Formeln, das Verhältniß objectiver Gesetze des Wollens überhaupt zu der subjectiven Unvollkommenheit des Willens dieses oder jenes vernünftigen Wesens, z. B. des menschlichen Willens, auszudrücken.

Alle *Imperativen* nun gebieten entweder *hypothetisch*, oder *kategorisch*. Jene stellen die praktische Nothwendigkeit einer möglichen Handlung als Mittel zu etwas anderem, was man will (oder doch möglich ist, daß man es wolle), zu gelangen vor. Der kategorische Imperativ würde der sein, welcher eine Handlung als für sich selbst, ohne Beziehung auf einen andern Zweck, als objectiv-nothwendig vorstellte.

Weil jedes praktische Gesetz eine mögliche Handlung als gut und darum für ein durch Vernunft praktisch bestimmbares Subject als nothwendig vorstellt, so sind alle Imperativen Formeln der Bestimmung der Handlung, die nach dem Princip eines in irgend einer Art guten Willens nothwendig ist. Wenn nun die Handlung bloß wozu anders als *Mittel* gut sein würde, so ist der Imperativ *hypothetisch*; wird sie als *an sich* gut vorgestellt, mithin als nothwendig in einem an sich der Vernunft gemäßen Willen, als Princip desselben, so ist er *kategorisch*.

Der Imperativ sagt also, welche durch mich mögliche Handlung gut wäre, und stellt die praktische Regel in Verhältniß auf einen Willen vor, der darum nicht sofort eine Handlung thut, weil sie gut ist, theils weil das Subject nicht immer weiß, daß sie gut sei, theils weil, wenn es dieses auch wüßte, die Maximen desselben doch den objectiven Principien einer praktischen Vernunft zuwider sein könnten.

Der hypothetische Imperativ sagt also nur, daß die Handlung zu irgend einer *möglichen* oder *wirklichen* Absicht gut sei. Im erstern

[415] Falle ist er ein *problematisch*-, im zweiten *assertorisch-praktisches* Princip. Der kategorische Imperativ, der die Handlung ohne Beziehung auf irgend eine Absicht, d. i. auch ohne irgend einen andern Zweck, für sich als objectiv nothwendig erklärt, gilt als ein *apodiktisch-praktisches* Princip.

Man kann sich das, was nur durch Kräfte irgend eines vernünftigen Wesens möglich ist, auch für irgend einen Willen als mögliche Absicht denken, und daher sind der Principien der Handlung, so fern diese als nothwendig vorgestellt wird, um irgend eine dadurch zu bewirkende mögliche Absicht zu erreichen, in der That unendlich viel. Alle Wissenschaften haben irgend einen praktischen Theil, der aus Aufgaben besteht, daß irgend ein Zweck für uns möglich sei, und aus Imperativen, wie er erreicht werden könne. Diese können daher überhaupt Imperativen der *Geschicklichkeit* heißen. Ob der Zweck vernünftig und gut sei, davon ist hier gar nicht die Frage, sondern nur was man thun müsse, um ihn zu erreichen. Die Vorschriften für den Arzt, um seinen Mann auf gründliche Art gesund zu machen, und für einen Giftmischer, um ihn sicher zu tödten, sind in so fern von gleichem Werth, als eine jede dazu dient, ihre Absicht vollkommen zu bewirken. Weil man in der frühen Jugend nicht weiß, welche Zwecke uns im Leben aufstoßen dürften, so suchen Eltern vornehmlich ihre Kinder recht *vielerlei* lernen zu lassen und sorgen für die *Geschicklichkeit* im Gebrauch der Mittel zu allerlei *beliebigen* Zwecken, von deren keinem sie bestimmen können, ob er etwa wirklich künftig eine Absicht ihres Zöglings werden könne, wovon es indessen doch möglich ist, daß er sie einmal haben möchte, und diese Sorgfalt ist so groß, daß sie darüber gemeiniglich verabsäumen, ihnen das Urtheil über den Werth der Dinge, die sie sich etwa zu Zwecken machen möchten, zu bilden und zu berichtigen.

Es ist gleichwohl *ein* Zweck, den man bei allen vernünftigen Wesen (so fern Imperative auf sie, nämlich als abhängige Wesen, passen) als wirklich voraussetzen kann, und also eine Absicht, die sie nicht etwa bloß haben *können*, sondern von der man sicher voraussetzen kann, daß sie solche insgesammt nach einer Naturnothwendigkeit haben, und das ist die Absicht auf *Glückseligkeit*. Der hypothetische Imperativ, der die praktische Nothwendigkeit der Handlung als Mittel zur Beförderung der Glückseligkeit vorstellt, ist *assertorisch*. Man darf ihn nicht bloß als nothwendig zu einer ungewissen, bloß möglichen Absicht vortragen, sondern zu einer Absicht, die man sicher und a priori bei jedem Menschen voraussetzen kann,

[416] weil sie zu seinem Wesen gehört. Nun kann man die Geschicklichkeit in der Wahl der Mittel zu seinem eigenen größten Wohlsein *Klugheit* *) im engsten Verstande nennen. Also ist der Imperativ, der sich auf die Wahl der Mittel zur eigenen Glückseligkeit bezieht, d. i. die Vorschrift der Klugheit, noch immer *hypothetisch*; die Handlung wird nicht schlechthin, sondern nur als Mittel zu einer andern Absicht geboten.

Endlich giebt es einen Imperativ, der, ohne irgend eine andere durch ein gewisses Verhalten zu erreichende Absicht als Bedingung zum Grunde zu legen, dieses Verhalten unmittelbar gebietet. Dieser Imperativ ist *kategorisch*. Er betrifft nicht die Materie der Handlung und das, was aus ihr erfolgen soll, sondern die Form und das Princip, woraus sie selbst folgt, und das Wesentlich-Gute derselben besteht in der Gesinnung, der Erfolg mag sein, welcher er wolle. Dieser Imperativ mag der der *Sittlichkeit* heißen.

Das Wollen nach diesen dreierlei Principien wird auch durch die *Ungleichheit* der Nöthigung des Willens deutlich unterschieden. Um diese nun auch merklich zu machen, glaube ich, daß man sie in ihrer Ordnung am angemessensten so benennen würde, wenn man sagte: sie wären entweder *Regeln* der Geschicklichkeit, oder *Rathschläge* der Klugheit, oder *Gebote* (Gesetze) der Sittlichkeit. Denn nur das *Gesetz* führt den Begriff einer *unbedingten* und zwar objectiven und mithin allgemein gültigen *Nothwendigkeit* bei sich, und Gebote sind Gesetze, denen gehorcht, d. i. auch wider Neigung Folge geleistet, werden muß. Die *Rathgebung* enthält zwar Nothwendigkeit, die aber bloß unter subjectiver zufälliger Bedingung, ob dieser oder jener Mensch dieses oder jenes zu seiner Glückseligkeit zähle, gelten kann; dagegen der kategorische Imperativ durch keine Bedingung eingeschränkt wird und als absolut-, obgleich praktisch-nothwendig ganz eigentlich ein Gebot heißen kann. Man könnte die ersteren Imperative auch *technisch* (zur Kunst gehörig), die

*) Das Wort Klugheit wird in zwiefachem Sinn genommen, einmal kann es den Namen Weltklugheit, im zweiten den der Privatklugheit führen. Die erste ist die Geschicklichkeit eines Menschen, auf andere Einfluß zu haben, um sie zu seinen Absichten zu gebrauchen. Die zweite die Einsicht, alle diese Absichten zu seinem eigenen dauernden Vortheil zu vereinigen. Die letztere ist eigentlich diejenige, worauf selbst der Werth der erstern zurückgeführt wird, und wer in der erstern Art klug ist, nicht aber in der zweiten, von dem könnte man besser sagen: er ist gescheut und verschlagen, im Ganzen aber doch unklug.

[417] zweiten *pragmatisch* *) (zur Wohlfahrt), die dritten *moralisch* (zum freien Verhalten überhaupt, d. i. zu den Sitten gehörig) nennen.

Nun entsteht die Frage: wie sind alle diese Imperative möglich? Diese Frage verlangt nicht zu wissen, wie die Vollziehung der Handlung, welche der Imperativ gebietet, sondern wie bloß die Nöthigung des Willens, die der Imperativ in der Aufgabe ausdrückt, gedacht werden könne. Wie ein Imperativ der Geschicklichkeit möglich sei, bedarf wohl keiner besondern Erörterung. Wer den Zweck will, will (so fern die Vernunft auf seine Handlungen entscheidenden Einfluß hat) auch das dazu unentbehrlich nothwendige Mittel, das in seiner Gewalt ist. Dieser Satz ist, was das Wollen betrifft, analytisch; denn in dem Wollen eines Objects als meiner Wirkung wird schon meine Causalität als handelnde Ursache, d. i. der Gebrauch der Mittel, gedacht, und der Imperativ zieht den Begriff nothwendiger Handlungen zu diesem Zwecke schon aus dem Begriff eines Wollens dieses Zwecks heraus (die Mittel selbst zu einer vorgesetzten Absicht zu bestimmen, dazu gehören allerdings synthetische Sätze, die aber nicht den Grund betreffen, den Actus des Willens, sondern das Object wirklich zu machen). Daß, um eine Linie nach einem sichern Princip in zwei gleiche Theile zu theilen, ich aus den Enden derselben zwei Kreuzbogen machen müsse, das lehrt die Mathematik freilich nur durch synthetische Sätze; aber daß, wenn ich weiß, durch solche Handlung allein könne die gedachte Wirkung geschehen, ich, wenn ich die Wirkung vollständig will, auch die Handlung wolle, die dazu erforderlich ist, ist ein analytischer Satz; denn etwas als eine auf gewisse Art durch mich mögliche Wirkung und mich in Ansehung ihrer auf dieselbe Art handelnd vorstellen, ist ganz einerlei.

Die Imperativen der Klugheit würden, wenn es nur so leicht wäre, einen bestimmten Begriff von Glückseligkeit zu geben, mit denen der Geschicklichkeit ganz und gar übereinkommen und eben sowohl analytisch sein. Denn es würde eben sowohl hier als dort heißen: wer den Zweck will, will auch (der Vernunft gemäß nothwendig) die einzigen Mittel, die dazu in

*) Mich deucht, die eigentliche Bedeutung des Worts *pragmatisch* könne so am genauesten bestimmt werden. Denn pragmatisch werden die *Sanctionen* genannt, welche eigentlich nicht aus dem Rechte der Staaten als nothwendige Gesetze, sondern aus der *Vorsorge* für die allgemeine Wohlfahrt fließen. *Pragmatisch* ist eine *Geschichte* abgefaßt, wenn sie *klug* macht, d. i. die Welt belehrt, wie sie ihren Vortheil besser, oder wenigstens eben so gut als die Vorwelt besorgen könne.

[418] seiner Gewalt sind. Allein es ist ein Unglück, daß der Begriff der Glückseligkeit ein so unbestimmter Begriff ist, daß, obgleich jeder Mensch zu dieser zu gelangen wünscht, er doch niemals bestimmt und mit sich selbst einstimmig sagen kann, was er eigentlich wünsche und wolle. Die Ursache davon ist: daß alle Elemente, die zum Begriff der Glückseligkeit gehören, insgesammt empirisch sind, d. i. aus der Erfahrung müssen entlehnt werden, daß gleichwohl zur Idee der Glückseligkeit ein absolutes Ganze, ein Maximum des Wohlbefindens, in meinem gegenwärtigen und jedem zukünftigen Zustande erforderlich ist. Nun ists unmöglich, daß das einsehendste und zugleich allervermögendste, aber doch endliche Wesen sich einen bestimmten Begriff von dem mache, was er hier eigentlich wolle. Will er Reichthum, wie viel Sorge, Neid und Nachstellung könnte er sich dadurch nicht auf den Hals ziehen! Will er viel Erkenntniß und Einsicht, vielleicht könnte das ein nur um desto schärferes Auge werden, um die Übel, die sich für ihn jetzt noch verbergen und doch nicht vermieden werden können, ihm nur um desto schrecklicher zu zeigen, oder seinen Begierden, die ihm schon genug zu schaffen machen, noch mehr Bedürfnisse aufbürden. Will er ein langes Leben, wer steht ihm dafür, daß es nicht ein langes Elend sein würde? Will er wenigstens Gesundheit, wie oft hat noch Ungemächlichkeit des Körpers von Ausschweifung abgehalten, darein unbeschränkte Gesundheit würde haben fallen lassen, u. s. w. Kurz, er ist nicht vermögend, nach irgend einem Grundsatze mit völliger Gewißheit zu bestimmen, was ihn wahrhaftig glücklich machen werde, darum weil hiezu Allwissenheit erforderlich sein würde. Man kann also nicht nach bestimmten Principien handeln, um glücklich zu sein, sondern nur nach empirischen Rathschlägen, z. B. der Diät, der Sparsamkeit, der Höflichkeit, der Zurückhaltung u. s. w., von welchen die Erfahrung lehrt, daß sie das Wohlbefinden im Durchschnitt am meisten befördern. Hieraus folgt, daß die Imperativen der Klugheit, genau zu reden, gar nicht gebieten, d. i. Handlungen objectiv als praktisch-*nothwendig* darstellen, können, daß sie eher für Anrathungen (consilia) als Gebote (praecepta) der Vernunft zu halten sind, daß die Aufgabe: sicher und allgemein zu bestimmen, welche Handlung die Glückseligkeit eines vernünftigen Wesens befördern werde, völlig unauflöslich, mithin kein Imperativ in Ansehung derselben möglich sei, der im strengen Verstande geböte, das zu thun, was glücklich macht, weil Glückseligkeit nicht ein Ideal der Vernunft, sondern der Einbildungskraft ist, was bloß auf empirischen Gründen beruht, von denen man vergeblich

[419] erwartet, daß sie eine Handlung bestimmen sollten, dadurch die Totalität einer in der That unendlichen Reihe von Folgen erreicht würde. Dieser Imperativ der Klugheit würde indessen, wenn man annimmt, die Mittel zur Glückseligkeit ließen sich sicher angeben, ein analytisch-praktischer Satz sein; denn er ist von dem Imperativ der Geschicklichkeit nur darin unterschieden, daß bei diesem der Zweck bloß möglich, bei jenem aber gegeben ist; da beide aber bloß die Mittel zu demjenigen gebieten, von dem man voraussetzt, daß man es als Zweck wollte: so ist der Imperativ, der das Wollen der Mittel für den, der den Zweck will, gebietet, in beiden Fällen analytisch. Es ist also in Ansehung der Möglichkeit eines solchen Imperativs auch keine Schwierigkeit.

Dagegen, wie der Imperativ der *Sittlichkeit* möglich sei, ist ohne Zweifel die einzige einer Auflösung bedürftige Frage, da er gar nicht hypothetisch ist und also die objectiv-vorgestellte Nothwendigkeit sich auf keine Voraussetzung stützen kann, wie bei den hypothetischen Imperativen. Nur ist immer hiebei nicht aus der Acht zu lassen, daß es *durch kein Beispiel*, mithin empirisch, auszumachen sei, ob es überall irgend einen dergleichen Imperativ gebe, sondern zu besorgen, daß alle, die kategorisch scheinen, doch versteckter Weise hypothetisch sein mögen. Z. B. wenn es heißt: du sollt nichts betrüglich versprechen, und man nimmt an, daß die Nothwendigkeit dieser Unterlassung nicht etwa bloß Rathgebung zu Vermeidung irgend eines andern Übels sei, so daß es etwa hieße: du sollt nicht lügenhaft versprechen, damit du nicht, wenn es offenbar wird, dich um den Credit bringest; sondern eine Handlung dieser Art müßte für sich selbst als böse betrachtet werden, der Imperativ des Verbots sei also kategorisch: so kann man doch in keinem Beispiel mit Gewißheit darthun, daß der Wille hier ohne andere Triebfeder, bloß durchs Gesetz, bestimmt werde, ob es gleich so scheint; denn es ist immer möglich, daß ingeheim Furcht vor Beschämung, vielleicht auch dunkle Besorgniß anderer Gefahren Einfluß auf den Willen haben möge. Wer kann das Nichtsein einer Ursache durch Erfahrung beweisen, da diese nichts weiter lehrt, als daß wir jene nicht wahrnehmen? Auf solchen Fall aber würde der sogenannte moralische Imperativ, der als ein solcher kategorisch und unbedingt erscheint, in der That nur eine pragmatische Vorschrift sein, die uns auf unsern Vortheil aufmerksam macht und uns bloß lehrt, diesen in Acht zu nehmen.

Wir werden also die Möglichkeit eines *kategorischen* Imperativs gänzlich a priori zu untersuchen haben, da uns hier der Vortheil nicht zu

[420] statten kommt, daß die Wirklichkeit desselben in der Erfahrung gegeben und also die Möglichkeit nicht zur Festsetzung, sondern bloß zur Erklärung nöthig wäre. So viel ist indessen vorläufig einzusehen: daß der kategorische Imperativ allein als ein praktisches *Gesetz* laute, die übrigen insgesammt zwar *Principien* des Willens, aber nicht Gesetze heißen können: weil, was bloß zur Erreichung einer beliebigen Absicht zu thun nothwendig ist, an sich als zufällig betrachtet werden kann, und wir von der Vorschrift jederzeit los sein können, wenn wir die Absicht aufgeben, dahingegen das unbedingte Gebot dem Willen kein Belieben in Ansehung des Gegentheils frei läßt, mithin allein diejenige Nothwendigkeit bei sich führt, welche wir zum Gesetze verlangen.

Zweitens ist bei diesem kategorischen Imperativ oder Gesetze der Sittlichkeit der Grund der Schwierigkeit (die Möglichkeit desselben einzusehen) auch sehr groß. Er ist ein synthetisch-praktischer Satz*) a priori, und da die Möglichkeit der Sätze dieser Art einzusehen so viel Schwierigkeit im theoretischen Erkenntnisse hat, so läßt sich leicht abnehmen, daß sie im praktischen nicht weniger haben werde.

Bei dieser Aufgabe wollen wir zuerst versuchen, ob nicht vielleicht der bloße Begriff eines kategorischen Imperativs auch die Formel desselben an die Hand gebe, die den Satz enthält, der allein ein kategorischer Imperativ sein kann; denn wie ein solches absolutes Gebot möglich sei, wenn wir auch gleich wissen, wie es lautet, wird noch besondere und schwere Bemühung erfordern, die wir aber zum letzten Abschnitte aussetzen.

Wenn ich mir einen *hypothetischen* Imperativ überhaupt denke, so weiß ich nicht zum voraus, was er enthalten werde: bis mir die Bedingung gegeben ist. Denke ich mir aber einen *kategorischen* Imperativ, so weiß ich sofort, was er enthalte. Denn da der Imperativ außer dem Gesetze nur die Nothwendigkeit der Maxime**) enthält, diesem Gesetze

*) Ich verknüpfe mit dem Willen ohne vorausgesetzte Bedingung aus irgend einer Neigung die That a priori, mithin nothwendig (obgleich nur objectiv, d. i. unter der Idee einer Vernunft, die über alle subjective Bewegungsgründe völlige Gewalt hätte). Dieses ist also ein praktischer Satz, der das Wollen einer Handlung nicht aus einem anderen schon vorausgesetzten analytisch ableitet (denn wir haben keinen so vollkommenen Willen), sondern mit dem Begriffe des Willens eines vernünftigen Wesens unmittelbar als etwas, das in ihm nicht enthalten ist, verknüpft.

**) *Maxime* ist das subjective Princip zu handeln und muß vom *objectiven Princip*, nämlich dem praktischen Gesetze, unterschieden werden. Jene enthält die praktische Regel, die die Vernunft den Bedingungen des Subjects gemäß (öfters der Unwissenheit oder auch den Neigungen desselben) bestimmt, und ist also der Grundsatz, nach welchem das Subject *handelt*; das Gesetz aber ist das objective Princip, gültig für jedes vernünftige Wesen, und der Grundsatz, nach dem es *handeln soll*, d. i. ein Imperativ.

[421] gemäß zu sein, das Gesetz aber keine Bedingung enthält, auf die es eingeschränkt war, so bleibt nichts als die Allgemeinheit eines Gesetzes überhaupt übrig, welchem die Maxime der Handlung gemäß sein soll, und welche Gemäßheit allein der Imperativ eigentlich als nothwendig vorstellt.

Der kategorische Imperativ ist also nur ein einziger und zwar dieser: *handle nur nach derjenigen Maxime, durch die du zugleich wollen kannst, daß sie ein allgemeines Gesetz werde*.

Wenn nun aus diesem einigen Imperativ alle Imperativen der Pflicht als aus ihrem Princip abgeleitet werden können, so werden wir, ob wir es gleich unausgemacht lassen, ob nicht überhaupt das, was man Pflicht nennt, ein leerer Begriff sei, doch wenigstens anzeigen können, was wir dadurch denken und was dieser Begriff sagen wolle.

Weil die Allgemeinheit des Gesetzes, wornach Wirkungen geschehen, dasjenige ausmacht, was eigentlich *Natur* im allgemeinsten Verstande (der Form nach), d. i. das Dasein der Dinge, heißt, so fern es nach allgemeinen Gesetzen bestimmt ist, so könnte der allgemeine Imperativ der Pflicht auch so lauten: *handle so, als ob die Maxime deiner Handlung durch deinen Willen zum allgemeinen Naturgesetze werden sollte*.

Nun wollen wir einige Pflichten herzählen nach der gewöhnlichen Eintheilung derselben in Pflichten gegen uns selbst und gegen andere Menschen, in vollkommene und unvollkommene Pflichten.*)

1) Einer, der durch eine Reihe von Übeln, die bis zur Hoffnungslosigkeit angewachsen ist, einen Überdruß am Leben empfindet, ist noch

*) Man muß hier wohl merken, daß ich die Eintheilung der Pflichten für eine künftige *Metaphysik der Sitten* mir gänzlich vorbehalte, diese hier also nur als beliebig (um meine Beispiele zu ordnen) dastehe. Übrigens verstehe ich hier unter einer vollkommenen Pflicht diejenige, die keine Ausnahme zum Vortheil der Neigung verstattet, und da habe ich nicht bloß äußere, sondern auch innere *vollkommene Pflichten*, welches dem in Schulen angenommenen Wortgebrauch zuwider läuft, ich aber hier nicht zu verantworten gemeint bin, weil es zu meiner Absicht einerlei ist, ob man es mir einräumt, oder nicht.

[422] so weit im Besitze seiner Vernunft, daß er sich selbst fragen kann, ob es auch nicht etwa der Pflicht gegen sich selbst zuwider sei, sich das Leben zu nehmen. Nun versucht er: ob die Maxime seiner Handlung wohl ein allgemeines Naturgesetz werden könne. Seine Maxime aber ist: ich mache es mir aus Selbstliebe zum Princip, wenn das Leben bei seiner längern Frist mehr Übel droht, als es Annehmlichkeit verspricht, es mir abzukürzen. Es frägt sich nur noch, ob dieses Princip der Selbstliebe ein allgemeines Naturgesetz werden könne. Da sieht man aber bald, daß eine Natur, deren Gesetz es wäre, durch dieselbe Empfindung, deren Bestimmung es ist, zur Beförderung des Lebens anzutreiben, das Leben selbst zu zerstören, ihr selbst widersprechen und also nicht als Natur bestehen würde, mithin jene Maxime unmöglich als allgemeines Naturgesetz stattfinden könne und folglich dem obersten Princip aller Pflicht gänzlich widerstreite.

2) Ein anderer sieht sich durch Noth gedrungen, Geld zu borgen. Er weiß wohl, daß er nicht wird bezahlen können, sieht aber auch, daß ihm nichts geliehen werden wird, wenn er nicht festiglich verspricht, es zu einer bestimmten Zeit zu bezahlen. Er hat Lust, ein solches Versprechen zu thun; noch aber hat er so viel Gewissen, sich zu fragen: ist es nicht unerlaubt und pflichtwidrig, sich auf solche Art aus Noth zu helfen? Gesetzt, er beschlösse es doch, so würde seine Maxime der Handlung so lauten: wenn ich mich in Geldnoth zu sein glaube, so will ich Geld borgen und versprechen es zu bezahlen, ob ich gleich weiß, es werde niemals geschehen. Nun ist dieses Princip der Selbstliebe oder der eigenen Zuträglichkeit mit meinem ganzen künftigen Wohlbefinden vielleicht wohl zu vereinigen, allein jetzt ist die Frage: ob es recht sei. Ich verwandle also die Zumuthung der Selbstliebe in ein allgemeines Gesetz und richte die Frage so ein: wie es denn stehen würde, wenn meine Maxime ein allgemeines Gesetz würde. Da sehe ich nun sogleich, daß sie niemals als allgemeines Naturgesetz gelten und mit sich selbst zusammenstimmen könne, sondern sich nothwendig widersprechen müsse. Denn die Allgemeinheit eines Gesetzes, daß jeder, nachdem er in Noth zu sein glaubt, versprechen könne, was ihm einfällt, mit dem Vorsatz, es nicht zu halten, würde das Versprechen und den Zweck, den man damit haben mag, selbst unmöglich machen, indem niemand glauben würde, daß ihm was versprochen sei, sondern über alle solche Äußerung als eitles Vorgeben lachen würde.

3) Ein dritter findet in sich ein Talent, welches vermittelst einiger

[423] Cultur ihn zu einem in allerlei Absicht brauchbaren Menschen machen könnte. Er sieht sich aber in bequemen Umständen und zieht vor, lieber dem Vergnügen nachzuhängen, als sich mit Erweiterung und Verbesserung seiner glücklichen Naturanlagen zu bemühen. Noch frägt er aber: ob außer der Übereinstimmung, die seine Maxime der Verwahrlosung seiner Naturgaben mit seinem Hange zur Ergötzlichkeit an sich hat, sie auch mit dem, was man Pflicht nennt, übereinstimme. Da sieht er nun, daß zwar eine Natur nach einem solchen allgemeinen Gesetze immer noch bestehen könne, obgleich der Mensch (so wie die Südsee-Einwohner) sein Talent rosten ließe und sein Leben bloß auf Müßiggang, Ergötzlichkeit, Fortpflanzung, mit einem Wort auf Genuß zu verwenden bedacht wäre; allein er kann unmöglich *wollen*, daß dieses ein allgemeines Naturgesetz werde, oder als ein solches in uns durch Naturinstinct gelegt sei. Denn als ein vernünftiges Wesen will er nothwendig, daß alle Vermögen in ihm entwickelt werden, weil sie ihm doch zu allerlei möglichen Absichten dienlich und gegeben sind.

Noch denkt ein *vierter*, dem es wohl geht, indessen er sieht, daß andere mit großen Mühseligkeiten zu kämpfen haben (denen er auch wohl helfen könnte): was gehts mich an? mag doch ein jeder so glücklich sein, als der Himmel will, oder er sich selbst machen kann, ich werde ihm nichts entziehen, ja nicht einmal beneiden; nur zu seinem Wohlbefinden oder seinem Beistande in der Noth habe ich nicht Lust was beizutragen! Nun könnte allerdings, wenn eine solche Denkungsart ein allgemeines Naturgesetz würde, das menschliche Geschlecht gar wohl bestehen und ohne Zweifel noch besser, als wenn jedermann von Theilnehmung und Wohlwollen schwatzt, auch sich beeifert, gelegentlich dergleichen auszuüben, dagegen aber auch, wo er nur kann, betrügt, das Recht der Menschen verkauft, oder ihm sonst Abbruch thut. Aber obgleich es möglich ist, daß nach jener Maxime ein allgemeines Naturgesetz wohl bestehen könnte: so ist es doch unmöglich, zu *wollen*, daß ein solches Princip als Naturgesetz allenthalben gelte. Denn ein Wille, der dieses beschlösse, würde sich selbst widerstreiten, indem der Fälle sich doch manche eräugnen können, wo er anderer Liebe und Theilnehmung bedarf, und wo er durch ein solches aus seinem eigenen Willen entsprungenes Naturgesetz sich selbst alle Hoffnung des Beistandes, den er sich wünscht, rauben würde.

Dieses sind nun einige von den vielen wirklichen oder wenigstens von uns dafür gehaltenen Pflichten, deren Abtheilung aus dem einigen angeführten

[424] Princip klar in die Augen fällt. Man muß *wollen können*, daß eine Maxime unserer Handlung ein allgemeines Gesetz werde: dies ist der Kanon der moralischen Beurtheilung derselben überhaupt. Einige Handlungen sind so beschaffen, daß ihre Maxime ohne Widerspruch nicht einmal als allgemeines Naturgesetz gedacht werden kann; weit gefehlt, daß man noch *wollen* könne, es *sollte* ein solches werden. Bei andern ist zwar jene innere Unmöglichkeit nicht anzutreffen, aber es ist doch unmöglich, zu wollen, daß ihre Maxime zur Allgemeinheit eines Naturgesetzes erhoben werde, weil ein solcher Wille sich selbst widersprechen würde. Man sieht leicht: daß die erstere der strengen oder engeren (unnachlaßlichen) Pflicht, die zweite nur der weiteren (verdienstlichen) Pflicht widerstreite, und so alle Pflichten, was die Art der Verbindlichkeit (nicht das Object ihrer Handlung) betrifft, durch diese Beispiele in ihrer Abhängigkeit von dem einigen Princip vollständig aufgestellt worden.

Wenn wir nun auf uns selbst bei jeder Übertretung einer Pflicht Acht haben, so finden wir, daß wir wirklich nicht wollen, es solle unsere Maxime ein allgemeines Gesetz werden, denn das ist uns unmöglich, sondern das Gegentheil derselben soll vielmehr allgemein ein Gesetz bleiben; nur nehmen wir uns die Freiheit, für uns oder (auch nur für diesesmal) zum Vortheil unserer Neigung davon eine *Ausnahme* zu machen. Folglich wenn wir alles aus einem und demselben Gesichtspunkte, nämlich der Vernunft, erwögen, so würden wir einen Widerspruch in unserm eigenen Willen antreffen, nämlich daß ein gewisses Princip objectiv als allgemeines Gesetz nothwendig sei und doch subjectiv nicht allgemein gelten, sondern Ausnahmen verstatten sollte. Da wir aber einmal unsere Handlung aus dem Gesichtspunkte eines ganz der Vernunft gemäßen, dann aber auch eben dieselbe Handlung aus dem Gesichtspunkte eines durch Neigung afficirten Willens betrachten, so ist wirklich hier kein Widerspruch, wohl aber ein Widerstand der Neigung gegen die Vorschrift der Vernunft (antagonismus), wodurch die Allgemeinheit des Princips (universalitas) in eine bloße Gemeingültigkeit (generalitas) verwandelt wird, dadurch das praktische Vernunftprincip mit der Maxime auf dem halben Wege zusammenkommen soll. Ob nun dieses gleich in unserm eigenen unparteiisch angestellten Urtheile nicht gerechtfertigt werden kann, so beweiset es doch, daß wir die Gültigkeit des kategorischen Imperativs wirklich anerkennen und uns (mit aller Achtung für denselben) nur einige, wie es uns scheint, unerhebliche und uns abgedrungene Ausnahmen erlauben.

[425] Wir haben so viel also wenigstens dargethan, daß, wenn Pflicht ein Begriff ist, der Bedeutung und wirkliche Gesetzgebung für unsere Handlungen enthalten soll, diese nur in kategorischen Imperativen, keinesweges aber in hypothetischen ausgedrückt werden könne; imgleichen haben wir, welches schon viel ist, den Inhalt des kategorischen Imperativs, der das Princip aller Pflicht (wenn es überhaupt dergleichen gäbe) enthalten müßte, deutlich und zu jedem Gebrauche bestimmt dargestellt. Noch sind wir aber nicht so weit, a priori zu beweisen, daß dergleichen Imperativ wirklich stattfinde, daß es ein praktisches Gesetz gebe, welches schlechterdings und ohne alle Triebfedern für sich gebietet, und daß die Befolgung dieses Gesetzes Pflicht sei.

Bei der Absicht, dazu zu gelangen, ist es von der äußersten Wichtigkeit, sich dieses zur Warnung dienen zu lassen, daß man es sich ja nicht in den Sinn kommen lasse, die Realität dieses Princips aus der *besondern Eigenschaft der menschlichen Natur* ableiten zu wollen. Denn Pflicht soll praktisch-unbedingte Nothwendigkeit der Handlung sein; sie muß also für alle vernünftige Wesen (auf die nur überall ein Imperativ treffen kann) gelten und *allein darum* auch für allen menschlichen Willen ein Gesetz sein. Was dagegen aus der besondern Naturanlage der Menschheit, was aus gewissen Gefühlen und Hange, ja sogar womöglich aus einer besonderen Richtung, die der menschlichen Vernunft eigen wäre und nicht nothwendig für den Willen eines jeden vernünftigen Wesens gelten müßte, abgeleitet wird, das kann zwar eine Maxime für uns, aber kein Gesetz abgeben, ein subjectiv Princip, nach welchem wir handeln zu dürfen Hang und Neigung haben, aber nicht ein objectives, nach welchem wir *angewiesen* wären zu handeln, wenn gleich aller unser Hang, Neigung und Natureinrichtung dawider wäre, sogar, daß es um desto mehr die Erhabenheit und innere Würde des Gebots in einer Pflicht beweiset, je weniger die subjectiven Ursachen dafür, je mehr sie dagegen sind, ohne doch deswegen die Nöthigung durchs Gesetz nur im mindesten zu schwächen und seiner Gültigkeit etwas zu benehmen.

Hier sehen wir nun die Philosophie in der That auf einen mißlichen Standpunkt gestellt, der fest sein soll, unerachtet er weder im Himmel, noch auf der Erde an etwas gehängt oder woran gestützt wird. Hier soll sie ihre Lauterkeit beweisen als Selbsthalterin ihrer Gesetze, nicht als Herold derjenigen, welche ihr ein eingepflanzter Sinn, oder wer weiß welche vormundschaftliche Natur einflüstert, die insgesammt, sie mögen immer besser sein

[426] als gar nichts, doch niemals Grundsätze abgeben können, die die Vernunft dictirt, und die durchaus völlig a priori ihren Quell und hiemit zugleich ihr gebietendes Ansehen haben müssen: nichts von der Neigung des Menschen, sondern alles von der Obergewalt des Gesetzes und der schuldigen Achtung für dasselbe zu erwarten, oder den Menschen widrigenfalls zur Selbstverachtung und innern Abscheu zu verurtheilen.

Alles also, was empirisch ist, ist als Zuthat zum Princip der Sittlichkeit nicht allein dazu ganz untauglich, sondern der Lauterkeit der Sitten selbst höchst nachtheilig, an welchen der eigentliche und über allen Preis erhabene Werth eines schlechterdings guten Willens eben darin besteht, daß das Princip der Handlung von allen Einflüssen zufälliger Gründe, die nur Erfahrung an die Hand geben kann, frei sei. Wider diese Nachlässigkeit oder gar niedrige Denkungsart in Aufsuchung des Princips unter empirischen Bewegursachen und Gesetzen kann man auch nicht zu viel und zu oft Warnungen ergehen lassen, indem die menschliche Vernunft in ihrer Ermüdung gern auf diesem Polster ausruht und in dem Traume süßer Vorspiegelungen (die sie doch statt der Juno eine Wolke umarmen lassen) der Sittlichkeit einen aus Gliedern ganz verschiedener Abstammung zusammengestoppelten Bastard unterschiebt, der allem ähnlich sieht, was man daran sehen will, nur der Tugend nicht für den, der sie einmal in ihrer wahren Gestalt erblickt hat.*)

Die Frage ist also diese: ist es ein nothwendiges Gesetz für *alle vernünftige Wesen*, ihre Handlungen jederzeit nach solchen Maximen zu beurtheilen, von denen sie selbst wollen können, daß sie zu allgemeinen Gesetzen dienen sollen? Wenn es ein solches ist, so muß es (völlig a priori) schon mit dem Begriffe des Willens eines vernünftigen Wesens überhaupt verbunden sein. Um aber diese Verknüpfung zu entdecken, muß man, so sehr man sich auch sträubt, einen Schritt hinaus thun, nämlich zur Metaphysik, obgleich in ein Gebiet derselben, welches von der speculativen Philosophie unterschieden ist, nämlich in die Metaphysik der Sitten.

*) Die Tugend in ihrer eigentlichen Gestalt erblicken, ist nichts anders als die Sittlichkeit von aller Beimischung des Sinnlichen und allem unächten Schmuck des Lohns oder der Selbstliebe entkleidet darstellen. Wie sehr sie alsdann alles übrige, was den Neigungen reizend erscheint, verdunkle, kann jeder vermittelst des mindesten Versuchs seiner nicht ganz für alle Abstraction verdorbenen Vernunft leicht inne werden.

[427] In einer praktischen Philosophie, wo es uns nicht darum zu thun ist, Gründe anzunehmen von dem, was *geschieht*, sondern Gesetze von dem, *was geschehen soll*, ob es gleich niemals geschieht, d. i. objectiv-praktische Gesetze: da haben wir nicht nöthig, über die Gründe Untersuchung anzustellen, warum etwas gefällt oder mißfällt, wie das Vergnügen der bloßen Empfindung vom Geschmacke, und ob dieser von einem allgemeinen Wohlgefallen der Vernunft unterschieden sei; worauf Gefühl der Lust und Unlust beruhe, und wie hieraus Begierden und Neigungen, aus diesen aber durch Mitwirkung der Vernunft Maximen entspringen; denn das gehört alles zu einer empirischen Seelenlehre, welche den zweiten Theil der Naturlehre ausmachen würde, wenn man sie als *Philosophie der Natur* betrachtet, so fern sie auf *empirischen Gesetzen* gegründet ist. Hier aber ist vom objectiv-praktischen Gesetze die Rede, mithin von dem Verhältnisse eines Willens zu sich selbst, so fern er sich bloß durch Vernunft bestimmt, da denn alles, was aufs Empirische Beziehung hat, von selbst wegfällt: weil, wenn die *Vernunft für sich allein* das Verhalten bestimmt (wovon wir die Möglichkeit jetzt eben untersuchen wollen), sie dieses nothwendig a priori thun muß.

Der Wille wird als ein Vermögen gedacht, *der Vorstellung gewisser Gesetze gemäß* sich selbst zum Handeln zu bestimmen. Und ein solches Vermögen kann nur in vernünftigen Wesen anzutreffen sein. Nun ist das, was dem Willen zum objectiven Grunde seiner Selbstbestimmung dient, der *Zweck*, und dieser, wenn er durch bloße Vernunft gegeben wird, muß für alle vernünftige Wesen gleich gelten. Was dagegen bloß den Grund der Möglichkeit der Handlung enthält, deren Wirkung Zweck ist, heißt das *Mittel*. Der subjective Grund des Begehrens ist die *Triebfeder*, der objective des Wollens der *Bewegungsgrund*; daher der Unterschied zwischen subjectiven Zwecken, die auf Triebfedern beruhen, und objectiven, die auf Bewegungsgründe ankommen, welche für jedes vernünftige Wesen gelten. Praktische Principien sind *formal*, wenn sie von allen subjectiven Zwecken abstrahiren; sie sind aber *material*, wenn sie diese, mithin gewisse Triebfedern zum Grunde legen. Die Zwecke, die sich ein vernünftiges Wesen als *Wirkungen* seiner Handlung nach Belieben vorsetzt (materiale Zwecke) sind insgesammt nur relativ; denn nur bloß ihr Verhältniß auf ein besonders geartetes Begehrungsvermögen des Subjects giebt ihnen den Werth, der daher keine allgemeine für alle vernünftige Wesen und auch nicht für jedes Wollen gültige und nothwendige

[428] Principien, d. i. praktische Gesetze, an die Hand geben kann. Daher sind alle diese relative Zwecke nur der Grund von hypothetischen Imperativen.

Gesetzt aber, es gäbe etwas, *dessen Dasein an sich selbst* einen absoluten Werth hat, was als *Zweck an sich selbst* ein Grund bestimmter Gesetze sein könnte, so würde in ihm und nur in ihm allein der Grund eines möglichen kategorischen Imperativs, d. i. praktischen Gesetzes, liegen.

Nun sage ich: der Mensch und überhaupt jedes vernünftige Wesen *existirt* als Zweck an sich selbst, *nicht bloß als Mittel* zum beliebigen Gebrauche für diesen oder jenen Willen, sondern muß in allen seinen sowohl auf sich selbst, als auch auf andere vernünftige Wesen gerichteten Handlungen jederzeit *zugleich als Zweck* betrachtet werden. Alle Gegenstände der Neigungen haben nur einen bedingten Werth; denn wenn die Neigungen und darauf gegründete Bedürfnisse nicht wären, so würde ihr Gegenstand ohne Werth sein. Die Neigungen selber aber als Quellen des Bedürfnisses haben so wenig einen absoluten Werth, um sie selbst zu wünschen, daß vielmehr, gänzlich davon frei zu sein, der allgemeine Wunsch eines jeden vernünftigen Wesens sein muß. Also ist der Werth aller durch unsere Handlung *zu erwerbenden* Gegenstände jederzeit bedingt. Die Wesen, deren Dasein zwar nicht auf unserm Willen, sondern der Natur beruht, haben dennoch, wenn sie vernunftlose Wesen sind, nur einen relativen Werth, als Mittel, und heißen daher *Sachen*, dagegen vernünftige Wesen *Personen* genannt werden, weil ihre Natur sie schon als Zwecke an sich selbst, d. i. als etwas, das nicht bloß als Mittel gebraucht werden darf, auszeichnet, mithin so fern alle Willkür einschränkt (und ein Gegenstand der Achtung ist). Dies sind also nicht bloß subjective Zwecke, deren Existenz als Wirkung unserer Handlung für uns einen Werth hat; sondern *objective Zwecke*, d. i. Dinge, deren Dasein an sich selbst Zweck ist und zwar ein solcher, an dessen Statt kein anderer Zweck gesetzt werden kann, dem sie *bloß* als Mittel zu Diensten stehen sollten, weil ohne dieses überall gar nichts von *absolutem Werthe* würde angetroffen werden; wenn aber aller Werth bedingt, mithin zufällig wäre, so könnte für die Vernunft überall kein oberstes praktisches Princip angetroffen werden.

Wenn es denn also ein oberstes praktisches Princip und in Ansehung des menschlichen Willens einen kategorischen Imperativ geben soll, so muß es ein solches sein, das aus der Vorstellung dessen, was nothwendig für jedermann Zweck ist, weil es Zweck an sich selbst ist, ein *objectives*

[429] Princip des Willens ausmacht, mithin zum allgemeinen praktischen Gesetz dienen kann. Der Grund dieses Princips ist: *die vernünftige Natur existirt als Zweck an sich selbst*. So stellt sich nothwendig der Mensch sein eignes Dasein vor; so fern ist es also ein *subjectives* Princip menschlicher Handlungen. So stellt sich aber auch jedes andere vernünftige Wesen sein Dasein zufolge eben desselben Vernunftgrundes, der auch für mich gilt, vor*); also ist es zugleich ein *objectives* Princip, woraus als einem obersten praktischen Grunde alle Gesetze des Willens müssen abgeleitet werden können. Der praktische Imperativ wird also folgender sein: *Handle so, daß du die Menschheit sowohl in deiner Person, als in der Person eines jeden andern jederzeit zugleich als Zweck, niemals bloß als Mittel brauchst*. Wir wollen sehen, ob sich dieses bewerkstelligen lasse.

Um bei den vorigen Beispielen zu bleiben, so wird

*Erstlich* nach dem Begriffe der nothwendigen Pflicht gegen sich selbst derjenige, der mit Selbstmorde umgeht, sich fragen, ob seine Handlung mit der Idee der Menschheit *als Zwecks an sich selbst* zusammen bestehen könne. Wenn er, um einem beschwerlichen Zustande zu entfliehen, sich selbst zerstört, so bedient er sich einer Person bloß *als eines Mittels* zu Erhaltung eines erträglichen Zustandes bis zu Ende des Lebens. Der Mensch aber ist keine Sache, mithin nicht etwas, das *bloß* als Mittel gebraucht werden kann, sondern muß bei allen seinen Handlungen jederzeit als Zweck an sich selbst betrachtet werden. Also kann ich über den Menschen in meiner Person nichts disponiren, ihn zu verstümmeln, zu verderben, oder zu tödten. (Die nähere Bestimmung dieses Grundsatzes zur Vermeidung alles Mißverstandes, z. B. der Amputation der Glieder, um mich zu erhalten, der Gefahr, der ich mein Leben aussetze, um mein Leben zu erhalten etc., muß ich hier vorbeigehen; sie gehört zur eigentlichen Moral.)

*Zweitens*, was die nothwendige oder schuldige Pflicht gegen andere betrifft, so wird der, so ein lügenhaftes Versprechen gegen andere zu thun im Sinne hat, sofort einsehen, daß er sich eines andern Menschen *bloß als Mittels* bedienen will, ohne daß dieser zugleich den Zweck in sich enthalte. Denn der, den ich durch ein solches Versprechen zu meinen Absichten brauchen will, kann unmöglich in meine Art, gegen ihn zu verfahren,

*) Diesen Satz stelle ich hier als Postulat auf. Im letzten Abschnitte wird man die Gründe dazu finden.

[430] einstimmen und also selbst den Zweck dieser Handlung enthalten. Deutlicher fällt dieser Widerstreit gegen das Princip anderer Menschen in die Augen, wenn man Beispiele von Angriffen auf Freiheit und Eigenthum anderer herbeizieht. Denn da leuchtet klar ein, daß der Übertreter der Rechte der Menschen, sich der Person anderer bloß als Mittel zu bedienen, gesonnen sei, ohne in Betracht zu ziehen, daß sie als vernünftige Wesen jederzeit zugleich als Zwecke, d. i. nur als solche, die von eben derselben Handlung auch in sich den Zweck müssen enthalten können, geschätzt werden sollen*).

*Drittens*, in Ansehung der zufälligen (verdienstlichen) Pflicht gegen sich selbst ists nicht genug, daß die Handlung nicht der Menschheit in unserer Person als Zweck an sich selbst widerstreite, sie muß auch *dazu zusammenstimmen*. Nun sind in der Menschheit Anlagen zu größerer Vollkommenheit, die zum Zwecke der Natur in Ansehung der Menschheit in unserem Subject gehören; diese zu vernachlässigen, würde allenfalls wohl mit der *Erhaltung* der Menschheit als Zwecks an sich selbst, aber nicht der *Beförderung* dieses Zwecks bestehen können.

*Viertens*, in Betreff der verdienstlichen Pflicht gegen andere ist der Naturzweck, den alle Menschen haben, ihre eigene Glückseligkeit. Nun würde zwar die Menschheit bestehen können, wenn niemand zu des andern Glückseligkeit was beitrüge, dabei aber ihr nichts vorsetzlich entzöge; allein es ist dieses doch nur eine negative und nicht positive Übereinstimmung zur *Menschheit als Zweck an sich selbst*, wenn jedermann auch nicht die Zwecke anderer, so viel an ihm ist, zu befördern trachtete. Denn das Subject, welches Zweck an sich selbst ist, dessen Zwecke müssen, wenn jene Vorstellung bei mir *alle* Wirkung thun soll, auch, so viel möglich, *meine* Zwecke sein.

Dieses Princip der Menschheit und jeder vernünftigen Natur überhaupt, *als Zwecks an sich selbst*, (welche die oberste einschränkende

*) Man denke ja nicht, daß hier das triviale: quod tibi non vis fieri etc. zur Richtschnur oder Princip dienen könne. Denn es ist, obzwar mit verschiedenen Einschränkungen, nur aus jenem abgeleitet; es kann kein allgemeines Gesetz sein, denn es enthält nicht den Grund der Pflichten gegen sich selbst, nicht der Liebespflichten gegen andere (denn mancher würde es gerne eingehen, daß andere ihm nicht wohlthun sollen, wenn er es nur überhoben sein dürfte, ihnen Wohlthat zu erzeigen), endlich nicht der schuldigen Pflichten gegen einander; denn der Verbrecher würde aus diesem Grunde gegen seine strafenden Richter argumentiren, u. s. w.

