The Kantian Sublime and the Revelation of Freedom

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THE KANTIAN SUBLIME AND THE REVELATION OF FREEDOM

In this book Robert R. Clewis shows how certain crucial concepts in Kant’s aesthetics and practical philosophy – the sublime, enthusiasm, freedom, empirical and intellectual interests, the idea of a republic – fit together and deepen our understanding of Kant’s philosophy. He examines the ways in which different kinds of sublimity reveal freedom and indirectly contribute to morality, and discusses how Kant’s account of natural sublimity suggests that we have an indirect duty with regard to nature. Unlike many other studies of these themes, this book examines both the pre-Critical Observations and the remarks that Kant wrote in his copy of the Observations. Finally, Clewis takes seriously Kant’s claim that enthusiasm is aesthetically sublime, and shows how this clarifies Kant’s views of the French Revolution. His book will appeal to all who are interested in Kant’s philosophy. ro bert r . cl ewis is Assistant Professor of Philosophy at Gwynedd-Mercy College.

THE KANTIAN SUBLIME AND THE REVELATION OF FREEDOM ROBERT R. CLEWIS

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 8RU, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521516686 © Robert R. Clewis 2009 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published in print format 2009

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978-0-511-53359-4

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978-0-521-51668-6

hardback

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per Elisa

Conversely, even that which we call sublime in nature outside us or even within ourselves (e.g., certain affects) is represented only as a power of the mind to soar above certain obstacles of sensibility by means of moral principles, and thereby to become interesting. I should like to dwell a little on the last point. The idea of the good with affect is called enthusiasm. This state of mind seems to be sublime, so much so that it is commonly maintained that without it nothing great can be accomplished. Now, however, every affect is blind, either in the choice of its end, or, even if this end is given by reason, in its implementation; for it is that movement of the mind that makes it incapable of engaging in free consideration of principles, in order to determine itself in accordance with them. Thus it cannot in any way merit a satisfaction of reason. Nevertheless, enthusiasm is aesthetically sublime, because it is a stretching of the powers through ideas, which give the mind a momentum that acts far more powerfully and persistently than the impetus given by sensory representations. Kant, Critique of the Power of Judgment (Kritik der Urteilskraft 5:272) The color of the sublime is red. Kant, Critique of the Power of Judgment (Kritik der Urteilskraft 5:302)

Contents

Preface and acknowledgments Abbreviations and notes on Kant’ s texts Introduction 1

1

The Observations and the Remarks 1.1 The Observations 1.2 Three forms of the sublime, and the grotesque 1.3 Virtue 1.4 The Remarks: history and background 1.5 Four senses of freedom 1.6 Enthusiasm: the passion of the sublime 1.7 Conclusion

2

The judgment of the sublime 2.1 Preliminary issues 2.2 The mathematical and the dynamical sublime 2.3 A third kind: the moral sublime 2.4 Dependent and free sublimity 2.5 The monstrous and the colossal 2.6 Sublimity elicited by art

3

Moral feeling and the sublime 3.1 The moral feeling of respect 3.2 Sublimity as presupposing freedom 3.3 Sublimity as supporting morality

4

page ix xi

Various senses of interest and disinterestedness 4.1 Interest 4.2 First-order and second-order interests 4.3 Empirical and morally based interests 4.4 Conclusion

vii

32 33 34 37 42 45 50 52 56 58 64 84 96 108 116 126 127 135 139 146 146 151 154 167

Contents

viii 5

Aesthetic enthusiasm 5.1 Enthusiasm in the corpus 5.2 Affect 5.3 Enthusiasm as morally ambiguous 5.4 Enthusiasm as an aesthetic feeling of sublimity 5.5 “Without enthusiasm nothing great can be accomplished” 5.6 Conclusion: Kantian enthusiasm and the revelation of freedom

6

Enthusiasm for the idea of a republic 6.1 The charge against Kant 6.2 Means and ends 6.3 Freedom and the idea of a republic 6.4 The consistency of Kant’s position

7

Conclusion 7.1 Summary 7.2 Sublimity’s basis in freedom 7.3 The transition to freedom

Appendix 1: On the Remarks Appendix 2: Some features of the feelings discussed in this book Appendix 3: Classification of what elicits sublimity Bibliography Index

169 170 176 178 183 194 196 200 201 204 205 208 215 215 219 226 228 231 232 235 250

Preface and acknowledgments

I would like to thank SAGE Publications for allowing me to use in chapter 6 some of the material found in “Kant’s Consistency regarding the Regime Change in France,” Philosophy and Social Criticism, 32(4) (2006): 443–60. It is my pleasure to acknowledge the many people who have contributed to the writing and completion of this book. I sincerely regret that there is space to mention only a few of the individuals who have influenced this project. Susan Shell and Richard Kearney read early drafts of selected chapters and offered invaluable advice throughout its various stages. This book could not have been written without Susan Shell, who first shaped my understanding of Kant’s Bemerkungen in den “ Beobachtungen u¨ber das Gefu¨hl des Scho¨nen und Erhabenen.” Richard Kearney selflessly offered his advice and assistance from the beginning of my work on the project, and his comments on an early chapter on enthusiasm encouraged me to expand the chapter into this book. Henry E. Allison constructively influenced my Kant interpretation when I was a graduate student in Boston. I would like to thank him for his honest criticisms and encouragement. As an assistant professor in the Philadelphia area, I have benefited from auditing graduate philosophy courses given by Paul Guyer and by Noe¨l Carroll. Paul Guyer’s writings have informed my way of conceiving of sublimity as a feeling of freedom, and I would like to thank him for speaking with me about my project and for sharing his knowledge of eighteenth-century aesthetics. Noe¨l Carroll has helped me think more critically about Kant’s notions of interest and disinterestedness, and has enabled me to read Kant with contemporary aesthetic issues in the background. Numerous institutions and foundations have generously supported this project. Krzysztof Michalski and the staff at the Institut fu¨r die Wissenschaften vom Menschen have been incredibly kind to me ever ix

x

Preface and acknowledgments

since my stay there in 2003. Norbert Fischer and Hermann Schnackertz welcomed me to the Katholische Universita¨t Eichsta¨tt-Ingolstadt in 2001–2. Otfried Ho¨ffe kindly hosted me as a visiting scholar at the Universita¨t Tu¨bingen in 2002. I would like to thank Manfred Frank for welcoming me to his reading group during that time. The Bradley Foundation, Katholische Universita¨t Eichsta¨tt Stiftung, the Boston College Philosophy Department, and the Ernest Fortin Foundation provided some funding in the early stages of the manuscript, and the Bosch Foundation generously provided financial assistance in the summer of 2006. For their insights and assistance, I thank Patrick Byrne, Richard CobbStevens, Alfredo Ferrarin, Jean-Luc Marion, Rob Miner, David Rasmussen, William J. Richardson, Eileen Sweeney, and Jacques Taminiaux; as well as Ralph Kennedy, Win-chiat Lee, Charles Lewis, Josefine Nauckhoff, Byron Wells, and Ralph Wood. I would like to thank the Wake Forest University philosophy department for inviting me to present and discuss an early version of chapter 4. I am grateful to my friends and colleagues at Gwynedd-Mercy College, PA, for their support as I researched this book. Michael Clinton kept me honest about taking Kant too seriously, and Donald Duclow pushed me to evaluate the entire Kantian project. The staff at Lourdes Library was very helpful in preparing the manuscript. This project has benefited in various ways from discussions with Andrew Bickford, Jim Boettcher, Jason Broverman, Corey Dyck, Christine Gottstein-Strobl, David Kim, Claudia Neudecker, Brian Treanor, Andrew Valins, and Joseph Westfall. I am indebted to Hilary Gaskin, Tom O’Reilly, and Gillian Dadd at Cambridge University Press, and to the Press’s anonymous readers, for their encouragement, advice, and help in the production of this book. I would like to thank Kate Mertes for preparing the index. I would like to express gratitude to those individuals who read parts or drafts of the manuscript. Reidar Maliks read a draft of chapter 6, and Peter Lamarque graciously commented on an early version of chapter 5. Uygar Abaci and Dan Heider read a late draft of the manuscript. I am indebted to the reviewers of parts or drafts of this manuscript. Needless to say, all of the errors and infelicities that remain are entirely my own. I am especially thankful to have received the support of my wonderful family. I gratefully dedicate this book to my wife, Elisa.

Abbreviations and notes on Kant’ s texts

Except for the references to the Critique of Pure Reason, references to Kant are to the volume:page number of Kants gesammelte Schriften (KGS ), published by the Deutsche (formerly Ko¨niglich Preußische) Akademie der Wissenschaften, 29 vols. (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1902–). The references to the Critique of Pure Reason are to the A and B pagination of the first and second editions, respectively. References to the Remarks are to the volume:page number of the KGS followed by the page number in the Rischmu¨ller edition (Bemerkungen in den “ Beobachtungen u¨ber das Gefu¨hl des Scho¨nen und Erhabenen,” ed. Marie Rischmu¨ller [Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag, 1991]). Translations from the Remarks are my own, as are translations from works for which no English translation is listed below. References to the Observations are to the volume:page number of the KGS followed by the page in the Goldthwait translation from which I quote (Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and the Sublime, trans. John Goldthwait [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1960]). The abbreviations below are used to cite Kant’s texts; any texts not abbreviated below are cited only by the KGS volume:page number. English translations that are used in citations are listed below. It should be noted, however, that I have occasionally modified these translations. Translations that were consulted but not cited from can be found in the bibliography. Finally, it should be pointed out that bold font is used throughout this book to reproduce Kant’s original emphasis. AM AP ApH FI

Anthropologie Mrongovius Anthropologie Parow Anthropologie in pragmatischer Hinsicht. Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View, trans. Victor Lyle Dowdell. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1978 Erste Einleitung in die Kritik der Urteilskraft. Critique of the Power of Judgment, trans. Paul Guyer and Eric Matthews. Cambridge University Press, 2000 xi

xii G GTP IAG

ID JL KpV KrV KU M MA MS Obs

PP PPH R

Refl Rem

Abbreviations and notes on Kant’ s texts Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten. Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, trans. Mary Gregor, in Practical Philosophy. Cambridge University Press, 1996 ¨ ber den Gebrauch teleologischer Principien in der Philosophie U Idee zu einer allgemeinen Geschichte in weltbu¨rgerlicher Absicht. Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Intent, trans. Ted Humphrey, in Perpetual Peace and Other Essays. Indianapolis: Hackett, 1983 De mundi sensibilis atque intelligibilis forma et principiis [Inaugural Dissertation] Ja¨sche Logik. Ja¨sche Logic, trans. J. M. Young, in Lectures on Logic. Cambridge University Press, 1992 Kritik der Praktischen Vernunft. Critique of Practical Reason, trans. Mary Gregor, in Practical Philosophy. Cambridge University Press, 1999 Kritik der Reinen Vernunft. Critique of Pure Reason, trans. Paul Guyer and Allen Wood. Cambridge University Press, 1997 Kritik der Urteilskraft. Critique of the Power of Judgment, trans. Paul Guyer and Eric Matthews. Cambridge University Press, 2000 Menschenkunde Mutmaßlicher Anfang der Menschengeschichte Die Metaphysik der Sitten. The Metaphysics of Morals, trans. Mary Gregor, in Practical Philosophy. Cambridge University Press, 1999 Beobachtungen u¨ber das Gefu¨hl des Scho¨nen und Erhabenen. Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime, trans. John Goldthwait. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1960 Zum ewigen Frieden: Ein philosophischer Entwurf. Toward Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Project, trans. Mary Gregor, in Practical Philosophy. Cambridge University Press, 1996 Praktische Philosophie Herder Die Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der bloßen Vernunft. Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason, trans. George di Giovanni, in Religion and Rational Theology. Cambridge University Press, 1996 Reflexionen Bemerkungen in den “ Beobachtungen u¨ber das Gefu¨hl des Scho¨nen und Erhabenen”

Abbreviations and notes on Kant’ s texts SF TP

VK

xiii

Der Streit der Fakulta¨ten. The Conflict of the Faculties, trans. Mary Gregor and Robert Anchor, in Religion and Rational Theology. Cambridge University Press, 1996 ¨ ber den Gemeinspruch: Das mag in der Theorie richtig sein, U taugt aber nicht fu¨r die Praxis. On the Common Saying: That May Be Correct in Theory, But It Is of No Use in Practice, trans. Mary Gregor, in Practical Philosophy. Cambridge University Press, 1996 Versuch u¨ber die Krankheiten des Kopfes

Introduction

In 1797, approximately seven years after Kant published the Critique of the Power of Judgment, the Grand Prix de Rome in history painting was awarded to Louis-Andre´-Gabriel Bouchet for illustrating the death of Cato of Utica (95–46 bce).1 Cato the Younger, or Marcus Porcius Cato Uticensis, was renowned in the eighteenth century for having stabbed and killed himself upon learning that the Republic was lost to Caesar. As inspection of the painting reveals, Bouchet presents us with a defiant Cato, full of scorn and unafraid of death. He looks like a man who is free, and who knows it. In 1764, Kant describes Cato as an exemplar of enthusiasm. Like Bouchet, Kant characterizes Cato as a symbol of freedom. Enthusiasm (Enthusiasm or Enthusiasmus, not Schwa¨rmerei), the pre-Critical theory maintains, is the passion of the sublime. Enthusiasm takes principles that are good in themselves, such as freedom, to an excessive degree. Kant even goes so far as to say that without enthusiasm nothing great can be achieved. At the same time, Kant condemns Cato’s suicide as taking a good principle, freedom, and applying it in the wrong way. Of course, it is precisely the features of Cato’s suicide itself that so forcefully demonstrate Cato’s freedom. Cato defiantly shows that he is free even to take his own life and thus to rise above his sensible interests, above all the interest in self-preservation. His demonstration of freedom is partially what, for Kant, makes Cato’s act a demonstration of sublime enthusiasm. In the Critique of the Power of Judgment (1790), Kant modifies his earlier views regarding enthusiasm. Kant no longer claims that enthusiasm is necessary for achieving something great. Instead, he holds that 1

Pierre Bouillon and Pierre-Narcisse Gue´rin also depicted Cato and won the prize in the first competition to be held since the contest was discontinued during the Revolution. Unlike the paintings of the other two winners, Bouchet’s The Death of Cato of Utica depicts a defiant yet serene Cato. Philippe Grunchec, The Grand Prix de Rome: Paintings from the Ećole des Beaux-Arts, 1797–1863 (Washington, DC: International Exhibitions Foundation, 1984), p. 43.

1

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The Kantian Sublime and the Revelation of Freedom

enthusiasm is only sublime from an aesthetic point of view, or aesthetically sublime, because it shows the superiority of the mind to sensibility and sensible interests (KU 5:272). Enthusiasm reveals human freedom, but, as aesthetic, it does not help us to achieve any ends – at least not directly. A spectator’s aesthetically sublime enthusiasm thus differs from Cato’s agent-oriented enthusiasm. In 1796, Kant returns to the concept of enthusiasm in a short essay, “An Old Question Raised Again: Is the Human Race Constantly Progressing?” published in The Conflict of the Faculties in 1798.2 Thus, Kant was thinking and writing about enthusiasm at approximately the same time that the Grand Prix de Rome was awarded to Bouchet. As in the pre-Critical theory, the enthusiasm described in “An Old Question” concerns the fate of a republic, namely, the first French Republic. However, Kant’s account of enthusiasm in “An Old Question” differs substantially from the preCritical account. Enthusiasm is now (as in the third Critique) what a spectator feels, an aesthetic response, not what drives an agent to achieve a goal or end. Enthusiasm is a sign of human progress and the moral character of humanity, not a necessary condition for achieving morally good (or otherwise great) acts. Finally, in “An Old Question” Kant describes enthusiasm in terms of the sublime, calling it a “grandeur of soul” (SF 7:86). He seems to hint at the connections between enthusiasm and the sublime that he made in the Critique of the Power of Judgment. This book examines Kant’s views regarding the sublime, enthusiasm, and freedom. I am particularly interested in how the sublime can reveal human freedom and in how enthusiasm can be considered to be a form of the sublime in the Critical sense, since Kant’s texts imply that it can be so conceived. Although in the first chapter I discuss the views that Kant held in the mid 1760s, the book focuses largely on Kant’s Critical account. I do not attempt to fill in what happened in Kant’s development between the middle of the 1760s and the writings of the 1790s. This task would require me to go beyond my present knowledge of Kant as well as necessitate more pages than can be contained in this book. 2

“An Old Question” was apparently written in 1795, but it was published in 1798 in The Conflict of the Faculties. Kant’s interest in enthusiasm for the ends of the French Revolution thus apparently carried on into 1798, even if a sober and even pessimistic assessment of the likely outcome of the Revolution probably dates from 1795. See Conflict, Editor’s introduction, pp. 235–6. Other versions of what was to become “An Old Question” can be found in 15:650–1; 19:604–12; 22:619–24; 23:455–8; and in a text (the “Krakauer Fragment”) called “Ein Reinschriftsfragment zu Kants Streit der Fakulta¨ten,” ed. K. Weyand and G. Lehmann, in Kant-Studien, 51 (1959–60): 3–13. On these texts, see Peter Fenves, A Peculiar Fate: Metaphysics and World-History in Kant (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1991), 171 n.1.

Introduction

3

To put it another way, the present work examines how, according to Kant, pure aesthetic judgments of the sublime might contribute indirectly to the realization of the ends of morality in the natural order.3 I use the word “indirect” advisedly: an aesthetic judgment of the sublime cannot directly actualize morality by making a moral will efficacious in the world. Moreover, the role played by the sublime is not identical to that played by the feeling of beauty. Nevertheless, in its own way, the experience of the sublime can, for Kant, reveal human freedom. By having phenomenological and structural affinities with the moral feeling of respect, the sublime can prepare us for moral agency. The sublime mental state, enthusiasm, is especially worthy of consideration when examining the indirect contribution of aesthetic experience to morality. Enthusiasm is worth discussing in this context for several reasons. Kant describes enthusiasm as “the idea of the good with affect” (KU 5:272). Accordingly, this kind of enthusiasm reveals that the subject has an idea of the good. This in turn implies that he or she is free, or has the capacity for morality. Moreover, by giving us a strong affective response to the morally good, enthusiasm may be able to help us recognize the morally good. Under the throes of affect, we can see, or more precisely feel, the good for what it is. Finally, Kant interprets enthusiasm, which he stresses is an empirical phenomenon, or an occurrence (Begebenheit) that unfolds within the natural order, as a morally encouraging sign. He sees it as evidence of a moral predisposition or capacity for morality, a moral tendency (Tendenz). For these reasons, it seems that we should take a closer look at the role of the sublime in general, and at the “aesthetically sublime” experience of enthusiasm in particular (KU 5:272). Doing so might help us better understand a central concern of the third Critique, the so-called transition problem concerning the realization of morality in the natural order. Before we turn to the transition problem, however, a few clarifications are in order. First, it is worth pausing for a moment to distinguish what I call aesthetic enthusiasm from practical enthusiasm. The latter necessarily involves an interested determination of an agent’s will. Although Kant does not use the term, something that corresponds to what I am calling practical enthusiasm can be found in Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View. Kant there describes an enlivening of the will that causes an “enthusiasm of good intentions” (ApH 7:254; cf. 314). Such enthusiasm, he says, must be attributed to the faculty of desire rather than to sensibility. 3

Paul Guyer, in The Values of Beauty: Historical Essays in Aesthetics (Cambridge University Press, 2005), p. 20, examines this issue and has influenced the present interpretation.

4


By contrast, aesthetic enthusiasm has an aesthetic orientation; that is, it is merely a feeling that is not based on a previous intention or desire. Practical enthusiasm is “interested” in a sense in which aesthetic enthusiasm is not. It directly leads to or involves action by an agent. Aesthetic enthusiasm, by contrast, is disinterested. It is in the practical, interested sense of enthusiasm that, in the Vorarbeit zu den Prolegomena zu einer jeden ku¨nftigen Metaphysik, Kant states, “I am an enthusiastic defender of common sense” (“Ich bin ein enthusiastischer Vertheidiger des gesunden Menschenverstandes”) (23:59). If Kant is defending something, he is taking a practical stance and is interested. A spectator is not defending anything at all. Second, it must be emphasized that enthusiasm (practical or aesthetic) is not the same as fanaticism. Kant uses fanaticism (Fanaticismus, Schwa¨rmerei) to refer to raving with reason and to the tendency to take oneself to have access to the supersensible realm.4 He does not use enthusiasm (Enthusiasm, Enthusiasmus) in this context. While even enthusiasm is morally ambiguous, fanaticism is significantly more undesirable than enthusiasm. Enthusiasm is the affective response to the good, but fanaticism has little or nothing to do with the good. Fanaticism is a delusion of being able to see something beyond all bounds of sensibility (KU 5:275). Unfortunately, in English language editions of Kant’s work Schwa¨rmerei is translated in many different ways, sometimes even inconsistently within the same text. Schwa¨rmerei is rendered as “fanaticism,”5 “visionary rapture,”6 “zealotry,”7 and, perhaps worst of all, “enthusiasm.”8 Enthusiasm and Enthusiasmus, unsurprisingly, are 4

5

6

7

8

On Martin Luther’s term Schwa¨rmer, see Martin Brecht, Martin Luther: Shaping and Defining the Reformation 1521–1532, trans. James Schaaf (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990), pp. 137–95; and John S. Oyer, Lutheran Reformers against Anabaptists (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1964), chapter 1. For a sense of enthusiasm that approximates Kantian Schwa¨rmerei, see John Locke’s An Essay concerning Human Understanding, Book i v , Chapter x i x (New York: Oxford University Press, 1975), pp. 697–706; Earl of Shaftesbury, “A Letter concerning Enthusiasm,” in Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times (Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 4–28. The Conflict of the Faculties, trans. Mary Gregor and Robert Anchor, in Religion and Rational Theology (Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 107. Critique of the Power of Judgment, trans. Paul Guyer and Eric Mathews (Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 156. See Kant, Political Writings, ed. Hans Reiss and trans. H. B. Nisbet (Cambridge University Press, 1990). Nisbet explains that he translates Schwa¨rmerei with “zealotry” because he finds “fanaticism” unsatisfactory; see pp. 284–5. Peter Fenves mentions this point in his introduction to Raising the Tone of Philosophy: Late Essays by Immanuel Kant, Transformative Critique by Jacques Derrida (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), p. x. See Critique of the Power of Judgment, p. 407; Religion and Rational Theology, p. 499; Practical Philosophy, trans. Mary Gregor (Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 647; and The Conflict of the Faculties, p. 145.

Introduction

5

translated as “enthusiasm.” I will consistently refer to Schwa¨rmerei as fanaticism and to Enthusiasm as enthusiasm.9 Confusion, or at least a lack of clarity, regarding the two concepts is widespread not only in translations of Kant’s work, but also in the secondary literature. Several studies do not properly distinguish Schwa¨rmerei from Enthusiasmus.10 Moreover, enthusiasm is sometimes referred to as a kind of sympathy. One commentator, for instance, writes: “Kant not only defended the French Revolution as a sign of moral progress but attributed this advance to the ‘moral character of humanity’ as demonstrated by the public response of disinterested sympathy.”11 While this view characterizes the feeling correctly as disinterested, in my view it is more accurate to call this feeling enthusiasm, not sympathy. As we shall see, Kant himself does so in “An Old Question.” Moreover, recognizing that it is enthusiasm allows us to make connections with the characterization of enthusiasm that is found in the third Critique. The quotation is also representative of a common but mistaken view that the sign of 9

10

11

Fenves, in Raising the Tone, introduction, p. xi, correctly distinguishes Schwa¨rmerei from Enthusiasmus. Fenves translates Schwa¨rmerei with “exaltation,” but, since exaltation is used in connection with Enthusiasm (SF 7:87), the term is misleading. Fenves himself refers to the enthusiasm in “An Old Question” as “exaltation”; Fenves, A Peculiar Fate, p. 266. On the term “Exaltation,” see SF 7:99; and On a Newly Arisen Superior Tone in Philosophy 7:398. Fenves notes that exaltation “is doubtless too positive, too closely connected with an uplifting emotion,” to do justice to Schwa¨rmerei, though he believes that it “nevertheless retains a note of danger” (Raising the Tone, p. xii). He correctly notes that although enthusiasm was used by Shaftesbury as a term of abuse, it has a “far nobler heritage” than Schwa¨rmerei, since Platonic enthusiasm was associated with divine inspiration (Raising the Tone, p. xi). E.g., John Zammito, The Genesis of Kant’ s Critique of Judgment (University of Chicago Press, 1992), p. 33–4 (though Zammito, in Kant, Herder, and the Birth of Anthropology [University of Chicago Press, 2002], p. 193 correctly distinguishes the Schwa¨rmer from the enthusiast); and Gregory R. Johnson, “The Tree of Melancholy: Kant on Philosophy and Enthusiasm,” in Kant and the New Philosophy of Religion, ed. Chris L. Firestone and Stephen R. Palmquist (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2006), pp. 43–61. Johnson argues that Kant’s attitude toward Schwa¨rmerei is better described as an “ambivalent fascination rather than unalloyed hostility” (p. 43). If Enthusiasm(us) is less unwholesome than Schwa¨rmerei, and Schwa¨rmerei itself is ambiguous and not wholly undesirable, certainly Enthusiasm(us) has some desirable features. In section 5.3 I argue that Enthusiasm(us) is ambiguous for Kant, but this study focuses on its positive and beneficial features (above all, the fact that it reveals freedom). Johnson’s thesis about Schwa¨rmerei suggests that this focus is justified, but he accentuates the positive in Schwa¨rmerei more than does Fenves, who writes: “Kant, like other German writers of the eighteenth century, never tired of trying to distinguish a thoroughly repugnant Schwa¨rmerei from an Enthusiasmus without which ‘nothing great in the world could take place’ ”; see Raising the Tone, p. xi. Unlike Fenves, I do not view Schwa¨rmerei as a form of enthusiasm. See A Peculiar Fate, p. 243. Jane Kneller, in Kant and the Power of Imagination (Cambridge University Press, 2007), pp. 13, 55 n.34, 109–15, conceives of the enthusiast as a fantast, visionary, or fanatic (which in my view is better associated with Schwa¨rmerei) and connects enthusiasm with metaphysical speculation and imaginings. See Sharon Anderson-Gold, Unnecessary Evil: History and Moral Progress in the Philosophy of Immanuel Kant (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2001), pp. 2–3.

6


moral progress is the French Revolution,12 when in fact the morally encouraging sign is the onlookers’ enthusiasm and expressions thereof. Fortunately, several commentators have noticed that the moral sign is the spectator’s affective state and the expressions of or judgments about this state.13 Enthusiasm is an empirical event, a phenomenon. It functions for Kant as “an intimation, a historical sign,” a signum of a moral tendency in humanity (SF 7:84). It is a given occurrence (Begebenheit) that takes place within the natural order (SF 7:85). Thus, enthusiasm should be distinguished from the alleged otherworldly intuitions of the pious fanatic (fromme Schwa¨rmer) (SF 7:81).14 But how does this signing and intimating relate to nature and to freedom, that is, how does it help us understand the transition problem? The transition problem requires some explanation. In the Second Introduction of the Critique of the Power of Judgment (Section II), Kant ¨ bergang) from our way raises the problem of the transition or passage (U of thinking about nature to that of freedom (KU 5:176). In nature, all events or occurrences are determined in time by preexisting states of the world in accordance with empirical causal laws or necessary rules (KrV a189/b232; a532–4/b560–2). Freedom, for its part, can be understood in several ways.15 Transcendental freedom is the faculty or power of beginning a state from itself (vom selbst). It is a spontaneity that can start to act from itself without needing to be preceded by any other cause that in turn determines it to action according to the law of causal connection (KrV a533/b561). Practical freedom is the independence of the power of choice from necessitation by impulses of sensibility, a faculty of determining oneself from oneself (KrV a533/b561). Practical freedom has both negative and positive senses. The negative sense refers to the independence of necessitation by sensible impulses (G 4:446). The positive sense points to one’s ability to adopt norms, including a priori maxims or subjective rules of 12

13

14

15

E.g., Rudolf Makkreel, Dilthey: Philosopher of the Human Studies (Princeton University Press, 1975), p. 20. E.g., Howard Williams, Kant’ s Political Philosophy (Oxford: Blackwell, 1982), p. 209; Jane Kneller, Kant and the Power of Imagination, p. 108; Peter Fenves, Late Kant: Towards another Law of the Earth (New York and London: Routledge, 2003), p. 125. The translation by Mary Gregor and Robert Anchor misleadingly renders fromme Schwa¨rmer as “pious enthusiast”; see Religion and Rational Theology, p. 299. My understanding of these senses is influenced by Allen W. Wood and Henry Allison. See Allen W. Wood, Kant’ s Ethical Thought (Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 172; and Henry Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Freedom (Cambridge University Press, 1990), pp. 25–6.

Introduction

7

action, and so to determine oneself in accordance with laws that one legislates for oneself (G 4:447; KpV 5:33). Perhaps rather cryptically, Kant addresses the transition problem in Section ix of the third Critique: The effect in accordance with the concept of freedom is the final end, which (or its appearance in the sensible world) should exist, for which the condition of its possibility in nature (in the nature of the subject as a sensible being, that is, as a human being) is presupposed. That which presupposes this a priori and without regard to the practical, namely, the power of judgment, provides the mediating concept between the concepts of nature and the concept of freedom, which ¨ bergang] from the purely theoretical to the purely makes possible the transition [U practical, from lawfulness in accordance with the former to the final end in accordance with the latter, in the concept of a purposiveness of nature; for thereby is the possibility of the final end, which can become actual only in nature and in accord with its laws, cognized . . . And thus the power of judgment makes possible the transition from the domain of the concept of nature to that of the concept of freedom. (KU 5:196)

Although recent commentators have shown a renewed interest in the transition problem, few have noticed that Kant wrestled with a version of the problem in the marginal notes known as the Remarks (Bemerkungen in den “ Beobachtungen u¨ber das Gefu¨hl des Scho¨nen und Erhabenen” ), written between 1764 and 1766. I examine these remarks to the Observations in the first chapter. One of these notes reads: The question is whether, in order to move [bewegen] my affects [Affecten] or those of others, I should take my standpoint [Stu¨tzungspunkt] outside of the world or within it. I answer: I find it [my standpoint] in the state of nature, that is, the state of freedom. (Rem 20:56; 46)16

Kant here seems to identify the state of nature with the state of freedom. This identification is puzzling since elsewhere in the remarks Kant distinguishes and opposes nature and freedom, as we shall see. Freedom, conceived as harmony or agreement with nature, is not the only sense of freedom found in the notes. Kant there characterizes freedom in several 16

A complete edition of Bemerkungen in den “ Beobachtungen u¨ber das Gefu¨hl des Scho¨nen und Erhabenen” presently remains unpublished in English. The quoted passages from the Remarks are my own translations, and are cited from the Akademie Ausgabe and the Meiner edition, respectively, as follows: (Rem 20:2; 3) refers to the second page of the twentieth volume of the Akademie Ausgabe and to the third page of the richly annotated Meiner edition, i.e., Bemerkungen in den “ Beobachtungen u¨ber das Gefu¨hl des Scho¨nen und Erhabenen,” ed. Maria Rischmu¨ller (Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag, 1991). While I recognize that the collection of remarks does not constitute a genuine Kantian “work,” sometimes it may be necessary to capitalize and italicize the name “Remarks” as if it were a work rather than Kant’s notes in his own copy of the Observations.

8


distinct ways, including a metaphysical sense in which one overcomes nature. In the first chapter, I will clarify the other senses of freedom that are found in the notes. The transition problem is not just the problem of filling in a gap (Lu¨cke) in the Critical system, although the First Introduction does emphasize this function (FI 20:244).17 As the Second Introduction underscores, the problem also concerns actually throwing a bridge (Bru¨cke) across the immense gulf or chasm (Kluft) that separates freedom from nature, the supersensible from appearances, or what ought to happen from what actually happens (KU 5:195, 175).18 In the present work, the problem of the transition is conceived primarily in the practical and non-systematic sense. The transition has to do with promoting in the natural order the ends of freedom as dictated by the moral law. It deals with the influence of the concept of freedom on nature. The transition concerns how the “supersensible in the subject” can determine “the sensible,” or the natural realm, not with regard to the cognition of nature but with regard to the consequences in nature (KU 5:195). These consequences are produced by the idea of freedom “and the practical rules that it contains” (KU 5:195). In particular, I am interested in what aesthetic experience, especially the sublime, can offer to help make this passage actual. A crucial step in the transition is the preparation of the mind for moral feeling: The power of judgment’s concept of a purposiveness of nature still belongs among the concepts of nature, but only as a regulative principle of the faculty of cognition, although the aesthetic judgment on certain objects (of nature or of art) that occasions it is a constitutive principle with regard to the feeling of pleasure or displeasure. The spontaneity in the play of the faculties of cognition, the 17

18

Henry Allison, following Klaus Du¨sing, interprets the basis of the transition in the Second Introduction as moral, rather than systematic, and I follow them. See Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste (Cambridge University Press, 2001), p. 204; and Klaus Du¨sing, Die Teleologie in Kants Weltbegriff (Bonn: H. Bouvier Verlag, 1968), pp. 108–15. Kant mentions the transition problem in four other places in the Critical period: in the Transcendental Dialectic in the first Critique, KrV a 339/b 386; in the Preface to the second Critique, KpV 5:7; at the conclusion of “On the Use of Teleological Principles in Philosophy” (1788), GTP 8:182–3; and, finally, in section x i of the First Introduction to the third Critique, FI 20:241 and FI 20:246. For a discussion of these, see Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, pp. 197–201. At FI 20:246 Kant says that not “judgments of taste” alone but “aesthetic judgments,” including therefore judgments of the sublime, refer sensible intuitions to an idea of nature. In the Second Introduction, too, Kant refers to “aesthetic judgment on certain objects (of nature or of art),” which, along with the references to the feelings of pleasure and displeasure, suggests that the sublime should be thought of as contributing to the transition (KU 5:197). Allison refers to this passage as a ¨ bergang” (p. 213), and in my view he discussion of the “function of taste with respect to the U ¨ bergang. downplays the role of the sublime in the U

Introduction

9

agreement of which contains the ground of this pleasure, makes that concept [purposiveness of nature] suitable for mediating the connection of the domain of the concept of nature with the concept of freedom in its consequences, in that the latter at the same time promotes the receptivity of the mind for the moral feeling. (KU 5:197)

Although Kant is apparently referring to the beautiful here, there is no good reason to deny that the sublime can in some way contribute to the transition to freedom. By virtue of an affinity between the structures of the sublime and the moral feeling (among other ways), the experience of the sublime can prepare the mind for moral feeling (section 3.3). Moreover, the sublime, like the beautiful, involves spontaneity. In the case of the sublime, the spontaneity is on the part of the faculties of reason and even (to an extent) the imagination, which is stimulated by reason and feels a kind of exhilaration and extension in trying to complete reason’s demand for totality. The interrelation and coordination of these two faculties of cognition, though disharmonious at first, are “harmonious even in their contrast” and produce a subjective purposiveness that satisfies reason (KU 5:258).19 Kant’s commentators have recently demonstrated a renewed interest in the role of aesthetic experience in morality20 and, conversely, of morality’s role in aesthetic experience.21 Paul Guyer, for instance, argues that there are four conditions for us to act morally.22 1. We must understand the moral law and what it requires of us. 2. We must believe that we are in fact free to choose to do what is required of us rather than to do what all our other motives, which can be subsumed under the rubric of self-love, might suggest to us. 3. We must believe that the objective or ends that morality imposes upon us can actually be achieved. 19

20

21

22

Kant’s table of higher faculties in the Second Introduction characterizes reason as one of three faculties of cognition (KU 5:198). In the First Introduction Kant characterizes reason as the faculty of desire (FI 5:245–6). E.g., Guyer, Values of Beauty; Scott Roulier, Kantian Virtue (University of Rochester Press, 2004); Patrick Frierson, Freedom and Anthropology in Kant’ s Moral Philosophy (Cambridge University Press, 2003); Kneller, Kant and the Power of Imagination; Robert Louden, Kant’ s Impure Ethics (Oxford University Press, 2000); Wood, Kant’ s Ethical Thought; and Felicitas Munzel, Kant’ s Conception of Moral Character: The “ Critical” Link of Morality, Anthropology, and Reflective Judgment (University of Chicago Press, 1999). See Guyer, Values of Beauty, p. 190; and Berys Gaut, Art, Emotion, and Ethics (Oxford University Press, 2007). Gaut offers a defense of ethicism in the critical evaluation of works of art and an overview of the contemporary debate between moralists, immoralists, and autonomists. See Guyer, Values of Beauty, pp. 201–2.

10


4. We must have an adequate motivation for our attempt to do what morality requires of us in lieu of the mere desirability of particular goals it might happen to license or even impose in particular circumstances. Guyer then describes how beauty and sublimity can contribute to the fulfillment of each of the four conditions of the possibility of morality.23 1. The sensuous presentation of moral ideas, above all through aesthetic ideas in the case of works of artistic genius, offers a sensuous presentation of the moral law itself, as well as of other thought connected with the very idea of morality. 2. The feeling of our freedom to choose to live up to the demands of morality in spite of all threats of nature that we experience in the dynamical sublime, as well as the tendency to interpret the beautiful as a symbol of the morally good, are ways in which the freedom of will that we can intellectually infer from our consciousness of the moral law becomes palpable to us as sensory creatures. 3. The hint from the experience of beauty that nature is amenable to the realization of our objectives is sensible evidence for that which is otherwise only a postulate of pure practical reason, namely, the consistency of the laws of nature and the law of freedom. Both the experience of natural beauty and the experience of the purposiveness of organisms (the latter being less important for the aims of the present book) offer us what we experience as evidence rather than a mere postulate that the system of morality can be realized in nature. This gives rise to an “intellectual” interest or “morally based”24 interest in beauty.25 4. The experience of beauty prepares us to love disinterestedly and that of the sublime to esteem even contrary to our own interest, and aesthetic 23 24

25

Guyer, Values of Beauty, pp. 203–4. Kant uses “intellectual” interest as synonymous with “morally based” interest, although these are distinct concepts in ordinary English and I find the latter more suited to Kant’s purposes. “Intellectual” interest brings to mind what one is interested in from an intellectual point of view, as in scholarship or research. I prefer “morally based,” since in English it seems to be a stretch to use “intellectual” as Kant does, namely, to designate a concern that the world should support our efforts to be moral or a satisfaction that it is already so constituted. Bart Raymaekers argues that the unity of nature and freedom is realized through our aesthetic experience, but adds that a teleological reflection on nature, an analysis of the internal finality within the organism, is also required for the link between nature and freedom. See Bart Raymaekers, “The Importance of Freedom in the Architectonic of the Critique of Judgment,” in Kants A¨sthetik/Kant’ s Aesthetics/L’ esthe´tique de Kant, ed. Herman Parret (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1998), pp. 84–92.

Introduction

11

experience helps bridge the gaps between different social classes and interest-groups that inevitably arise in a complex polity. My claims about the experience and role of sublimity are likewise intended to show how, within the Kantian framework, the sublime can contribute to morality. I can clarify some of the aims of this work by touching on each of Guyer’s points. First, I do not address the presentation of aesthetic ideas in works of art that elicit the sublime. The reason for this is not that such an examination would be uninteresting, but that I focus on enthusiasm, and the latter does not seem to be closely associated with Kant’s stated views regarding aesthetic ideas in fine art. Indeed, there are very intriguing connections to be made between inspiration, genius, and enthusiasm which can be traced back to enthusiasm’s Platonic origin. But I do not pursue these connections in this book. Second, Kant holds that the concept of the sublime in nature indicates something purposive “only in the possible use of its intuitions to make palpable [fu¨hlbar] in ourselves a purposiveness that is entirely independent of nature” (KU 5:246). I argue that aesthetic enthusiasm makes palpable human freedom in this sense. Enthusiasm is, among other things, a feeling of freedom to do the morally good. Third, the sublime is noticeably absent in Guyer’s discussion of the third condition. Admittedly, there are some good reasons for this. The purposiveness of nature with respect to the sublime is indirect at best, as Allison likewise notes.26 For this reason Kant’s theory of the sublime is perhaps best seen, as Kant puts it, as a “mere appendix to the aesthetic judging of the purposiveness of nature” (KU 5:246). We should keep in mind here, however, that for Kant enthusiasm can be an empirical and phenomenal moral sign, that is, one that unfolds in the course of nature. In fact, Guyer himself indicates that Kant holds that such enthusiasm can encourage us by providing “concrete evidence” and grounds for hope that is based on “actual moments in our history.”27 By the end of this book, it should be clear how enthusiasm as an encouraging moral sign is connected to the ways in which the sublime can contribute to morality, awakening a morally based or intellectual interest of reason. Finally, in “An Old Question” Kant describes enthusiasm as being contrary to the sensory interests of the spectators (even if it accords with and is grounded in their rational idea of a just republic), for they risk 26 27

Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 344. Paul Guyer, Kant (New York: Routledge, 2006), pp. 369–71.

12


being persecuted by oppressive governments for expressing their enthusiasm. Such an experience can prepare an individual for both the disinterestedness and even the conflicts with sensory interests that are associated with morality. Moreover, one has the impression that the spectators, even if they identify with different social classes, are linked together by their shared enthusiasm and expressions thereof. Indeed, Kant describes their feeling not only as disinterested and even against their interests, but also as universally valid (SF 7:85). A brief overview of the sublime will help us put Kant’s theory in its intellectual and historical context, which may be unfamiliar to some readers.28 Let us begin with a few examples of objects that could be judged to be sublime. Kant’s own list comprises both natural and nonnatural objects. He mentions clouds, icebergs, storms, volcanoes, shadowy wastelands, the starry sky, St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, a tragic poem, an edifying sermon, and the ideas of infinity and of freedom (see Appendix 3). To add to this list: products of human creative activity that can inspire the sublime include Aeschylus’ Prometheus Bound; certain paintings by Albert Bierstadt, Caspar David Friedrich, Thomas Cole, Mark Rothko, Barnett Newman, or Jackson Pollock; some Richard Serra sculptures; Kubrick’s Spartacus and Gibson’s Braveheart; Wagner’s Tannhaüser overture; or some ‘landscape photographs of the Dolomites.29 The concept of sublimity (wo, sublimitas) has its roots in rhetoric, referring to that quality of genius in great literary works that irresistibly delights, inspires, and overwhelms the reader.30 The isolation of the sublime as a central aesthetic category‘ is largely the achievement of an early first-century ce treatise —eqı` wot (Peri hypsous), or On the Sublime, which was traditionally but mistakenly attributed to Cassius Longinus.31 The treatise seems to have had little or no impact upon ancient rhetorical theory, and purportedly survived into the Middle Ages in the form of a single, incomplete manuscript. Although the treatise was rediscovered in the Renaissance, it entered literary discussion only after 28

29 30

31

For the history of the sublime, see Samuel Monk, The Sublime: A Study of Critical Theories in XVIII-Century England (New York: MLA, 1935); and James Kirwan, Sublimity (New York and London: Routledge, 2005), which focuses on the sublime in the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries. Cf. Bjørn Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett (New York and Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2002), pp. 51–4. Cf. James Kirwan’s list in The Aesthetic in Kant (London: Continuum, 2004), p. 71. For Kant’s relation to rhetoric, see Robert J. Drostal, “Kant and Rhetoric,” Philosophy and Rhetoric, 13(4) (1980): 223–44. Longinus, “On the Sublime,” in Aristotle in Twenty-Three Volumes, vol. x x i i i (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982).

Introduction

13

1672, when the French neoclassicist Nicolas Boileau published his translation of pseudo-Longinus’ fragmented text.32 With Boileau, the predicate “sublime” continued to be applied less to natural phenomena than to works of literature, and it referred more to individual passages than to whole works. The concept of the sublime became popular in Britain after Boileau’s translation. On the British side of the Channel, the concept took on a life of its own.33 It functioned as a banner of protest against Continental neoclassicism. The concept of the sublime gradually underwent two major changes in eighteenth-century Britain. First, the sublime came to refer less to works of art, speeches, and literature and more to the vastness, power, and grandeur of natural objects or nature as a whole. Shortly thereafter, sublimity no longer designated an external object, but described an intense emotional response: the subject’s feeling, not the object, was referred to as sublime. These two tendencies, for instance, can be found in Burke’s An Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (1757). Several years after the publication of Burke’s work, Kant wrote the Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime (1764). This short treatise emphasizes the sublime dimension of morality (Obs 2:217; 60)34 and, conversely, characterizes the moral dimension of sublimity. Kant examines “more closely the feelings of the sublime and beautiful, particularly insofar as they are moral” (Obs 2:220; 64). He even calls one form of sublimity the noble sublime. Although it ascribes to some accepted views of the sublime, Kant’s Observations also contributes to the development of the concept of sublimity. Kant claims not only that the human being is sublime, but that its sublimity is grounded in the notion of human moral worth.35 The human being is to be considered sublime not because it belongs to the divinely created order, participates in the whole of nature, possesses great mental powers, or exhibits genius, but because it possesses a certain dignity that derives from its moral capacity. 32 33

34

35

Kirwan, Sublimity, Preface, p. vii. E.g., Joseph Addison, The Spectator, vol. i i i , ed. D. F. Bond (London: Oxford University Press, 1965). For representative selections from the British reception of the concept, see Andrew Ashfield and Peter de Bolla, eds., The Sublime: A Reader in British Eighteenth-Century Aesthetic Theory (Cambridge University Press, 1996). In citations from the Observations, the first numeral refers to the Akademie Ausgabe pagination and the second numeral refers to the pagination in Goldthwait’s translation. Kant, Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime, trans. John. T Goldthwait (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1960). Zammito, Genesis, p. 277.

14


In the notes that Kant wrote in his personal copy of the Observations, he continues to use the conceptual framework of the Observations, employing the concepts of the noble, the splendid, and the terrifying sublime. In the third Critique, Kant continues to characterize sublimity as a subjective feeling. He also describes it primarily as a response to nature rather than to art, although I believe that Kant’s account implies that art, too, can elicit a feeling of the sublime (section 2.6). According to the third Critique, sublimity is properly predicated not of an objective property but of an idea of reason (KU 5:245), especially a moral one. Kant claims that “the idea of humanity in our subject,” not the object to which we are responding, deserves the respect that is intrinsic to the feeling of the sublime (KU 5:257). By characterizing the feeling of the sublime as respect for our vocation, a moral vocation, Kant continues to associate sublimity with morality. However, in comparison to the account written in the 1760s, the Critical view is more careful to differentiate, even if later to reunite, the aesthetic and the moral. Although Kant distinguishes the feeling of sublimity from the moral feeling of respect, he characterizes them as having a similar phenomenological structure (section 3.1). Although a massive or powerful object can act as the stimulus of the experience of the sublime and (to use a phrase from Quine) can be “causally nearer”36 to sensory receptors, for Kant the true ground of the experience is a rational or moral idea. According to Kant, this rational or moral idea, which has no sensory basis and does not derive from sense experience, demonstrates the superiority of the rational vocation of our cognitive faculty and the moral vocation of our faculty of desire. To put the point negatively, the ultimate basis of the aesthetic judgment of the sublime is not a function of the characteristics of the object that initially cause the sensory stimulus, since the true ground of the judgment – what properly deserves being called sublime – is a supersensible idea (KU 5:250) or a moral way of thinking (KU 5:280).37 Some commentators claim that the Critical theory of the sublime marks a radical and new subjectivist turn in aesthetics. Hans-Georg Gadamer, for instance, claims that “the radical subjectivisation involved 36

37

W. V. Quine, Ontological Relativity and Other Essays (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968), p. 85. Paul Guyer states that boundless regions of nature are the causes of the experience of the sublime; see Kant’ s System of Nature and Freedom (Oxford University Press, 2005), p. 293. Note that this feature suggests that art, too, can elicit the sublime. Robert Louden names three candidates for the ground of the sublime: an attitude of mind, moral ideas, and a noumenal moral character; see Kant’ s Impure Ethics, p. 119, p. 124, and p. 125, respectively.

Introduction

15

in Kant’s new basis for aesthetics was a completely new departure.”38 Although the Kantian sublime is certainly connected to certain features of the subject (“true sublimity must be sought only in the mind of the one who judges”) (KU 5:256), the characterization of Kantian aesthetics as either innovatively or radically “subjectivist” is somewhat misleading.39 The Critical aesthetics gathers together subjectivist tendencies that are already found in Hutcheson, Burke, and Hume,40 so it cannot be a completely new departure. Moreover, although Ronald Beiner goes so far as to claim that Kant’s Critical analysis of the sublime, by asserting the superiority of the moral personality over nature, marks “an apotheosis of western subjectivism,” Kant’s account is not exactly radically subjectivist either.41 Although according to Kant the sublime does involve the subject’s feeling and is based on the subject’s ideas of reason, the sublime makes a claim to a universal and necessary validity that is intersubjective (KU 5:247, 265–6). Moreover, since it is based on a feeling of respect for “the humanity in our subject,” the judgment of the sublime is intrinsically bound up with the awareness of moral persons who, like the aesthetic subject experiencing the sublime, merit dignity and who are transcendentally free and thus members of the realm of ends. The sublime discloses the subject’s freedom and reveals the subject’s membership in a moral order in which there are other free persons who are likewise subject to the demands of morality.42 According to the third Critique, sublimity and beauty are distinctive aesthetic feelings. More than a century ago, Bernard Bosanquet correctly noted that Kant does not make the sublime a species of beauty. Like some more recent commentators, however, Bosanquet also maintained, more 38 39

40

41

42

Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method (New York: Crossroad, 1975), p. 39. Bo¨hme writes: “What distinguishes Kant [from the British tradition of Burke], however, is the radical subjectivization of the sublime”; see Gernot Bo¨hme, Kants “ Kritik der Urteilskraft” in neuer Sicht (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1999), p. 83. For an “objectivist” reading of Kant’s aesthetics, see Karl Ameriks, Interpreting Kant’ s “ Critiques” (Oxford University Press, 2003), chapters 12, 13, 14, esp. pp. 338–43. Jane Kneller focuses on the “objective” component in beauty; “Beauty, Autonomy and Respect for Nature,” in Kants Asthetik/Kant’ s Aesthetics/L’ esthe´tique de Kant, ed. Parret, pp. 406, 411; it is worth recalling here that, for Kant, a subreption can occur in which sublimity is attributed (even if misleadingly) to natural objects. See Monk, The Sublime, pp. 4–6; and Victor Basch, Essai critique sur l’ esthe´tique de Kant (Paris: F. Akan, 1896), p. xxv, p. xxvi. Cf. Kirwan, Sublimity, chapter 3, esp. p. 52. Ronald Beiner, “Kant, the Sublime, and Nature,” in Kant and Political Philosophy: The Contemporary Legacy, ed. Ronald Beiner and William James Booth (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), p. 281. Christine Pries argues that the feeling of the sublime is the real impulse of Kantian ¨ berga¨nge ohne Bru¨cken (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1995). philosophy in U This point is also made by Francesca Menegoni, Finalita` e destinazione morale nella “ Critica del Giudizio” di Kant (Trento: Verifiche, 1988), p. 75.

16


controversially, that the sublime “could not be rightly valued until it came to be appreciated as an extension of beauty.”43 However fruitful this suggestion might be, I will not assess this claim in the present work: I adhere to Kant’s thesis that beauty and sublimity are distinct aesthetic feelings. I submit that the feelings of beauty and of sublimity, albeit in different ways, can indirectly contribute to the realization of morality in the natural order. In discussing the contribution of aesthetic judgments to morality, I focus on sublimity rather than beauty for two main reasons. First, it is worthwhile to ask whether, as Kant suggests, enthusiasm can be considered to be a form of sublimity. Enthusiasm, as Kant conceives of it, would not count as a feeling of beauty. Thus, if we are to understand how enthusiasm might contribute to the realization of freedom in nature, we need to focus on the sublime rather than on the beautiful. Second, Kant does not address the morally based or intellectual interest in the sublime, and I think that such an account should be offered. Kant gives an account of morally based or intellectual interest in beauty, but he does not do so for the sublime. There does not seem to be any good reason why such an account should not or cannot be given for the sublime. Whereas Kant says that beauty is the symbol of morality in §59 of the third Critique (KU 5:354), it is sublimity that aesthetically represents the moral law; furthermore, Kant claims that the sublime does this even better than beauty (KU 5:271). So the sublime should give rise to an intellectual interest of reason. Indeed, I interpret Kant’s interest in enthusiasm for the idea of republic as an example of intellectual interest in the sublime; understanding this interest, moreover, also allows us to make better sense of Kant’s views of the French Revolution. In short, both the beautiful and the sublime can indirectly help make freedom effective or actual (wirklich) in nature. My emphasis on sublimity should not be interpreted as suggesting that only sublimity is fit for such a contribution. I also propose that there are in fact three, not two, major forms of the sublime at work in Kant’s texts: the dynamical, the mathematical, and 43

Bernard Bosanquet, A History of Aesthetic (New York: Meridan Books, 1957), p. 278. Kirwan analyzes the Kantian sublime in order to understand what occurs in the experience of beauty; Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, passim. Josef Simon argues for the amalgamation of the beautiful and the sublime within a single feeling of the “sublime beauty” of nature in “Erhabene Scho¨nheit,” in Kants A¨sthetik/Kant’ s Aesthetics/L’ esthe´tique de Kant, ed. Parret, pp. 246–74, esp. pp. 261–2, p. 270. More recently, Berys Gaut for some reason describes (though only in passing) a traditional example of the sublime, a mountain landscape, in terms of the beautiful: “the somewhat intimidating beauty of a mountain landscape, lofty peaks towering dauntingly above one”; see Art, Emotion, and Ethics, p. 121.

Introduction

17

the moral (section 2.3). By “moral sublime,” I refer to the effect on consciousness when the moral law, or some representation or embodiment thereof, is observed or perceived with disinterestedness and aesthetically rather than from a practical perspective. An experience of the sublime is one of the moral sublime if and only if something moral elicits the sublime in an aesthetic judge who somehow reflects on that object or person. These forms seem to reveal three different sides of human freedom. On this view, the dynamical sublime indicates negative practical freedom (the independence of determination by sensible impulses). The moral sublime – the merely aesthetic, disinterested response to the moral law or some representation thereof – discloses positive practical freedom (the ability to act from a priori moral motives).44 The mathematical sublime seems harder to characterize than the other two forms. Nonetheless, it is plausible to say that the feeling of the mathematical sublime is one way of experiencing transcendence or transcendental freedom (the ability to act as a first cause in a causal chain).45 An argument for this view arises from a consideration of the effect of the idea of infinity on the “time-condition” in the progression of the imagination (KU 5:259). The violence to inner sense (temporality) is “all the more marked” if the imagination attempts to comprehend in one intuition a large quantum (KU 5:259). In the case of the mathematical sublime, this quantum is infinite, or more precisely, the faculty of reason commands the imagination to attempt to comprehend infinity, an idea of reason. Such violence results in the complete (subjective) blocking of the progression through time required by a causal series. This suspension of the causal series does not at all imply that the subject ceases to be part of the natural causal chain or is no longer subject to physical laws. In Makkreel’s words, the suspension of time as the form 44

45

Both positive and negative practical freedom presuppose transcendental freedom (at least according to a prominent interpretation), since one cannot be free of sensuous impulses or act from a priori principles if one cannot be a first cause in a causal chain that would otherwise be determined. If practical freedom is revealed, so is transcendental freedom. See Andrews Reath, “Kant’s Critical Account of Freedom,” in A Companion to Kant, ed. Graham Bird (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006), pp. 275–90, p. 288; Allen W. Wood, “Kant’s Compatibilism,” in Kant’ s Critique of Pure Reason, ed. Patricia Kitcher (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 1998), pp. 238–63; and Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Freedom, p. 55. Allen W. Wood, Kant (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2005), p. 164. In this book I use “transcendence” in the sense of “freedom,” broadly understood to include a rational (cognitive or practical) capacity to rise above inner nature (sensibility) as well as nature without. Given my interest in the moral role of the sublime, my analysis of the latter tends to emphasize the practical and moral dimensions of freedom over the cognitive ones, although I fully acknowledge the importance of the latter.

18


of inner sense is not the annihilation of time as such.46 Although, according to Kant, the mathematical sublime does not give us knowledge of things-in-themselves, it does offer us a strong, affective peek at supersensibility – a feeling of transcendental freedom and a feeling of our supersensible vocation (Bestimmung) (KU 5:258).47 Since this violence to inner sense is carried out to the utmost in the case of the infinite, the time-condition that is part of the causal order of nature is entirely removed by the rational idea. The idea of infinity in the mathematical sublime completely removes or annihilates the timecondition and shows the subject to be a timeless being in a certain sense, namely, by virtue of the possession of the rational idea. Since it shows us to be timeless beings, it shows that we can act as a cause that is not itself caused by a previous cause. The mathematical sublime, therefore, might be said to reveal transcendental freedom by giving us a sense of how we are as noumena, subject neither to time nor to the law of causality that goes along with it (KrV b579–81; KpV 5:97–8), even if the mathematical sublime cannot give us knowledge of noumenal reality.48 In any case, I believe that this sketch of an argument could lead to interesting ways to think about how the three main kinds of sublimity can reveal different aspects of freedom.49 (The imagination in the experience of the sublime feels freedom in yet another sense, since it is extended in its attempt to fulfill reason’s demand, as discussed in section 2.2.5.) After this overview, a caveat is in order. None of the three basic forms of the sublime (mathematical, dynamical, moral) directly helps us to be moral or to exercise a moral will. Although the experience of the dynamical and moral sublime can reveal independence from sensuous determination and a capacity to adopt moral maxims, it does not give us warrant to believe that negative and positive practical freedom is being 46

47 48

49

Rudolf Makkreel, “On Sublimity, Genius and the Explication of Aesthetic Ideas,” in Kants A¨sthetik/Kant’ s Aesthetics/L’ esthe´tique de Kant, ed. Parret, pp. 615–29, p. 617. Zammito, Genesis, p. 278. For a discussion of Kant’s view that transcendental freedom implies timelessness, see Wood, “Kant’s Compatibilism,” pp. 253–5. If we characterize the relation between timelessness and transcendental freedom as a biconditional, timelessness implies transcendental freedom (as Andrews Reath holds in “Kant’s Critical Account,” p. 287; cf. KpV 5:96) and transcendental freedom implies timelessness (as Wood holds). For a useful, though different, approach to the regress of the imagination, see Rudolf Makkreel, Imagination and Interpretation in Kant: The Hermeneutical Import of the “ Critique of Judgment” (University of Chicago Press, 1990), pp. 73–6. Whereas I mostly discuss the practical aspects of the sublime, Makkreel notes that he focuses on the theoretical implications of the mathematical sublime (p. 79). He also claims that “enthusiasm can have theoretical as well as practical applications”; see “On Sublimity, Genius and the Explication of Aesthetic Ideas,” p. 620.

Introduction

19

used in moral ways or that the power to choose maxims is actually being exercised to select moral maxims. While the dynamical and moral sublime imply the existence of an ability to select maxims without being determined by sensuous drives, they do not demonstrate that a moral will has been efficacious in the natural order. Even if the dynamical sublime leads us to believe that we have the power to select maxims (normative subjective principles) and to adopt the morally appropriate means to our goals, this does not directly actualize morality in the world – it shows only that we have the capacity to do so. Even though the sublime is typically thought of as not contributing to the belief that the ends of morality can actually be achieved in nature – for example, it is missing in Guyer’s third way and Allison stresses that Kant’s theory of the sublime is a mere appendix to the aesthetic judging of the purposiveness of nature – I have noted that for Kant enthusiasm functions as a morally encouraging sign given empirically in the natural realm, even if enthusiasm does not suggest that nature is amenable to our ends in the way that beauty does. But even here the enthusiastic onlooker is not a practical agent, and this encouragement does not by itself directly actualize moral ends. Finally, even if the sublime can help give us an adequate motivation for our attempt to do what morality requires of us – for instance, the sublime prepares us to esteem something even when doing so goes against our sensible interests – this only prepares us to be moral and does not actually make us moral. In my view, few of the recent interpreters of the Kantian sublime pay proper attention to a particular form of sublimity, namely, the moral sublime.50 In my account, the moral sublime includes the sublime of mental states, which, in turn, comprises enthusiasm. My account therefore adds to the traditional interpretation of the Kantian sublime, at least in the sense that it examines forms of sublimity that are usually passed over or downplayed, if noticed at all. I argue that enthusiasm can count as an aesthetic feeling of the sublime. In fact, I propose that the enthusiasm that Kant describes in “An Old Question” can be properly understood only if so conceived. Aesthetic enthusiasm (though not practical, action-directed enthusiasm) in general bears the structure of the experience of the sublime. At least one instance of enthusiasm in Kant’s writings can be viewed as an experience of the 50

Some notable exceptions that examine enthusiasm include: Fenves, A Peculiar Fate; Guyer, Kant; Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant; Jean-François Lyotard, L’ Enthousiasme: La critique kantienne de l’ histoire (Paris: Editions Galileé, 1986); and Lyotard, Lessons on the Analytic of the Sublime: Kant’ s “ Critique of Judgment” , Sections 23–29, trans. E. Rottenberg (Stanford University Press, 1994). But they do not conceive of enthusiasm exactly as I do, as we shall see.

20


sublime, namely, the spectator’s response to the attempt to establish the first French Republic. However, I would not go so far as to say that all instances of enthusiasm can be characterized as experiences of the sublime, since enthusiasm can be either practical or aesthetic and by definition practical enthusiasm cannot count as a disinterested aesthetic experience. Moreover, not all feelings of aesthetic enthusiasm, even if they count as feelings of the sublime, lead to aesthetic judgments of the sublime, which seem to have a propositional structure.51 And certainly not all instances of aesthetic enthusiasm issue in utterances or sentences, even when the aesthetic enthusiasm in question counts as a feeling of the sublime. Therefore, my attempts to characterize the spectator’s enthusiasm as an aesthetic feeling of the sublime should not be taken as implying that every instance of enthusiasm counts as a full-blown aesthetic judgment of the sublime in the sense described in the Analytic of the Sublime. Some Kant commentators, such as Jean-François Lyotard and Peter Fenves, pay attention to the enthusiasm demonstrated by spectators of the events in France.52 Fenves offers over a hundred pages of discerning commentary on “An Old Question,” and Fenves and Lyotard both correctly notice that there are connections between Kantian enthusiasm and the sublime.53 Nevertheless, neither Lyotard nor Fenves gives an adequate account of how the sublime reveals the different aspects of human freedom or explains how enthusiasm can be an aesthetic feeling of the sublime; I attempt to do both of these. Moreover, neither Fenves nor Lyotard examines how Kant’s account of aesthetic enthusiasm can help solve a puzzle surrounding Kant’s views of the French Revolution, namely, how Kant can support the ends of the revolutionaries but not their means. One of the advantages of my reading is that I show how enthusiasm as a form of the sublime helps explain Kant’s position 51

52

53

I am assuming that feelings do not have a propositional structure, but cannot defend this claim here. For Fenves’ interpretation of enthusiasm, see A Peculiar Fate, pp. 170–285; and Late Kant, pp. 45, 125, 136. For Lyotard’s interpretation, see L’ Enthousiasme; The Inhuman: Reflections on Time (Stanford University Press, 1991); Lessons on the Analytic of the Sublime; and “L’Inte´reˆt du Sublime,” in Du Sublime, ed. Michel Deguy (Paris: Belin, 1988). On Lyotard and Kant, see also Antonio Calcagno, “Interface: Modernity and Post-modernity: The Possibility of Enthusiasm According to Immanuel Kant and Jean-François Lyotard,” Philosophy Today, 39(4) (Winter 1995): 358–70; and Pierre Billouet, “Enthusiasm and Modernity” (in French), Les Temps Modernes, 50(584) (September–October 1995): 151–85. For Fenves’ criticism of Lyotard with regard to transcendence, see A Peculiar Fate, p. 172n. Kirwan, in The Aesthetic in Kant, pp. 91–2, considers, but unfortunately rejects, the possibility that enthusiasm can be a genuine form of the sublime.

Introduction

21

without claiming that his views are inconsistent or that he buckles to political pressure.54 My interpretation of the Kantian sublime in general differs from that of Lyotard in significant ways. Lyotard appears to attribute to Kant views that are quite different from Kant’s.55 This divergence might be due in part to Lyotard’s distinct philosophical aims. He admires the Kantian conception of reflecting judgment, viewing the ability of the power of judgment to make a judgment without employing universal concepts as analogous to what he calls the postmodern experience of the incomprehensible, lawless, and ultimately ineffable diffe´rend, which he describes as “the unstable state and instant of language wherein something which must be able to be put into phrases cannot yet be.”56 Lyotard draws from both Wittgenstein and Kant, as the conclusion of L’ Enthousiasme reveals: “Perhaps the reflective responsibility today consists in discovering the diffe´rends, in esteeming them, and in granting them respect, as well as in establishing the incommensurability of the transcendental claims that belong to heterogeneous families of propositions and in finding other languages for what cannot be expressed in existing languages.”57 Lyotard’s views have influenced recent interpreters as well. Clayton Crockett, for instance, writes: “The disappearance of the understanding in the Kantian sublime testifies to its ultimate failure even within the First Critique, and inaugurates a desperate struggle between reason and imagination (which Lyotard calls a diffe´rend), from which struggle I have attempted to cast doubts on whether reason necessarily emerges victorious.”58 It 54

55 56

57

58

Makkreel notices the connection between enthusiasm and the sublime and he resolves the issue of Kant’s mixed response to the French Revolution in a way similar to my own. See Makkreel, Imagination and Interpretation in Kant, pp. 148–53. Unlike Makkreel, I explain how enthusiasm could be an aesthetic feeling of the sublime (section 5.4) and emphasize the role of enthusiasm in explaining Kant’s response to the events in France (chapter 6). For a criticism of Lyotard’s views of the sublime, see Kirwan, Sublimity, pp. 143–53. Lyotard, The Differend: Phrases in Dispute, trans. Georges Van Den Abbeele (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1988), p. 13. This passage is cited in Peter Fenves, “Taking Stock of the Kantian Sublime,” Eighteenth-Century Studies, 28(1) (Autumn 1994): 65–82, p. 74. See Lyotard, Der Enthusiasmus: Kants Kritik der Geschichte, ed. Peter Engelmann, trans. Christine Pries (Vienna: Passagen, 1988), p. 115, my translation of Pries’ German translation. As this went to press, L’ Enthousiasme: La critique kantienne de l’ histoire had not been translated into English. Clayton Crockett, A Theology of the Sublime (New York: Routledge), p. 98. Crockett takes the mathematical sublime to be the “representative” case of the sublime; Crockett, Theology, p. 123n. Although the dynamical sublime might somehow be related to an infinite magnitude (of power), he exaggerates when he writes that “Everything Kant says about the mathematical sublime can apply to the dynamical sublime, and vice versa. The distinction is the emphasis he [Kant] lays on experience”; Crockett, Theology, p. 72. This view is misleading since the differences between the faculties of cognition and of desire account for important differences between the mathematical and the dynamical sublime. The two forms are logically and conceptually distinct, and neither form is more “representative” than the other.

22


might very well be the case that Kant is wrong and that reason emerges from this struggle defeated and deflated, but, rather than assess this claim, I will simply point out that for Kant reason emerges victorious. By revealing freedom, the feeling of the sublime can be put to a moral use, and this use is satisfactory to reason. In this sense the Kantian sublime is purposive and can contribute indirectly to the achievement of the ends of freedom within the natural order. There are several differences between Lyotard’s interpretation and Kant’s position.59 First, whereas Kant thinks of the sublime as a response to objects found in nature as well as art, in Lyotard’s account the notion of nature has been nearly completely replaced by avant-garde art and literature.60 Although I believe that Kant’s account implies that the sublime can be elicited by art, Lyotard seems to go too far in focusing nearly exclusively on art and in limiting the latter to avant-garde art. Second, in the experience of the mathematical sublime, the inadequacy of the imagination when confronted by infinity for Kant reveals a supersensible faculty (reason) that is not limited to sensible nature but whose ideas go beyond the sensible. But for Lyotard the sublime is a sign of the heterogeneous diffe´rend. The role of reason is downplayed.61 Finally, whereas for Kant the sublime discloses that the human subject belongs to a realm of freedom, for Lyotard the sublime reveals only that human beings play a language-game using the concepts of freedom, justice, morality, and the like. Just as an island can be separated from other islands by a vast sea, this game, this discourse, is isolated (isole´) from other diverse and heterogeneous language-games. For Lyotard, the transition ¨ bergang) is not from nature to freedom, but from a family of prop(U ositions to another family of propositions. Moving in this way is like crossing a large body of water, skipping from island to island, led by the faculty of judgment’s navigational skills. “Each family of propositions [Satzfamilien] would be, as it were, like an island.”62 There is little 59

60

61

62

For a similar discussion, see Cornelia Klinger, “The Concepts of the Sublime and the Beautiful in Kant and Lyotard,” in Feminist Interpretations of Immanuel Kant, ed. Robin Schott (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1997), pp. 204–5. Thomas Brockelman criticizes the conception of the subject in Lyotard’s postmodernist account; in The Frame and the Mirror: On Collage and the Postmodern (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 2001), pp. 96ff. See Lyotard, “The Sublime and the Avant-Garde,” in The Lyotard Reader, ed. Andrew Benjamin (Oxford: Blackwell, 1989). Lyotard also tells a disturbing story in which the imagination is raped, bearing the sublime; Lyotard, “L’Inte´reˆt du Sublime,” in Du Sublime, p. 168. Cf. the rape graphically described in Lyotard’s The Confession of Augustine (Stanford University Press, 2000), p. 53. Lyotard, Enthusiasmus, p. 38.

Introduction

23

mention here of an end, much less a moral one. Lyotard fails to interpret the Kantian sublime as a revelation of human freedom. In short, Lyotard fails to address sufficiently the troubling ethical implications of his analysis of the sublime.63 In calling for “a war on totality,” to be “witnesses to the unpresentable” (the diffe´rend, not a Kantian idea of reason), and to “activate the differences,” Lyotard misses out on the importance of freedom and reason in Kant’s account.64 Any plausible interpretation of Kant’s account, whatever the interpreter’s aims, should be able to recognize that the sublime, for Kant, discloses human freedom.65 To his credit, Lyotard does take note of the connections between enthusiasm and the sublime. In calling enthusiasm “aesthetically sublime” (KU 5:272), Kant is part of a long tradition that connects enthusiasm and sublimity. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries there were strong conceptual and linguistic links between enthusiasm and the sublime. Consider Kames’ description of an observer who, viewing natural objects that are at once pleasing and disagreeable to the eye, feels “enthusiasm.” It will not appear wonderful, that so extensive a group of splendid objects [a flowing river, spreading oak, round hill, and extended plain] should swell the heart to its utmost bounds, and raise the strongest emotion of grandeur. The spectator is conscious of an enthusiasm, which cannot bear confinement, nor the strictness of regularity and order: he loves to range at large; and is so enchanted with magnificent objects, as to overlook slight beauties or deformities.66

This enthusiasm is clearly part of an experience of the sublime. The imagination of the spectator “loves to range at large”; indeed, this is similar to how the imagination in Kant’s mathematical sublime feels exhilarated and free (KU 5:269).67 Kames is by no means the only thinker to connect enthusiasm to the sublime. In The Advancement and Reformation of Modern Poetry (1701),

63 64

65

66

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Richard Kearney, Strangers, Gods, and Monsters (New York: Routledge, 2003), p. 93. Lyotard, “Answering the Question: What is Post-Modernism?” in Continental Aesthetics, ed. Richard Kearney and David Rasmussen (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2001), p. 370; reprinted from Innovation and Renovation, ed. Ihab Hassan and Sally Hassan (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1983). E.g., Richard Kearney, writing in dialogue with the postmodernist, psychoanalytic, and hermeneutic traditions, nevertheless notes that for Kant the sublime expresses our freedom; Kearney, Strangers, Gods, and Monsters, p. 129. Lord Kames [Henry Home], Elements of Criticism, based on the 6th edition of 1785 (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 2005), p. 154, emphasis added. More recently, “enthusiasm” is used to describe an experience of the sublime that is recounted in Amiel’s Journal Intime. See William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience (New York: Penguin Putnam, 1983), p. 330.

24


John Dennis claims that passion is a necessary condition of, or “the chief Thing” in, poetry.68 Dennis distinguishes ordinary or common passions – ordinary because their cause can be clearly comprehended by the subject – from the passion of enthusiasm, in which the cause is not clearly comprehended. This leads to the formula: “the sublime is a great thought, expressed with the enthusiasm that belongs to it.”69 Dennis says that sublimity requires enthusiasm, which he conceives as a strong, extraordinary, and uncommon passion. And in The Grounds of Criticism in Poetry (1704), Dennis maintains that the sublime “is never without enthusiastic passion: for the sublime is nothing else but a great thought, or great thoughts moving the soul from its ordinary situation by the enthusiasm which naturally attends them.”70 Dennis names six chief enthusiastic passions or “enthusiasms”: admiration, terror, horror, joy, sadness, and desire. Of course, Dennis’ notion of enthusiasm is quite distinct from the conception found in the Critique of the Power of Judgment. The Critical account does not conceive of enthusiasm as a genus of six strong passions.71 Indeed, the inclusion of desire as one of these strong passions, and hence as part of the concept of the sublime, would be incompatible with Kant’s notion of a disinterested aesthetic judgment of the sublime. My point here is simply that Dennis, like Kames and Kant, connects enthusiasm, however it is understood, to the sublime. Keeping in mind the historical context surrounding sublimity and enthusiasm should make it easier for us to see that it is possible for enthusiasm to be an experience of the sublime. As is well known, the concept of enthusiasm dates back to ancient Athens, specifically, to Plato. Plato’s Socrates claims that enthusiasm can be passed from the poet to the spectator and then from one spectator to another: Just so the Muse. She first makes men inspired, and then through these inspired ones others share in the enthusiasm, and a chain is formed, for the epic poets, all the good ones, have their excellence, not from art, but are inspired, possessed, and thus they utter all these admirable poems. (Ion, 533e)72

68

69

70 71

72

John Dennis, The Advancement and Reformation of Modern Poetry (pt. 1, chapter 5), in The Sublime: A Reader, ed. Ashfield and de Bolla, pp. 32–4, p. 32. Dennis, The Advancement and Reformation of Modern Poetry (pt. 1, chapter 5), p. 34. Cf. The Grounds of Criticism in Poetry (chapter 4), pp. 35–9, p. 35. Dennis, The Grounds of Criticism in Poetry (chapter 4), p. 37. Dennis’ account is closer to Kant’s pre-Critical view, however, according to which enthusiasm is the “passion of the sublime,” as we shall see in section 1.6. Plato, Ion, trans. Lane Cooper, in Plato: Collected Dialogues, ed. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (New York: Pantheon Books, 1966), p. 220. On poetic inspiration, see also Meno 99b5–c5 and Ion 534c5–6.