[431] Bedingung der Freiheit der Handlungen eines jeden Menschen ist) ist nicht aus der Erfahrung entlehnt: erstlich wegen seiner Allgemeinheit, da es auf alle vernünftige Wesen überhaupt geht, worüber etwas zu bestimmen keine Erfahrung zureicht; zweitens weil darin die Menschheit nicht als Zweck der Menschen (subjectiv), d. i. als Gegenstand, den man sich von selbst wirklich zum Zwecke macht, sondern als objectiver Zweck, der, wir mögen Zwecke haben, welche wir wollen, als Gesetz die oberste einschränkende Bedingung aller subjectiven Zwecke ausmachen soll, vorgestellt wird, mithin es aus reiner Vernunft entspringen muß. Es liegt nämlich der Grund aller praktischen Gesetzgebung *objectiv in der Regel* und der Form der Allgemeinheit, die sie ein Gesetz (allenfalls Naturgesetz) zu sein fähig macht (nach dem ersten Princip), *subjectiv* aber im *Zwecke*; das Subject aller Zwecke aber ist jedes vernünftige Wesen, als Zweck an sich selbst (nach dem zweiten Princip): hieraus folgt nun das dritte praktische Princip des Willens, als oberste Bedingung der Zusammenstimmung desselben mit der allgemeinen praktischen Vernunft, die Idee *des Willens jedes vernünftigen Wesens als eines allgemein gesetzgebenden Willens*.

Alle Maximen werden nach diesem Princip verworfen, die mit der eigenen allgemeinen Gesetzgebung des Willens nicht zusammen bestehen können. Der Wille wird also nicht lediglich dem Gesetze unterworfen, sondern so unterworfen, daß er auch *als selbstgesetzgebend* und eben um deswillen allererst dem Gesetze (davon er selbst sich als Urheber betrachten kann) unterworfen angesehen werden muß.

Die Imperativen nach der vorigen Vorstellungsart, nämlich der allgemein einer *Naturordnung* ähnlichen Gesetzmäßigkeit der Handlungen, oder des allgemeinen *Zwecksvorzuges* vernünftiger Wesen an sich selbst, schlossen zwar von ihrem gebietenden Ansehen alle Beimischung irgend eines Interesse als Triebfeder aus, eben dadurch daß sie als kategorisch vorgestellt wurden; sie wurden aber nur als kategorisch angenommen, weil man dergleichen annehmen mußte, wenn man den Begriff von Pflicht erklären wollte. Daß es aber praktische Sätze gäbe, die kategorisch geböten, könnte für sich nicht bewiesen werden, so wenig wie es überhaupt in diesem Abschnitte auch hier noch nicht geschehen kann; allein eines hätte doch geschehen können, nämlich: daß die Lossagung von allem Interesse beim Wollen aus Pflicht, als das specifische Unterscheidungszeichen des kategorischen vom hypothetischen Imperativ, in dem Imperativ selbst durch

[432] irgend eine Bestimmung, die er enthielte, mit angedeutet würde, und dieses geschieht in gegenwärtiger dritten Formel des Princips, nämlich der Idee des Willens eines jeden vernünftigen Wesens als *allgemein-gesetzgebenden* Willens.

Denn wenn wir einen solchen denken, so kann, obgleich ein Wille, der *unter Gesetzen steht*, noch vermittelst eines Interesse an dieses Gesetz gebunden sein mag, dennoch ein Wille, der selbst zu oberst gesetzgebend ist, unmöglich so fern von irgend einem Interesse abhängen; denn ein solcher abhängender Wille würde selbst noch eines andern Gesetzes bedürfen, welches das Interesse seiner Selbstliebe auf die Bedingung einer Gültigkeit zum allgemeinen Gesetz einschränkte.

Also würde das *Princip* eines jeden menschlichen Willens, als *eines durch alle seine Maximen allgemein gesetzgebenden Willens* *), wenn es sonst mit ihm nur seine Richtigkeit hätte, sich zum kategorischen Imperativ darin gar wohl schicken, daß es eben um der Idee der allgemeinen Gesetzgebung willen sich *auf kein Interesse gründet* und also unter allen möglichen Imperativen allein *unbedingt* sein kann; oder noch besser, indem wir den Satz umkehren: wenn es einen kategorischen Imperativ giebt (d. i. ein Gesetz für jeden Willen eines vernünftigen Wesens), so kann er nur gebieten, alles aus der Maxime seines Willens als eines solchen zu thun, der zugleich sich selbst als allgemein gesetzgebend zum Gegenstande haben könnte; denn alsdann nur ist das praktische Princip und der Imperativ, dem er gehorcht, unbedingt, weil er gar kein Interesse zum Grunde haben kann.

Es ist nun kein Wunder, wenn wir auf alle bisherige Bemühungen, die jemals unternommen worden, um das Princip der Sittlichkeit ausfindig zu machen, zurücksehen, warum sie insgesammt haben fehlschlagen müssen. Man sah den Menschen durch seine Pflicht an Gesetze gebunden, man ließ es sich aber nicht einfallen, daß er *nur seiner eigenen und dennoch allgemeinen Gesetzgebung* unterworfen sei, und daß er nur verbunden sei, seinem eigenen, dem Naturzwecke nach aber allgemein gesetzgebenden Willen gemäß zu handeln. Denn wenn man sich ihn nur als einem Gesetz (welches es auch sei) unterworfen dachte: so mußte dieses irgend

*) Ich kann hier, Beispiele zur Erläuterung dieses Princips anzuführen, überhoben sein, denn die, so zuerst den kategorischen Imperativ und seine Formel erläuterten, können hier alle zu eben dem Zwecke dienen.

[433] ein Interesse als Reiz oder Zwang bei sich führen, weil es nicht als Gesetz aus *seinem* Willen entsprang, sondern dieser gesetzmäßig von *etwas anderm* genöthigt wurde, auf gewisse Weise zu handeln. Durch diese ganz nothwendige Folgerung aber war alle Arbeit einen obersten Grund der Pflicht zu finden unwiederbringlich verloren. Denn man bekam niemals Pflicht, sondern Nothwendigkeit der Handlung aus einem gewissen Interesse heraus. Dieses mochte nun ein eigenes oder fremdes Interesse sein. Aber alsdann mußte der Imperativ jederzeit bedingt ausfallen und konnte zum moralischen Gebote gar nicht taugen. Ich will also diesen Grundsatz das Princip der *Autonomie* des Willens im Gegensatz mit jedem andern, das ich deshalb zur *Heteronomie* zähle, nennen.

Der Begriff eines jeden vernünftigen Wesens, das sich durch alle Maximen seines Willens als allgemein gesetzgebend betrachten muß, um aus diesem Gesichtspunkte sich selbst und seine Handlungen zu beurtheilen, führt auf einen ihm anhängenden sehr fruchtbaren Begriff, nämlich den *eines Reichs der Zwecke*.

Ich verstehe aber unter einem Reiche die systematische Verbindung verschiedener vernünftiger Wesen durch gemeinschaftliche Gesetze. Weil nun Gesetze die Zwecke ihrer allgemeinen Gültigkeit nach bestimmen, so wird, wenn man von dem persönlichen Unterschiede vernünftiger Wesen, imgleichen allem Inhalte ihrer Privatzwecke abstrahirt, ein Ganzes aller Zwecke (sowohl der vernünftigen Wesen als Zwecke an sich, als auch der eigenen Zwecke, die ein jedes sich selbst setzen mag) in systematischer Verknüpfung, d. i. ein Reich der Zwecke, gedacht werden können, welches nach obigen Principien möglich ist.

Denn vernünftige Wesen stehen alle unter dem *Gesetz*, daß jedes derselben sich selbst und alle andere *niemals bloß als Mittel*, sondern jederzeit zugleich *als Zweck an sich selbst* behandeln solle. Hiedurch aber entspringt eine systematische Verbindung vernünftiger Wesen durch gemeinschaftliche objective Gesetze, d. i. ein Reich, welches, weil diese Gesetze eben die Beziehung dieser Wesen auf einander als Zwecke und Mittel zur Absicht haben, ein Reich der Zwecke (freilich nur ein Ideal) heißen kann.

Es gehört aber ein vernünftiges Wesen als *Glied* zum Reiche der Zwecke, wenn es darin zwar allgemein gesetzgebend, aber auch diesen Gesetzen selbst unterworfen ist. Es gehört dazu als *Oberhaupt*, wenn es als gesetzgebend keinem Willen eines andern unterworfen ist.

[434] Das vernünftige Wesen muß sich jederzeit als gesetzgebend in einem durch Freiheit des Willens möglichen Reiche der Zwecke betrachten, es mag nun sein als Glied, oder als Oberhaupt. Den Platz des letztern kann es aber nicht bloß durch die Maxime seines Willens, sondern nur alsdann, wenn es ein völlig unabhängiges Wesen ohne Bedürfniß und Einschränkung seines dem Willen adäquaten Vermögens ist, behaupten.

Moralität besteht also in der Beziehung aller Handlung auf die Gesetzgebung, dadurch allein ein Reich der Zwecke möglich ist. Diese Gesetzgebung muß aber in jedem vernünftigen Wesen selbst angetroffen werden und aus seinem Willen entspringen können, dessen Princip also ist: keine Handlung nach einer andern Maxime zu thun, als so, daß es auch mit ihr bestehen könne, daß sie ein allgemeines Gesetz sei, und also nur so, *daß der Wille durch seine Maxime sich selbst zugleich als allgemein gesetzgebend betrachten könne*. Sind nun die Maximen mit diesem objectiven Princip der vernünftigen Wesen, als allgemein gesetzgebend, nicht durch ihre Natur schon nothwendig einstimmig, so heißt die Nothwendigkeit der Handlung nach jenem Princip praktische Nöthigung, d. i. *Pflicht*. Pflicht kommt nicht dem Oberhaupte im Reiche der Zwecke, wohl aber jedem Gliede und zwar allen in gleichem Maße zu.

Die praktische Nothwendigkeit nach diesem Princip zu handeln, d. i. die Pflicht, beruht gar nicht auf Gefühlen, Antrieben und Neigungen, sondern bloß auf dem Verhältnisse vernünftiger Wesen zu einander, in welchem der Wille eines vernünftigen Wesens jederzeit zugleich als *gesetzgebend* betrachtet werden muß, weil es sie sonst nicht als *Zweck an sich selbst* denken könnte. Die Vernunft bezieht also jede Maxime des Willens als allgemein gesetzgebend auf jeden anderen Willen und auch auf jede Handlung gegen sich selbst und dies zwar nicht um irgend eines andern praktischen Bewegungsgrundes oder künftigen Vortheils willen, sondern aus der Idee der *Würde* eines vernünftigen Wesens, das keinem Gesetze gehorcht als dem, das es zugleich selbst giebt.

Im Reiche der Zwecke hat alles entweder einen *Preis*, oder eine *Würde*. Was einen Preis hat, an dessen Stelle kann auch etwas anderes als *Äquivalent* gesetzt werden; was dagegen über allen Preis erhaben ist, mithin kein Äquivalent verstattet, das hat eine Würde.

Was sich auf die allgemeinen menschlichen Neigungen und Bedürfnisse bezieht, hat einen *Marktpreis*; das, was, auch ohne ein Bedürfniß vorauszusetzen, einem gewissen Geschmacke, d. i. einem Wohlgefallen am

[435] bloßen zwecklosen Spiel unserer Gemüthskräfte, gemäß ist, einen *Affectionspreis*; das aber, was die Bedingung ausmacht, unter der allein etwas Zweck an sich selbst sein kann, hat nicht bloß einen relativen Werth, d. i. einen Preis, sondern einen innern Werth, d. i. *Würde*.

Nun ist Moralität die Bedingung, unter der allein ein vernünftiges Wesen Zweck an sich selbst sein kann, weil nur durch sie es möglich ist, ein gesetzgebend Glied im Reiche der Zwecke zu sein. Also ist Sittlichkeit und die Menschheit, so fern sie derselben fähig ist, dasjenige, was allein Würde hat. Geschicklichkeit und Fleiß im Arbeiten haben einen Marktpreis; Witz, lebhafte Einbildungskraft und Launen einen Affectionspreis; dagegen Treue in Versprechen, Wohlwollen aus Grundsätzen (nicht aus Instinct) haben einen innern Werth. Die Natur sowohl als Kunst enthalten nichts, was sie in Ermangelung derselben an ihre Stelle setzen könnten; denn ihr Werth besteht nicht in den Wirkungen, die daraus entspringen, in Vortheil und Nutzen, den sie schaffen, sondern in den Gesinnungen, d. i. den Maximen des Willens, die sich auf diese Art in Handlungen zu offenbaren bereit sind, obgleich auch der Erfolg sie nicht begünstigte. Diese Handlungen bedürfen auch keiner Empfehlung von irgend einer subjectiven Disposition oder Geschmack, sie mit unmittelbarer Gunst und Wohlgefallen anzusehen, keines unmittelbaren Hanges oder Gefühles für dieselbe: sie stellen den Willen, der sie ausübt, als Gegenstand einer unmittelbaren Achtung dar, dazu nichts als Vernunft gefordert wird, um sie dem Willen *aufzuerlegen*, nicht von ihm zu *erschmeicheln*, welches letztere bei Pflichten ohnedem ein Widerspruch wäre. Diese Schätzung giebt also den Werth einer solchen Denkungsart als Würde zu erkennen und setzt sie über allen Preis unendlich weg, mit dem sie gar nicht in Anschlag und Vergleichung gebracht werden kann, ohne sich gleichsam an der Heiligkeit derselben zu vergreifen.

Und was ist es denn nun, was die sittlich gute Gesinnung oder die Tugend berechtigt, so hohe Ansprüche zu machen? Es ist nichts Geringeres als der *Antheil*, den sie dem vernünftigen Wesen *an der allgemeinen Gesetzgebung* verschafft und es hiedurch zum Gliede in einem möglichen Reiche der Zwecke tauglich macht, wozu es durch seine eigene Natur schon bestimmt war, als Zweck an sich selbst und eben darum als gesetzgebend im Reiche der Zwecke, in Ansehung aller Naturgesetze als frei, nur denjenigen allein gehorchend, die es selbst giebt und nach welchen seine Maximen zu einer allgemeinen Gesetzgebung (der es sich zugleich selbst

[436] unterwirft) gehören können. Denn es hat nichts einen Werth als den, welchen ihm das Gesetz bestimmt. Die Gesetzgebung selbst aber, die allen Werth bestimmt, muß eben darum eine Würde, d. i. unbedingten, unvergleichbaren Werth, haben, für welchen das Wort *Achtung* allein den geziemenden Ausdruck der Schätzung abgiebt, die ein vernünftiges Wesen über sie anzustellen hat. *Autonomie* ist also der Grund der Würde der menschlichen und jeder vernünftigen Natur.

Die angeführten drei Arten, das Princip der Sittlichkeit vorzustellen, sind aber im Grunde nur so viele Formeln eben desselben Gesetzes, deren die eine die anderen zwei von selbst in sich vereinigt. Indessen ist doch eine Verschiedenheit in ihnen, die zwar eher subjectiv als objectiv-praktisch ist, nämlich um eine Idee der Vernunft der Anschauung (nach einer gewissen Analogie) und dadurch dem Gefühle näher zu bringen. Alle Maximen haben nämlich

1) eine *Form*, welche in der Allgemeinheit besteht, und da ist die Formel des sittlichen Imperativs so ausgedrückt: daß die Maximen so müssen gewählt werden, als ob sie wie allgemeine Naturgesetze gelten sollten;

2) eine *Materie*, nämlich einen Zweck, und da sagt die Formel: daß das vernünftige Wesen als Zweck seiner Natur nach, mithin als Zweck an sich selbst jeder Maxime zur einschränkenden Bedingung aller bloß relativen und willkürlichen Zwecke dienen müsse;

3) eine *vollständige Bestimmung* aller Maximen durch jene Formel, nämlich: daß alle Maximen aus eigener Gesetzgebung zu einem möglichen Reiche der Zwecke, als einem Reiche der Natur*), zusammenstimmen sollen. Der Fortgang geschieht hier wie durch die Kategorien der *Einheit* der Form des Willens (der Allgemeinheit desselben), der *Vielheit* der Materie (der Objecte, d. i. der Zwecke) und der *Allheit* oder Totalität des Systems derselben. Man thut aber besser, wenn man in der sittlichen *Beurtheilung* immer nach der strengen Methode verfährt und die allgemeine Formel des kategorischen Imperativs zum Grunde legt: *handle nach der Maxime, die sich selbst zugleich zum allgemeinen Gesetze*

*) Die Teleologie erwägt die Natur als ein Reich der Zwecke, die Moral ein mögliches Reich der Zwecke als ein Reich der Natur. Dort ist das Reich der Zwecke eine theoretische Idee zu Erklärung dessen, was da ist. Hier ist es eine praktische Idee, um das, was nicht da ist, aber durch unser Thun und Lassen wirklich werden kann, und zwar eben dieser Idee gemäß zu Stande zu bringen.

[437] *machen kann*. Will man aber dem sittlichen Gesetze zugleich Eingang verschaffen: so ist sehr nützlich, ein und eben dieselbe Handlung durch benannte drei Begriffe zu führen und sie dadurch, so viel sich thun läßt, der Anschauung zu nähern.

Wir können nunmehr da endigen, von wo wir im Anfange ausgingen, nämlich dem Begriffe eines unbedingt guten Willens. Der *Wille* ist *schlechterdings gut*, der nicht böse sein, mithin dessen Maxime, wenn sie zu einem allgemeinen Gesetze gemacht wird, sich selbst niemals widerstreiten kann. Dieses Princip ist also auch sein oberstes Gesetz: handle jederzeit nach derjenigen Maxime, deren Allgemeinheit als Gesetzes du zugleich wollen kannst; dieses ist die einzige Bedingung, unter der ein Wille niemals mit sich selbst im Widerstreite sein kann, und ein solcher Imperativ ist kategorisch. Weil die Gültigkeit des Willens als eines allgemeinen Gesetzes für mögliche Handlungen mit der allgemeinen Verknüpfung des Daseins der Dinge nach allgemeinen Gesetzen, die das Formale der Natur überhaupt ist, Analogie hat, so kann der kategorische Imperativ auch so ausgedrückt werden: *Handle nach Maximen, die sich selbst zugleich als allgemeine Naturgesetze zum Gegenstande haben können*. So ist also die Formel eines schlechterdings guten Willens beschaffen.

Die vernünftige Natur nimmt sich dadurch vor den übrigen aus, daß sie ihr selbst einen Zweck setzt. Dieser würde die Materie eines jeden guten Willens sein. Da aber in der Idee eines ohne einschränkende Bedingung (der Erreichung dieses oder jenes Zwecks) schlechterdings guten Willens durchaus von allem *zu bewirkenden* Zwecke abstrahirt werden muß (als der jeden Willen nur relativ gut machen müßte), so wird der Zweck hier nicht als ein zu bewirkender, sondern *selbstständiger* Zweck, mithin nur negativ gedacht werden müssen, d. i. dem niemals zuwider gehandelt, der also niemals bloß als Mittel, sondern jederzeit zugleich als Zweck in jedem Wollen geschätzt werden muß. Dieser kann nun nichts anders als das Subject aller möglichen Zwecke selbst sein, weil dieses zugleich das Subject eines möglichen schlechterdings guten Willens ist; denn dieser kann ohne Widerspruch keinem andern Gegenstande nachgesetzt werden. Das Princip: handle in Beziehung auf ein jedes vernünftige Wesen (auf dich selbst und andere) so, daß es in deiner Maxime zugleich als Zweck an sich selbst gelte, ist demnach mit dem Grundsatze: handle nach einer Maxime, die ihre eigene allgemeine Gültigkeit für jedes vernünftige Wesen

[438] zugleich in sich enthält, im Grunde einerlei. Denn daß ich meine Maxime im Gebrauche der Mittel zu jedem Zwecke auf die Bedingung ihrer Allgemeingültigkeit als eines Gesetzes für jedes Subject einschränken soll, sagt eben so viel, als: das Subject der Zwecke, d. i. das vernünftige Wesen selbst, muß niemals bloß als Mittel, sondern als oberste einschränkende Bedingung im Gebrauche aller Mittel, d. i. jederzeit zugleich als Zweck, allen Maximen der Handlungen zum Grunde gelegt werden.

Nun folgt hieraus unstreitig: daß jedes vernünftige Wesen als Zweck an sich selbst sich in Ansehung aller Gesetze, denen es nur immer unterworfen sein mag, zugleich als allgemein gesetzgebend müsse ansehen können, weil eben diese Schicklichkeit seiner Maximen zur allgemeinen Gesetzgebung es als Zweck an sich selbst auszeichnet, imgleichen daß dieses seine Würde (Prärogativ) vor allen bloßen Naturwesen es mit sich bringe, seine Maximen jederzeit aus dem Gesichtspunkte seiner selbst, zugleich aber auch jedes andern vernünftigen als gesetzgebenden Wesens (die darum auch Personen heißen) nehmen zu müssen. Nun ist auf solche Weise eine Welt vernünftiger Wesen (mundus intelligibilis) als ein Reich der Zwecke möglich und zwar durch die eigene Gesetzgebung aller Personen als Glieder. Demnach muß ein jedes vernünftige Wesen so handeln, als ob es durch seine Maximen jederzeit ein gesetzgebendes Glied im allgemeinen Reiche der Zwecke wäre. Das formale Princip dieser Maximen ist: handle so, als ob deine Maxime zugleich zum allgemeinen Gesetze (aller vernünftigen Wesen) dienen sollte. Ein Reich der Zwecke ist also nur möglich nach der Analogie mit einem Reiche der Natur, jenes aber nur nach Maximen, d. i. sich selbst auferlegten Regeln, diese nur nach Gesetzen äußerlich genöthigter wirkenden Ursachen. Dem unerachtet giebt man doch auch dem Naturganzen, ob es schon als Maschine angesehen wird, dennoch, so fern es auf vernünftige Wesen als seine Zwecke Beziehung hat, aus diesem Grunde den Namen eines Reichs der Natur. Ein solches Reich der Zwecke würde nun durch Maximen, deren Regel der kategorische Imperativ allen vernünftigen Wesen vorschreibt, wirklich zu Stande kommen, wenn sie *allgemein befolgt würden*. Allein obgleich das vernünftige Wesen darauf nicht rechnen kann, daß, wenn es auch gleich diese Maxime selbst pünktlich befolgte, darum jedes andere eben derselben treu sein würde, imgleichen daß das Reich der Natur und die zweckmäßige Anordnung desselben mit ihm, als einem schicklichen Gliede, zu einem durch es selbst möglichen Reiche der Zwecke zusammenstimmen, d. i. seine Erwartung der Glückseligkeit

[439] begünstigen werde, so bleibt doch jenes Gesetz: handle nach Maximen eines allgemein gesetzgebenden Gliedes zu einem bloß möglichen Reiche der Zwecke, in seiner vollen Kraft, weil es kategorisch gebietend ist. Und hierin liegt eben das Paradoxon: daß bloß die Würde der Menschheit als vernünftiger Natur ohne irgend einen andern dadurch zu erreichenden Zweck oder Vortheil, mithin die Achtung für eine bloße Idee dennoch zur unnachlaßlichen Vorschrift des Willens dienen sollte, und daß gerade in dieser Unabhängigkeit der Maxime von allen solchen Triebfedern die Erhabenheit derselben bestehe und die Würdigkeit eines jeden vernünftigen Subjects, ein gesetzgebendes Glied im Reiche der Zwecke zu sein; denn sonst würde es nur als dem Naturgesetze seiner Bedürfnisse unterworfen vorgestellt werden müssen. Obgleich auch das Naturreich sowohl, als das Reich der Zwecke als unter einem Oberhaupte vereinigt gedacht würde, und dadurch das letztere nicht mehr bloße Idee bliebe, sondern wahre Realität erhielte, so würde hiedurch zwar jener der Zuwachs einer starken Triebfeder, niemals aber Vermehrung ihres innern Werths zu statten kommen; denn diesem ungeachtet müßte doch selbst dieser alleinige unumschränkte Gesetzgeber immer so vorgestellt werden, wie er den Werth der vernünftigen Wesen nur nach ihrem uneigennützigen, bloß aus jener Idee ihnen selbst vorgeschriebenen Verhalten beurtheilte. Das Wesen der Dinge ändert sich durch ihre äußere Verhältnisse nicht, und was, ohne an das letztere zu denken, den absoluten Werth des Menschen allein ausmacht, darnach muß er auch, von wem es auch sei, selbst vom höchsten Wesen beurtheilt werden. *Moralität* ist also das Verhältniß der Handlungen zur Autonomie des Willens, das ist zur möglichen allgemeinen Gesetzgebung durch die Maximen desselben. Die Handlung, die mit der Autonomie des Willens zusammen bestehen kann, ist *erlaubt*; die nicht damit stimmt, ist *unerlaubt*. Der Wille, dessen Maximen nothwendig mit den Gesetzen der Autonomie zusammenstimmen, ist ein *heiliger*, schlechterdings guter Wille. Die Abhängigkeit eines nicht schlechterdings guten Willens vom Princip der Autonomie (die moralische Nöthigung) ist *Verbindlichkeit*. Diese kann also auf ein heiliges Wesen nicht gezogen werden. Die objective Nothwendigkeit einer Handlung aus Verbindlichkeit heißt *Pflicht*.

Man kann aus dem kurz vorhergehenden sich es jetzt leicht erklären, wie es zugehe: daß, ob wir gleich unter dem Begriffe von Pflicht uns eine Unterwürfigkeit unter dem Gesetze denken, wir uns dadurch doch zugleich

[440] eine gewisse Erhabenheit und *Würde* an derjenigen Person vorstellen, die alle ihre Pflichten erfüllt. Denn so fern ist zwar keine Erhabenheit an ihr, als sie dem moralischen Gesetze *unterworfen* ist, wohl aber so fern sie in Ansehung eben desselben zugleich *gesetzgebend* und nur darum ihm untergeordnet ist. Auch haben wir oben gezeigt, wie weder Furcht, noch Neigung, sondern lediglich Achtung fürs Gesetz diejenige Triebfeder sei, die der Handlung einen moralischen Werth geben kann. Unser eigener Wille, so fern er nur unter der Bedingung einer durch seine Maximen möglichen allgemeinen Gesetzgebung handeln würde, dieser uns mögliche Wille in der Idee ist der eigentliche Gegenstand der Achtung, und die Würde der Menschheit besteht eben in dieser Fähigkeit, allgemein gesetzgebend, obgleich mit dem Beding, eben dieser Gesetzgebung zugleich selbst unterworfen zu sein.

Die Autonomie des Willens

*als oberstes Princip der Sittlichkeit.*

Autonomie des Willens ist die Beschaffenheit des Willens, dadurch derselbe ihm selbst (unabhängig von aller Beschaffenheit der Gegenstände des Wollens) ein Gesetz ist. Das Princip der Autonomie ist also: nicht anders zu wählen als so, daß die Maximen seiner Wahl in demselben Wollen zugleich als allgemeines Gesetz mit begriffen seien. Daß diese praktische Regel ein Imperativ sei, d. i. der Wille jedes vernünftigen Wesens an sie als Bedingung nothwendig gebunden sei, kann durch bloße Zergliederung der in ihm vorkommenden Begriffe nicht bewiesen werden, weil es ein synthetischer Satz ist; man müßte über die Erkenntniß der Objecte und zu einer Kritik des Subjects, d. i. der reinen praktischen Vernunft, hinausgehen, denn völlig a priori muß dieser synthetische Satz, der apodiktisch gebietet, erkannt werden können, dieses Geschäft aber gehört nicht in gegenwärtigen Abschnitt. Allein daß gedachtes Princip der Autonomie das alleinige Princip der Moral sei, läßt sich durch bloße Zergliederung der Begriffe der Sittlichkeit gar wohl darthun. Denn dadurch findet sich, daß ihr Princip ein kategorischer Imperativ sein müsse, dieser aber nichts mehr oder weniger als gerade diese Autonomie gebiete.

[441] Die Heteronomie des Willens

*als der Quell aller unächten Principien der Sittlichkeit.*

Wenn der Wille irgend *worin anders*, als in der Tauglichkeit seiner Maximen zu seiner eigenen allgemeinen Gesetzgebung, mithin, wenn er, indem er über sich selbst hinausgeht, in der Beschaffenheit irgend eines seiner Objecte das Gesetz sucht, das ihn bestimmen soll, so kommt jederzeit *Heteronomie* heraus. Der Wille giebt alsdann sich nicht selbst, sondern das Object durch sein Verhältniß zum Willen giebt diesem das Gesetz. Dies Verhältniß, es beruhe nun auf der Neigung, oder auf Vorstellungen der Vernunft, läßt nur hypothetische Imperativen möglich werden: ich soll etwas thun darum, *weil ich etwas anderes will*. Dagegen sagt der moralische, mithin kategorische Imperativ: ich soll so oder so handeln, ob ich gleich nichts anderes wollte. Z. E. jener sagt: ich soll nicht lügen, wenn ich bei Ehren bleiben will; dieser aber: ich soll nicht lügen, ob es mir gleich nicht die mindeste Schande zuzöge. Der letztere muß also von allem Gegenstande so fern abstrahiren, daß dieser gar keinen *Einfluß* auf den Willen habe, damit praktische Vernunft (Wille) nicht fremdes Interesse bloß administrire, sondern bloß ihr eigenes gebietendes Ansehen als oberste Gesetzgebung beweise. So soll ich z. B. fremde Glückseligkeit zu befördern suchen, nicht als wenn mir an deren Existenz was gelegen wäre (es sei durch unmittelbare Neigung, oder irgend ein Wohlgefallen indirect durch Vernunft), sondern bloß deswegen, weil die Maxime, die sie ausschließt, nicht in einem und demselben Wollen, als allgemeinen Gesetz, begriffen werden kann.

Eintheilung

*aller möglichen Principien der Sittlichkeit aus dem angenommenen Grundbegriffe der Heteronomie.*

Die menschliche Vernunft hat hier, wie allerwärts in ihrem reinen Gebrauche, so lange es ihr an Kritik fehlt, vorher alle mögliche unrechte Wege versucht, ehe es ihr gelingt, den einzigen wahren zu treffen.

Alle Principien, die man aus diesem Gesichtspunkte nehmen mag, sind entweder *empirisch* oder *rational*. Die *ersteren*, aus dem Princip

[442] der *Glückseligkeit*, sind aufs physische oder moralische Gefühl, die zweiten, aus dem Princip der *Vollkommenheit*, entweder auf den Vernunftbegriff derselben als möglicher Wirkung, oder auf den Begriff einer selbstständigen Vollkommenheit (den Willen Gottes) als bestimmende Ursache unseres Willens gebauet.

*Empirische Principien* taugen überall nicht dazu, um moralische Gesetze darauf zu gründen. Denn die Allgemeinheit, mit der sie für alle vernünftige Wesen ohne Unterschied gelten sollen, die unbedingte praktische Nothwendigkeit, die ihnen dadurch auferlegt wird, fällt weg, wenn der Grund derselben von der *besonderen Einrichtung der menschlichen Natur*, oder den zufälligen Umständen hergenommen wird, darin sie gesetzt ist. Doch ist das Princip der *eigenen Glückseligkeit* am meisten verwerflich, nicht bloß deswegen weil es falsch ist, und die Erfahrung dem Vorgeben, als ob das Wohlbefinden sich jederzeit nach dem Wohlverhalten richte, widerspricht, auch nicht bloß weil es gar nichts zur Gründung der Sittlichkeit beiträgt, indem es ganz was anderes ist, einen glücklichen, als einen guten Menschen, und diesen klug und auf seinen Vortheil abgewitzt, als ihn tugendhaft zu machen: sondern weil es der Sittlichkeit Triebfedern unterlegt, die sie eher untergraben und ihre ganze Erhabenheit zernichten, indem sie die Bewegursachen zur Tugend mit denen zum Laster in eine Classe stellen und nur den Calcul besser ziehen lehren, den specifischen Unterschied beider aber ganz und gar auslöschen; dagegen das moralische Gefühl, dieser vermeintliche besondere Sinn*), (so seicht auch die Berufung auf selbigen ist, indem diejenigen, die nicht *denken* können, selbst in dem, was bloß auf allgemeine Gesetze ankommt, sich durchs *Fühlen* auszuhelfen glauben, so wenig auch Gefühle, die dem Grade nach von Natur unendlich von einander unterschieden sind, einen gleichen Maßstab des Guten und Bösen abgeben, auch einer durch sein Gefühl für andere gar nicht gültig urtheilen kann) dennoch der Sittlichkeit und ihrer Würde dadurch näher bleibt, daß er der Tugend die Ehre beweist, das Wohlgefallen und die Hochschätzung für sie ihr *unmittelbar* zuzuschreiben, und ihr nicht gleichsam

*) Ich rechne das Princip des moralischen Gefühls zu dem der Glückseligkeit, weil ein jedes empirische Interesse durch die Annehmlichkeit, die etwas nur gewährt, es mag nun unmittelbar und ohne Absicht auf Vortheile, oder in Rücksicht auf dieselbe geschehen, einen Beitrag zum Wohlbefinden verspricht. Imgleichen muß man das Princip der Theilnehmung an anderer Glückseligkeit mit *Hutcheson* zu demselben von ihm angenommenen moralischen Sinne rechnen.

[443] ins Gesicht sagt, daß es nicht ihre Schönheit, sondern nur der Vortheil sei, der uns an sie knüpfe.

Unter den *rationalen* oder Vernunftgründen der Sittlichkeit ist doch der ontologische Begriff der *Vollkommenheit* (so leer, so unbestimmt, mithin unbrauchbar er auch ist, um in dem unermeßlichen Felde möglicher Realität die für uns schickliche größte Summe auszufinden; so sehr er auch, um die Realität, von der hier die Rede ist, specifisch von jeder anderen zu unterscheiden, einen unvermeidlichen Hang hat, sich im Cirkel zu drehen, und die Sittlichkeit, die er erklären soll, ingeheim vorauszusetzen, nicht vermeiden kann) dennoch besser als der theologische Begriff, sie von einem göttlichen, allervollkommensten Willen abzuleiten, nicht bloß deswegen weil wir seine Vollkommenheit doch nicht anschauen, sondern sie von unseren Begriffen, unter denen der der Sittlichkeit der vornehmste ist, allein ableiten können, sondern weil, wenn wir dieses nicht thun (wie es denn, wenn es geschähe, ein grober Cirkel im Erklären sein würde), der uns noch übrige Begriff seines Willens aus den Eigenschaften der Ehr- und Herrschbegierde, mit den furchtbaren Vorstellungen der Macht und des Racheifers verbunden, zu einem System der Sitten, welches der Moralität gerade entgegen gesetzt wäre, die Grundlage machen müßte.

Wenn ich aber zwischen dem Begriff des moralischen Sinnes und dem der Vollkommenheit überhaupt (die beide der Sittlichkeit wenigstens nicht Abbruch thun, ob sie gleich dazu gar nichts taugen, sie als Grundlagen zu unterstützen) wählen müßte: so würde ich mich für den letzteren bestimmen, weil er, da er wenigstens die Entscheidung der Frage von der Sinnlichkeit ab und an den Gerichtshof der reinen Vernunft zieht, ob er gleich auch hier nichts entscheidet, dennoch die unbestimmte Idee (eines an sich guten Willens) zur näheren Bestimmung unverfälscht aufbehält.

Übrigens glaube ich einer weitläuftigen Widerlegung aller dieser Lehrbegriffe überhoben sein zu können. Sie ist so leicht, sie ist von denen selbst, deren Amt es erfordert, sich doch für eine dieser Theorien zu erklären (weil Zuhörer den Aufschub des Urtheils nicht wohl leiden mögen), selbst vermuthlich so wohl eingesehen, daß dadurch nur überflüssige Arbeit geschehen würde. Was uns aber hier mehr interessirt, ist, zu wissen: daß diese Principien überall nichts als Heteronomie des Willens zum ersten Grunde der Sittlichkeit aufstellen und eben darum nothwendig ihres Zwecks verfehlen müssen.

[444] Allenthalben, wo ein Object des Willens zum Grunde gelegt werden muß, um diesem die Regel vorzuschreiben, die ihn bestimme, da ist die Regel nichts als Heteronomie; der Imperativ ist bedingt, nämlich: *wenn* oder *weil* man dieses Object will, soll man so oder so handeln; mithin kann er niemals moralisch, d. i. kategorisch, gebieten. Es mag nun das Object vermittelst der Neigung, wie beim Princip der eigenen Glückseligkeit, oder vermittelst der auf Gegenstände unseres möglichen Wollens überhaupt gerichteten Vernunft, im Princip der Vollkommenheit, den Willen bestimmen, so bestimmt sich der Wille niemals *unmittelbar* selbst durch die Vorstellung der Handlung, sondern nur durch die Triebfeder, welche die vorausgesehene Wirkung der Handlung auf den Willen hat; *ich soll etwas thun, darum weil ich etwas anderes will*, und hier muß noch ein anderes Gesetz in meinem Subject zum Grunde gelegt werden, nach welchem ich dieses Andere nothwendig will, welches Gesetz wiederum eines Imperativs bedarf, der diese Maxime einschränke. Denn weil der Antrieb, den die Vorstellung eines durch unsere Kräfte möglichen Objects nach der Naturbeschaffenheit des Subjects auf seinen Willen ausüben soll, zur Natur des Subjects gehört, es sei der Sinnlichkeit (der Neigung und des Geschmacks) oder des Verstandes und der Vernunft, die nach der besonderen Einrichtung ihrer Natur an einem Objecte sich mit Wohlgefallen üben, so gäbe eigentlich die Natur das Gesetz, welches als ein solches nicht allein durch Erfahrung erkannt und bewiesen werden muß, mithin an sich zufällig ist und zur apodiktischen praktischen Regel, dergleichen die moralische sein muß, dadurch untauglich wird, sondern es ist *immer nur Heteronomie* des Willens, der Wille giebt sich nicht selbst, sondern ein fremder Antrieb giebt ihm vermittelst einer auf die Empfänglichkeit desselben gestimmten Natur des Subjects das Gesetz.

Der schlechterdings gute Wille, dessen Princip ein kategorischer Imperativ sein muß, wird also, in Ansehung aller Objecte unbestimmt, bloß die *Form des Wollens* überhaupt enthalten und zwar als Autonomie, d. i. die Tauglichkeit der Maxime eines jeden guten Willens, sich selbst zum allgemeinen Gesetze zu machen, ist selbst das alleinige Gesetz, das sich der Wille eines jeden vernünftigen Wesens selbst auferlegt, ohne irgend eine Triebfeder und Interesse derselben als Grund unterzulegen.

*Wie ein solcher synthetischer praktischer Satz a priori* möglich und warum er nothwendig sei, ist eine Aufgabe, deren Auflösung nicht mehr binnen den Grenzen der Metaphysik der Sitten liegt, auch haben wir

[445] seine Wahrheit hier nicht behauptet, viel weniger vorgegeben, einen Beweis derselben in unserer Gewalt zu haben. Wir zeigten nur durch Entwickelung des einmal allgemein im Schwange gehenden Begriffs der Sittlichkeit: daß eine Autonomie des Willens demselben unvermeidlicher Weise anhänge, oder vielmehr zum Grunde liege. Wer also Sittlichkeit für Etwas und nicht für eine chimärische Idee ohne Wahrheit hält, muß das angeführte Princip derselben zugleich einräumen. Dieser Abschnitt war also eben so, wie der erste bloß analytisch. Daß nun Sittlichkeit kein Hirngespinst sei, welches alsdann folgt, wenn der kategorische Imperativ und mit ihm die Autonomie des Willens wahr und als ein Princip a priori schlechterdings nothwendig ist, erfordert einen *möglichen synthetischen Gebrauch der reinen praktischen Vernunft*, den wir aber nicht wagen dürfen, ohne eine *Kritik* dieses Vernunftvermögens selbst vorauszuschicken, von welcher wir in dem letzten Abschnitte die zu unserer Absicht hinlängliche Hauptzüge darzustellen haben.

### Section III

[446] Dritter Abschnitt.

*Übergang von der Metaphysik der Sitten zur Kritik der reinen praktischen Vernunft.*

*Der Begriff der Freiheit ist der Schlüssel zur Erklärung der Autonomie des Willens.*

Der *Wille* ist eine Art von Causalität lebender Wesen, so fern sie vernünftig sind, und *Freiheit* würde diejenige Eigenschaft dieser Causalität sein, da sie unabhängig von fremden sie *bestimmenden* Ursachen wirkend sein kann: so wie *Naturnothwendigkeit* die Eigenschaft der Causalität aller vernunftlosen Wesen, durch den Einfluß fremder Ursachen zur Thätigkeit bestimmt zu werden.

Die angeführte Erklärung der Freiheit ist *negativ* und daher, um ihr Wesen einzusehen, unfruchtbar; allein es fließt aus ihr ein *positiver* Begriff derselben, der desto reichhaltiger und fruchtbarer ist. Da der Begriff einer Causalität den von *Gesetzen* bei sich führt, nach welchen durch etwas, was wir Ursache nennen, etwas anderes, nämlich die Folge, gesetzt werden muß: so ist die Freiheit, ob sie zwar nicht eine Eigenschaft des Willens nach Naturgesetzen ist, darum doch nicht gar gesetzlos, sondern muß vielmehr eine Causalität nach unwandelbaren Gesetzen, aber von besonderer Art sein; denn sonst wäre ein freier Wille ein Unding. Die Naturnothwendigkeit war eine Heteronomie der wirkenden Ursachen; denn jede Wirkung war nur nach dem Gesetze möglich, daß etwas anderes die wirkende Ursache zur Causalität bestimmte; was kann denn wohl die Freiheit

[447] des Willens sonst sein als Autonomie, d. i. die Eigenschaft des Willens, sich selbst ein Gesetz zu sein? Der Satz aber: der Wille ist in allen Handlungen sich selbst ein Gesetz, bezeichnet nur das Princip, nach keiner anderen Maxime zu handeln, als die sich selbst auch als ein allgemeines Gesetz zum Gegenstande haben kann. Dies ist aber gerade die Formel des kategorischen Imperativs und das Princip der Sittlichkeit: also ist ein freier Wille und ein Wille unter sittlichen Gesetzen einerlei.

Wenn also Freiheit des Willens vorausgesetzt wird, so folgt die Sittlichkeit sammt ihrem Princip daraus durch bloße Zergliederung ihres Begriffs. Indessen ist das letztere doch immer ein synthetischer Satz: ein schlechterdings guter Wille ist derjenige, dessen Maxime jederzeit sich selbst, als allgemeines Gesetz betrachtet, in sich enthalten kann, denn durch Zergliederung des Begriffs von einem schlechthin guten Willen kann jene Eigenschaft der Maxime nicht gefunden werden. Solche synthetische Sätze sind aber nur dadurch möglich, daß beide Erkenntnisse durch die Verknüpfung mit einem dritten, darin sie beiderseits anzutreffen sind, unter einander verbunden werden. Der *positive* Begriff der Freiheit schafft dieses dritte, welches nicht wie bei den physischen Ursachen die Natur der Sinnenwelt sein kann (in deren Begriff die Begriffe von etwas als Ursache in Verhältniß auf *etwas anderes* als Wirkung zusammenkommen). Was dieses dritte sei, worauf uns die Freiheit weiset, und von dem wir a priori eine Idee haben, läßt sich hier sofort noch nicht anzeigen und die Deduction des Begriffs der Freiheit aus der reinen praktischen Vernunft, mit ihr auch die Möglichkeit eines kategorischen Imperativs begreiflich machen, sondern bedarf noch einiger Vorbereitung.

*Freiheit muß als Eigenschaft des Willens aller vernünftigen Wesen vorausgesetzt werden.*

Es ist nicht genug, daß wir unserem Willen, es sei aus welchem Grunde, Freiheit zuschreiben, wenn wir nicht ebendieselbe auch allen vernünftigen Wesen beizulegen hinreichenden Grund haben. Denn da Sittlichkeit für uns bloß als für *vernünftige* Wesen zum Gesetze dient, so muß sie auch für alle vernünftige Wesen gelten, und da sie lediglich aus der Eigenschaft der Freiheit abgeleitet werden muß, so muß auch Freiheit als Eigenschaft des Willens aller vernünftigen Wesen bewiesen werden, und es ist nicht genug, sie aus gewissen vermeintlichen Erfahrungen

[448] von der menschlichen Natur darzuthun (wiewohl dieses auch schlechterdings unmöglich ist und lediglich a priori dargethan werden kann), sondern man muß sie als zur Thätigkeit vernünftiger und mit einem Willen begabter Wesen überhaupt gehörig beweisen. Ich sage nun: Ein jedes Wesen, das nicht anders als *unter der Idee der Freiheit* handeln kann, ist eben darum in praktischer Rücksicht wirklich frei, d. i. es gelten für dasselbe alle Gesetze, die mit der Freiheit unzertrennlich verbunden sind, eben so als ob sein Wille auch an sich selbst und in der theoretischen Philosophie gültig für frei erklärt würde*). Nun behaupte ich: daß wir jedem vernünftigen Wesen, das einen Willen hat, nothwendig auch die Idee der Freiheit leihen müssen, unter der es allein handle. Denn in einem solchen Wesen denken wir uns eine Vernunft, die praktisch ist, d. i. Causalität in Ansehung ihrer Objecte hat. Nun kann man sich unmöglich eine Vernunft denken, die mit ihrem eigenen Bewußtsein in Ansehung ihrer Urtheile anderwärts her eine Lenkung empfinge, denn alsdann würde das Subject nicht seiner Vernunft, sondern einem Antriebe die Bestimmung der Urtheilskraft zuschreiben. Sie muß sich selbst als Urheberin ihrer Principien ansehen unabhängig von fremden Einflüssen, folglich muß sie als praktische Vernunft, oder als Wille eines vernünftigen Wesens von ihr selbst als frei angesehen werden; d. i. der Wille desselben kann nur unter der Idee der Freiheit ein eigener Wille sein und muß also in praktischer Absicht allen vernünftigen Wesen beigelegt werden.

*Von dem Interesse, welches den Ideen der Sittlichkeit anhängt.*

Wir haben den bestimmten Begriff der Sittlichkeit auf die Idee der Freiheit zuletzt zurückgeführt; diese aber konnten wir als etwas Wirkliches nicht einmal in uns selbst und in der menschlichen Natur beweisen; wir

*) Diesen Weg, die Freiheit nur als von vernünftigen Wesen bei ihren Handlungen bloß in der Idee zum Grunde gelegt zu unserer Absicht hinreichend anzunehmen, schlage ich deswegen ein, damit ich mich nicht verbindlich machen dürfte, die Freiheit auch in ihrer theoretischen Absicht zu beweisen. Denn wenn dieses letztere auch unausgemacht gelassen wird, so gelten doch dieselben Gesetze für ein Wesen, das nicht anders als unter der Idee seiner eigenen Freiheit handeln kann, die ein Wesen, das wirklich frei wäre, verbinden würden. Wir können uns hier also von der Last befreien, die die Theorie drückt.

[449] sahen nur, daß wir sie voraussetzen müssen, wenn wir uns ein Wesen als vernünftig und mit Bewußtsein seiner Causalität in Ansehung der Handlungen, d. i. mit einem Willen, begabt uns denken wollen, und so finden wir, daß wir aus eben demselben Grunde jedem mit Vernunft und Willen begabten Wesen diese Eigenschaft, sich unter der Idee seiner Freiheit zum Handeln zu bestimmen, beilegen müssen.