Introduction

25

Socrates claims that the poets could not back up their fine or sublime messages with a rational account or explanation of the content of those messages. So again in the case of the poets also I presently recognized this, that what they composed they composed not by wisdom, but by nature and because they were ’ enthused [emhotrinomse], like the prophets and givers of oracles; for these also say many fine things, but know none of the things they say. (Apology, 22b-c)73

Plato, too, connects enthusiasm to what is sublime, or more precisely, to what is variously translated as sublime, beautiful, or fine (jak). Plato’s view of enthusiasm is ambivalent. Although Plato recognizes the sublimity of the poets’ strains and verses, he is critical of their ecstatic state of inspiration, the momentary loss of the capacity for rational deliberation, and their lack of self-control. According to Plato, the poets are possessed by the Muse as divines and seers are controlled by the gods. Plato’s view of enthusiasm consists primarily in what can be called a production aesthetic: the enthusiast is the inspired creator of poems and verses. But there is a secondary sense in which the account is a reception aesthetic. For Plato’s enthusiast inspires fellow-feeling observers, spectators, and listeners to feel enthusiasm with him. These viewers do not proceed to create works of art or other artifactual products, but remain observers who feel enthusisam in a chain-like reaction. Kant’s account of aesthetic enthusiasm is primarily a reception aesthetic: the aesthetic enthusiast who responds to the “idea of the good with affect” (KU 5:272) is not a creator of verse or of an artwork. (For Kant’s account of creativity and the production of art, we have to turn to his concept of genius, but I will not examine the latter closely in this study. Although Kant hints at a relation between genius and enthusiasm, he does not really pursue this connection.74) Note that characterizing Kant’s 73

74

Plato, Apology, trans. Harold North Fowler, in Plato: Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, Phaedo, Phaedrus (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1914 [2005]). Fowler’s “by nature” translates urei. I ’ changed Fowler’s “inspired” to “enthused” [emhotrinomse]. Although I left jak as “fine,” which is a frequent translation, Tredennick prefers “sublime” as a rendering of jak. See Plato, Apology, trans. Hugh Tredennick, in Plato: Collected Dialogues, p. 8. On inspiration (Begeisterung), genius, and the sublime, see Robert Wicks, “Kant on Fine Art: Artistic Sublimity Shaped by Beauty,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 53(2) (1995): 189–93, p. 191; Kirk Pillow, Sublime Understanding: Aesthetic Reflection in Kant and Hegel (New Baskerville: MIT Press, 2000), pp. 67–98; and Zammito, Genesis, p. 283. Relevant passages from the Kantian corpus include: Die Frage, ob die Erde veralte, physikalisch erwogen 1:212; VK 2:267; Rem 20:7, 11; ApH 7:188; ApH 7:202; Allgemeine Naturgeschichte und Theorie des Himmels 1:329; KU ¨ ber den Gemeinspruch: 5:262; 363; a Religion fragment (circa 1793–4), 23:108; R 6:50; R 6:197n.; U Das mag in der Theorie richtig sein, taugt aber nicht fu¨r die Praxis 8:287; and Von einem neuerdings erhobenen vornehmen Ton in der Philosophie 8:399, n.5.

26


spectators in this way does not imply that the onlookers are passive, inactive, disengaged, or uninterested: their mental faculties of imagination and reason are actively engaged and they are attuned to the events that they are watching. Like Plato, Kant does not endorse enthusiasm unconditionally. For Kant, aesthetic enthusiasm, as the idea of the good with affect, is genuine only if it is a response to the morally good and is constrained by the morally good. In “An Old Question,” Kant asserts once again that genuine enthusiasm must be a response to the morally right, even though it remains a disinterested response. For this reason, I argue that enthusiasm for the idea of a republic – the example given in “An Old Question” – is best characterized as dependent sublimity, since the concept of the purpose of the republic is an essential component of the spectator’s experience of enthusiasm (section 5.4.1). Kant himself appears to demonstrate a morally based interest in the disinterested enthusiasm for the idea of a republic: in Kant’s texts one finds the basis for a theory of morally based interest in sublimity. Just before defining enthusiasm in the third Critique, Kant suggestively writes that “even that which we call sublime in nature outside us or even within ourselves (e.g., certain affects) is represented only as a power of the mind to soar above certain obstacles of sensibility by means of moral principles, and thereby to become interesting” (KU 5:271; my italics). The very next sentence is: “I should like to dwell a little on the last point.” This pause is revealing, since it suggests a connection between morally based interest and enthusiasm. It is precisely at this point that Kant asserts that the idea of the good with affect is called enthusiasm.75 By giving an account of interest in the sublime and by conceiving of enthusiasm as a form of sublimity, we can better understand Kant’s views of the French Revolution. As mentioned, there have been little or no 75

The entire passage reads: “Ich will bei dem letztern etwas verweilen. Die Idee des Guten mit Affect heißt der Enthusiasm. Dieser Gemu¨thszustand scheint erhaben zu sein, dermaßen daß man gemeiniglich vorgiebt: ohne ihn ko¨nne nichts Großes ausgerichtet werden. Nun ist aber jeder Affect blind, entweder in der Wahl seines Zwecks, oder wenn dieser auch durch Vernunft gegeben worden, in der Ausfu¨hrung desselben; denn er ist diejenige Bewegung des Gemu¨ths, welche es ¨ berlegung der Grundsa¨tze anzustellen, um sich darnach zu bestimunvermo¨gend macht, freie U men. Also kann er auf keinerlei Weise ein Wohlgefallen der Vernunft verdienen. A¨sthetisch gleichwohl ist der Enthusiasm erhaben, weil er eine Anspannung der Kra¨fte durch Ideen ist, welche dem Gemu¨the einen Schwung geben, der weit ma¨chtiger und dauerhafter wirkt, als der Antrieb durch Sinnenvorstellungen. Aber (welches befremdlich scheint) selbst Affectlosigkeit (Apatheia, Phlegma in significatu bono) eines seinen unwandelbaren Grundsa¨tzen nachdru¨cklich nachgehenden Gemu¨ths ist und zwar auf weit vorzu¨glichere Art erhaben, weil sie zugleich das Wohlgefallen der reinen Vernunft auf ihrer Seite hat” (KU 5:272).

Introduction

27

attempts in the literature to make sense of the fact that in the third Critique Kant gives an account of intellectual interest in the beautiful but not the sublime. Given the architectonic structure of the third Critique, it is worthwhile to ask what a Kantian account of interest in the sublime would look like. By extending Kant’s account of empirical and intellectual interests to the sublime, this book attempts to fill in this gap in the scholarship (chapter 4). By giving an account of intellectual or morally based interest in a disinterested aesthetic experience such as the sublime, we can properly understand Kant’s morally based interest in enthusiasm for a just republic (chapter 6). Such enthusiasm is best seen as a kind of sublimity (chapter 5). Accordingly, I show how parts of Kant’s aesthetics and practical philosophy – enthusiasm, morally based or intellectual interest, the sublime, Kant’s views of the French Republic – fit together and shed light on each other, deepening our understanding of Kant’s philosophy. Conceiving of enthusiasm as a form of the sublime has some welcome consequences. It makes sense of Kant’s otherwise perplexing views of the French Revolution. Thus, three issues are interrelated: the neglect of intellectual and empirical interests in the sublime, the failure to show that enthusiasm can be a feeling of the sublime, and the misunderstanding of Kant’s views of the French Revolution. By giving an account of intellectual interest in the sublime, I show that it is possible for Kant to take an intellectual interest in the sublime. By demonstrating that enthusiasm can be a form of the sublime, I show that Kant can take an intellectual interest in enthusiasm: his interest in enthusiasm is itself an example of interest in the sublime. Finally, this helps us make sense of Kant’s views of the French Revolution. Accordingly, there are several ways in which the present book stands apart from previous scholarship or takes a novel approach. First, I examine the Observations as well as the marginalia or remarks that Kant wrote in his copy of the treatise. Few interpreters of the Kantian sublime and enthusiasm seriously examine these pre-Critical texts. I discuss the sublime, the grotesque, enthusiasm, and four distinct senses of freedom. Second, when commentators turn to the Critical account of the sublime, many scholars adhere strictly to Kant’s stated division between the mathematical and the dynamical forms. Although I certainly do not deny that for Kant these two forms are legitimate forms of sublimity, I argue that we need to account for and to characterize the moral sublime and the sublime of mental states. Third, I examine Kant’s Critical conception of the monstrous, discussing a concept that is adumbrated by the

28


pre-Critical notion of the grotesque. Although in the Critical account the experiences of the sublime and the monstrous have a similar structure, the response to the monstrous, unlike the experience of the sublime, lacks the feeling of transcendence and does not reveal an aspect of human freedom. Fourth, I connect Kant’s doctrine of the subreption in the sublime – that is, Kant’s notion that we mistakenly attribute sublimity to the object rather than to our moral vocation (KU 5:257) – to recent work by Michelle Grier on Kant’s doctrine of transcendental illusion. I thus discuss Kant’s theory of the sublime in light of a recent and important contribution to Kant scholarship. Fifth, I argue that both free and dependent sublimity are conceptually possible. Since Kant scholars rarely apply the free/dependent distinction to the case of sublimity, this discussion contributes to a neglected part of Kant’s aesthetics. Sixth, I argue that Kant’s account of the sublime that is elicited by nature implies that we should care for nature. Because previous discussions of this issue focus on natural beauty rather than sublimity, my examination of the sublime offers another way to argue that we have indirect duties with regard to nature. Seventh, I discuss the various senses of interest and disinterestedness, without which certain parts of Kant’s account, such as the notion of taking an interest in disinterested judgments of the sublime, might seem incoherent or at least puzzling. A judgment of taste, which in a “first-order” sense is disinterested, is the object of an interest of reason in a “second-order” sense. The distinction between first- and secondorder interests (section 4.2) can help us understand the notion of taking an interest in disinterestedness. Rodolfe Gasche´, Paul Guyer, and Jane Kneller have recently devoted book chapters to the interest in disinterestedness,76 and such discussions can be supplemented by my firstorder/second-order distinction. Moreover, unlike these interpreters, I focus on sublimity rather than beauty. Finally, I conclude this book with a defense of Kant’s grounding the sublime on human freedom, a grounding that has recently been called into question by commentators such as Malcolm Budd.77 I refer to this grounding of the sublime as Kant’s “basis in freedom” thesis. 76

77

Rodolfe Gasche´, The Idea of Form: Rethinking Kant’ s Aesthetics (Stanford University Press, 2003), chapter 6; Paul Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom: Essays in Aesthetics and Morality (Cambridge University Press, 1993), chapter 3; and Kneller, Kant and the Power of Imagination, chapter 3. I suggest that my first-/second-order distinction can fruitfully complement these discussions (e.g., Kneller, Kant and the Power of Imagination, p. 11). Budd, The Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature: Essays on the Aesthetics of Nature (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002), p. 84.

Introduction

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In conclusion, Kant views the third Critique as providing the conceptual elements that are required to pass from a way of thinking guided by the principles of nature to a way of thinking dictated by the principles of the moral order. If aesthetic enthusiasm can indeed be a form of the sublime, aesthetic enthusiasm, as a stretching or extension of the mental powers through ideas that reveals the possession of ideas of the good and thus the freedom and ability to act on them (KU 5:272), is in a good position to contribute to the transition from the natural to the moral order. Since the transition to freedom, or the actualization of morality in the order of nature, is one of the central topics of the third Critique, seeing to what extent the various forms of the sublime can contribute to this transition by revealing human freedom is an important part of properly understanding Kant’s aesthetics and practical philosophy. overview of the book The following is an overview of the contents of the chapters; a summary of the main themes of the book is found in section 7.1. Chapter 1 examines Kant’s accounts of the sublime, virtue, enthusiasm, and freedom in two texts from the mid 1760s. In the Observations, Kant defines the moral feeling in terms of sublimity, and, in turn, characterizes the noble sublime and the grotesque in terms of moral concepts. In the remarks to the Observations, Kant appears to separate morality and sublimity more distinctly, for he anticipates certain elements of the Critical ethics, but he is still ultimately undecided regarding the relation between the moral feeling and the sublime. Although Kant recognizes the need to cross from the realm of nature to that of freedom, he does not yet give an account of how either beauty or sublimity can disclose freedom or prepare the way for morality. Moreover, he conceives of freedom in various ways: as independent self-sufficiency, metaphysical freedom, moral freedom, and political freedom. The sublime reveals freedom in the sense of the transcendence of nature (metaphysical freedom). Chapter 2 both reviews the familiar mathematical and the dynamical sublime and pays careful attention to a neglected form of sublimity: the moral sublime, the disinterested, aesthetic response to the moral law. The moral sublime should not be identified with the dynamical sublime, since objects that typically elicit the latter are frightening, and the moral law (or some embodiment or representation thereof), which elicits the moral sublime, can never be frightening. I argue that the sublime can be elicited by an object that has form or is not formless, and I connect Kant’s doctrine

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of the subreption in the sublime to Kant’s doctrine of transcendental illusion. I examine the role of reason and the imagination in the experience of the sublime; both reason and the imagination exhibit freedom in some way. I conceive of the sublime of mental states as a subset of the moral sublime, and I argue that judgments of the sublime can be either free or dependent. I discuss Kant’s Critical conception of the monstrous (Ungeheuer). The monstrous can elicit a partly aesthetic judgment that, as dependent, incorporates a notion of the concept of the purpose of the object. Finally, I argue that the Kantian sublime can be elicited by art as well as by nature; therefore artistic objects can reveal human freedom. Chapter 3 argues that the feeling of the sublime and the moral feeling of respect have a similar structure but remain distinct. I show how the sublime presupposes and reveals freedom by examining Kant’s exposition of the sublime, which, he maintains, is also its deduction. I look at how the sublime indirectly supports morality, arguing that caring for nature, including nature that elicits experiences of the sublime, can prepare the way for the realization of morality in the natural order. Caring for nature can lead us to preserve an object that elicits the sublime, which in turn endows us with a feeling of freedom, which can be encouraging for our attempts to be moral. Chapter 4 examines the various senses of interest and disinterestedness. I distinguish positive and negative interests; first-order and second-order interests; and empirical and intellectual (or morally based) interests. An account of empirical and intellectual interests in the sublime can and should be constructed on the model of the interests in the beauty described in §41 and §42 in the third Critique. Disinterested aesthetic experiences of the sublime can be interesting to reason, since they can indirectly help satisfy the interests of reason, above all the desire to actualize morality in the natural order. My account of intellectual interest in sublimity makes sense of the intellectual interest in enthusiasm for the idea of a republic. Without such an account, Kant’s own morally based or intellectual interest in enthusiasm (conceived as sublime) for a just republic cannot be fully understood. The account also makes sense of Kant’s claim that certain affects such as enthusiasm can become “interesting” (KU 5:271). Chapter 5 presents a Kantian account of aesthetic enthusiasm, which is distinguished from fanaticism. Aesthetic enthusiasm (Enthusiasm, Enthusiasmus) is an affect that, though morally ambiguous, can sometimes be an aesthetic feeling of the sublime. The enthusiasm for the first French Republic that Kant describes in “An Old Question” provides an

Introduction

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example of a kind of enthusiasm that is sublime, aesthetic, and has some of the features of a pure aesthetic judgment (universal validity and disinterestedness). Such aesthetic enthusiasm seems to be an experience of dependent sublimity. Kant’s Critical view of aesthetic enthusiasm differs from his pre-Critical view that without enthusiasm nothing great has been accomplished. The chapter concludes with a discussion of how aesthetic enthusiasm both presupposes freedom and can indirectly support morality. Aesthetic enthusiasm, when it is a response to the morally good, can be a morally encouraging, phenomenal sign and it can reveal that we both possess moral ideas and have the ability to act on them. Chapter 6 defends Kant against a charge frequently brought against him regarding his views of the French Revolution. Kant’s endorsement of and interest in enthusiasm for the first French Republic need not be thought to be philosophically unclear or motivated by political pressure. It is consistent to repudiate the violent means used to bring about a transition to a republic even though one supports the ends that these means are supposed to achieve. The idea of a just republic, which is intended to ensure the freedom of the citizens, can elicit aesthetic enthusiasm. Incorporating the distinctions and concepts articulated in this book, I draw on my previous argument that the enthusiasm felt, transmitted, communicated, shared, or expressed (perhaps even in judgments) by observers of the events in France counts as a feeling of the sublime. The observers are disinterested spectators, not interested agents attempting to realize some end; expressing their enthusiasm may even be contrary to their personal interests, since it puts them at risk of being harmed or injured. We should understand Kant’s interest in enthusiasm as a second-order, morally based interest in the sublime in the senses articulated in chapter 4. Chapter 7 summarizes the main arguments in this book. It defends Kant’s grounding of the sublime (his “basis in freedom” thesis), since commentators such as Malcolm Budd have questioned Kant’s thesis. I conclude with a few remarks about how the feelings I discuss can contribute, either directly or indirectly, to the transition to freedom. Finally, there are three appendixes: some further discussion on the Remarks (Appendix 1), a table of feelings (Appendix 2), and a classification of what elicits the Kantian sublime (Appendix 3).

chapter 1

The Observations and the Remarks

In this chapter I examine Kant’s views of the sublime, enthusiasm, moral feeling, and freedom in the Observations and the Remarks (1764–6), the collection of notes Kant wrote a year or two after the publication of the Observations in 1764.1 One reason to study Kant’s early accounts is that many of the same themes and theses reemerge in the Critical period. We can understand the Critical account better if we understand Kant’s early reflections on these issues. It is interesting to examine Kant’s understanding of freedom in this period and to see how he relates the sublime to freedom. The discussion of the Observations will be relatively brief, however, since the text has been relatively well examined by the literature, especially with regard to those themes that are important to the development of Kant’s ethics, such as the adoptive virtues and moral feeling. I will focus on the connections between morality and sublimity, enthusiasm, and the grotesque, themes that are largely neglected by the scholarship on the Observations. After discussing the background of the Remarks, I will show that the notes characterize enthusiasm as the passion of the sublime and also contain four distinct conceptions of freedom. This chapter is divided into two basic partitions: sections 1.1 to 1.3 examine the Observations, while sections 1.4 to 1.6 discuss the remarks to the Observations. In the conclusion to the chapter (section 1.7), I discuss some of the more salient differences between Kant’s two early accounts and the Critical approach to these issues.

1

The Observations and the corresponding notes should be treated separately; the notes were not written as a modification or extension of the Observations. They reflect the influence of Kant’s reading of Rousseau’s E´mile and On the Social Contract, both published in 1762. See the editors’ preface to Kant’s Notes and Fragments, ed. Paul Guyer, Curtis Bowman, and Frederick Rauscher (Cambridge University Press, 2005), p. 1.

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1.1 the observations The Observations designates a period in the development of Kant’s philosophy that can be distinguished from that of the cosmological writings of the 1750s. In the treatise Kant not only draws from the moral sense theory of Hutcheson and Hume, but also incorporates and responds to the ideas of Rousseau, whose Discourse on Inequality Moses Mendelssohn had translated in 1756.2 Although this anthropological and ethical turn has been recognized by Kant scholars, there is a tendency to deny that the Observations contains an aesthetic theory or to view any such theory that it might contain as uninteresting. The editors of a recent publication of selected notes and fragments from this period hold that the Observations is “primarily devoted to an exploration of differences in the aesthetic preferences between the two genders and among different nationalities and races; it offers no analysis of the concepts or experiences of the beautiful and the sublime themselves and therefore foreshadows nothing of the distinctive theories of the beautiful and the sublime that Kant would offer many years later in the Critique of the Power of Judgment (1790).”3 In my view, this characterization is somewhat misleading. By the end of this monograph it should be clear that the early theory adumbrates certain views that reemerge in the third Critique. Paul Guyer writes, albeit with language more moderate than that of the previous quotation, that the 1764 work “had not contained much analysis of these two central concepts of aesthetics themselves [beauty and sublimity], offering instead what we would now consider sociological observations on differences in taste between men and women, different nations and races, and the like.”4 While the Observations surely contains sociological, anthropological, and psychological observations and admittedly contains relatively little aesthetics, it would be a mistake to think that the treatise contains no 2

3 4

See Rischmu¨ller’s introduction to the Bemerkungen in den “ Beobachtungen u¨ber das Gefu¨hl des Scho¨nen und Erhabenen,” p. xv; and Frederick Beiser, “Kant’s Intellectual Development: 1746– 1781,” in The Cambridge Companion to Kant, ed. Paul Guyer (Cambridge University Press, 1992), pp. 26–61. Kant, Notes and Fragments, p. 1. See Guyer, Kant, p. 307. In fact, Schiller expresses the view that the treatise’s exposition is “merely anthropological” in a letter to Goethe dated February 19, 1795 (Briefwechsel Schiller–Goethe [Frankfurt: Insel, 1966], p. 87); see Zammito, Birth of Anthropology, p. 395 n.170. Meg Armstrong likewise focuses on gender and race; Meg Armstrong, “‘The Effects of Blackness’: Gender, Race, and the Sublime in Aesthetic Theories of Burke and Kant,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 54(3) (Summer, 1996): 213–36.

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analysis of the beautiful and the sublime as distinct aesthetic concepts and responses, and that an examination of the treatise cannot advance our understanding of Kant’s theory. Henry Allison, for instance, claims that the Observations “is not an aberration, since a continuous concern with questions of taste or matters aesthetic can be traced through the surviving manuscripts of his [Kant’s] lectures, particularly the [anthropology lectures and the associated Reflexionen].”5 The Observations is divided into four sections: “Of the Distinct Objects of the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime” (section one); “Of the Attributes of the Beautiful and Sublime in the Human Being in General” (section two); “Of the Distinction of the Beautiful and Sublime in the Interrelations of the Two Sexes” (section three); and “Of National Characteristics, so far as They Depend upon the Distinct Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime” (section four).6 Although in the treatise Kant is chiefly interested in differences between beauty and sublimity as features of human character, he does at least characterize the objects of the aesthetic responses (as is reflected in the title of section one) as well as, to an extent, the aesthetic responses themselves. Kant rather swiftly characterizes the aesthetic objects in section one and the nature of the aesthetic responses in section two; some noteworthy passages on the grotesque are found in section four. 1.2 three forms of the sublime, and the grotesque The Observations presents a theory of refined feeling (feineres Gefu¨hl ), including the moral feelings as well as the feelings of beauty and of sublimity. Although Kant relates the feelings of beauty and of sublimity to temperament, gender, and national character, I will not address these issues here. Beauty and sublimity are distinguished in the Observations in terms of the objects that elicit them, as well as in terms of their subjective effects. The feeling of beauty is elicited by the small and the pretty and by manifold and variety. By contrast, the feeling of sublimity is elicited by the great, massive, or large; by unity and constancy; and by virtue,

5

6

Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 2. Joseph Schmucker likewise argues for reading the treatise as a study in aesthetics in Die Urspru¨nge der Ethik Kants in seinen vorkritischen Schriften und Reflexionen (Meisenheim: Anton Hain, 1961), pp. 102, 104. Cf. Zammito, Birth of Anthropology, p. 110. “Gefu¨hl ” in the Observations (written in the singular in the title) and in the Remarks refers not to particular sensations but to a capacity to feel or be affected. See Daniel Dumouchel, Kant et la gene`se de la subjectivite´ esthe´tique (Paris: Vrin, 1999), p. 69 n.1.


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understood as acting on good principles. Sublimity is stronger, more intense, and more tiring than beauty (Obs 2:211; 51). Goldthwait suggests that Kant regards the pleasure in the sublime as superior in quality to that of the beautiful.7 If the sublime’s pleasure is indeed superior, it is due to the greater intensity that is intrinsic to the sublime. For Kant, as for other writers of the eighteenth century, the pain that is an essential component of the sublime leads to an increase in the pleasure that is likewise essential to the experience. The increased pleasure might also originate from the superiority of the objects (e.g., moral principles, virtue) that stimulate the feeling. Even though Kant says it works out for the best that not everyone acts on the basis of principles – since many people would act on the wrong principles – he values the ability to transcend determination by natural impulses (which could later be called negative practical freedom), since it is the basis of the dignity of human nature. Such transcendence, too, might underlie the preference (if any) for the sublime over the beautiful. Kant claims that there are three forms of sublimity: the noble, the terrifying, and the splendid (Obs 2:209; 48). According to Kant’s typology, there is a fundamental feeling of the sublime (although what exactly Kant means by this basic feeling remains a bit unclear) to which are added other kinds of feelings, resulting in one of the three kinds of sublimity. Accordingly, the noble sublime is the feeling of sublimity accompanied by “quiet wonder,” evoked by a great height, an Egyptian pyramid, an arsenal, and even a poetic description of the past in Albrecht ¨ ber die Ewigkeit (1736). Above all, it is virtue that elicits the von Haller’s U noble sublime. It is noteworthy that Kant’s examples are natural objects and artistic objects, and we will take up this issue again in chapter 2. Second, the terrifying sublime consists of the basic feeling of sublimity combined with dread or horror. The terrifying can be elicited by a farreaching depth, profound loneliness, the notion of a limitless future, and even Haller’s poetics of eternity. Third, the splendid sublime combines the feeling of sublimity with that of beauty. Kant again has in mind not just beautiful sunsets and the like, but the sublimity that is elicited by works of art. Since these three forms are relatively straightforward, we can turn to the grotesque. The grotesque, though technically not a form of the sublime, is related to the sublime as its negative counterpart. The grotesque is a degeneration of the sublime. Objects can be deemed grotesque because they have a 7

Goldthwait, Introduction, Observations, p. 27.

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monstrous form (ungeheurer Gestalt) (Obs 2:252; 110).8 For instance, a distorted or misshapen face or head (Fratze)9 exhibits deformity, contrapurposiveness, and dysfunctionality. Kant also describes moral evil in terms of the grotesque. In other words, the grotesque can be elicited by consideration or observation of morally blameworthy acts, such as human sacrifice (Obs 2:252; 110). I would like to dwell a moment on this aspect of the grotesque, in order to see how, in the pre-Critical account, Kant allows a moral demerit in the object to be seen as a reason for not engaging in an aesthetic experience in response to it. According to the pre-Critical view, an ethical demerit in the object or event, identified by one’s capacity to make moral judgments or to judge morally, counts (among other things) as an aesthetic demerit.10 Moreover, examining the grotesque will prepare us to contrast Kant’s early theory of the grotesque with the account found in the Analytic of the Sublime (section 2.5). The form of the sublime from which the grotesque derives is the terrifying sublime. Kant considers the grotesque to be a degeneration of the terrifying sublime, it seems, because the feeling of repugnance is much stronger than the feeling of repugnance that is an essential component of the terrifying sublime. Moreover, the object of the grotesque (e.g., human sacrifice) is much more undesirable from the point of view of its morality or utility than is the object of the terrifying sublime. In the fourth section of the Observations, Kant applies his theory of the sublime feeling to whole peoples (Vo¨lker), and, Kant’s insensitive remarks aside, he does say something interesting about the relation between the grotesque and the sublime. Many of the customs and traditions of Indian and Chinese cultures, he says, elicit the grotesque. They have a “taste” for the grotesque (Obs 2:252; 110). Although the person of grotesque taste has a desire and disposition to feel the grotesque, he or she should feel moral (or instrumental) repugnance in response to the object at hand. For Kant, the self-sacrifice of wives on funeral pyres, unnatural atonements of the fakirs, and idolatry are all morally repugnant. They are repulsive from a

8

9

10

Michel de Montaigne begins “Of Friendship” with a description of the grotesque in terms of monstrosity. Michel de Montaigne, Essais, “Of Friendship,” book i , chapter 28, in The Complete Essays of Montaigne, trans. Donald M. Frame (Stanford University Press, 1948). Kant uses Fratze (grimace, mug, caricature) in a sense best captured by the contemporary concept of the grotesque. Both the Anthropology (7:142) and the Prolegomena (4:381) connect Fratzen to Schwa¨rmerei. On aesthetic demerit and merit, see Gaut, Art, Emotion, and Ethics, pp. 9–14.


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practical, not aesthetic, point of view. A feeling for the grotesque demonstrates the moral failure of the persons who cultivate such a liking: In human nature, praiseworthy properties never are found without concurrent degenerations [Abartungen] that must run through endless shadings to the utmost imperfection. The property of the terrifying sublime, if it is quite unnatural, is fantastic [abenteuerlich]. Unnatural things, insofar as the sublime is supposed [gemeint] in them, although little or none at all may actually be found, are grotesque [Fratzen]. Whoever loves and believes the fantastic [Abenteurerliche] is a visionary [Phantast]; the inclination toward the grotesque makes one a crank [Grillenfa¨nger]. (Obs 2:213–14; 55; my emphasis)11

The feeling for the grotesque is cultivated by a person of imperfect and deplorable character. It is the melancholic (not the phlegmatic, sanguine, or choleric) who is at risk here, for the melancholic is prone to develop a feeling for the grotesque (Obs 2:222; 67). In short, to call something grotesque, in Kant’s account, is to pick out objective features to which one responds (or should respond) with repugnance or disgust. The feeling is a response to moral or instrumental shortcomings in the object, event, or action. Calling the latter grotesque is another way of declaring that the object is undesirable on moral or instrumental grounds. 1.3 virtue The difference between the aesthetic feelings of the sublime and the beautiful and the “morally refined feelings” (Obs 2:219; 62) is not clearly demarcated in the Observations, in contrast to the Critical account. When Kant considers the sublime and beautiful “so far as they are moral” (Obs 2:220; 64) and, in turn, defines the moral feeling in terms of sublimity, he lets the domains of aesthetic judging and moral judging cross over into each other. The crossover goes in both directions. In one direction, the object’s instrumental goodness or moral worth is an essential component in determining whether something deserves to be called, or is worthy of eliciting, the sublime, rather than its degenerate, negative counterpart, the grotesque. In the other direction, moral feeling is defined in terms of aesthetic feeling. Let us examine this second direction more closely.

11

The bold font here (and throughout this book) is intended to reproduce Kant’s emphasis.

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Since Kant’s conception of virtue and his characterization of moral feeling in the Observations have been widely discussed in the literature, we need not spend much time on Kant’s pre-Critical ethics or on his conception of virtue.12 I am more concerned with showing how and to what extent, for Kant, virtue is connected to freedom and to aesthetic feeling. Kant famously distinguishes between genuine virtue and the so-called adoptive virtues such as complaisance, sympathy, pity, and benevolence. Pity (Mitleid), and complaisance (Gefa¨lligkeit) count only as adoptive virtues because they are not based on principles. By contrast, being grounded on principles renders a virtue genuine (Obs 2:217–18; 61). Since principles require transcendental and practical freedom (to use Kant’s later formulations), genuine virtue exercises, demonstrates, or exemplifies transcendental and practical freedom. The adoptive virtues cannot not do this. They reveal an agent who instead only follows his or her sentiments, which Kant conceives as natural instincts. Having examined the connection between virtue and freedom, let us turn to the relation between virtue and aesthetic feeling. Unsurprisingly, Kant connects virtue with sublimity and describes genuine virtue as sublime. In fact, only genuine virtue is sublime. The adoptive virtues, which Kant describes as “amiable” and “beautiful,” are associated with beauty rather than sublimity (Obs 2:215; 57). This comes across as a slight against the adoptive virtues, since it is clear from the text that it is better to be sublime than beautiful.13 The more universality a feeling has, the more sublime it is. “As soon as this feeling has arisen to its proper universality, it has become sublime, but also colder” (Obs 2:216; 58). The adoptive virtues, not being based on principles, can be said to be contingent (Obs 2:217; 60). They thus have little possibility of being sublime. 12

13

E.g., see Paul Menzer, “Der Entwicklungsgang der Kantischen Ethik in den Jahren 1760–1785,” Kant-Studien, 2 (1898): 290–322 and Kant-Studien, 3 (1899): 41–104, Schmucker, Die Urspru¨nge; Paul Arthur Schilpp, Kant’ s Precritical Ethics (Evanston-Chicago: Northwestern University Press, 1938); Susan Shell, The Embodiment of Reason (University of Chicago Press, 1996); Richard Velkley, Freedom and the End of Reason: On the Moral Foundation of Kant’ s Critical Philosophy (University of Chicago Press, 1989). Indeed, critics of Kant take issue with Kant’s preference for the sublime, for he associates the sublime with the masculine and, by preferring sublimity to beauty, Kant denigrates the feminine. See Ursula Pia Jauch, Immanuel Kant zur Geschlechtdifferenz: Aufkla¨rische Vorurteilskritik und Bu¨rgerliche Geschlechtsvormundschaft (Vienna: Passagen, 1988); Heidemarie Bennent, Galanterie und Verachtung (Frankfurt and New York: Campus Verlag, 1985); and Cornelia Klinger, “The Concepts of the Sublime and the Beautiful in Kant and Lyotard,” in Feminist Interpretations of Immanuel Kant, ed. Robin Schott (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1997), pp. 191–211. Cf. Zammito, Birth of Anthropology, pp. 128–9.


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Kant conceives of the adoptive virtues as merely apparent virtues. A merely apparent virtue looks like a genuine virtue but falls short. Kant concedes that these can be shiny, glossy, or fine, but maintains that they cannot be sublime. Although ambition (Ehrbegierde) is technically not called an adoptive virtue, it provides a good example of Kant’s view of the adoptive virtues. He characterizes the adoptive virtues as beautiful: “Since nevertheless the feeling for honor is fine, I can accordingly call the semblance of virtue which is motivated by it the gloss [Schimmer] of virtue” (Obs 2:218; 62).14 According to Kant, the moral feeling, which is presumably the required basis or ground of virtue, is constituted by an aesthetic feeling, namely, the feeling of the beauty and sublimity of human nature. In a very famous passage from the Observations, we can recognize the second half of the aforementioned transgression, reading “sublimity” for “dignity”: True virtue can be grafted only upon principles such that the more general they are, the more sublime and noble it becomes. These principles are not speculative rules, but the consciousness of a feeling that lives in every human breast and extends itself much further than over the particular grounds of compassion and complaisance. I believe that I sum it all up when I say that it is the feeling of the beauty and the dignity of human nature. The first is a ground of universal affection, the second of universal esteem. (Obs 2:217; 60)15

The role played by aesthetic feelings and by principles is important. The account that Kant presents in the Observations is not yet a completely reason-based ethics, since it depends heavily on aesthetic feeling, but it is a step in that direction. The account is based on the idea of obeying principles as well as the notion of being conscious of the aesthetic feelings of the sublime and the beautiful. 1.3.1 Enthusiasm and fanaticism An early description of “enthusiasm” is found in a footnote in the fourth section of the Observations. Enthusiasm is said to refer to a state of mind, a view that Kant retains in the Critical period. The mind becomes 14

15

At least, he does so if we can read shine and gloss as being beautiful, as I think we can. The kind of sublimity that ambition would have, were it sublime, would be noble sublimity. Kant claims that the moral feeling is found in the breast of every human heart, yet suggests, perhaps inconsistently, that the moral feeling varies according to temperament, gender, and national character.

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inflamed by some principle – such as a maxim of patriotism, friendship, or religion – beyond an appropriate or proper degree. Kant is keen to distinguish enthusiasm from fanaticism, the tendency to take oneself to have intuition of another world: Fanaticism [Der Fanaticism] must always be distinguished from enthusiasm [Enthusiasmus]. The former believes itself to feel an immediate and extraordinary [außerordentliche] communion with a higher nature; the latter means the state of the mind [Zustand des Gemu¨ths] in which it has become inflamed by any principle above the proper degree, whether it might be by maxims of patriotic virtue, or of friendship, or of religion, without the illusion of a supernatural [u¨bernatu¨rlichen] communion having anything to do with it. (Obs 2:251n.; 108n.)