Es floß aber aus der Voraussetzung dieser Ideen auch das Bewußtsein eines Gesetzes zu handeln: daß die subjectiven Grundsätze der Handlungen, d. i. Maximen, jederzeit so genommen werden müssen, daß sie auch objectiv, d. i. allgemein als Grundsätze, gelten, mithin zu unserer eigenen allgemeinen Gesetzgebung dienen können. Warum aber soll ich mich denn diesem Princip unterwerfen und zwar als vernünftiges Wesen überhaupt, mithin auch dadurch alle andere mit Vernunft begabte Wesen? Ich will einräumen, daß mich hiezu kein Interesse *treibt*, denn das würde keinen kategorischen Imperativ geben; aber ich muß doch hieran nothwendig ein Interesse *nehmen* und einsehen, wie das zugeht; denn dieses Sollen ist eigentlich ein Wollen, das unter der Bedingung für jedes vernünftige Wesen gilt, wenn die Vernunft bei ihm ohne Hindernisse praktisch wäre; für Wesen, die wie wir noch durch Sinnlichkeit als Triebfedern anderer Art afficirt werden, bei denen es nicht immer geschieht, was die Vernunft für sich allein thun würde, heißt jene Nothwendigkeit der Handlung nur ein Sollen, und die subjective Nothwendigkeit wird von der objectiven unterschieden.

Es scheint also, als setzten wir in der Idee der Freiheit eigentlich das moralische Gesetz, nämlich das Princip der Autonomie des Willens selbst, nur voraus und könnten seine Realität und objective Nothwendigkeit nicht für sich beweisen, und da hätten wir zwar noch immer etwas ganz Beträchtliches dadurch gewonnen, daß wir wenigstens das ächte Princip genauer, als wohl sonst geschehen, bestimmt hätten, in Ansehung seiner Gültigkeit aber und der praktischen Nothwendigkeit, sich ihm zu unterwerfen, wären wir um nichts weiter gekommen; denn wir könnten dem, der uns fragte, warum denn die Allgemeingültigkeit unserer Maxime, als eines Gesetzes, die einschränkende Bedingung unserer Handlungen sein müsse, und worauf wir den Werth gründen, den wir dieser Art zu handeln beilegen, der so groß sein soll, daß es überall kein höheres Interesse geben kann, und wie es zugehe, daß der Mensch dadurch allein seinen persönlichen Werth zu

[450] fühlen glaubt, gegen den der eines angenehmen oder unangenehmen Zustandes für nichts zu halten sei, keine genugthuende Antwort geben.

Zwar finden wir wohl, daß wir an einer persönlichen Beschaffenheit ein Interesse nehmen können, die gar kein Interesse des Zustandes bei sich führt, wenn jene uns nur fähig macht, des letzteren theilhaftig zu werden, im Falle die Vernunft die Austheilung desselben bewirken sollte, d. i. daß die bloße Würdigkeit, glücklich zu sein, auch ohne den Bewegungsgrund, dieser Glückseligkeit theilhaftig zu werden, für sich interessiren könne: aber dieses Urtheil ist in der That nur die Wirkung von der schon vorausgesetzten Wichtigkeit moralischer Gesetze (wenn wir uns durch die Idee der Freiheit von allem empirischen Interesse trennen); aber daß wir uns von diesem trennen, d. i. uns als frei im Handeln betrachten und so uns dennoch für gewissen Gesetzen unterworfen halten sollen, um einen Werth bloß in unserer Person zu finden, der uns allen Verlust dessen, was unserm Zustande einen Werth verschafft, vergüten könne, und wie dieses möglich sei, mithin *woher das moralische Gesetz verbinde*, können wir auf solche Art noch nicht einsehen.

Es zeigt sich hier, man muß es frei gestehen, eine Art von Cirkel, aus dem, wie es scheint, nicht heraus zu kommen ist. Wir nehmen uns in der Ordnung der wirkenden Ursachen als frei an, um uns in der Ordnung der Zwecke unter sittlichen Gesetzen zu denken, und wir denken uns nachher als diesen Gesetzen unterworfen, weil wir uns die Freiheit des Willens beigelegt haben; denn Freiheit und eigene Gesetzgebung des Willens sind beides Autonomie, mithin Wechselbegriffe, davon aber einer eben um deswillen nicht dazu gebraucht werden kann, um den anderen zu erklären und von ihm Grund anzugeben, sondern höchstens nur, um in logischer Absicht verschiedene scheinende Vorstellungen von eben demselben Gegenstande auf einen einzigen Begriff (wie verschiedne Brüche gleiches Inhalts auf die kleinsten Ausdrücke) zu bringen.

Eine Auskunft bleibt uns aber noch übrig, nämlich zu suchen: ob wir, wenn wir uns durch Freiheit als a priori wirkende Ursachen denken, nicht einen anderen Standpunkt einnehmen, als wenn wir uns selbst nach unseren Handlungen als Wirkungen, die wir vor unseren Augen sehen, uns vorstellen.

Es ist eine Bemerkung, welche anzustellen eben kein subtiles Nachdenken erfordert wird, sondern von der man annehmen kann, daß sie wohl der gemeinste Verstand, obzwar nach seiner Art durch eine dunkele Unterscheidung

[451] der Urtheilskraft, die er Gefühl nennt, machen mag: daß alle Vorstellungen, die uns ohne unsere Willkür kommen (wie die der Sinne), uns die Gegenstände nicht anders zu erkennen geben, als sie uns afficiren, wobei, was sie an sich sein mögen, uns unbekannt bleibt, mithin daß, was diese Art Vorstellungen betrifft, wir dadurch auch bei der angestrengtesten Aufmerksamkeit und Deutlichkeit, die der Verstand nur immer hinzufügen mag, doch bloß zur Erkenntniß der *Erscheinungen*, niemals der *Dinge an sich selbst* gelangen können. Sobald dieser Unterschied (allenfalls bloß durch die bemerkte Verschiedenheit zwischen den Vorstellungen, die uns anders woher gegeben werden, und dabei wir leidend sind, von denen, die wir lediglich aus uns selbst hervorbringen, und dabei wir unsere Thätigkeit beweisen) einmal gemacht ist, so folgt von selbst, daß man hinter den Erscheinungen doch noch etwas anderes, was nicht Erscheinung ist, nämlich die Dinge an sich, einräumen und annehmen müsse, ob wir gleich uns von selbst bescheiden, daß, da sie uns niemals bekannt werden können, sondern immer nur, wie sie uns afficiren, wir ihnen nicht näher treten und, was sie an sich sind, niemals wissen können. Dieses muß eine, obzwar rohe, Unterscheidung einer *Sinnenwelt* von der *Verstandeswelt* abgeben, davon die erstere nach Verschiedenheit der Sinnlichkeit in mancherlei Weltbeschauern auch sehr verschieden sein kann, indessen die zweite, die ihr zum Grunde liegt, immer dieselbe bleibt. Sogar sich selbst und zwar nach der Kenntniß, die der Mensch durch innere Empfindung von sich hat, darf er sich nicht anmaßen zu erkennen, wie er an sich selbst sei. Denn da er doch sich selbst nicht gleichsam schafft und seinen Begriff nicht a priori, sondern empirisch bekommt, so ist natürlich, daß er auch von sich durch den innern Sinn und folglich nur durch die Erscheinung seiner Natur und die Art, wie sein Bewußtsein afficirt wird, Kundschaft einziehen könne, indessen er doch nothwendiger Weise über diese aus lauter Erscheinungen zusammengesetzte Beschaffenheit seines eigenen Subjects noch etwas anderes zum Grunde Liegendes, nämlich sein Ich, wie es an sich selbst beschaffen sein mag, annehmen und sich also in Absicht auf die bloße Wahrnehmung und Empfänglichkeit der Empfindungen zur *Sinnenwelt*, in Ansehung dessen aber, was in ihm reine Thätigkeit sein mag, (dessen, was gar nicht durch Afficirung der Sinne, sondern unmittelbar zum Bewußtsein gelangt) sich zur *intellectuellen* Welt zählen muß, die er doch nicht weiter kennt.

Dergleichen Schluß muß der nachdenkende Mensch von allen Dingen,

[452] die ihm vorkommen mögen, fällen; vermuthlich ist er auch im gemeinsten Verstande anzutreffen, der, wie bekannt, sehr geneigt ist, hinter den Gegenständen der Sinne noch immer etwas Unsichtbares, für sich selbst Thätiges zu erwarten, es aber wiederum dadurch verdirbt, daß er dieses Unsichtbare sich bald wiederum versinnlicht, d. i. zum Gegenstande der Anschauung machen will, und dadurch also nicht um einen Grad klüger wird.

Nun findet der Mensch in sich wirklich ein Vermögen, dadurch er sich von allen andern Dingen, ja von sich selbst, so fern er durch Gegenstände afficirt wird, unterscheidet, und das ist die *Vernunft*. Diese, als reine Selbstthätigkeit, ist sogar darin noch über den *Verstand* erhoben: daß, obgleich dieser auch Selbstthätigkeit ist und nicht wie der Sinn bloß Vorstellungen enthält, die nur entspringen, wenn man von Dingen afficirt (mithin leidend) ist, er dennoch aus seiner Thätigkeit keine andere Begriffe hervorbringen kann als die, so bloß dazu dienen, um die *sinnlichen Vorstellungen unter Regeln zu bringen* und sie dadurch in einem Bewußtsein zu vereinigen, ohne welchen Gebrauch der Sinnlichkeit er gar nichts denken würde, da hingegen die Vernunft unter dem Namen der Ideen eine so reine Spontaneität zeigt, daß sie dadurch weit über alles, was ihr Sinnlichkeit nur liefern kann, hinausgeht und ihr vornehmstes Geschäfte darin beweiset, Sinnenwelt und Verstandeswelt von einander zu unterscheiden, dadurch aber dem Verstande selbst seine Schranken vorzuzeichnen.

Um deswillen muß ein vernünftiges Wesen sich selbst als *Intelligenz* (also nicht von Seiten seiner untern Kräfte), nicht als zur Sinnen-, sondern zur Verstandeswelt gehörig, ansehen; mithin hat es zwei Standpunkte, daraus es sich selbst betrachten und Gesetze des Gebrauchs seiner Kräfte, folglich aller seiner Handlungen erkennen kann, *einmal*, so fern es zur Sinnenwelt gehört, unter Naturgesetzen (Heteronomie), *zweitens*, als zur intelligibelen Welt gehörig, unter Gesetzen, die, von der Natur unabhängig, nicht empirisch, sondern bloß in der Vernunft gegründet sind.

Als ein vernünftiges, mithin zur intelligibelen Welt gehöriges Wesen kann der Mensch die Causalität seines eigenen Willens niemals anders als unter der Idee der Freiheit denken; denn Unabhängigkeit von den bestimmenden Ursachen der Sinnenwelt (dergleichen die Vernunft jederzeit sich selbst beilegen muß) ist Freiheit. Mit der Idee der Freiheit ist nun der Begriff der *Autonomie* unzertrennlich verbunden, mit diesem aber das allgemeine Princip der Sittlichkeit, welches in der Idee allen Handlungen

[453] *vernünftiger* Wesen eben so zum Grunde liegt, als das Naturgesetz allen Erscheinungen.

Nun ist der Verdacht, den wir oben rege machten, gehoben, als wäre ein geheimer Cirkel in unserem Schlusse aus der Freiheit auf die Autonomie und aus dieser aufs sittliche Gesetz enthalten, daß wir nämlich vielleicht die Idee der Freiheit nur um des sittlichen Gesetzes willen zum Grunde legten, um dieses nachher aus der Freiheit wiederum zu schließen, mithin von jenem gar keinen Grund angeben könnten, sondern es nur als Erbittung eines Princips, das uns gutgesinnte Seelen wohl gerne einräumen werden, welches wir aber niemals als einen erweislichen Satz aufstellen könnten. Denn jetzt sehen wir, daß, wenn wir uns als frei denken, so versetzen wir uns als Glieder in die Verstandeswelt und erkennen die Autonomie des Willens sammt ihrer Folge, der Moralität; denken wir uns aber als verpflichtet, so betrachten wir uns als zur Sinnenwelt und doch zugleich zur Verstandeswelt gehörig.

*Wie ist ein kategorischer Imperativ möglich?*

Das vernünftige Wesen zählt sich als Intelligenz zur Verstandeswelt, und bloß als eine zu dieser gehörige wirkende Ursache nennt es seine Causalität einen *Willen*. Von der anderen Seite ist es sich seiner doch auch als eines Stücks der Sinnenwelt bewußt, in welcher seine Handlungen als bloße Erscheinungen jener Causalität angetroffen werden, deren Möglichkeit aber aus dieser, die wir nicht kennen, nicht eingesehen werden kann, sondern an deren Statt jene Handlungen als bestimmt durch andere Erscheinungen, nämlich Begierden und Neigungen, als zur Sinnenwelt gehörig eingesehen werden müssen. Als bloßen Gliedes der Verstandeswelt würden also alle meine Handlungen dem Princip der Autonomie des reinen Willens vollkommen gemäß sein; als bloßen Stücks der Sinnenwelt würden sie gänzlich dem Naturgesetz der Begierden und Neigungen, mithin der Heteronomie der Natur gemäß genommen werden müssen. (Die ersteren würden auf dem obersten Princip der Sittlichkeit, die zweiten der Glückseligkeit beruhen.) Weil aber *die Verstandeswelt den Grund der Sinnenwelt, mithin auch der Gesetze derselben enthält*, also in Ansehung meines Willens (der ganz zur Verstandeswelt gehört) unmittelbar gesetzgebend ist und also auch als solche gedacht werden muß, so werde ich mich als Intelligenz, obgleich andererseits wie ein zur

[454] Sinnenwelt gehöriges Wesen, dennoch dem Gesetze der ersteren, d. i. der Vernunft, die in der Idee der Freiheit das Gesetz derselben enthält, und also der Autonomie des Willens unterworfen erkennen, folglich die Gesetze der Verstandeswelt für mich als Imperativen und die diesem Princip gemäße Handlungen als Pflichten ansehen müssen.

Und so sind kategorische Imperativen möglich, dadurch daß die Idee der Freiheit mich zu einem Gliede einer intelligibelen Welt macht, wodurch, wenn ich solches allein wäre, alle meine Handlungen der Autonomie des Willens jederzeit gemäß sein *würden*, da ich mich aber zugleich als Glied der Sinnenwelt anschaue, gemäß sein *sollen*, welches *kategorische* Sollen einen synthetischen Satz a priori vorstellt, dadurch daß über meinen durch sinnliche Begierden afficirten Willen noch die Idee ebendesselben, aber zur Verstandeswelt gehörigen reinen, für sich selbst praktischen Willens hinzukommt, welcher die oberste Bedingung des ersteren nach der Vernunft enthält; ungefähr so, wie zu den Anschauungen der Sinnenwelt Begriffe des Verstandes, die für sich selbst nichts als gesetzliche Form überhaupt bedeuten, hinzu kommen und dadurch synthetische Sätze a priori, auf welchen alle Erkenntniß einer Natur beruht, möglich machen.

Der praktische Gebrauch der gemeinen Menschenvernunft bestätigt die Richtigkeit dieser Deduction. Es ist niemand, selbst der ärgste Bösewicht, wenn er nur sonst Vernunft zu brauchen gewohnt ist, der nicht, wenn man ihm Beispiele der Redlichkeit in Absichten, der Standhaftigkeit in Befolgung guter Maximen, der Theilnehmung und des allgemeinen Wohlwollens (und noch dazu mit großen Aufopferungen von Vortheilen und Gemächlichkeit verbunden) vorlegt, nicht wünsche, daß er auch so gesinnt sein möchte. Er kann es aber nur wegen seiner Neigungen und Antriebe nicht wohl in sich zu Stande bringen, wobei er dennoch zugleich wünscht, von solchen ihm selbst lästigen Neigungen frei zu sein. Er beweiset hiedurch also, daß er mit einem Willen, der von Antrieben der Sinnlichkeit frei ist, sich in Gedanken in eine ganz andere Ordnung der Dinge versetze, als die seiner Begierden im Felde der Sinnlichkeit, weil er von jenem Wunsche keine Vergnügung der Begierden, mithin keinen für irgend eine seiner wirklichen oder sonst erdenklichen Neigungen befriedigenden Zustand (denn dadurch würde selbst die Idee, welche ihm den Wunsch ablockt, ihre Vorzüglichkeit einbüßen), sondern nur einen größeren inneren Werth seiner Person erwarten kann. Diese bessere Person

[455] glaubt er aber zu sein, wenn er sich in den Standpunkt eines Gliedes der Verstandeswelt versetzt, dazu die Idee der Freiheit, d. i. Unabhängigkeit von *bestimmenden* Ursachen der Sinnenwelt, ihn unwillkürlich nöthigt, und in welchem er sich eines guten Willens bewußt ist, der für seinen bösen Willen als Gliedes der Sinnenwelt nach seinem eigenen Geständnisse das Gesetz ausmacht, dessen Ansehen er kennt, indem er es übertritt. Das moralische Sollen ist also eigenes nothwendiges Wollen als Gliedes einer intelligibelen Welt und wird nur so fern von ihm als Sollen gedacht, als er sich zugleich wie ein Glied der Sinnenwelt betrachtet.

*Von der äußersten Grenze aller praktischen Philosophie.*

Alle Menschen denken sich dem Willen nach als frei. Daher kommen alle Urtheile über Handlungen als solche, die hätten *geschehen sollen*, ob sie gleich *nicht geschehen sind*. Gleichwohl ist diese Freiheit kein Erfahrungsbegriff und kann es auch nicht sein, weil er immer bleibt, obgleich die Erfahrung das Gegentheil von denjenigen Forderungen zeigt, die unter Voraussetzung derselben als nothwendig vorgestellt werden. Auf der anderen Seite ist es eben so nothwendig, daß alles, was geschieht, nach Naturgesetzen unausbleiblich bestimmt sei, und diese Naturnothwendigkeit ist auch kein Erfahrungsbegriff, eben darum weil er den Begriff der Nothwendigkeit, mithin einer Erkenntniß a priori bei sich führt. Aber dieser Begriff von einer Natur wird durch Erfahrung bestätigt und muß selbst unvermeidlich vorausgesetzt werden, wenn Erfahrung, d. i. nach allgemeinen Gesetzen zusammenhängende Erkenntniß der Gegenstände der Sinne, möglich sein soll. Daher ist Freiheit nur eine Idee der Vernunft, deren objective Realität an sich zweifelhaft ist, Natur aber ein *Verstandesbegriff*, der seine Realität an Beispielen der Erfahrung beweiset und nothwendig beweisen muß.

Ob nun gleich hieraus eine Dialektik der Vernunft entspringt, da in Ansehung des Willens die ihm beigelegte Freiheit mit der Naturnothwendigkeit im Widerspruch zu stehen scheint, und bei dieser Wegescheidung die Vernunft in *speculativer* Absicht den Weg der Naturnothwendigkeit viel gebähnter und brauchbarer findet, als den der Freiheit: so ist doch in *praktischer* Absicht der Fußsteig der Freiheit der einzige, auf welchem es möglich ist, von seiner Vernunft bei unserem Thun und Lassen

[456] Gebrauch zu machen; daher wird es der subtilsten Philosophie eben so unmöglich, wie der gemeinsten Menschenvernunft, die Freiheit wegzuvernünfteln. Diese muß also wohl voraussetzen: daß kein wahrer Widerspruch zwischen Freiheit und Naturnothwendigkeit ebenderselben menschlichen Handlungen angetroffen werde, denn sie kann eben so wenig den Begriff der Natur, als den der Freiheit aufgeben.

Indessen muß dieser Scheinwiderspruch wenigstens auf überzeugende Art vertilgt werden, wenn man gleich, wie Freiheit möglich sei, niemals begreifen könnte. Denn wenn sogar der Gedanke von der Freiheit sich selbst, oder der Natur, die eben so nothwendig ist, widerspricht, so müßte sie gegen die Naturnothwendigkeit durchaus aufgegeben werden.

Es ist aber unmöglich, diesem Widerspruch zu entgehen, wenn das Subject, was sich frei dünkt, sich selbst *in demselben Sinne*, oder *in eben demselben Verhältnisse* dächte, wenn es sich frei nennt, als wenn es sich in Absicht auf die nämliche Handlung dem Naturgesetze unterworfen annimmt. Daher ist es eine unnachlaßliche Aufgabe der speculativen Philosophie: wenigstens zu zeigen, daß ihre Täuschung wegen des Widerspruchs darin beruhe, daß wir den Menschen in einem anderen Sinne und Verhältnisse denken, wenn wir ihn frei nennen, als wenn wir ihn als Stück der Natur dieser ihren Gesetzen für unterworfen halten, und daß beide nicht allein gar wohl beisammen stehen können, sondern auch als *nothwendig vereinigt* in demselben Subject gedacht werden müssen, weil sonst nicht Grund angegeben werden könnte, warum wir die Vernunft mit einer Idee belästigen sollten, die, ob sie sich gleich *ohne Widerspruch* mit einer anderen, genugsam bewährten vereinigen läßt, dennoch uns in ein Geschäfte verwickelt, wodurch die Vernunft in ihrem theoretischen Gebrauche sehr in die Enge gebracht wird. Diese Pflicht liegt aber bloß der speculativen Philosophie ob, damit sie der praktischen freie Bahn schaffe. Also ist es nicht in das Belieben des Philosophen gesetzt, ob er den scheinbaren Widerstreit heben, oder ihn unangerührt lassen will; denn im letzteren Falle ist die Theorie hierüber bonum vacans, in dessen Besitz sich der Fatalist mit Grunde setzen und alle Moral aus ihrem ohne Titel besessenen vermeinten Eigenthum verjagen kann.

Doch kann man hier noch nicht sagen, daß die Grenze der praktischen Philosophie anfange. Denn jene Beilegung der Streitigkeit gehört gar nicht ihr zu, sondern sie fordert nur von der speculativen Vernunft, daß diese die Uneinigkeit, darin sie sich in theoretischen Fragen selbst verwickelt,

[457] zu Ende bringe, damit praktische Vernunft Ruhe und Sicherheit für äußere Angriffe habe, die ihr den Boden, worauf sie sich anbauen will, streitig machen könnten.

Der Rechtsanspruch aber selbst der gemeinen Menschenvernunft auf Freiheit des Willens gründet sich auf das Bewußtsein und die zugestandene Voraussetzung der Unabhängigkeit der Vernunft von bloß subjectiv-bestimmenden Ursachen, die insgesammt das ausmachen, was bloß zur Empfindung, mithin unter die allgemeine Benennung der Sinnlichkeit gehört. Der Mensch, der sich auf solche Weise als Intelligenz betrachtet, setzt sich dadurch in eine andere Ordnung der Dinge und in ein Verhältniß zu bestimmenden Gründen von ganz anderer Art, wenn er sich als Intelligenz mit einem Willen, folglich mit Causalität, begabt denkt, als wenn er sich wie ein Phänomen in der Sinnenwelt (welches er wirklich auch ist) wahrnimmt und seine Causalität äußerer Bestimmung nach Naturgesetzen unterwirft. Nun wird er bald inne, daß beides zugleich stattfinden könne, ja sogar müsse. Denn daß ein *Ding in der Erscheinung* (das zur Sinnenwelt gehörig) gewissen Gesetzen unterworfen ist, von welchen eben dasselbe als *Ding* oder Wesen *an sich selbst* unabhängig ist, enthält nicht den mindesten Widerspruch; daß er sich selbst aber auf diese zwiefache Art vorstellen und denken müsse, beruht, was das erste betrifft, auf dem Bewußtsein seiner selbst als durch Sinne afficirten Gegenstandes, was das zweite anlangt, auf dem Bewußtsein seiner selbst als Intelligenz, d. i. als unabhängig im Vernunftgebrauch von sinnlichen Eindrücken (mithin als zur Verstandeswelt gehörig).

Daher kommt es, daß der Mensch sich eines Willens anmaßt, der nichts auf seine Rechnung kommen läßt, was bloß zu seinen Begierden und Neigungen gehört, und dagegen Handlungen durch sich als möglich, ja gar als nothwendig denkt, die nur mit Hintansetzung aller Begierden und sinnlichen Anreizungen geschehen können. Die Causalität derselben liegt in ihm als Intelligenz und in den Gesetzen der Wirkungen und Handlungen nach Principien einer intelligibelen Welt, von der er wohl nichts weiter weiß, als daß darin lediglich die Vernunft und zwar reine, von Sinnlichkeit unabhängige Vernunft das Gesetz gebe, imgleichen da er daselbst nur als Intelligenz das eigentliche Selbst (als Mensch hingegen nur Erscheinung seiner selbst) ist, jene Gesetze ihn unmittelbar und kategorisch angehen, so daß, wozu Neigungen und Antriebe (mithin die ganze Natur der Sinnenwelt) anreizen, den Gesetzen seines Wollens als Intelligenz

[458] keinen Abbruch thun kann, so gar, daß er die erstere nicht verantwortet und seinem eigentlichen Selbst, d. i. seinem Willen, nicht zuschreibt, wohl aber die Nachsicht, die er gegen sie tragen möchte, wenn er ihnen zum Nachtheil der Vernunftgesetze des Willens Einfluß auf seine Maximen einräumte.

Dadurch, daß die praktische Vernunft sich in eine Verstandeswelt hinein *denkt*, überschreitet sie gar nicht ihre Grenzen, wohl aber wenn sie sich *hineinschauen*, *hineinempfinden* wollte. Jenes ist nur ein negativer Gedanke in Ansehung der Sinnenwelt, die der Vernunft in Bestimmung des Willens keine Gesetze giebt, und nur in diesem einzigen Punkte positiv, daß jene Freiheit als negative Bestimmung zugleich mit einem (positiven) Vermögen und sogar mit einer Causalität der Vernunft verbunden sei, welche wir einen Willen nennen, so zu handeln, daß das Princip der Handlungen der wesentlichen Beschaffenheit einer Vernunftursache, d. i. der Bedingung der Allgemeingültigkeit der Maxime als eines Gesetzes, gemäß sei. Würde sie aber noch ein *Object des Willens*, d. i. eine Bewegursache, aus der Verstandeswelt herholen, so überschritte sie ihre Grenzen und maßte sich an, etwas zu kennen, wovon sie nichts weiß. Der Begriff einer Verstandeswelt ist also nur ein *Standpunkt*, den die Vernunft sich genöthigt sieht, außer den Erscheinungen zu nehmen, um *sich selbst als praktisch zu denken*, welches, wenn die Einflüsse der Sinnlichkeit für den Menschen bestimmend wären, nicht möglich sein würde, welches aber doch nothwendig ist, wofern ihm nicht das Bewußtsein seiner selbst als Intelligenz, mithin als vernünftige und durch Vernunft thätige, d. i. frei wirkende, Ursache abgesprochen werden soll. Dieser Gedanke führt freilich die Idee einer anderen Ordnung und Gesetzgebung, als die des Naturmechanismus, der die Sinnenwelt trifft, herbei und macht den Begriff einer intelligibelen Welt (d. i. das Ganze vernünftiger Wesen, als Dinge an sich selbst) nothwendig, aber ohne die mindeste Anmaßung, hier weiter als bloß ihrer *formalen* Bedingung nach, d. i. der Allgemeinheit der Maxime des Willens als Gesetz, mithin der Autonomie des letzteren, die allein mit der Freiheit desselben bestehen kann, gemäß zu denken; da hingegen alle Gesetze, die auf ein Object bestimmt sind, Heteronomie geben, die nur an Naturgesetzen angetroffen werden und auch nur die Sinnenwelt treffen kann.

Aber alsdann würde die Vernunft alle ihre Grenze überschreiten, wenn sie es sich *zu erklären* unterfinge, *wie* reine Vernunft praktisch sein

[459] könne, welches völlig einerlei mit der Aufgabe sein würde, zu erklären, *wie Freiheit möglich sei*.

Denn wir können nichts erklären, als was wir auf Gesetze zurückführen können, deren Gegenstand in irgend einer möglichen Erfahrung gegeben werden kann. Freiheit aber ist eine bloße Idee, deren objective Realität auf keine Weise nach Naturgesetzen, mithin auch nicht in irgend einer möglichen Erfahrung dargethan werden kann, die also darum, weil ihr selbst niemals nach irgend einer Analogie ein Beispiel untergelegt werden mag, niemals begriffen, oder auch nur eingesehen werden kann. Sie gilt nur als nothwendige Voraussetzung der Vernunft in einem Wesen, das sich eines Willens, d. i. eines vom bloßen Begehrungsvermögen noch verschiedenen Vermögens, (nämlich sich zum Handeln als Intelligenz, mithin nach Gesetzen der Vernunft unabhängig von Naturinstincten zu bestimmen) bewußt zu sein glaubt. Wo aber Bestimmung nach Naturgesetzen aufhört, da hört auch alle *Erklärung* auf, und es bleibt nichts übrig als *Vertheidigung*, d. i. Abtreibung der Einwürfe derer, die tiefer in das Wesen der Dinge geschaut zu haben vorgeben und darum die Freiheit dreust für unmöglich erklären. Man kann ihnen nur zeigen, daß der vermeintlich von ihnen darin entdeckte Widerspruch nirgend anders liege als darin, daß sie, um das Naturgesetz in Ansehung menschlicher Handlungen geltend zu machen, den Menschen nothwendig als Erscheinung betrachten mußten und nun, da man von ihnen fordert, daß sie ihn als Intelligenz auch als Ding an sich selbst denken sollten, sie ihn immer auch da noch als Erscheinung betrachten, wo denn freilich die Absonderung seiner Causalität (d. i. seines Willens) von allen Naturgesetzen der Sinnenwelt in einem und demselben Subjecte im Widerspruche stehen würde, welcher aber wegfällt, wenn sie sich besinnen und wie billig eingestehen wollten, daß hinter den Erscheinungen doch die Sachen an sich selbst (obzwar verborgen) zum Grunde liegen müssen, von deren Wirkungsgesetzen man nicht verlangen kann, daß sie mit denen einerlei sein sollten, unter denen ihre Erscheinungen stehen.

Die subjective Unmöglichkeit, die Freiheit des Willens zu *erklären*, ist mit der Unmöglichkeit, ein *Interesse* *) ausfindig und begreiflich zu

*) Interesse ist das, wodurch Vernunft praktisch, d. i. eine den Willen bestimmende Ursache, wird. Daher sagt man nur von einem vernünftigen Wesen, daß es woran ein Interesse nehme, vernunftlose Geschöpfe fühlen nur sinnliche Antriebe. Ein unmittelbares Interesse nimmt die Vernunft nur alsdann an der Handlung, wenn die Allgemeingültigkeit der Maxime derselben ein gnugsamer Bestimmungsgrund des Willens ist. Ein solches Interesse ist allein rein. Wenn sie aber den Willen nur vermittelst eines anderen Objects des Begehrens, oder unter Voraussetzung eines besonderen Gefühls des Subjects bestimmen kann, so nimmt die Vernunft nur ein mittelbares Interesse an der Handlung, und da Vernunft für sich allein weder Objecte des Willens, noch ein besonderes ihm zu Grunde liegendes Gefühl ohne Erfahrung ausfindig machen kann, so würde das letztere Interesse nur empirisch und kein reines Vernunftinteresse sein. Das logische Interesse der Vernunft (ihre Einsichten zu befördern) ist niemals unmittelbar, sondern setzt Absichten ihres Gebrauchs voraus.

[460] machen, welches der Mensch an moralischen Gesetzen nehmen könne, einerlei; und gleichwohl nimmt er wirklich daran ein Interesse, wozu wir die Grundlage in uns das moralische Gefühl nennen, welches fälschlich für das Richtmaß unserer sittlichen Beurtheilung von einigen ausgegeben worden, da es vielmehr als die *subjective* Wirkung, die das Gesetz auf den Willen ausübt, angesehen werden muß, wozu Vernunft allein die objectiven Gründe hergiebt.

Um das zu wollen, wozu die Vernunft allein dem sinnlich-afficirten vernünftigen Wesen das Sollen vorschreibt, dazu gehört freilich ein Vermögen der Vernunft, ein *Gefühl der Lust* oder des Wohlgefallens an der Erfüllung der Pflicht *einzuflößen*, mithin eine Causalität derselben, die Sinnlichkeit ihren Principien gemäß zu bestimmen. Es ist aber gänzlich unmöglich, einzusehen, d. i. a priori begreiflich zu machen, wie ein bloßer Gedanke, der selbst nichts Sinnliches in sich enthält, eine Empfindung der Lust oder Unlust hervorbringe; denn das ist eine besondere Art von Causalität, von der wie von aller Causalität wir gar nichts a priori bestimmen können, sondern darum allein die Erfahrung befragen müssen. Da diese aber kein Verhältniß der Ursache zur Wirkung, als zwischen zwei Gegenständen der Erfahrung an die Hand geben kann, hier aber reine Vernunft durch bloße Ideen (die gar keinen Gegenstand für Erfahrung abgeben) die Ursache von einer Wirkung, die freilich in der Erfahrung liegt, sein soll, so ist die Erklärung, wie und warum uns die *Allgemeinheit der Maxime als Gesetzes*, mithin die Sittlichkeit interessire, uns Menschen gänzlich unmöglich. So viel ist nur gewiß: daß es nicht darum für uns Gültigkeit hat, *weil es interessirt* (denn das ist Heteronomie und Abhängigkeit der praktischen Vernunft von Sinnlichkeit, nämlich

[461] einem zum Grunde liegenden Gefühl, wobei sie niemals sittlich gesetzgebend sein könnte), sondern daß es interessirt, weil es für uns als Menschen gilt, da es aus unserem Willen als Intelligenz, mithin aus unserem eigentlichen Selbst entsprungen ist; *was aber zur bloßen Erscheinung gehört, wird von der Vernunft nothwendig der Beschaffenheit der Sache an sich selbst untergeordnet*.

Die Frage also, wie ein kategorischer Imperativ möglich sei, kann zwar so weit beantwortet werden, als man die einzige Voraussetzung angeben kann, unter der er allein möglich ist, nämlich die Idee der Freiheit, imgleichen als man die Nothwendigkeit dieser Voraussetzung einsehen kann, welches zum *praktischen Gebrauche* der Vernunft, d. i. zur Überzeugung von der *Gültigkeit dieses Imperativs*, mithin auch des sittlichen Gesetzes hinreichend ist, aber wie diese Voraussetzung selbst möglich sei, läßt sich durch keine menschliche Vernunft jemals einsehen. Unter Voraussetzung der Freiheit des Willens einer Intelligenz aber ist die *Autonomie* desselben, als die formale Bedingung, unter der er allein bestimmt werden kann, eine nothwendige Folge. Diese Freiheit des Willens vorauszusetzen, ist auch nicht allein (ohne in Widerspruch mit dem Princip der Naturnothwendigkeit in der Verknüpfung der Erscheinungen der Sinnenwelt zu gerathen) ganz wohl *möglich* (wie die speculative Philosophie zeigen kann), sondern auch sie praktisch, d. i. in der Idee, allen seinen willkürlichen Handlungen als Bedingung unterzulegen, ist einem vernünftigen Wesen, das sich seiner Causalität durch Vernunft, mithin eines Willens (der von Begierden unterschieden ist) bewußt ist, ohne weitere Bedingung *nothwendig*. Wie nun aber reine Vernunft ohne andere Triebfedern, die irgend woher sonst genommen sein mögen, für sich selbst praktisch sein, d. i. wie das bloße *Princip der Allgemeingültigkeit aller ihrer Maximen als Gesetze* (welches freilich die Form einer reinen praktischen Vernunft sein würde) ohne alle Materie (Gegenstand) des Willens, woran man zum voraus irgend ein Interesse nehmen dürfte, für sich selbst eine Triebfeder abgeben und ein Interesse, welches rein *moralisch* heißen würde, bewirken, oder mit anderen Worten, *wie reine Vernunft praktisch sein könne*, das zu erklären, dazu ist alle menschliche Vernunft gänzlich unvermögend, und alle Mühe und Arbeit, hievon Erklärung zu suchen, ist verloren.

Es ist eben dasselbe, als ob ich zu ergründen suchte, wie Freiheit selbst als Causalität eines Willens möglich sei. Denn da verlasse ich den philosophischen

[462] Erklärungsgrund und habe keinen anderen. Zwar könnte ich nun in der intelligibelen Welt, die mir noch übrig bleibt, in der Welt der Intelligenzen, herumschwärmen; aber ob ich gleich davon eine *Idee* habe, die ihren guten Grund hat, so habe ich doch von ihr nicht die mindeste *Kenntniß* und kann auch zu dieser durch alle Bestrebung meines natürlichen Vernunftvermögens niemals gelangen. Sie bedeutet nur ein Etwas, das da übrig bleibt, wenn ich alles, was zur Sinnenwelt gehört, von den Bestimmungsgründen meines Willens ausgeschlossen habe, bloß um das Princip der Bewegursachen aus dem Felde der Sinnlichkeit einzuschränken, dadurch daß ich es begrenze und zeige, daß es nicht Alles in Allem in sich fasse, sondern daß außer ihm noch mehr sei; dieses Mehrere aber kenne ich nicht weiter. Von der reinen Vernunft, die dieses Ideal denkt, bleibt nach Absonderung aller Materie, d. i. Erkenntniß der Objecte, mir nichts als die Form übrig, nämlich das praktische Gesetz der Allgemeingültigkeit der Maximen und diesem gemäß die Vernunft in Beziehung auf eine reine Verstandeswelt als mögliche wirkende, d. i. als den Willen bestimmende, Ursache zu denken; die Triebfeder muß hier gänzlich fehlen; es müßte denn diese Idee einer intelligibelen Welt selbst die Triebfeder oder dasjenige sein, woran die Vernunft ursprünglich ein Interesse nähme; welches aber begreiflich zu machen gerade die Aufgabe ist, die wir nicht auflösen können.

Hier ist nun die oberste Grenze aller moralischen Nachforschung, welche aber zu bestimmen, auch schon darum von großer Wichtigkeit ist, damit die Vernunft nicht einerseits in der Sinnenwelt auf eine den Sitten schädliche Art nach der obersten Bewegursache und einem begreiflichen, aber empirischen Interesse herumsuche, andererseits aber, damit sie auch nicht in dem für sie leeren Raum transscendenter Begriffe unter dem Namen der intelligibelen Welt kraftlos ihre Flügel schwinge, ohne von der Stelle zu kommen, und sich unter Hirngespinsten verliere. Übrigens bleibt die Idee einer reinen Verstandeswelt als eines Ganzen aller Intelligenzen, wozu wir selbst als vernünftige Wesen (obgleich andererseits zugleich Glieder der Sinnenwelt) gehören, immer eine brauchbare und erlaubte Idee zum Behufe eines vernünftigen Glaubens, wenn gleich alles Wissen an der Grenze derselben ein Ende hat, um durch das herrliche Ideal eines allgemeinen Reichs der *Zwecke an sich selbst* (vernünftiger Wesen), zu welchem wir nur alsdann als Glieder gehören können, wenn wir uns nach Maximen der Freiheit, als ob sie Gesetze der Natur wären, sorgfältig

[463] verhalten, ein lebhaftes Interesse an dem moralischen Gesetze in uns zu bewirken.

*Schlußanmerkung.*

Der speculative Gebrauch der Vernunft *in Ansehung der Natur* führt auf absolute Nothwendigkeit irgend einer obersten Ursache der *Welt*; der praktische Gebrauch der Vernunft *in Absicht auf die Freiheit* führt auch auf absolute Nothwendigkeit, aber nur der *Gesetze der Handlungen* eines vernünftigen Wesens als eines solchen. Nun ist es ein wesentliches *Princip* alles Gebrauchs unserer Vernunft, ihr Erkenntniß bis zum Bewußtsein ihrer *Nothwendigkeit* zu treiben (denn ohne diese wäre sie nicht Erkenntniß der Vernunft). Es ist aber auch eine eben so wesentliche *Einschränkung* eben derselben Vernunft, daß sie weder die *Nothwendigkeit* dessen, was da ist, oder was geschieht, noch dessen, was geschehen soll, einsehen kann, wenn nicht eine *Bedingung*, unter der es da ist oder geschieht oder geschehen soll, zum Grunde gelegt wird. Auf diese Weise aber wird durch die beständige Nachfrage nach der Bedingung die Befriedigung der Vernunft nur immer weiter aufgeschoben. Daher sucht sie rastlos das Unbedingt-Nothwendige und sieht sich genöthigt, es anzunehmen, ohne irgend ein Mittel, es sich begreiflich zu machen, glücklich gnug, wenn sie nur den Begriff ausfindig machen kann, der sich mit dieser Voraussetzung verträgt. Es ist also kein Tadel für unsere Deduction des obersten Princips der Moralität, sondern ein Vorwurf, den man der menschlichen Vernunft überhaupt machen müßte, daß sie ein unbedingtes praktisches Gesetz (dergleichen der kategorische Imperativ sein muß) seiner absoluten Nothwendigkeit nach nicht begreiflich machen kann; denn daß sie dieses nicht durch eine Bedingung, nämlich vermittelst irgend eines zum Grunde gelegten Interesse, thun will, kann ihr nicht verdacht werden, weil es alsdann kein moralisches, d. i. oberstes Gesetz der Freiheit sein würde. Und so begreifen wir zwar nicht die praktische unbedingte Nothwendigkeit des moralischen Imperativs, wir begreifen aber doch seine *Unbegreiflichkeit*, welches alles ist, was billigermaßen von einer Philosophie, die bis zur Grenze der menschlichen Vernunft in Principien strebt, gefordert werden kann.

## Translation — Mouseia

> Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the German of Akademie-Ausgabe IV 385–463, with Kant’s preface, three sections, page references and author’s notes. The German transcription was corrected against the 1911 page images.

### Preface

[385] Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals

by Immanuel Kant.

[387] Preface.

Ancient Greek philosophy divided into three sciences: *physics*, *ethics*, and *logic*. This division perfectly suits the nature of the subject. Nothing needs improving in it, except perhaps to add the principle on which it rests, both to assure ourselves of its completeness and to determine the necessary subdivisions correctly.

All rational cognition is either *material*, considering some object, or *formal*, concerned only with the form of understanding and reason themselves and with the universal rules of thinking as such, without distinction of objects. Formal philosophy is called *logic*. Material philosophy, which deals with determinate objects and the laws to which they are subject, is in turn twofold. For these laws are either laws of *nature* or laws of *freedom*. The science of the former is called *physics*; that of the latter, *ethics*. The first is also called the doctrine of nature, the second the doctrine of morals.

Logic can have no empirical part—that is, no part in which the universal and necessary laws of thinking rest on grounds drawn from experience. Otherwise it would not be logic: a canon for understanding or reason that holds for all thinking and must be demonstrated. Natural and moral philosophy, by contrast, can each have an empirical part. The former must determine the laws of nature as an object of experience; the latter, the laws of the human will insofar as nature affects it. The first are laws according to which everything

[388] happens; the second, laws according to which everything ought to happen, though with consideration also of the conditions under which it often does not happen.

All philosophy, insofar as it rests on grounds of experience, may be called *empirical*; philosophy that presents its teachings solely from a priori principles may be called *pure* philosophy. When the latter is merely formal, it is called logic; when it is restricted to determinate objects of understanding, it is called metaphysics.

In this way the idea of a twofold metaphysics arises: a *metaphysics of nature* and a *metaphysics of morals*. Physics will therefore have its empirical part, but also a rational part; ethics will have the same, although here the empirical part might specifically be called *practical anthropology*, and the rational part *morality* proper.

All trades, crafts, and arts have benefited from the division of labor. Instead of one person doing everything, each confines himself to a particular kind of work, markedly different from others in how it must be handled, so that he can accomplish it with the greatest perfection and greater ease. Where work is not distinguished and divided in this way, where everyone is a jack-of-all-trades, the trades remain in the deepest barbarism. It would indeed be worth considering whether pure philosophy in all its parts does not require its own specialist. Would the whole enterprise of learning not fare better if those accustomed to selling a mixture of the empirical and the rational, blended to the public's taste in all sorts of proportions unknown even to themselves—those who call themselves independent thinkers, but call those who prepare the purely rational part brooders—were warned not to practice two occupations at once? These occupations differ greatly in the way they must be pursued; each may require a special talent, and combining them in one person produces only bunglers. But here I ask only whether the nature of science does not require us always to separate the empirical from the rational part carefully, placing a metaphysics of nature before physics proper, or empirical physics, and a metaphysics of morals before practical anthropology. Both forms of metaphysics would have to be carefully cleared of everything empirical, so that we might know how much pure reason can accomplish in either case

[389] and from what sources it draws this a priori instruction of its own. It makes no difference whether the latter task is undertaken by all moral teachers, whose name is Legion, or only by some who feel called to it.

Since my purpose here is directed specifically toward moral philosophy, I restrict the question posed to this: must we not consider it supremely necessary to develop, for once, a pure moral philosophy, entirely cleared of everything that might be empirical and belong to anthropology? That such a philosophy must exist is evident from the ordinary idea of duty and moral laws. Everyone must acknowledge that a law, if it is to hold morally—that is, as the ground of an obligation—must carry absolute necessity with it. The command “You shall not lie” cannot hold only for human beings, leaving other rational beings free to disregard it; the same applies to all other moral laws in the proper sense. The ground of obligation must therefore be sought not in human nature or in the circumstances of the world in which a human being is placed, but a priori, solely in concepts of pure reason. Any other prescription founded on principles of mere experience—even one that is universal in a certain respect—can be called a practical rule but never a moral law if even the smallest part of it, perhaps only one motive, rests on empirical grounds.

Thus moral laws, together with their principles, differ not only essentially, within practical cognition as a whole, from everything else that contains anything empirical, but all moral philosophy rests entirely on its pure part; and, applied to human beings, it borrows not the slightest thing from knowledge of them, or anthropology, but gives them laws a priori as rational beings. These laws do, of course, still require judgment sharpened by experience, partly to distinguish the cases in which they apply, partly to gain them admission to the human will and give them force in practice. For the human being, affected by so many inclinations, is indeed capable of the idea of a practical pure reason, but cannot so readily make it effective in concreto in the conduct of life.

A metaphysics of morals is therefore indispensably necessary, not merely from a speculative motive, to investigate the source of the practical principles that lie a

[390] priori in our reason, but because morals themselves remain exposed to every kind of corruption so long as we lack that guiding thread and supreme norm for judging them correctly. For something to be morally good, it is not enough that it *conform* to the moral law; it must also be done *for the sake of that law*. Otherwise the conformity is only highly contingent and precarious, because a nonmoral ground will indeed sometimes produce actions in accordance with the law, but will repeatedly produce actions contrary to it. Yet the moral law in its purity and genuineness—which matter most of all in practical affairs—is to be sought nowhere but in a pure philosophy. This philosophy, or metaphysics, must therefore come first; without it there can be no moral philosophy at all. A philosophy that mixes these pure principles with empirical ones does not even deserve the name of philosophy. For philosophy is distinguished from ordinary rational cognition precisely by presenting in a separate science what the latter grasps only in a mixture. Still less does it deserve the name of moral philosophy, since by this very mixture it actually impairs the purity of morals themselves and defeats its own purpose.

We must certainly not suppose that what is required here is already supplied by the introductory discipline that the celebrated *Wolff* placed before his moral philosophy, namely what he called *general practical philosophy*, and that there is therefore no wholly new field to enter. Precisely because it was intended as a general practical philosophy, it considered no will of a particular kind—for example, one determined without any empirical motives, entirely from a priori principles, which might be called a pure will. It considered willing in general, with all the actions and conditions belonging to it in this general sense. It thus differs from a metaphysics of morals just as general logic differs from transcendental philosophy. The former presents the actions and rules of thinking *in general*; the latter, only the particular actions and rules of *pure* thinking, that is, of thinking through which objects are cognized entirely a priori. For a metaphysics of morals must investigate the idea and principles of a possible *pure* will, not the actions and conditions of human willing in general, which are drawn for the most part from psychology. That general

[391] practical philosophy also speaks of moral laws and duty—though without any justification—constitutes no objection to my claim. For here too the authors of that science remain faithful to their idea of it. They do not distinguish motives presented as such entirely a priori by reason alone, which are properly moral, from empirical motives that understanding raises to universal concepts merely by comparing experiences. Instead, without attending to the difference in their sources, they consider only their greater or smaller sum, treating them all as of the same kind. In this way they form their concept of *obligation*: a concept that is certainly anything but moral, yet is all that can be demanded in a philosophy that makes no judgment at all about the *origin* of all possible practical concepts—whether they occur a priori or merely a posteriori.

Intending, then, to provide a metaphysics of morals someday, I am putting this groundwork first. Strictly speaking, there is no foundation for such a metaphysics other than the critique of a *pure practical reason*, just as the critique of pure speculative reason already provided is the foundation for metaphysics. Yet, for one thing, the former is not as supremely necessary as the latter. In moral matters, human reason can readily be brought to great correctness and thoroughness even in the most ordinary understanding, whereas in its theoretical but pure use it is altogether dialectical. For another, I require of a critique of pure practical reason that, if it is to be complete, its unity with speculative reason must also be capable of presentation in a common principle. For ultimately there can be only one and the same reason, which must be distinguished merely in its application. But I could not yet achieve such completeness here without introducing considerations of an entirely different kind and confusing the reader. I have therefore used the title *Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals* rather than *Critique of Pure Practical Reason*.

Third, even a metaphysics of morals, despite its forbidding title, admits a high degree of accessibility and suitability for ordinary understanding. I therefore find it useful to separate this preliminary treatment of its foundation from it, so that I shall not later have to attach the subtleties

[392] unavoidable here to teachings that are easier to grasp.

The present groundwork, however, is nothing more than the search for and establishment of the *supreme principle of morality*. This alone is an undertaking complete in its purpose and to be separated from every other moral investigation. Applying the same principle to the whole system would indeed cast much light on my claims about this important central question, which has so far been discussed in a far from satisfactory way. The principle's adequacy, manifest everywhere, would greatly confirm them. But I had to forgo this advantage, which would at bottom serve self-love more than the common good. For ease of use and the apparent adequacy of a principle provide no wholly secure proof of its correctness. Rather, they awaken a certain bias against examining and weighing the principle with full rigor on its own, without any regard to what follows from it.

I have adopted in this work the method I believe most suitable if we wish to proceed analytically from ordinary cognition to the determination of its supreme principle, and then synthetically back from the examination of this principle and its sources to the ordinary cognition in which we find it used. The division is therefore as follows:

1. *First section*: Transition from ordinary moral rational cognition to philosophical cognition.
2. *Second section*: Transition from popular moral philosophy to the metaphysics of morals.
3. *Third section*: Final step from the metaphysics of morals to the critique of pure practical reason.

### Section I

[393] First Section.

Transition from ordinary moral rational cognition to philosophical cognition.

Nothing anywhere in the world, or indeed beyond it, can possibly be conceived that could be held good without qualification except a *good will*. Understanding, wit, judgment, and whatever else the *talents* of the mind may be called, or courage, resolution, and perseverance in one's purpose as qualities of *temperament*, are undoubtedly good and desirable in many respects. Yet they can also become extremely evil and harmful if the will that is to make use of these natural gifts, and whose distinctive constitution is therefore called *character*, is not good. It is the same with the *gifts of fortune*. Power, wealth, honor, even health and that whole condition of well-being and contentment with one's state called *happiness*, give courage and often thereby arrogance as well, unless a good will is present to correct their influence on the mind and, with it, the entire principle of action, making it serve a universal purpose. Not to mention that a rational, impartial spectator can never take pleasure even in the sight of the uninterrupted prosperity of a being whom no trace of a pure and good will adorns. Thus a good will appears to be the indispensable condition even of worthiness to be happy.

Some qualities even favor this good will itself and can greatly ease its work, but nevertheless have no

[394] inner, unconditional worth. They still presuppose a good will, which limits the high esteem we otherwise rightly hold for them and forbids us to regard them as good absolutely. Moderation in emotions and passions, self-control, and sober reflection are not only good in many respects, but even seem to constitute part of a person's *inner* worth. Yet they fall far short of being declared good without qualification, however unconditionally the ancients praised them. For without the principles of a good will they can become supremely evil, and a villain's cold blood makes him not only far more dangerous but also immediately more loathsome in our eyes than he would have been without it.

A good will is good not through what it effects or accomplishes, nor through its fitness to attain some proposed end, but through willing alone—that is, in itself. Considered in itself, it must be esteemed incomparably higher than everything it could ever bring about to satisfy any inclination, or even, if you will, the sum of all inclinations. Even if, through some particular disfavor of fate or the meager provision of a stepmotherly nature, this will wholly lacked the power to carry out its purpose; if, despite its utmost exertion, it accomplished nothing and only the good will remained—not, of course, as a mere wish, but as the mustering of every means within our power—it would still shine by itself like a jewel, as something that has its full worth within itself. Usefulness or fruitlessness can neither add to nor diminish this worth. Usefulness would be merely the setting, as it were, enabling us to handle the jewel better in ordinary dealings or to draw the attention of those who are not yet sufficiently discerning, but not to recommend it to connoisseurs or determine its worth.

Yet there is something so strange in this idea of the absolute worth of mere willing, with no account taken of usefulness in appraising it, that even though ordinary reason itself agrees with the idea, a suspicion must arise that perhaps some high-flown fantasy secretly lies beneath it, and that we may have misunderstood nature's purpose in assigning our will

[395] reason as its governor. Let us therefore examine this idea from that point of view.

In the natural capacities of an organized being—that is, one arranged purposively for life—we take it as a principle that no instrument for any end is to be found in it unless that instrument is also the one best suited and most appropriate to that end. Now if, in a being endowed with reason and a will, its *preservation*, its *well-being*, in a word its *happiness*, were nature's true purpose, nature would have made a very poor arrangement in choosing the creature's reason to carry out that purpose. For all the actions it has to perform with this aim, and the whole rule of its conduct, would have been prescribed to it far more exactly by instinct, and that end could have been secured far more surely in that way than it ever can through reason. And if reason had nonetheless been granted to this favored creature, it would have had to serve only to contemplate the fortunate constitution of its nature, to admire it, to rejoice in it, and to give thanks for it to its beneficent cause—not to subject its faculty of desire to that weak and deceptive guidance and to bungle nature's purpose. In a word, nature would have prevented reason from venturing into *practical use* and presuming, with its weak insights, to devise for itself the plan of happiness and the means of reaching it. Nature would herself have undertaken the choice not only of ends but also of means, and with wise foresight would have entrusted both solely to instinct.

In fact, we also find that the more a cultivated reason concerns itself with the enjoyment of life and happiness, the further a human being departs from true contentment. From this there arises in many people, indeed in those most experienced in reason's use, if only they are candid enough to admit it, a certain degree of *misology*, that is, hatred of reason. For after reckoning all the advantage they derive—I will not say from the invention of all the arts of common luxury, but even from the sciences, which in the end also seem to them a luxury of the understanding—they nevertheless find that they have actually only brought more hardship upon

[396] themselves than they have gained in happiness. They finally come to envy rather than despise the more ordinary sort of people, who remain closer to the guidance of mere natural instinct and allow their reason little influence over what they do or leave undone. To this extent we must concede that the judgment of those who greatly temper, and even reduce below zero, the boastful praises of the advantages reason was supposed to confer on us in happiness and contentment with life is by no means peevish or ungrateful to the goodness of the world's governance. Rather, these judgments secretly rest on the idea of another and far worthier purpose of their existence, for which, and not for happiness, reason is properly intended. The individual's private aim must therefore largely yield to this purpose as the supreme condition.

For reason is not sufficiently competent to guide the will securely concerning its objects and the satisfaction of all our needs, some of which it even multiplies itself. An implanted natural instinct would have led us far more surely toward that end. Yet reason has nonetheless been allotted to us as a practical faculty—that is, one that is to influence the *will*. Its true vocation must therefore be to produce a will that is good not as a *means* to some other purpose, but *good in itself*. For this, reason was absolutely necessary, if nature has everywhere proceeded purposively in distributing her capacities. This will need not, then, be the sole and complete good, but it must be the highest good and the condition of everything else, even of every desire for happiness. In that case it is entirely consistent with nature's wisdom to observe that the cultivation of reason required for the first and unconditional purpose restricts the attainment of the second, always conditional purpose—happiness—in many ways, at least in this life, and may even reduce it below nothing, without nature thereby acting inexpediently. For reason, which recognizes its highest practical vocation in establishing a good will, is capable, on attaining this purpose, only of a contentment of its own kind: contentment from fulfilling an end that reason alone determines, even if this should involve considerable harm to the ends of inclination.

[397] To develop the concept of a will that is to be highly esteemed in itself and is good without any further purpose—a concept already present in natural, sound understanding, needing not so much to be taught as merely clarified, and always standing foremost in our appraisal of the whole worth of our actions as the condition of everything else—let us consider the concept of *duty*. It contains that of a good will, though under certain subjective limitations and hindrances. Far from concealing the good will and making it unrecognizable, these bring it out by contrast and let it shine all the more brightly.

I pass over all actions already recognized as contrary to duty, however useful they may be for one purpose or another. With these the question cannot even arise whether they might have been done *from duty*, since they actually conflict with it. I also set aside actions that really accord with duty but toward which people have immediately *no inclination*, performing them nonetheless because some other inclination drives them to do so. For here it is easy to distinguish whether the action in accordance with duty was done *from duty* or from a self-seeking purpose. The distinction is far harder to notice when the action accords with duty and the subject also has an *immediate* inclination toward it. For example, it certainly accords with duty that a shopkeeper should not overcharge an inexperienced customer. Where there is much trade, a prudent merchant does not do so either, but keeps a fixed general price for everyone, so that a child buys from him as well as anyone else. One is therefore served honestly. But this is far from sufficient to justify believing that the merchant acted in this way from duty and principles of honesty. His advantage required it. We cannot here assume that, besides this, he has an immediate inclination toward his customers, so as to favor none over another in price out of love, as it were. Thus the action was done neither from duty nor from immediate inclination, but solely from self-interest.

To preserve one's life, by contrast, is a duty, and everyone also has an immediate inclination to do so. Yet because of this, the often anxious care most people take of their lives has no inner worth, and its maxim no moral

[398] content. They preserve their lives *in accordance with duty*, but not *from duty*. If, by contrast, adversity and hopeless grief have entirely taken away the taste for life; if the unfortunate person, strong in soul, more outraged by his fate than fainthearted or dejected, wishes for death yet preserves his life without loving it, not from inclination or fear but from duty, then his maxim has moral content.

To be beneficent where one can is a duty. Besides this, there are many souls so disposed to sympathy that, without any further motive of vanity or self-interest, they take an inner pleasure in spreading joy around them and can delight in the contentment of others insofar as it is their work. But I maintain that in such a case an action of this kind, however much it accords with duty and however lovable it may be, still has no true moral worth. It stands on the same footing as other inclinations, such as the inclination toward honor, which, when it fortunately lights on what is in fact beneficial to all and in accordance with duty, and therefore honorable, deserves praise and encouragement, but not high esteem. For the maxim lacks moral content: namely, to do such actions not from inclination but *from duty*. Suppose, then, that the mind of this philanthropist were clouded by his own grief, extinguishing all sympathy for the fate of others. He would still have the means to benefit others in distress, but their distress would not move him, because he is sufficiently occupied with his own. And now, when no inclination any longer prompts him, suppose he nevertheless tore himself out of this deathly insensibility and performed the action without any inclination, solely from duty: only then does it first have its genuine moral worth. More still: if nature had put little sympathy into the heart of one person or another; if, though otherwise an honest man, he were cold in temperament and indifferent to the sufferings of others, perhaps because, himself endowed with the particular gift of patience and enduring strength against his own sufferings, he presupposes or even demands the same in everyone else; if nature had not properly formed such a man, who would certainly not be her worst product, to be a philanthropist, would he not still find within himself a source from which to give himself a far higher worth than that of a good-natured temperament? Certainly! It is precisely here that the worth of character begins, which is moral

[399] and incomparably the highest: namely, that he does good not from inclination, but from duty.

To secure one's own happiness is a duty, at least indirectly. For discontent with one's condition, amid a press of cares and unsatisfied needs, could easily become a great *temptation to transgress one's duties*. Yet even without regard to duty, all human beings already have of themselves the strongest and most intimate inclination toward happiness, because in this very idea all inclinations unite into a sum. But the prescription of happiness is usually such that it greatly impairs some inclinations, while a human being can form no definite and secure concept of the sum of the satisfaction of them all under the name of happiness. It is therefore no wonder that a single inclination, definite as to what it promises and the time when it can be satisfied, may outweigh a wavering idea. A person with gout, for instance, may choose to enjoy what tastes good to him and suffer what he can, because by his reckoning he has at least not deprived himself of the enjoyment of the present moment through perhaps groundless expectations of a happiness supposed to lie in health. But even in this case, if the general inclination toward happiness did not determine his will, if health at least did not enter so necessarily into his reckoning, a law would still remain, here as in every other case: to promote his happiness not from inclination but from duty. Only then does his conduct first have its proper moral worth.

This is undoubtedly also how we must understand the passages of Scripture that command us to love our neighbor, even our enemy. For love as an inclination cannot be commanded. But beneficence from duty, even when no inclination whatsoever prompts it, indeed when a natural and unconquerable aversion resists it, is *practical* rather than *pathological* love. It lies in the will, not in the tendency of feeling; in principles of action, not in melting sympathy. This alone can be commanded.

The second proposition is this: an action from duty has its moral worth *not in the purpose* to be attained through it, but in the maxim by which it is resolved upon. Its worth therefore depends not on

[400] the actual existence of the action's object, but solely on the *principle of willing* according to which the action was performed, regardless of every object of the faculty of desire. It is clear from what has gone before that the purposes we may have in acting, and their effects as ends and incentives of the will, cannot confer unconditional and moral worth on actions. Where, then, can this worth lie, if it is not to consist in the will's relation to the expected effect? It can lie nowhere else *than in the principle of the will*, regardless of the ends that such an action can bring about. For the will stands, as it were, at a crossroads between its a priori principle, which is formal, and its a posteriori incentive, which is material. Since it must nevertheless be determined by something, when an action is done from duty it must be determined by the formal principle of willing as such, since every material principle has been taken away from it.

The third proposition, as a consequence of the two preceding ones, I would express as follows: *duty is the necessity of an action from respect for the law*. I can indeed have an *inclination* toward an object as the effect of my intended action, but *never respect* for it, precisely because it is merely an effect and not the activity of a will. Likewise I can have no respect for inclination as such, whether my own or another person's. At most I can approve it in the first case and sometimes even love it in the second—that is, regard it as favorable to my own advantage. Only what is connected with my will solely as a ground, never as an effect; what does not serve my inclination but outweighs it, or at least wholly excludes it from consideration in making a choice—that is, the law by itself—can be an object of respect and therefore a command. Now an action from duty must wholly set aside the influence of inclination and, with it, every object of the will. Nothing therefore remains that could determine the will except, objectively, the *law* and, subjectively, *pure respect* for this practical law: thus the maxim *) of obeying

*) A *maxim* is the subjective principle of willing. The objective principle—that is, what would also serve all rational beings subjectively as a practical principle if reason had complete authority over the faculty of desire—is the practical *law*.

[401] such a law even at the cost of all my inclinations.

Thus the moral worth of an action does not lie in the effect expected from it, nor therefore in any principle of action that needs to borrow its motive from this expected effect. For all these effects—comfort in one's condition, even the promotion of others' happiness—could also have been brought about by other causes, without requiring the will of a rational being, in which alone the highest and unconditional good can nevertheless be found. Therefore nothing other than the *representation of the law* in itself, *which of course occurs only in a rational being*, insofar as it rather than the expected effect determines the will, can constitute that preeminent good we call moral. This good is already present in the person who acts according to that representation; it must not first be awaited from the effect. *)

*) I might be accused of merely taking refuge, behind the word *respect*, in an obscure feeling, instead of giving a clear answer to the question through a concept of reason. But although respect is a feeling, it is not one *received* through influence, but a feeling *self-produced* through a concept of reason. It is therefore specifically distinct from all feelings of the first kind, which can be reduced to inclination or fear. What I recognize immediately as a law for myself I recognize with respect, which signifies merely the consciousness of the *subordination* of my will to a law, without the mediation of other influences on my sense. The immediate determination of the will by the law and the consciousness of this determination is called *respect*, so that respect is regarded as the *effect* of the law on the subject, not as its *cause*. Strictly speaking, respect is the representation of a worth that impairs my self-love. Thus it is something regarded as an object neither of inclination nor of fear, although it has something analogous to both. The *object* of respect is therefore solely the *law*, specifically the law that *we impose on ourselves*, yet as necessary in itself. As a law we are subject to it without consulting self-love; as imposed on us by ourselves, it is nevertheless a consequence of our will and has an analogy with fear in the first respect, with inclination in the second. All respect for a person is properly only respect for the law—of integrity, and so forth—of which that person gives us an example. Because we also regard the development of our talents as a duty, in a talented person we likewise represent to ourselves, as it were, the *example of a law*: to become like that person in this respect through practice. This constitutes our respect. All so-called moral *interest* consists solely in *respect* for the law.

[402] But what kind of law can this be, whose representation must determine the will, even without regard to the effect expected from it, if that will is to be called good absolutely and without qualification? Since I have deprived the will of every incentive that might arise for it from obeying any law, nothing remains except the universal conformity of actions to law as such, which alone is to serve the will as its principle. That is, I ought never to act except so *that I could also will my maxim to become a universal law*. Here it is mere conformity to law as such, without grounding it on any particular law directed at certain actions, that serves the will as its principle, and must do so if duty is not to be everywhere an empty delusion and a chimerical concept. Ordinary human reason agrees entirely with this in its practical judgment and always keeps this principle in view.

Let the question be, for example: when I am in difficulty, may I not make a promise with the intention of not keeping it? Here I readily distinguish the two meanings the question may have: whether it is prudent, or whether it accords with duty, to make a false promise. The former can undoubtedly often be the case. I do indeed see that it is not enough to extricate myself from a present embarrassment by this evasion. I must consider carefully whether this lie may later give rise to far greater trouble than the difficulties from which I now escape. And since, with all my supposed *shrewdness*, the consequences are not so easy to foresee that a trust once lost could not prove far more harmful to me than all the evil I now intend to avoid, would it not be *more prudent* to act here on a universal maxim and make it my habit to promise nothing except with the intention of keeping it? But I soon see that such a maxim would still rest only on the consequences to be feared. Now to be truthful from duty is quite a different thing from being truthful out of concern for harmful consequences. In the first case the concept of the action already contains in itself a law for me; in the second, I must first look elsewhere for the effects that might be connected with it for me. For if I depart from the principle of duty, it is quite certainly evil. But if I abandon my maxim of

[403] prudence, that may sometimes be very advantageous to me, although it is of course safer to remain with it. Yet to learn, in the shortest and still unerring way, the answer to the question whether a lying promise accords with duty, I ask myself: would I be content that my maxim—to extricate myself from difficulty through an untrue promise—should hold as a universal law, for others as well as myself? And could I say to myself: everyone may make an untrue promise when he finds himself in a difficulty from which he cannot extricate himself in any other way? I soon become aware that I can indeed will the lie, but cannot possibly will a universal law of lying. For under such a law there would properly be no promising at all, since it would be futile to profess to others my will regarding my future actions. They would not believe this profession, or, if they rashly did, would repay me in the same coin. Thus my maxim, as soon as it was made a universal law, would necessarily destroy itself.

To know what I must do so that my willing may be morally good, I therefore need no far-reaching acuteness. Inexperienced in the course of the world, unable to be prepared for every event that may arise in it, I ask myself only: can you also will that your maxim become a universal law? If not, it must be rejected, not because of any disadvantage that may result to you or to others, but because it cannot fit as a principle into a possible universal legislation. For such legislation, however, reason compels immediate respect from me. Although I do not yet *see* on what that respect rests—the philosopher may investigate that—I at least understand this much: it is the appraisal of a worth that far outweighs all the worth of whatever inclination recommends. And the necessity of my actions from *pure* respect for the practical law is what constitutes duty, before which every other motive must yield, because it is the condition of a will good *in itself*, whose worth surpasses everything.

We have thus reached the principle of ordinary human reason's moral cognition. Ordinary reason admittedly does not think of this principle separately in such a universal form, yet always actually has it before its eyes and uses it as the standard of its judgment.

[404] It would be easy to show here how, with this compass in hand, ordinary reason knows very well in every case how to distinguish what is good and what is evil, what accords with duty and what opposes it, if, without teaching it anything new, we merely draw its attention to its own principle, as Socrates did, and how it follows that no science or philosophy is needed to know what one must do to be honest and good, or even wise and virtuous. We might well have presumed beforehand that knowledge of what everyone is obliged to do, and therefore also to know, would fall within the reach of everyone, even the most ordinary person. Yet here we cannot help admiring how greatly the practical faculty of judgment surpasses the theoretical in ordinary human understanding. In the latter, when ordinary reason ventures to depart from the laws of experience and the perceptions of the senses, it falls into sheer incomprehensibility and contradiction with itself, or at least into a chaos of uncertainty, obscurity, and instability. But in practical matters the faculty of judgment first begins to show its true advantage when ordinary understanding excludes all incentives of sense from practical laws. It then even becomes subtle, whether it wishes to quibble with its conscience or with other claims about what is to be called right, or sincerely to determine the worth of actions for its own instruction. Most importantly, in this last case it may hope to arrive at the right result as confidently as any philosopher, indeed almost more securely than the philosopher himself. For the philosopher can have no other principle than ordinary understanding, but can easily confuse his judgment with a host of foreign considerations irrelevant to the subject, and make it deviate from its straight course. Would it not therefore be wiser, in moral matters, to leave things to the judgment of ordinary reason, and at most introduce philosophy only to present the system of morals more completely and intelligibly, and its rules more conveniently for use, though still more for disputation, rather than to draw ordinary human understanding away from its fortunate simplicity even for practical purposes, and through philosophy set it on a new path of inquiry and instruction?

Innocence is a splendid thing, but it is also

[405] very unfortunate that it cannot readily be preserved and is easily led astray. Thus even wisdom—which otherwise consists more in doing and refraining than in knowing—also needs science, not to learn from it, but to give its prescription entrance and durability. In his needs and inclinations, whose complete satisfaction he gathers together under the name of happiness, a human being feels within himself a powerful counterweight to all the commands of duty that reason presents to him as so worthy of respect. Now reason issues its prescriptions relentlessly, without promising anything to the inclinations, thus as it were setting aside and disregarding those impetuous claims that seem so reasonable, and that no command will make disappear. From this, however, there arises a *natural dialectic*: a tendency to quibble sophistically against those strict laws of duty and cast doubt on their validity, or at least their purity and rigor, and if possible make them more suited to our wishes and inclinations—that is, to corrupt them in effect and rob them of their entire dignity, which in the end even ordinary practical reason cannot approve.

Thus *ordinary human reason* is driven, not by any speculative need—which never occurs to it so long as it is content to be merely sound reason—but on practical grounds themselves, to leave its own circle and take a step into the field of *practical philosophy*. There it seeks information and clear instruction about the source of its principle and the correct determination of that principle in comparison with maxims grounded in need and inclination. In this way it may escape its predicament over the claims on both sides, and avoid the danger of losing every genuine moral principle through the ambiguity into which it so easily falls. Thus, as ordinary practical reason cultivates itself, a *dialectic* also develops in it unnoticed, just as happens in its theoretical use, forcing it to seek help in philosophy. The former, therefore, will probably find rest nowhere except in a complete critique of our reason, any more than the latter will.

### Section II

[406] Second Section.

Transition from popular moral philosophy to the metaphysics of morals.

Although we have drawn our concept of duty so far from the ordinary use of our practical reason, it must by no means be inferred that we have treated it as a concept of experience. On the contrary, if we attend to experience of what people do and leave undone, we encounter frequent and, as we ourselves admit, justified complaints: no certain examples can be cited of a disposition to act from pure duty. Although much may happen *in accordance with* what *duty* commands, it always remains doubtful whether it actually happens *from duty* and thus has moral worth. Hence there have always been philosophers who have flatly denied the reality of this disposition in human actions, attributing everything to self-love of greater or lesser refinement. Yet they did not therefore question the correctness of the concept of morality. Rather, with heartfelt regret they spoke of the frailty and impurity of human nature, noble enough to take so worthy an idea as its prescription, but at the same time too weak to follow it, using reason, which should serve it in giving laws, only to attend to the interests of inclinations, either individually or, at best, in their greatest mutual compatibility.

[407] In fact, it is absolutely impossible through experience to establish with complete certainty a single case in which the maxim of an action otherwise in accordance with duty rested solely on moral grounds and on the representation of one's duty. It does sometimes happen that, on the strictest self-examination, we find nothing besides the moral ground of duty that could have been powerful enough to move us to this or that good action and so great a sacrifice. Yet we cannot safely conclude from this that no secret impulse of self-love, under the mere pretense of that idea, was the real determining cause of the will. We gladly flatter ourselves with a nobler motive falsely claimed as our own, but in fact, even through the most strenuous examination, we can never fully get behind our hidden incentives. For when moral worth is at issue, what matters is not the actions we see, but their inner principles, which we do not see.

We could do no more welcome service to those who deride all morality as a mere fantasy of a human imagination overreaching itself through conceit than to concede that concepts of duty must be drawn solely from experience, just as, for convenience, we also like to persuade ourselves that this is the case with all other concepts. For then we prepare them a certain triumph. Out of love for humanity, I am willing to concede that most of our actions still accord with duty. But if we look more closely at people's thoughts and endeavors, we everywhere come upon the dear self, which is always prominent and on which their purpose rests, rather than on the strict command of duty, which would often require self-denial. Nor need one be an enemy of virtue, but merely a cool observer who does not immediately take the liveliest wish for the good as its reality, to become doubtful at certain moments—especially with advancing years and a judgment partly made shrewder by experience, partly sharpened for observation—whether any true virtue is actually found in the world. Here nothing can save us from wholly abandoning our ideas of duty and preserve in our souls a well-grounded respect for its law except the clear conviction that, even if no actions had ever arisen from such pure sources,

[408] the question here is not at all whether this or that happens, but that reason, by itself and independently of all appearances, commands what ought to happen. Thus actions of which the world may so far have given no example, and whose feasibility someone who grounds everything on experience might greatly doubt, are nevertheless relentlessly commanded by reason. Pure honesty in friendship, for example, can be demanded no less of everyone even if there has never yet been an honest friend, because this duty, as duty as such, lies prior to all experience in the idea of a reason that determines the will through a priori grounds.

Add to this that, unless we wish to deny the concept of morality all truth and relation to any possible object, we cannot dispute that its law is so comprehensive in meaning that it must hold not merely for human beings but for *all rational beings as such*, not merely under contingent conditions and with exceptions but *absolutely necessarily*. It is then clear that no experience could furnish occasion to infer even the possibility of such apodictic laws. For by what right can we bring what perhaps holds only under the contingent conditions of humanity into unrestricted respect as a universal prescription for every rational nature? And how are laws determining *our* will to be held as laws determining the will of a rational being as such, and only as such also our own, if they were merely empirical and did not originate entirely a priori from pure but practical reason?

Nor could we give morality worse advice than to try to borrow it from examples. For every example presented to me must itself first be judged by principles of morality to determine whether it is worthy to serve as an original example, that is, as a model. It can by no means provide the supreme source of the concept of morality. Even the Holy One of the Gospel must first be compared with our ideal of moral perfection before he is recognized as such. He himself also says: “Why do you call me (whom you see) good? No one is good (the archetype of the good) except the one God (whom you do not see).” But from where do we have the concept of God

[409] as the highest good? Solely from the *idea* of moral perfection that reason forms a priori and inseparably connects with the concept of a free will. Imitation has no place at all in morality. Examples serve only for encouragement: they put beyond doubt the feasibility of what the law commands and make perceptible what the practical rule expresses more universally. But they can never justify setting aside its true original, which lies in reason, and taking examples as our guide.

If, then, every genuine supreme principle of morality must rest solely on pure reason, independently of all experience, I believe there is no need even to ask whether it is good to present these concepts universally, in the abstract, just as they stand a priori together with their principles, if this cognition is to be distinguished from ordinary cognition and called philosophical. But in our time this question may well be necessary. For if votes were gathered on whether pure rational cognition, separated from everything empirical, and therefore a metaphysics of morals, or popular practical philosophy were preferable, one could soon guess which side would carry the greater weight.

This descent to popular concepts is certainly praiseworthy when the ascent to the principles of pure reason has first been made and brought to full satisfaction. That would mean first grounding moral teaching in metaphysics and then, once it stands firm, giving it *entrance* through popularity. But to try to accommodate popularity already in the first investigation, on which the entire correctness of the principles depends, is utterly absurd. Not only can this procedure never claim the extremely rare merit of true *philosophical popularity*, since there is no art in being generally understandable when one renounces every thorough insight; it also produces a disgusting jumble of patched-together observations and half-reasoned principles. Shallow minds feast on it because it is useful enough for everyday chatter, while discerning people feel confused and turn away dissatisfied without being able to help themselves. Philosophers who see through the illusion clearly, however, gain little hearing when they call for a temporary withdrawal from this pretended

[410] popularity, so that only after definite insight has been gained may one rightly be popular.

One need only look at attempts to treat morality in this favored taste. One soon encounters the particular constitution of human nature, sometimes also the idea of rational nature as such; now perfection, now happiness; here moral feeling, there fear of God; something from this and something from that in a wondrous mixture. Yet no one thinks to ask whether the principles of morality are to be sought in knowledge of human nature at all, which we can acquire only from experience. And if not—if these principles are to be found wholly a priori, free from everything empirical, solely in pure concepts of reason, and nowhere else in even the smallest part—no one resolves instead to separate this investigation entirely as pure practical philosophy or, if one may use so discredited a name, as a metaphysics *) of morals, bring it by itself to full completeness, and ask the public that demands popularity to wait until this undertaking is finished.

Yet such a wholly isolated metaphysics of morals, mixed with no anthropology, theology, physics, or hyperphysics, still less with hidden qualities that might be called hypophysical, is not only an indispensable basis for all theoretical, securely determined cognition of duties. It is also something of the highest importance, urgently needed for the actual fulfillment of their prescriptions. For the pure representation of duty, and of the moral law as such, unmixed with any foreign addition of empirical inducements, has through reason alone—which here first becomes aware that it can also be practical by itself—so much more powerful an influence on the human heart than all other incentives, *)

*) If one wishes, one can distinguish the pure philosophy of morals, or metaphysics, from its application, namely to human nature, just as pure mathematics is distinguished from applied mathematics, pure logic from applied logic. This designation also immediately reminds us that moral principles must not be grounded on the peculiarities of human nature, but must stand by themselves a priori. From them, however, practical rules must be derivable for human nature as for every rational nature.

[411] however many may be summoned from the empirical field, that in the consciousness of its dignity it disdains them and can gradually become their master. By contrast, a mixed moral teaching, composed of incentives from feelings and inclinations together with concepts of reason, must make the mind waver between motives that cannot be brought under any principle and can lead only very contingently to good, but often also to evil.

What has been said makes clear that all moral concepts have their seat and origin entirely a priori in reason, in the most ordinary human reason just as in reason that is speculative to the highest degree. They cannot be abstracted from any empirical and therefore merely contingent cognition. Their dignity, enabling them to serve us as supreme practical principles, lies precisely in this purity of their origin. Every empirical addition takes just as much away from their genuine influence and from the unrestricted worth of actions. To draw their concepts and laws from pure reason, present them pure and unmixed, and indeed determine the scope of this entire practical or pure rational cognition—that is, the whole faculty of pure practical reason—is demanded not only by the greatest necessity in a theoretical respect, when speculation alone is at issue, but is also of the greatest practical importance. Yet here we must not do what speculative philosophy permits, and sometimes even finds necessary: make the principles dependent on the particular

*) I have a letter from the late, excellent *Sulzer* in which he asks me what the cause might be that the teachings of virtue, however convincing they are to reason, nevertheless accomplish so little. My answer was delayed by the preparations needed to give it completely. But the answer is simply that the teachers themselves have not clarified their concepts. In wishing to do too much good by seeking motives for moral goodness everywhere, to make the medicine really potent, they spoil it. For the most ordinary observation shows that when an action of integrity is presented as performed with a steadfast soul, apart from every purpose of gaining advantage in this or another world, even under the greatest temptations of distress or enticement, it leaves far behind and eclipses every similar action affected in the least by a foreign incentive. It elevates the soul and awakens the wish to be able to act in the same way. Even children of middle years feel this impression, and duties should never be presented to them otherwise.

[412] nature of human reason. Rather, because moral laws are to hold for every rational being as such, we must derive them from the universal concept of a rational being as such. In this way we must first present all morality, which needs anthropology for its *application* to human beings, independently of anthropology, completely as pure philosophy, that is, as metaphysics. This can readily be done in this kind of wholly separate cognition. We must be well aware that without possessing such a metaphysics, it would be futile not merely to determine precisely, for speculative judgment, what is moral in duty in everything that accords with duty; even in ordinary practical use, and especially in moral instruction, it would be impossible to ground morals on their genuine principles and thereby produce pure moral dispositions, implanting them in minds for the greatest good of the world.

But in this treatment we are to advance by natural stages, not merely from ordinary moral judgment, which here deserves great respect, to philosophical judgment, as was done before, but from a popular philosophy that can go no further than it can grope by means of examples, to metaphysics. Metaphysics lets nothing empirical hold it back, and since it must measure out the whole compass of rational cognition of this kind, it goes if necessary as far as ideas, where even examples forsake us. To make this advance, we must follow the practical faculty of reason from its universal rules of determination to the point where the concept of duty arises from it, and present it clearly.

Everything in nature works according to laws. Only a rational being has the capacity to act *according to the representation* of laws, that is, according to principles, or has a *will*. Since *reason* is required to derive actions from laws, the will is nothing other than practical reason. If reason unfailingly determines the will, the actions of such a being, recognized as objectively necessary, are also subjectively necessary. That is, the will is a capacity to choose *only what* reason, independently of inclination, recognizes as practically necessary, that is, as good. But if reason by itself does not sufficiently determine the will, and the will is still subject to subjective conditions, certain incentives, that do not always agree with the objective ones; in

[413] a word, if the will is not *in itself* wholly in conformity with reason, as is actually the case in human beings, then actions recognized as objectively necessary are subjectively contingent. The determination of such a will in conformity with objective laws is *necessitation*: the relation of objective laws to a will that is not thoroughly good is represented as the determination of the will of a rational being by grounds of reason, to which, however, this will is not by its nature necessarily obedient.

The representation of an objective principle, insofar as it necessitates a will, is called a command of reason, and the formula of the command is called an *imperative*.

All imperatives are expressed through an *ought*, thereby indicating the relation of an objective law of reason to a will that, because of its subjective constitution, is not necessarily determined by that law: a necessitation. They say that doing or refraining from something would be good, but they say it to a will that does not always do something merely because it is represented to it as good to do. What is practically *good*, however, determines the will through representations of reason, thus not from subjective causes but objectively, from grounds valid for every rational being as such. It is distinguished from the *pleasant*: that which influences the will only through sensation, from merely subjective causes valid only for this or that person's sense, not as a principle of reason that holds for everyone. *)

*) The dependence of the faculty of desire on sensations is called inclination, and this therefore always indicates a *need*. But the dependence of a contingently determinable will on principles of reason is called an *interest*. Interest thus occurs only in a dependent will, which is not of itself always in conformity with reason; in the divine will no interest can be conceived. Yet even the human will can *take an interest* in something without thereby *acting from interest*. The first signifies a *practical* interest in the action; the second, a *pathological* interest in the action's object. The first indicates only the will's dependence on principles of reason in themselves; the second, its dependence on those principles for the sake of inclination, where reason merely supplies the practical rule for satisfying the need of inclination. In the first case the action interests me; in the second, the action's object insofar as it is pleasant to me. We saw in the first section that in an action from duty we must attend not to interest in the object, but solely to the action itself and its principle in reason, the law.

[414] A perfectly good will would likewise stand under objective laws of the good, but could not be represented as *necessitated* by them to act in conformity with law, since of itself, by its subjective constitution, it can be determined only through the representation of the good. Thus no imperatives hold for the *divine* will or, in general, for a *holy* will. *Ought* is out of place here, because *willing* is already of itself necessarily in accord with the law. Imperatives are therefore only formulas expressing the relation of objective laws of willing as such to the subjective imperfection of the will of this or that rational being, for example, the human will.

Now all *imperatives* command either *hypothetically* or *categorically*. The former represent the practical necessity of a possible action as a means to attain something else that one wills, or at least could possibly will. The categorical imperative would be one that represents an action as objectively necessary in itself, without relation to another end.

Since every practical law represents a possible action as good, and therefore as necessary for a subject capable of being practically determined by reason, all imperatives are formulas determining an action that is necessary according to the principle of a will good in some way. If the action would be good merely as a *means* to something else, the imperative is *hypothetical*. If it is represented as good *in itself*, thus as necessary in a will in itself conforming to reason, as its principle, the imperative is *categorical*.

The imperative therefore says which action possible through me would be good, and presents the practical rule in relation to a will that does not immediately act merely because the action is good. This is partly because the subject does not always know that it is good, partly because, even if it did know, its maxims might still oppose the objective principles of a practical reason.

The hypothetical imperative thus says only that the action is good for some *possible* or *actual* purpose. In the former

[415] case it is a *problematic*, in the second an *assertoric-practical* principle. The categorical imperative, which declares the action objectively necessary in itself, without reference to any purpose, and thus without any other end, holds as an *apodictic-practical* principle.

Anything possible through the powers of some rational being can also be conceived as a possible purpose for some will. There are therefore infinitely many principles of action insofar as the action is represented as necessary to attain some possible purpose to be brought about through it. All sciences have some practical part consisting of problems that some end is possible for us, and of imperatives stating how it can be attained. These may therefore be called imperatives of *skill* as such. Whether the end is rational and good is not at issue here, but only what one must do to attain it. The prescriptions a physician follows to make his patient thoroughly healthy, and those a poisoner follows to kill him with certainty, are of equal worth insofar as each serves to bring about its purpose perfectly. Because in early youth we do not know what ends may arise for us in life, parents chiefly seek to have their children learn *many different things* and provide for their *skill* in using means to all sorts of *discretionary* ends. They cannot determine whether any of these will actually become a purpose of their pupil in the future, though it is possible that he may one day have it. This care is so great that they commonly neglect, on that account, to form and correct their children's judgment about the worth of the things they might choose as ends.

There is nevertheless *one* end that can be presupposed as actual in all rational beings to whom imperatives apply, namely as dependent beings. It is thus a purpose they not merely *can* have, but one we can safely presuppose that they all have by a natural necessity: the purpose of *happiness*. The hypothetical imperative that represents the practical necessity of an action as a means to promote happiness is *assertoric*. We must not present it merely as necessary for an uncertain, merely possible purpose, but for a purpose that can be presupposed with certainty and a priori in every human being,

[416] because it belongs to his being. Now skill in choosing the means to one's own greatest well-being may be called *prudence* *) in the narrowest sense. Thus the imperative relating to the choice of means to one's own happiness, that is, the prescription of prudence, is still *hypothetical*. The action is not commanded absolutely, but only as a means to another purpose.

Finally, there is an imperative that commands this conduct immediately, without making some other purpose to be attained through a certain conduct its underlying condition. This imperative is *categorical*. It concerns not the matter of the action and what is to result from it, but the form and the principle from which the action itself follows. What is essentially good in it consists in the disposition, whatever the result may be. This imperative may be called the imperative of *morality*.

Willing according to these three kinds of principles is also clearly distinguished by the *inequality* of the necessitation of the will. To make this difference noticeable, I think the most appropriate names, in their order, would be *rules* of skill, *counsels* of prudence, and *commands*, or laws, of morality. For only *law* carries the concept of an *unconditional*, objective, and therefore universally valid *necessity*. Commands are laws that must be obeyed, that is, followed even against inclination. *Counsel* does contain necessity, but a necessity that can hold only under a subjective, contingent condition: whether this or that person counts this or that as part of his happiness. The categorical imperative, by contrast, is limited by no condition and, as absolutely though practically necessary, can properly be called a command. The first imperatives might also be called *technical*, belonging to art; the

*) The word prudence is taken in a twofold sense: in one it may be called worldly prudence, in the other private prudence. The first is a person's skill in influencing others in order to use them for his purposes. The second is the insight to unite all these purposes to his own lasting advantage. The latter is properly that to which the worth even of the former is referred. Of someone prudent in the first way but not in the second, it would be better to say that he is clever and cunning, but on the whole imprudent.

[417] second *pragmatic*, *) concerned with welfare; the third *moral*, concerned with free conduct as such, that is, with morals.

The question now arises: how are all these imperatives possible? This question asks not how the action commanded by the imperative can be carried out, but how we can conceive the mere necessitation of the will that the imperative expresses in the task it sets. How an imperative of skill is possible scarcely needs special discussion. Whoever wills the end also wills, insofar as reason has decisive influence on his actions, the means indispensably necessary to it that lie within his power. As regards willing, this proposition is analytic. For in willing an object as my effect, my causality as an acting cause, that is, the use of means, is already thought; and the imperative draws the concept of actions necessary to this end from the very concept of willing this end. Determining the means themselves for a proposed purpose does, of course, require synthetic propositions, but these concern the ground of making not the act of will, but the object, actual. Mathematics teaches only through synthetic propositions that, to divide a line into two equal parts according to a sure principle, I must draw two intersecting arcs from its ends. But if I know that the intended effect can occur only through such an action, then, if I fully will the effect, I also will the action required for it: this is an analytic proposition. For to represent something as an effect possible through me in a certain way, and to represent myself as acting in that same way in relation to it, are entirely one and the same.

The imperatives of prudence would agree entirely with those of skill, and would likewise be analytic, if only it were so easy to give a definite concept of happiness. For here as there it would mean: whoever wills the end also wills, necessarily in accordance with reason, the only means to it that lie in

*) It seems to me that the proper meaning of the word *pragmatic* can be determined most precisely in this way. For *enactments* are called pragmatic when they flow not properly from the right of states as necessary laws, but from *provision* for general welfare. A *history* is written *pragmatically* when it makes people *prudent*, that is, teaches the world how to attend to its advantage better, or at least as well as the world of former times.

[418] his power. Unfortunately, however, the concept of happiness is so indeterminate that, although everyone wishes to attain it, no one can ever say definitely and in agreement with himself what he actually wishes and wills. The reason is that all the elements belonging to the concept of happiness are empirical: they must be borrowed from experience. Yet the idea of happiness requires an absolute whole, a maximum of well-being in my present and every future condition. Now it is impossible for even the most discerning and powerful, yet finite, being to form a definite concept of what he actually wills here. If he wills wealth, how much worry, envy, and harassment might he not bring upon himself through it! If he wills much knowledge and insight, this might perhaps become only a sharper eye, showing him still more terribly the evils that are now hidden from him but cannot be avoided, or burdening his desires, which already trouble him enough, with still more needs. If he wills a long life, who guarantees that it would not be a long misery? If he wills at least health, how often bodily discomfort has kept him from excess into which unrestricted health would have let him fall, and so forth! In short, he cannot determine with complete certainty, according to any principle, what will make him truly happy, because this would require omniscience. Thus one cannot act according to determinate principles in order to be happy, but only according to empirical counsels, for example, of diet, thrift, politeness, restraint, and so forth, which experience teaches promote well-being most on average. It follows that the imperatives of prudence, strictly speaking, cannot command at all, that is, represent actions as objectively practically *necessary*. They are to be regarded as recommendations, consilia, rather than commands, praecepta, of reason. The problem of determining securely and universally which action will promote a rational being's happiness is wholly insoluble. Thus no imperative concerning it is possible that would command in the strict sense that we do what makes us happy. For happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination, resting merely on empirical grounds, from which it is futile to

[419] expect a determination of an action through which the totality of an actually infinite series of consequences would be attained. This imperative of prudence would nonetheless be an analytic-practical proposition if we assumed that the means to happiness could be given with certainty. For it differs from the imperative of skill only in that the end is merely possible in the latter, but given in the former. Since both command only the means to what we presuppose to be willed as an end, the imperative commanding the willing of the means for someone who wills the end is analytic in both cases. There is therefore no difficulty concerning the possibility of such an imperative.

By contrast, how the imperative of *morality* is possible is undoubtedly the only question that needs a solution. It is not hypothetical at all, so the necessity represented objectively cannot rest on any presupposition, as with hypothetical imperatives. Yet we must never overlook that *no example*, and therefore nothing empirical, can establish whether there is any such imperative at all. We must rather fear that all those which seem categorical may in a concealed way be hypothetical. For example, suppose it is said, “You shall make no deceitful promise,” and we assume that the necessity of refraining from it is not merely counsel to avoid some other evil, as if it meant, “You shall not make a lying promise, lest, if it comes to light, you lose your credit.” Instead, an action of this kind must be regarded as evil in itself, and the imperative of prohibition is therefore categorical. Still, no example can demonstrate with certainty that here the will is determined without any other incentive, merely by the law, although it seems so. For it is always possible that fear of disgrace, perhaps also an obscure concern about other dangers, secretly influences the will. Who can prove through experience that a cause does not exist, when experience teaches only that we do not perceive it? In such a case the so-called moral imperative, which appears as categorical and unconditional, would in fact be merely a pragmatic prescription, drawing our attention to our advantage and teaching us only to take care of it.

We shall therefore have to investigate the possibility of a *categorical* imperative wholly a priori, since here we lack the advantage that

[420] its actuality is given in experience, so that its possibility would be needed not to establish it, but merely to explain it. This much, however, can be seen provisionally: the categorical imperative alone speaks as a practical *law*. All the others may indeed be called *principles* of the will, but not laws. For what is necessary to do merely to attain a discretionary purpose can be regarded as contingent in itself, and we can always be released from the prescription if we abandon the purpose. The unconditional command, by contrast, leaves the will no freedom to choose the opposite, and thus alone carries the necessity we demand of a law.

Second, the ground of the difficulty in understanding the possibility of this categorical imperative, or law of morality, is also very great. It is an a priori synthetic-practical proposition. *) Since understanding the possibility of propositions of this kind presents so much difficulty in theoretical cognition, we can readily infer that it will present no less in practical cognition.

In this problem we shall first try whether the mere concept of a categorical imperative may perhaps also provide its formula, containing the proposition that alone can be a categorical imperative. For how such an absolute command is possible, even if we know what it says, will still require a special and difficult effort, which we postpone to the final section.

When I think of a *hypothetical* imperative as such, I do not know in advance what it will contain until its condition is given to me. But when I think of a *categorical* imperative, I know at once what it contains. For besides the law, the imperative contains only the necessity that the maxim **) conform to this law,

*) Without a presupposed condition from any inclination, I connect the deed with the will a priori, hence necessarily, though only objectively: under the idea of a reason that had complete authority over all subjective motives. This is therefore a practical proposition that does not analytically derive the willing of an action from some other willing already presupposed, for we have no such perfect will. Rather, it connects the action immediately with the concept of the will of a rational being as something not contained in that concept.