The principles upon which enthusiasm is based are in themselves good and worthy of esteem. Unlike fanaticism, enthusiasm does not claim to have access to the supernatural. In Essay on the Maladies of the Mind (1764), published in the same year as the Observations, Kant maintains that nothing great was ever accomplished without enthusiasm. This reveals an inherent ambiguity within enthusiasm (Enthusiasmus), which is based on moral principles yet takes these principles too far: This ambiguous appearance of the fantastic in sentiments that are in themselves good and moral is enthusiasm, and nothing great has ever been accomplished in the world without it. It is altogether a different matter with the fanatic (visionary, raver). The latter is actually a person crazy with a supposed immediate inspiration and a great familiarity with the powers of heaven. (Dieser zweideutige Anschein von Phantasterei in an sich guten, moralischen Empfindungen ist der Enthusiasmus, und es ist niemals ohne denselben in der Welt etwas Großes ausgerichtet worden. Ganz anders ist es mit dem Fanatiker (Visiona¨r, Schwa¨rmer) bewandt. Dieser ist eigentlich ein Verru¨ckter von einer vermeinten unmittelbaren Eingebung und einer großen Vertraulichkeit mit den Ma¨chten des Himmels.) (VK 2:267)

A few points are worth making here. First, Kant’s claim that nothing great was ever accomplished without enthusiasm seems to be false. Taken literally, the assertion means that enthusiasm is a necessary condition of establishing something great, and a moment’s reflection shows problems with this claim. Kant understands enthusiasm as a state of the mind that takes a good principle too far. But surely I can accomplish something great without taking a good principle too far. I can do something morally good, say, improve the defense of civil liberties in my country, and yet lack enthusiasm because I have good moral and practical judgment: I can simply apply the principle (the one associated with patriotism)


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correctly.16 Thus, if we take something “great” to designate a morally good event or act, the claim lacks plausibility, since clearly one can achieve morally worthy ends without being enthusiastic about it in Kant’s sense.17 The claim in question might make more sense in the case of heroic acts. This may actually be closer to what Kant has in mind. Yet even here the claim seems false. Suppose I see a non-swimmer fall off his boat and into the water in the middle of a lake. I can accomplish a morally worthy end and carry out a presumably heroic act – the rescue – without taking a good principle to an extreme. I can save the non-swimmer because it is the right thing for me to do at that moment. In this case, I can accomplish the “great” by correctly applying the principle to rescue someone in need, and I can do this without enthusiasm in Kant’s sense. Second, the cited passage also reveals that there is a close connection between enthusiasm and freedom. Kant conceives of enthusiasm as a degeneration of the “love of freedom” (Obs 2:222; 66) and other morally good principles (patriotism, friendship, religion). It is not clear what sense of freedom Kant is using here, however. Since Kant associates enthusiasm with the principle of patriotism,18 the freedom may very well be political freedom in the form of a republic. As mentioned in the introduction, Kant discusses Cato as enthusiastic in this context. Alternatively, the enthusiastic person who is fired up or ignited (erhitzt) by a principle might “love” transcendental and practical freedom, since these kinds of freedom are required or entailed by action on moral principles. Acting on non-sensory, universal, moral principles requires transcendence of natural impulses, including the adoptive virtues and other sensuous

16

17

18

Notice, too, that Kant’s conception of enthusiasm is different from that of ordinary language (feeling enthusiasm for something as being excited or exhilarated about it). Ordinary language, too, suggests that Kant’s claim is false. I can do the right thing, and yet do it from duty alone and not feel much excitement or exhilaration in carrying out my actions. Nonetheless, this view must have been important to Kant, since he mentions it again in the third Critique, calling it a view that is commonly presumed (gemeiniglich vorgiebt). He then characterizes enthusiasm as aesthetically sublime (KU 5:272) (section 5.5). Note that Kant views the Schwa¨rmer and the Fanatiker as referring to the same kind of person. This makes a very strong case for translating Kantian Schwa¨rmerei as “fanaticism,” as I do throughout this book. Cf. a remark on the Critical political philosophy made by Howard Williams, in Kant’ s Critique of Hobbes (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2003), p. 76: “In contrast to the paternalistic attitude, which Kant thinks derives from Hobbes’s political philosophy, Kant would want to recommend a patriotic attitude. Patriots take pride in their country neither as its possessors nor as its effects or possessions but as co-authors and co-beneficiaries of its freedom, prosperity, and laws.” Cf. Kant’s “On the Common Saying: That May Be Correct in Theory, But It Is of No Use in Practice” (8:291).

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motives such as pity. The enthusiast might be attracted to his freedom in this sense. Third, we can see from the quoted passage that there is an important difference between practical and aesthetic enthusiasm. Insofar as the enthusiastic state of mind leads to great accomplishments, it is motivating an agent to attempt to reach some goal or objective. This kind of enthusiasm can be called practical rather than aesthetic, since it leads an agent to take action. The enthusiasm that in the Critical period Kant calls aesthetically sublime (and which I refer to as aesthetic enthusiasm) is not practical in this sense. In short, enthusiasm, despite its errors and excesses, which are doubtless paved with good intentions, is a state in which the mind is inflamed by a moral principle beyond its appropriate or proper degree. It can be the love of freedom gone too far, even so far as to destroy the object of its love – freedom – or even to destroy oneself. 1.4 the remarks : history and background The Bemerkungen in den “ Beobachtungen u¨ber das Gefu¨hl des Scho¨nen und Erhabenen,” or the Remarks in the “ Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime,” is the collection of marginal notes in Kant’s personal, interleaved copy of the Observations that were written between 1764 and 1766. Kant wrote both on the pages of his personal copy of the Observations and on blank, white sheets that he placed inside his book. Because the notes were found inside his book, Kant’s first publisher of portions of the notes in 1842, Friedrich Wilhelm Schubert, had the erroneous impression that the papers contained corrections and reflections related to the Observations, possibly in preparation for a second edition of the work.19 Editors of Kant’s writings shared this view a century later. The title given by the editor Lehmann (not Kant) in the Akademie Ausgabe edition of 1942 was Bemerkungen zu20 den “ Beobachtungen u¨ber das Gefu¨hl des Scho¨nen und Erhabenen.” However, what Kant wrote down on the interleaved sheets (in contrast to the margins) is not at all a commentary on or correction of the Observations, but a set of independent thoughts or reflections 19

20

See Reinhard Brandt and Werner Stark, Foreword to Rischmu¨ller, Bemerkungen (unpaginated front matter). Whereas zu implies that the remarks comment on passages in the Observations, in correctly suggests that the notes are merely found in Kant’s copy of the work.


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(Nebengedanken).21 Although we may never know why Kant wrote these notes in his copy of the Observations, they were certainly not intended to be preparations for a second edition. Kant did not seize the opportunity to make changes or corrections when the Observations was reprinted in 1766 and 1771. Indeed, the text of 1764 appeared in the later editions unaltered except for minor orthographic corrections; there are only about thirty notes that, as corrective addenda or further reflection, directly refer to the text of the Observations.22 Kant’s reflections often have nothing to do with the page on which they are written in the Observations. For example, the comments on the nature of fire and ether read as if they belong in an eighteenth-century physics textbook, not as addenda to the Observations. Moreover, the notes that directly refer to or correct the Observations are written on the printed pages of the original copy of the Observations, whereas the notes that do not refer to the Observations are written on interleaves or blank sheets that Kant inserted into his book. On the majority of the printed pages of the Observations Kant left the margins blank. He occasionally used the margins of the printed page of the book to make addenda to reflections he had already written on inserted sheets.23 Kant’s handwritten text is filled with cursory, unclear passages, cryptic abbreviations, incomplete sentences, and obscure allusions and citations. The notes are not based on a set of key ideas that are systematically developed, and they do not follow a single theme. Instead, they deal with many topics, abruptly passing from one topic to the next. Kant inserts some Greek and Latin words and French phrases into his German remarks, sometimes germanizing French words, appropriating and reacting to French ideas and culture. There are several long passages written entirely in Latin, and these may have been composed at a later date than the other notes. Perhaps because of their unguarded nature, however, the notes are invaluable in revealing Kant’s private views of aesthetics and ethics as well as of many other subjects that do not concern us here, such as cosmology and physics. Kant seems to be working through and developing his views through the writing process, and the text exposes Kant’s personal anxieties and idiosyncrasies.24 Although the text reveals Kant’s doubts and wishes, the notes do not constitute a diary or journal.25 Evidence of a chronology 21 24 25

Rischmu¨ller, introduction, p. xi. 22 Rischmu¨ller, introduction, p. xvi. 23 Ibid. Rischmu¨ller, introduction, p. xi. Kant later expressed a deep aversion to soul-searching introspection (Anthropology 7:132–3), but it is unclear whether he had this view in the mid 1760s, even though Rischmu¨ller attributes this view to Kant at that time. See Rischmu¨ller, introduction, p. xii.

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of periodic entries is missing. In fact, one cannot exclude the possibility that Kant wrote the majority of the reflections in the span of a single week. For further discussion on this, see Appendix 1. According to one interpreter, Kant’s ethics in the notes does not fundamentally go beyond what Kant reached in the Prize Essay (1763), written under the influence of the British empiricists, above all Francis Hutcheson.26 This claim seems incorrect, however, since in the notes Kant is skeptical of using moral feeling as a basis for ethics and, indeed, has a new understanding of moral feeling. A statement by Paul Schilpp does not seem completely correct either. Opposing his position to that of Paul Menzer, Schilpp writes: “Viewed as a whole, the internal evidence of this Fragment [the Remarks] does not indicate that Kant was definitively and consciously turning against Rousseau and the British moralists, or even that he was aware of the precise nature of the moral problem.”27 On the contrary, Kant’s view in the notes is markedly different from the positions of the British moralists and of Rousseau. In fact, Schilpp elsewhere seems to say just this: “The first thing that catches our attention is that although there is still evidence of a marked interest in the British moralists (as well as in Rousseau), this Fragment [the Remarks] undeniably shows a changed perspective.”28 In the notes, Kant acknowledges a need for his ethical theory to reconcile the particularity of feeling with the universality of principles, as well as to state the relation between nature (in the form of the adoptive virtues) and freedom (exhibited by principlebased virtue). To put it another way, he recognizes the need for human beings to make the transition from nature to freedom (Rem 20:56; 46). Fortunately, some scholars have recognized the significance of the notes and the uniqueness of Kant’s approach relative to both his earlier views and to previous thinkers.29 Joseph Schmucker, for example, notes that for Rousseau the moral feeling consists in extending self-love to other persons with whom we identify through sympathy and is thus ultimately a natural, physical feeling.30 Schmucker notices that Kant’s concept of 26

27 28

29

30

Ming-Huei Lee, Das Problem des moralischen Gefu¨hls in der Entwicklung der Kantischen Ethik (Taiwan: Institute of Chinese Literature and Philosophy, Academia Sinica, 1994), p. 92. Schilpp, Kant’ s Precritical Ethics, p. 74. Schilpp, Kant’ s Precritical Ethics, p. 63. Cf. Willi Goetschel, Constituting Critique: Kant’ s Writing as Critical Praxis (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1994), p. 61. For the view that Kant’s ethical views are basically formulated by the mid 1760s, see Schmucker, Die Urspru¨nge, pp. 256, 261; Dieter Henrich, “Hutcheson und Kant,” Kant-Studien, 49 (1957/8): ¨ ber Kant’s fru¨heste Ethik: Versuch einer Rekonstruktion,” Kant-Studien, 54 (1963): 404–8; 66; “U ¨ ber Kants Entwicklungsgeschichte,” Philosophische Rundschau, 13 (1965): 252–63. and “U Schmucker, Die Urspru¨nge, p. 198.


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moral feeling in the notes is a fundamentally different concept from Rousseau’s as well as from the one found in the Observations. For in the latter work, Kant defines the moral feeling both in aesthetic terms and in terms of its specific object, the human being: the moral feeling is a feeling of the beauty and dignity of human nature. Accordingly, while Schilpp is right that “the Fragment reflects a state of doubt and uncertainty,” he is wrong to say that the collection of remarks “is far from showing any precise formulation of the ethical problem or a clear consciousness of its specific nature.”31 To be sure, Kant does not offer a detailed or nuanced account of the relation between aesthetic feeling and moral feeling, and he has not yet formulated the Critical doctrine of the “moral feeling of respect,” but Schilpp’s claim seems to be an overstatement. For, as Susan Shell notes, Kant has arrived at a principle of universalization, the special status of a type of moral feeling as an immediate satisfaction in the good, the principled nature of moral action, the categorical rather than hypothetical nature of obligation, and the unconditional goodness of good willing. Shell appropriately concludes that “Kant’s Remarks anticipates many of the elements of his mature moral doctrine.”32 Kant’s notes offer the first evidence of the emergence of some of the most distinctive and important themes of Kant’s mature moral philosophy, including the fundamental value of freedom.33 1.5 four senses of freedom Since one of the principal tasks of this book is to explore how, in Kant’s account, the experience of the sublime is related to the notion of freedom, it will be helpful to examine the pre-Critical conceptions of freedom and of the sublime. By examining Kant’s early conception of freedom, we will be in a better position to see the growing complexity in Kant’s attempt to distinguish between, yet at the same time to connect, moral feeling and

31

32 33

Schilpp, Kant’ s Precritical Ethics, p. 65. As he states (p. 63), Schilpp did not have access to all of the Bemerkungen, but worked with the thirty-one pages in Immanuel Kants sa¨mtliche Werke, ed. G. Hartenstein, 8 vols. (Leipzig: Leopold Voss, 1867–8), vol. v i i i , pp. 609–40. Schilpp’s concept of “the ethical problem” would presumably include the transition from nature to freedom, the relation between principles and feelings, and the relation between adoptive virtue and genuine virtue. Kant clearly has a conception of these in the Remarks. Shell, Embodiment of Reason, p. 103. See the editors’ preface to Kant’s Notes and Fragments, p. 1; and Beiser, “Kant’s Intellectual Development,” p. 44.

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the feeling of the sublime. In the Critical account, both morality and the sublime are based on the idea of freedom, which is conceived as a rational and moral idea, although this shared basis does not of course imply that for the Critical Kant moral feeling is identical to the feeling of the sublime. In the notes, Kant conceives of freedom in at least four distinct ways, namely, as Rousseauvian self-sufficiency or independence (living in accordance with nature, free from domination by others and by luxurious things); as political freedom (or freedom from constraint by the government); as moral freedom (conceived as perfection of the will or freedom from one’s own inclinations); and as metaphysical freedom (acting as a first cause).34 Let us examine each of these in turn. Rousseau’s concepts of nature and freedom shape the way in which Kant thinks about freedom in the notes. Having been struck by Rousseau’s E´mile, Kant believes that his society is plagued by luxury. The state of luxury is contrasted with the state of nature. In the state of nature, human beings live according to simplicity (Einfalt) and contentment (Genugsamkeit).35 The luxurious person, by contrast, has backward inclinations and depends on artificial objects, which leads him or her to look and act in ways that are not in accordance with nature. For instance, Kant quips that it is ridiculous to put, as hair powder, “flour in one’s hairpiece [Haarkrause] and none in one’s soup” (Rem 20:119; 90). The state of luxury is marred by inequality, which, Kant claims, brings about a loss of freedom.36 Freedom is here understood in terms of independence and self-sufficiency. In this sense, the free person lives in harmony with nature, in accordance with natural needs, and free from domination by others and even by things. Self-sufficiency requires getting rid of dependence on unnecessary things (luxury) and being unaffected by the opinions of others – in short, 34

35

36

Guyer discusses the Remarks’ conception of autonomy, understood as freedom from domination by others and as freedom from domination by one’s own inclinations. Guyer does not connect these two senses to independence and to moral freedom; this is my way of putting it. I agree with his suggestion, in Guyer, Kant’ s System of Nature and Freedom, pp. 127–8, that (what I call) freedom as independence can be traced back to Rousseau, and that moral freedom (independence from our own inclinations) seems original to Kant. Cf. “Simplicity [Einfalt] (artless purposiveness) is as it were the style of nature in the sublime, and so also of morality, which is a second (supersensible) nature” (KU 5:275). Kant describes the state of inequality as injustice (Rem 20:9; 13; Rem 20:140; 105), a condition of oppression through superstition and power (Rem 20:10; 13), a state where illusion does violence (Rem 20:28; 26). Although both the civilized condition and the state of oppression may exist at the same time, civilization and oppression do not necessarily coexist. Kant argues for the removal of injustice so that virtuous citizens may flourish within the civilized condition.


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freedom from things and from human beings. Kant writes: “If I now wanted to gain a great but not complete independence from human beings, I would have to be capable of being poor without feeling it and of being seen as inferior without caring [achten] about it” (Rem 20:30–1; 28–9). The loss of freedom is grounded either on dependence or on subjection. In the first case [dependence], one is dominated by his inclinations (either toward things or to men, as in love, friendship, and parental love) or against his inclinations. The former [domination by one’s inclinations] is a consequence of soft luxury, but the latter [domination against one’s inclinations] is a consequence of fearful cowardice and follows from the first. (Rem 20:164–5; 122)

The lack of freedom characteristic of servitude is horrifying: The human being has his own inclinations and a clue [Wink] from nature to direct his actions accordingly, using his capacity of choice [Willku¨hr]. Now, there can be nothing more terrifying than having a person’s action subordinated to another person’s capacity of choice. That is why no horror [Abscheu] can be more natural than the one a person has before servitude. For this reason, a child cries and becomes embittered if he has to do what others want him to do, if one has not tried to make it pleasant for him. And he wishes only to become a man quickly and to conduct himself according to his will [nach seinem Willen zu schalten]. (Rem 20:88; 68)

Freedom, independence from domination by others and by things, is threatened by luxury, since the latter brings about inequality as well as dependence on artificial things: “in a luxurious country,” Kant claims, “freedom is lost” (Rem 20:164; 122).37 Now let us briefly examine Kant’s conception of political freedom, which includes the capacity to think and speak as one chooses: The freedom that a prince grants to think and to speak as I do now surely has as much worth as the many favors that a greater luxury affords, since all the evil that arises from the latter can still be corrected through this freedom. (Rem 20:41; 36)

Kant does not explain how the freedom of thought and speech “corrects” the evil caused by luxury, unfortunately, so we are left to guess at his intentions. Kant distinguishes morally coerced from politically coerced actions: officium est vel beneplaciti [beliebig] vel debiti. actiones priores sunt moraliter spontaneae posteriores moraliter coactae (haec differt a coactione

37

More passages on freedom as independence include Rem 20:55; 45, Rem 20:65–6; 52–3, and Rem 20:92–3; 71. On the love of freedom, see Rem 20:154; 114.

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politica) (Rem 20:160–1; 119).38 However, he does not offer much analysis of the notion of political freedom. Accordingly, let us turn to the next sense. Kant’s conception of moral freedom seems very close to the Critical notion of positive practical freedom. The free agent in this sense not only exercises her will independently of her inclinations, but perfects her will in fulfilling her obligation. Such perfection, Kant claims, is the absolute greatest ground of the good (Rem 20:136–7; 102). Since the moral feeling and the feeling of the sublime have a complex relationship in Kant’s Critical account and because this relationship will be the subject of chapter 3, it is worth stating how Kant’s notes characterize the role of moral feeling. The moral feeling is used to identify what counts as an obligation (Schuldigkeit). Whatever is required from a public or universal perspective is called an obligation. It is the equilibrium between private and public interest (Rem 20:160; 119). Obligation (obligatio) is good in itself (in se bona), and it has an objective necessity that is categorical and immediate (where the goodness of the action is the end), rather than conditional and mediate (Rem 20:149–50; 111–12). Obligation is felt or sensed (Rem 20:35; 32). By adopting the perspective of the general will, one senses contradictions in willing (Rem 20:161; 119–20). It is the moral feeling that makes such sensing possible. In order to carry out a moral duty, one must respond with moral feeling to the particular situation (Rem 20:155; 115–16). The moral feeling is the immediate satisfaction felt when the will is perfected, and this feeling accompanies the recognition (and presumably fulfillment) of obligation. According to the notes, an act is moral if it is determined by the common will, that is, by the perfection of the will. Kant considers freedom in the proper sense to be moral freedom, since he reflects on “how freedom in the proper sense [im eigentlichen Verstande] (moral freedom, not metaphysical freedom) is the highest principle of all virtue and also of all happiness” (Rem 20:31; 29). This brings us to the fourth sense, namely, metaphysical freedom. Just as moral freedom is close to what can be called positive practical freedom, so is metaphysical freedom similar to transcendental freedom, or being a first cause in a causal series: We take pleasure [Vergnu¨gen] in certain of our perfections, but much more so when we ourselves are the cause [Ursache]. Most of all if we are the freely acting 38

This partly German, partly Latin fragment is coherent with the completely German notes that deal with obligation and duty and suggests a contemporary composition of the Latin and German fragments.


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cause [frey wirkende Ursache]. The greatest perfection is to subordinate everything to the free capacity of choice [freyen Willku¨hr]. And the perfection of the free capacity of choice as a cause of possibility is far greater than all other causes of the good, even if the latter were to bring about actuality [Wirklichkeit]. (Rem 20:144–5; 107–8)

Kant here suggests that the moral use of the will (the perfection of the will), or moral freedom, presupposes or entails a metaphysically free use of the will, or metaphysical freedom. The direction of this entailment is unsurprising, and can be read as adumbrating Kant’s Critical view that practical freedom presupposes transcendental freedom. However, the passage also suggests that the implication goes in the other direction, that transcendental or metaphysical freedom entails practical freedom and that the freer we are from natural impulses such as our own inclinations, the more we can perfect our wills. For Kant claims that the subordination of all of our capacities and receptivities to the free capacity of choice is the greatest inner perfection (Rem 20:144–5; 107). This claim is more striking and more controversial. Kant seems to be claiming that the completely free use of the will, or the will as an entirely free cause, results in the perfection of the will, and thus in the moral use of the will. This view seems to be different from the Critical one, which, pace the interpretation of Henry Sidgwick, I take to be the view that free actions, even though they are entirely free, can still depart from the moral law and be immoral.39 Accordingly, this passage suggests that in the middle of the 1760s Kant was attempting to formulate the relationship between what he later called transcendental and practical freedom, and that he became dissatisfied with the approach taken in the notes. Now that we have considered four different conceptions of freedom in the notes, we can connect the foregoing discussion to the sublime. In doing so, I would like to show how some of the senses of freedom have a corresponding sense of virtue associated with them. How do the different conceptions of freedom relate to virtue and to the sublime? Kant conceives of virtue in two conflicting ways. Each way corresponds to selfsufficiency and to moral freedom, respectively. In the first sense, virtue is simplicity in accordance with nature. This kind of virtue consists in the 39

Henry Sidgwick, “The Kantian Conception of Free Will,” in his The Methods of Ethics, 7th edn. (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1981), pp. 511–16. Cf. Williams, Kant’ s Critique of Hobbes, p. 91: “A wholly free action and a virtuous action are identical for Kant. The good will and the free will are one.” David Sussman, in The Idea of Humanity: Anthropology and Anthroponomy in Kant’ s Ethics (New York: Routledge, 2001), pp. 182–6, discusses two responses to the issue of immoral action.

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capacity and desire to do away with the dispensable and to be content with little. Socrates is the archetype here: “The difference between the one who needs little because he lacks little, and the one who needs little because he can spare a lot. Socrates” (Rem 20:77; 60). The human being who is virtuous in this sense desires to live according to fundamental physiological and psychological needs and retrieves natural simplicity. In the second sense, virtue is the transcendence of nature in the adoption of and action on moral principles. This sense of virtue corresponds to moral freedom. Whereas the first sense of virtue involves living according to nature, the second sense entails transcending nature. Virtue in the second sense requires the moral application of one’s transcendental and practical freedom. Assuming that sublimity implies the transcendence of nature, then virtue as natural simplicity (the first sense) is decidedly not sublime, for nature is not being transcended. Sublimity consists in sacrifice, and the virtuous person (e.g., Socrates) on this model does not sacrifice his natural inclinations, but lives according to natural simplicity. Moreover, such a virtuous agent, according to the notes, would be motivated by the happiness that results from virtue rather than by the principled nature of virtue itself.40 By contrast, virtue in the sense of acting on moral principles requires self-sacrifice. The second kind of virtue would indeed be sublime, since the agent transcends nature and acts on morally good principles. To summarize: there are at least four distinct conceptions of freedom in the remarks. Self-sufficiency and moral freedom can each be associated with a sense of virtue. The sense of virtue that corresponds to selfsufficiency is not sublime, since it involves living according to, rather than transcending, nature. But the sense of virtue that is associated with moral freedom is sublime, since this kind of virtue requires self-sacrifice and the transcendence of nature. 1.6 enthusiasm: the passion of the sublime The notes make use of the typology found in the Observations. The remarks refer to the noble, the splendid, and the terrifying sublime.41 40 41

Shell, Embodiment of Reason, pp. 101–2. For the splendid (pra¨chtig) and for (its derivative) display or shine, see Rem 20:4; 8, Rem 20:11; 13, Rem 20:149; 111, Rem 20:38; 34, Rem 20:36; 33, and Rem 20:149; 111. For the noble (edle, vornehmste) and for reputation or status, see Rem 20:3; 7, Rem 20:36; 33, Rem 20:60; 48, Rem 20:28; 27, Rem 20:30; 28, Rem 20:177; 131, Rem 20:28; 27, Rem 20:4; 8, Rem 20:5; 8, and Rem 20:10; 13. For the terrifying (schreckhaft), see Rem 20:126; 95, Rem 20:185; not in Meiner edition, Rem 20:4; 8, Rem


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Given the unstructured nature of the jottings, it is unsurprising that the account is not very extensive. The notes that deal with the sublime do not differ substantially from the characterization found in the Observations. Kant’s account of enthusiasm also seems to be basically the same. Kant calls enthusiasm the “the passion of the sublime” (Rem 20:43; 37). Kant distinguishes affect from passion in that affects such as anger “lie in nature” but passions do not (Rem 20:34; 31). If one turns to other texts written during this period, a fuller picture emerges. In the Maladies of the Mind, Kant writes that passions are extremely powerful drives that act as the “moving forces” of the will: when an end is set by a passion, the understanding can only find the means to the proposed end (VK 2:261). The stronger the passion, the more powerless is the understanding to counterbalance it. The drives can become so strong that they overpower any rational judgment that is made by the understanding. If they are not brought under the control of the understanding, the passionate drives have their way. According to Kant, sexuality (Rem 20:96; 73–4) and sympathy (Obs 2:215–16; 58) can lead to passions. In the notes, Kant conceives of Cato as enthusiastic. Kant means not that Cato experiences a sublime movement of the mind or makes a judgment of the sublime, but that he is in the throes of the passion of freedom. Since he is passionate, Cato suffers, and his suffering is his own doing, a self-sacrifice. Cato’s “wonderful and rare” suicide exemplifies defending freedom in an undesirable way (Rem 20:4; 8).42 Here freedom is understood primarily as political freedom, represented by the idea of the republic. Kant asserts in the Herder lecture notes that enthusiasm is necessary to accomplish great acts. All great things are accomplished by enthusiasts [Alle großen Dinge sind von Enthusiasten ausgerichtet], e.g., Cato died: perhaps [he went] too far, when one

42

20:65; 52, and Rem 20:123; 93. For the grotesque (Fratzen), see: “The adventurous taste parodies. Hudibras parodies grotesques. Ludicrous sublime.” “Der abenteurliche Geschmack parodiert. Fratzen parodiert Hudibras. possierlich erhaben” (not in Akademie Ausgabe; Rem 32). The work by Samuel Butler was published in Leipzig and Hamburg between 1663 and 1678 and was translated into German by Johann Heinrich Waser and Johann Jakob Bodmer in 1765 under the title Hudibras, ein satyrisches Gedicht wider die Schwermer und Independenten zur Zeit Carls des Ersten in neun Gesa¨ngen. According to Adickes, Kant was most likely familiar with Hudibras through this translation (15:201). Kant quotes from Hudribas (pt. 2, canto 3, lines 772–81) in Dreams (2:348, 336). See Samuel Butler, Hudibras (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967). See the note by Lehmann at 20:490; and Rischmu¨ller, pp. 139–40. As Rischmu¨ller notes (p. 140), Kant does not mention Cato’s death in the margins of Obs 2:224, where we would expect the note to be written had he been preparing a second edition of the Observations, but much earlier at Obs 2:205. In the eighteenth century, Cato’s death was used to justify certain acts of suicide and was pointed to as an example of noble heroicism.

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looks at it coldheartedly [kaltsinig], for he was still patriotism in the abstract, the image of Rome, and the commander of the heroes in Elysium: his dantem jura Catonem [Cato giving laws to all the rest]43 (Virgil) was a sacrifice in the face of freedom [vor die Freiheit]. (PPH 27:40)

Cato’s act is sublime in that it reveals patriotic virtue based on the idea of political freedom and the ability to overcome his sensible nature (negative practical freedom). Indeed, he sacrifices the core of his sensible nature, his life. Insofar as Cato’s soul is unbalanced, however, the sublimity transforms into the passion of the sublime, enthusiasm. It takes reason’s cool reflection to notice that Cato became overheated (erhitzt), perhaps even feverish, from exposure to the idea of freedom. For Cato does not use his practical freedom to act on moral principles – he goes too far, and his enthusiasm leads to something which Kant considers immoral: suicide. The problem is not that enthusiasm is devoid of principles, but that the enthusiastic person exercises his capacity to act on principles in the wrong way. Unlike aesthetic enthusiasm in the Critical account, the enthusiasm here is a passion, not an affect. This change is significant because (on the Critical view) passions determine one’s faculty of desire, whereas affects modify one’s sensibility (KU 5:272n). In the early period, enthusiasm leads to a practical determination of the will, whereas according to the Critique of the Power of Judgment and the Conflict of the Faculties enthusiasm can be either a practical determination or a merely aesthetic response, as we shall see in chapter 5. 1.7 conclusion The accounts of the relation between sublimity and morality that Kant presents in the Observations and in the corresponding notes are, at the very least, inconsistent with the Critical account. If the Critical arguments are considered to be defensible, the earlier accounts should be rejected. Let us examine the salient differences by turning again to the Observations. First, Kant claims in the Observations that the moral feeling is the motive and criterion of moral behavior, that a particular type of feeling is sufficient to motivate moral action: if and only if an act is performed 43

This famous phrase comes from Virgil’s Aeneid, Book 8, line 670. “All the rest” refers to “all the great names of the greatest Romans,” as Michel de Montaigne puts it before citing his dantem jura Catonem. Montaigne concludes chapter 36, “Of Cato the Younger” (Essais, Book 6) with Virgil’s phrase; Michel de Montaigne, The Essays of Montaigne, trans. Charles Cotton, ed. William Carew Hazlitt (London: Reeves and Turner, 1877).


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from respect for the dignity and beauty of human nature in general does it have moral worth. In the second Critique, he implicitly criticizes this view by arguing that feeling lacks the necessity and universality required to judge and motivate moral behavior. If the second Critique’s arguments against sentiment-based ethics are valid and sound, the account presented in the Observations should be rejected. If the Critical claims are correct, the view defended in the Observations fails to reconcile the universality that appertains to a moral judgment with the empirical, subjective, and contingent nature of feeling. Second, in describing the moral feeling in terms of beauty and dignity, the Observations account, from the perspective of the Critical account, does not sufficiently distinguish between the disinterestedness of moral action and the disinterestedness of beauty and sublimity. From this perspective, this pre-Critical account does not properly characterize the difference between practical and aesthetic disinterestedness. In short, the work’s account of the sublime reveals a tension between the sublime’s aesthetic element, evident insofar as the feeling is based on an affective movement of the subject, and its moral element.44 Let us turn to the remarks to the Observations, which draw from and employ the treatise’s three-fold typology of the sublime. In this respect, the characterization found in the notes also differs significantly from the Critical account, in which the noble, the splendid, and the terrifying drop out, at least officially, as types of sublimity, even if they may reemerge in altered form. Moreover, like the Observations, the notes lack a fleshed-out theory of pure aesthetic disinterestedness. The account of respect (reverentia) in the remarks merits comment, since in the Critical account this notion will become the moral feeling of respect. In the notes Kant claims that respect is a, and perhaps even the, response to the moral law, but unfortunately Kant does not explicitly develop the relationship between respect and the moral law.45 Although Kant does not have a full-blown conception of the moral law in the notes, he does employ the concept of a legis moralis (Rem 20:147; 110). In the notes Kant hints that the moral feeling is related to the feeling of respect, but this notion is never developed: “The capacity of the legislative power is not grounded in love but in respect [reverentia] and in the moral faculty to wrest away [extorquendi]” (Rem 20:80; 62; cf. Rem 20:112; 85). This legislative capacity is presumably responsible for guiding the perfection of 44 45

Dumouchel, Kant et la gene`se de la subjectivite´ esthe´tique, p. 105. On respect (Achtung) as reverentia in the Metaphysics of Morals, see MS 6:402, 436, and 468.

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the will according to the laws of freedom. The feeling of the perfection of the will, as we have seen, is nothing other than the moral feeling, the feeling of obligation. Thus, the moral feeling and respect seem to be related, but Kant does not specify in what this relationship consists. As is well known, the Critical account attributes to the moral law (alone) a motivational role in morally worthy actions. Kant’s Critical view is that neither the moral feeling nor the aesthetic feeling of sublimity can motivate the will, but that the moral law alone is a sufficient motive of morally worthy actions. In the notes, the aesthetic and the practical (including both the useful and the moral) continue to have a complex relationship. To be sure, the beautiful and the sublime – and ideal feeling in general – are distinguished from the useful. Even more so than in the Observations, Kant echoes Rousseau in cautioning against letting the desire to feel or create sublimity or beauty prevail over the satisfaction of basic needs or the fulfillment of personal and social obligations. However, after distinguishing the aesthetic from the practical, Kant seems to pay little attention to his distinction, claiming that the noble or sublime can be united (verbunden) with the useful (Rem 20:118; 89; cf. Rem 20:129; 97; Rem 20:78; 61). Moreover, Kant appeals to the genuine/apparent distinction that he had presented in the Observations, thereby reuniting the aesthetic and the moral. In other words, in the notes, as in the Observations, it seems that whether or not sublimity is genuine or derivative depends on its instrumental or moral desirability. For instance, the difference between ambition and the noble sublime leads to a tension between appearance and reality in moral character. This tension anticipates Kant’s later distinction between the legality of outward conformity to the requirements of morality and the morally worthy inward motivation of respect for the moral law itself. By looking at Kant’s early writings, we can better understand the origins (and perhaps to an extent the content) of his mature philosophy. The account of the sublime presented in the Critical writings retains parts of the theory presented in the 1760s, albeit in altered form.46 The dynamical sublime bears a certain similarity to the terrifying sublime in that the dynamical sublime is an intense response to the overwhelming power in an object that typically is capable of inducing fear or terror. The splendid sublime seems to have informed Kant’s discussion of artistic 46

Myskja notices how the terrifying, the noble, and the splendid carry over into the Critical account in The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, pp. 126–8.


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sublimity, for Kant claims that a presentation (Darstellung, exhibitio) of the sublime should be beautiful and should please taste (KU 5:325; ApH 7:243). What I call the moral sublime (section 2.3) bears a resemblance to the noble sublime, since the moral sublime is a response to a morally worthy or morally desirable object, idea, event, or person. The concept of the monstrous (Ungeheuer) persists as a way to characterize a vast, dysfunctional object in its dysfunctionality. The Critical account lays out the monstrous, unsurprisingly, in terms of the conceptual apparatus of the Critical theory of the sublime. Enthusiasm emerges as a form of the moral sublime, a sublime mental state, an affect with a moral basis. Finally, the seeds of an important element of the Critical account of the mathematical sublime is discernible in one of the notes: “That all magnitude [Gro¨ße] is only relative and that there is no absolute magnitude can be seen from the following. I measure distances in the sky by the earth’s diameter, the earth’s diameter by miles, miles by feet, and feet by their size with respect to my body” (Rem 20:47; 40).47 This note seems to anticipate Kant’s claim that there is an “aesthetically greatest basic measure for the estimation of magnitude” (KU 5:252) and that “in the end all estimation of the magnitude of objects of nature is aesthetic (i.e., subjectively and not objectively determined)” (KU 5:251). Having examined Kant’s writings from the mid 1760s, we are in a better position to understand and appreciate the origins of the Critical reflections on the feeling of the sublime, the moral feeling of respect, enthusiasm, and freedom.48 We are then able to compare Kant’s early and later accounts of how and to what extent sublimity reveals the different senses of freedom. Let us now turn to the Critical account of the sublime.