**) A *maxim* is the subjective principle of acting and must be distinguished from the *objective principle*, namely the practical law. The former contains the practical rule that reason determines in accordance with the subject's conditions, often its ignorance or its inclinations, and is thus the principle according to which the subject *acts*. The law, however, is the objective principle valid for every rational being, and the principle according to which the subject *ought to act*, that is, an imperative.

[421] and since the law contains no condition limiting it, nothing remains but the universality of a law as such, to which the maxim of the action ought to conform. It is this conformity alone that the imperative properly represents as necessary.

There is therefore only one categorical imperative, and it is this: *act only according to the maxim through which you can at the same time will that it become a universal law*.

If all imperatives of duty can be derived from this single imperative as their principle, we shall at least be able to indicate what we think by the concept of duty and what it means, even if we leave unsettled whether what is called duty might be an empty concept altogether.

Since the universality of the law according to which effects occur constitutes what is properly called *nature* in the most general sense, as to form—that is, the existence of things insofar as it is determined by universal laws—the universal imperative of duty could also read: *act as if the maxim of your action were to become through your will a universal law of nature*.

We shall now enumerate some duties according to their customary division into duties toward ourselves and toward other human beings, and into perfect and imperfect duties. *)

1) Someone who, through a series of evils grown to hopelessness, feels weary of life still

*) It must be noted here that I reserve the division of duties entirely for a future *metaphysics of morals*. The division here is therefore merely discretionary, to arrange my examples. Further, by a perfect duty I here understand one that permits no exception to the advantage of inclination. Thus I have not merely external but also internal *perfect duties*. This conflicts with the accepted usage of the schools, but I do not intend to justify it here, since for my purpose it makes no difference whether this is conceded to me or not.

[422] retains enough reason to ask himself whether taking his life might conflict with his duty toward himself. He now tests whether the maxim of his action could become a universal law of nature. His maxim is this: from self-love I make it my principle to shorten my life when its longer duration threatens more evil than it promises pleasure. The question remains only whether this principle of self-love could become a universal law of nature. But one soon sees that a nature whose law was to destroy life through the very feeling whose vocation is to impel the promotion of life would contradict itself, and therefore could not subsist as nature. Thus that maxim cannot possibly hold as a universal law of nature and consequently conflicts entirely with the supreme principle of all duty.

2) Another person finds himself driven by need to borrow money. He knows well that he will not be able to repay it, but also sees that nothing will be lent to him unless he firmly promises to repay it at a definite time. He feels inclined to make such a promise; yet he still has enough conscience to ask himself: is it not forbidden and contrary to duty to extricate myself from need in this way? Suppose he nonetheless resolved to do it. His maxim of action would read: when I believe myself in financial need, I will borrow money and promise to repay it, although I know it will never happen. Now this principle of self-love or personal advantage may perhaps agree quite well with my entire future well-being, but the present question is whether it is right. I therefore transform self-love's demand into a universal law and frame the question thus: what would happen if my maxim became a universal law? I see immediately that it could never hold as a universal law of nature and be consistent with itself, but must necessarily contradict itself. For the universality of a law allowing everyone, whenever he believes himself in need, to promise whatever occurs to him with the intention of not keeping it would make promising itself, and whatever end one might have in it, impossible. No one would believe that anything had been promised to him, but would laugh at every such utterance as an empty pretense.

3) A third person finds in himself a talent that, through some

[423] cultivation, could make him useful in many respects. But he finds himself in comfortable circumstances and prefers to indulge in pleasure rather than trouble himself to extend and improve his fortunate natural capacities. Yet he still asks whether his maxim of neglecting his natural gifts, besides agreeing in itself with his tendency toward amusement, also agrees with what is called duty. He now sees that a nature according to such a universal law could indeed still subsist, even if a human being, like the South Sea islanders, let his talent rust and intended to spend his life merely in idleness, amusement, propagation—in a word, in enjoyment. But he cannot possibly *will* this to become a universal law of nature, or to be implanted in us as such by natural instinct. For as a rational being he necessarily wills that all his capacities be developed, since they are given to him and serve him for all sorts of possible purposes.

A *fourth* person, who prospers while seeing others struggle with great hardships, whom he could well help, thinks: “What does it matter to me? Let everyone be as happy as heaven wills or as he can make himself. I will take nothing from him, nor even envy him; only I have no wish to contribute anything to his well-being or to help him in need!” Now if such a way of thinking became a universal law of nature, the human race could certainly subsist, and undoubtedly even better than if everyone prattles about sympathy and goodwill, even eagerly practices them on occasion, but also cheats wherever he can, sells out people's rights, or otherwise impairs them. Yet although a universal law of nature could subsist according to that maxim, it is impossible to *will* that such a principle hold everywhere as a law of nature. For a will that resolved on this would conflict with itself, since many cases can arise in which it needs the love and sympathy of others, and in which, through such a law of nature arising from its own will, it would rob itself of all hope of the assistance it desires.

These are some of the many actual duties, or at least duties we hold to be such, whose division is clearly evident from the single principle

[424] just stated. We must *be able to will* a maxim of our action to become a universal law: this is the canon of moral judgment of action as such. Some actions are so constituted that their maxim cannot even be thought without contradiction as a universal law of nature, much less could one *will* that it *should* become such a law. In others this inner impossibility is not present, yet it is still impossible to will that their maxim be raised to the universality of a law of nature, because such a will would contradict itself. We can readily see that the first conflicts with strict or narrower, unremitting duty; the second only with wider, meritorious duty. Thus all duties, as regards the kind of obligation, not the object of their action, have through these examples been set out completely in their dependence on the single principle.

If we attend to ourselves whenever we transgress a duty, we find that we do not actually will our maxim to become a universal law, since this is impossible for us. Rather, its opposite is to remain a law universally. We merely take the liberty of making an *exception* from it for ourselves, or only for this occasion, to the advantage of our inclination. Consequently, if we weighed everything from one and the same standpoint, that of reason, we would find a contradiction in our own will: a certain principle is objectively necessary as a universal law, yet subjectively it ought not to hold universally, but should permit exceptions. But since at one moment we consider our action from the standpoint of a will wholly conforming to reason, and then consider that same action from the standpoint of a will affected by inclination, there is really no contradiction here, but rather a resistance of inclination to reason's prescription, antagonismus. Through this, the universality of the principle, universalitas, is transformed into mere generality, generalitas, so that the practical principle of reason is to meet the maxim halfway. Although this cannot be justified in our own impartial judgment, it nevertheless proves that we actually acknowledge the validity of the categorical imperative and, with all respect for it, permit ourselves only a few exceptions that seem to us insignificant and forced upon us.

[425] We have thus established at least this much: if duty is a concept that is to contain meaning and actual legislation for our actions, this legislation can be expressed only in categorical imperatives, never in hypothetical ones. We have likewise presented clearly, and with a precision suited to every application, the content of the categorical imperative that would have to contain the principle of all duty—if there is any such thing at all. This is already a considerable achievement. Yet we have not advanced far enough to prove a priori that such an imperative actually holds, that there is a practical law which commands absolutely and of itself, without any incentives, and that following this law is duty.

In seeking to reach this point, it is of the utmost importance to take this warning to heart: we must never entertain the thought of deriving the reality of this principle from the *distinctive character of human nature*. For duty is to be the practically unconditional necessity of action; it must therefore hold for all rational beings to whom an imperative can apply at all, and *for that reason alone* also be a law for every human will. By contrast, anything derived from humanity’s particular natural constitution, from certain feelings and propensities, or even, if possible, from a particular direction peculiar to human reason, which need not hold for the will of every rational being, can indeed furnish a maxim for us, but not a law. It can furnish a subjective principle according to which we have a propensity and inclination to be permitted to act, but not an objective principle according to which we would be *required* to act even if all our propensities, inclinations, and natural constitution opposed it. Indeed, the fewer the subjective causes in its favor and the more there are against it, the more this proves the sublimity and inner dignity of the command in a duty, without thereby weakening in the least the constraint imposed by the law or detracting at all from its validity.

Here we see philosophy placed, in fact, in a precarious position: it is to stand firm although there is nothing in heaven or on earth from which it hangs or on which it rests. Here it must prove its purity as the guardian of its own laws, not as the herald of those whispered to it by an implanted sense or by who knows what tutelary nature. All such laws, however much better they may be

[426] than nothing at all, can never furnish principles dictated by reason, which must have their source entirely a priori, and with it their commanding authority: to expect nothing from human inclination, but everything from the supreme power of the law and the respect owed to it, or otherwise to condemn the human being to self-contempt and inward abhorrence.

Everything empirical, then, is not only wholly unfit as an addition to the principle of morality; it is also highly detrimental to the purity of morals themselves. For in this purity the distinctive worth of an absolutely good will, a worth exalted above all price, consists precisely in the principle of action being free from every influence of contingent grounds that experience alone can supply. Warnings against this negligence, or indeed this base manner of thinking, which seeks the principle among empirical motives and laws, cannot be given too often or too urgently. For human reason, when weary, gladly rests on this cushion, and in a dream of sweet illusions—which nevertheless have it embrace a cloud instead of Juno—substitutes for morality a bastard patched together from limbs of wholly different descent. It resembles everything one might wish to see in it, except virtue, for anyone who has once beheld virtue in its true form.*)

The question, then, is this: is it a necessary law for *all rational beings* always to judge their actions by maxims that they themselves can will to serve as universal laws? If there is such a law, it must already be connected, wholly a priori, with the concept of the will of a rational being as such. But to discover this connection, however much we may resist, we must take a step beyond, namely into metaphysics—though into a region distinct from speculative philosophy: the metaphysics of morals.

*) To behold virtue in its true form is nothing other than to present morality stripped of every admixture of the sensible and every spurious ornament of reward or self-love. How greatly it then eclipses everything else that appears alluring to the inclinations can readily be recognized by anyone through the slightest exercise of a reason not wholly spoiled for all abstraction.

[427] In a practical philosophy, where our concern is not to assume grounds for what *happens*, but laws for *what ought to happen*, even if it never does—that is, objectively practical laws—we have no need to investigate why something pleases or displeases; how the pleasure of mere sensation differs from taste, and whether taste differs from a universal satisfaction of reason; on what the feeling of pleasure and displeasure rests; or how desires and inclinations arise from it, and from these, through the cooperation of reason, maxims. For all this belongs to an empirical psychology, which would constitute the second part of the doctrine of nature if we consider it as a *philosophy of nature* insofar as it is founded on *empirical laws*. Here, however, we are concerned with the objectively practical law, and thus with the relation of a will to itself insofar as it determines itself solely through reason. Everything that relates to the empirical therefore falls away of itself: for if *reason by itself alone* determines conduct—the possibility of which is precisely what we now wish to investigate—it must necessarily do so a priori.

The will is conceived as a capacity to determine itself to act *in accordance with the representation of certain laws*. And such a capacity can be found only in rational beings. Now, what serves the will as the objective ground of its self-determination is the *end*; and this, if given by reason alone, must hold equally for all rational beings. What, by contrast, contains merely the ground of the possibility of an action whose effect is an end is called the *means*. The subjective ground of desire is the *incentive*, the objective ground of willing the *motive*. Hence the distinction between subjective ends, which rest on incentives, and objective ends, which depend on motives valid for every rational being. Practical principles are *formal* when they abstract from all subjective ends; they are *material* when they take these, and thus certain incentives, as their basis. The ends that a rational being chooses to set before itself as *effects* of its action—material ends—are all merely relative. For only their relation to a subject’s faculty of desire, with its particular constitution, gives them their worth; this worth can therefore furnish no universal and necessary principles valid for all rational beings and for every act of willing,

[428] principles, that is, practical laws. Hence all these relative ends are only the ground of hypothetical imperatives.

Suppose, however, that there were something *whose existence in itself* has an absolute worth, something that, as an *end in itself*, could be a ground of determinate laws: then in it, and in it alone, would lie the ground of a possible categorical imperative, that is, of a practical law.

Now I say that the human being, and every rational being in general, *exists* as an end in itself, *not merely as a means* for the arbitrary use of this or that will, but must in all his actions, whether directed toward himself or toward other rational beings, always be regarded *at the same time as an end*. All objects of the inclinations have only a conditional worth; for if the inclinations, and the needs grounded on them, did not exist, their object would be without worth. But the inclinations themselves, as sources of need, have so little absolute worth that they could be wished for their own sake; rather, to be wholly free of them must be the universal wish of every rational being. Thus the worth of all objects *to be acquired* through our action is always conditional. The beings whose existence rests not on our will but on nature have, to be sure, if they are nonrational beings, only a relative worth as means, and are therefore called *things*; rational beings, by contrast, are called *persons*, because their nature already marks them out as ends in themselves, that is, as something that may not be used merely as a means, and hence so far limits all caprice (and is an object of respect). These are therefore not merely subjective ends, whose existence as an effect of our action has a worth for us; they are *objective ends*, that is, things whose existence is in itself an end, and indeed an end such that no other end can be set in its place, to which they should serve *merely* as means; for without this nothing at all of *absolute worth* would anywhere be encountered, and if all worth were conditional and hence contingent, no supreme practical principle could anywhere be found for reason.

If, then, there is to be a supreme practical principle, and with respect to the human will a categorical imperative, it must be one that, from the representation of that which is necessarily an end for everyone because it is an end in itself, makes this an *objective*

[429] principle of the will, and thus can serve as a universal practical law. The ground of this principle is: *rational nature exists as an end in itself*. The human being necessarily represents his own existence in this way; so far, then, it is a *subjective* principle of human actions. But every other rational being also represents his existence in this way, on the same rational ground that holds for me*); thus it is at the same time an *objective* principle, from which, as a supreme practical ground, all laws of the will must be capable of being derived. The practical imperative will therefore be the following: *So act that you use humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, always at the same time as an end, never merely as a means*. We shall see whether this can be accomplished.

To stay with the previous examples: *first*, in accordance with the concept of a necessary duty toward oneself, a man who is thinking of suicide will ask whether his action can consist with the idea of humanity *as an end in itself*. If he destroys himself in order to escape from a burdensome condition, he uses a person merely *as a means* to preserve a tolerable condition until the end of life. But a human being is not a thing, hence not something that may be used *merely* as a means; rather, in all his actions he must always be regarded as an end in himself. Thus I cannot dispose of a human being in my own person, to maim him, to ruin him, or to kill him. (The closer determination of this principle, to avoid every misunderstanding—for example, amputation of limbs in order to preserve myself, or the danger to which I expose my life in order to preserve it, and so on—I must here pass over; it belongs to morals proper.)

*Secondly*, as concerns the necessary or obligatory duty toward others, a man who intends to make a deceitful promise to others will immediately see that he wants to use another human being *merely as a means*, without this other at the same time containing the end in himself. For the person whom I want to use for my purposes by such a promise cannot possibly agree with my way of proceeding toward him,

*) This proposition I set up here as a postulate; in the last section the grounds for it will be found.

[430] and so himself contain the end of this action. This conflict with the principle of other human beings is more plainly seen when examples of attacks on the freedom and property of others are brought in. For there it shines clear that a violator of the rights of human beings is minded to use the persons of others merely as means, without considering that they, as rational beings, are to be valued always at the same time as ends, that is, only as beings who must be able to contain in themselves the very same end of the same action*).

*Thirdly*, with regard to the contingent (meritorious) duty toward oneself, it is not enough that the action not conflict with humanity in our person as an end in itself; it must also *harmonize with it*. Now there lie in humanity predispositions to a greater perfection, which belong to the end of nature with respect to humanity in our subject; to neglect these could perhaps consist with the *preservation* of humanity as an end in itself, but not with the *furthering* of this end.

*Fourthly*, as regards the meritorious duty toward others, the natural end that all human beings have is their own happiness. Now humanity could indeed subsist if no one contributed anything to the happiness of others, so long as nothing were thereby intentionally taken from it; but this is only a negative and not a positive agreement with *humanity as an end in itself*, if everyone does not also strive, as far as in him lies, to further the ends of others. For the subject who is an end in itself must have the ends of others, as far as possible, also as *my* ends, if that representation is to have *all* its effect in me.

This principle of humanity and of every rational nature in general, *as an end in itself*, which is the supreme limiting

*) Let no one think that the trivial rule, quod tibi non vis fieri etc., can here serve as the standard or principle. For it is, though with various restrictions, only derived from that principle; it cannot be a universal law, for it does not contain the ground of duties toward oneself, nor of duties of love toward others (for many would gladly agree that others should do them no good, if only they might be spared showing kindness to them), and finally not of the duties owed to one another; for on this ground the criminal would argue against his punishing judges, and so forth.

[431] condition of the freedom of the actions of every human being, is not borrowed from experience: first, because of its universality, since it extends to all rational beings in general, about which experience is not sufficient to determine anything; second, because in it humanity is represented not as the end of human beings (subjectively), that is, as an object that one of oneself actually makes one's end, but as an objective end which, whatever ends we may have, is to constitute as law the supreme limiting condition of all subjective ends, and hence it must spring from pure reason. For the ground of all practical legislation lies *objectively in the rule* and the form of universality that makes it capable of being a law (if need be, a law of nature) (according to the first principle), but *subjectively* in the *end*; the subject of all ends, however, is every rational being, as an end in itself (according to the second principle): from this there now follows the third practical principle of the will, as the supreme condition of its harmony with universal practical reason, the idea of *the will of every rational being as a universally legislating will*.

All maxims are rejected according to this principle that cannot consist with the will's own universal legislation. The will is thus not merely subject to the law, but is so subject that it must also be regarded *as self-legislating* and just by that means first subject to the law (of which it can consider itself the author).

The imperatives according to the previous way of representing it—namely according to the lawfulness of actions that is similar to a *natural order*, or according to the universal *preference of ends* proper to rational beings in themselves—did indeed exclude from their commanding authority all admixture of interest as an incentive, just because they were represented as categorical; but they were only assumed as categorical because one had to assume such imperatives if one wanted to explain the concept of duty. That there were practical propositions that command categorically could not be proved by itself, as indeed it cannot here still be done in this section either; but one thing could at least have been done, namely that the renunciation of all interest in willing from duty, as the specific distinguishing mark of the categorical from the hypothetical imperative, is contained in the imperative itself through

[432] some determination that it contained would be hinted at; and this happens in the present third formula of the principle, namely in the idea of the will of every rational being as a *universally legislating* will.

For if we think such a will, then although a will that *stands under laws* may still be bound to this law by means of an interest, a will that is itself the supreme legislator cannot possibly depend any further on any interest; for such a dependent will would itself still need another law, which restricted the interest of its self-love to the condition of its being valid as a universal law.

Thus the *principle* of every human will, as *a will that through all its maxims legislates universally* *), would—provided only that as to its correctness this held good of it—quite well comport itself with the categorical imperative in this, that for the sake of the idea of universal legislation it *rests on no interest*, and thus among all possible imperatives alone can be *unconditional*; or better still, by inverting the proposition: if there is a categorical imperative (that is, a law for the will of every rational being), it can command nothing other than to do everything from the maxim of a will that could at the same time have itself as universally legislating for its object; for only then is the practical principle, and the imperative it obeys, unconditional, because it can have no interest at all at its ground.

It is no wonder, then, that when we look back at all the endeavors that have ever been undertaken to discover the principle of morality, they must all have failed. One saw the human being bound to laws by his duty, but it did not occur to one that he is subject *only to his own, and yet universal, legislation*, and that he is bound only to act in accordance with his own will, which is, however, universally legislating in accordance with nature's purpose. For if one thought of him only as subject to a law (whatever it might be), then this law had to contain

*) I may here be spared the trouble of citing examples to illustrate this principle, for all those that first illustrated the categorical imperative and its formula can serve here for exactly the same purpose.

[433] an interest in itself as a lure or compulsion, because it did not spring as a law from *his* will, but this will was constrained by *something else* to act in a certain way, in conformity with law. By this wholly necessary inference, however, all labor of finding a supreme ground of duty was irrecoverably lost. For one never obtained duty, but only the necessity of an action out of some interest or other. This might now be one's own interest or another's. But in that case the imperative had always to come out conditional and could not at all serve as a moral command. I therefore want to call this principle the principle of the *autonomy* of the will, in contrast with every other, which I accordingly count under *heteronomy*.

The concept of every rational being that must regard itself, through all the maxims of its will, as universally legislating, so as to judge itself and its actions from this standpoint, leads to a very fruitful concept attaching to it, namely that *of a realm of ends*.

By a realm, however, I understand the systematic union of different rational beings through common laws. Now since laws determine ends as regards their universal validity, if one abstracts from the personal differences of rational beings, as also from all content of their private ends, a whole of all ends (both of rational beings as ends in themselves and of the own ends that each may set himself) in systematic connection, that is, a realm of ends, can be thought as possible according to the above principles.

For all rational beings stand under the *law* that each of them should treat itself and all others *never merely as a means*, but always at the same time *as an end in itself*. Hereby, however, there arises a systematic union of rational beings through common objective laws, that is, a realm; and because these laws have as their aim precisely the relation of these beings to one another as ends and means, it can be called a realm of ends (though only an ideal).

A rational being belongs as a *member* to the realm of ends when it is indeed universally legislating in it, but also itself subject to these laws. It belongs to it as *head* when, as legislating, it is subject to no will of another.

[434] The rational being must always regard itself as legislating in a realm of ends possible through the freedom of the will, whether as a member or as a head. It cannot, however, maintain the place of the latter merely through the maxim of its will, but only if it is a completely independent being, without need and without limitation of a capacity adequate to the will.

Morality consists, then, in the reference of all action to the legislation through which alone a realm of ends is possible. But this legislation must be encountered in every rational being itself and must be capable of springing from its will, whose principle is therefore: to do no action according to any other maxim than one such that it could also consist with it that this maxim should be a universal law, and thus only in such a way *that the will through its maxim could at the same time regard itself as universally legislating*. But if the maxims are not already necessarily in agreement with this objective principle of rational beings as universally legislating by their nature, the necessity of acting on that principle is called practical necessitation, that is, *duty*. Duty does not belong to the head in the realm of ends, but to every member, and indeed to all in equal measure.

The practical necessity of acting according to this principle, that is, duty, rests not at all on feelings, impulses and inclinations, but solely on the relation of rational beings to one another, in which the will of a rational being must always at the same time be regarded as *legislating*, because otherwise it could not think of that being as *an end in itself*. Reason thus relates every maxim of the will, as universally legislating, to every other will and also to every action toward oneself, and indeed not for the sake of any other practical motive or future advantage, but from the idea of the *dignity* of a rational being that obeys no law other than one that it at the same time gives itself.

In the realm of ends everything has either a *price* or a *dignity*. What has a price can be replaced by something else as its *equivalent*; what, on the other hand, is elevated above all price, and hence admits no equivalent, has a dignity.

What refers to the general human inclinations and needs has a *market price*; what, even without presupposing a need, corresponds to a certain taste, that is, to a satisfaction in

[435] the mere purposeless play of our mental powers, an *affective price*; but what constitutes the condition under which alone something can be an end in itself has not merely a relative worth, that is, a price, but an inner worth, that is, *dignity*.

Now morality is the condition under which alone a rational being can be an end in itself, because only through it is it possible to be a legislating member in the realm of ends. Thus morality, and humanity insofar as it is capable of it, is that which alone has dignity. Skill and diligence in work have a market price; wit, lively imagination and moods have an affective price; fidelity in promises and benevolence from principles (not from instinct), by contrast, have an inner worth. Neither nature nor art contains anything that could be set in their place in default of them; for their worth consists not in the effects that spring from them, in the advantage and use they bring about, but in the dispositions, that is, in the maxims of the will that are ready to reveal themselves in actions in this way, even if the outcome did not favor them. These actions also need no recommendation from any subjective disposition or taste, to be regarded with immediate favor and satisfaction, no immediate inclination or feeling for them: they present the will that exercises them as an object of immediate respect, for which nothing but reason is required in order to *impose* them on the will, not to *coax* them from it, which latter in the case of duties would anyway be a contradiction. This estimation therefore reveals the worth of such a way of thinking as dignity and sets it infinitely above all price, with which it cannot at all be brought into reckoning and comparison without, as it were, violating its holiness.

And what is it, then, that entitles the morally good disposition, or virtue, to make such high claims? It is nothing less than the *share* that it procures for the rational being *in universal legislation*, and thereby makes it fit to be a member in a possible realm of ends, to which its own nature had already destined it, as an end in itself and precisely for that reason as legislating in the realm of ends, free in regard to all laws of nature, obeying only those which it gives itself and according to which its maxims can belong to a universal legislation (to which it at the same time

[436] subjects itself). For nothing has a worth except the worth that the law determines for it. But the legislation itself, which determines all worth, must precisely for that reason have a dignity, that is, an unconditional, incomparable worth, for which the word *respect* alone furnishes the fitting expression of the estimation that a rational being has to undertake regarding it. *Autonomy* is thus the ground of the dignity of human and of every rational nature.

The three ways cited of presenting the principle of morality are, however, at bottom only so many formulas of one and the same law, of which each one of itself unites the other two within itself. Yet there is a difference among them that is indeed rather subjective than objective-practical, namely in order to bring an idea of reason nearer to intuition (by a certain analogy) and thereby nearer to feeling. All maxims have

1) a *form*, which consists in universality, and there the formula of the moral imperative is expressed as follows: that maxims must be chosen as if they were to hold as universal laws of nature;

2) a *matter*, namely an end, and there the formula says: that the rational being, as an end by its nature, hence as an end in itself, must serve every maxim as the limiting condition of all merely relative and arbitrary ends;

3) a *complete determination* of all maxims by that formula, namely: that all maxims should harmonize, out of their own legislation, into a possible realm of ends, as into a realm of nature*). The progression here takes place, as it were, through the categories of the *unity* of the form of the will (of its universality), of the *plurality* of the matter (of the objects, that is, of the ends) and of the *allness* or totality of the system of them. But one does better if in moral *judgment* one always proceeds by the strict method and takes the universal formula of the categorical imperative as the basis: *act according to the maxim that could also*

*) Teleology considers nature as a realm of ends, morality a possible realm of ends as a realm of nature. There the realm of ends is a theoretical idea for explaining what is. Here it is a practical idea, in order to bring about what is not, but can become real through our doing and omitting, and indeed in accordance with this very idea.

[437] *be a universal law*. But if one wants at the same time to win entry for the moral law, it is very useful to lead one and the same action through the three named concepts and thereby, as much as can be done, to bring it nearer to intuition.

We can now end where we began at the outset, namely with the concept of a will that is good without qualification. The *will* is *absolutely good* that cannot be evil, and whose maxim, when it is made into a universal law, can therefore never conflict with itself. This principle is thus also its supreme law: act always according to that maxim whose universality as a law you can at the same time will; this is the sole condition under which a will can never be in conflict with itself, and such an imperative is categorical. Because the validity of the will as a universal law for possible actions has an analogy with the universal connection of the existence of things under universal laws, which is the formal element of nature in general, the categorical imperative can also be expressed thus: *Act according to maxims that can at the same time have themselves as universal laws of nature for their object*. Such, then, is the formula of an absolutely good will.

Rational nature distinguishes itself from the rest in that it sets an end for itself. This would be the matter of every good will. But since in the idea of a will that is absolutely good without any limiting condition (of the attainment of this or that end) one must abstract entirely from every end *to be brought about* (as that would make every will only relatively good), the end here must be thought not as one to be brought about, but as a *self-subsistent* end, hence only negatively, that is, as an end that is never to be acted against, and that therefore must never be valued merely as a means, but always at the same time as an end, in every act of willing. This can now be nothing other than the subject of all possible ends itself, because this is at the same time the subject of a possible absolutely good will; for that will cannot without contradiction be subordinated to any other object. The principle: act in relation to every rational being (to yourself and others) in such a way that it counts in your maxim at the same time as an end in itself, is therefore at bottom identical with the fundamental principle: act according to a maxim that contains its own universal validity for every rational being

[438] at the same time within itself, is at bottom one and the same. For that I should limit my maxim in the use of means to every end to the condition of its universal validity as a law for every subject says just as much as: the subject of ends, that is, the rational being itself, must never be laid at the ground of all maxims of action merely as a means, but as the supreme limiting condition in the use of all means, that is, always at the same time as an end.

Now it follows from this beyond dispute that every rational being, as an end in itself, must be able to regard itself, in regard to all laws to which it may ever be subject, at the same time as universally legislating, because precisely this fitness of its maxims for universal legislation marks it out as an end in itself; and likewise that this, its dignity (prerogative) above all merely natural beings, brings with it that it must always take its maxims from the standpoint of itself, but at the same time also of every other rational being as legislating (which are therefore also called persons). Now in this way a world of rational beings (mundus intelligibilis) is possible as a realm of ends, namely through the own legislation of all persons as members. Accordingly every rational being must act as if it were always through its maxims a legislating member in the universal realm of ends. The formal principle of these maxims is: act as if your maxim should at the same time serve as a universal law (of all rational beings). A realm of ends is thus possible only by analogy with a realm of nature, the former only through maxims, that is, rules imposed on itself, the latter only through laws of externally necessitated efficient causes. Nevertheless, one still gives the whole of nature, even though it is regarded as a machine, the name of a realm of nature, insofar as it has relation to rational beings as its ends. Such a realm of ends would now actually come about through maxims whose rule the categorical imperative prescribes to all rational beings, if they were *universally followed*. But although the rational being cannot count on it that, even if it itself followed this maxim punctiliously, every other would therefore be faithful to the same maxim, and likewise that the realm of nature and its purposive arrangement would harmonize with it, as a fit member, into a realm of ends possible through it itself, that is, that his expectation of happiness

[439] will favor this, that law nevertheless remains in full force, because it commands categorically: act according to maxims of a universally legislating member of a merely possible realm of ends. And herein lies precisely the paradox: that merely the dignity of humanity as rational nature, without any other end or advantage to be attained thereby, hence respect for a mere idea, should nevertheless serve as the unremitting precept of the will, and that precisely in this independence of the maxim from all such incentives consists its sublimity, and the worthiness of every rational subject to be a legislating member in the realm of ends; for otherwise it would have to be represented as merely subject to the law of nature of its needs. Even if the realm of nature as well as the realm of ends were thought as united under one head, and the latter thereby no longer remained a mere idea but received true reality, this would indeed procure for that realm the addition of a strong incentive, but never an increase of its inner worth; for notwithstanding this, even that sole unlimited legislator would still always have to be represented as judging the worth of rational beings only according to their unselfish conduct, prescribed to themselves solely from that idea. The essence of things does not change through their external relations, and that which, without thinking of the latter, alone constitutes the absolute worth of the human being, that must also be the standard by which he is judged, by whoever it may be, even by the highest being. *Morality* is therefore the relation of actions to the autonomy of the will, that is, to the possible universal legislation through the maxims of the will. The action that can consist with the autonomy of the will is *permitted*; the one that does not agree with it is *not permitted*. The will whose maxims necessarily harmonize with the laws of autonomy is a *holy*, absolutely good will. The dependence of a will that is not absolutely good on the principle of autonomy (the moral necessitation) is *obligation*. This therefore cannot be extended to a holy being. The objective necessity of an action from obligation is called *duty*.

From the immediately preceding it is now easy to explain to oneself how it comes about that, although under the concept of duty we think a subjection under the law, we nevertheless thereby at the same time

[440] a certain sublimity and *dignity* in that person who fulfills all his duties. For so far there is indeed no sublimity in him, insofar as he is *subject* to the moral law, but certainly insofar as he is in regard to that same law at the same time *legislating*, and only for that reason subordinate to it. We have also shown above how neither fear nor inclination, but solely respect for the law, is the incentive that can give an action moral worth. Our own will, insofar as it would act only under the condition of a universal legislation possible through its maxims—this will of ours that is possible in the idea—is the proper object of respect, and the dignity of humanity consists precisely in this capacity to legislate universally, although with the condition of being at the same time itself subject to precisely this legislation.

The autonomy of the will

*as the supreme principle of morality.*

Autonomy of the will is the constitution of the will by which it is a law to itself (independently of any constitution of the objects of willing). The principle of autonomy is therefore: to choose in no other way than so that the maxims of the choice are comprehended in the same act of willing at the same time as universal law. That this practical rule is an imperative, that is, that the will of every rational being is necessarily bound to it as a condition, cannot be proved by mere analysis of the concepts occurring in it, because it is a synthetic proposition; one would have to go beyond the cognition of objects and to a critique of the subject, that is, of pure practical reason, for this synthetic proposition, which commands apodictically, must be capable of being known entirely a priori—but this business does not belong in the present section. That, however, the autonomy of the will just mentioned is the sole principle of morality can very well be demonstrated by mere analysis of the concepts of morality. For thereby it is found that its principle must be a categorical imperative, and that this commands nothing more or less than precisely this autonomy.

[441] The heteronomy of the will

*as the source of all spurious principles of morality.*

If the will seeks the law that is to determine it anywhere *else* than in the fitness of its maxims for its own universal legislation—if, going beyond itself, it seeks this law in the constitution of any one of its objects—then what always comes out is *heteronomy*. The will then does not give itself the law; instead the object gives the law to the will through its relation to the will. Whether this relation rests on inclination or on representations of reason, it allows only hypothetical imperatives to become possible: I ought to do something *because I will something else*. The moral, and hence categorical, imperative, by contrast, says: I ought to act thus or so, even if I willed nothing else. For example, the former says: I ought not to lie, if I want to keep my honor; the latter says: I ought not to lie, even if it brought me not the least disgrace. The latter must therefore abstract from every object so far that this object has no *influence* at all on the will, so that practical reason (the will) does not merely administer a foreign interest, but proves only its own commanding authority as supreme legislation. Thus, for example, I ought to seek to further the happiness of others, not as if I cared whether that happiness existed (whether through immediate inclination, or through some indirect satisfaction by means of reason), but solely because the maxim that excludes it cannot be comprehended in one and the same act of willing as a universal law.

Division

*of all possible principles of morality arising from the assumed basic concept of heteronomy.*

Here human reason, as everywhere in its pure use, as long as it lacks critique, has first tried all possible wrong paths before it succeeds in hitting the only true one.

All principles that one may take from this standpoint are either *empirical* or *rational*. The *former*, taken from the principle

[442] of *happiness*, are built on physical or moral feeling; the second, taken from the principle of *perfection*, are built either on the rational concept of perfection as a possible effect, or on the concept of a self-subsistent perfection (the will of God) as the determining cause of our will.

*Empirical principles* are altogether unfit to ground moral laws on them. For the universality with which they are to hold for all rational beings without distinction, and the unconditional practical necessity thereby imposed on them, fall away when the ground of them is taken from the *particular constitution of human nature* or from the contingent circumstances in which it is set. Yet the principle of *one's own happiness* is the most objectionable of all, not merely because it is false and experience contradicts the pretense that well-being always follows well-doing, and not merely because it contributes nothing at all to the grounding of morality, since it is something wholly different to make a happy man and to make a good man, and to make this man clever and sharp-witted for his own advantage rather than virtuous; but because it lays under morality incentives that rather undermine it and destroy its whole sublimity, since it places the motives to virtue and to vice in one class and only teaches one to draw up the calculation better, while wholly extinguishing the specific difference between the two. By contrast, moral feeling, this supposed special sense*), (however shallow the appeal to it is, since those who cannot *think* believe they can help themselves by *feeling*, even in what depends merely on universal laws; and however little feelings, which are by nature infinitely different in degree from one another, can furnish an equal standard of good and evil, and however little one person can validly judge for another by his own feeling) nevertheless stays closer to morality and its dignity in that it pays virtue the honor of ascribing the satisfaction and high esteem for it to it *immediately*, and does not, as it were,

*) I count the principle of moral feeling under that of happiness, because every empirical interest promises a contribution to well-being through the agreeableness that something merely affords, whether this happens immediately and without regard to advantages, or with a view to them. Likewise, the principle of taking part in the happiness of others must, with *Hutcheson*, be counted under the same moral sense assumed by him.

[443] to say to its face that it is not its beauty but only the advantage that binds us to it.

Among the *rational* or reason-based grounds of morality, the ontological concept of *perfection*—however empty, however indeterminate, and hence however unusable it is for finding, in the immeasurable field of possible reality, the greatest sum suited to us; however much it also has an unavoidable tendency to turn in a circle in order to distinguish specifically the reality here in question from every other, and cannot avoid covertly presupposing the morality it is supposed to explain—is nevertheless better than the theological concept, which derives morality from a divine, all-perfect will; not merely because we cannot after all intuit his perfection, but can derive it only from our concepts, among which that of morality is the foremost; but because, if we do not do this (which, if it were done, would be a gross circle in explaining), the concept of his will still left to us, made up from the properties of the desire for honor and dominion joined with the fearful representations of power and vengeful zeal, would have to be made the foundation of a system of morals directly opposed to morality.

But if I had to choose between the concept of the moral sense and that of perfection in general (neither of which at least detracts from morality, though both are wholly unfit to support it as a foundation), I would decide for the latter, because it withdraws the decision of the question from sensibility and brings it before the court of pure reason; and though it decides nothing there either, it nevertheless preserves undefiled the indeterminate idea (of a will good in itself) for closer determination.

For the rest, I believe I may be spared a lengthy refutation of all these doctrinal systems. It is so easy, and those whose office it is to declare themselves for one of these theories (since audiences do not readily endure the suspension of judgment) have presumably themselves seen it so well that it would be mere superfluous labor. What interests us more here is to know that these principles everywhere set up nothing but heteronomy of the will as the first ground of morality, and precisely for that reason must necessarily miss their aim.

[444] Everywhere, where an object of the will has to be laid at the ground in order to prescribe the rule that is to determine the will, there the rule is nothing but heteronomy; the imperative is conditioned, namely: *if* or *because* one wills this object, one ought to act thus or so; hence it can never command morally, that is, categorically. Whether the object determines the will by means of inclination, as in the principle of one's own happiness, or by means of reason directed to objects of our possible willing in general, as in the principle of perfection, the will never determines itself *immediately* by the representation of the action, but only by the incentive that the foreseen effect of the action has on the will: *I ought to do something because I will something else*; and here yet another law would have to be laid at the ground in my subject, according to which I necessarily will this something else—a law that in turn needs an imperative to limit this maxim. For since the impulse that the representation of an object possible through our powers is to exert on the will, according to the natural constitution of the subject, belongs to the nature of the subject, whether of sensibility (of inclination and taste) or of understanding and reason, which, according to the particular constitution of their nature, exercise themselves with satisfaction on an object, it would really be nature that gives the law; and as such it must not only be known and proved by experience, and hence is in itself contingent and thereby unfit to be an apodictic practical rule, such as the moral rule must be, but it is *always only heteronomy* of the will: the will does not give itself the law, but a foreign impulse gives it the law by means of a nature of the subject attuned to its receptivity.

The absolutely good will, whose principle must be a categorical imperative, will therefore, indeterminate in regard to all objects, contain merely the *form of willing* in general; and indeed as autonomy, that is, the fitness of the maxim of every good will to make itself into a universal law, is itself the sole law that the will of every rational being imposes on itself, without laying under it any incentive or interest whatsoever as its ground.

*How such a synthetic practical proposition is possible a priori* and why it is necessary is a problem whose solution no longer lies within the bounds of the metaphysics of morals, nor have we

[445] asserted its truth here, still less pretended to have a proof of it in our power. We showed only, by developing the concept of morality that is once generally current, that an autonomy of the will unavoidably attaches to it, or rather lies at its ground. Whoever therefore holds morality to be something, and not a chimerical idea without truth, must at the same time concede the principle of it that has been cited. This section was thus, just like the first, merely analytic. That morality is no figment—which then follows if the categorical imperative, and with it the autonomy of the will, is true and as an a priori principle absolutely necessary—requires a *possible synthetic use of pure practical reason*, which we may not venture upon, however, without first prefixing a *critique* of this faculty of reason itself, whose main features, sufficient for our purpose, we have to present in the last section.

### Section III

[446] Third Section.

*Transition from the metaphysics of morals to the critique of pure practical reason.*

*The concept of freedom is the key to the explanation of the autonomy of the will.*

The *will* is a kind of causality of living beings, insofar as they are rational, and *freedom* would be that property of this causality by which it can be effective independently of foreign causes *determining* it, just as *natural necessity* is the property of the causality of all nonrational beings by which they are determined to activity through the influence of foreign causes.

The explanation of freedom that has been given is *negative* and therefore, for the purpose of seeing its essence, unfruitful; but there flows from it a *positive* concept of it, which is all the richer and more fruitful. Since the concept of a causality carries with it that of *laws* according to which something must be posited through something we call a cause, namely the consequence, freedom is therefore, though it is not a property of the will under natural laws, by no means lawless for that reason, but must rather be a causality according to immutable laws, though of a special kind; for otherwise a free will would be a thing of no account. Natural necessity was a heteronomy of efficient causes; for every effect was possible only according to the law that something else determined the efficient cause to causality; what, then, can the freedom

[447] of the will be other than autonomy, that is, the property of the will to be a law to itself? But the proposition: the will is in all its actions a law to itself, designates only the principle of acting on no other maxim than one that can also have itself as a universal law for its object. But this is precisely the formula of the categorical imperative and the principle of morality: thus a free will and a will under moral laws are one and the same.

If, then, freedom of the will is presupposed, morality together with its principle follows from it by mere analysis of its concept. Yet the latter is always a synthetic proposition after all: an absolutely good will is one whose maxim can always contain itself, regarded as a universal law, within itself; for by analysis of the concept of an absolutely good will that property of the maxim cannot be found. Such synthetic propositions, however, are possible only because two cognitions are connected with each other through their connection with a third, in which they are both to be found. The *positive* concept of freedom brings about this third, which cannot, as in the case of physical causes, be the nature of the world of sense (in whose concept the concepts of something as cause come together in relation to *something else* as effect). What this third is, to which freedom points us and of which we have an idea a priori, cannot yet be indicated here straightaway, nor can the deduction of the concept of freedom be made comprehensible from pure practical reason, and with it also the possibility of a categorical imperative; but it still needs some preparation.

*Freedom must be presupposed as a property of the will of all rational beings.*

It is not enough that we ascribe freedom to our will, for whatever reason, if we do not also have sufficient ground to attribute the very same freedom to all rational beings. For since morality serves as a law for us only as for *rational* beings, it must also hold for all rational beings; and since it must be derived solely from the property of freedom, freedom must also be proved as a property of the will of all rational beings; and it is not enough to derive it from certain supposed experiences

[448] of human nature (although this is also absolutely impossible and can be proved solely a priori); rather, one must prove it as belonging to the activity of rational beings endowed with a will in general. I now say: every being that can act in no other way than *under the idea of freedom* is, precisely for that reason, really free in a practical respect, that is, all laws that are inseparably bound up with freedom hold for it, just as if its will were also declared free in itself and validly in theoretical philosophy*). Now I assert: we must necessarily lend to every rational being that has a will also the idea of freedom, under which alone it acts. For in such a being we think a reason that is practical, that is, that has causality in regard to its objects. Now one cannot possibly think a reason that with its own consciousness received steering from elsewhere in regard to its judgments; for then the subject would ascribe the determination of its judgment not to its reason but to an impulse. It must regard itself as the author of its principles independently of foreign influences; consequently, as practical reason, or as the will of a rational being, it must be regarded by itself as free; that is, the will of such a being can be an own will only under the idea of freedom, and must therefore be attributed to all rational beings in a practical respect.

*Of the interest that attaches to the ideas of morality.*

We have finally traced the determinate concept of morality back to the idea of freedom; but this idea we could not prove as something real, not even in ourselves and in human nature; we

*) This route—of assuming freedom, for our purpose, only as something that rational beings merely lay at the ground in the idea for their actions—I take because I would thereby not have to make myself obliged to prove freedom also in its theoretical respect. For even if this latter is left undecided, the same laws still hold for a being that can act in no other way than under the idea of its own freedom, as would bind a being that were really free. We can therefore here relieve ourselves of the burden that presses on theory.

[449] saw only that we must presuppose it if we want to think ourselves a being as rational and as endowed with consciousness of its causality in regard to actions, that is, with a will; and so we find that on the very same ground we must attribute to every being endowed with reason and will this property of determining itself to action under the idea of its freedom.

But from the presupposition of these ideas there also flowed the consciousness of a law of acting: that the subjective principles of actions, that is, maxims, must always be taken in such a way that they can also hold objectively, that is, universally, as principles, and hence can serve for our own universal legislation. But why, then, ought I to subject myself to this principle, and indeed as a rational being in general, and thereby also subject all other beings endowed with reason? I will concede that no interest *drives* me to this, for that would not yield a categorical imperative; but I must nevertheless necessarily *take* an interest in it, and see how that comes about; for this ought is properly a willing that holds under the condition for every rational being if reason in it were practical without hindrances; for beings that, like us, are still affected by sensibility as incentives of another kind, and in whom what reason would do of itself alone does not always happen, that necessity of the action is called only an ought, and the subjective necessity is distinguished from the objective.

It seems, then, as if we in the idea of freedom actually presuppose only the moral law, namely the principle of the autonomy of the will itself, and could not prove its reality and objective necessity on its own; and then we would indeed have still gained something quite considerable, in that we would have determined the authentic principle more precisely than has perhaps otherwise been done; but in regard to its validity and the practical necessity of subjecting oneself to it, we would have come no further; for to anyone who asked us why the universal validity of our maxim, as a law, must be the limiting condition of our actions, and on what we ground the worth that we attach to this way of acting, which is supposed to be so great that there can be no higher interest anywhere, and how it comes about that the human being thereby alone gains his personal worth

[450] that he believes he feels, in comparison with which that of an agreeable or disagreeable state is to be counted as nothing—to that person we could give no satisfactory answer.

We do indeed find that we can take an interest in a personal quality that carries with it no interest of condition, if that quality only makes us capable of partaking of the latter, in case reason should effect the distribution of it, that is, that the mere worthiness to be happy can, even without the motive of becoming partaker of this happiness, be interesting in itself: but this judgment is in fact only the effect of the importance of moral laws that is already presupposed (if we separate ourselves by the idea of freedom from all empirical interest); but that we do separate ourselves from it, that is, regard ourselves as free in acting and yet hold ourselves subject to certain laws in order to find a worth merely in our person that could compensate us for all loss of what gives our condition a worth, and how this is possible, hence *from what source the moral law binds*, we cannot in this way yet see.

Here there shows itself, one must freely admit, a kind of circle from which, as it seems, there is no way out. We assume ourselves as free in the order of efficient causes in order to think ourselves under moral laws in the order of ends, and we afterwards think ourselves as subject to these laws because we have attributed freedom of the will to ourselves; for freedom and the will's own legislation are both autonomy, hence interchangeable concepts, one of which therefore just for that reason cannot be used to explain the other and to state a ground for it, but at most only in order, in a logical respect, to bring apparently different representations of one and the same object under a single concept (as different fractions of equal content under the smallest expressions).

One way out still remains to us, namely to inquire whether we do not take a different standpoint when we think ourselves through freedom as causes effective a priori than when we represent ourselves, according to our actions, as effects that we see before our eyes.

It is an observation for which no subtle reflection will be required, but of which one may assume that even the commonest understanding, though in its way, by a dark distinction

[451] of the power of judgment, which he calls feeling: that all representations that come to us without our choice (such as those of the senses) make objects known to us only as they affect us, while what they may be in themselves remains unknown to us; hence that, in regard to this kind of representation, even with the most strenuous attention and distinctness that the understanding can ever add, we still attain only to cognition of *appearances*, never of *things in themselves*. As soon as this distinction has once been made (possibly merely through the noted difference between the representations that are given to us from elsewhere and in which we are passive, and those that we produce solely out of ourselves and in which we prove our activity), it follows of itself that one must concede and assume that behind the appearances there is still something else, which is not appearance, namely things in themselves; although we freely admit that, since they can never become known to us, but always only as they affect us, we cannot come closer to them and can never know what they are in themselves. This must furnish a, though crude, distinction of a *world of sense* from a *world of the understanding*, of which the former can be very different according to the diversity of sensibility in various spectators of the world, while the latter, which lies at its ground, always remains the same. Even himself, and indeed according to the cognition that the human being has of himself through inner sensation, he may not presume to know as he is in himself. For since he does not, as it were, create himself and does not obtain his concept a priori but empirically, it is natural that he can gather intelligence about himself also only through inner sense and consequently only through the appearance of his nature and the manner in which his consciousness is affected; while he must nevertheless necessarily assume something else lying at the ground of this constitution of his own subject, composed as it is of nothing but appearances, namely his I as it may be constituted in itself, and thus must count himself, in respect of mere perception and receptivity for sensations, to the *world of sense*, but in respect of that in him which may be pure activity (of that which comes to consciousness not through affection of the senses at all, but immediately), to the *intellectual* world, which, however, he does not know any further.

Such an inference must the reflecting human being draw concerning all things,

[452] that may come before him; presumably it is also to be met with in the commonest understanding, which, as is well known, is very inclined to expect behind the objects of the senses always still something invisible that is active for itself, but then spoils this again by soon re-sensualizing this invisible thing, that is, by wanting to make it an object of intuition, and thereby becoming not one degree wiser.

Now the human being really finds in himself a faculty by which he distinguishes himself from all other things, indeed even from himself insofar as he is affected by objects, and that is *reason*. This, as pure self-activity, is even raised above the *understanding* in this respect: that although the latter is also self-activity and, unlike sense, does not contain merely representations that arise only when one is affected by things (hence passive), it nevertheless can produce from its activity no other concepts than those that serve merely *to bring sensible representations under rules* and thereby to unite them in one consciousness, without which use of sensibility it would think nothing at all; whereas reason, under the name of ideas, displays a spontaneity so pure that it thereby goes far beyond everything that sensibility can ever supply it, and proves its foremost business to consist in distinguishing the world of sense from the world of understanding, and thereby in marking out for the understanding itself its boundaries.

For this reason a rational being must regard itself as an *intelligence* (thus not from the side of its lower powers), as belonging not to the world of sense but to the world of understanding; hence it has two standpoints from which it can consider itself and cognize laws of the use of its powers, and consequently of all its actions: *first*, insofar as it belongs to the world of sense, under laws of nature (heteronomy); *second*, as belonging to the intelligible world, under laws that, independent of nature, are not empirical but grounded merely in reason.

As a rational, and hence as a being belonging to the intelligible world, the human being can never think the causality of his own will otherwise than under the idea of freedom; for independence from the determining causes of the world of sense (such as reason must always attribute to itself) is freedom. Now with the idea of freedom the concept of *autonomy* is inseparably bound up, and with this the universal principle of morality, which in the idea lies at the ground of all actions

[453] of *rational* beings, just as the law of nature lies at the ground of all appearances.

Now the suspicion we raised above is removed, as though there were contained in our inference from freedom to autonomy, and from the latter to the moral law, a secret circle, namely that we perhaps laid the idea of freedom at the ground only for the sake of the moral law, in order to infer this afterwards again from freedom, and hence could give no ground at all for it, but only begged a principle that well-disposed souls will gladly concede, but which we could never set up as a demonstrable proposition. For now we see that, if we think ourselves as free, we transfer ourselves as members into the world of understanding and cognize the autonomy of the will together with its consequence, morality; but if we think ourselves as obliged, we consider ourselves as belonging to the world of sense and yet at the same time to the world of understanding.

*How is a categorical imperative possible?*

The rational being counts itself, as an intelligence, to the world of understanding, and merely as an efficient cause belonging to that world does it call its causality a *will*. On the other side it is nevertheless also conscious of itself as a piece of the world of sense, in which its actions are met with as mere appearances of that causality whose possibility, however, cannot be seen from that causality, which we do not know; rather, in its place those actions must be seen as determined by other appearances, namely desires and inclinations, as belonging to the world of sense. As a mere member of the world of understanding, all my actions would therefore be perfectly in accordance with the principle of the autonomy of the pure will; as a mere piece of the world of sense, they would have to be taken as wholly in accordance with the natural law of desires and inclinations, hence with the heteronomy of nature. (The former would rest on the supreme principle of morality, the latter on that of happiness.) But because *the world of understanding contains the ground of the world of sense, hence also of the laws of the latter*, and is therefore immediately legislating in regard to my will (which belongs wholly to the world of understanding), and thus must also be thought as such, I shall therefore, as an intelligence, although on the other side like a being belonging to

[454] the world of sense, nevertheless recognize myself as subject to the law of the former, that is, of reason, which in the idea of freedom contains the law of that world, and hence to the autonomy of the will; and consequently I must regard the laws of the world of understanding as imperatives for me, and actions in accordance with this principle as duties.

And thus categorical imperatives are possible, in that the idea of freedom makes me a member of an intelligible world, whereby, if I were such alone, all my actions *would* always be in accordance with the autonomy of the will, but since I at the same time intuit myself as a member of the world of sense, they *ought* to be in accordance with it—which *categorical* ought presents a synthetic proposition a priori, in that to my will affected by sensible desires there is added the idea of the very same will, but belonging to the world of understanding, a pure will that is practical for itself alone, which contains the supreme condition of the former according to reason; roughly as to the intuitions of the world of sense there are added concepts of the understanding, which for themselves signify nothing but lawful form in general, and thereby make possible synthetic propositions a priori, on which all cognition of a nature rests.

The practical use of common human reason confirms the correctness of this deduction. There is no one, even the most hardened villain, if only he is otherwise accustomed to use reason, who, when examples of honesty in intentions, of steadfastness in following good maxims, of sympathy and general benevolence (and these moreover combined with great sacrifices of advantages and comforts) are set before him, does not wish that he too might be so disposed. But he cannot well bring this about in himself only because of his inclinations and impulses, while he at the same time wishes to be free of such inclinations as are burdensome to himself. He therefore proves by this that he transfers himself in thought, with a will free from impulses of sensibility, into a wholly different order of things than that of his desires in the field of sensibility, since from that wish he can expect no gratification of desires, hence no state satisfying any of his actual or otherwise conceivable inclinations (for thereby the very idea that entices this wish from him would lose its preeminence), but only a greater inner worth of his person. This better person

[455] he believes himself to be, however, when he places himself at the standpoint of a member of the world of understanding, to which the idea of freedom, that is, independence from *determining* causes of the world of sense, involuntarily compels him, and in which he is conscious of a good will that, for his evil will as a member of the world of sense, constitutes by his own confession the law whose authority he knows by transgressing it. The moral ought is therefore his own necessary willing as a member of an intelligible world, and is thought by him as an ought only insofar as he at the same time regards himself as a member of the world of sense.

*Of the extreme boundary of all practical philosophy.*

All human beings think of themselves, in regard to the will, as free. Hence come all judgments about actions as such as *ought to have happened*, although they *did not happen*. Yet this freedom is no concept of experience and cannot be one either, because it always remains, although experience shows the opposite of those demands that are represented as necessary under its presupposition. On the other hand it is just as necessary that everything that happens be inevitably determined according to laws of nature, and this natural necessity is also no concept of experience, precisely because it carries with it the concept of necessity, hence a cognition a priori. But this concept of a nature is confirmed by experience and must itself be unavoidably presupposed if experience, that is, a cognition of the objects of the senses connected according to universal laws, is to be possible. Hence freedom is only an idea of reason, whose objective reality is in itself doubtful, whereas nature is a *concept of the understanding*, which proves its reality, and must necessarily prove it, on examples of experience.

Now although a dialectic of reason arises from this, since in regard to the will the freedom attributed to it seems to stand in contradiction with natural necessity, and at this parting of the ways reason in a *speculative* respect finds the path of natural necessity much more traveled and more serviceable than that of freedom: yet in a *practical* respect the footpath of freedom is the only one on which it is possible to make use of one's reason in our doing and omitting

[456] at all; hence it will be as impossible for the subtlest philosophy as for the commonest human reason to reason freedom away. It must therefore well presuppose that no true contradiction will be met with between freedom and natural necessity in the very same human actions, for it can give up the concept of nature just as little as that of freedom.

Meanwhile this seeming contradiction must at least be destroyed in a convincing manner, even if one could never comprehend how freedom is possible. For if even the thought of freedom contradicted itself, or contradicted nature, which is equally necessary, then freedom would have to be wholly abandoned in the face of natural necessity.

But it is impossible to escape this contradiction if the subject that deems itself free thinks itself *in the same sense*, or *in the very same relation*, when it calls itself free, as when it assumes itself, in regard to the very same action, to be subject to the law of nature. Hence it is an inexorable task of speculative philosophy at least to show that its illusion about this contradiction rests on this, that we think the human being in another sense and relation when we call him free than when we hold him to be a piece of nature subject to its laws, and that both can not only very well coexist, but must also be thought as *necessarily united* in the same subject, because otherwise no ground could be given why we should burden reason with an idea that, although it can be united *without contradiction* with another sufficiently attested one, nevertheless entangles us in a business by which reason is much pressed hard in its theoretical use. But this duty falls merely to speculative philosophy, so that it may clear a free path for the practical. It is therefore not left to the philosopher's discretion whether he will remove the apparent conflict or leave it untouched; for in the latter case the theory about it is a bonum vacans, into possession of which the fatalist can with good reason put himself and drive all morality out of its supposed property held without title.

Yet one cannot here say that the boundary of practical philosophy begins. For that settlement of the dispute does not belong to it at all; it demands only of speculative reason that the latter settle the discord in which it entangles itself in theoretical questions,

[457] to an end, so that practical reason may have rest and security against external attacks that could dispute the ground on which it wants to build.

But the rightful claim even of common human reason to freedom of the will is grounded on the consciousness and the conceded presupposition of the independence of reason from merely subjectively determining causes, which altogether make up what belongs merely to sensation, hence under the general designation of sensibility. The human being who regards himself in this way as an intelligence thereby places himself in another order of things and in a relation to determining grounds of a wholly different kind when he thinks himself as an intelligence endowed with a will, and hence with causality, than when he perceives himself as a phenomenon in the world of sense (which he truly also is) and subjects his causality to external determination according to laws of nature. Now he soon becomes aware that both can take place at the same time, indeed must. For that a *thing in appearance* (as belonging to the world of sense) is subject to certain laws, of which the very same thing as *thing* or being *in itself* is independent, contains not the least contradiction; that he must, however, represent and think himself in this twofold manner rests, as regards the first, on the consciousness of himself as an object affected through the senses, and as regards the second, on the consciousness of himself as an intelligence, that is, as independent in the use of reason from sensible impressions (hence as belonging to the world of understanding).

Hence it comes about that the human being arrogates to himself a will that lets nothing count on its account that belongs merely to his desires and inclinations, and on the other hand thinks of actions as possible through himself, indeed even as necessary, which can happen only by setting aside all desires and sensible incitements. The causality of these lies in him as an intelligence, and in the laws of effects and actions according to principles of an intelligible world, of which he indeed knows nothing further than that in it reason alone, and indeed pure reason independent of sensibility, gives the law; and likewise, since there he is as an intelligence the proper self (as a human being, by contrast, only an appearance of himself), those laws concern him immediately and categorically, so that what desires and impulses (hence the whole nature of the world of sense) incite to can never be contrary to the laws of his willing as an intelligence

[458] do any harm, so much so that he does not answer for the former and does not ascribe it to his proper self, that is, to his will, though he does ascribe to it the indulgence he would like to bear toward them if he granted them influence on his maxims to the detriment of the rational laws of the will.

In that practical reason *thinks itself* into a world of understanding, it does not at all overstep its boundaries, but it does if it wanted to *look into it* or *feel its way into it*. The former is only a negative thought in regard to the world of sense, which gives reason no laws in determining the will, and is positive only in this single point, that that freedom as a negative determination is at the same time bound up with a (positive) power and even with a causality of reason, which we call a will, so to act that the principle of actions be in accordance with the essential constitution of a rational cause, that is, with the condition of the universal validity of the maxim as a law. But if it wanted to fetch from the world of understanding even an *object of the will*, that is, a moving cause, it would overstep its boundaries and presume to know something of which it knows nothing. The concept of a world of understanding is therefore only a *standpoint* that reason sees itself compelled to take outside the appearances in order *to think itself as practical*—which would not be possible if the influences of sensibility were determining for the human being, but which is nevertheless necessary unless one is to deny him the consciousness of himself as an intelligence, hence as a rational cause acting through reason, that is, as freely effective. This thought indeed brings with it the idea of another order and legislation than that of the mechanism of nature, which affects the world of sense, and makes necessary the concept of an intelligible world (that is, the whole of rational beings as things in themselves), but without the least presumption of thinking anything more here than according to its *formal* condition, that is, the universality of the maxim of the will as a law, hence the autonomy of the latter, which alone can consist with its freedom; whereas all laws that are determined to an object give heteronomy, which is met with only in laws of nature and can also affect only the world of sense.

But then reason would overstep all its bounds if it undertook *to explain* *how* pure reason can be practical,

[459] which would be wholly the same as the task of explaining *how freedom is possible*.

For we can explain nothing except what we can trace back to laws whose object can be given in some possible experience. Freedom, however, is a mere idea, whose objective reality can in no way be demonstrated according to laws of nature, and hence not in any possible experience either; and therefore, because no example can ever be subsumed under it by any analogy, it can never be comprehended, nor even merely seen into. It holds only as a necessary presupposition of reason in a being that believes itself conscious of a will, that is, of a power still distinct from the mere faculty of desire (namely of determining itself to action as an intelligence, hence according to laws of reason independently of natural instincts). But where determination according to laws of nature ceases, there too all *explanation* ceases, and nothing remains but *defense*, that is, the driving off of the objections of those who claim to have looked deeper into the essence of things and therefore boldly declare freedom to be impossible. One can only show them that the contradiction they supposedly discovered in it lies nowhere else than in this, that in order to make the law of nature valid in regard to human actions they had to regard the human being necessarily as appearance; and now, when it is demanded of them that they should think him as an intelligence also as a thing in itself, they still always regard him even there as appearance—where then, to be sure, the separation of his causality (that is, of his will) from all laws of nature of the world of sense would stand in contradiction in one and the same subject; but this contradiction falls away if they would bethink themselves and, as is fair, admit that behind the appearances the things in themselves must after all (though hidden) lie at the ground, of whose laws of effect one cannot demand that they should be one and the same with those under which their appearances stand.

The subjective impossibility of *explaining* the freedom of the will is of a piece with the impossibility of discovering and making comprehensible an *interest* *)

*) Interest is that through which reason becomes practical, that is, becomes a cause determining the will. Hence one says only of a rational being that it takes an interest in something; nonrational creatures feel only sensible impulses. An immediate interest reason takes in an action only when the universal validity of its maxim is a sufficient determining ground of the will. Such an interest alone is pure. But if reason can determine the will only by means of another object of desire, or under the presupposition of a particular feeling of the subject, then reason takes only a mediate interest in the action; and since reason by itself alone can discover neither objects of the will nor a particular feeling lying at its ground without experience, the latter interest would be only empirical and no pure interest of reason. The logical interest of reason (to further its insights) is never immediate, but presupposes aims of its use.

[460] which the human being can take in moral laws, is one and the same; and yet he really does take an interest in them, for which we call the foundation in us moral feeling, which some have falsely put forward as the standard of our moral judgment, whereas it must rather be regarded as the *subjective* effect that the law exercises on the will, to which reason alone supplies the objective grounds.

To will what reason alone prescribes as an ought to the sensibly affected rational being, there is indeed required a power of reason to *infuse* a *feeling of pleasure* or of satisfaction in the fulfillment of duty, hence a causality of reason to determine sensibility in accordance with its principles. But it is wholly impossible to see, that is, to make comprehensible a priori, how a mere thought that itself contains nothing sensible produces a sensation of pleasure or displeasure; for that is a special kind of causality, of which, as of all causality, we can determine nothing a priori, but must therefore alone consult experience. But since experience can supply no relation of cause to effect other than between two objects of experience, and here pure reason is supposed, through mere ideas (which yield no object for experience), to be the cause of an effect that indeed lies in experience, the explanation of how and why the *universality of the maxim as a law*, hence morality, interests us is wholly impossible for us human beings. This much only is certain: that it does not have validity for us *because it interests* (for that would be heteronomy and dependence of practical reason on sensibility, namely

[461] on a feeling lying at its ground, in which case it could never be morally legislating), but that it interests because it holds for us as human beings, since it has sprung from our will as intelligence, hence from our proper self; *but what belongs to mere appearance is necessarily subordinated by reason to the constitution of the thing in itself*.

The question, then, how a categorical imperative is possible, can indeed be answered so far as one can state the sole presupposition under which it alone is possible, namely the idea of freedom, and likewise so far as one can see the necessity of this presupposition, which is sufficient for the *practical use* of reason, that is, for conviction of the *validity of this imperative*, and hence also of the moral law; but how this presupposition itself is possible can never be seen through by any human reason. But under the presupposition of the freedom of the will of an intelligence, the *autonomy* of that will, as the formal condition under which alone it can be determined, is a necessary consequence. To presuppose this freedom of the will is also not only quite *possible* (without falling into contradiction with the principle of natural necessity in the connection of the appearances of the world of sense), as speculative philosophy can show, but it is also *necessary* without further condition for a rational being that is conscious of its causality through reason, hence of a will (which is distinct from desires), to lay it practically, that is, in the idea, at the ground of all its arbitrary actions. But how pure reason can be practical for itself without other incentives that may be taken from anywhere else, that is, how the mere *principle of the universal validity of all its maxims as laws* (which would indeed be the form of a pure practical reason), without any matter (object) of the will in which one might beforehand take some interest, can for itself furnish an incentive and bring about an interest that would be called purely *moral*, or in other words, *how pure reason can be practical*—to explain this, all human reason is wholly incapable, and all effort and labor spent in seeking an explanation of it is lost.

It is just the same as if I sought to fathom how freedom itself as the causality of a will is possible. For there I leave the philosophical

[462] ground of explanation and have no other. I could indeed now rove about in the intelligible world that still remains to me, in the world of intelligences; but although I have an *idea* of it that has its good ground, I nevertheless have not the least *cognition* of it, and can never attain to such cognition through all the striving of my natural faculty of reason. It signifies only a something that remains when I have excluded everything belonging to the world of sense from the determining grounds of my will, merely in order to limit the principle of moving causes to the field of sensibility, by bounding it and showing that it does not comprehend everything in everything, but that beyond it there is still more; but I know nothing further of this more. Of pure reason, which thinks this ideal, there remains for me after separating off all matter, that is, cognition of objects, nothing but the form, namely the practical law of the universal validity of maxims, and in accordance with it, to think reason in relation to a pure world of understanding as a possible efficient cause, that is, as a cause determining the will; the incentive must here be wholly absent, unless this very idea of an intelligible world were itself the incentive, or that in which reason originally took an interest; but to make this comprehensible is precisely the task we cannot solve.

Here, then, is the supreme boundary of all moral inquiry, which is of great importance to determine also for this reason: that reason may not, on the one hand, in the world of sense, search about in a manner harmful to morals for the supreme moving cause and for a comprehensible but empirical interest, and, on the other hand, that it may not in the space of transcendent concepts, empty for it, under the name of the intelligible world, beat its wings powerlessly without getting from the spot, and lose itself among figments. For the rest, the idea of a pure world of understanding as a whole of all intelligences, to which we ourselves belong as rational beings (though on the other side at the same time as members of the world of sense), always remains a serviceable and permitted idea for the purpose of a rational faith, even though all knowledge comes to an end at its boundary, in order, through the glorious ideal of a universal realm of *ends in themselves* (of rational beings), to which we can belong as members only when we carefully

[463] conduct ourselves according to maxims of freedom as if they were laws of nature, and to bring about a lively interest in the moral law within us.

*Concluding remark.*

The speculative use of reason *in regard to nature* leads to the absolute necessity of some supreme cause of the *world*; the practical use of reason *with a view to freedom* leads also to absolute necessity, but only of the *laws of the actions* of a rational being as such. Now it is an essential *principle* of all use of our reason to drive its cognition to the consciousness of its *necessity* (for without this it would not be cognition of reason). But it is also an equally essential *limitation* of the very same reason that it can see the *necessity* neither of what is or happens, nor of what ought to happen, unless a *condition* under which it is or happens or ought to happen is laid at the ground. But in this way the satisfaction of reason is only ever further postponed by the constant inquiry after the condition. Hence it restlessly seeks the unconditionally necessary and sees itself compelled to assume it, without any means of making it comprehensible to itself, happy enough if only it can find out the concept that can be reconciled with this presupposition. It is therefore no censure of our deduction of the supreme principle of morality, but a reproach that one would have to make to human reason in general, that it cannot make an unconditioned practical law (such as the categorical imperative must be) comprehensible in its absolute necessity; for that it will not do this by means of a condition, namely by means of some interest laid at the ground, cannot be held against it, because then it would not be a moral law, that is, a supreme law of freedom. And so we do indeed not comprehend the practical unconditional necessity of the moral imperative, but we do comprehend its *incomprehensibility*, which is all that can fairly be demanded of a philosophy that strives in principles up to the boundary of human reason.

## Translation — Mouseia

> Mouseia’s complete machine-assisted Plain English translation, made independently and directly from the same German, with every section, page reference and author’s note.

### Preface

[385] Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals, by Immanuel Kant.

[387] Preface.

Ancient Greek philosophy was divided into three sciences: *physics*, *ethics* and *logic*. This division fits the nature of the subject perfectly. It needs no improvement, except perhaps to add the principle on which it rests. In this way we can both make sure that the division is complete and determine the necessary subdivisions correctly.

All cognition by reason is either *material* or *formal*. Material cognition considers some object. Formal cognition deals only with the form of the understanding and of reason itself, and with the general rules of thinking as such, without distinguishing between objects. Formal philosophy is called *logic*. Material philosophy deals with determinate objects and with the laws they are subject to, and it is in turn twofold. For these laws are either laws of *nature* or laws of *freedom*. The science of the first is called *physics*, and the science of the second is *ethics*. The first is also called the doctrine of nature, and the second the doctrine of morals.

Logic cannot have an empirical part. By that I mean a part in which the universal and necessary laws of thinking would rest on grounds taken from experience. If it had such a part, it would not be logic, which is a canon for the understanding or reason that holds for all thinking and has to be demonstrated. Natural philosophy and moral philosophy, by contrast, can each have an empirical part. The reason is that natural philosophy must lay down its laws for nature as an object of experience, and moral philosophy must lay down its laws for the human will, insofar as nature affects it. The laws of the first are laws by which everything

[388] happens. The laws of the second are laws by which everything ought to happen. Yet they also take into account the conditions under which it often does not happen.

All philosophy, insofar as it rests on grounds of experience, we can call *empirical* philosophy. Philosophy that presents its teachings solely from principles a priori we can call *pure* philosophy. When pure philosophy is only formal, it is called logic. When it is limited to determinate objects of the understanding, it is called metaphysics.

In this way the idea of a twofold metaphysics arises: a *metaphysics of nature* and a *metaphysics of morals*. Physics will therefore have its empirical part, but also a rational part. Ethics will too. Here, though, the empirical part could be called in particular *practical anthropology*, and the rational part properly *morals*.

All trades, crafts and arts have gained from the division of labor. One person does not make everything. Instead each person sticks to a certain kind of work that differs clearly from the others in how it is handled, so as to do it with the greatest perfection and with more ease. Where work is not distinguished and divided in this way, where everyone is a jack-of-all-trades, the trades are still in the deepest barbarism. It would be worth considering, in itself, whether pure philosophy in all its parts does not call for its own particular person, and whether the whole scholarly trade would not be better off if a warning were given to certain people. These people are used to selling the empirical mixed with the rational, to suit the public's taste, in all sorts of proportions unknown even to themselves. They call themselves independent thinkers, and they call others, who prepare only the rational part, brooders. The warning would be not to carry on two businesses at once. The two are very different in how they are handled. Each may perhaps need its own special talent. Joining them in one person produces only bunglers. But here I ask only this: does the nature of the science not require that the empirical part always be carefully separated from the rational part? Before physics proper (the empirical kind), a metaphysics of nature should be put first. Before practical anthropology, a metaphysics of morals should be put first. Both would have to be carefully cleaned of everything empirical, so that we can know how much pure reason in both cases

[389] can achieve, and from what sources it draws this teaching of its own a priori. It does not matter whether the latter task is taken up by all teachers of morals (whose name is Legion) or only by some who feel called to it.

My aim here is really moral philosophy, so I limit the question just put to this one: does one not think that it is extremely necessary to work out, at last, a pure moral philosophy, one completely cleaned of everything that may be merely empirical and belongs to anthropology? That there must be such a philosophy is obvious by itself from the ordinary idea of duty and of moral laws. Everyone must admit the following. A law, if it is to count as moral, that is, as the ground of an obligation, must carry absolute necessity with it. The command "You must not lie" does not hold merely for human beings, as if other rational beings need not heed it. The same goes for all the other laws that are properly moral. It follows that the ground of obligation here must not be sought in the nature of the human being, or in the circumstances of the world in which the human being is placed. Instead it must be sought a priori, solely in concepts of pure reason. And any other instruction that is founded on principles of mere experience can be called a practical rule, but never a moral law. This holds even for an instruction that is general in a certain respect, insofar as it rests on empirical grounds in even the smallest part, perhaps only in respect of one motive.

Moral laws, together with their principles, therefore differ not only in essence from everything else in practical cognition that has anything empirical in it. All moral philosophy also rests entirely on its pure part. When it is applied to human beings, it borrows nothing at all from knowledge of them (anthropology). Instead it gives them, as rational beings, laws a priori. These laws do, to be sure, still require a power of judgment sharpened by experience. It is needed partly to tell in which cases the laws apply, and partly to win them entry into the human will and force for carrying them out. For human beings are themselves affected by so many inclinations. They are capable of the idea of a practical pure reason, but they are not so easily able to make it effective in their way of life in concreto.

A metaphysics of morals is therefore indispensable and necessary. It is not needed merely for a speculative motive, to investigate the source of the a

[390] priori practical principles that lie in our reason. It is needed because morals themselves remain subject to all kinds of corruption as long as that guide and highest norm for judging them correctly is missing. For something that is to be morally good, it is not enough that it be *in accordance* with the moral law. It must also be done *for the law's sake*. Otherwise the accordance is only very accidental and uncertain, because the immoral ground will now and then produce actions that fit the law, but more than once actions that go against it. Now the moral law, in its purity and genuineness (which is just what matters most in practice), is to be sought nowhere else than in a pure philosophy. So this philosophy (metaphysics) must come first. Without it there can be no moral philosophy at all. Indeed, whatever mixes those pure principles in with the empirical ones does not deserve the name of philosophy. (For this is just how philosophy differs from ordinary cognition by reason: it presents in a separate science what ordinary cognition grasps only in a mixed-up way.) Much less does it deserve the name of moral philosophy, because by this very mixing it damages even the purity of morals themselves, and it works against its own purpose.

Let no one think that what is asked for here is already found in the preparatory study that the famous *Wolff* put before his moral philosophy, the one he called *general practical philosophy*, and that a wholly new field is therefore not really being entered here. Precisely because it was meant to be a general practical philosophy, it takes up no will of any particular kind. It does not take up, for example, a will that is determined entirely from principles a priori, without any empirical motives, which one could call a pure will. Instead it looks at willing in general, with all the actions and conditions that belong to willing in this general sense. This is how it differs from a metaphysics of morals, just as general logic differs from transcendental philosophy. General logic presents the actions and rules of thinking *in general*. Transcendental philosophy presents only the particular actions and rules of *pure* thinking, that is, of the thinking by which objects are known entirely a priori. For the metaphysics of morals is meant to investigate the idea and the principles of a possible *pure* will. It is not meant to investigate the actions and conditions of human willing in general, most of which are drawn from psychology. The fact that in the general

[391] practical philosophy moral laws and duty are also spoken of (though with no right to do so) is no objection to my claim. For the authors of that science stay true to their idea of it here too. They do not distinguish the motives that, as such, are represented entirely a priori by reason alone and that are properly moral, from the empirical motives that the understanding raises to general concepts merely by comparing experiences. Instead they consider the motives without paying attention to the difference in their sources. They look only at how large or small the total of them is, since all are regarded as being of the same kind. In this way they form their concept of *obligation*. This concept is certainly anything but moral. Still, it is as good as can be demanded in a philosophy that passes no judgment at all on the *origin* of all possible practical concepts, whether they occur a priori or merely a posteriori.

I intend to supply a metaphysics of morals some day, and I let this groundwork come first. Strictly speaking, there is no other foundation for such a metaphysics than the critique of a *pure practical reason*, just as the critique of pure speculative reason, which has already been supplied, is the foundation for metaphysics. But for one thing, the former is not as extremely necessary as the latter. In morals, human reason can easily be brought to great correctness and completeness, even with the most ordinary understanding. In theoretical but pure use, by contrast, it is dialectical through and through. For another thing, I require of a critique of pure practical reason that, if it is to be complete, its unity with speculative reason must be able to be shown at the same time in a common principle. For in the end there can be only one and the same reason, which must differ merely in its application. I could not yet reach such completeness here without bringing in considerations of a quite different kind and confusing the reader. For that reason I have used the title *Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals* instead of the title *Critique of Pure Practical Reason*.

Third, even a metaphysics of morals is nevertheless capable, despite its forbidding title, of a high degree of popularity and of suitability for the ordinary understanding. So I find it useful to separate this preliminary work on the foundation from it, so that the subtle part

[392] that is unavoidable in it need not be added later to teachings that are easier to grasp.

The present groundwork is nothing more than the search for and establishment of the *supreme principle of morality*. This alone makes up a task that is complete in its aim and that must be kept separate from all other moral inquiry. True, applying the same principle to the whole system would shed much light on my claims about this important main question, which so far has by no means been discussed satisfactorily. The adequacy that the principle shows everywhere would also strongly confirm those claims. But I had to give up this advantage. At bottom it would also serve self-love more than the common good. The ease of using a principle and its apparent adequacy do not give fully certain proof that the principle is correct. They rather arouse a certain partiality toward not examining and weighing it strictly for itself, without any regard to what follows from it.

In this work I have chosen my method as the one I believe most suitable, if one wants to take the road analytically from ordinary cognition to the determination of its supreme principle, and then back again synthetically from the examination of this principle and its sources to ordinary cognition, where the principle is found in use. The division has therefore come out like this:

1. *First Section*: Transition from ordinary moral cognition by reason to philosophical cognition by reason.

2. *Second Section*: Transition from popular moral philosophy to the metaphysics of morals.

3. *Third Section*: Final step from the metaphysics of morals to the critique of pure practical reason.

### Section I

[393] First Section

Transition from ordinary moral cognition by reason to philosophical cognition

Nothing anywhere in the world, or even beyond it, can be thought of as good without qualification except a *good will*. Understanding, wit, judgment, and whatever else the mind's *talents* may be called, or courage, determination, and persistence in a purpose as qualities of *temperament*, are certainly good and desirable in many ways. But they can also become extremely bad and harmful if the will that is to use these natural gifts is not good. The distinctive makeup of this will is therefore called *character*. The same holds for the *gifts of fortune*. Power, wealth, honor, even health and the whole sense of well-being and satisfaction with one's condition that goes by the name of *happiness*, give us courage, and often arrogance as well, where no good will is present to correct their influence on the mind, and with it the whole principle of acting, and to make that principle fit for purposes in general. There is also this to consider: a reasonable, impartial observer can never take pleasure even in the sight of the uninterrupted prosperity of someone who shows no sign of a pure and good will. So a good will seems to be the indispensable condition even of being worthy of happiness.

Some qualities even help this good will itself and can make its work much easier. But despite that,

[394] they have no intrinsic, unconditional worth. They still presuppose a good will, which limits the high regard we otherwise rightly have for them and does not let us count them as good without qualification. Moderation in emotions and passions, self-control, and sober reflection are not only good in many ways. They even seem to form part of a person's *intrinsic* worth. Yet they are far from being good without qualification, however unconditionally the ancient thinkers praised them. Without the principles of a good will, they can become extremely bad. A villain's coolness makes him not only far more dangerous but also, in our eyes, directly more detestable than we would have thought him without it.

A good will is not good because of what it achieves or accomplishes, or because it is fit to achieve some proposed purpose. It is good only because of its willing—that is, good in itself. Considered on its own, it deserves to be valued incomparably more highly than anything it could ever bring about to satisfy some inclination, or even, if you like, the sum of all inclinations. Suppose that unusually bad luck, or the meager resources supplied by a nature acting like a neglectful stepmother, left this will completely unable to carry out its intention. Suppose that despite its greatest efforts it accomplished nothing, and only the good will remained—not, of course, as a mere wish, but as the use of every means within our power. It would still shine like a jewel, on its own, as something that has its full worth in itself. Usefulness or failure to produce results can neither add to nor subtract from that worth. Usefulness would be only the setting, so to speak, making the jewel easier to handle in everyday dealings or drawing the attention of those who are not yet knowledgeable enough. It would not recommend it to those who know its worth or determine that worth.

Still, there is something so strange in this idea of the absolute worth of a will alone, with no account taken of its usefulness, that a suspicion must arise, even though ordinary reason itself fully agrees with the idea. Perhaps nothing but high-flown fantasy secretly underlies it, and perhaps we have misunderstood nature's purpose in giving our will

[395] reason as its governor. So let us examine this idea from that point of view.

When we consider the natural makeup of an organized being—that is, one arranged to serve the purposes of life—we take this as a principle: no instrument for any purpose is found in it unless that instrument is also the best suited and most appropriate to that purpose. Now suppose that, for a being with reason and a will, nature's real purpose were its *preservation*, its *well-being*, in a word, its *happiness*. Then nature would have made a very poor choice in selecting the creature's reason to carry out this intention. Instinct would have laid out all the actions it needed to perform for this purpose, and the whole rule of its conduct, far more precisely. Instinct could have achieved that purpose far more reliably than reason ever can. And if reason had been given to this favored creature as an added gift, it would have had to serve only to reflect on the fortunate arrangement of its nature, to admire and enjoy it, and to be grateful for it to the beneficent cause. It would not have served to subject its ability to desire to that weak and misleading guidance and to tamper with nature's purpose. In short, nature would have prevented reason from breaking out into *practical use* and having the presumption to devise, with its limited insight, its own plan for happiness and the means of reaching it. Nature would have taken on the choice not only of purposes but also of means, and with wise foresight would have entrusted both to instinct alone.

In fact, we also find that the more a cultivated reason concerns itself with enjoying life and achieving happiness, the further a person gets from true contentment. In many people, especially those most experienced in using reason, this produces a certain degree of *misology*, that is, hatred of reason—if only they are honest enough to admit it. They add up all the advantages they gain—I will not say merely from the invention of all the arts of ordinary luxury, but even from the sciences, which in the end also seem to them to be a luxury of the understanding. Yet they find that they have actually burdened themselves with more hardship

[396] than they have gained in happiness. In the end they are more likely to envy than to look down on the more ordinary sort of people, who stay closer to the guidance of natural instinct alone and allow their reason little influence on what they do or leave undone. We must at least admit this much: the judgment of those who greatly reduce, or even reduce below zero, the boastful estimates of the advantages reason was supposed to bring us in happiness and contentment with life is by no means sour or ungrateful toward the goodness of the world's governance. Rather, these judgments rest on a hidden idea of another, much worthier purpose for their existence. Reason is properly meant for that purpose, not for happiness. As the highest condition, that purpose must therefore take precedence over people's private aims for the most part.

For reason is not capable enough to guide the will reliably in dealing with its objects and in satisfying all our needs—some of which reason itself multiplies—while an inborn natural instinct would have led far more reliably to that goal. Yet reason has still been given to us as a practical ability, that is, as one meant to influence the *will*. So its true role must be to produce not a will that is good merely as a *means* to some other purpose, but a *will that is good in itself*. For that, reason was absolutely necessary, if nature has indeed acted purposefully throughout in distributing its capacities. So this will need not be the only and the complete good. But it must be the highest good, and the condition of everything else, even of every desire for happiness. In that case, the following observation fits quite well with nature's wisdom. The cultivation of reason needed for the first, unconditional purpose can limit the achievement of the second, always conditional purpose—happiness—in many ways, at least in this life. It can even reduce happiness below zero, without nature acting against its purpose in doing so. For reason recognizes that its highest practical role is to establish a good will. In reaching this goal it is capable only of a contentment of its own kind: contentment from fulfilling a purpose that, again, only reason determines. This holds even if doing so involves many setbacks to the purposes of inclination.

[397] Let us now develop the concept of a will that deserves high regard in itself and is good without any further purpose. This concept is already present in natural, sound understanding and needs not so much to be taught as simply to be made clear. It always comes first in assessing the whole worth of our actions and is the condition of everything else. To develop it, we will consider the concept of *duty*. Duty contains the concept of a good will, though under certain subjective limits and obstacles. Far from hiding that good will and making it unrecognizable, these limits and obstacles bring it out by contrast and let it shine all the more brightly.

I pass over here all actions already recognized as contrary to duty, even if they may be useful for one purpose or another. With these, there is no question whether they might have been done *from duty*, since they actually conflict with it. I also set aside actions that really do accord with duty but toward which people have immediately *no inclination*, although they still perform them because another inclination drives them to do so. Here it is easy to tell whether the action that accords with duty was done *from duty* or for a selfish purpose. This distinction is much harder to notice when the action accords with duty and the person also has an *immediate* inclination toward it. For example, a shopkeeper certainly acts in accordance with duty by not overcharging an inexperienced buyer. Where there is a lot of trade, a sensible merchant does not overcharge either. Instead, he keeps a fixed general price for everyone, so that a child buys from him on the same terms as anyone else. People are therefore served honestly. But that is far from enough to make us believe that the merchant acted from duty and principles of honesty. His own advantage required it. We cannot assume here that he also had an immediate inclination toward his customers, so that, out of love as it were, he would give no one a better price than anyone else. So the action was done neither from duty nor from immediate inclination, but simply for personal gain.

By contrast, preserving one's life is a duty, and everyone also has an immediate inclination to do so. But the care, often full of anxiety, that most people take to preserve it still has no intrinsic worth, and the maxim behind it has no moral

[398] content. They preserve their lives *in accordance with duty*, but not *from duty*. But suppose misfortunes and hopeless grief have completely taken away someone's taste for life. This unhappy person, strong in spirit and more outraged at his fate than fainthearted or dejected, wishes for death. Yet he preserves his life without loving it, not from inclination or fear but from duty. Then his maxim has moral content.

To help others when one can is a duty. Besides this, some people are so sympathetic by disposition that, even without any further motive of vanity or self-interest, they take an inner pleasure in spreading joy around them. They can delight in other people's contentment insofar as they have brought it about. But I maintain that in such a case an action of this kind, however much it accords with duty and however lovable it is, still has no true moral worth. It ranks alongside other inclinations, such as the inclination toward honor. When that inclination fortunately happens to aim at what really benefits everyone and accords with duty, and is therefore honorable, it deserves praise and encouragement, but not high regard. For the maxim lacks moral content, namely that of doing such actions not from inclination but *from duty*. Suppose, then, that the mind of this friend of humanity was clouded by his own grief, extinguishing all sympathy for the fate of others. He still had the means to help others in distress, but their distress did not move him because he was sufficiently occupied with his own. Now, when no inclination any longer prompted him to do it, suppose he nevertheless tore himself out of this deadly numbness and performed the action without any inclination, solely from duty. Only then does it have its genuine moral worth. More than that: suppose nature had put little sympathy at all into someone's heart. Suppose he was an honest man in other respects, but by temperament cold and indifferent to others' suffering—perhaps because, specially gifted with patience and endurance in facing his own, he assumes or even demands the same in everyone else. If nature had not really made such a man a friend of humanity—and he would certainly not be its worst product—would he not still find within himself a source from which to give himself a far higher worth than a good-natured temperament could have? Certainly! It is precisely here that the worth of character begins. This worth is moral

[399] and, beyond all comparison, the highest. It lies in his helping others not from inclination but from duty.

Securing one's own happiness is a duty, at least indirectly. For discontent with one's condition, under the pressure of many worries and amid unsatisfied needs, could easily become a great *temptation to violate one's duties*. But even without considering duty here, all people already have the strongest and deepest inclination toward happiness, because it is precisely in this idea that all inclinations join together into a sum. Yet the prescription for happiness is usually such that it greatly interferes with some inclinations. At the same time, people cannot form a definite, reliable concept of the combined satisfaction of all inclinations under the name of happiness. So it is no surprise that a single inclination, definite in what it promises and in when it can be satisfied, can outweigh an uncertain idea. A person with gout, for example, can choose to enjoy what tastes good to him and suffer what he can bear. By his reckoning, he has at least not deprived himself of the present moment's enjoyment because of possibly groundless expectations of a happiness supposedly found in health. But even in this case, if the general inclination toward happiness did not determine his will, and if health, at least for him, did not figure so necessarily in his reckoning, a law still remains, here as in every other case: to promote his happiness not from inclination but from duty. Only then does his conduct have genuine moral worth.

This is certainly also how we should understand the passages of scripture that command us to love our neighbor, even our enemy. Love as an inclination cannot be commanded. But helping others from duty, even when no inclination at all prompts it, and even when a natural, unconquerable aversion opposes it, is *practical*, not *pathological*, love. It lies in the will, not in a tendency of feeling; in principles of action, not in tender sympathy. Only the former can be commanded.

The second proposition is this: an action from duty has its moral worth *not in the purpose* it is meant to achieve, but in the maxim by which it is decided on. So it does not depend on

[400] the actual existence of the action's object, but only on the *principle of willing* by which the action was done, without regard to any objects of the ability to desire. What came before makes this clear: the purposes we may have in acting, and the effects of our actions, as goals and incentives of the will, cannot give actions unconditional, moral worth. Where, then, can this worth lie, if it is not to consist in the will's relation to the hoped-for effect? It can lie nowhere else *but in the principle of the will*, without regard to the purposes such an action can bring about. For the will stands between its a priori principle, which concerns form, and its a posteriori incentive, which concerns content, as if at a crossroads. Since something must determine it, it must be determined by the formal principle of willing in general when an action is done from duty, because every principle based on content has been taken away from it.

I would express the third proposition, as a consequence of the first two, like this: *Duty is the necessity of an action from respect for the law*. I can certainly have an *inclination* toward an object as the effect of my intended action, but *never respect*, precisely because it is only an effect and not an activity of a will. Likewise, I cannot have respect for inclination in general, whether my own or someone else's. At most, I can approve of it in the first case and sometimes even love it in the second—that is, see it as favorable to my own advantage. Only something connected with my will solely as a ground, never as an effect, can be an object of respect and thus a command. It must not serve my inclination but outweigh it, or at least entirely exclude inclination from being counted when a choice is made. Thus only the law by itself can be such an object. Now, an action from duty must completely set aside the influence of inclination, and with it every object of the will. So nothing remains that can determine the will except, objectively, the *law* and, subjectively, *pure respect* for this practical law—and therefore the maxim*) of

*) A *maxim* is the subjective principle of willing. The objective principle—that is, the one that would also serve subjectively as a practical principle for all rational beings if reason had complete power over the ability to desire—is the practical *law*.

[401] following such a law even at the expense of all my inclinations.

So an action's moral worth does not lie in the effect expected from it, nor, therefore, in any principle of action that needs to borrow its motive from this expected effect. For all these effects—a pleasant condition for oneself, even the promotion of other people's happiness—could also have been brought about by other causes. They would not have needed the will of a rational being, even though only in that will can the highest, unconditional good be found. Therefore nothing but the *idea of the law* in itself, *which of course occurs only in a rational being*, can make up that outstanding good we call moral, insofar as this idea, not the hoped-for effect, determines the will. This good is already present in the person who acts according to that idea. It must not be expected only from the effect.*)

*) Someone might object that, behind the word *respect*, I am only taking refuge in an obscure feeling instead of giving a clear answer to the question through a concept of reason. But although respect is a feeling, it is not one *received* through an influence. It is a feeling *produced by oneself* through a concept of reason. So it differs in kind from all feelings of the first sort, which can be reduced to inclination or fear. What I directly recognize as a law for myself, I recognize with respect. Respect means only the awareness that my will is *subordinated* to a law, without any other influences on my feelings intervening. The direct determination of the will by the law, and the awareness of it, is called *respect*. So respect is regarded as the *effect* of the law on the subject, not as its *cause*. Strictly speaking, respect is the idea of a worth that diminishes my self-love. It is therefore something regarded as an object neither of inclination nor of fear, though it has something analogous to both at once. The *object* of respect is thus only the *law*, specifically the law that *we impose on ourselves*, yet impose as necessary in itself. As a law, we are subject to it without consulting self-love. As imposed on us by ourselves, it is nevertheless a consequence of our will. In the first respect it is analogous to fear; in the second, to inclination. All respect for a person is really only respect for the law—of integrity, and so on—of which that person gives us an example. Because we also see the development of our talents as a duty, in a talented person we also picture, so to speak, the *example of a law*: to become like that person in this respect through practice. This is what makes up our respect. All so-called moral *interest* consists solely in *respect* for the law.

[402] But what sort of law can this be, whose idea must determine the will, even without regard to the effect expected from it, if the will is to be called good absolutely and without qualification? I have taken away from the will every incentive that could come to it from following any law. So nothing remains but the universal conformity of actions to law as such, which alone is to serve as the will's principle. That is, I must never act except in such a way *that I can also will that my maxim should become a universal law*. Here, then, simply conforming to law as such—without taking as a basis any law directed at particular actions—is what serves, and must serve, as the will's principle, unless duty is to be nothing but an empty delusion and an imaginary concept. Ordinary human reason agrees completely with this in its practical judgments and always keeps this principle in view.

Suppose, for example, the question is this: when I am in a tight spot, may I make a promise with the intention of not keeping it? I can easily distinguish two possible meanings of the question: whether making a false promise is prudent, or whether it accords with duty. The first can certainly often be the case. I do see that it is not enough to get myself out of a present difficulty by this evasion. I must carefully consider whether this lie might later create much greater difficulties for me than those I am now escaping. Despite all my supposed *cleverness*, the consequences are not so easy to foresee that losing people's trust once could not harm me far more than all the trouble I now intend to avoid. So I must consider whether it would not be *more prudent* to follow a general maxim here and make a habit of promising nothing except with the intention of keeping it. But I soon see that such a maxim still rests only on the consequences I fear. Now, being truthful from duty is something quite different from being truthful out of fear of harmful consequences. In the first case, the concept of the action itself already contains a law for me. In the second, I must first look elsewhere to find what effects might be connected with it that would be unwelcome to me. For if I depart from the principle of duty, that is quite certainly bad. But if I abandon my maxim of

[403] prudence, that may sometimes be very advantageous to me, although it is certainly safer to stay with it. Still, there is a very short and yet reliable way to answer the question whether a lying promise accords with duty. I ask myself: would I really be satisfied if my maxim—to get myself out of a difficulty through an untrue promise—were to hold as a universal law for me as well as for others? Could I really say to myself: everyone may make an untrue promise when they are in a difficulty they cannot escape in any other way? I soon realize that I can indeed will the lie, but I cannot will a universal law to lie. For under such a law there would really be no promises at all. It would be pointless to tell others what I claim to intend to do in the future. They would not believe the claim, or, if they rashly did, they would pay me back in the same coin. So my maxim would have to destroy itself as soon as it was made a universal law.