47

48

Cf. Rousseau, in E´mile, trans. Allan Bloom (New York: Basic Books, 1979), p. 176, on the natural capacity to judge using the senses. I do not attempt to tell the full story of Kant’s development on these issues, however, since such a project would carry me beyond my current scholarly capacities as well as my page limits.

chapter 2

The judgment of the sublime

Before we can properly understand how the sublime reveals different senses of freedom, we must carefully examine Kant’s account of the sublime.1 Accordingly, I begin by going over the relation between feeling and judgment in Kantian aesthetic experience (section 2.1.1). I also note that Kant attributes to the sublime the four moments of pure aeshetic judgment. This point is worth recalling when we see in chapter 5 that Kant describes enthusiasm in terms of two of these moments, namely, universality and disinterestedness. One of the main arguments in this chapter is that there is a third kind of sublimity: the moral sublime. We need to acknowledge that there is moral sublimity in order to account for a disinterested spectator’s response to morality as well as for certain morally based affects or mental states (e.g., enthusiasm) that qualify as experiences of the sublime. In my view, then, there are three basic kinds of sublimity: the mathematical sublime, the dynamical sublime, and the moral sublime. The argument for this classification actually takes place over two sections, since I review Kant’s familiar accounts of mathematical and dynamical sublime (section 2.2) before turning to the moral sublime (section 2.3). In the section on the mathematical and the dynamical sublime, I discuss three issues that relate to the sublime in general (section 2.2). The first issue concerns whether or not an object judged to be sublime is formless. This issue merits discussion since in the secondary literature 1

For the sublime in the Reflexionen, see 15:436–7; 25:175; 25:388–9. There are three references to the sublime in the unpublished First Introduction (FI 20:249–50; 250; 251). Passages on the sublime that are found in the third Critique but not in the Analytic of the Sublime include: (1) KU 5:192, at the end of section v i i ; (2) KU 5:226, on emotion at the end of §14; (3) KU 5:280, the explanation in §30 that the exposition of sublime is its deduction; (4) KU 5:292, the claim in §39 that pleasure in the natural sublime is one of “contemplation involving subtle reasoning”; (5) KU 5:315, on the aesthetic idea of Jupiter’s eagle in §49; (6) KU 5:316n., on the poetic inscription at the temple of Isis in §49; and (7) KU 5:325, on the sublime in the arts in §52. See Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, pp. 304–5.

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Kant has been interpreted as holding this view. I maintain that an object that elicits the sublime is not formless. Since I will argue in chapter 5 that enthusiasm can qualify as an experience of the sublime and enthusiasm is not a response to something formless, it is useful to show that what elicits the sublime is not formless. The second issue I examine in this section concerns Kant’s doctrine of subreption. It is useful to compare the subreption in the sublime to transcendental illusion, which arises as a result of reason’s demand to seek the unconditioned and which Michelle Grier has appropriately characterized in her book, Kant’ s Doctrine of Transcendental Illusion. This section will enable us to see that the subreption in the sublime is a frequent but not necessary occurrence. Indeed, if the sublime reveals freedom, it would be odd for Kant to hold that the subreption necessarily or always occurs, since if the latter were the case it is difficult to see how the sublime could make freedom palpable. The final issue in this section deals with how the imagination and reason can both reveal freedom. I describe the relation between the imagination and reason and their roles in the sublime. In the next section I articulate the notion of the moral sublime (section 2.3). As mentioned, I cite some key passages from the Kantian corpus, including those that deal with the sublime of mental states. I hold that the disinterested aesthetic response to the moral law would be one of the sublime, and that it could be neither the dynamical nor the mathematical sublime. I also propose that we conceive of the sublime of mental states (including enthusiasm) as a subset of the moral sublime. This will put us in a position to account for enthusiasm properly, namely, as a form of the (moral) sublime (section 5.4). In the subsequent section I argue that there can be both free and dependent sublimity (section 2.4). Since much of the discussion in the literature on the free/dependent distinction focuses on beauty, this section should open up a new way of looking at the sublime. It will also enable us to determine later whether or not enthusiasm, insofar as it is an experience of the sublime, is dependent or free (section 5.4.1). The usefulness of the free/dependent distinction will be exhibited in the subsequent section, where I examine the monstrous and the colossal (section 2.5). The latter can be characterized as experiences that are close but not identical to dependent sublimity. In the colossal and the monstrous, concepts, especially teleological ones, play a crucial role in the subject’s act of judging.2 2

I distinguish between the act of judgment (the “judging”) and the content of that act (the proposition). See Wayne Martin, Theories of Judgment: Psychology, Logic, Phenomenology (Cambridge

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Finally, I argue that Kant’s theory of the sublime allows for the possibility of art that elicits the sublime (section 2.6). This point is relevant because, if my view is correct, artistic objects, and not only nature and natural objects, are in a position to reveal transcendental and practical freedom. This also sets up the discussion of morally based interest in art (section 4.3.4), since if art can elicit the sublime, we can take a morally based and intellectual interest in it. 2.1 preliminary issues 2.1.1 Feeling and judgment The relation between feeling and judgment is a large and complex issue in philosophical accounts of affectivity. For instance, what Jean-Paul Sartre means by “affect” is certainly not the same as what Kant has in mind.3 Leaving such broad issues aside, I will focus on feeling and judgment in Kant’s account of a pure, aesthetic, reflective4 judgment (Urteil) of the sublime, a judgment made or carried out by the power of judgment (Urteilskraft).5 There is considerable debate surrounding the harmony of the faculties in the judgment of taste. However, I do not here wish to evaluate the

3

4

5

University Press, 2006), p. 12; Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, p. 62; and Robert Hanna, Kant and the Foundations of Analytic Philosophy (Oxford University Press, 2001), p. 55. A similar distinction is found in Franz Brentano, Psychology from an Empirical Standpoint, trans. A. C. Rancurello et al. (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1973), bk. 2, chapter 1; and Edmund Husserl, Logical Investigations, trans. J. N. Findlay, 2 vols. (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1970), vol. i i , Investigation v . Cf. Sartre’s attempt to distinguish his account of affect from that of William James; Jean-Paul Sartre, The Psychology of Imagination (New York: The Citadel Press, 1961), p. 98. I use “reflective” as a synonym of “reflecting,” the Guyer/Matthews translation of reflektierend (but cf. “reflective” at KU 5:266). Following Guyer/Matthews, I employ “determining” for bestimmend. Kant famously characterizes the power of judgment as “the faculty for thinking of the particular as contained under the universal” (KU 5:179). If the universal (the rule, the principle, the law) is given, then the power of judgment is determining. If, however, only the particular is given, for which the universal is to be found, “then the power of judgment is merely reflective” (KU 5:179; cf. FI 20:211– 12; KrV a 646/b 674; Refl 3287, 16:759). There is considerable debate about to what extent the Critique of Pure Reason contains, in addition to the determining operations of judgment, an account of reflection and reflective judgment, or whether instead the Critique of the Power of Judgment first makes this distinction. See Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 15. Cf. Beátrice Longuenesse, Kant and the Capacity to Judge, trans. Charles T. Wolfe (Princeton University Press, 1998), p. 163. See also Rudolf A. Makkreel, “Reflection, Reflective Judgment, and Aesthetic Exemplarity,” in Aesthetics and Cognition in Kant’ s Critical Philosophy, ed. Rebecca Kukla, (Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 223–44; and Hannah Ginsborg, “Lawfulness without a Law: Kant on the Free Play of Imagination and Understanding,” Philosophical Topics, 25(1) (1997): 37–83.


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“causal” reading of the relationship between the harmony of the faculties and the pleasure of taste.6 For my purposes, I need not determine whether a non-causal and “intentionalistic” interpretation is correct in holding that we are aware of the harmony of the faculties through the feeling of pleasure.7 Since I am focusing on the sublime, the debate concerning the harmony of the faculties in the experience of the beautiful will not be examined here. But what is the relation between feeling and judgment in the sublime? I take it as uncontroversial that an aesthetic judgment, for Kant, involves a feeling (KU 5:203–4; FI 20:229). Remove the feeling, and you lose what is aesthetic about the experience of the sublime. Indeed, given Kant’s terms, without feeling a judgment could not be aesthetic at all. Kant characterizes the sublime not only as a judgment, as in the “judgment on the sublime” (Urteil u¨ber das Erhabene) (KU 5:253). He also writes of a “feeling of the sublime” (KU 5:257) and “a feeling which is itself sublime” (KU 5:246). Moreover, Kant states: “we say of someone who remains unmoved by that which we judge to be sublime that he has no feeling” (KU 5:265). One might be led to think that it is not possible for the sublime to be both a feeling and a judgment. However, such a view is based on a misunderstanding of what the aesthetic judgment of the sublime involves. The sublime can be both a judgment and a feeling; of course, this feature does not imply that judgment and feeling are identical. Much confusion regarding the notion of judgment in “judgment of the sublime” can be avoided if we properly understand how judgment relates to feeling.8 Kirwan seems to hold that certain feelings simply are aesthetic judgments.9 This way of putting it seems to be an overstatement, however. Feeling and judgment are not identical. Feelings are associated with certain physiological changes but judgments need not be, and judgments 6

7

8 9

See Paul Guyer, Kant and the Claims of Taste, 2nd edn. (Cambridge University Press, 1997), pp. 88–97; cf. Values of Beauty, pp. 77–109. Adumbrating Guyer’s interpretation, Barrows Dunham writes: “So far as the aesthetic experience is concerned, I feel the pleasure immediately, and in later reflection on the experience I consider that the harmony of the faculties was the ground of it”; see A Study in Kant’ s Aesthetic: The Universal Validity of Aesthetic Judgments (Lancaster, PA: privately printed, 1933), p. 33. See also Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, pp. 12–16. See Henry Allison, “Pleasure and Harmony in Kant’s Theory of Taste,” in Kants A¨sthetik, ed. Parret, pp. 466–83, esp. pp. 470–3. Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 12. Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 23. Myskja, in The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, pp. 61–2, 74–7, and Gasche´, in The Idea of Form, p. 130, likewise characterize the feeling as the judgment. In The Sublime, p. 158, however, Myskja claims that the basis for the judgment of the sublime “is found in feeling only,” which is also my view.

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clearly have a propositional character but it is questionable whether feelings do. Part of the problem, of course, depends on what one means by “judgment.” Sometimes it is understood as an assertion or utterance – the kind of thing that can result from a speech act. In this sense, judgment is certainly not a feeling. However, “judgment” can also refer to the response to or experience of something in a certain way. In this sense, I judge a thing to be sublime when I experience it as sublime. This sense of “judging” is much closer to “feeling.” I think this is what Kirwan is gesturing toward when he equates judgment and feeling; at least, this seems to be the most charitable way in which to read his claim and those similar to it. In a certain sense, the feeling of negative pleasure just is the sublime; it is in this sense that Kant calls the sublime a feeling (KU 5:257). To avoid any confusion, however, I prefer to say that the sublime can be described as both a judgment and as a feeling, but that claiming this does not equate feeling and judgment. It may be useful here to say what the judgment of the sublime is not. The judgment of the sublime is obviously not the conclusion of a logical deduction or some other reasoning process based on concepts alone. Nor is it a verdict concerning properties of an object, event, etc., that is independent of the judging subject. Moreover, it is not the thumbs-up or thumbs-down that critics give of a work of art or even of a natural object. Technically speaking, a pure aesthetic judgment of the sublime does not even refer to, much less evaluate, an object, since the judgment is really about the subject’s way of thinking (KU 5:280). An aesthetic judgment of the sublime concerns the subject in at least two ways. First, all aesthetic judgments, including judgments of beauty, concern the pleasure or displeasure felt by the subject. The aesthetic judgment of the sublime makes a claim about the subject’s feeling (negative) pleasure; that is what makes the judgment an aesthetic one. It is the self-referential mentioning that one is undergoing a certain type of aesthetic experience. The judgment asserts something about the feeling. Accordingly, it seems more accurate to say that the judgment of the sublime is based on the feeling rather than identical to it (with respect to taste, cf. KU 5:191, 197; FI 20:229).10 Second, according to Kant’s doctrine of the subreption, sublimity is properly attributed only to the idea of the moral vocation of humanity (KU 5:257), a rational idea found in the judging subject’s stock of ideas. In this second sense the sublime differs from the experience of the beautiful, which does not involve a subreption 10

Cf. Guyer, Values of Beauty, p. 77.


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since we can “quite correctly” call certain objects of nature beautiful (KU 5:245) (section 2.2.4). In a pure aesthetic experience of the sublime, the subject feels a mixed or negative pleasure as a result of the disharmonious relation of his or her imagination (or sensible faculty) and reason. But this process, the experience of the sublime, need not stop with the feeling of a mixed pleasure that is caused in this way.11 Having felt this pleasure, the subject is in a position to reflect explicitly on its true ground, the rational or moral idea.12 The feeling of pleasure does not always or necessarily lead the subject to identify the genuine cause of the experience, however, since a subreption can occur and the judge might make a statement such as “That mountain is sublime.” Nonetheless, such reflection and identification is possible and, presumably (if a subreption does not always occur), sometimes actual. The aesthetic judge, having felt the pleasure, is in a position to correctly assign the cause of the pleasure to the overcoming of its sensible faculties by rationality. When this occurs, the subject becomes aware of his or her freedom in one of its aspects. The judging subject can, if he or she wishes, make an assertion or utterance, although doing so is not a necessary component of the experience of the sublime13 and there is no guarantee that the judge will properly identify the cause of the experience. Needless to say, at the feeling stage, crucial physiological changes in the body occur, and these changes most likely carry on into the reflective and asserting stages, as should be verified by empirical investigations. 2.1.2 The four moments Since the four moments of pure aesthetic judgment have been discussed extensively in the literature on the judgment of taste, I will not attempt to discuss points of controversy or to assess interpretations of Kant’s 11

12

13

Jenefer Robinson describes an emotion as a process consisting of three stages: (1) affective appraisal; (2) physiological response; (3) and cognitive assessment. My view of the sublime can be seen as a process as well, although I do not here wish to classify it as an emotion in Robinson’s sense. See Jenefer Robinson, Deeper than Reason: Emotion and Its Role in Literature, Music, and Art (Oxford University Press, 2005). Karl Ameriks likewise describes the structure of Kantian aesthetic experience as tripartite, consisting of immediate perceptual judgment, consequent pure feeling, and explicit reflection; Ameriks, Interpreting Kant’ s “ Critiques,” p. 337 n.18. Note that Ameriks uses “judgment” in a way that differs from my use of the term. This reflection can add to the already felt pleasure. One might be led to read Kant as claiming that the pleasure originally arises from the reflection, but Kant’s text does not unequivocally state this. Myskja gets this point right with respect to the judgment of taste; Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, p. 76.

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position.14 Nevertheless, a few remarks are in order, since once again in this context the literature focuses on beauty rather than the sublime. Kant’s order of presentation of these four moments in the Analytic of the Sublime diverges from that found in the Analytic of the Beautiful. He devotes §25 and §26 to quantity (although he does not do so explicitly); §27 to quality; and §29 to modality (i.e., necessity). §28, which concerns our resistance to power in nature, deals with relation. To make matters more difficult for Kant’s architectonic, §25, §26, and §27 appear to treat only the mathematical sublime, whereas §28 and §29 seem to concern only the dynamical. However, the clumsiness of Kant’s presentation should not cause the reader to conclude that since the “necessity” of the judgment of the sublime is discussed in §29, necessity applies only to the dynamical sublime. To the contrary, all judgments of the sublime, regardless of the kind of sublimity, can meet the four conditions described by the moments, at least under ideal circumstances. Kant holds that the satisfaction that is an essential component of the judgment of the sublime must be represented as universally valid, disinterested, subjectively purposive, and necessary. For as a judgment [Urteil] of the aesthetic reflecting power of judgment, the satisfaction in the sublime, just like that in the beautiful, must be represented as universally valid in its quantity, as without interest in its quality, as subjective purposiveness in its relation, and the latter, as far as its modality is concerned, as necessary. (KU 5:247)

Accordingly, these features apply to any pure aesthetic judgment of the sublime. As in case of the judgment of taste (KU 5:191, 212), it is the judgment of the sublime that represents the pleasure or satisfaction as having these four features. Pace Myskja, I do not think that the content of the judgment is identical to that of the feeling.15 Presumably because the satisfaction or pleasure in the pure judgment of sublime is represented as universally valid, without interest, etc., the judgment is likewise said to be universally valid, without interest, etc. Note that representing the satisfaction in the sublime as universally valid or without interest does not necessarily make it a satisfying feeling of universal validity or disinterestedness.

14

15

E.g., Arnold Berleant and Ronald Hepburn, “An Exchange on Disinterestedness,” Contemporary Aesthetics, 1 (2003); Norman Kreitman, “The Varieties of Aesthetic Disinterestedness,” Contemporary Aesthetics, 4 (2006), section 5. www.contempaesthetics.org. Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, p. 76.


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A debate surrounding the content of the feeling merits discussion. Some commentators argue that the feeling of pleasure in a judgment of taste constitutes awareness of its own universal communicability and validity, or that the feeling contains a claim to subjective universal validity.16 But problems arise if we adopt a similar position in the case of the sublime. In my view, Kant is most charitably read if he is taken to claim that the feeling of negative pleasure in the sublime, even if the judgment of the sublime asserts that the feeling has necessary and subjective universal validity, is not itself a feeling of necessary and subjective universal validity. Inspection seems to confirm this interpretation. When I survey the Dolomite mountains, I do not feel that my pleasure is a necessary and universally valid pleasure, even if the pleasure in fact happens to have these features. What I feel is the pleasure. I may very well demand that others assent to the feeling, but this does not make it a feeling of necessary and subjective universal validity. The notion of ideality also merits some commentary. Kant’s doctrine of the four moments can be characterized as ideal since these conditions of pure aesthetic judgment may very well not be fulfilled in empirical reality, even though it must be possible for the conditions to be met. In other words, it might very well be the case that the disinterestedness of the judgment can obtain only under ideal circumstances, under the right conditions, and so on, but that as a matter of fact the aesthetic judges are not disinterested in the Kantian sense. Admittedly, the ideality of the judgment of the sublime is a disputed, controversial feature of Kant’s account. Opponents of Kantian ideality in aesthetics emphasize the role of historical subjectivity – ethnicity, identity, gender, the body – in the production, experience, and interpretation of art and in the occurrence of aesthetic experiences generally.17 I will not defend Kant’s doctrine of the four moments here, as it is sufficient for our 16

17

See Hannah Ginsborg, The Role of Taste in Kant’ s Theory of Cognition (New York: Garland, 1990), p. 23; Ginsborg, “Kant on the Subjectivity of Taste,” in Kants A¨sthetik, ed. Parret, p. 464; and Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, pp. 75–7. They discuss taste in this context, not the sublime. For a defense of the ideality approach to Kant, see Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, pp. 7–8, 61, 78, 98–143, 146–9, 176–81, and 374 n.28. See also Barbara Herrnstein Smith, Contingencies of Value: Alternative Perspectives for Critical Theory (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988), pp. 64–71; and Malcolm Budd, Values of Art: Pictures, Poetry, and Music (London: Allen Lane, 1995), p. 27. Cf. Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 156 n.21. Opponents of the ideality thesis include Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of Judgment of Taste, trans. Richard Nice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984); Terry Eagleton, The Ideology of the Aesthetic (Cambridge, MA: Basil Blackwell, 1990); Luc Ferry, Homo Aestheticus: The Invention of Taste in the Democratic Age, trans. Robert de Loaiza (University of Chicago Press, 1993); and Smith, Contingencies of Value.

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purposes to state what the four moments of a pure aesthetic judgment are and to show that the four moments apply to the judgment of the sublime. We will see in chapter 5 that Kant ascribes two of these moments (namely, universality and disinterestedness) to the experience of enthusiasm. This ascription gives some confirmation that enthusiasm can justifiably be conceived as a pure aesthetic experience of the sublime. 2.2 the mathematical and the dynamical sublime In this section I depart from the traditional characterization of Kantian sublimity as divided into two basic types of sublimity, the mathematical and the dynamical. Contrary to Kant’s own presentation, it seems that there are not two, but three, basic kinds of aesthetic judgments of the sublime. Needless to say, most commentators on Kant’s theory of the sublime quite understandably follow Kant’s stated division. Although Kant divides the Analytic of the Sublime into sections devoted to the mathematical sublime (§§25–27) and to the dynamical sublime (§§28– 29), the moral sublime (including its subset, the sublime of mental states), I argue, counts as a genuine experience of the sublime. It is important to recognize this, not only to interpret the Kantian sublime in general more accurately, but also because it is necessary for a proper understanding of enthusiasm, which Kant calls a sublime mental state and which, I argue, can be an experience of the moral sublime. 2.2.1 The first kind: the mathematical sublime In turning to the first of the three kinds of sublimity, my concern is not so much to give a systematic interpretation of Kant’s account of judgments of the sublime as to present what is necessary for my arguments concerning sublimity, enthusiasm, and the revelation of freedom. Kant begins §25 with a nominal definition of the sublime, connecting the sublime to the absolutely great: We call sublime that which is absolutely great. However, to be great [Groß-sein] and to be a magnitude [eine Gro¨ße sein] are quite different concepts (magnitudo and quantitas). Likewise, simply [schlechtweg] (simpliciter) to say that something is great is also something entirely different from saying that it is absolutely [schlechthin] great (absolute, non comparative magnum). The latter is that which is great beyond all comparison. (KU 5:248)

In order to understand the significance of calling an object sublime, i.e., absolutely great or great beyond all comparison, one must first


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understand what it means to say that something is merely medium-sized or even small. For Kant, the judgment, “That thing is small” does not amount to assigning to the object a concept of the understanding, an intuition of sense, or an idea of reason. Kant concludes that “it must therefore be a concept of the power of judgment, or derive from such a concept, and be grounded in a subjective purposiveness of the representation in relation to the power of judgment” (KU 5:248). Judging that something is a magnitude (Gro¨ße, quantitum; quantitas), by contrast, requires employing the pure concepts of the understanding, specifically, the three categories of “quantity” – unity, plurality, and totality (KrV a80/b106). One could judge, for instance, that there are two units of something, say, two meters. But in order to judge that two meters is large (or small), something else is required: a standard of measure according to which to judge that magnitude as great or large. This, Kant says, is not a matter of the pure understanding, but of aesthetic judgment: what is at stake here is an aesthetic judging, not a “logical (mathematically determinate) judging of magnitude” (KU 5:249). The most that the understanding can do is offer a comparative concept of magnitude for judging; it can never offer an absolute concept of a magnitude. Kant’s theory of the mathematical sublime is based on his conception of an extensive magnitude, which is a magnitude in which the representation of the parts makes possible the representation of the whole, as in spatial objects, which can be intuited only through successive synthesis from part to part (KrV a162–3/b203–4).18 Saying that a person is tall attributes to that person superiority in height in comparison with other human beings, and it does so in a merely reflective, non-determining way. Selecting a measure or standard for judging is subjective, Kant thinks, which means that I do not have any objective measure in mind when I say that an object is large or a person tall. In calling a person tall I do not suppose that there is some objective measure according to which I am making this judgment, but mean that the person is tall according to a standard established by me. That the standard for comparison is “merely subjective” does not mean that it is private or relative to me alone, for the standard is itself assumed to be universally valid or “the same for everyone” (KU 5:249).19 18 19

Budd, Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature, p. 71. One puzzle I can only briefly mention here concerns the meaning and implications of Kant’s claims that judgments of the mathematical sublime are grounded on a universally valid (subjective) standard (KU 5:249) and that the judgments demand “everyone’s assent” (KU 5:248). The standard can either be given a priori, e.g., the magnitude of “public freedom and justice in a country,” or it

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The genuine sublime in the judgment of the mathematical sublime is the idea of infinity. The absolutely great, i.e., the truly sublime, does not have its standard outside of itself but contains its own standard. “It is a magnitude that is equal to itself ” (KU 5:250). Accordingly, the sublime is “therefore not to be sought in the things of nature but only in our ideas” (KU 5:250). That only a supersensible idea of reason (in this case, infinity) is properly called sublime is confirmed by the final formulation of §25: “That is sublime which even to be able to think of demonstrates a faculty of the mind that surpasses every measure of senses” (KU 5:250). In the mathematical sublime, the subject is aware of being superior to nature by virtue of possessing a rational capacity. This theoretical superiority to sensible nature can be viewed as a type of freedom, even if not practical freedom. Kant makes a psychological argument here, namely, that our theoretical supersensibility reminds us of our practical superiority to nature, as Allison points out.20 But Kant also seems to make a conceptual-analytic argument. He suggests that the connection to freedom is exhibited by the very concept of the infinite or infinity (Unendliche) (KU 5:250). For freedom and the infinite are both unconditioned. The infinite can be considered a type of limitlessness (Unbegra¨nztheit) (KU 5:244), since it is literally without end, limit, finish, or fine.21

20

21

can be empirical, “as in the case of the average magnitude [size] of the people known to us” (KU 5:249). It is not immediately clear how an empirical standard could ground judgments that are alleged to be universally valid, however. Nor is it immediately transparent how the claims regarding the standard fit in with the deduction of the universal and necessary validity of judgments of the sublime. For all judgments of the sublime, Kant later argues, have universal and necessary validity because all human beings possess ideas of reason, which are of course given only a priori, and not because they have an empirical standard (KU 5:266; 280). Finally, it is worth noting that the standard’s a priori status further justifies Kant’s view that his theory is transcendental rather than only empirical or physiological, as is Burke’s account (KU 5:277). Allison notes that we cannot logically infer our moral autonomy from a theoretical capacity to think the supersensible, and that the experience of the superiority of theoretical reason serves as a reminder of this moral autonomy; Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 326. He mentions “psychological effects” on the previous page (p. 325). Allison also cites Kant’s view that every interest of reason, including speculative reason, is ultimately practical (KpV 5:121) and rightly stresses that it is important to keep this in mind when interpreting the mathematical sublime; Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 399 n.42. For Budd, this is precisely the problem. Budd argues that Kant’s preoccupation with securing a moralized conception of the sublime leads to distortions and unclarities in Kant’s account of the mathematical sublime; Budd, Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature, p. 77. Kant mentions the infinite (Unendliche and its relatives) in sections §25, §26, §27, and §29, but in the only section that deals primarily with the dynamical sublime, i.e., §28, he mentions it only when summarizing his account of the mathematical sublime. This is not surprising, since the dynamical sublime is not grounded on an idea of infinity, at least not in any obvious sense. This


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2.2.2 The second kind: the dynamical sublime The only section in the Analytic of the Sublime that deals primarily with the dynamical sublime rather than with the mathematical sublime or with both forms is §28, “On nature as a power.” Kant there defines power (Macht) as “a capacity that is superior to great obstacles” (KU 5:260). Dominion (Gewalt) is a kind of power that “is also superior to the resistance of something that itself possesses power” (KU 5:260). When nature is considered as “a power that has no dominion over us,” it is judged to be dynamically sublime, for it reveals our freedom and superiority to nature (KU 5:260). The outer nature to which the aesthetic judge is superior includes those objects that by virtue of their power and might elicit the sublime. Drawing from a traditional eighteenth-century list, Kant mentions some of these objects: bold, overhanging, threatening cliffs; thunder clouds flashing with lightning; violent volcanoes; devastating hurricanes; a boundless, raging ocean; a lofty waterfall on a mighty river (KU 5:261).22 It is worth pointing out that some of these objects are vast as well as powerful, and therefore have a feature found in objects that typically elicit the mathematical sublime. One and the same object, this suggests, can elicit two different types of experience of the sublime. This ability is not a problem for Kant’s theory, however. Sublimity is properly predicated not of an objective property but of a feature of the judging subject, namely, ideas of reason. Moreover, at some times the judge might find an object’s vastness to be the salient feature for the judgment, while at other times it might be the object’s power. The most important point for our purposes is that Kant maintains that aesthetic engagement with a powerful object can reveal practical freedom.

22

suggests that we should not reduce one form of sublimity to another or elide the mathematical and dynamical sublime. Gernot Bo¨hme, in Kants “ Kritik der Urteilskraft” in neuer Sicht, pp. 83–107, discusses Kant’s reliance on the texts of Savary and de Saussure. But Kant’s list of sublime “objects” – St. Peter’s Basilica, the Pyramids, the Alps, a turbulent sea, and the heavens – closely resembles the register found in Kames, who writes: “Thus St. Peter’s church at Rome, the great pyramid of Egypt, the Alps towering above the clouds, a great arm of the sea, and above all a clear and serene sky, are grand, because, beside their size, they are beautiful in an eminent degree”; Elements of Criticism, based on 6th edition of 1785, “Grandeur and Sublimity,” chapter 4, pp. 151–2. Kant inserts into the third Critique Kames’ example of the sublimity of a “series” (i.e., Europe earth planetary system universe) (p. 157) as well as the serious/gay contrast that runs parallel to Kames’ grandeur/beauty distinction (p. 152). Kames and Kant share other themes: the monstrous irregularities of an “overgrown whale,” a “building destitute of regularity,” and a “surrounding crowd” (p. 152); the grotesque (pp. 156, 160); and enthusiasm as the elevation of the mind above the rules of justice (p. 177) – a view reminiscent of the pre-Critical account.

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The object that elicits a judgment of the dynamical sublime is viewed as having so much power that, insofar as the aesthetic subject is a natural being, she cannot find a power that is comparable to the might demonstrated by the object. Nonetheless, she does contain a power or ability insofar as she is a free being. Reason contains the idea of independence from determination by such natural and sensible causes, and the judgment of the sublime reveals this freedom. We realize that the natural object has no dominion over us, in the sense that we have the ability not to be determined by inner nature and natural impulses. We may even regard as trivial what promotes our well-being, health, or life (KU 5:262).23 Accordingly, as in the mathematical sublime, in the dynamical sublime it is not nature that is truly sublime, but a non-natural and supersensible idea of reason or way of thinking. The capacity to resist and overcome sensible nature (negative practical freedom), a capacity which seems to be a prerequisite of morality and the selection of moral maxims, is genuinely sublime: “Thus sublimity is not contained in anything in nature, but only in our mind, insofar as we can become conscious of being superior to nature within us and thus also to nature outside us (insofar as it influences us)” (KU 5:264; cf. 261). The dynamical sublime not only reveals negative practical freedom, the ability to set ends which are not determined by sensible nature, but also reminds us of our moral destination to use this freedom for moral purposes. The dynamical sublime also reveals positive practical freedom. For the “vocation of our capacity” (Bestimmung unseres Vermo¨gens) can be “revealed to us” when we have the experience of the dynamical sublime, and in fact this revelation is one of the sources of the “inspiring satisfaction” (begeisternde Wohlgefallen) that the experience contains (KU 5:262). Although a powerful natural object initially acts as a stimulus of the experience, the judgment of the dynamical sublime is based on the supersensible idea of our own practical freedom, which the experience makes palpable. If nature is judged dynamically sublime, “it must be represented as arousing fear” (KU 5:260). We fear whatever overpowers us if we try to resist it, and we resist whatever is an evil for us. Nature counts as dynamically sublime “only insofar as it is considered an object of fear” 23

In the second Critique Kant describes an unfortunate man who, because of threats against his life, is forced to resist giving false testimony against an innocent and honorable person (KpV 5:30). The man’s freedom puts him in a position to overcome the temptation to save his life at the expense of another’s misery. Kant’s point is that the man, however unlucky and worthy of our sympathy, is able to select and act on morally good maxims (regardless of whether or not he actually does so).


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(KU 5:260), that is, insofar as our capacity (Vermo¨gen) to resist it is not a match for its power. Although in a judgment of sublimity the object must be represented as arousing fear, one cannot actually be afraid when one makes a judgment of sublimity, since the judgment is disinterested (KU 5:261). The fact that the experience is disinterested is worth keeping in mind when we turn to enthusiasm later. The onlookers in “An Old Question” do not actually fear the oppressive political authorities when they express enthusiasm (otherwise, one presumes, they would not express their shared feelings), even though expressing enthusiasm is contrary to their interests and oppressive governments are otherwise fear-inducing. 2.2.3 Form and formlessness Before proceeding to the moral sublime and to the sublime of mental states, it is worth pausing here to consider whether an object that is considered sublime can have a form or if instead must be formless, since there is some disagreement about this issue in the scholarship. The issue is also important since it bears on what sorts of objects (ideal or otherwise) might elicit the sublime. Moreover, it is best to consider the issue at this point, having reviewed the two forms of the sublime that are traditionally recognized in the literature. The result of this discussion also bears on the possibility of the moral sublime, since the moral sublime is a response to the moral law, which clearly has form (KpV 5:80). A widespread view in the scholarship maintains that the object that elicits the mathematical and the dynamical sublime must be without form or formless. For example, at one point Guyer writes: “First, Kant stresses the formlessness of objects that induce the experience of sublimity (KU, §30, 5:280), and it is clear that an artistic representation of sublime seas or mountains must have a form, and thus has boundaries that what it represents does not have.”24 Although Kant sometimes seems to suggest that objects deemed sublime must lack form (Unform) (KU 5:245, 249, 253, 280), this is not his considered view. First, Unform is not exactly a lack of form (although it has been translated this way), and it seems better to conceive of it as a kind of form (KU 5:192).25 Second, objects that elicit 24

25

Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, p. 264. See also Danielle Lories, “Geńie et gouˆt: complicite´ ou conflit? Autour du Par. 50 de la Troisie`me Critique,” in Kants A¨sthetik, ed. Parret, pp. 564–93, p. 592. The Guyer/Matthews translation renders ihrer Unform (KU 5:192) as “their lack of form” (p. 78). Mary Gregor translates the noun eine Unform (PP 8:352) as an adjective, “without form,” in Practical Philosophy (Cambridge University Press, 1996), “Toward Perpetual Peace,” p. 324.

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sublimity may sometimes appear to lack form, but they must have form in some sense in order to be experienced at all. In order for an object to be perceived as an object in a coherent and intelligible experience it must have a spatial-temporal form. Form can be understood as a boundary or a set of boundaries, however indefinite, and every object capable of being experienced has a form in this sense.26 Third, Kant implies that objects that appear sublime need not even be viewed as formless. Kant mentions the “formlessness that can pertain to that [object] which we call sublime” (KU 5:247, italics added).27 Kant writes of the form of an object that elicits sublimity. “That which, without any rationalizing, merely in apprehension, excites in us the feeling of the sublime, may to be sure appear in its form to be contrapurposive for our power of judgment” (KU 5:245, italics added; cf. KU 5:280). However tempting it may be, it is probably a mistake to claim that the Critique of the Power of Judgment’s conception of form is identical to the notion or notions of form found in the Critique of Pure Reason (KrV a20/ b24).28 Such a reading would be difficult to carry out convincingly, since one would have to examine the many uses of form in the theoretical philosophy in order to apply one or more of these conceptions to the conception found in the third Critique. Since Kant uses the notion of form in so many ways, doing this would be no easy matter. In any case, I will not undertake this task here, but will focus on §14. The key to the concept of form in §14 is the notion of a synthesis of the unity of the manifold of shapes or, as in the case of music, of temporal sensations (KU 5:224–5). In a judgment of taste, the imagination holds together the manifold of shapes or sensations. In the judgment of the mathematical sublime, the imagination cannot synthesize the manifold of shapes or sensations, falling short of the idea of infinity. Thus, in the mathematical sublime, nature functions as a schema for the infinite (KU 5:265; 268). The idea of infinity, by definition, cannot be given in 26 27

28

Budd, The Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature, p. 26. Several commentators correctly note that the Kantian sublime can also be found in objects with form. See Allan Lazaroff, “The Kantian Sublime: Aesthetic Judgment and Religious Feeling,” Kant-Studien, 71(2) 1980: 202–20, p. 206; Rudolf Makkreel, “Imagination and Temporality in Kant’s Theory of the Sublime,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 42(3) (1984): 303–15, pp. 313, 315; Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, p. 139; and Pillow, Sublime Understanding, p. 69. Cf. Theodore A. Gracyk, “Sublimity, Ugliness, and Formlessness in Kant’s Aesthetic Theory,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 45(1) (1986): 49–56. Cf. the appeal to empirical form in Theodore Uehling, The Theory of Form in Kant’ s Critique of Aesthetic Judgment (The Hague: Mouton, 1971), p. 80.


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synthesizable intuitions, and this creates a tension or countrapurposive relation between reason and the imagination. The infinite can be apprehended by using logical or mathematical units, but it cannot be comprehended because this requires the subject to hold together in time an infinite number of units. If I proceed from any standard in sense, the size of a human being, say, and try to represent infinity, I run out of time before I can ever reach infinity. Note that the failure of imagination can be expressed in spatial terms as well. One could say that the imagination cannot come up with an image that is large enough to represent infinity in one glance.29 Because the natural object (or nature itself) schematizes the infinite, which cannot be represented as a play of shapes in space or as a play of sensations in time, the natural object is said to be formless. In short, “formless” describes objects that appear to lack form if they evoke the notion that nature can schematize the idea of infinity. It is worth mentioning that, in addition to the sense of form employed throughout §14 (KU 5:225), there is a concept of form that is frequently found in eighteenth-century aesthetics. Form might be a way of designating symmetry, harmony, proportion, or unity. Kant may very well be using the concept in this sense. According to this sense, the object that typically elicits the sublime would have an external shape or form detectable by the senses, but would be formless insofar as it lacks symmetry, harmony, and so on. Nature certainly does sometimes appear formless in this sense. To summarize: it is unclear what it would mean for an object to be formless in a strict sense. According to the Critique of Pure Reason, all objects that can be experienced have a form of some sort. Moreover, the genuine object that elicits the sublime is not an external object somewhere out there in the world, but an idea of reason, and ideas of reason (especially moral ones) certainly have form. In my view, the question of formlessness should ultimately be seen in light of the doctrine of the subreption, which holds that sublimity is properly predicated not of the object but of the rational idea of “humanity in our subject” (KU 5:257). For if sublimity is properly predicated not of 29

In the dynamical sublime, the problem for the imagination is not that it fails to synthesize a manifold of spatial shapes or temporal sensations, but that, as a sensible faculty, it belongs to the very sensible nature that is shown and felt to be transcended by practical reason. Although the imagination is humbled by reason, it is also raised (KU 5:262). The imagination presents those cases in which the subject is shown to have practical freedom, and this process elevates the imagination.