I therefore need no great sharpness of mind to know what I must do for my willing to be morally good. Inexperienced in the ways of the world, unable to be prepared for every event that happens in it, I ask myself only: can you also will that your maxim should become a universal law? If not, it must be rejected. This is not because of any harm it threatens to you or even to others, but because it cannot fit as a principle into a possible system of universal lawmaking. Reason compels me to have immediate respect for such lawmaking. I do not yet *see* what that respect rests on—the philosopher may investigate that—but I at least understand this much: it is an assessment of worth that far outweighs all the worth of anything recommended by inclination. And the necessity of my actions from *pure* respect for the practical law is what makes up duty. Every other motive must give way to duty, because it is the condition of a will good *in itself*, whose worth surpasses everything.

So in the moral knowledge of ordinary human reason we have reached its principle. Admittedly, ordinary reason does not think of it separately in this general form. Yet it always really has it in view and uses it as the standard for its judgments.

[404] It would be easy to show how, with this compass in hand, ordinary reason knows very well how to distinguish in every case that arises what is good, what is bad, what accords with duty, and what is contrary to duty. We need only draw its attention to its own principle, as Socrates did without teaching it anything new at all, and how it follows that no science or philosophy is needed to know what one must do to be honest and good, or even wise and virtuous. We could well have expected this in advance: knowledge of what every person is obliged to do, and therefore also to know, will be within the reach of everyone, even the most ordinary person. Yet here we cannot help admiring how far the ability to judge in practical matters surpasses the ability to judge in theoretical matters in ordinary human understanding. In theoretical matters, when ordinary reason dares to leave the laws of experience and the perceptions of the senses behind, it falls into nothing but incomprehensible ideas and contradictions with itself, or at least into a chaos of uncertainty, obscurity, and instability. In practical matters, by contrast, the power of judgment only really begins to show itself to advantage when ordinary understanding excludes all incentives from the senses from practical laws. It then even becomes subtle. It may try to quibble with its conscience or with other claims about what should count as right; or it may sincerely try to determine the worth of actions for its own instruction. Most importantly, in the latter case it can hope to get things right just as much as any philosopher could. Indeed, it is almost more reliable in this than even the philosopher. For the philosopher can have no other principle than ordinary understanding does, but can easily confuse his judgment with a host of outside considerations that have nothing to do with the issue and lead it away from the straight path. Would it not, then, be wiser to leave moral matters to the judgment of ordinary reason? At most, we could bring in philosophy to present the system of morality more fully and clearly, and its rules in a form more convenient for use, and still more for debate. But we would not use philosophy, even for practical purposes, to lead ordinary human understanding away from its fortunate simplicity and onto a new path of inquiry and instruction.

Innocence is a splendid thing. But it is also

[405] very unfortunate that it is hard to preserve and easily led astray. That is why even wisdom—which otherwise consists more in what we do and leave undone than in what we know—still needs science, not to learn from it, but to give its prescriptions acceptance and lasting force. In our needs and inclinations we feel a powerful counterweight to all the commands of duty that reason presents to us as so worthy of respect. We bring together the full satisfaction of these needs and inclinations under the name of happiness. Now reason issues its prescriptions without relenting, yet without promising anything to the inclinations. It thus seems to set aside and disregard their demands, which are so forceful and at the same time seem so reasonable, and which refuse to be canceled by any command. This gives rise to a *natural dialectic*: a tendency to reason sophistically against those strict laws of duty, to cast doubt on their validity, or at least their purity and strictness, and, if possible, to make them better suit our wishes and inclinations. That means, at bottom, corrupting them and robbing them of all their dignity—something that even ordinary practical reason cannot ultimately approve.

So *ordinary human reason* is driven to go beyond its own sphere and take a step into the field of *practical philosophy*. It is not driven by any need for speculation, which never comes over it as long as it is content to be simply sound reason. Rather, it is driven by practical grounds themselves. There it seeks information and clear guidance about the source of its principle and how to determine that principle correctly when set against maxims based on need and inclination. In this way it can escape its difficulty over the claims on both sides, without risking the loss of all genuine moral principles through the ambiguity into which it easily falls. Thus, as ordinary practical reason develops, a *dialectic* arises unnoticed within it, just as happens in its theoretical use, forcing it to seek help in philosophy. So practical reason, like theoretical reason, will probably find rest nowhere except in a complete critique of our reason.

### Section II

[406] Second Section

Moving from popular moral philosophy to the metaphysics of morals

We have drawn our concept of duty so far from the ordinary use of our practical reason. But this certainly does not mean that we have treated it as a concept drawn from experience. In fact, when we look at what people do and fail to do, we often hear complaints that we ourselves admit are justified. No reliable examples can be given of a disposition to act purely from duty. Much may happen *in line with* what *duty* commands. But it always remains doubtful whether it really happens *from duty*, and so has moral worth. That is why there have always been philosophers who flatly denied that this disposition exists in human actions. They attributed everything to more or less refined self-love. Yet they did not question the validity of the concept of morality. Instead, they spoke with deep regret about the weakness and impurity of human nature. It is noble enough to make such a worthy idea its rule, but also too weak to follow it. It uses reason, which should give it laws, only to serve the interests of its inclinations, either one at a time or, at best, in the greatest possible harmony with one another.

[407] In fact, experience cannot establish even one case with complete certainty in which the maxim of an action in line with duty rested solely on moral grounds and on the thought of one's duty. Sometimes, even after the closest self-examination, we find nothing besides the moral ground of duty that could have been powerful enough to move us to some good action and such great sacrifice. But this gives us no reliable basis for concluding that no hidden impulse of self-love was the real cause determining the will, with that idea serving as a mere disguise. We like to flatter ourselves by falsely claiming a nobler motive. In fact, even the most strenuous examination never lets us fully uncover our secret incentives. For moral worth does not depend on the actions we can see, but on their inner principles, which we cannot see.

Some people laugh at all morality as a mere fantasy of the human imagination, which overreaches itself through conceit. We could do them no greater favor than to concede that concepts of duty must be drawn only from experience. For convenience, we also like to persuade ourselves that the same holds for all other concepts. But this concession would guarantee those people a triumph. Out of love for humanity, I am willing to admit that most of our actions are in line with duty. But look more closely at people's thoughts and aims, and everywhere you meet the dear self, always pushing to the front. Their purpose rests on this, not on the strict command of duty, which would often require self-denial. You do not have to be an enemy of virtue to doubt at certain moments whether any true virtue is actually found in the world. You only need to be a calm observer who does not immediately mistake the strongest wish for goodness for its actual existence. This is especially so as you grow older and experience makes your judgment both wiser and sharper at observing. At this point, only one thing can keep us from abandoning our ideas of duty altogether and preserve a well-grounded respect for its law in our souls: the clear conviction that even if there had never been actions arising from such pure sources,

[408] that is not the issue here at all. The issue is not whether this or that happens. Rather, reason, by itself and independently of all appearances, commands what ought to happen. So reason still unrelentingly commands actions of which the world may never yet have supplied an example, and whose very possibility someone who bases everything on experience might seriously doubt. For example, we can demand pure honesty in friendship from everyone just as firmly even if there has never yet been an honest friend. For this duty, as duty in general, lies before all experience in the idea of a reason that determines the will on grounds independent of experience.

There is a further point. Unless we want to deny the concept of morality any truth or any relation to a possible object at all, we cannot deny that its law must have a very broad scope. It must hold not just for human beings, but for *all rational beings in general*, and not just under contingent conditions and with exceptions, but *with absolute necessity*. Clearly, no experience can give us grounds to infer even the possibility of such unconditionally necessary laws. What right have we to demand unlimited respect from every rational nature for something that may be valid only under the contingent conditions of being human? And how could laws determining *our* will count as laws determining the will of a rational being in general, and only as such also count for ours, if they were merely based on experience? They must originate entirely independently of experience in pure but practical reason.

Nor could we give morality worse advice than to try to borrow it from examples. Every example of morality presented to me must itself first be judged by moral principles. We must determine whether it deserves to serve as an original example, that is, a model. It can never be the primary source of the concept of morality. Even the Holy One of the Gospel must first be compared with our ideal of moral perfection before we recognize him as such. He also says of himself: “Why do you call me (whom you see) good? No one is good (the original model of goodness) except the one God (whom you do not see).” But where do we get the concept of God

[409] as the highest good? Only from the *idea* of moral perfection that reason forms independently of experience and links inseparably with the concept of a free will. Imitation has no place at all in morality. Examples serve only to encourage us. That is, they remove doubt about whether we can do what the law commands. They show concretely what the practical rule expresses in more general terms. But they can never justify setting aside the true original, which lies in reason, and letting examples guide us instead.

There can be no genuine supreme principle of morality unless it rests on pure reason alone, independently of all experience. So I think we need not even ask whether it is good to present these concepts in general terms (in the abstract), as they and their associated principles stand established independently of experience. We must do this if our knowledge is to differ from ordinary knowledge and deserve the name philosophical. Yet in our time it may well be necessary to ask. Suppose we collected votes on whether to prefer pure rational knowledge, separated from everything based on experience—and so a metaphysics of morals—or popular practical philosophy. We can easily guess which side would win.

Bringing the subject down to popular concepts certainly deserves praise, provided we have first risen to the principles of pure reason and reached them with complete success. That would mean first grounding moral teaching in metaphysics, and then, once it is secure, making it popular so it can *gain acceptance*. But it is utterly unreasonable to try to satisfy this demand for popularity in the first investigation, on which the soundness of all the principles depends. This procedure can never claim the extremely rare achievement of true *philosophical popularity*. There is no skill in being understandable to everyone if you give up all thorough insight in the process. Worse, it produces a repulsive jumble of patched-together observations and half-reasoned principles. Shallow minds enjoy this, since it is very useful for everyday chatter. But people with insight feel confused and turn their eyes away, dissatisfied yet unable to help themselves. Meanwhile, philosophers who see perfectly well through the illusion find few listeners when they ask people to turn away for a while from this supposed

[410] popularity. First we must gain definite insight; only then can we rightly make the subject popular.

Just look at attempts to discuss morality in this fashionable style. You soon find a strange mixture: here the special purpose of human nature (but sometimes also the idea of a rational nature in general), there perfection or happiness; here moral feeling, there fear of God; a little of this and a little of that. No one thinks to ask whether principles of morality should be sought in knowledge of human nature at all, since that knowledge can come to us only from experience. Suppose they should not. Suppose these principles are found entirely independently of experience, free of everything empirical, in pure concepts of reason alone, and nowhere else—not even in the smallest part. Then we should decide to separate this investigation completely, as pure practical philosophy or, if we may use such a discredited name, as a metaphysics*) of morals. We should bring it to full completion on its own, and ask the public that demands popularity to wait until this undertaking is finished.

Such a completely isolated metaphysics of morals must be mixed with no anthropology, theology, physics, or hyperphysics, and still less with hidden qualities, which one might call hypophysical. It is not only an indispensable basis for all theoretical, clearly established knowledge of duties. It is also something of the highest importance if their rules are actually to be carried out. For the pure thought of duty, and of the moral law in general, without any foreign addition of incentives from experience, has a far more powerful influence on the human heart through reason alone (which here first becomes aware that it can also be practical on its own) than all other incentives*) that

*) If we wish, we can distinguish pure moral philosophy (metaphysics) from applied moral philosophy (applied, that is, to human nature), just as we distinguish pure from applied mathematics and pure from applied logic. This name also immediately reminds us that moral principles must not be based on the special features of human nature. They must stand on their own, independently of experience. But from them we must be able to derive practical rules for human nature, just as for every rational nature.

[411] we might muster from the field of experience. This influence is so powerful that reason, conscious of its dignity, can scorn those other incentives and gradually master them. By contrast, a mixed moral teaching, made up of incentives from feelings and inclinations as well as concepts of reason, must leave the mind wavering between motives that cannot be brought under any single principle. They can lead to good only by chance, and often lead to evil as well.

What we have said makes the following clear. All moral concepts have their place and origin entirely in reason, independently of experience. This holds for the most ordinary human reason just as much as for the most highly theoretical reason. These concepts cannot be abstracted from any knowledge based on experience, which for that very reason is merely contingent. Their dignity, which makes them fit to serve us as supreme practical principles, lies precisely in this purity of their origin. Every addition of something empirical takes away just as much from their genuine influence and from the unconditional worth of actions. Drawing their concepts and laws from pure reason, and presenting them pure and unmixed, is not just an absolute necessity for theoretical purposes, when only abstract inquiry is at issue. It is also of the greatest practical importance. We must even determine the scope of this whole body of practical or pure rational knowledge—that is, the whole capacity of pure practical reason. In doing so, however, we must not—as theoretical philosophy permits and sometimes even finds necessary—make its principles depend on the particular

*) I have a letter from the late, excellent *Sulzer*, in which he asks me what the reason might be that teachings about virtue achieve so little, despite all their power to convince reason. My preparations to give him a complete answer delayed my reply. But the answer is simply that the teachers themselves have not made their concepts pure. They want to do too much. They hunt everywhere for motives to moral goodness to make the medicine really strong, and so spoil it. The most ordinary observation shows this. Present an honest action performed with a steadfast spirit, even under the greatest temptations of hardship or enticement, and separated from every thought of advantage in this world or another. It leaves far behind and outshines every similar action affected even slightly by a foreign incentive. It lifts the soul and awakens the wish to be able to act that way too. Even children in their middle years feel this impression, and duties should never be presented to them in any other way.

[412] nature of human reason. Moral laws are supposed to hold for every rational being in general. We must therefore derive them from the general concept of a rational being as such. In this way we must first present morality completely, independently of anthropology, as pure philosophy—that is, as metaphysics—even though morality needs anthropology for its *application* to human beings. A complete presentation is quite possible in this kind of wholly separate knowledge. We must be fully aware that without possessing this metaphysics, we cannot accurately determine, for theoretical judgment, what makes duty moral in everything that conforms to duty. More than that: even in ordinary practical use, especially in moral instruction, it is impossible to ground morals on their genuine principles without it. We cannot thereby produce pure moral dispositions and plant them in people's minds for the greatest good of the world.

In this treatment, however, we want to advance through the natural stages beyond what we did before. We are not simply moving from ordinary moral judgment—which here deserves great respect—to philosophical judgment. We are moving from a popular philosophy, which can go no farther than it can grope its way by means of examples, all the way to metaphysics. Metaphysics lets nothing empirical hold it back. Since it must measure out the whole range of rational knowledge of this kind, it may go as far as ideas where even examples abandon us. To make this advance, we must trace and clearly present the practical power of reason, from its general rules for determining action to the point where the concept of duty arises from it.

Everything in nature works according to laws. Only a rational being can act *according to the thought* of laws—that is, according to principles—or has a *will*. Since deriving actions from laws requires *reason*, the will is nothing other than practical reason. If reason invariably determines the will, the actions of such a being that are recognized as objectively necessary are also subjectively necessary. That is, the will is a capacity to choose *only what* reason, independently of inclination, recognizes as practically necessary, or good. But suppose reason alone does not sufficiently determine the will. Suppose it is still subject to subjective conditions—certain incentives—that do not always agree with the objective ones. In

[413] short, suppose the will is not *in itself* fully in line with reason, as is actually the case with human beings. Then actions recognized as objectively necessary are subjectively contingent. Determining such a will according to objective laws is *constraint*. That is, the relation of objective laws to a will that is not thoroughly good is thought of as determining the will of a rational being through reasons, although this will does not, by its nature, necessarily follow those reasons.

The thought of an objective principle, insofar as it constrains a will, is called a command of reason. The formula of the command is called an *imperative*.

All imperatives are expressed with an *ought*. In this way they indicate the relation of an objective law of reason to a will that is not necessarily determined by it because of its subjective makeup—a constraint. They say that doing or not doing something would be good. But they say this to a will that does not always do something simply because it is presented as good to do. What is practically *good* determines the will through the ideas of reason. It does so not through subjective causes, but objectively: through reasons valid for every rational being as such. It differs from what is *pleasant*. The pleasant influences the will only through sensation, from merely subjective causes that hold only for this or that person's senses, not as a principle of reason valid for everyone.*)

*) The dependence of the capacity for desire on sensations is called inclination, and so inclination always indicates a *need*. The dependence on principles of reason of a will that can be contingently determined is called an *interest*. Interest therefore exists only in a dependent will, which does not always conform to reason of its own accord. We cannot think of the divine will as having an interest. But even the human will can *take an interest* in something without *acting from interest*. The first means a *practical* interest in the action; the second, an interest *based on feeling* in the object of the action. The first indicates only the will's dependence on principles of reason in themselves. The second indicates its dependence on those principles in the service of inclination: reason merely supplies the practical rule for meeting the need of inclination. In the first case, the action interests me; in the second, the object of the action does, insofar as it is pleasant to me. In the first section we saw that an action from duty must be considered in terms not of interest in its object, but only of interest in the action itself and its principle in reason, the law.

[414] A perfectly good will would therefore also be subject to objective laws of the good. But we could not think of it as *constrained* by them to act in accordance with law. By its own subjective makeup, it can be determined only by the thought of the good. So no imperatives hold for the *divine* will, or for any *holy* will. *Ought* is out of place here, because *willing* already necessarily agrees with the law of its own accord. Imperatives are therefore only formulas expressing the relation between objective laws of willing in general and the subjective imperfection of the will of this or that rational being—for example, the human will.

All *imperatives* command either *hypothetically* or *categorically*. Hypothetical imperatives present a possible action as practically necessary as a means of reaching something else that we will, or at least might will. A categorical imperative would present an action as objectively necessary in itself, without reference to any other end.

Every practical law presents a possible action as good, and therefore as necessary for a subject whose actions can be determined by reason. So all imperatives are formulas for determining the action that is necessary according to the principle of a will that is good in some way. If the action would be good only as a *means* to something else, the imperative is *hypothetical*. If the action is presented as good *in itself*, and therefore as necessary in a will that in itself conforms to reason, as that will's principle, the imperative is *categorical*.

The imperative thus says which action within my power would be good. It presents the practical rule in relation to a will that does not immediately act simply because the action is good. This is partly because the subject does not always know that it is good. It is also partly because, even if the subject did know this, the subject's maxims might still conflict with the objective principles of practical reason.

The hypothetical imperative therefore says only that the action is good for some *possible* or *actual* aim. In the first

[415] case it is a *practical principle for a possible goal*; in the second, a *practical principle for an actual goal*. The categorical imperative declares the action objectively necessary in itself, without reference to any aim or any other end. It counts as an *unconditionally necessary practical principle*.

Whatever is possible through the powers of any rational being can also be thought of as a possible aim for some will. So there are infinitely many principles of action that present an action as necessary for achieving a possible aim it can bring about. All sciences have some practical part. It consists of problems involving an end that is possible for us, and imperatives stating how to reach it. These can therefore be called imperatives of *skill* in general. Here the question is not at all whether the end is rational and good, but only what we must do to reach it. A doctor's instructions for making a person thoroughly healthy and a poisoner's instructions for killing that person reliably have equal worth in this respect: each serves to achieve its aim completely. In early youth we do not know what ends we may encounter in life. So parents mainly try to have their children learn *many different things*. They take care to develop their children's *skill* in using means for all sorts of *freely chosen* ends. They cannot tell whether any one of these will actually become their child's aim in the future, though the child might have it someday. This concern is so great that they generally neglect to develop and correct their children's judgment about the worth of the things they might choose as ends.

Still, there is *one* end that we can assume is actual for all rational beings insofar as imperatives apply to them—that is, as dependent beings. This is an aim that they do not merely *possibly* have. We can safely assume that they all have it by a natural necessity: the aim of *happiness*. The hypothetical imperative that presents an action as practically necessary as a means to promote happiness concerns an *actual goal*. It must be presented as necessary not just for an uncertain, merely possible aim, but for an aim we can safely assume in every human being independently of experience,

[416] because it belongs to human nature. Now skill in choosing the means to one's own greatest well-being can be called *prudence* *) in the narrowest sense. So the imperative that concerns choosing means to one's own happiness—that is, the rule of prudence—is still *hypothetical*. It commands the action not without qualification, but only as a means to another aim.

Finally, there is an imperative that commands a kind of conduct directly, without making any other aim achievable through that conduct its underlying condition. This imperative is *categorical*. It concerns not the content of the action and what is to result from it, but the form and the principle from which the action itself follows. What is essentially good in the action lies in the disposition, whatever the outcome may be. We may call this the imperative of *morality*.

Willing according to these three kinds of principles is also clearly distinguished by the *differences* in how the will is constrained. To make this difference noticeable too, I think the most suitable names, in their order, would be *rules* of skill, *advice* of prudence, and *commands* (laws) of morality. Only a *law* carries the concept of an *unconditional necessity* that is objective and therefore universally valid. Commands are laws that must be obeyed—that is, followed even against inclination. *Advice* does involve necessity, but a necessity that can hold only under a subjective, contingent condition: whether this or that person counts this or that as part of their happiness. By contrast, no condition limits the categorical imperative. As absolutely necessary, although practically so, it can quite properly be called a command. We could also call the first kind of imperative *technical* (belonging to an art), the

*) The word prudence is used in two senses. In the first it may be called worldly prudence; in the second, personal prudence. The first is the skill of influencing other people so as to use them for one's own aims. The second is the insight needed to unite all these aims for one's own lasting advantage. The second is really what gives even the first its value. Someone who is prudent in the first way but not in the second might better be called clever and crafty, but still imprudent overall.

[417] second *pragmatic* *) (concerning well-being), and the third *moral* (belonging to free conduct in general, that is, to morals).

The question now arises: how are all these imperatives possible? This does not ask how the action commanded by the imperative can be carried out. It asks only how we can think of the constraint on the will that the imperative expresses in setting the task. How an imperative of skill is possible hardly needs a separate discussion. Whoever wills the end also wills the indispensably necessary means to it that are within their power, insofar as reason has a decisive influence on their actions. As far as willing is concerned, this statement is analytic. For when I will an object as an effect of my action, I already think of my causality as an acting cause—that is, my use of means. The imperative draws the concept of the actions necessary for this end out of the very concept of willing this end. Determining the means themselves for an intended aim does require synthetic statements. But these do not concern the basis for making the act of will actual; they concern making its object actual. For example, to divide a line into two equal parts by a reliable principle, I must draw two intersecting arcs from its endpoints. Mathematics teaches this only through synthetic statements. But suppose I know that only this action can bring about the intended effect. Then, if I fully will the effect, I also will the action required for it. This is an analytic statement. For thinking of something as an effect I can bring about in a certain way is exactly the same as thinking of myself as acting in that way to bring it about.

If it were only easy to give a definite concept of happiness, imperatives of prudence would agree entirely with those of skill and would be just as analytic. Here as there, we would say: whoever wills the end also wills—necessarily, in accordance with reason—the only means to it within

*) It seems to me that this is the most precise way to define the proper meaning of the word *pragmatic*. For *sanctions* are called pragmatic when they arise not strictly from the rights of states as necessary laws, but from *concern* for the general welfare. A *history* is written *pragmatically* when it makes people *prudent*, that is, teaches the world how to look after its advantage better than earlier generations did, or at least just as well.

[418] their power. Unfortunately, though, the concept of happiness is so indefinite that everyone wishes to reach it, yet no one can ever say definitely and consistently what they really wish and will. The reason is this: all the elements that belong to the concept of happiness come from experience. Yet the idea of happiness requires an absolute whole, a maximum of well-being in my present condition and every future condition. Now even the most insightful and powerful being, if still finite, cannot form a definite concept of what it really wills here. Does someone will wealth? How much worry, envy, and persecution this might bring down on them! Do they will extensive knowledge and insight? Perhaps this would only sharpen their sight, showing them all the more terribly the evils that are still hidden from them and yet cannot be avoided. Or it might burden their desires, which already give them enough trouble, with still more needs. Do they will a long life? Who can guarantee that it would not be a long misery? Do they will at least health? How often bodily discomfort has kept someone from excesses that unlimited health would have let them fall into, and so on. In short, no one can use any principle to determine with complete certainty what will make them truly happy. That would require knowing everything. So we cannot act on definite principles in order to be happy. We can act only on advice drawn from experience—for example, about diet, thrift, courtesy, restraint, and so on—which experience teaches generally does the most to promote well-being. It follows that, strictly speaking, imperatives of prudence cannot command at all. They cannot present actions objectively as practically *necessary*. They should be seen as recommendations (consilia) rather than commands (praecepta) of reason. The task of determining reliably and universally which action will promote a rational being's happiness is completely unsolvable. So no imperative about happiness is possible that commands, in the strict sense, doing what makes us happy. Happiness is not an ideal of reason but of the imagination. It rests only on grounds drawn from experience, from which it is hopeless

[419] to expect a determination of an action that would achieve the whole of what is actually an infinite series of consequences. Still, if we assume that the means to happiness could be reliably specified, this imperative of prudence would be an analytic practical statement. It differs from the imperative of skill only in this: for skill the end is merely possible, while for prudence it is given. Both command only the means to something that we assume we will as an end. So in both cases, the imperative that commands someone who wills the end to will the means is analytic. Thus there is also no difficulty about the possibility of such an imperative.

By contrast, how the imperative of *morality* is possible is undoubtedly the only question that needs solving. It is not hypothetical at all. So the necessity it presents as objective cannot rest on any presupposition, as it can with hypothetical imperatives. Here, however, we must always keep one thing in mind. *No example*, and therefore no experience, can establish whether any such imperative exists at all. We must worry that all those that seem categorical may secretly be hypothetical. For example, take the command: “You ought not to make deceitful promises.” Suppose we assume that the necessity of refraining from this is not just advice for avoiding some other evil. It does not mean, for instance: “You ought not to make lying promises, so that you do not lose your credit when the lie comes to light.” Instead, an action of this kind must be regarded as bad in itself, and so the imperative forbidding it is categorical. Still, no example can show with certainty that the will is determined here solely by the law, without any other incentive, even if that is how it seems. Fear of disgrace, or perhaps a vague worry about other dangers, may always secretly influence the will. Who can prove through experience that a cause does not exist, when experience teaches us nothing more than that we do not perceive it? In such a case, the so-called moral imperative, which as such appears categorical and unconditional, would in fact be only a pragmatic rule. It would draw our attention to our advantage and teach us only to look after it.

So we must investigate the possibility of a *categorical* imperative entirely independently of experience. Here we do not have the advantage

[420] of having its actual existence given in experience. If we did, we would need to consider its possibility only to explain it, not to establish it. For now, though, we can see this much: only the categorical imperative has the force of a practical *law*. All the others can be called *principles* of the will, but not laws. What is necessary to do merely to reach an end of our choice can be regarded as contingent in itself. We can always free ourselves from the rule by giving up the aim. By contrast, the unconditional command leaves the will no choice to do the opposite. So it alone carries the kind of necessity we require in a law.

Second, there is also a very great source of difficulty in understanding the possibility of this categorical imperative, or law of morality. It is a synthetic practical statement*) independent of experience. Understanding the possibility of statements of this kind presents so much difficulty in theoretical knowledge that we can easily judge it will present no less in practical knowledge.

In tackling this problem, let us first try to see whether the mere concept of a categorical imperative might also supply its formula. This would contain the statement that alone can be a categorical imperative. For even once we know what such an absolute command says, understanding how it is possible will still require a separate, difficult effort. We will put that off until the last section.

When I think of a *hypothetical* imperative in general, I do not know in advance what it will contain until its condition is given to me. But when I think of a *categorical* imperative, I know at once what it contains. For besides the law, the imperative contains only the necessity that the maxim**) conform to this law,

*) Without presupposing a condition based on any inclination, I connect the deed with the will independently of experience, and therefore necessarily. This necessity is only objective, however: it falls under the idea of a reason that had complete power over all subjective motives. So this is a practical statement that does not analytically derive willing one action from another willing already presupposed—for we do not have such a perfect will. Instead, it connects willing an action directly with the concept of the will of a rational being, as something not contained in that concept.

**) A *maxim* is the subjective principle of acting. It must be distinguished from the *objective principle*, namely, the practical law. A maxim contains the practical rule that reason determines in accordance with the subject's conditions, often the subject's ignorance or inclinations. It is therefore the principle according to which the subject *acts*. The law, however, is the objective principle, valid for every rational being, and the principle according to which the subject *ought to act*—that is, an imperative.

[421] and the law contains no condition that limits it. So nothing remains but the universality of a law in general, to which the maxim of the action must conform. This conformity alone is what the imperative actually presents as necessary.

There is therefore just one categorical imperative: *Act only on a maxim that you can at the same time will to become a universal law*.

Now suppose all imperatives of duty can be derived from this one imperative as their principle. Then at least we will be able to show what we mean by duty and what this concept is meant to express, even if we leave unsettled whether what we call duty might be an empty concept altogether.

The universality of the law according to which effects occur is what constitutes *nature* in the broadest sense, in terms of its form. That is, nature means the existence of things insofar as it is determined by universal laws. So the universal imperative of duty could also read: *Act as if the maxim of your action were to become, through your will, a universal law of nature*.

Let us now list some duties, following the usual division into duties to ourselves and to other people, and into perfect and imperfect duties.*)

1) Someone is weary of life because of a series of evils that have grown to the point of hopelessness. This person still

*) It is important to note here that I reserve the division of duties entirely for a future *Metaphysics of Morals*. The division here is therefore only a freely chosen one, to put my examples in order. Here, by a perfect duty, I mean one that permits no exception in the interest of inclination. In this sense I have not only external but also internal *perfect duties*. This runs against the usage accepted in the schools. But I do not intend to defend it here, since it makes no difference to my aim whether it is granted to me or not.

[422] has enough use of reason to ask whether taking their own life might be contrary to duty to themselves. They now test whether the maxim of their action could become a universal law of nature. Their maxim is: “From self-love, I make it my principle to shorten my life when its continuation threatens more evil than it promises pleasure.” The only remaining question is whether this principle of self-love could become a universal law of nature. We soon see that a nature whose law was to destroy life through the very feeling whose purpose is to drive us to promote life would contradict itself. It could not exist as nature. So that maxim cannot possibly hold as a universal law of nature, and consequently conflicts completely with the supreme principle of all duty.

2) Someone else is driven by need to borrow money. They know very well that they will not be able to repay it. But they also see that no one will lend them anything unless they firmly promise to repay it at a specified time. They want to make such a promise. But they still have enough conscience to ask: “Isn't it forbidden and contrary to duty to get out of difficulty in this way?” Suppose they decided to do it anyway. Their maxim of action would be: “When I believe I need money, I will borrow money and promise to repay it, even though I know that will never happen.” Now this principle of self-love or personal advantage might well be compatible with my whole future well-being. But the question now is whether it is right. So I turn the demand of self-love into a universal law and put the question this way: “What would happen if my maxim became a universal law?” I immediately see that it could never hold as a universal law of nature and agree with itself. It would necessarily contradict itself. For a universal law allowing everyone who believes they are in need to promise whatever they please, intending not to keep the promise, would make promising itself, and whatever end one might have in it, impossible. No one would believe that anything had been promised to them. They would laugh at all such statements as empty pretense.

3) A third person finds in themselves a talent that, with some

[423] development, could make them useful in all sorts of ways. But they find themselves in comfortable circumstances and prefer to pursue pleasure rather than work at extending and improving their natural gifts. Still, they ask whether their maxim of neglecting these gifts agrees not only with their tendency to seek amusement, but also with what is called duty. They see that nature could still exist under such a universal law. Human beings could let their talents rust, like the inhabitants of the South Seas, and intend to spend their lives only in idleness, amusement, and reproduction—in a word, enjoyment. But they cannot possibly *will* this to become a universal law of nature, or to be implanted in us as such a law through natural instinct. For as a rational being this person necessarily wills all their abilities to be developed, since these serve them, and are given to them, for all sorts of possible aims.

A *fourth* person is doing well but sees others struggling with great hardships, whom they could also help. They think: “What has that to do with me? Let everyone be as happy as heaven wills, or as they can make themselves. I will take nothing from them, and will not even envy them. But I have no wish to contribute anything to their well-being or to help them in need!” Now if this way of thinking became a universal law of nature, the human race could certainly still exist. It would doubtless do better than if everyone chattered about sympathy and goodwill, and even eagerly practiced them on occasion, yet also cheated wherever possible, sold people's rights, or otherwise damaged them. But although a universal law of nature could well exist according to that maxim, it is impossible to *will* such a principle to hold everywhere as a law of nature. For a will that decided this would conflict with itself. Many cases could arise in which the person needs the love and sympathy of others. Through such a law of nature, arising from their own will, they would rob themselves of all hope of the help they wish for.

These, then, are some of the many actual duties, or at least what we take to be duties. It is clear how their division follows from the one principle

[424] stated above. We must *be able to will* that a maxim of our action become a universal law. This is the standard for judging the morality of the action in general. Some actions are such that their maxim cannot even be thought of as a universal law of nature without contradiction. Still less could we *will* that it *should* become one. Other actions do not involve this inner impossibility. But it is still impossible to will their maxim to be raised to the universality of a law of nature, because such a will would contradict itself. We can easily see that the first kind conflicts with strict or narrow duty, which allows no relaxation. The second conflicts only with broad duty, which carries merit. In this way, these examples fully present all duties in their dependence on the one principle, as regards the kind of obligation involved, not the object of their action.

Now whenever we break a duty, if we pay attention to ourselves, we find that we do not really will our maxim to become a universal law. That is impossible for us. Instead, we will that its opposite remain a universal law. We merely take the liberty of making an *exception* for ourselves, or even just for this occasion, in favor of our inclination. So if we considered everything from one and the same standpoint, namely reason, we would find a contradiction in our own will. A certain principle would be objectively necessary as a universal law, yet subjectively it should not hold universally but should allow exceptions. But we consider our action at one moment from the standpoint of a will entirely in line with reason, and at another from the standpoint of a will affected by inclination. So there is no actual contradiction here. There is, however, resistance by inclination to the rule of reason (antagonismus). This turns the principle's strict universality (universalitas) into mere general validity (generalitas), so that the practical principle of reason is supposed to meet the maxim halfway. Although our own impartial judgment cannot justify this, it still proves that we really do acknowledge the validity of the categorical imperative. With all our respect for it, we merely allow ourselves a few exceptions that seem to us insignificant and forced upon us.

[425] We have at least shown this much: if duty is a concept that is to have meaning and give real laws for our actions, it can be expressed only in categorical imperatives, never in hypothetical ones. We have also clearly presented the content of the categorical imperative and made it definite enough for any use. This is already a great deal, since that imperative would have to contain the principle of all duty, if there is any such thing at all. But we have not yet reached the point of proving a priori that such an imperative actually exists: that there is a practical law that commands absolutely, on its own and without any incentives, and that following this law is a duty.

As we try to reach that point, one warning is extremely important. We must never think of trying to derive the reality of this principle from the *particular character of human nature*. Duty is supposed to be the practically unconditional necessity of an action. It must therefore hold for all rational beings to whom an imperative can apply at all. *Only for that reason* must it also be a law for every human will. By contrast, anything derived from humanity's particular natural constitution, from certain feelings and tendencies, or even, if possible, from a particular direction taken by human reason that need not hold for the will of every rational being, can give us a maxim, but not a law. It can give us a subjective principle, according to which we have a tendency and inclination to be allowed to act. It cannot give us an objective principle according to which we would be *required* to act even if all our tendencies, inclinations, and natural constitution opposed it. Indeed, the fewer subjective causes there are in favor of a duty, and the more there are against it, the more this shows the command's sublimity and inner dignity. Yet this does not in the least weaken the constraint imposed by the law or take anything away from its validity.

Here we see philosophy placed in a precarious position. It is supposed to stand firm, although it hangs from nothing in heaven and rests on nothing on earth. Here it must prove its purity as the keeper of its own laws, not as the herald of laws whispered to it by an implanted sense or by who knows what guardian nature. All such laws, however much better they may be

[426] than nothing at all, can never supply the principles reason dictates. These must have their source entirely a priori, and with it their authority to command. They must expect nothing from human inclination, but everything from the supreme power of the law and the respect owed to it. Otherwise, they must condemn human beings to self-contempt and inward disgust.

Anything empirical is therefore not merely wholly unfit to be added to the principle of morality. It is also highly damaging to the purity of morals themselves. For the true worth of an absolutely good will, a worth beyond all price, consists precisely in this: the principle of its action is free from every influence of contingent grounds that only experience can supply. We cannot give too many or too frequent warnings against this carelessness, or even base way of thinking, that looks for the principle among empirical motives and laws. When human reason grows tired, it likes to rest on this cushion. Dreaming of sweet illusions, which make it embrace a cloud instead of Juno, it substitutes for morality a bastard patched together from parts of quite different origins. This looks like anything one wants to see in it—except virtue, to anyone who has once seen virtue in its true form.*)

So the question is this: is it a necessary law for *all rational beings* always to judge their actions by maxims that they can themselves will to serve as universal laws? If it is, then it must already be connected, entirely a priori, with the concept of the will of a rational being in general. To discover this connection, however much we resist, we must take a step beyond our present ground into metaphysics. We enter a part of it distinct from speculative philosophy: the metaphysics of morals.

*) To see virtue in its true form is simply to present morality stripped of every admixture of what belongs to the senses and of all the false decoration of reward or self-love. Anyone whose reason has not been completely spoiled for all abstraction can easily discover, with the slightest attempt, how much virtue then outshines everything else that appeals to the inclinations.

[427] In a practical philosophy we are not concerned with accepting grounds for what *happens*. We are concerned with laws for what *ought to happen*, even if it never happens, that is, with objectively practical laws. So here we do not need to investigate the grounds for why something pleases or displeases. We do not need to ask how the pleasure of mere sensation differs from taste, or whether taste differs from a general satisfaction of reason. We do not need to ask what feeling of pleasure and displeasure rests on, or how desires and inclinations arise from it, and how maxims then arise from those through the cooperation of reason. All of that belongs to an empirical psychology, and an empirical psychology would form the second part of the doctrine of nature if it were treated as a *philosophy of nature*, insofar as that is founded on *empirical laws*. Here, though, we are speaking of the objectively practical law, and so of the relation of a will to itself, insofar as the will determines itself purely through reason. Anything that has a reference to the empirical then drops out by itself. For if *reason by itself alone* determines the conduct (and we now want to examine the possibility of exactly this), it must necessarily do so a priori.

The will is thought as a capacity to determine itself to act *in accordance with the representation of certain laws*. Such a capacity can be found only in rational beings. Now what serves the will as the objective ground of its self-determination is the *end*. When this end is given through reason alone, it must count equally for all rational beings. What instead contains only the ground of the possibility of the action whose effect is the end is called the *means*. The subjective ground of desire is the *incentive*, and the objective ground of willing is the *motive*. This gives the difference between subjective ends, which rest on incentives, and objective ends, which depend on motives that hold for every rational being. Practical principles are *formal* when they abstract from all subjective ends. They are *material* when they put these, and so certain incentives, at the ground. The ends that a rational being sets himself at will as *effects* of his action (material ends) are all only relative. Only their relation to a specially constituted faculty of desire in the subject gives them their worth. That worth is therefore never general, valid for all rational beings and for every act of willing, and necessary

[428] principles, that is, practical laws, that it can offer. So all these relative ends are only the basis of hypothetical imperatives.

But suppose there were something whose *existence in itself* has an absolute value, something that could be the basis of definite laws as an *end in itself*. Then the basis of a possible categorical imperative, that is, of a practical law, would lie in that thing, and in it alone.

Now I say this: a human being, and in general every rational being, *exists* as an end in itself, *not merely as a means* to be used as this or that will pleases. In all of their actions, whether directed at themselves or at other rational beings, they must always be regarded *at the same time as an end*. All objects of inclinations have only a conditional value. If there were no inclinations, and no needs based on them, their object would have no value. The inclinations themselves, as the sources of need, have so little absolute value that nobody could wish to have them for their own sake. On the contrary, to be entirely free of them must be the universal wish of every rational being. So the value of all objects *to be acquired* through our action is always conditional. Beings whose existence rests not on our will but on nature still have only a relative value, as means, if they are beings without reason. That is why they are called *things*. Rational beings, on the other hand, are called *persons*, because their nature already marks them out as ends in themselves, that is, as something that must not be used merely as a means. And so, to that extent, it limits all arbitrary choice (and is an object of respect). These, then, are not merely subjective ends, whose existence, as an effect of our action, has a value for us. They are *objective ends*, that is, things whose existence is itself an end. And it is an end of such a kind that no other end can be put in its place, an end that these things would then serve *merely* as means. For without this, nothing of *absolute value* would be found anywhere at all. But if all value were conditional, and therefore contingent, no supreme practical principle could be found anywhere for reason.

So if there is to be a supreme practical principle, and, with regard to the human will, a categorical imperative, it must be one that comes from the idea of what is necessarily an end for everyone because it is an end in itself, and that forms an *objective*

[429] principle of the will, and so can serve as a universal practical law. The basis of this principle is: *rational nature exists as an end in itself*. This is how a human being necessarily thinks of their own existence. To that extent it is a *subjective* principle of human actions. But every other rational being also thinks of their existence in this way, on the very same basis in reason that holds for me*). So it is at the same time an *objective* principle, from which, as a supreme practical basis, all laws of the will must be able to be derived. The practical imperative will therefore be this: *Act so that you use humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of anyone else, always at the same time as an end, never merely as a means*. Let us see whether this can be carried out.

To stay with the earlier examples:

*First*, by the concept of necessary duty to oneself, a person who is considering suicide will ask themselves whether their action can be compatible with the idea of humanity *as an end in itself*. If they destroy themselves to escape a burdensome condition, they are using a person merely *as a means* to keep up a bearable condition until the end of life. But a human being is not a thing. So a human being is not something that can be used *merely* as a means. In all their actions, they must always be regarded as an end in itself. So I cannot dispose of the human being in my own person by maiming, ruining, or killing them. (I must pass over here the closer definition of this principle that would prevent all misunderstanding, for example about having limbs cut off to save myself, or about the danger I expose my life to in order to preserve my life, and so on. That belongs to morality proper.)

*Second*, as for necessary or owed duty to others: a person who intends to make a lying promise to others will see at once that they want to use another human being *merely as a means*, without that person at the same time containing the end in themselves. For the person I want to use for my own purposes by such a promise cannot possibly agree to my way of treating them,

*) I set up this proposition here as a postulate. The reasons for it will be found in the last section.

[430] and so cannot contain the end of this action in themselves. This conflict with the principle, where other people are concerned, is clearer when one brings in examples of attacks on the freedom and property of others. There it is plainly evident that a person who violates the rights of human beings means to use the persons of others merely as means. They do not take into account that others, as rational beings, should always be valued at the same time as ends, that is, only as beings who must also be able to contain in themselves the end of that very same action*).

*Third*, as for contingent (meritorious) duty to oneself, it is not enough that the action does not conflict with humanity in our person as an end in itself. It must also *harmonize with it*. Now humanity has natural capacities for greater perfection. They belong to nature's end for humanity in us as subjects. Neglecting them could perhaps be compatible with the *preservation* of humanity as an end in itself, but not with the *furthering* of this end.

*Fourth*, as for meritorious duty to others: the natural end that all human beings have is their own happiness. Now humanity could indeed continue to exist if no one contributed anything to the happiness of others, provided they did not deliberately take anything away from it. But this would be only a negative agreement, not a positive one, with *humanity as an end in itself*, if everyone also failed to strive, as far as they can, to further the ends of others. For the subject who is an end in itself must have ends that are, as far as possible, also *my* ends, if that idea is to have *its full* effect in me.

This principle of humanity, and of every rational nature in general, *as an end in itself* (which is the supreme limiting

*) Let no one think that the trivial saying "What you do not want done to you," and so on, can serve here as a guide or principle. For it is only derived from that principle, and with various limits. It cannot be a universal law, because it does not contain the basis of duties to oneself, or of duties of love toward others (for many a person would gladly agree that others should not do them good, if only they were excused from doing good to others), and finally not of owed duties toward one another. For on this basis the criminal would argue against the judges who punish them, and so on.

[431] condition of the freedom of each human being's actions) is not borrowed from experience. There are two reasons. First, it is universal, since it applies to all rational beings in general, and no experience is enough to settle anything about that. Second, in it humanity is presented not as an end of human beings (subjectively), that is, not as an object that people of their own accord actually make their end. It is presented as an objective end, one that is meant, as a law, to be the supreme limiting condition of all subjective ends, whatever ends we may have. So it must arise from pure reason. For the basis of all practical lawgiving lies *objectively in the rule* and in the form of universality, which makes it capable of being a law (at least a law of nature). That is according to the first principle. *Subjectively*, however, it lies in the *end*. But the subject of all ends is every rational being, as an end in itself. That is according to the second principle. From this now follows the third practical principle of the will, as the supreme condition of its harmony with universal practical reason: the idea of *the will of every rational being as a universally lawgiving will*.

By this principle, all maxims are rejected that cannot be compatible with the will's own universal lawgiving. So the will is not simply subject to the law. It is subject to it in such a way that it must be seen *as giving the law to itself*, and for that very reason, in the first place, as subject to the law (of which it can regard itself as the author).

The imperatives in the earlier way of presenting them were these: the universal lawfulness of actions, resembling an *order of nature*; and the universal *priority as ends* of rational beings in themselves. These did exclude from their commanding authority every mixing in of some interest as an incentive, precisely because they were presented as categorical. But they were only assumed to be categorical, because one had to assume something of that kind if one wanted to explain the concept of duty. That there are practical propositions that command categorically could not be proved by itself, just as it cannot be done anywhere in this section, and so cannot yet be done here either. But one thing could have been done, namely this. The renunciation of all interest in willing from duty is the specific mark that distinguishes the categorical from the hypothetical imperative. That renunciation could have been indicated as well in the imperative itself, through

[432] some provision that it contained. And this is what happens in the present third formula of the principle, namely the idea of the will of every rational being as a *universally lawgiving* will.

For if we think of such a will, then a will that *stands under laws* may still be bound to that law by means of some interest. But a will that is itself supremely lawgiving cannot possibly, to that extent, depend on any interest. For such a dependent will would itself still need another law, which would limit the interest of its self-love to the condition of being valid as a universal law.

So the *principle* of every human will, as *a will that is universally lawgiving through all its maxims* *), would fit the categorical imperative very well, if it were otherwise sound. It would fit it in this: precisely because of the idea of universal lawgiving, it is *based on no interest*, and so it alone among all possible imperatives can be *unconditional*. Or, better still, we can turn the proposition around: if there is a categorical imperative (that is, a law for the will of every rational being), it can only command us to do everything from the maxim of our will as the will of one who could at the same time have itself, as universally lawgiving, for its object. For only then are the practical principle and the imperative that one obeys unconditional, because it can have no interest at all as its basis.

Now it is no wonder, when we look back on all the efforts ever made to find the principle of morality, why they all had to fail. People saw human beings as bound to laws by their duty. It never occurred to them that human beings are subject *only to their own lawgiving, which is nevertheless universal*, and that they are bound only to act in line with their own will, which, according to its natural end, is universally lawgiving. For if people thought of human beings only as subject to a law (whatever law it might be), then this law had to bring with it some

*) I can be excused here from giving examples to illustrate this principle, for those that first illustrated the categorical imperative and its formula can all serve the same purpose here.

[433] interest as an attraction or a compulsion, because the law did not arise as law from *their own* will. Instead, this will was constrained by *something else*, in accordance with a law, to act in a certain way. By this entirely necessary consequence, though, all the work of finding a supreme basis of duty was lost beyond recovery. For what people got was never duty, but only the necessity of an action arising out of some interest. This interest might be one's own or someone else's. But then the imperative always had to turn out conditional, and it could not be suited at all to be a moral command. So I will call this principle the principle of the *autonomy* of the will, in contrast with every other principle, which I therefore count as *heteronomy*.

Every rational being must regard themselves, through all the maxims of their will, as universally lawgiving, so as to judge themselves and their actions from this point of view. This concept leads to another concept that is attached to it and is very fruitful, namely the concept *of a realm of ends*.

By a realm I mean the systematic union of different rational beings through common laws. Now laws determine ends according to their universal validity. So if we set aside the personal differences between rational beings, and likewise all the content of their private ends, we can think of a whole of all ends in systematic connection (both of the rational beings as ends in themselves, and of the particular ends that each may set for themselves). That is, we can think of a realm of ends, which is possible according to the principles above.

For all rational beings stand under the *law* that each of them should treat themselves and all others *never merely as a means*, but always at the same time *as an end in itself*. From this arises a systematic union of rational beings through common objective laws, that is, a realm. Because these laws have in view precisely the relation of these beings to one another as ends and means, this realm can be called a realm of ends (admittedly only an ideal).

A rational being belongs to the realm of ends as a *member* if they are universally lawgiving in it, but are also themselves subject to these laws. They belong to it as *head* if, as lawgiving, they are subject to no one else's will.

[434] A rational being must always regard themselves as lawgiving in a realm of ends made possible by freedom of the will, whether as a member or as head. But they can hold the place of head not merely through the maxim of their will. They can hold it only if they are a completely independent being, without need and without any limit on a power that is adequate to their will.

Morality, then, consists in the relation of every action to the lawgiving through which alone a realm of ends is possible. This lawgiving must be found in every rational being themselves, and it must be able to arise from their will. The principle of this will is therefore never to act on a maxim unless it is also possible for that maxim to be a universal law. That is, to act only in such a way *that the will can regard itself, through its maxim, as at the same time universally lawgiving*. Now if the maxims do not already agree necessarily, by their very nature, with this objective principle of rational beings as universally lawgiving, then the necessity of acting according to that principle is called practical constraint, that is, *duty*. Duty does not apply to the head in the realm of ends, but it does apply to every member, and indeed to all of them in equal measure.

The practical necessity of acting by this principle, that is, duty, does not rest at all on feelings, impulses, and inclinations. It rests solely on the relation of rational beings to one another. In this relation the will of a rational being must always be regarded at the same time as *lawgiving*, because otherwise they could not think of these beings as *ends in themselves*. So reason relates every maxim of the will, as universally lawgiving, to every other will, and also to every action toward oneself. It does this not for the sake of any other practical motive or future advantage, but from the idea of the *dignity* of a rational being, who obeys no law except the one they at the same time give themselves.

In the realm of ends, everything has either a *price* or a *dignity*. Whatever has a price can be replaced by something else as its *equivalent*. Whatever, on the other hand, is above all price, and so allows no equivalent, has a dignity.

What relates to the general inclinations and needs of human beings has a *market price*. What, even without presupposing a need, suits a certain taste, that is, a liking for the

[435] mere purposeless play of the powers of our mind, has an *affection price*. But what makes up the condition under which alone something can be an end in itself has not merely a relative value, that is, a price, but an inner value, that is, *dignity*.

Now morality is the condition under which alone a rational being can be an end in itself, because only through it is it possible to be a lawgiving member in the realm of ends. So morality, and humanity so far as it is capable of morality, is the only thing that has dignity. Skill and diligence in work have a market price. Wit, lively imagination, and humor have an affection price. Faithfulness in promises and goodwill from principles (not from instinct), on the other hand, have an inner value. Neither nature nor art contains anything that could take their place if they were lacking. For their value does not consist in the effects that arise from them, in the advantage and benefit they produce. It consists in the attitudes of mind, that is, the maxims of the will, which are ready to show themselves in this way in actions, even if success did not favor them. These actions also need no recommendation from any subjective disposition or taste to look on them with immediate favor and liking, and no immediate tendency or feeling for them. They present the will that carries them out as an object of immediate respect. Nothing but reason is required for this, in order to *impose* them on the will, and not to *get them from it by flattery*, which would in any case be a contradiction where duties are concerned. This valuation therefore shows the value of such a way of thinking to be dignity. It places that way of thinking infinitely above all price. It can in no way be reckoned or compared with any price without, so to speak, doing violence to its holiness.

And what is it, then, that entitles the morally good attitude of mind, or virtue, to make such high claims? It is nothing less than the *share* that it gives the rational being *in universal lawgiving*. Through this share the being becomes fit to be a member in a possible realm of ends. Their own nature had already destined them for this, as an end in itself and for that very reason as lawgiving in the realm of ends, as free with regard to all laws of nature, obeying only those that they themselves give, and according to which their maxims can belong to a universal lawgiving (to which they at the same time

[436] subject themselves). For nothing has a value except the one that the law determines for it. But the lawgiving itself, which determines all value, must for that very reason have a dignity, that is, an unconditional, incomparable value. For this value the word *respect* alone supplies the fitting expression of the valuation that a rational being must make of it. *Autonomy* is therefore the basis of the dignity of human nature and of every rational nature.

The three ways given of presenting the principle of morality are, at bottom, just so many formulas of one and the same law. Any one of them unites the other two within itself, by itself. Still, there is a difference among them. It is more subjective than objectively practical: its point is to bring an idea of reason closer to intuition (by a certain analogy), and in this way closer to feeling. For all maxims have

1) a *form*, which consists in universality. Here the formula of the moral imperative is expressed this way: maxims must be chosen as if they were to hold as universal laws of nature;

2) a *matter*, namely an end. Here the formula says: the rational being, as an end by its nature, and so as an end in itself, must serve every maxim as the limiting condition of all merely relative and arbitrary ends;

3) a *complete determination* of all maxims by that formula, namely: all maxims, out of their own lawgiving, should harmonize into a possible realm of ends as a realm of nature*). The progress here goes as if through the categories of the *unity* of the form of the will (its universality), the *plurality* of the matter (of the objects, that is, of the ends), and the *allness* or totality of the system of them. But one does better, in moral *judging*, always to proceed by the strict method and to take as the basis the universal formula of the categorical imperative: *act on the maxim that can at the same time make itself a universal law*

*) Teleology considers nature as a realm of ends. Morality considers a possible realm of ends as a realm of nature. There, the realm of ends is a theoretical idea for explaining what exists. Here, it is a practical idea for bringing about what does not exist but can become real through what we do and refrain from doing, and indeed in keeping with this very idea.

[437] *can make*. But if we also want the moral law to gain entry, it is very useful to run one and the same action through the three concepts mentioned. That brings the action, as far as possible, closer to intuition.

We can now end where we began: with the concept of an unconditionally good will. A *will* is *absolutely good* if it cannot be evil. So its maxim, when made a universal law, can never conflict with itself. This principle is therefore also its supreme law: always act on that maxim whose universality as a law you can at the same time will. This is the only condition under which a will can never be in conflict with itself. And such an imperative is categorical. The will's validity as a universal law for possible actions is analogous to the universal connection of the existence of things under universal laws, which is the formal side of nature in general. So the categorical imperative can also be expressed this way: *Act on maxims that can at the same time have themselves as universal laws of nature for their object.* This, then, is what the formula of an absolutely good will is like.

Rational nature stands out from the rest by setting an end for itself. This end would be the matter of every good will. But in the idea of a will that is absolutely good, without any limiting condition (the achievement of this or that end), we must set aside completely every end *to be brought about*. Such an end would make every will good only relatively. So here the end must be thought of not as one to be brought about but as a *self-standing* end, and therefore only negatively. That is, it is an end that must never be acted against. It must therefore never be valued merely as a means in any act of willing, but always at the same time as an end. This end can be nothing other than the subject of all possible ends itself. For that subject is also the subject of a possible absolutely good will, and such a will cannot, without contradiction, be ranked below any other object. The principle: act toward every rational being (yourself and others) so that in your maxim it counts at the same time as an end in itself, is therefore basically the same as the principle: act on a maxim that, for every rational being,

[438] at the same time contains its own universal validity within itself. At bottom the two are one and the same. For I must limit my maxim, in using means for any end, by the condition that it be valid universally as a law for every subject. That says just as much as this: the subject of ends, that is, the rational being itself, must never be made the basis of the maxims of action merely as a means. It must be made their basis as the supreme limiting condition on the use of all means—that is, always at the same time as an end.

It follows beyond dispute from this that every rational being, as an end in itself, must be able to regard itself as also giving universal law with respect to all the laws to which it may ever be subject. For this very suitability of its maxims for universal lawgiving marks it out as an end in itself. It also follows that its dignity (prerogative) above all mere natural beings brings with it this requirement: it must always take its maxims from its own standpoint and, at the same time, from the standpoint of every other rational being as a lawgiving being. (Such beings are for this reason also called persons.) In this way a world of rational beings (mundus intelligibilis) is possible as a realm of ends, and indeed through the lawgiving of all persons themselves, as members. So every rational being must act as if, through its maxims, it were always a lawgiving member in the universal realm of ends. The formal principle of these maxims is: act as if your maxim were also to serve as a universal law (for all rational beings). A realm of ends is therefore possible only by analogy with a realm of nature. Yet the first is possible only through maxims, that is, rules that one imposes on oneself, and the second only through laws of causes that produce effects under outside compulsion. Even so, we also call the whole of nature a realm of nature, although we regard it as a machine. We call it that on this ground: so far as it is related to rational beings as its ends. Such a realm of ends would really come about through maxims whose rule the categorical imperative prescribes to all rational beings, if they were *followed universally*. However, a rational being cannot count on this: that if it follows this maxim punctually itself, every other being will therefore be faithful to the same maxim. Nor can it count on this: that the realm of nature and its purposive arrangement will harmonize with it, as a suitable member, toward a realm of ends possible through that being itself—that is, that its expectation of happiness

[439] will be favored. Even so, that law remains in full force, because it commands categorically: act on the maxims of a universally lawgiving member of a merely possible realm of ends. And here lies the very paradox. It is that the mere dignity of humanity as rational nature, with no other end or advantage to be reached through it—and so mere respect for a bare idea—should nevertheless serve as a rule for the will that never lets up. It is also that the loftiness of the maxim consists precisely in its independence from all such incentives, and so does the worthiness of every rational subject to be a lawgiving member in the realm of ends. Otherwise that subject would have to be pictured as subject only to the law of nature that governs its needs. Suppose the realm of nature and the realm of ends were both thought of as united under one head. Then the realm of ends would no longer remain a bare idea but would gain true reality. This would indeed give it the addition of a strong incentive, but never an increase in its inner worth. For even so, this sole, unlimited lawgiver would still always have to be pictured as judging the worth of rational beings only by their unselfish conduct, which they prescribe to themselves purely from that idea. The essence of things does not change because of their external relations. What alone makes up a human being's absolute worth, leaving those relations out of account, is the standard by which that human being must be judged—by anyone at all, even by the highest being. *Morality* is therefore the relation of actions to the autonomy of the will, that is, to possible universal lawgiving through the will's maxims. An action that can coexist with the autonomy of the will is *permitted*. One that does not agree with it is *not permitted*. A will whose maxims necessarily agree with the laws of autonomy is a *holy* will, an absolutely good will. The dependence of a will that is not absolutely good on the principle of autonomy (moral constraint) is *obligation*. Obligation therefore cannot be applied to a holy being. The objective necessity of an action from obligation is called *duty*.

From what was just said, it is now easy to explain how this happens. The concept of duty makes us think of being subject to the law. Yet by that very concept we also, at the same time,

[440] picture a certain loftiness and *dignity* in the person who fulfills all their duties. For there is indeed no loftiness in that person in so far as they are *subject* to the moral law. But there is loftiness in so far as, with respect to that same law, they are at the same time *lawgiving*, and are subordinate to it only for that reason. We also showed above that neither fear nor inclination, but only respect for the law, is the incentive that can give an action moral worth. Our own will, in so far as it would act only under the condition of a universal lawgiving possible through its maxims—this will, which is possible for us in the idea—is the proper object of respect. The dignity of humanity consists in just this capacity to give universal law, though on the condition of also being itself subject to this same lawgiving.

The autonomy of the will

*as the supreme principle of morality.*

Autonomy of the will is the quality of the will by which it is a law to itself, independent of every quality of the objects of willing. The principle of autonomy is therefore: to choose only in such a way that the maxims of one's choice are also included, in that same willing, as a universal law. That this practical rule is an imperative—that is, that the will of every rational being is necessarily bound to it as a condition—cannot be proved by merely analyzing the concepts found in it, because it is a synthetic proposition. We would have to go beyond the cognition of objects and on to a critique of the subject, that is, of pure practical reason. For this synthetic proposition, which commands apodictically, must be capable of being cognized entirely a priori. But that task does not belong in the present section. That the principle of autonomy just stated is the only principle of morality, however, can very well be shown by merely analyzing the concepts of morality. For such analysis finds that the principle of morality must be a categorical imperative, and that this imperative commands nothing more or less than precisely this autonomy.

[441] The heteronomy of the will

*as the source of all counterfeit principles of morality.*

If the will looks for the law that is to determine it in *something else* than the fitness of its maxims for its own universal lawgiving—that is, if it goes beyond itself and looks for the law in the nature of one of its objects—the result is always *heteronomy*. Then the will does not give the law to itself. Instead the object gives the law to the will, through its relation to the will. Whether this relation rests on inclination or on ideas of reason, it allows only hypothetical imperatives to be possible: I ought to do something *because I want something else*. By contrast, the moral, and therefore categorical, imperative says: I ought to act in such and such a way, even if I wanted nothing else. For example, the first says: I ought not to lie, if I want to keep my honor. The second says: I ought not to lie, even if it would bring me not the slightest disgrace. The latter, then, must set aside every object so completely that the object has no *influence* at all on the will. The point is that practical reason (will) should not merely manage an interest that is not its own, but simply show its own commanding authority as supreme lawgiving. So, for example, I ought to try to promote the happiness of others, not as if its existence mattered to me (whether through direct inclination, or through some pleasure taken in it indirectly, by way of reason), but only because the maxim that excludes it cannot be included in one and the same willing as a universal law.

Division

*of all possible principles of morality from the assumed basic concept of heteronomy.*

As long as human reason lacks a critique, it does here what it does everywhere in its pure use: it first tries every possible wrong way before it succeeds in hitting on the one true way.

All principles that one may take from this standpoint are either *empirical* or *rational*. The *first*, which come from the principle

[442] of *happiness*, rest on physical or moral feeling. The second, which come from the principle of *perfection*, rest either on the rational concept of perfection as a possible effect, or on the concept of a self-standing perfection (the will of God) as the cause that determines our will.

*Empirical principles* are altogether unsuited to be a foundation for moral laws. For the universality with which these laws are supposed to hold for all rational beings without distinction, and the unconditional practical necessity this places on them, drops away if their ground is taken from the *particular constitution of human nature* or from the accidental circumstances in which human nature is placed. Still, the principle of *one's own happiness* is the most objectionable of all. This is not merely because it is false, and because experience contradicts the claim that well-being always matches good conduct. It is also not merely because it contributes nothing to establishing morality, since it is one thing to make someone happy and another to make them good, and one thing to make them prudent and sharp about their own advantage and another to make them virtuous. It is most objectionable because it puts incentives under morality that are more likely to undermine it and destroy all its loftiness. They put the motives for virtue in the same class as those for vice. They teach only how to calculate better, and they wipe out entirely the specific difference between the two. On the other hand, take moral feeling, this supposed special sense*). To be sure, appealing to it is shallow. People who cannot *think* believe that *feeling* will see them through, even where only universal laws are at stake. Feelings also differ from one another infinitely in degree, by nature, so they give no equal standard of good and evil. And no one can judge validly for others by their own feeling at all. Even so, moral feeling stays closer to morality and its dignity. It does virtue the honor of ascribing the liking and high esteem for it to virtue *directly*, and it does not tell it, so to speak,

*) I count the principle of moral feeling under that of happiness, because every empirical interest promises a contribution to well-being through the mere pleasantness that something affords, whether this happens directly and without an eye to advantages, or with regard to them. Likewise, along with *Hutcheson*, one must count the principle of sympathy with the happiness of others under the same moral sense assumed by Hutcheson.

[443] to its face that what ties us to it is not its beauty but only advantage.

Among the *rational*, or reason-based, grounds of morality is the ontological concept of *perfection*. This concept is empty and indeterminate, and so useless for finding, in the immense field of possible reality, the greatest sum that suits us. When it tries to tell the reality in question here apart specifically from every other, it has an unavoidable tendency to turn in a circle, and it cannot avoid secretly presupposing the very morality it is supposed to explain. Even so, it is better than the theological concept, which derives morality from a divine, most perfect will. It is better not merely because we do not, after all, intuit that will's perfection but can derive it only from our own concepts, of which the concept of morality is the foremost. It is better because of what follows if we do not do this. (If we did do it, it would be a gross circle in explaining.) The concept of that will that would then remain to us is built from the qualities of desire for honor and for domination, joined with fearful ideas of power and eagerness for revenge. It would have to be the foundation for a system of morals directly opposed to morality.

But if I had to choose between the concept of the moral sense and that of perfection in general (neither of which at least does damage to morality, although they are quite unfit to support it as foundations), I would decide for the latter. The reason is that it at least draws the decision of the question away from sensibility and before the court of pure reason. It decides nothing even there. Still, it keeps in reserve, unfalsified, the indeterminate idea (of a will that is good in itself) for closer determination.

For the rest, I believe I can be spared a lengthy refutation of all these doctrines. It is so easy. It is presumably also so well understood even by those whose office requires them to declare for one of these theories (because audiences do not much like a postponement of judgment) that the effort would be wasted. What interests us more here is to know this: that these principles everywhere set up nothing but heteronomy of the will as the first ground of morality, and for that very reason must necessarily miss their aim.

[444] Everywhere that an object of the will must be laid down as the basis in order to prescribe to the will the rule that is to determine it, the rule is nothing but heteronomy. The imperative is conditional, namely: *if* or *because* one wants this object, one ought to act in such and such a way. So it can never command morally, that is, categorically. The object may determine the will by means of inclination, as in the principle of one's own happiness, or by means of reason directed at the objects of our possible willing in general, as in the principle of perfection. Either way, the will never determines itself *directly*, through the idea of the action alone. It is determined only through the incentive that the foreseen effect of the action has on the will. *I ought to do something because I want something else.* And here yet another law must be laid down as the basis in me as subject, according to which I necessarily want this something else. That law in turn needs an imperative to limit this maxim. For the impulse that the idea of an object possible through our powers is supposed to exert on the subject's will, according to the subject's natural makeup, belongs to the nature of the subject. It may belong to sensibility (inclination and taste), or to understanding and reason, which by the particular constitution of their nature exercise themselves with pleasure on an object. So it would really be nature that gives the law. Not only must that law be known and proved through experience, which makes it contingent in itself and so unfit to be an apodictic practical rule, as the moral rule must be. It is also *always only heteronomy* of the will: the will does not give itself the law, but a foreign impulse gives it the law, by means of a nature of the subject that is attuned to the will's receptivity.

The absolutely good will, whose principle must be a categorical imperative, will therefore be undetermined with respect to all objects. It will contain only the *form of willing* in general, and indeed as autonomy. That is, the fitness of the maxim of every good will to make itself a universal law is itself the only law that the will of every rational being imposes on itself, without putting any incentive or interest beneath it as a ground.

*How such a synthetic practical a priori proposition* is possible, and why it is necessary, is a task whose solution no longer lies within the limits of the metaphysics of morals. Nor have we

[445] asserted its truth here, much less claimed to have a proof of it in our power. We showed only, by developing the concept of morality that is now generally current, that an autonomy of the will unavoidably attaches to it, or rather underlies it. Whoever therefore holds morality to be something, and not a fanciful idea without truth, must at the same time grant the principle of morality that was stated. This section was therefore, just like the first, merely analytic. Now, that morality is no figment of the mind follows if the categorical imperative, and with it the autonomy of the will, is true and absolutely necessary as an a priori principle. This requires a *possible synthetic use of pure practical reason*. But we may not venture on that use without first sending ahead a *critique* of this faculty of reason itself. In the last section we have to present the main outlines of that critique, enough for our purpose.

### Section III

[446] Third Section

*Transition from the Metaphysics of Morals to the Critique of Pure Practical Reason*

*The concept of freedom is the key to explaining the autonomy of the will.*

The *will* is a kind of causality that living beings have insofar as they are rational. *Freedom* would be the property of this causality that allows it to act independently of outside causes that *determine* it. In contrast, *natural necessity* is the property of the causality of all nonrational beings by which outside causes determine them to act.

This explanation of freedom is *negative*. It therefore does not help us understand what freedom is in itself. But it leads to a *positive* concept of freedom that is all the richer and more fruitful. The concept of causality includes that of *laws*: through something we call a cause, something else, its effect, must be brought about according to these laws. So although freedom is not a property of the will under laws of nature, it is not lawless. Instead, it must be a causality governed by unchanging laws, though laws of a special kind. Otherwise a free will would be an impossibility. Natural necessity was a heteronomy of acting causes. For every effect was possible only under the law that something else determined the acting cause to exercise its causality. What else, then, can freedom

[447] of the will be but autonomy—that is, the will's property of being a law to itself? But the statement that the will is a law to itself in all its actions expresses only this principle: act on no maxim except one that can also have itself, as a universal law, as its object. This is precisely the formula of the categorical imperative and the principle of morality. A free will and a will under moral laws are therefore one and the same.

If freedom of the will is assumed, then morality and its principle follow simply by analyzing the concept of freedom. Still, the latter principle remains a synthetic proposition: an absolutely good will is one whose maxim can always contain itself when considered as a universal law. For this property of the maxim cannot be found by analyzing the concept of an absolutely good will. Such synthetic propositions are possible only when the two items of knowledge are connected through their connection with a third, in which both can be found. The *positive* concept of freedom provides this third thing. It cannot be the nature of the world of sense, as it can be with physical causes. (The concept of that nature brings together the concepts of something as a cause and of *something else* as its effect.) We cannot yet say here what this third thing is, to which freedom points us and of which we have an a priori idea. Nor can we yet make the derivation of the concept of freedom from pure practical reason intelligible, and with it the possibility of a categorical imperative. This still requires some preparation.

*Freedom must be assumed as a property of the will of all rational beings.*

It is not enough to attribute freedom to our will, whatever our reason for doing so, unless we have sufficient grounds for attributing the very same freedom to all rational beings. Morality serves as a law for us only because we are *rational* beings. It must therefore hold for all rational beings as well. And since it must be derived solely from the property of freedom, freedom must also be proved to be a property of the will of all rational beings. It is not enough to establish it from certain supposed experiences

[448] of human nature. (In fact, that is completely impossible: it can be established only a priori.) Instead, we must prove that freedom belongs to the activity of rational beings endowed with a will as such. I now say this: any being that cannot act except *under the idea of freedom* is, for that very reason, actually free in a practical respect. That is, all the laws inseparably connected with freedom hold for it, just as if its will had also been validly declared free in itself in theoretical philosophy.*) I further claim that we must necessarily give every rational being that has a will the idea of freedom, under which alone it acts. For in such a being we think of a reason that is practical—that is, that has causality in relation to its objects. But we cannot possibly think of a reason that is conscious of receiving direction for its judgments from somewhere else. In that case, the subject would attribute the determination of its judgment to an impulse, not to its reason. Reason must see itself as the source of its principles, independent of outside influences. So, as practical reason, or as the will of a rational being, it must regard itself as free. In other words, this being's will can be a will of its own only under the idea of freedom. For practical purposes, we must therefore attribute freedom to all rational beings.

*On the interest attached to the ideas of morality*

We have finally traced the definite concept of morality back to the idea of freedom. Yet we could not prove that freedom is something real, even in ourselves and in human nature. We

*) I take this approach—accepting freedom as sufficient for our purpose when rational beings merely base their actions on it as an idea—so that I need not undertake to prove freedom from a theoretical standpoint as well. Even if that theoretical question remains unsettled, the same laws hold for a being that cannot act except under the idea of its own freedom as would bind a being that really was free. Here, then, we can free ourselves from the burden that weighs on theory.

[449] saw only that we must assume freedom if we are to think of a being as rational and as conscious of its causality in relation to actions—that is, as endowed with a will. We thus find that, on precisely the same grounds, we must attribute this property to every being endowed with reason and will: it determines itself to act under the idea of its freedom.

But assuming these ideas also led to awareness of a law for acting: the subjective principles of actions, or maxims, must always be taken in such a way that they can also hold objectively—that is, universally—as principles. They can therefore serve for our own universal lawgiving. But why should I submit to this principle, and do so as a rational being as such, so that all other beings endowed with reason must do so too? I will grant that no interest *drives* me to do this, since that would not yield a categorical imperative. But I must still necessarily *take* an interest in it and understand how this happens. For this “ought” is really a willing that holds for every rational being on the condition that its reason is practical without obstacles. Beings like us are also affected by sensibility, which supplies motives of another kind. In us, what reason alone would do does not always happen. So for us, this necessity of action is called only an “ought,” and subjective necessity is distinguished from objective necessity.

It therefore seems that, in the idea of freedom, we have really only assumed the moral law itself, namely the principle of autonomy of the will. We seem unable to prove its reality and objective necessity on their own. We would still have gained something quite substantial: at least we would have defined the genuine principle more precisely than is usually done. But we would have made no progress on its validity or on the practical necessity of submitting to it. Suppose someone asked us why the universal validity of our maxim as a law must be the condition that limits our actions. Suppose they asked what grounds the value we give to this way of acting—a value said to be so great that there can be no higher interest at all—and how it happens that a person believes this alone lets them feel their personal worth,

[450] beside which the value of a pleasant or unpleasant condition counts for nothing. We could give no satisfactory answer.

We do find that we can take an interest in a personal quality that brings no interest in our condition with it, provided this quality makes us fit to share in that condition if reason were to distribute it. In other words, simply being worthy of happiness can interest us in itself, even without the motive of obtaining that happiness. But this judgment is really only an effect of the importance already assumed for moral laws, when we use the idea of freedom to separate ourselves from every empirical interest. We still cannot understand in this way why we should separate ourselves from that interest—that is, regard ourselves as free in acting—and yet hold ourselves subject to certain laws, in order to find a value merely in our person that could compensate us for the loss of everything that gives our condition a value. We thus still cannot understand how this is possible, and hence *what makes the moral law binding*.

We must freely admit that a kind of circle appears here, from which there seems to be no escape. We assume we are free in the order of acting causes so that we can think of ourselves as under moral laws in the order of ends. We then think of ourselves as subject to these laws because we have attributed freedom of the will to ourselves. For freedom and the will's own lawgiving are both autonomy, and so are interchangeable concepts. For that very reason, neither can be used to explain the other or give its ground. At most, they can be used for a logical purpose: to bring apparently different representations of the same object under a single concept, as different fractions with the same value are reduced to their simplest expressions.

But one way out remains. We can ask whether we take a different standpoint when we think of ourselves, through freedom, as causes that act a priori, from the standpoint we take when we picture ourselves through our actions as effects that we see before our eyes.

There is an observation that requires no subtle thinking. We can assume that even the most ordinary understanding can make it, though in its own way through an obscure distinction

[451] made by its judgment, which it calls feeling. The observation is this: all representations that come to us without our choosing them, such as those of the senses, let us know objects only as they affect us. What the objects may be in themselves remains unknown to us. So with this kind of representation, even the greatest attention and clarity that the understanding can add let us know only *appearances*, never *things in themselves*. Once this distinction is made, something else follows on its own. Behind appearances we must admit and assume something else that is not appearance, namely things in themselves. We can draw the distinction, if only by noticing the difference between representations given to us from elsewhere, in which we are passive, and those we produce entirely from ourselves, in which we show our activity. At the same time, we freely acknowledge a limit: since we can never know these things, but only how they affect us, we cannot get any closer to them or ever know what they are in themselves. This must yield a distinction, though a rough one, between a *world of sense* and a *world of understanding*. The first can differ greatly with differences in the sensibility of the various observers of the world. The second, which underlies it, always remains the same. Even in knowing themselves through inner sensation, human beings must not claim to know themselves as they are in themselves. For people do not, so to speak, create themselves. They acquire their concept of themselves empirically, not a priori. So it is natural that they can learn about themselves only through inner sense, and thus only through the appearance of their nature and the way their consciousness is affected. Yet they must necessarily assume something else that underlies this character of their own subject, composed entirely of appearances: their self, as it may be in itself. So in respect of merely perceiving sensations and being receptive to them, they must count themselves as belonging to the *world of sense*. But in respect of whatever may be pure activity in them—whatever reaches consciousness directly, not through the senses being affected—they must count themselves as belonging to the *intellectual* world, which they nevertheless know no further.

A thinking person must reach this kind of conclusion about all the things

[452] that may appear to them. The conclusion is probably also found in the most ordinary understanding. As we know, it is very inclined to expect something invisible, active on its own, behind the objects of the senses. But it spoils this by soon trying to give this invisible thing a sensory form again—that is, to make it an object of intuition. In this way it becomes no wiser at all.

Now people do actually find in themselves a capacity that distinguishes them from all other things, and even from themselves insofar as objects affect them. This capacity is *reason*. As pure activity of its own, reason is raised even above the *understanding* in the following way. Understanding, too, is activity of its own. Unlike sense, it does not merely contain representations that arise only when things affect us and we are therefore passive. Still, its activity can produce no concepts except those that serve to *bring sensory representations under rules* and so unite them in one consciousness. Without this use of sensibility it would think nothing at all. Reason, in contrast, displays such pure spontaneity in what are called ideas that it goes far beyond anything sensibility can supply. It shows its main work in distinguishing the world of sense from the world of understanding, and in this way setting limits for the understanding itself.

For this reason, a rational being must regard itself, as an *intelligence* and thus not from the side of its lower powers, as belonging to the world of understanding, not the world of sense. It therefore has two standpoints from which it can consider itself and know laws for using its powers, and thus for all its actions. *First*, insofar as it belongs to the world of sense, it is under laws of nature: heteronomy. *Second*, as belonging to the intelligible world, it is under laws that are independent of nature and based not on experience but on reason alone.

As a rational being, and thus one belonging to the intelligible world, a human being can think of the causality of their own will only under the idea of freedom. For independence from the determining causes of the world of sense—an independence reason must always attribute to itself—is freedom. Now the concept of *autonomy* is inseparably connected with the idea of freedom. With autonomy, in turn, is connected the universal principle of morality. In the idea, this principle underlies all the actions

[453] of *rational* beings, just as the law of nature underlies all appearances.

We can now remove the suspicion we raised above: that there might be a hidden circle in our inference from freedom to autonomy and from autonomy to the moral law. The suspicion was that we might have made the idea of freedom our starting point only for the sake of the moral law, in order then to infer this law from freedom in return. We would thus be unable to give any ground for the law. We would only be asking to have a principle granted to us. Well-disposed people might gladly grant it, but we could never put it forward as a provable proposition. For we now see that when we think of ourselves as free, we place ourselves in the world of understanding as its members and recognize the autonomy of the will, along with its consequence, morality. But when we think of ourselves as under obligation, we consider ourselves as belonging to the world of sense and yet also to the world of understanding.

*How is a categorical imperative possible?*

A rational being counts itself, as an intelligence, as belonging to the world of understanding. Only as an acting cause belonging to that world does it call its causality a *will*. On the other hand, it is also conscious of itself as a part of the world of sense. There its actions are found as mere appearances of that causality. But their possibility cannot be understood from this causality, which we do not know. Instead, those actions must be understood as determined by other appearances, namely desires and inclinations, and thus as belonging to the world of sense. If I were only a member of the world of understanding, all my actions would therefore agree perfectly with the principle of autonomy of the pure will. If I were only a part of the world of sense, my actions would have to be taken as agreeing entirely with the natural law of desires and inclinations, and thus with the heteronomy of nature. (The first would rest on the highest principle of morality, the second on that of happiness.) But *the world of understanding contains the ground of the world of sense, and thus of its laws as well*. It therefore gives laws directly to my will, which belongs entirely to the world of understanding, and must be thought of as giving laws in this way. So as an intelligence, although from the other side I am a being belonging to the

[454] world of sense, I must recognize that I am subject to the law of the first world. That is, I am subject to reason, which contains that law in the idea of freedom, and so to autonomy of the will. I must therefore regard the laws of the world of understanding as imperatives for me, and actions that agree with this principle as duties.

This is how categorical imperatives are possible. The idea of freedom makes me a member of an intelligible world. If I were only that, all my actions always *would* agree with autonomy of the will. But since I also view myself as a member of the world of sense, they *ought* to agree with it. This *categorical* “ought” expresses a synthetic a priori proposition. For to my will as affected by sensory desires is added the idea of this very same will as pure, belonging to the world of understanding, and practical on its own. According to reason, this pure will contains the highest condition of the first will. This is roughly like the way concepts of the understanding are added to intuitions of the world of sense. These concepts by themselves mean nothing but the form of law in general. Their addition makes possible the synthetic a priori propositions on which all knowledge of a nature rests.

The practical use of ordinary human reason confirms that this derivation is correct. Take anyone, even the worst wrongdoer, as long as they are otherwise used to using reason. Show them examples of honesty in intentions, firmness in following good maxims, sympathy, and goodwill toward everyone, combined with great sacrifices of advantage and comfort. There is no one who would not wish to have that disposition too. But because of their inclinations and impulses, they cannot easily bring this about in themselves. Yet at the same time, they wish to be free of these inclinations, which are a burden even to them. This shows that, in thought, they place themselves with a will free from the impulses of sensibility in an entirely different order of things from that of their desires in the field of sensibility. For from that wish they can expect no gratification of their desires, and thus no condition that satisfies any of their actual or even conceivable inclinations. (That would rob the very idea that draws this wish from them of its superiority.) They can expect only a greater inner worth of their person. This better person

[455] is what they believe themselves to be when they take the standpoint of a member of the world of understanding. The idea of freedom—that is, independence from the *determining* causes of the world of sense—forces them to this standpoint without their choosing it. Here they are conscious of a good will. By their own admission, this good will provides the law for their bad will as a member of the world of sense. They recognize the law's authority even while breaking it. So the moral “ought” is their own necessary willing as a member of an intelligible world. They think of it as an “ought” only insofar as they also regard themselves as a member of the world of sense.

*On the outermost limit of all practical philosophy*

All human beings think of themselves as free in respect of their will. This is the source of all judgments about actions that *ought to have happened*, even though they *did not happen*. Yet this freedom is not a concept drawn from experience, nor can it be. For it always remains, even when experience shows the opposite of the requirements presented as necessary on the assumption of freedom. On the other hand, it is just as necessary that everything that happens be inevitably determined by laws of nature. This natural necessity is not a concept drawn from experience either, precisely because it includes the concept of necessity, and thus of a priori knowledge. But experience confirms this concept of a nature. It must itself inevitably be assumed if experience is to be possible—that is, knowledge of objects of the senses connected according to universal laws. Freedom is therefore only an idea of reason, whose objective reality is in itself doubtful. Nature, however, is a *concept of the understanding* that proves its reality in examples from experience, and must necessarily do so.

This gives rise to a dialectic of reason. The freedom attributed to the will seems to contradict natural necessity. At this crossroads, reason finds the path of natural necessity much better cleared and more usable for *speculative* purposes than the path of freedom. But for *practical* purposes, the footpath of freedom is the only one on which we can use our reason in what we do and leave

[456] undone. So it is just as impossible for the most subtle philosophy as for the most ordinary human reason to argue freedom away. Reason must therefore assume that there is no real contradiction between freedom and the natural necessity of the very same human actions. For it can give up the concept of nature no more than it can give up the concept of freedom.

Still, this apparent contradiction must at least be convincingly removed, even if we can never comprehend how freedom is possible. For if even the thought of freedom contradicts itself, or contradicts nature, which is equally necessary, freedom would have to be given up entirely in favor of natural necessity.

But we cannot escape this contradiction if the subject that thinks itself free thinks of itself *in the same sense*, or *in exactly the same relation*, when it calls itself free as when it assumes it is subject to the law of nature with respect to the very same action. Speculative philosophy therefore has an unavoidable task. It must at least show that its mistake about the contradiction rests on this: we think of a human being in a different sense and relation when we call that person free than when we regard them as part of nature and subject to its laws. It must also show that the two can not only coexist perfectly well, but must be thought of as *necessarily united* in the same subject. Otherwise we could give no reason for burdening reason with an idea that involves us in a task that severely restricts reason in its theoretical use—even though this idea can be combined *without contradiction* with another that is well established. But this duty belongs only to speculative philosophy, so that it can clear the way for practical philosophy. The philosopher therefore cannot choose whether to remove the apparent conflict or leave it untouched. In the latter case, the theory on this point is ownerless property. The fatalist can rightfully take possession of it and drive all morality out of the supposed property that it occupied without title.

But we cannot yet say that the limit of practical philosophy begins here. For settling that dispute is not its business at all. It only requires speculative reason to end the disagreement in which it entangles itself in theoretical questions,

[457] so that practical reason can have peace and security against outside attacks that might challenge its claim to the ground on which it wants to build.

But even ordinary human reason's rightful claim to freedom of the will rests on the awareness and the accepted assumption that reason is independent of merely subjectively determining causes. Taken together, these causes make up what belongs merely to sensation, and thus falls under the general name of sensibility. A human being who regards themselves in this way as an intelligence thereby places themselves in a different order of things, and in relation to determining grounds of a quite different kind. This happens when they think of themselves as an intelligence endowed with a will, and thus with causality, rather than when they perceive themselves as an appearance in the world of sense—which they really are as well—and subject their causality to outside determination by laws of nature. Now they soon realize that both can, and indeed must, take place at once. There is not the slightest contradiction in a *thing as an appearance*, belonging to the world of sense, being subject to certain laws from which that very same *thing*, or being, *in itself* is independent. But they must represent and think of themselves in these two ways. The first is based on their awareness of themselves as an object affected through the senses. The second is based on their awareness of themselves as an intelligence: as independent of sensory impressions in their use of reason, and thus as belonging to the world of understanding.

This is why human beings claim a will that does not charge to its own account anything belonging merely to their desires and inclinations. On the other hand, they think of actions as possible through themselves, and even as necessary, that can take place only by setting aside all desires and sensory attractions. The causality of these actions lies in them as an intelligence, and in the laws of effects and actions according to principles of an intelligible world. They know nothing further about that world except that reason alone gives laws in it—specifically, pure reason, independent of sensibility. They also know that, since in that world they are their proper self only as an intelligence, while as a human being they are only an appearance of themselves, those laws concern them directly and categorically. Thus, what inclinations and impulses—and so the whole nature of the world of sense—urge them to do cannot impair the laws of their willing as an intelligence

[458] —so much so that they do not hold themselves responsible for those inclinations and impulses, or attribute them to their proper self, their will. They do, however, hold themselves responsible for any indulgence they might show them by allowing them to influence their maxims at the expense of the will's laws of reason.

Practical reason does not overstep its limits at all by *thinking* itself into a world of understanding. But it would do so if it tried to *see* or *feel* itself into that world. The former is only a negative thought in relation to the world of sense, which gives reason no laws for determining the will. It is positive only in this one point: that freedom, as a negative determination, is also connected with a positive capacity, and even with a causality of reason. We call this a will: the capacity to act so that the principle of actions agrees with the essential character of a rational cause, that is, with the condition that the maxim be universally valid as a law. But if reason also brought an *object of the will*, that is, a motive, from the world of understanding, it would overstep its limits and claim to know something about which it knows nothing. The concept of a world of understanding is therefore only a *standpoint* that reason finds itself forced to take outside appearances in order to *think of itself as practical*. This would be impossible if the influences of sensibility determined human beings. Yet it is necessary unless we deny them awareness of themselves as an intelligence, and thus as a rational cause active through reason—that is, a freely acting cause. This thought does of course bring with it the idea of an order and a lawgiving different from the mechanism of nature that applies to the world of sense. It makes necessary the concept of an intelligible world: the whole of rational beings as things in themselves. But it makes no claim to think here any further than in accordance with that world's merely *formal* condition. This is the universality of the will's maxim as a law, and thus the will's autonomy, which alone can coexist with its freedom. In contrast, all laws directed to an object yield heteronomy, which can be found only in laws of nature and can apply only to the world of sense.

But reason would overstep all its limits if it undertook *to explain how* pure reason can be practical.

[459] That would be exactly the same task as explaining *how freedom is possible*.

For we can explain only what we can trace back to laws whose object can be given in some possible experience. But freedom is a mere idea. Its objective reality cannot be established in any way through laws of nature, and so cannot be established in any possible experience. No example can ever be supplied for it by any analogy. For this reason, it can never be comprehended or even understood. It holds only as a necessary assumption of reason in a being that believes itself conscious of a will. A will is a capacity distinct from the mere capacity to desire: it is the capacity to determine oneself to act as an intelligence, and thus according to laws of reason, independently of natural instincts. But where determination by laws of nature ends, all *explanation* ends too. Nothing remains but *defense*: rejecting the objections of those who claim to have looked deeper into the nature of things and therefore confidently declare freedom impossible. We can only show them where the contradiction they think they have discovered really lies. To apply the law of nature to human actions, they had to consider a human being as an appearance. Now they are asked to think of that person, as an intelligence, also as a thing in itself, but they still consider the person an appearance. On that view, of course, separating the person's causality, or will, from all laws of nature in the world of sense would involve a contradiction in one and the same subject. But the contradiction disappears if they reflect and admit, as they should, that behind appearances there must be things in themselves as their ground, though hidden. We cannot demand that the laws of their effects be the same as the laws under which their appearances stand.

The subjective impossibility of *explaining* freedom of the will is the same as the impossibility of finding and making intelligible an *interest* *)

*) Interest is that through which reason becomes practical—that is, a cause that determines the will. This is why we say only of a rational being that it takes an interest in something. Nonrational creatures feel only sensory impulses.

Reason takes a direct interest in an action only when the universal validity of the action's maxim is a sufficient ground for determining the will. Only an interest of this kind is pure. But if reason can determine the will only through another object of desire, or on the assumption of a particular feeling in the subject, it takes only an indirect interest in the action. Reason alone cannot, without experience, find either objects of the will or a particular feeling underlying it. So this latter interest would be merely empirical, not a pure interest of reason. Reason's logical interest—in advancing its insights—is never direct. It presupposes purposes for which reason is to be used.

[460] that human beings could take in moral laws. Yet they actually do take an interest in them. We call the basis for this in us moral feeling. Some have wrongly presented it as the standard for our moral judgment. Instead, it must be regarded as the *subjective* effect that the law has on the will. Reason alone supplies the objective grounds for this effect.

For a rational being affected by the senses to will what reason alone prescribes as what it ought to do, reason must indeed have a capacity to *instill* a *feeling of pleasure* or satisfaction in fulfilling duty. Reason must therefore have a causality that determines sensibility in accordance with its principles. But it is completely impossible to understand—that is, to make intelligible a priori—how a mere thought, which itself contains nothing sensory, produces a sensation of pleasure or displeasure. For this is a special kind of causality. As with all causality, we can determine nothing about it a priori, but must consult experience alone. Yet experience can provide a relation of cause to effect only between two objects of experience. Here, however, pure reason, through mere ideas that provide no object for experience at all, is supposed to cause an effect that does lie in experience. So it is completely impossible for us human beings to explain how and why *the universality of a maxim as a law*, and thus morality, interests us. Only this much is certain: it is not valid for us *because it interests us* (for that is heteronomy and dependence of practical reason on sensibility, namely

[461] on an underlying feeling, in which case reason could never give moral laws). Instead, it interests us because it is valid for us as human beings, since it has arisen from our will as an intelligence, and thus from our proper self. *But reason necessarily subordinates what belongs to mere appearance to the character of the thing in itself.*

We can therefore answer the question of how a categorical imperative is possible to this extent: we can state the one assumption under which alone it is possible, namely the idea of freedom. We can also understand the necessity of this assumption. This is enough for the *practical use* of reason—that is, to convince us of the *validity of this imperative*, and thus also of the moral law. But no human reason can ever understand how this assumption itself is possible. If we assume freedom of the will of an intelligence, however, its *autonomy* follows necessarily, as the formal condition under which alone that will can be determined. Assuming this freedom of the will is entirely *possible*, as speculative philosophy can show, without contradicting the principle of natural necessity in the connection of appearances in the world of sense. But it is also unconditionally *necessary* for a rational being to make freedom the practical condition, as an idea, underlying all its chosen actions, if that being is conscious of its causality through reason and thus of a will distinct from desires. Yet how can pure reason be practical on its own, without other motives taken from anywhere else? How can the mere *principle of the universal validity of all its maxims as laws*—which would indeed be the form of a pure practical reason—provide a motive on its own and produce an interest that would be called purely *moral*, without any matter or object of the will in which we might take an interest in advance? In other words, *how can pure reason be practical*? All human reason is completely unable to explain this, and every effort and labor spent seeking an explanation is wasted.

It is just as if I tried to discover how freedom itself is possible as the causality of a will. For then I leave behind the philosophical

[462] ground of explanation and have no other. I could, of course, now wander around in the intelligible world that remains to me, the world of intelligences. But although I have an *idea* of it that is well grounded, I do not have the slightest *knowledge* of it. Nor can I ever reach such knowledge through all the efforts of my natural power of reason. The idea means only a something that remains when I have excluded everything belonging to the world of sense from the grounds that determine my will. Its only purpose is to restrict the principle of motives drawn from the field of sensibility. I set a limit to that principle and show that it does not contain everything within itself: there is something more outside it. But I have no further knowledge of this something more. Once I remove all matter—that is, knowledge of objects—from the pure reason that thinks this ideal, nothing remains for me but its form. This is the practical law of the universal validity of maxims, and, in accordance with it, the thought of reason in relation to a pure world of understanding as a possible acting cause, that is, one that determines the will. Here a motive must be entirely absent, unless this idea of an intelligible world were itself the motive, or that in which reason originally took an interest. But making this intelligible is precisely the task we cannot solve.

Here, then, is the outermost limit of all moral inquiry. Defining it is already very important for two reasons. On the one hand, it keeps reason from searching around in the world of sense, in a way harmful to morality, for the highest motive and for a comprehensible but empirical interest. On the other, it keeps reason from beating its wings helplessly without moving forward in the space of transcendent concepts, empty for reason, under the name of the intelligible world, and losing itself among fantasies. Still, the idea of a pure world of understanding, as a whole of all intelligences to which we ourselves belong as rational beings—though we are also members of the world of sense from the other side—always remains a useful and permissible idea for the purpose of a rational faith, even though all knowledge ends at its boundary. Through the magnificent ideal of a universal kingdom of *ends in themselves*, or rational beings—a kingdom to which we can belong as members only if we carefully

[463] conduct ourselves according to maxims of freedom as if they were laws of nature—this idea serves to produce in us a lively interest in the moral law.

*Concluding Note*

The speculative use of reason *with regard to nature* leads to the absolute necessity of some highest cause of the *world*. The practical use of reason *with regard to freedom* also leads to absolute necessity, but only that of the *laws of action* of a rational being as such. Now it is an essential *principle* of every use of our reason to push its knowledge to the point of being conscious of that knowledge's *necessity*. Without this, it would not be knowledge of reason. But it is an equally essential *limitation* of this same reason that it can understand neither the *necessity* of what exists or happens, nor that of what ought to happen, unless it takes as its basis a *condition* under which that thing exists, happens, or ought to happen. In this way, however, reason's constant demand for the condition only postpones its satisfaction further and further. It therefore searches tirelessly for what is unconditionally necessary and finds itself forced to assume it, without any means of making it intelligible to itself. Reason is fortunate enough if it can merely find the concept that is compatible with this assumption. So the inability to make an unconditional practical law—such as the categorical imperative must be—intelligible in its absolute necessity is not a criticism of our derivation of the highest principle of morality. It is a charge that would have to be made against human reason in general. We cannot blame reason for being unwilling to do this through a condition, namely through some interest assumed as a basis. For then the law would not be a moral law, that is, the highest law of freedom. And so, although we do not comprehend the practical, unconditional necessity of the moral imperative, we do comprehend its *incomprehensibility*. This is all that can reasonably be required of a philosophy that strives, in its principles, to reach the limit of human reason.