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the object but of the idea of the humanity of the subject having the experience of the sublime, objective properties seem to be less of a factor in whether or not the object can, by virtue of its features, elicit the sublime.30 Therefore, let us turn to Kant’s doctrine of the subreption in the sublime. 2.2.4 Kant’ s doctrine of subreption: Grier’ s P1 and the sublime The purpose of this section is three-fold: to characterize what Kant means by claiming that the experience of the sublime involves a “subreption,” which will be contrasted with Kant’s doctrine of transcendental illusion; to determine whether the subreption is a necessary, or only an occasional, component of the sublime; and to show how this issue relates to how the sublime can reveal freedom.31 I will argue that although there may be some reasons to consider the subreption to be a necessary element of the sublime, there are better reasons for considering it to be a frequent but not necessary feature of the experience. This issue has important consequences for the capacity of the sublime to reveal human freedom. Kant uses the term “subreption” to refer to the conflation of respect for a natural object with respect for the idea of humanity. Kant’s doctrine amounts to an error theory32 about certain uses of the sublime, namely, those uses that do not recognize that only the idea of our moral vocation (or some related idea) is truly or genuinely sublime. Kant does not tell us how frequent these occurrences are. He just tells us that they occur: Thus the feeling of the sublime in nature is respect for our own vocation, which we show to an object in nature through a certain subreption (substitution of a respect for the object instead of for the idea of humanity in our subject), which as it were makes intuitable the superiority of the rational vocation of our cognitive faculty over the greatest of sensibility. (KU 5:257)33 30 31

32 33

If correct, this point suggests that sublimity can be elicited by art. Transcendental illusion is explored by Michelle Grier in Kant’ s Doctrine of Transcendental Illusion (Cambridge University Press, 2002), especially pp. 101–30 and by Henry Allison in the second edition of Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, especially pp. 322–32. Allison’s discussion of transcendental illusion constitutes a significant departure from the conception of reason presented in the first edition. Allison acknowledges both the significance of his revisions concerning Kant’s account of reason and the influence of Grier on these revisions. See Henry Allison, Preface to the Revised Edition, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2004), p. xvii. Cf. Zammito, Genesis, p. 280. Humanity is the “way of thinking that unites well-being with virtue in our social intercourse (im Umgange)” (ApH 7:277). Kant describes humanity as the universal feeling of participation (Theilnehmungsgefu¨hl) and the capacity for being able to communicate (mitteilen) one’s inmost self universally (KU 5:355); see Fenves, A Peculiar Fate, p. 264. These parts (Teile) of humanity are


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Kant likewise claims that such things as buildings, forms of dress, and bodily posture are not properly sublime (KU 5:272). When we call them sublime, we commit a subreption. No thing or external object is properly called sublime; only a certain kind of rational idea merits the term. It is worth pointing out that there is a similar though not identical conflation of subject and object in the Observations and in the corresponding marginal notes. In both the treatise and in the remarks, sublimity is characterized as subjective yet predicated of objects. However, what is new in the Critical account is the conception of reason as a faculty of supersensible ideas that seeks the “whole” (a characterization drawing on the conception of reason found in the first Critique’s Dialectic). Reason is the source of what is worthy of respect, namely, a law. For respect in general is defined in the Analytic of the Sublime as the “feeling of the inadequacy of our capacity for the attainment of an idea that is a law for us” (KU 5:257). The “law of reason” here in the discussion of the mathematical sublime is not the moral law, but the demand that every appearance that can be given to us be comprehended in an intuition of the whole, where the absolute whole functions as a determinate measure that is universally valid (“valid for everyone”) and necessary (“inalterable”) (KU 5:257). But now the mind hears in itself the voice of reason, which requires totality for all given magnitudes, even for those that can never be entirely apprehended although they are (in the sensible representation) judged as entirely given, hence comprehension in one intuition, and it demands a presentation for all members of a progressively increasing numerical series, and does not exempt from this requirement even the infinite (space and past time), but rather makes it reminiscent of the Theilnehmung of the spectator who communicates or expresses (writes) her enthusiasm abroad, who broadcasts it, to be interpreted (read) by observing human beings, for example, by Kant. “Humanity” can also refer to: (1) human beings as they actually are empirically; (2) the human being as a moral entity worthy of respect; (3) the association of human beings in a moral order; (4) our moral vocation; (5) our rational nature. In Kant’s description of the sublime as respect for “the idea of humanity in our subject” (KU 5:257), he uses the term in a sense that can be associated with moral personhood (senses 2–5). The concept of humanity is important to contemporary Kantian ethics. Matthew Caswell criticizes the “value of humanity” interpretation of Kant’s ethics found in recent work by Paul Guyer, Allen Wood, and Christine Korsgaard. He argues that such accounts cannot account for evil as genuinely imputable, do not properly distinguish humanity from personality, and, in grounding a theory of value, privilege the sense of humanity as rational nature (sense 5 of “humanity”). See Matthew Caswell, “The Value of Humanity and Kant’s Conception of Evil,” Journal of the History of Philosophy, 44(4) (2006): 635– 64. The accounts he criticized are found in: Christine Korsgaard, Creating the Kingdom of Ends (Cambridge University Press, 1996) and The Sources of Normativity (Cambridge University Press, 1999); Allen Wood, Kant’ s Ethical Thought (Cambridge University Press, 1999); and Paul Guyer, Kant on Freedom, Law, and Happiness (Cambridge University Press, 2000).

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unavoidable for us to think of it (in the judgment of common reason) as entirely given (in its totality). (KU 5:254)

Reason, a “faculty for being able to think the infinite of supersensible intuition as given (in its intelligible substratum),” gives the imagination a command (KU 5:255). This law of reason, this command, is similar to what Allison calls the “intellectual categorical imperative” and what Michelle Grier labels P1, the logical maxim to seek the unconditioned for every condition.34 At first glance, the doctrine of subreption in the sublime, as a kind of illusion or deception, is therefore reminiscent of transcendental illusion. Nonetheless, there are also important differences between the subreption in the sublime presented in the third Critique and the doctrine of transcendental illusion defended in the first Critique.35 Let us explore these connections. According to the Dialectic in the Critique of Pure Reason, transcendental illusion arises when one moves from the (perfectly acceptable) logical maxim or directive, “find the unconditioned for the conditioned cognitions of the understanding, with which its unity will be completed” (KrV a307/b364), to the “transcendental principle of reason,” which has a propositional (rather than imperative) form and is misleadingly presumed to yield objective knowledge. The transcendental principle of reason is: “when the conditioned is given, then so is the whole series of conditions subordinated one to the other, which is itself also given (i.e., contained in the object and its connection)” (KrV a307–8/b364). Grier refers to the logical maxim or subjective principle as P1 and to the transcendental principle of reason as P2.36 The latter, unlike the logical maxim P1, 34

35

36

Allison, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, p. 312; Grier, Kant’ s Doctrine of Transcendental Illusion, pp. 117–30. In §§23–29 of the Inaugural Dissertation (1770), “subreption” refers to the conflation of what is sensible with what belongs to the understanding (ID 2:410–17). More specifically, a “subreptic axiom” (ID 2:412), which is a kind of metaphysical error, involves a conflation of the conditions of sensible cognition (of things as they appear) with conditions of things as thought through the pure intellect (i.e., as they really are). According to Kant, sensibility leads the understanding to take subjective, sensible conditions as if they were objective (intellectual) conditions applicable to things as they are in themselves. Although Kant’s language of subject and object reemerges in the Analytic of the Sublime, the analogy between the subreption in the sublime and the subreption according to the Dissertation more or less stops there. For in the Dissertation Kant is examining the conditions of sensible cognition and of thought, whereas in the Analytic of the Sublime he does not describe the subreption with respect to sensible or intellectual cognition, but presents it as a component of a merely reflective aesthetic judgment. For a discussion of the notion of the subreption in the Dissertation, see Grier, Kant’ s Doctrine of Transcendental Illusion, pp. 57–64; see also Allison, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, p. 324. Grier, Kant’ s Doctrine of Transcendental Illusion, pp. 117–30; cf. Allison, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, pp. 330–2.


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involves a metaphysical assumption concerning the reality of a complete and unconditioned set of conditions for every conditioned.37 In other words, P2 posits the unconditioned, the absolute totality of conditions.38 Since such a totality can never be given as an object, such a judgment is erroneous and results in a metaphysical error. However, it is worth bearing in mind that although reason’s conception of the unconditioned is illusory, it is not self-contradictory (after all, it does not directly result in an antinomy).39 One might think that transcendental realism (i.e., the philosophical alternative to Kant’s transcendental idealism) is the source of transcendental illusion regarding the transcendental ideas (the soul, the world, and God) such that, once one eliminates transcendental realism as a viable philosophical position, transcendental illusion disappears.40 However, transcendental illusion is inherent in the very nature of human reason and thus cannot be eliminated, not even by a rejection of transcendental realism, although the metaphysical errors stemming from the latter can be avoided by adopting transcendental idealism. Although transcendental illusion is natural and unavoidable, judgmental error, which arises from a mistaken use of principles that in their own sphere are perfectly legitimate, is neither natural nor unavoidable.41 Although we cannot get rid of transcendental illusion, we can avoid being deceived by it (KrV a297/b354), and Kant’s transcendental idealism can be considered therapeutic insofar as it contributes to such a correction of our thinking.42 The remedy, in other words, lies in transcendental reflection, although the semblance persists even after it is recognized as illusory.43 Although her P1/P2 distinction is useful, Michelle Grier does not closely examine the Critique of the Power of Judgment, much less the Analytic of the Sublime. She does, however, point out in a footnote that Kant appeals to the notion of an unavoidable and natural illusion in the Dialectic of Aesthetic Judgment (KU 5:339–40). She claims that Kant’s appeal to the doctrine of illusion in the second Critique (KpV 5:107–14) and third Critique suggests that an examination of transcendental illusion

37 38 39 40

41 42 43

Allison, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, p. 312. Allison, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, p. 330. Allison, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, p. 321. Allison admits that he used to assume that transcendental idealism eliminates transcendental illusion; Allison, Preface, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, p. xvii. Allison, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, p. 329. Allison, Preface, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, pp. xvii–xviii. Allison, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, pp. 326, 329.

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as it occurs in the theoretical philosophy might be illuminating with respect to Kant’s other works as well.44 In a similar vein, I hope that this book advances our understanding of the subreption with respect to the sublime. It is worth noting that transcendental illusion involves a type of subject– object conflation. P1 is a subjective principle, dictating how reason must proceed if it is to be consistent with its vocation, and P2, as a metaphysical assumption, purports to be objective. In other words, something subjective (a maxim for the logical use of reason or a subjective principle of reason) presents itself as objective.45 Note that the direction of this conflation is the same as the one involved in the subreption in the sublime. For in the latter, respect that is properly deserved by the humanity in our subject is given to an external object by virtue of its apparent greatness or power. Although the subreption in the sublime can be thought of as a type of illusion in an ordinary sense, the subreption should not be characterized as genuine transcendental illusion for several reasons. First, Kant simply does not characterize the subreption as an instance of transcendental illusion. Second, whereas Kant discusses transcendental illusion in a Dialectic, there is no corresponding Dialectic in Kant’s description of the experience of the sublime. If the subreption were a kind of transcendental illusion, a discussion of the dialectical uses of reason could reasonably be expected. Finally, and most significantly, whereas transcendental illusion concerns the three transcendental ideas, the subreption does not involve the attempt to think the “whole” (or wholes) that has traditionally been viewed as the project of special metaphysics (whose putative objects are God, the world, and the soul).46 The sublime does not concern a metaphysical assumption about the objective reality of a complete and unconditioned set of conditions, but involves only aesthetic reflection. These differences notwithstanding, the parallel between the subreption in the sublime and transcendental illusion can help us understand the question regarding whether the subreption is a necessary or only an occasional element in the experience of the sublime. The view that the subreption is an inevitable component of the experience of the sublime is an understandable position, and Kant is not completely clear on the matter. Indeed, this interpretation is found in the literature.47 44 45 46 47

Grier, Kant’ s Doctrine of Transcendental Illusion, pp. 12–13 n.19. Allison, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, p. 330. Allison, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, p. 322. Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, pp. 102, 141.


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The view might also find some support if, after all, there were an analogy between transcendental illusion and the subreption in the sublime. For if it is correct that the subreption of taking the object (not the subject) to be worthy of respect is analogous to the transcendental illusion that consists in thinking that the unconditioned totality is given (P2), then, since the latter is presumably an inevitable part of human reasoning, it would seem that the sublime is also an inevitable or necessary part of the experience of the sublime.48 If this analogy holds, we would always be deceived about what truly is sublime at the moment in which we are having the experience, a self-deception that would last until we think about the matter with philosophical clarity (with the Analytic of the Sublime perhaps as our guide), just as transcendental idealism serves as a corrective to transcendental illusion. Furthermore, just as transcendental illusion remains even after we have read the direct and indirect proofs of transcendental idealism articulated in the first Critique, so also would the subreption remain after we have read the Analytic of the Sublime. Although we might no longer be deceived by the subreption, it would inevitably and necessarily occur. Even if one defends such an analogy, it still does not change the fact that Kant does not conclusively say that the subreption must occur or that it is a necessary component of the sublime. In my view, the most that we can safely assume is that Kant holds that the subreption sometimes occurs. I prefer to attribute to Kant the view that the subreption occurs at least occasionally, and perhaps even frequently, but not necessarily or always. The claim that we “show” respect to a natural object – “the feeling of the sublime in nature is respect for our own vocation, which we show to an object in nature through a certain subreption” (KU 5:257) – might be taken to provide some textual support for the necessity reading. Such a claim would lead to interesting connections with Kant’s doctrine of transcendental illusion. However, the passage is not decisive. It could be read as the claim that when we show respect for an object in nature, a subreption occurs: the passage can be read as simply a description of what the subreption is. It is in this sense that Makkreel claims: “The judgment that a waterfall or landscape is sublime really involves a subreption.”49 Although this claim is true, it does not help us answer the question.

48

49

Like Grier, Allison discusses, and attributes to Kant, this inevitability thesis; see Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, pp. 330–2. Makkreel, “On Sublimity, Genius and the Explication of Aesthetic Ideas,” p. 617.

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Another reason for my rejecting the claim that the subreption is a necessary part of the experience is that such a claim seems to limit the ability of the sublime to reveal human freedom to ordinary subjects who experience the sublime but have not read the third Critique. This issue is an important one, given the practical aims of Kant’s philosophy. If one were always deceived by the subreption, one could never by virtue of the experience become aware that it is one’s freedom and supersensible rationality that is the source of the feeling of the sublime. If there were always a subreption, then until one had gone through proper philosophical reflection, one would not be able to realize that it is one’s supersensible nature that is the ground of the experience and that the object is not actually sublime. And if the sublime cannot reveal freedom, it is harder to put the sublime in the service of morality, a service to which Kant believes the sublime should be (and is) put. It is difficult to see how the sublime could reveal freedom if the subreption always obtains. It would seem that at least once, or some of the time, one would have to experience the sublime as a revelation of one’s own transcendental or practical freedom. In fact, Guyer seems to claim even more than this, since he seems to imply that a recognition of our freedom is a necessary element of the experience of the dynamical sublime. Guyer holds that we “must” interpret our feeling that we have a faculty of reason and must connect it to the recognition of our own powers.50 This formulation may be too strong. It seems to have the unfortunate implication that there cannot be a subreption, since presumably if we must recognize our rational powers – our supersensible reason and our practical freedom – we cannot mistakenly attribute sublimity to the object rather than to our powers, including above all our capacity for morality (the humanity in our subject). Affirming that a recognition of freedom is necessary would seem to entail that there is never a subreption, which is also clearly not Kant’s position. For these reasons I hold that for Kant sometimes, though not always, a subreption occurs. Although it seems to be too strong a claim to attribute necessity to the subreption in the sublime, Kant’s text suggests that it is at least a common or frequent feature of the experience. To return to our main theme: Kant’s description of the subreption clearly reveals that for Kant the sublime is based on human freedom. Kant claims that the sublime is grounded on the idea of our moral vocation and the idea of humanity. Possession of these moral ideas, since 50

Guyer, Values of Beauty, p. 160.


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they ultimately presuppose the moral law, entails that we are transcendentally free, at least according to the Reciprocity Thesis.51 Note that although the mathematical and dynamical forms of sublimity have a moral grounding in freedom (KU 5:265, 280), they are typically a response to an object of nature (or of art) that acts as a stimulus of the experience, and that this object need not be manifestly moral (even if it can be connected to morality). 2.2.5 Freedom: imagination and reason Now that we have understood the nature and frequency of the subreption, we can turn to the roles of the imagination and of reason in the sublime and examine how these two faculties reveal different kinds of freedom. In the experience of the sublime, as we have just seen, the imagination is given a task by reason but fails to complete it. Since the imagination falls short, the activity of the imagination is characterized as serious (KU 5:245). While this failure is frustrating for the imagination, it has at least two positive effects. In failing, the imagination feels itself enlarged or raised up (KU 5:249, 262, 269). This extension counts as a type of freedom. That is, the imagination feels a kind of freedom in trying to complete the task given to it by reason. Second, the imagination’s failure reveals the presence of the faculty of reason. Although the imagination fails, it is in harmony with reason in promoting reason’s aims (KU 5:244). Thus, the failure of the imagination allows the subject to become aware of his or her transcendence or transcendental freedom. The imagination serves the interests of reason through its sacrifice by making the mind aware of its rational superiority to sensibility. In order to understand the role of imagination in the sublime, it might also be useful to review its cognitive and practical uses. According to the first Critique, it is recalled, the imagination provides schemata that function as bridges between concepts and intuitions. Given a concept, the imagination supplies a schema.52 In its practical use, the imagination produces the concept of happiness. Happiness is an ideal of the 51

52

The Reciprocity Thesis holds that freedom of the will (transcendental freedom) is both a necessary condition of the moral law (i.e., the moral law implies freedom) and a sufficient condition of the moral law (i.e., freedom entails the moral law). See Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Freedom, pp. 201–13. I will explore what happens when one rejects Kant’s thesis that the sublime is grounded on freedom (section 7.2). Allison, Kant’ s Transcendental Idealism, p. 180.

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imagination, not of reason, because it rests on merely empirical grounds (G 4:418–19).53 Since the empirical grounds upon which the ideal of complete happiness rests cannot fully determine the concept of happiness, the latter remains indeterminate. Although commentators of the Kantian sublime rarely distinguish between the imagination and sensibility,54 Kant claims that reason humiliates both the imagination and sensibility. It is unsurprising that the sections on the mathematical sublime focus on the imagination. Indeed, in sections §§25–27, which are devoted to the mathematically sublime, sensibility is mentioned rarely (yet see KU 5:255). References to the imagination are not limited to the sections devoted to the mathematical sublime, however. Consider this passage on the dynamical sublime elicited by nature: “Thus nature is here called sublime merely because it raises the imagination to the point of presenting those cases in which the mind can make palpable to itself the sublimity of its own vocation even over nature” (KU 5:262). It is easy to apply this situation to an example from art, too. For example, suppose you are in a museum, looking at an Albert Bierstadt painting of a storm in the mountains. Though not in actual danger, you would be imagining what it would be like if you were confronted by the storm. According to Kant, you would be imagining those cases in which you realize that your freedom to determine your will could not be threatened by the powerful storm, even if the storm could harm or even kill you. In viewing the painting in this way and feeling the dynamical sublime, your imagination is, of course, functioning as the faculty of presentation (KrV b151; KU 5:232–3). As mentioned, reason humiliates both the imagination and sensibility (KU 5:245, 265, 267, 274).55 Let us focus on the imagination. In §24 Kant characterizes both the mathematical and the dynamical sublime in terms of the imagination (KU 5:247). Reason, functioning as either the faculty of cognition (theoretical reason) or as the faculty of desire (practical reason), is in (initial) disharmony with the imagination. Imagination fails to comprehend a totality of intuitions in the mathematical sublime. In 53

54 55

An “idea” signifies a concept of reason, and an “ideal” is the representation of an individual being or thing as adequate to a rational idea (KU 5:232; cf. KrV a 567–71/b 595–9). A rational idea is a concept that cannot be given in intuition. An ideal of the imagination rests on presentation in sensory images, not on rational conceptualization The faculty of presentation is, of course, the imagination (KU 5:232). E.g., Budd, The Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature, pp. 68–9. Cf. Refl 1928 at 16:159 from the 1780s; AP 25:388; M 25:1102; AM 25:1332; and MS 6:443.


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the dynamical sublime, the imagination’s sensory ideal, happiness, is felt to be inferior to the ideas of practical reason. Eventually, of course, reason and the imagination are reconciled to one another, once imagination has done its job in revealing the superiority of reason and disclosing practical freedom. The fact that the imagination supplies the ideal of happiness (G 4:418– 19) is significant for how the sublime reveals our freedom over nature. For the imagination, in accordance with the law of association, makes our state of contentment physically dependent; but the very same imagination, in accordance with principles of the schematism of the power of judgment (consequently to the extent that it is subordinated to freedom), is an instrument of reason and its ideas, but as such a power to assert our independence in the face of the influences of nature, to diminish the value of what is great according to these [influences of nature], and so to place what is absolutely great only in its (the subject’s) own vocation [i.e., morality]. (KU 5:269)

Because reason humiliates the imagination, the sublime makes us aware of the merely relative value of basic goods such as health and happiness (KU 5:262). Before concluding this section, I would like to characterize the relationship between the imagination and reason by describing what I take to be three (not necessarily chronological) steps or moments in the experience of the sublime. Since Kant describes the sublime as both a simultaneous repulsion and attraction to an object (KU 5:245) as well as in terms of a dam-and-release mechanism (KU 5:245), it is difficult to insist on a determinate chronological order here. The faculty of reason may very well encourage, frustrate, and then again encourage the imagination over and over in a complex relationship.56 1. Imagination proceeds in its default, ordinary mode, serving cognition and/ or the faculty of desire. Viewed from a theoretical perspective, the imagination performs its normal cognitive task, the synthesis of an empirical manifold of intuition. Seen from a practical perspective, the imagination fabricates the ideal of happiness and thus contributes to the furthering of our feeling of well-being (G 4:418–19). The imagination does not yet feel free, since reason has not yet given it a command.

56

For the imagination/reason relationship as one of play, even if more solemn than the play in the experience of beauty, see Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, pp. 61, 76, 132–3; and Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, p. 207; Paul Guyer, “Beauty, Freedom, and Morality,” in Essays on Kant’ s Anthropology, ed. Brian Jacobs and Patrick Kain (Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 135–63, p. 156.

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2. Reason gives the imagination a command, but the imagination fails to meet it, which demonstrates the superiority of reason. The command that the imagination tries to obey when it hears the voice of reason is aesthetic judgment’s corollary to reason’s demand to seek the unconditioned (P1), as we have seen. In the mathematical sublime, reason requires the imagination to comprehend in one intuition a totality required by reason. Reason requires this “for all given magnitudes, even for those that can never be entirely apprehended although they are (in the sensible representation) judged as entirely given” (KU 5:254). The sublime “pleases immediately through its resistance to the interest of the senses” (KU 5:267). Reason is the source of this negative pleasure. The imagination feels threatened by reason’s demand and makes a sacrifice, but it cannot meet the demand. This failure, however, confirms the supersensible superiority of the faculty of reason, an awareness of which brings intense pleasure, even if it is negative since the imagination has suffered. The experience of sublimity reveals the supremacy of theoretical and practical rational faculties over sensibility and the imagination. The sublime is a “feeling of the deprivation of the freedom of the imagination by itself, insofar as it is purposively determined in accordance with a law other than that of empirical use” (KU 5:269). As an instrument of reason (KU 5:269), the imagination feels sacrificed to reason, evoking a momentary inhibition of our feeling of well-being. But the imagination is amply compensated for its sacrifice and plays an active role, as seen in step 3. 3. The imagination feels exhilaration, enjoying an expansion greater than the one it sacrificed. The imagination’s failed attempt to represent a rational idea results in a peculiar imaginative representation.57 The subject is in a complex imaginative state that somehow fails to grasp the infinite or some other rational idea and at the same time succeeds in gesturing toward or hinting at the unrepresentable idea through that very failure. This activity of the imagination produces an intense feeling of well-being. The imagination runs free, trying to meet reason’s idea. The negative presentation of the infinite “expands the soul” (KU 5:274). The “imagination, although it certainly finds nothing beyond the sensible to which it can attach itself, nevertheless feels itself to be unbounded precisely because of this elimination of the limits of sensibility” (KU 5:274). This exaltation brings intense pleasure: the feeling of freedom, a rational 57

Guyer, Values of Beauty, pp. 159–160.


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(cognitive or practical) capacity to transcend inner and outer nature, is thus not the only source of pleasure in the experience of the sublime. Note that this imaginative pleasure has a different source from the negative pleasure in step 2, since the former pleasure is a satisfaction in the “enlargement of the imagination itself ” (KU 5:249). Although some interpreters downplay step 2, this enlargement would not occur without it.58 If reason did not humiliate the imagination, this sensible faculty would neither be exhilarated nor feel unbounded. Reason reveals the inadequacy of the imagination, and the imagination is led to run free. Imagination’s free-spiritedness is the source of one form of pleasure. But it should be recalled that there is also satisfaction in becoming aware of the presence of the faculty of reason in step 2. On account of the role that the sublime plays in revealing freedom, it is important to emphasize that it is reason that causes the imagination’s gleeful pleasure. The dominion that reason exercises over sensibility is represented as being exercised “by the imagination itself, as an instrument of reason,” as we saw in step 2 (KU 5:269). Finally, note that practical reason will take a particular interest in step 2. For practical reason takes an interest in any indication of the superiority of reason over sensible nature. Since this indication is experienced as a feeling, note also that it takes place within the natural order, even if it is a feeling of supersensibility. And since this palpable disclosure of freedom can be put to a moral use (at least indirectly), reason will find it interesting. Moreover, such interest would be morally based.59 In short, by revealing freedom from sensuous impulses and a supersensible faculty of reason, the sublime can play an indirect role in contributing to the realization of the ends of practical reason in the natural order. Now let us turn to the immediate yet disinterested aesthetic response to the moral law. 58

59

Following Lyotard, Crockett makes too much of the active role of imagination and overemphasizes the exhilaration of the imagination; in short, he neglects the importance of step 2; Crockett, Theology, p. 77. Crockett interprets John Sallis as being skeptical of reason’s capacity to function as a “guardrail” that protects and preserves the self-disclosure of the sublime; John Sallis, Spacings – of Reason and Imagination in the Texts of Kant, Fichte, Hegel (University of Chicago Press, 1987), p. 130. However, Sallis notes that without the link to reason, the sublime would float free, drifting away, and that one would lose one’s bearings; see Spacings, p. 129. Paul de Man correctly characterizes the failure of the imagination; Paul de Man, “Phenomenality and Materiality in Kant,” in The Textual Sublime: Deconstruction and its Differences, ed. Hugh J. Silverman and Gary E. Aylesworth (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), pp. 87–108. Crockett, who believes that the imagination has gone “wild,” admits that de Man’s view differs from his own; Crockett, Theology, p. 78. Reason’s interest can be described as “second-order,” since it would be an interest in something that in a first-order sense is disinterested (KU 5:247) (section 4.2).

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The Kantian Sublime and the Revelation of Freedom 2.3 a third kind: the moral sublime

Although the moral sublime is not explicitly characterized as a form of sublimity in the Analytic of the Sublime, the existence of such a form is implied by Kant’s claim that the sublime represents the moral law aesthetically even better than does the beautiful (KU 5:271). Moreover, there are references to real experiences of the moral sublime throughout the corpus, as we shall see. By “moral sublime,” I refer to the effect on consciousness when the moral law, or some representation or embodiment thereof, is observed or perceived aesthetically rather than from a practical perspective. That is, an experience of the sublime is one of the moral sublime if and only if something moral, such as an idea, object, mental state, act, event, or person, elicits the sublime in an aesthetic judge who observes, imagines, hears, or somehow reflects on that object. While both the mathematical sublime and the dynamical sublime can certainly lead the subject to reflect on the idea of freedom (and possibly other moral ideas as well), such reflection in the case of the mathematical and dynamical sublime happens indirectly, through an interaction with extensive or powerful nature or art. In the case of the moral sublime, by contrast, such reflection takes place directly in that the subject has an immediate aesthetic response to something that is deemed to have, and that actually has, moral content. From the practical point of view, of course, the moral law elicits not the moral sublime but the moral feeling of respect (section 3.1). Note that my definition of the moral sublime allows for a particularly interesting kind of experience of the sublime, namely, an aesthetic response to a mental state that has moral content. Responding aesthetically to the mental state of righteous anger in an experience of the sublime would be an example of such a response elicited by a morally based mental state. In the next section, I discuss this case as well as mental states that are components or parts of an experience of the sublime rather than eliciting the latter. The corpus contains several indications of the reality of an aesthetic experience of the moral law. These experiences are not identical to the moral feeling of respect. In the second Critique’s famous encomium – “Duty! Sublime and mighty name that embraces nothing charming or insinuating” (KpV 5:86) – the language of the noble or moral sublime is used to describe the moral law. Although this language may very well be a rhetorical flourish, the experience that presumably causes it is not. The rhetoric is grounded in a real or imagined experience of the moral


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sublime. Similarly, Kant refers to the sublimity of our own nature in its moral vocation (KpV 5:87). One of the most famous passages in the corpus can be read in a similar fashion: Kant’s description of the sublimity of “the moral law within me” (KpV 5:161–2) is surely based on an experience of the moral sublime.60 Moreover, Kant notes that we attribute sublimity and dignity to a person who fulfills his moral duty (G 4:440). If judging the sublimity of a moral person counts as a genuine experience of the sublime, it must count as an instance of the moral sublime. Even Kant’s views of moral education make use of the moral sublime (KpV 5:156–7). In a famous example, Kant suggests representing to a tenyear-old boy an “honest man” who, despite being offered enticing rewards and being threatened with punishments, nonetheless acts from duty: “then my young listener will be raised [erhoben] step by step from mere approval [Billigung] to admiration [Bewunderung], from that to amazement [Erstaunen], and finally to the greatest veneration [Verehrung] and a lively wish that he himself could be such a man (though certainly not in such circumstances)” (KpV 5:156). Note that the boy here is a spectator or a listener, not an agent. What occurs can be described as an instance of the moral sublime, but not one of moral agency. To be sure, moral agency is the indirect, ultimate aim of telling the story: such exercises as these can produce a certain interest in the law of reason and “hence in morally good actions” (KpV 5:160). But the boy is intended to reach this goal, a moral destination, through a merely aesthetic experience of the moral sublime. Such a spectator is “judging merely about the practical,” not directly contributing to the fulfillment of practical ends (KpV 5:159). Furthermore, the aesthetic response to a soldier who “displays all the virtues of peace, gentleness, compassion, and even proper care for his own person,” despite the fact that he stands before a likely death, counts as an experience of the moral sublime (KU 5:262). Any ordinary human being, indeed even the “savage” (although he is “not always conscious of it”), would view the soldier’s courage with aesthetic satisfaction and with the 60

Kant, of course, also mentions “the starry heavens above me” in this passage. Jane Kneller, in “Beauty, Autonomy and Respect for Nature,” p. 414, denies that the sight of the starry heavens is a sublime experience, but it is clearly an instance of the mathematical sublime, comparable to the starry heavens (KU 5:270) and the spatial series (KU 5:256) mentioned in the third Critique. Zammito, in Genesis, p. 413 n.40, and Catherine Chalier, in What Ought I to Do? Morality in Kant and Levinas (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2002), p. 99, correctly interpret the second Critique’s starry heavens passage as referring to a sublime experience.

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“greatest admiration” (KU 5:262).61 The soldier overcomes his fear, “does not shrink before danger but energetically sets to work with full deliberation,” and demonstrates the “incoercibility of his mind by danger” (KU 5:262). The soldier demonstrates that he has practical freedom, a freedom that is used for moral purposes insofar as he embodies the virtues and respects the rights of citizens. The soldier has moral and practical apathy, for his mind is not coerced by external forces and works with full deliberation. By contrast, an observer of the soldier has an aesthetic experience of the sublime. The general, indeed, deserves “greater respect” in comparison with the statesmen, but it is aesthetic rather than moral respect. Kant describes how the contest between the statesmen and the general would be determined by “aesthetic judgment” (KU 5:263). In short, a virtuous person can be called sublime insofar as we aesthetically respect the conformity to the moral law that he or she exemplifies.62 Finally, the notion of the moral sublime can even make sense of Kant’s perhaps startling praise of war. Kant claims that if (and, presumably, only if ) war is conducted with order and reverence for the rights of civilians, it has “something sublime about it” (KU 5:263). It is the respect for rights that elicits a judgment of the sublime, and not the violence, destruction, and killing. This judgment of the sublime is based on the moral way of thinking (Denkungsart) of the people who conduct war in a just way. Their courage and lack of selfishness, cowardice, and weakness elicit the judgment. Note that there are moral constraints on what can be viewed as aesthetically sublime. If the observed person selects and acts on morally undesirable principles, Kant’s account implies that we should feel only moral repugnance in response to that person. For instance, the soldier is judged to be aesthetically sublime only if he respects the civilian’s rights to property, life, and limb. Otherwise, the soldier should be considered morally terrible, rightly to be feared. 61

62

Kant’s “observation” that any human being can judge according to the principle of sublimity (KU 5:262) seems to imply that moral culture is not really required to feel the sublime after all, since it suggests that any human being with functioning mental capacities is in principle capable of making such judgments (section 3.2). It is worth noting that in the case of the moral sublime a subreption is less likely than in the mathematical or dynamical forms (KU 5:257), since the moral sublime consists in aesthetically esteeming the idea of humanity exhibited by the object or person, thereby esteeming the moral law rather than the object or person. However, like Kant’s savage, we may not always recognize why we feel the moral sublime, so a subreption is at least still possible: one might think that the virtuous object or person (the object of the judgment) as such is sublime, rather than the moral law he or she obeys.


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Since courage, the virtues, practical freedom, a moral way of thinking, the moral law, etc., are not typically what evokes an experience of the dynamical or mathematical sublime, it is best to conceive of the aesthetic reflection on these moral ideas as a third type of the sublime, the moral sublime. One might wish to subsume the moral sublime under one of the two other forms of the sublime, but this strategy does not work. The moral sublime is clearly not a subset of either the mathematical or the dynamical forms of sublimity. It has nothing to do with the failure of the imagination to grasp the idea of infinity. This failure would be required if the experience were to be one of the mathematical sublime. The moral sublime seems to be somewhat closer to the dynamical sublime (and indeed Kant discusses the soldier in §28, “On nature as a power”), since it reveals or implies a power to overcome determination by sensible impulses. Nonetheless, it would be misleading to characterize it as a form of the dynamical sublime, since the moral sublime is a response to the moral law (or a representation or embodiment thereof) and more directly reveals the human capacity for morality, whereas the dynamical sublime reveals this capacity more indirectly. Moreover, the object that elicits the moral sublime, in contrast to the dynamical sublime, is not a powerful object in nature. Nor is the object that elicits the moral sublime a physically threatening work of art (say, a Richard Serra sculpture). Furthermore, the powerful objects that elicit the dynamical sublime must be capable of arousing fear (KU 5:260), but according to Kant’s ethical theory, the moral law cannot elicit fear. Indeed, this point is decisive for showing that the moral sublime is not the same as the dynamical sublime. While it is true that in discussing the dynamical sublime Kant claims that we would find the object terrifying if we did not remind ourselves of our freedom and even of our moral vocation, this does not mean that the moral sublime is a form of the dynamical sublime. In fact, this point shows precisely why the moral sublime cannot be a form of the dynamical sublime: the object that elicits the dynamical sublime is potentially terrifying, but the object (the idea, person, mental state, etc.) that elicits the moral sublime can never be terrifying, since the object has moral content. Moral content, whose moral features can be traced back to the moral law, cannot and should not elicit terror. The moral sublime is therefore distinct from the dynamical sublime.

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The Kantian Sublime and the Revelation of Freedom 2.3.1 Subset: the sublime of mental states

In this section I argue that what can be called the sublime of mental states is a subset of the moral sublime (see Appendix 3).63 The reason the sublime of mental states is a subset of the moral sublime is that all of the sublime mental states must be morally based in some way. Recall that the moral sublime was defined so as to allow for a response to, among other things, a moral idea (in the case of aesthetic enthusiasm, the idea of the good with affect) or a morally based mental state: an experience is one of the moral sublime if and only if something moral elicits the sublime in an aesthetic judge who somehow reflects on that object. The sublime mental states are: a morally based, courageous affect (KU 5:272; cf. 263); righteous anger (KU 5:272); enraged despair (entru¨stete Verzweiflung) (KU 5:272); moral sadness (Traurigkeit) (KU 5:276); moral sorrow (Betru¨bniß) (KU 5:276); moral affectlessness or a “noble mentality” (KU 5:272); aesthetic enthusiasm (KU 5:272); and admiration (KU 5:272).64 The sublime of mental states has been largely ignored by the secondary literature. In a certain sense, this oversight is hardly surprising. Kant presents the account of the sublime of mental states in the “General remark on the exposition of aesthetic reflective judgments.” It may be easy to overlook this section’s importance to Kant’s theory of the sublime. Moreover, the sublime of mental states does not easily conform to Kant’s stated division of the sublime into the mathematical and the dynamical; commentators typically follow this division and do not recognize the moral sublime. I defend the claim that the sublime of mental states is distinct from the mathematical and the dynamical forms of sublimity at the end of this section. One can observe at the outset that, if I am right that the moral sublime is distinct from the other two forms and if the sublime of mental states is a subset of the moral sublime, then the sublime of mental states cannot be completely subsumed under either the mathematical or the dynamical sublime. 63

64

Myskja, in The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, p. 151, makes a similar move, calling some of these mental states “noble sublime.” He notices that it is difficult to subsume these forms of sublimity under either the dynamical or mathematical sublime. This leaves us with a dilemma: either we deny the sublimity of these mental states, or we introduce something like the moral sublime (Myskja’s “noble sublime”). Self-sufficiency (KU 5:275), or separation from society that is based on moral ideas, also elicits an experience of the sublime. However, since it is not a mental state, but a property of a person in relation to society, it does not belong in the subset of mental states, but only in the moral sublime, as an example of “superiority over needs” (KU 5:275).


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Still, it is striking that many commentators pass over Kant’s discussion of sublime mental states and have not questioned how this form of sublimity fits in with Kant’s stated division. Fortunately, some commentators have at least acknowledged its existence as a genuine form of sublimity. Allison, for example, notes that Kant introduces “a new form of the sublime (pertaining to mental states).”65 Although this recognition of the sublime of mental states as a genuine form is commendable, Allison does not draw out the implications of Kant’s claims. Accordingly, one of the aims of this section is to draw out these implications. Since, as we shall see, enthusiasm is a sublime mental state and Kant takes a morally based interest in enthusiasm, it is necessary to understand this important subset of the moral sublime. The sublime of mental states is characterized in the “General remark,” but instances of the sublime of mental states can be found in other writings. As mentioned, I maintain that the enthusiasm described in “An Old Question” is a form of the sublime of mental states. The notion of a sublime mental state is potentially confusing. In a certain sense, all judgments and feelings of the sublime are associated with a sublime mental state. After all, the judge is in some mental state or other when she feels the sublime or when she makes a judgment of the sublime. Although this mental state can be called a sublime mental state, this characterization would be rather trivial. The sublime of mental states is more than just this. Kant’s claim that there are certain mental states that we call sublime can be understood in at least two distinct ways. To understand the sublime of mental states properly, we need to distinguish between mental states that, when viewed, observed, imagined, or somehow made an intentional or mental object, evoke the sublime, and those that are components of experiences of sublime. Even when it is difficult to identify which of these one is dealing with, the two senses remain distinct. To clarify this distinction, I divide the sublime of mental states, itself a subset of the moral sublime, into two subsets: states that elicit the sublime (subset 1), and states that can be described as feelings of the sublime (subset 2). While this division is potentially confusing, I hope that it ultimately clarifies what is going on in Kant’s text. The mental states that elicit the sublime (subset 1) are: a morally based, courageous affect (KU 5:272; cf. 263); righteous anger (KU 5:272); enraged despair (KU 5:272); moral sadness (KU 5:276); moral sorrow (KU 5:276); 65

Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 306.

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and moral affectlessness, which Kant calls a noble mentality (KU 5:272; cf. ApH 7:253–4). The mental states that are a part of the experience of the sublime (subset 2) include aesthetic enthusiasm (KU 5:272) and morally based admiration (KU 5:272). These two lists of the members of the subsets are confined to those mental states that Kant mentions. I will not add to these lists mental states that, if I were giving more than a text-based account, might belong here.66 Mental states in subset 1 elicit the sublime in an aesthetic judge who observes or somehow reflects on the morally based mental state (KU 5:272). In such cases a mental state that is morally based elicits the experience and judgment of the sublime in the observer. Consider the case of a soldier’s courageous mental state or frame of mind. It can evoke an aesthetic experience of the moral sublime. But what elicits this judgment is a mental state (the courageous frame of mind), so this instance of the sublime belongs in subset 1. Aesthetic contemplation of or reflection on such a mental state belongs to, or is a subset of, the moral sublime because the mental state that is being reflected upon has a moral grounding. If they are to elicit experiences of the sublime, the mental states must rest (beruht) on moral ideas or have a moral basis (Grund ) (KU 5:275; 276). For instance, moral sadness “is sublime,” presumably in that it elicits the moral sublime (belongs to subset 1), “since it rests on moral ideas” (KU 5:276). Mental states that are not morally based or are morally detrimental or otherwise undesirable, such as a dejected chagrin, antisocial misanthropy, or mental delusion (Wahnwitz), cannot elicit a feeling of the sublime. Misanthropy (“anthropophobia”), which according to Kant causes a person to flee from other human beings because he or she is hostile toward or fears them, cannot elicit the sublime since it lacks a moral basis (KU 5:275–6; cf. Rem 20:63; MS 6:450, 466). Most of the sublime mental states in both subset 1 and subset 2 are affects. (Moral affectlessness is the exception here, at least if one sees it as the lack, rather than control, of affect.) I will discuss Kant’s account of affect in more detail in section 5.2. For now, it is sufficient to think of an affect as a very intense, fleeting feeling that comes and goes like water 66

Note that a person feeling enthusiasm or admiration can in turn elicit the sublime in an observer; such enthusiasm or admiration, since it elicts the sublime, would then belong to subset 1. Myskja, in The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, p. 300, hints at this possibility when he mentions that we are “spectators of spectators” of the events in France: we can feel the sublime while reflecting on others who are feeling a sublime affect, enthusiasm.


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breaking through a dam. Not all affects elicit or evoke a feeling of the sublime when reflected on aesthetically. A necessary condition of their eliciting a feeling of sublimity is that they be morally based. For instance, the courageous or bold (mutig) affects are contrasted with the tender, sensitive (za¨rtlich) affects. The latter are not sublime, since far from promoting or supporting morality, the tender affects can actually weaken or soften the state of mind. Morally based sorrow (Betru¨bnis), as opposed to dejected sadness, “can be counted among the vigorous affects if it is grounded [ihren Grund hat] in moral ideas, but if it is grounded in sympathy, and, as such, is also lovable, it belongs merely to the mellowing affects” (KU 5:276). Tender emotions, if they reach the level of affect, are “good for nothing at all” (KU 5:273). To elicit the sublime, emotions that reach the level of affect must be morally grounded. Tender affects do not prepare the mind for moral action or even for action on principles. A person who is tenderhearted and oversensitive has a tendency to delight in “shallow moral precepts” and in certain sentimental novels and plays (KU 5:273), all of which enervate the heart rather than prepare it for moral action. Reflection on tender affects or on a person who has a tendency toward them cannot elicit the sublime. Let us now turn to subset 2, whose members are those mental states or affects that involve or contain feelings of the sublime. Here the main example is enthusiasm in the sense described in the Analytic of the Sublime (as well as in “An Old Question”), namely, aesthetic rather than practical enthusiasm. Admiration (KU 5:272), too, is a member of subset 2, since it is morally based and has the positive/negative structure intrinsic to the experience of the sublime. I return to the concept of admiration in section 5.4. Since aesthetic enthusiasm is a central topic in this book and enthusiasm is a member of subset 2, the latter is ultimately more important to the themes of this book than subset 1. Thus, I will focus on the sense of being a sublime mental state that applies to the members of subset 2, although I will postpone a full discussion of aesthetic enthusiasm until chapter 5.67 Barrows Dunham examines the sublime of mental states, although he does not use this term. “Apart from the emotions actually felt in the sublime, it is of the greatest importance that Kant allows certain emotions 67

Lyotard seems to put all of the mental states, even affectlessness, into what I am calling subset 2 and suggests that any state “can become sublime”; Lyotard, Lessons, p. 154. Myskja correctly rejects this position; Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, p. 127 n.21, pp. 150–1.

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to be sublime in themselves, even though (as emotions) they must be regarded suspiciously by reason.”68 As examples of sublime mental states, Dunham lists (what he refers to as) enthusiasm, a stoical attitude, admiration, wrath, the despair of indignation (as opposed to faintheartedness), and religious reverence. In fact, Dunham sees all of these sublime mental states as potential components of an experience of the sublime. In other words, unlike me, Dunham does not divide the sublime of mental states into two subsets. It seems that he would put all of the states in subset 2. On my account, by contrast, only some of these mental states can be in subset 2. That is, the stoical attitude (Dunham’s term for moral affectlessness), wrath, and indignation are incompatible with the pure aesthetic experience, since the person who feels them is not disinterested in the relevant sense. A few clarifications are in order. The first concerns the relation between affects and morality. As mentioned, most of the mental states in subset 1 and all of the members of subset 2 are affects. An affect, if it is a member of subset 2, does not directly aim at a moral end. If it did so aim, the affect would no longer be disinterested and could not accompany a feeling of the sublime. Aiming at an end would be incompatible with the feeling of the sublime, whose pleasure must be disinterested. Second, by Kant’s lights, the affects in subset 2 do not and cannot go against morality. For example, according to Kant, genuine enthusiasm must accord with the morally right. In short, the affect that is a part of the experience of the sublime is morally based, but it does not directly support morality in the sense of achieving, or aiming to achieve, a moral or instrumental end. Before turning to the distinction between the sublime of mental states and the dynamical and mathematical forms of sublimity, we must say a few words about moral apathy. Moral affectlessness or apathy is a member of subset 1, that is, a sublime mental state that evokes, but is not necessarily a part of, the experience of the sublime. Moral apathy merits special attention, since Kant’s characterization of apathy as “superior” in sublimity to enthusiasm (KU 5:272) might be taken to imply that enthusiasm cannot elicit the sublime at all. The latter view would be incorrect. Apathy is characterized as more excellent than or preferable to enthusiasm, but this does not by itself entail that enthusiasm cannot elicit an experience of the sublime. In fact, that Kant compares the

68

Dunham, A Study in Kant’ s Aesthetic, p. 86.


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two in terms of their sublimity at all suggests that enthusiasm, too, can evoke the sublime. To see this, we must understand moral apathy better. What Kant means by moral apathy or affectlessness is of course not indifference or a lack of interest (MS 6:408; cf. ApH 7:252–4; 289). Having moral apathy does not mean not caring about morality or being hardhearted or unfeeling. Rather, moral apathy involves being “phlegmatic in a positive sense” (KU 5:272). The morally apathetic person, who for Kant is exemplified by the Stoic philosopher, is ready to act on moral principles.69 Because this person is in a position to act on moral principles, moral apathy satisfies or pleases practical reason to a high degree, indeed, a higher degree than affect since the latter momentarily overwhelms a person’s rational abilities. The morally apathetic person is not disinterested, but is an agent who is ready to act. Since the morally apathetic person is not disinterested, he cannot have an aesthetic feeling of the sublime so long as he is morally apathetic. Moral apathy is incompatible with feeling the moral sublime, and having moral apathy is thus incompatible with making a judgment of moral sublimity, since the morally apathetic person lacks the requisite kind of feeling (the feeling of the sublime) that would be the basis for such a judgment. Accordingly, the distinction between subset 1 and subset 2 helps us understand moral apathy. For moral apathy can certainly evoke a feeling of the moral sublime in a spectator or aesthetic judge – Kant says that the morally apathetic frame of mind merits being called noble (edel ) (KU 5:272) – but it cannot itself involve a feeling of the moral sublime. When observed or reflected upon, the apathetic mentality is worthy of admiration. Such admiration arises “when ideas in their presentation unintentionally and without artifice agree with aesthetic satisfaction” (KU 5:272). Such admiration is similar to what is elicited in the spectator who views the noble, morally upright soldier who is facing a resistant power or violence in the face of death. Note that in this example the spectator does not face a resistant power, as in the case of the dynamical sublime, but reflects on someone else who is facing a resistant power or evil. This is an example of the moral sublime. In response to observing exemplary virtue and the soldier’s overcoming of a natural interest in self-preservation, the

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Lara Denis points out, however, that the coldness of the affectless sage may actually lead him to act on immoral maxims (e.g., to commit suicide). See Lara Denis, “Kant’s Cold Sage and the Sublimity of Apathy,” Kantian Review, 4 (2000): 48–73, p. 68.

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spectator feels aesthetic delight, specifically, the negative pleasure that is a part of the moral sublime. The transcendence of determination by sensible impulses and feelings elicits in aesthetic spectators a feeling of the sublime. But moral apathy cannot be a part of the experience of the moral sublime. Insofar as moral apathy prepares the will to act on some principle and is not disinterested, it is incompatible with a disinterested pleasure in the feeling of the sublime. Moral affectlessness, the Stoical attitude, puts one in a good position to exercise one’s practical freedom and to fulfill rational and moral ends. It is also worth pointing out that at one point Kant claims that virtue directly entails or requires having moral apathy (though not vice versa).70 Kant presents this thesis in the Metaphysics of Morals: virtue presupposes rational self-control. It requires giving reason the reins.71 This entailment can be seen in the very titles of sections 15, “Virtue requires, in the first place, governing oneself,” and 16, “Virtue necessarily presupposes apathy, regarded as strength” (MS 6:407, 408). Virtue is based on inner freedom (MS 6:408), which in turn requires subduing one’s affects (Affekten zu za¨hmen), or moral affectlessness. In being a master of one’s affects, one’s character is noble (edel, erecta) (MS 6:407). This claim is reminiscent of the third Critique’s claim that the affectless state of mind is called noble from an aesthetic point of view (KU 5:272). That virtue requires apathy, moreover, adds more evidence for my claim that moral apathy is not disinterested in the sense required by pure aesthetic experience and by the feeling of the sublime. Having given an overview of the sublime of mental states, I must show that this form is not an instance of the mathematical or dynamical sublime. The sublime of mental states is not a form of the mathematical sublime since these mental states have nothing to do with the failure of the imagination to apprehend infinity, which would be required for it to be an instance of the mathematical sublime. Nor is it an instance of the dynamical sublime, since the sublime of mental states is not an aesthetic 70

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Kant does not hold that the exercise of virtue directly entails or requires feeling aesthetic enthusiasm. Although enthusiasm can function as a morally encouraging sign, this would not count as a necessary condition of virtue, but only a supplement or aid. I will discuss this feature of aesthetic enthusiasm in chapter 5. I here leave aside the question of whether affectlessness requires being without affects altogether or simply being master of them. If virtue requires controlling affects, as Kant sometimes says (MS 6:408), presumably they are still there to be controlled. This would leave room for affects and other types of feelings to play a larger role in the exercise and development of virtue than that allowed by a reading of Kant as stern in this respect.


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response to fear-inducing power demonstrated by natural (or artistic) objects. Because the mental states in subset 1 and subset 2 either have a moral basis or are aesthetic responses to the morally good, they are instances of the moral sublime. Consider righteous anger, enraged despair, moral sadness, and invigorating courage, all of which are members of subset 1. These mental states, which evoke the sublime in viewers or observers, are morally based; they are grounded on moral ideas. Thus they belong to the list of objects (more precisely, mental states) which, when reflected on, can elicit the moral sublime. Similarly, consider subset 2, where the affect is a response to the morally good. Aesthetic enthusiasm, as described in the third Critique and found in “An Old Question,” is the affective, aesthetic response to the idea of the morally good – the idea of good with affect (KU 5:272). It therefore counts as a feeling of the moral sublime. It is worth pointing out that just as the moral sublime has received little attention in Kant scholarship, so also has no interpreter (to my knowledge) described the sublime of mental states as a subset of the moral sublime. In a footnote, however, Allison does claim that “certain psychological states or affects, such as enthusiasm or anger . . . are sublime insofar as they indicate a certain elevation of the self over the ordinary concerns of sensuous existence, and such ‘elevation’ may, but need not, be morally based or praiseworthy.”72 This way of characterizing the sublime “elevation” is somewhat misleading, however, since Kant’s view is that all genuine sublimity is in a certain sense morally based. For, even if sublimity is initially stimulated by viewing a natural or artificial object, the feeling is based on the moral vocation and on human freedom (KU 5:280). Moreover, some forms of the sublime, such as those mental states in subset 2 (e.g., aesthetic enthusiasm), actually consist in a direct or immediate response to a morally good idea. From Allison’s claim that the states “are sublime,” it is difficult to determine whether he would place these states in subset 1 or instead in subset 2. In any case, if Allison’s claim is taken as a denial that enthusiasm is based on a moral idea, it is incorrect. Enthusiasm is based on a moral idea, the idea of the good. However, Allison can be more charitably read as referring to the fact that elevation is sometimes used for immoral ends; in this sense, it is true that enthusiasm need not be “praiseworthy.” Of course, such undesirable or blameworthy elevation would not count as an instance of the sublime in the first place, since Kant holds that genuine enthusiasm always accords 72

Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 400 n.58.

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with the morally right (SF 7:86). Perhaps one problem with the way Allison phrases his claim is that “morally based” and “praiseworthy” have distinct intensions. The sublime of mental states is not only morally based, it is also constrained by the concept of the morally good. Of course, at the same time, the sublime of mental states, as sublime, involves only a pure aesthetic experience. That it has moral constraints does not make it a moral experience or judgment. Having moral constraints does not render the experience a moral experience or judgment any more than the fact that pure aesthetic judgments of the beautiful (or the sublime) are constrained or limited by what one finds disgusting (Ekel ) turns a pure aesthetic judgment of the beautiful into a judgment of the disgusting.73 2.4 dependent and free sublimity In this section, I apply the free/dependent distinction to the aesthetic judgment of the sublime. To do this, of course, we have to characterize the free/dependent distinction properly. Kant presents the latter distinction mainly when presenting the judgments of the beautiful. My procedure, therefore, will be to transfer what he says there about the distinction to the case of the sublime, while responding to recent work by Guyer and Budd. While some of my discussion may seem rather detailed, this section is useful for at least two reasons. First, it contributes to our understanding of the pure aesthetic judgment of the sublime, to which the free/ dependent distinction is rarely applied. This will help us better understand the judgment of the sublime as well as the free/dependent distinction. Second, if the feeling of enthusiasm can indeed be a feeling of the sublime, it will be helpful to know whether it is dependent or free, that is, the extent to which concepts play a role in the experience. As is well known, an aesthetic judgment is a judgment whose determining ground cannot be other than “subjective,” which means that its “determining ground” cannot be other than the feeling of pleasure or displeasure (KU 5:203).74 An aesthetic judgment mentions and is based on one’s own feeling of pleasure or displeasure, revealing something about one’s experienced sensible state. An aesthetic judgment about a thing is made exclusively on the basis of how one experiences or engages with the 73 74

I show why enthusiasm is not a moral judgment in section 5.4 and discuss Ekel in section 2.5. Budd, The Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature, pp. 25–6.


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object, and not for any other reason. The nature of one’s experience of the thing provides one with a reason to make an aesthetic judgment about the object, and this occurs only if one reacts to the perception of the object with pleasure or displeasure. An aesthetic judgment asserts an item’s capacity or suitability to provide pleasure or displeasure to someone who experiences it. An aesthetic judgment does not give a reason why one feels pleasure or displeasure, but is an expression or statement that one has the feeling. The judgment mentions or “lays claim” to the feeling of pleasure (KU 5:244). It is the linguistic or discursive account of the feeling, although it reveals no knowledge about an object and makes no claim to “cognition of the object” (KU 5:244; cf. MS 6:211–12). It does not refer to an objective property (cf. KU 5:250). The judgment does not evaluate the feeling, does not label it good or bad, and does not endorse or condemn it from a practical point of view. Endorsing or condemning always involves a rational determination of the faculty of desire, but insofar as one is making a pure aesthetic judgment the faculty of desire remains undetermined. A pure aesthetic judgment is (to use the terms found in the first Critique) singular and categorical. Presumably, the singularity claim does not mean that the judgment must concern only one object or event (“The Dolomite mountains there” could be the subject of the proposition). Rather, it means that the judgment cannot be the result of a generalization based on singular judgments about objects. A generalized judgment (such as “Transitions to a republic elicit the sublime”) is a cognitive one. Such a judgment could no longer be aesthetic: it would not be based on the feeling in the subject. Moreover, the singularity of pure aesthetic judgments stems from the fact that they connect their “predicate,” e.g., the feeling of pleasure or displeasure (or negative pleasure), with a given singular representation.75 In my view, a pure aesthetic judgment is either free or dependent. If free, any conceptual content that the judgment might have is not attended to in the act of judging. If the judgment is dependent, accessory, appendant, or adherent76 (anha¨ngend, adha¨rierend ), the conceptual content is attended to in the act of judging. That is, the content is not abstracted from, even though it never becomes the sole basis for the judgment. In an adherent judgment, so to speak, the concept is

75 76

Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 71. I am using “dependent,” “accessory,” “appendant,” and “adherent” as synonyms.

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appendant: it adheres and hangs on. In a free judgment, the conceptual content can be temporarily removed or, as it were, detached.77 Kant seems to present the case of a free judgment of taste primarily for heuristic reasons or to illustrate the notion of a pure aesthetic judgment.78 This simplified case is later fleshed out with accounts of dependent beauty, the ideal of beauty, and fine art, accounts according to which conceptual content plays a crucial part in the production of a special kind of aesthetic judgment. Even in the case of a free beauty, e.g., a bird of paradise, one might have a concept of the purpose of an object, its role in the biosphere, the function of its parts, how its components fit together, etc. When making a judgment of free beauty in such a case, one abstracts from knowledge of the purposes and perfection of the object (KU 5:231). Accordingly, Kirwan is right to insist that qualifying as a free beauty depends not on the beauty’s actually being “undetermined by a concept” but rather upon that beautiful object’s being cognized at the moment of judging as so undetermined.79 In other words, the distinction does not hinge on the ontological status of the object, but is a function of the psychological state of the person making the judgment. Thus, it is not the case that the arsenal, which can be judged to be a dependent beauty (KU 5:230), and the bird of paradise (a free beauty) are representative of two distinct kinds of objects, but that they are viewed in different ways by the aesthetic judge at the moment of judging. Denis Dutton and Nick McAdoo argue that for Kant all beauty is dependent; however, since Kant’s text clearly makes the case for free beauty, they appear to be overstating their views.80 Nonetheless, their point usefully counterbalances the tendency to follow too closely Kant’s manner of presentation, which begins by examining free beauty. Since §16 appears to state that dependent judgments must be impure, we must examine the issue of whether or not dependent judgments can be pure. Eva Schaper, for instance, asserts that Kant’s position is clearly that 77

78 79

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Kant typically writes of a “free beauty” rather than of a “free judgment,” although he does use the latter formula (KU 5:230). I will refer to both the beauty and the judgment as being dependent (or not), and do likewise in the case of the sublime. Guyer, Kant, p. 312. See Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 46; Eva Schaper, “Free and Dependent Beauty,” in Kant’ s “ Critique of the Power of Judgment” , ed. Paul Guyer (Lanham MD: Roman & Littlefield, 2003), pp. 101–19, p. 111; and Gadamer, Truth and Method, p. 43. Denis Dutton, “Kant and the Conditions of Artistic Beauty,” British Journal of Aesthetics, 34 (1994): 226–41; and Nick McAdoo, “Kant and the Problem of Dependent Beauty,” Kant-Studien, 93 (2002): 444–52.


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they must be impure.81 However, Kant’s position is more complicated than it first appears. In my view, “free” refers to acts of judging that do not have conceptual content, whereas “pure” refers to a judgment that meets the four conditions of purity described in the four moments. If purity is properly understood in terms of satisfying the four moments, a dependent but pure aesthetic judgment seems to be possible. In other words, dependent judgments, and not just free ones, can be presumed by the aesthetic judge to be necessary, universally valid, purposive without a purpose, and disinterested. A judgment can be a pure judgment without having to be purely aesthetic; a mixed, dependent aesthetic judgment that is pure is possible.82 One reason that Kant’s position is rather complicated is that he sometimes uses free and pure as synonyms. In §16 Kant uses “pure” and “free” as synonyms three times (KU 5:230–1), as in the the phrase “free and pure judgment of taste.” Accordingly, when Kant claims that dependent judgments are not “pure” (KU 5:229), he can be read as simply saying that they are not free, a claim that would of course be (trivially) true, if the terms are synomyms. That free and pure are sometimes used as synonyms is confirmed by the fact that “adherent” and “applied” are used synonymously: “By means of this [free/dependent] distinction one can settle many disputes about beauty between judges of taste, by showing them that the one is concerned with free beauty, the other with adherent beauty, the first making a pure, the second an applied judgment of taste (KU 5:230–1; italics added). The contrast between free and dependent beauty corresponds to the difference between “pure” (purely aesthetic) and partly intellectualized or applied judgments.83 Kant never says that a judgment of dependent beauty necessarily fails to meet the conditions of purity. To the contrary, Kant says that the judge of dependent beauty judges correctly in his own way. It is just that he judges partly on the basis of what he has in his thoughts (i.e., the end of the object) rather than before his sense (KU 5:231). Thus, while I acknowledge that Kant repeatedly writes that only free judgments are pure (e.g., in the title of §16), I maintain that both free and dependent judgments can meet the conditions of purity and can thus be pure.84 81 82

83

Schaper, “Free and Dependent Beauty,” p. 102. See Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 141; cf. p. 398 n.37. Guyer, in Values of Beauty, p. 161, uses “pure aesthetic experience” as a synonym of “purely aesthetic experience” and mentions “mixed rather than pure” experiences (p. 162). Guyer’s way of putting it is not compatible with the pure/ purely distinction. Gadamer, Truth and Method, p. 42. 84 Cf. Zammito, Genesis, p. 126.

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Dependent judgments of taste are no longer “purely aesthetic” or “mere” judgments of taste (KU 5:311), but they can still be pure so long as an interest is not directly produced in the judge (e.g., I see a horse as beautiful in its useful speed or power, but nonetheless do not wish to use or acquire the horse), the object’s purpose is not the sole basis of the judgment (aesthetic pleasure is also a ground), and the judgment is necessary and has subjective universal validity (on account of the aesthetic pleasure). We are now prepared to apply the free/dependent distinction to the sublime. The free/dependent distinction, I suggest, applies to sublimity as much as to beauty. Nevertheless, there is strikingly little secondary literature on the free/dependent distinction with regard to judgments of the sublime, although a parallel discussion in the case of the beautiful is enormous. Accordingly, the next task is to show that there is room for dependent judgments as well as for free judgments of the sublime, i.e., that both forms are possible. As we will see, there are two interpretive poles here: one position is to argue that judgments of the sublime must be free and cannot be dependent, while the other side emphasizes the conceptual content of the judgment and therefore holds that judgments of the sublime must be dependent. On the one hand, the free/dependent distinction may seem to be a trivial one in the case of the sublime, since it might seem that all judgments of the sublime are dependent insofar as they ultimately presuppose or are grounded on ideas of reason. Although the judgment of the sublime is based on an idea of reason and can sometimes bring the aesthetic subject to an awareness of it, the situation is not so simple. For instance, Kant clearly hints at the possibility of free or nonconceptual judgments in his discussion of the mathematical sublimity in §26, “On the estimation of the magnitude of things of nature that is requisite for the idea of the sublime.” I take Kant’s position to be that all free judgments of the sublime, insofar as they are free, do not incorporate into the judgment a concept of the perfection of the object: Rather I only note that if the aesthetic judgment is to be pure (not mixed up with anything teleological as judgments of reason) and if an example of that is to be given which is fully appropriate for the critique of the aesthetic power of judgment, then the sublime must not be shown in products of art (e.g., buildings, columns, etc.),85 where a human end determines the form as well as the 85

Pluhar (p. 109), Meredith (p. 100), and Guyer/Matthews (p. 136) place a comma after the closed parenthesis in their translations, but Bernard (p. 53) omits it. The Akademie Ausgabe contains the


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magnitude, nor in natural things whose concept already brings with it a determinate end (e.g., animals of a known natural determination), but rather in raw nature (and even in this only insofar as it by itself brings with it neither charm nor emotion from real danger), merely insofar as it contains magnitude . . . A pure judgment on the sublime, however, must have no end of the object as its determining ground if it is to be aesthetic and not mixed up with any judgment of the understanding or of reason. (KU 5:252–3; cf. 270, 279)

Note that Kant acknowledges that in order to illustrate his claims he is offering examples of a particular sort.86 This suggests that he chooses non-teleological objects for largely pedagogical or heuristic reasons, and that he does not intend to deny that there are aesthetic judgments about the sublime that incorporate a concept of the purpose of the object.87 Kant insists that judgments of sublimity, if they are to be “pure,” must not be mixed up with judgments of perfection.88 His claim implies that dependent judgments of the sublime are logically and metaphysically possible. If dependent judgments of the sublime were not a real possibility, Kant would not have insisted that, in order to understand “a pure judgment on the sublime,” we abstract from the non-aesthetic part of some judgments of sublimity. In short, judgments of the sublime are either dependent or free (or concern either dependent or free sublimity).89

86

87

88

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comma: “Kunstproducten (z.B. Gebaüden, Saülen u.s.w.), wo ein menschlicher Zweck die Form sowohl als die Gro¨ße bestimmt” (KU 5:252). The lack of a comma in English suggests (as I am also arguing) the possibility that human ends do not determine the form and magnitude in the judgment. Even though in the creation of the product of art these ends certainly determine form and magnitude, they could be abstracted from while judging, resulting in a free or unmixed aesthetic judgment. Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, p. 255, correctly notices the implications of Kant’s use of examples and likewise rejects Crowther’s reading of this passage; see Paul Crowther, The Kantian Sublime: From Morality to Art (Oxford: Clanendon Press, 1989), p. 152. Kant’s strategy might thus be compared to how he exhibits the notion of acting from duty by describing a person who goes against his inclinations, although, as we know from his response to Schiller, Kant’s considered view is that acting from duty should ideally spring from a virtuous character and be done with a joyful heart. Note that Kant’s claim holds when we read “pure” in terms of purity (thus, perfection annuls the “purposiveness without a purpose” condition) as well as when we read “pure” as “free” (thus, the conceptual character of the judging renders the judging non-free or dependent). Serge Trottein notes that there can be adherent sublimity but, unfortunately, does not pursue the issue. See Serge Trottein, “Esthe´tique ou philosophie de l’art?” in Kants A¨sthetik, ed. Parret, pp. 660–73, p. 670. Moreover, the claim that there is a necessary connection between dependence (adherence) and art, although common, is misleading. I am suggesting that Kant considers dependent judgments with regard to “animals of a known natural determination” and other objects of nature (KU 5:253). In contrast, Jacques Derrida in The Truth in Painting, trans. G. Bennington and I. McLeod (University of Chicago Press, 1987), p. 122, holds that natural and

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Dependent judgments are still judgments of the sublime, but they incorporate a concept of the object’s end into the judgment and are partly based on that concept. It is important to see that the “concept” in dependent judgments of the sublime is not to be confused with the idea of reason, on which all judgments of the sublime are ultimately grounded. We should distinguish the concept of a vast or extensive building’s purpose (to host a conference, provide shelter, turn a profit, etc.) from the idea of reason (i.e., infinity) that a large building might elicit. The form and the magnitude of such a building are determined by the architect, but the idea of infinity lies in the aesthetic judge’s mind. It should also be noted that there can be dependent judgments of the sublime in natural objects as well as artifactual and artistic ones. Animals who seem to have a natural purpose (e.g., great white sharks that seem perfectly suited for controlling seal populations) may very well elicit a judgment of the sublime, perhaps even by virtue of the efficiency with which they execute their tasks, but such judgments could only be dependent since they are constrained by a concept of the purpose that the animal is viewed as serving (seal population control). Budd raises the free/dependent issue in the case of the sublime, but in my view his account is only partly correct. To see this, let us examine the relevant passage from the third Critique. Kant claims that, insofar as an aesthetic judgment of beauty or sublimity is pure, the examples used to illustrate the non-adherent judgment must not be beautiful or sublime objects of nature that presuppose the concept of an end, since such a judgment would either be a teleological judgment (having to do with objective purposiveness) or a judgment of the agreeable (concerning material rather than formal purposiveness) (KU 5:270). Kant continues: Thus, if someone calls the sight of the starry heavens sublime, he must not ground such a judging of it on concepts of worlds inhabited by rational beings, taking the bright points with which we see the space above us to be filled as their suns, about which they move in their purposively appointed orbits, but must take it, as we see it, merely as a broad, all-embracing vault; and it must be merely under this representation that we posit the sublimity that a pure [reines] aesthetic judgment attributes to this object. In just the same way, we must not take the sight of the ocean as we think it, enriched with all sorts of knowledge (which are not, however, contained in the immediate intuition) . . . for this would yield merely [lauter] teleological judgments; rather, one must consider the ocean

artistic objects whose concepts contain a determinate end cannot elicit the sublime (or what I am calling “dependent sublimity”).


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merely [bloß] as the poets do, in accordance with what its appearance shows [was der Augenschein zeigt], for instance, when it is considered in periods of calm, as a clear watery mirror bounded only by the heavens, but also when it is turbulent, an abyss threatening to devour everything, and yet still be able to find it sublime. (KU 5:270; cf. 252–3, 279)

Budd correctly points out that such stars must be perceived not as mere specks, but as distant light-emanating objects of some kind.90 He notes that the stars are presented in the visual field as spots of light, but we must draw from our previous knowledge if we are to recognize that these stars are immense and distant, for neither immensity nor distance can be judged from sight alone, given a mere appearance (Augenschein). In Kant’s example, he rightly claims, we recognize the specks of light as stars, and, accordingly, draw from our knowledge of what a star is. Seeing an object as something of a particular kind requires a conceptual content, he correctly points out. When we regard the object as the poets do (view the sky as a vault, see the ocean as a mirror of water or as an abyss), we see the object as something. However, Budd’s discussion misses the point somewhat. The concept of an object’s kind is not the same as a concept of the object’s end. I can see an object as a member of its kind without seeing an object in terms of its purpose. “Seeing as” is not identical to, and does not necessarily imply, considering the object in terms of its internal purposiveness (perfection) or external purposiveness (utility). There is a further problem in his account. Budd seems to see the contribution of the understanding primarily in terms of the categories rather than properly accounting for the role of empirical concepts, including concepts of the purposes of objects, and he appears to obscure the role of sensibility. Budd discusses the power demonstrated by an object judged to be dynamically sublime, e.g., the ocean seen as a threatening abyss. The ocean, he claims, strikes us as threatening not on account of how it is presented in sensible intuition, but on account of how it is thought through the understanding. He states that the concept of force is derivative from the Kantian category of causality: “Kant himself construes force not as something that is given to us by sensibility, but as something that is thought through the understanding.”91 While the concept of power or force may very well derive from a pure concept of the understanding (causality) and is certainly not a function of sensible intuition, this misses the point regarding dependent sublimity. In other 90

Budd, Aesthetic Appreciation, p. 87.

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Budd, Aesthetic Appreciation, p. 88.

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words, the thought-content in a judgment of the dependent dynamical sublime is not simply the category of causality, but is also a concept of the purpose of the object that acts as a stimulus of the experience. In fact, all judgments of the sublime, whether dependent or free, must, in order to have a coherent experience at all, make use of the categories that make experience possible. The point is that dependent judgments appeal to a concept of the purpose of the object, while free judgments do not. It is therefore misleading to hold that the problem with Kant’s position “is that the property of a natural phenomenon that is the concern of a judgment of the sublime – immensity of space or power – is a deliverance not of sensibility, but of the understanding.”92 For the the judgment of the sublime does not really concern a property of a natural phenomenon at all, but the aesthetic judge’s feeling, and the latter is obviously a deliverance of sensibility. A third weakness of Budd’s interpretation is his assertion that there is good reason for Kant’s “omission” of judgments of dependent sublimity in Kant’s classification of aesthetic judgments about nature, although Budd is right that Kant does not explicitly characterize judgments of dependent sublimity.93 Budd maintains that the notion of qualitative perfection has no application to the likely objects of the sublime in nature – Budd even mentions the ocean and the starlit sky – since “they lack natural functions.”94 This reasoning is particularly surprising since in the very passage that Budd cites (quoted above), Kant maintains that the natural functions of, say, the ocean, can lead to teleological judgments, which are of course based on the notion of ends and functions.95 It must be pointed out that Kant again refers to examples, suggesting once more that his order of presentation serves heuristic and pedagogical purposes. He states that if we are to give an example of a “strictly pure aesthetic judgment,”96 we should cite objects that are considered to be non-purposive (KU 5:270). We should not use examples that are drawn from those “objects of nature that presuppose the concept of an end” (KU 5:270): We must not take the sight of the ocean as we think it, enriched with all sorts of knowledge (which are not, however, contained in the immediate intuition), for

92 94 95

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Budd, Aesthetic Appreciation, pp. 88–9. 93 Budd, Aesthetic Appreciation, pp. 88–9 n.21. Ibid. It is also possible that Budd means to deny teleology in nature rather than to interpret Kant’s position regarding the latter. Note that this phrase resembles “purely aesthetic” rather than “pure.”


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example as a wide realm of water creatures, as the great storehouse of water for the evaporation which impregnates the air with clouds for the benefit of the land, or as an element that separates parts of the world from one another but at the same time makes possible the greatest community among them, for this would yield merely teleological judgments. (KU 5:270; cf. 252–3, 279)

While an ocean is not an organism, it can still be seen as having a natural function in the ecosystem, and a judgment of its dependent sublimity might make use of or incorporate this concept. Accordingly, Kant’s omission of an account of judgments of dependent sublimity with regard to such natural objects (not to mention artistic ones) should not be viewed with the approval that Budd recommends. Budd’s suggestion that the natural objects in question lack the requisite functions is inconsistent with Kant’s claim that we have to abstract from such functions when giving examples of merely aesthetic judgments. The second claim Budd offers to support his view that there is good reason for Kant’s omission is that “no objects with natural functions have anything like the size or power of such objects” as the likely objects of the sublime in nature (mountains, the ocean, an abyss, waterfalls, volcanoes). This claim seems false. Although the great white shark, the blue whale, a lion, and other massive or powerful organisms are certainly not as large or forceful as a mountain, ocean, waterfall, or volcano, it seems wrong to claim that these natural organisms are too small or weak to elicit the sublime. Indeed, Kant himself cites an eagle (KU 5:315), the just soldier (KU 5:262), a moral human being (KU 5:262; 5:270), and the human figure (KU 5:269) as examples of objects that elicit the sublime. These examples suggest that it is not always sheer size or force that elicits sublimity. The sublime can be elicited by the way in which the object moves its parts (e.g., the eagle’s wings), executes its ends (e.g., the lioness efficiently catching antelope), demonstrates a certain frame of mind (e.g., the soldier’s stoicism), or has certain intentions (e.g., the good will). Contra Budd, I hold that the lack of an account of the judgment of the dependent sublimity of objects of nature (and art) is therefore an omission without sound justification. Some massive or powerful objects in nature do have natural functions, and some objects with natural functions have whatever it takes to elicit the sublime (size, might, resoluteness, etc.). Let us now turn to Guyer’s interpretation, which provides a counterbalance to Budd’s view. Guyer refers to the conceptual element in a judgment of the sublime. Whereas Budd discusses natural functions and the purposes associated with an object, Guyer focuses on the ideas of reason. Of the dynamical sublime, Guyer writes: “The experience of the

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might of nature triggers a recognition of our own powers, but a recognition that has to be put into concepts.”97 Guyer emphasizes the intellectual or conceptual content in judgments of the mathematical and dynamical sublime.98 His interpretation implies that this intellectual component is so weighty (so hard to remove or detach, as it were) that judgments of the mathematical and dynamical sublime could be seen as purely aesthetic only with difficulty. Guyer’s position seems to imply that judgments of the sublime would usually be dependent judgments on account of their unique kind of intellectual content, which has to do with human purposes and the capacity for morality. If so, his position offsets Budd’s dismissal of dependent sublimity. Of course, there is no reason to think that judgments of the sublime must always be dependent. Guyer concludes that Kant seems to be ambivalent with regard to the intellectual content in judgments of the sublime (cf. KU 5:279).99 Guyer rightly leaves open the possibility of both free and dependent judgments of the sublime. Kant’s position on the sublime appears to be that the conceptual content (the rational idea) is sometimes more apparent or evident and at other times less explicitly recognized, but nonetheless in every case still there as the ultimate ground of the judgment whether it is identified or not. That the rational or moral idea (of freedom, humanity, etc.) is sometimes disclosed and sometimes concealed, in fact, seems to be 97 98

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Guyer, Values of Beauty, p. 160. This issue regarding conceptual content could be fruitfully related to a distinct yet similar debate about the harmonious, free play in the judgment of beauty. Guyer identifies three positions in the debate: precognitivism, multicognitivism, and metacognitivism. See “Kant on the Purity of the Ugly,” in Guyer, Values of Beauty, pp. 147–51; and Kant, p. 315. For examples of what Guyer calls “precognitivism,” see Dieter Henrich, “Kant’s Explanations of Aesthetic Judgment,” in Aesthetic Judgment and the Moral Image of the World: Studies in Kant (Stanford University Press, 1992), p. 38; Donald W. Crawford, Kant’ s Aesthetic Theory (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1974), p. 90; Ralf Meerbote, “ Reflection on Beauty,” in Essays in Kant’ s Aesthetics, ed. Ted Cohen and Paul Guyer (University of Chicago Press, 1982), pp. 55–86, p. 72; Ginsborg, “Lawfulness without a Law,” p. 70; Makkreel, Imagination and Interpretation in Kant, p. 47. For “multi¨ ber den Grund der Lust an scho¨nen Gegensta¨nden: Kritische cognitivism,” see Gerhard Seel, “ U Fragen an die A¨sthetik Kants,” in Kant: Analysen – Probleme – Kritik, ed. Hariolf Oberer and Gerhard Seel (Wu¨rzburg: Ko¨nigshausen & Neumann, 1988), pp. 317–56, p. 344; Fred L. Rush, Jr. “The Harmony of the Faculties,” Kant-Studien, 92 (2001): 38–61, p. 52; Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 171. For “metacognitivism,” see Malcolm Budd, “The Pure Judgment of Taste as an Aesthetic Reflective Judgment,” British Journal of Aesthetics, 41 (2001): 247–60, p. 255; and Guyer, “Harmony of the Faculties Revisited,” in Values of Beauty, pp. 77–110. For Guyer’s characterizations and criticisms of precognitivism and multicognitivism, see “Harmony of the Faculties Revisited,” pp. 77–109, and Kant, p. 315. For a defense of a “conceptualist” reading of Kant’s aesthetics, see Ameriks, Interpreting Kant’ s “ Critiques,” pp. 338–41. Guyer, Values of Beauty, p. 161.


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entailed by Kant’s doctrine of the subreption in the sublime, which, if my interpretation is correct (section 2.2.4), frequently but not necessarily occurs. For when the subreption occurs, the object rather than humanity in the subject is thought to merit respect. However, presumably one can at some point avoid the subreption and correctly identify the ideal content. Accordingly, it seems best to attribute to Kant the position that sometimes one does not recognize the intellectual component (i.e., when one commits the subreption) while at other times (i.e., when one avoids the subreption) one sees the rational idea for what it is, namely, a necessary component of the judgment.100 There is an important difference between the interpretations of Guyer and Budd: their comments refer to two distinct features of Kant’s position. Guyer’s discussion proceeds from the (correct) observation that judgments of the sublime are based on ideas of reason, whereas Budd starts from the (likewise correct) view that Kant distinguishes between aesthetic and teleological judgments. Budd thus focuses on the purposes associated with objects rather than on the subject’s ideas. Whereas Budd discusses natural objects such as volcanoes and the ocean, Guyer’s remarks do not refer to the purposes of the natural objects, but to the supersensible rationality and freedom of the human being. “The experience of the mathematical sublime seems to depend upon the recognition that we have a faculty of reason; even if we somehow feel this fact, we must also interpret our feeling, connect it to this recognition. This seems even more evident in the case of the dynamical sublime.”101 Given the role of conceptual recognition and the fact that what is being recognized is our purpose as moral beings, it appears that this aesthetic judgment would be a dependent judgment. If the intellectual content is a recognition of our supersensible rationality or freedom, the object that is viewed as purposive is not a natural object at all. It is the human being. A judgment that incorporates or appeals to the notion of human freedom and the consequent moral vocation of humanity would constitute a judgment of the dependent sublimity of the human being. Note that other concepts than the freedom and moral purposes of the human being could, in principle, render a judgment about the human 100

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Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, p. 158, rightly notes that it would seem that a subreption cannot occur (contra Kant’s text) if the sublime necessarily involves the thought of our independence from nature as moral beings. This problem confirms that the sublime does not involve a determinate concept of our rational superiority, but is instead based on a certain kind of feeling (KU 5:258). Guyer, Values of Beauty, p. 160.

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being dependent. Dependent judgments of the human being can, presumably, be based on non-moral forms of perfection, such as how well a person executes his or her tasks or performs some physical feat. Athletic events and other forms of competition can elicit judgments of dependent sublimity, in my view. Such judgments would involve concepts of the sport or game and the players. Moreover, echoing the discussion of the ideal of beauty in §17 (KU 5:233), in the “General remark” Kant mentions “the sublime and the beautiful in the human figure” and states that the corresponding judgment, while still an “aesthetic judgment,” would no longer be “pure” or that of the “free” power of judgment (KU 5:270–1).102 I read this passage as making room for the possibility of a dependent judgment of the sublime with respect to the human being. To conclude: judgments of the sublime are dependent insofar as they incorporate a concept of the purpose of the object of the judgment. The purpose of the object can, but need not be, a moral end, viz., the final purpose of the human being. For reasons given when criticizing Budd’s interpretation, we can make judgments about dependent sublimities of nature (as well as art) if the object’s purpose is considered a crucial element in the judgment (though, lest it become a teleological judgment, not the only element). In discussing dependent sublimity, we should not confuse the idea of reason with the concept of the object’s end. The idea of infinity, say, elicited by a vast arsenal, is distinct from the concept of the object’s purpose (storage). The foregoing discussion of purposiveness raises a question concerning what happens when the object’s purpose is frustrated, as occurs in the case of the monstrous. 2.5 the monstrous and the colossal And those sublimer towers, the White Mountains of New Hampshire, whence, in peculiar moods, comes that gigantic ghostliness over the soul at the bare mention of that name, while the thought of Virginia’s Blue Ridge is full of a soft, dewy, distant dreaminess?103

This passage from Moby Dick, or The Whale suggests that massive objects that are ordinarily viewed as sublime can sometimes (“in peculiar

102 103

This passage again suggests a (sometimes) synonymous use of “pure” and “free.” Herman Melville, Moby Dick, or the Whale, ed. Harrison Hayford, Hershel Parker, and G. Thomas Tanselle (Evanston and Chicago: Northwestern University Press, 1988), pp. 192–3.


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moods”) be judged to be monstrous (elicit “gigantic ghostliness”).104 It also implies that this occurs on account of both relational features, such as physical distance from the object, and subjective features – affects and moods. Since we examined the grotesque in the previous chapter, it is appropriate to turn to the monstrous, especially if the grotesque is the negative counterpart to the sublime and if the concept of the grotesque contains the monstrous.105 Although at the end of this section I express doubts about whether the monstrous can reveal freedom, this section remains somewhat of an excursus from our main theme concerning freedom and the sublime. Nonetheless, since scholars who turn to the suggestive connections between the monstrous, the colossal, and the sublime have unfortunately tended to collapse these very distinctions,106 it is worthwhile to examine the Critical conception of the monstrous. I hope to counterbalance some of these interpretations. Kant’s presentation of the monstrous and the colossal in the third Critique is limited to a single yet noteworthy passage. Kant distinguishes the mathematical sublime from the response to an object that transgresses its boundaries to such an extent that the object appears monstrous. The predicate “monstrous” thus characterizes an object that, when viewed under the appropriate conditions, is so large that it destroys the purpose that it is considered to have: the object can no longer be comprehended 104

105

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For Melville’s Ishmael, whiteness as such is representative of the contrapurposive monstrous; Melville, Moby Dick, p. 195. Notice the concept of annihilation: “Is it that by its indefiniteness it shadows forth the heartless voids and immensities of the universe, and thus stabs us from behind with the thought of annihilation, when beholding the white depths of the milky way?” As “the visible absence of color, and at the same time the concrete of all colors,” whiteness, like the monstrous for Kant, shatters the concept of its purpose, in this case its purpose as a color, creating a “dumb blankness, full of meaning,” from which we shrink as if in horror (p. 195). Cf. the description of the polar bear, the white shark, and the white steed, pp. 189–91, and Ishmael’s more positive aesthetic response (i.e., the sublime, not the monstrous) to the “mathematical symmetry” of the sperm whale’s “massive” head, which has “more character” than the right whale’s head (p. 329): “As you behold it, you involuntarily yield the immense superiority to him, in point of pervading dignity.” In my view, what Kant calls the monstrous (Ungeheuer), and to some extent the colossal, should be subsumed under the contemporary concept of the grotesque. E.g., Lyotard suggests that the monstrous in art “can be sublime”; “The Sublime and the AvantGarde,” in The Lyotard Reader, p. 97. Whether or not this view is correct is another matter, but it is clearly not Kant’s position. Cf. Slavoj Zˇizˇek, The Plague of Fantasies (London: Verso, 1997), pp. 218–29; and Derrida, Truth in Painting, pp. 119–47. Jean-Luc Marion claims that the sublime is for Kant a “monstrosity”; Jean-Luc Marion, “The Saturated Phenomenon,” in Phenomenology and the “ Theological Turn” : The French Debate (New York: Fordham University Press, 2000), p. 214. For critical discussions of Lyotard and of Zˇizˇek, see Kearney, Strangers, Gods, and Monsters, pp. 92–9; for a critical discussion of Derrida, see Kearney, Strangers, Gods, and Monsters, pp. 106–8.

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by the imagination. Kant also distinguishes the feeling in the mathematical sublime from the response to an object that comes close to, but presumably does not reach, such monstrosity: this he calls the colossal. Kant’s description of the monstrous brings to mind both Kames’ “overgrown whale” that “having a disagreeable appearance, is not grand” and the white whale that fatefully fascinated Ahab.107 Kant writes: For in this sort of [mathematically sublime] representation nature contains nothing that would be monstrous [ungeheuer] (or splendid [pra¨chtig]108 or terrible [gra¨ßlich]); the magnitude that is apprehended may grow as large as one wants as long as it can be comprehended in one whole by the imagination. An object is monstrous if by its magnitude it annihilates the end which its concept constitutes. The mere presentation of a concept, however, which is almost too great for all presentation (which borders on the relatively monstrous) is called colossal [kolossalisch], because the end of the presentation of a concept is made more difficult if the intuition of the object is almost too great for our faculty of apprehension. (KU 5:253)

The responses to the objects deemed monstrous and seen as colossal have elements that can be called aesthetic, but they also incorporate or make use of (though are not completely based on) a concept of the end of the object. Let us apply the distinctions made in this chapter. Insofar as they are aesthetic judgments at all, the responses to the monstrous and to the colossal would count as dependent, not free, aesthetic judgments. Second, although aesthetic judgments of the monstrous and the colossal might satisfy the conditions associated with the four moments and thus could in principle be pure, they can never be purely or merely aesthetic judgments, since they incorporate a notion of the purposiveness or functionality of the object. Since it might not be clear what in such judgments is aesthetic and what is non-aesthetic, this feature of the monstrous and the colossal merits some explanation. As this feature is clarified, a difference between the monstrous and the colossal emerges. The responses to an object 107

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See Kames, Elements of Criticism, vol. i , p. 152. On sublimity and the whiteness of the whale in Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, see Jeffrey Downard, “The Color of the Sublime is White,” Contemporary Aesthetics, 4 (2006), section 6, www.contempaesthetics.org/index.html. Actually, Downard’s title contains a false assertion, since the color of the sublime, for Kant, is red (KU 5:302) and “the white color of the lily seems to dispose the mind to ideas of innocence” (KU 5:302). If we had to connect the color white to a feeling, then, assuming that Ishmael is correct, it would be the feeling of the monstrous. For the sake of consistency with the earlier discussion of the Observations and the Remarks, I translate pra¨chtig as “splendid” rather than as “magnificent,” as it is rendered in the Guyer/ Matthews translation.


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considered monstrous and to one judged colossal both contain an aesthetic element insofar as the imagination attempts to apprehend the whole or entirety of the vast object. In the case of the monstrous and the colossal there are objective features that we can predicate of the object a priori, e.g., vastness, immensity, and enormity. The response to the monstrous and the colossal contains a non-aesthetic component that is based on the object’s dysfunctionality (or, to put it in terms of the subject, the aesthetic judge’s inability to discern functionality). This pole of the feeling of the monstrous is negative: repulsion. Such repulsion, although it can border on disgust (Ekel ), cannot, so long as the aesthetic response is pure, actually turn into disgust or loathing, a “strange sensation” in which “the object is represented as if it were imposing the enjoyment which we are nevertheless forcibly resisting” (KU 5:312).109 Such disgust would ruin or taint the purity of the aesthetic judgment, since one would no longer be disinterested but would want to avoid or run away from the object. Moreover, unlike the negative humiliation of the imagination in the mathematical sublime, the repugnance in the monstrous is never redeemed: the negativity is not accompanied by a feeling of the pleasure in the presence of reason, a pleasure that would render the experience uplifting (erhabene). There is a difference between the two kinds of objects that elicit the monstrous and the colossal.110 Whereas the monstrous object shatters the concept of its end by virtue of its enormity, the colossal object only comes close to carrying out this annihilation.111 Therefore, the colossal seems to elicit a more enjoyable response than the monstrous, even if the monstrous, too, elicits aesthetic delight (as attested by fascination

109

110

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On Ekel, see Obs 2:229; 77; Obs 2:233; 83; Obs 2:234; 84; Rem 20:19; 20; Rem 20:125; 95; Rem 20:155; 115; ApH 7:157–8, 250, 276, 306. In the Prize Essay, too, Kant mentions “the sublime, the beautiful, and the disgusting” (2:280). Kant opposes Ekel to beauty (Obs 2:233; 83; Rem 20:19; 20), especially the beauty, and cleanliness, that he associates with the feminine (Obs 2:229, 77; Obs 2:234; 84; Rem 20:155; 115; ApH 7:306). Ekel can arise from too much consumption/enjoyment (Genuß) (ApH 7:250) or sensory enjoyment (Sinnengenuß) (ApH 7:276): “debauchery overfills one with enjoyment and in the end brings about disgust” (Schwelgerei u¨berfu¨llt mit Genuß und bewirkt endlich Ekel) (ApH 7:250). Derrida characterizes the monstrous alone as referring to an object and claims that the colossal refers only to the presentation of a concept in The Truth in Painting, p. 125. However, while it is true that Kant claims that “mere presentation of a concept” is called colossal (KU 5:253), his sentence proceeds to refer to an object. Rogozinski interprets the monstrous (Ungeheuer) as a radical limit category that can situate the sublime and the beautiful. In contrast to my view, he argues that the monstrous contains no purposiveness. Jacob Rogozinski, “A la limite de l’Ungeheuer sublime et ‘monstrueux’ dans la Troisie`me Critique,” in Kants A¨sthetik/Kant’ s Aesthetics/L’ esthe´tique de Kant, ed. Parret, pp. 642–59.

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with horror films). In other words, we are more likely to have a more pleasant or positive aesthetic response to the colossal than to the monstrous. Similarly, the negative repulsion associated with the colossal would be less repugnant than that contained by the response to the monstrous. A colossal statue, or even a painting of a colossus (say, by Francisco Goya), might elicit an experience of the sublime. The colossus’s enormity might elicit a feeling of the transcendence of natural limitations. One passage from Kant’s corpus is particularly interesting in this respect. In fact, it appears to be the only other mention of the colossal in the Kantian corpus, and it was written at approximately the same time as were the marginal remarks in the Observations. In the “Review of [Johann Esaias] Silberschlag’s Article: Theory of the Fireball that Appeared on 23 July 1762” (Recension von Silberschlags Schrift: Theorie der am 23. Juli 1762 erschienenen Feuerkugel), published in 1764, Kant describes the size of a meteor with fascinated excitement. In the opening sentence, the meteor is described as monstrous (ungeheure), although it emits a shine (Glanze). (Kant thus employs the language of the splendid sublime that one finds in the Observations and in the marginal remarks in the treatise.) Kant compares the birth of the gigantic meteor to colossal human beings. He calls the origin of the giant fireball, like the colossi, splendid (gla¨nzend) and frightening (erschrecklich): The magnitude of this fireball corresponded to all these apparitions and measured, according to our author’s geometric estimation, at least 3,036 Parisian feet in diameter, that is, more than half of a quarter of a German mile. Any spectator of the world who is capable of a few noble sensations must be thankful to the scholarly and dignified author, that through his research and observations of our still little-known spatial orbit he wanted to wrest away from forgetfulness this giant-birth (splendid and frightening like sometimes colossal human beings [gla¨nzend und erschrecklich wie bisweilen kolossische Menschen], but also just as quickly engulfed by the vast abyss of nothingness [verschlungen im weiten Abgrunde des Nichts]). (2:272c)112

The colossal beings that Kant mentions may very well be the ancient statues that were pillaged for their materials and thus disappeared into nothingness (das Nichts). In any case, the foregoing pre-Critical description of the meteor suggests that there can be a positive, pleasant (and not simply negative) aesthetic response to the monstrous. There is

112

My translation.


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no good reason to think that the Critical account denies such (mixed) aesthetic pleasure. Note that this negative pleasure does not necessarily make the experience of the monstrous the same as the sublime. In the third Critique, an object is viewed as monstrous if by virtue of its size it annihilates (turns into nothing, nichts) the end constituted by its concept. Whereas in the sublime the imagination fails to comprehend the idea of infinity, in the monstrous the object is so extensive that it cannot be grasped in a whole by the imagination. Likewise, in the Anthropology Kant differentiates between the monstrous and the sublime. He points out that the two concepts, since they are closely related, are easily mistaken for each other: The monstrous [das Ungeheuere] is a magnitude that is contrapurposive (magnitudo monstrosa). Accordingly, writers who wanted to present as sublime [erheben wollten] the spacious extent of the Russian kingdom expressed it poorly when they called the latter monstrous; for this contains a reproach – as if it were too extensive for a single ruler. (ApH 7:243)

The lack of perfection that is intrinsic to the monstrous is also evident in a passage from the Religion. Kant characterizes a universal monarchy as a monster that is so dysfunctional that it ends up destroying itself: “Yet after this monster [dieses Ungeheuer] (in which the laws gradually lose their force) has swallowed up all its neighbors, it ultimately disintegrates all by itself ” (R 6:34 n.). There is no such thing as the monstrous sublime, for Kant. While it is true that an object that is capable of eliciting dynamical sublimity must be able to elicit terror, we do not feel actual fear and, in fact, we feel a certain kind of pleasure in the face of the object. It is therefore misleading ˇ izˇek, and other writers who follow Lacan, to maintain that, for Slavoj Z since the moral law belongs to the realm of the noumenal, the sublime majesty of the Law “turns into obscene abhorrent monstrosity.”113 Such overstatements unfortunately blur the line between the sublime and the monstrous. The moral law, Kant holds, cannot be terrifying. Indeed, the fact that, for Kant, the moral law cannot be terrifying is one reason why our pure aesthetic response to the moral law is a response of (what I call) the moral sublime rather than the dynamical sublime. Recall that in the Observations and in the remarks in the Observations, the grotesque (Fratze, ungeheurer) contains both aesthetic and moral 113

ˇ izˇek, “The Unconscious Law,” in The Plague of Fantasies, p. 219; cited in Kearney, Slavoj Z Strangers, Gods, and Monsters, p. 95. Cf. similar Lacanian claims in Terry Eagleton, Holy Terror (Oxford University Press, 2005).

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components (Obs 2:252; 110). In the Critical period, Kant calls the corresponding judgment dependent insofar as it depends or hinges on a concept of the object’s moral, functional, or instrumental purpose. An important difference between the pre-Critical and Critical accounts is that the latter clearly distinguishes between, and presents a detailed account of, the aesthetic and the teleological components, even if these elements can be simultaneously found in a single, mixed aesthetic judgment. By contrast, the early accounts found in the Observations and the remarks elide those components of the judgment that are based on concepts of the aesthetic and the instrumental, functional, or moral good. There is a significant amount of literature on disgust114 and commentary on the grotesque.115 For instance, Menninghaus examines the pre-Critical conception of the disgusting (Ekel).116 The concept of disgust is relevant to a discussion of the monstrous, since disgust demarcates the limits of the aesthetic response of the monstrous. If one is completely disgusted or repulsed by a deformed object, one cannot be disinterested and thus cannot meet that purity condition of aesthetic judgment. Guyer focuses on the non-aesthetic elements of the ugly (Ha¨ßliche).117 He sees the ugly as a type of failed functionality, and in this sense the ugly partly overlaps with the monstrous.118 Guyer’s discussion is helpful since 114

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See Herbert Dieckmann, “Das Abscheuliche und Schreckliche in der Kunsttheorie des 18. Jahrhunderts,” in Die nicht mehr scho¨nen Ku¨nste: Grenzpha¨nomene des A¨sthetischen, ed. H. R. Jauß (Munich: Fink Verlag, 1968), pp. 271–317; Utz Jegge, “Runterschlucken: Ekel und Kultur,” Kursbuch, 129 (September 1997): 12–26; Aurel Kolnai, “Der Ekel,” in Jahrbuch fu¨r Philosophie und pha¨nomenologische Forschung, ed. Edmund Husserl, vol. x (Halle and Saale: Max Niemeyer, 1929; reprint 1974); Till R. Kuhnle, “Der Ernst des Ekels: Ein Grenzfall von Begriffsgeschichte und Metaphorologie,” Archiv fu¨r Begriffsgeschichte, 39 (1996): 268–325; Konrad Paul Liessmann, “‘Ekel! Ekel! Ekel! – Wehe mir!’ Eine kleine Philosophie des Abscheus,” Kursbuch, 129 (September 1997): 101–10; Karl Rosenkranz, A¨sthetik des Ha¨ßlichen (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1979); William Ian Miller, The Anatomy of Disgust (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997); and Paul Rozin and April E. Fallon, “A Perspective on Disgust,” Psychological Review, 94 (1987): 23–41. Noe¨l Carroll, in “The Grotesque Today: Preliminary Notes toward a Taxonomy,” in Modern Art and the Grotesque, ed. Frances S. Connelly (Cambridge University Press, 2003), argues that the grotesque consists of the conflation of biological and ontological categories. See Winfred Menninghaus, Disgust: Theory and History of a Strong Sensation, trans. Howard Eiland and Joel Golb (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2003). Menninghaus’ extensive overview examines the history of disgust (in Baudelaire, Kafka, Nietzsche, Freud, Bataille, Sartre, Kristeva, et al.) from an interdisciplinary perspective. The chapter on Kant focuses on the pre-Critical concept of Ekel at Obs 2:229; 77; Obs 2:233; 83; Obs 2:234; 84. Guyer discusses the adherent nature of the ugly. See Guyer, “Kant on the Purity of the Ugly,” in Values of Beauty, pp. 141–62; for a discussion of ugliness and the sublime, see esp. pp. 156–61. For the ugly (Ha¨ßliche), see KU 5:312; cf. Refl 669, 15:196–7; Logik Philippi 24:364; Logik Po¨litz 24:514; and Metaphysik Vigilantius 29:1010. See Hud Hudson, “The Significance of an Analytic of the Ugly in Kant’s Deduction of Pure Judgments of Taste,” in Kant’ s Aesthetics, ed. Ralf Meerbote and Hud Hudson, North American Kant Society Studies in Philosophy, vol. i (Atascadero:


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asymmetry and failed functionality are typically viewed as ugly, and he helps us comprehend the latter. But since he focuses on the ugly, his analysis naturally does not help us understand the monstrous very much. The ugly can be conceived as the negative counterpart to the beautiful, but the monstrous cannot be thought of in this way. If we are to use such language, we should say that the monstrous, since it falls under the grotesque, is the negative counterpart to the sublime, since the monstrous is an aesthetic response to objects that are massive and vast (or perhaps also powerful). After all, Kant describes the monstrous while presenting his theory of the mathematical sublime, not the beautiful. The monstrous is not simply a judgment of perfection or morality any more than it is a merely aesthetic judgment (assuming that we can conceive of it as an aesthetic judgment). The aesthetic judge of the monstrous does not try to make use of the object when she makes the aesthetic judgment, for the appropriate practical response to a dysfunctional object is repugnance simpliciter, causing the aesthetic subject to avoid the object. And if the object is morally repugnant rather than simply dysfunctional, the judge would (ideally, at least) flee from the terrible (gra¨ßliche) and thus no longer be an aesthetic judge but a practical agent, who typically avoids a perceived evil. Disgust (Ekel) and horror (Grauen) “make moral aversion sensible” (MS 6:406). In such moral aversion the feeling of disgust is so strong that one is not disinterested and thus is no longer in a position to make an aesthetic judgment that satisfies the purity conditions (cf. KU 5:312; ApH 7:241). Moral aversion or repugnance is based on a law of practical reason, not aesthetic reflection. Kant suggests that there are some topics, images, scenes, etc., that one simply cannot discuss, contemplate, or watch with the disinterestedness that is required of pure aesthetic judgment. In light of our later discussion of revolution (chapter 6), one example is particularly intriguing: It is the formal execution of a monarch that strikes horror in a soul filled with the idea of human rights, a horror that one feels repeatedly as soon as and as often as one thinks of such scenes as the fate of Charles I or Louis XVI. But how are we to explain this feeling, which is not aesthetic feeling (sympathy [Mitgefu¨hl], an effect of imagination by which we put ourselves in the place of the sufferer) but moral feeling resulting from the complete overturning of all concepts of right? (MS 6:321) Ridgeview Publishing Co., 1991), pp. 87–103; Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, pp. 54, 71–2; and Dieter Lohmar, “Das Geschmacksurteil u¨ber das faszinierend Ha¨ßliche,” in Kants A¨sthetik, ed. Parret, pp. 498–512. Lohmar analyzes the disharmonious play of the faculties in the case of the ugly on the model of the sublime.

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Instead of being simply repulsed, however, the judge of a pure aesthetic judgment of the monstrous is somewhat attracted to the object that elicits the feeling. In short, the monstrous has an attractive–repulsive bipolar structure, as does the sublime, but there is no recognition of the superiority of reason to sensibility in the experience of the monstrous. Instead of uplifting the aesthetic judge as the sublime does, the monstrous, insofar as it falls short of the sublime, deflates and lowers the subject. This should not be surprising, since there is something undesirable about the object (its imperfection and dysfunctionality). Before concluding this section, let me express my doubts concerning the monstrous and the revelation of freedom. The monstrous does not reveal the superiority of reason over sensible impulses or interests. Unlike the sublime, the experience of the monstrous does not involve a feeling of transcendence. It would be nice if the monstrous could still play a moral role, but this seems to ask too much of the monstrous. One might wish to argue that communicating our experiences of the monstrous can help us come to agreement about what the standards of morality are and thereby contribute to making these standards publicly known. However, it is difficult to see how, even if this were the case, the monstrous would contribute to morality. For the standards in light of which the monstrous is judged are typically the standards of the functionality of objects, not the standards of morality. The lack of taking into consideration the concept of morality in the experience and judging of the monstrous and the colossal shows one way in which Kant’s Critical account differs from the pre-Critical account. For, according to the pre-Critical account, a moral component was a necessary part of judging something to be grotesque. In the Critical account, the experiences of the monstrous and colossal incorporate concepts of the functionality of the object, but not necessarily its morality. Before turning to the moral feeling of respect in the next chapter, we must consider the possibility of sublimity elicited by art, since the latter, if it can evoke the sublime, should be in a position to reveal some of the aspects of freedom. 2.6 sublimity elicited by art If we are to understand how the sublime reveals transcendental and practical freedom, we must see whether the only type of sublimity is the one elicited by nature and by natural objects such as waterfalls,


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thunderclouds, and cliffs, or if sublimity can also be elicited by art.119 My position, in brief, is that both natural and artistic objects can elicit the sublime. If sublimity can be evoked by works of art, these objects are in a position to play an important role in revealing freedom, and it will be possible to take a morally based interest in works of art that elicit the sublime (section 4.3.4). One of the basic reasons for my view arises from the fact that the true referent of the judgment of the sublime is a moral idea, not a spatiotemporal object. A moral idea alone is worthy of being called sublime, and a moral idea is neither an object of nature nor an artistic object. There therefore seem to be good reasons for holding that natural and artistic objects alike can in principle elicit the sublime. Before proceeding, I should point out that the aesthetic enthusiasm described in “An Old Question” is a response to a moral idea, not a response to either nature or art. If enthusiasm can indeed be sublime, this feature can be easily explained. For the experience of the sublime is a pure aesthetic response to a moral idea. The moral idea that is discussed in “An Old Question” is in my view the idea of a republic, even if this is not the only idea that can elicit an experience of the sublime. In order to argue persuasively that enthusiasm is a feeling of the sublime, it must be shown that the Kantian sublime is a response to a non-natural moral idea. I have already shown that for Kant the sublime consists in such a response. In other words, the debate discussed in this section concerning whether nature or art elicits the sublime is not decisive for whether enthusiasm can be a feeling of the sublime. It need only be shown (as I show) that what elicits enthusiasm can be non-natural, but it need not be shown that it must be art. Nonetheless, the issue is still worth pursuing since it relates to how the sublime can reveal freedom and to the discussion of taking a morally based interest in such sublimity. Let us therefore examine it in more detail. Kant’s interpreters do not agree about whether judgments of the sublime can be elicited by art. For instance, Guyer implies that there is no room for sublimity evoked by art: the experience of the sublime “does seem to be exclusively an experience of nature rather than art.”120 119 120

I would like to thank Uygar Abaci for his helpful comments while discussing this issue with me. Guyer, Kant, p. 312. Cf.: “No work of art, even an artistic representation of the sublime in nature, can itself so stretch our natural faculties as to reveal the even greater faculty of reason that lies beyond them”; Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, p. 264. Guyer does not seem convinced, however, since he refers to the possibility of the sublime elicited by art (cf. KU 5:245): “we cannot really represent the infinite, but perhaps an artist of genius can intimate it”; Kant, p. 320.

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However, elsewhere Guyer recognizes that the sublime can be represented in art: “This is not to say, however, that Kant thinks there is no sublime in art, or at least no artistic representation of the sublime.”121 However, since an artistic representation of the sublime might differ from an evocation of the sublime, Guyer’s second claim does not by itself amount to a full acknowledgement of sublimity elicited by art. Several interpreters share my view that Kant’s account allows for the possibility of artistic sublimity.122 Dunham puts the point well: “For sublimity, on Kant’s own argument, exists in the state of mind produced by the object, and is only incorrectly referred to the object. There is no reason why a work of art may not be sublime, provided it produces that state; and this art can do so by expressing in its own medium the very state of mind which in Kant’s own definition is sublime.”123 The view that judgments of the Kantian sublime can be a response to art is suggested not only by the fact that Kant mentions several examples of artistic sublimity, but also by the fact that sublimity ultimately refers to ideas of reason, not to the objects that stimulate or elicit the judgment. Before we look to Kant’s writings for confirmation of this interpretation, it is worth noting two points. First, it would be inconsistent for Kant to hold that the sublime in general can reveal human freedom but that sublimity elicited by art cannot. The deeper issue concerns whether Kant maintains that art can in fact elicit the sublime, since if art can do so, then Kant must hold that such sublimity reveals freedom. Second, the line between nature and art is more blurred than it seems at first glance, so the issue regarding artistic sublimity is more complex than it appears. Kant claims that genius is a natural gift through which nature gives the

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Guyer, in Kant and the Experience of Freedom, p. 264, states, “Kant does not explicitly deny that a work of art can produce the feeling of sublimity,” but adds, “nevertheless, works of art seem to have no part in Kant’s image of the sublime.” Guyer, Critique of the Power of Judgment, p. 374 n.10. (The notes and Editor’s introduction are Guyer’s; see p. xlvii.) E.g., Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, pp. 336–41; Budd, The Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature, p. 28; and Dunham, A Study in Kant’ s Aesthetic, pp. 89–90. McCormick interprets poems of the genre of “suffering” in terms of the sublime; McCormick, “Overwhelming Forces and a Whispering Vastness: Kantian Fictions of a Negative Sublime,” in Kants A¨sthetik, ed. Parret, pp. 630–41. Paul Crowther offers a reconstructive account of artistic sublimity in The Kantian Sublime, p. 161. McCormick holds that Kant “almost” excludes artworks from the scope of his treatment of the sublime (p. 630). Rudolf Makkreel affirms the possibility of artistic sublimity in “On Sublimity, Genius and the Explication of Aesthetic Ideas,” p. 623. Myskja offers arguments for artistic sublimity in The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, pp. 253–62. Dunham, A Study in Kant’ s Aesthetic, pp. 89–90. Dunham also refers to the subject/object conflation, which I examined while discussing the subreption (section 2.2.4).


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rule to art (KU 5:307). Kant’s account of fine art suggests that drawing a rigid distinction between nature and art is unjustified, or at least misleading.124 Kant claims in the third Critique that fine art must agree with nature if it is to be considered art. The sublime “in art is, after all, always restricted to the conditions of agreement with nature” (KU 5:245). With these points in mind, let us evaluate the possible reasons for attributing to Kant the view that there is no artistic sublimity. The reference to nature in the title of §26, “On the estimation of the magnitude of things of nature that is requisite for the idea of the sublime,” might be taken to suggest that the sublime can be elicited only by nature and not by art. It has been alleged that Kant’s text supports this interpretation.125 On my reading, however, in §26 Kant claims that a judgment on art can sometimes but not always involve teleological concepts that could thereby jeopardize the purity of the aesthetic judgment. Such purity (which I understand in terms of the four moments) could be compromised because a notion of the object’s purpose might render the judgment teleological, or based entirely on the object’s purposiveness. As we have seen, Kant here mentions the natural purposes of animals as well as the ends associated with artful products: Rather I only note that if the aesthetic judgment is to be pure (not mixed up with anything teleological as judgments of reason) and if an example of that is to be given which is fully appropriate for the critique of aesthetic power of judgment, then the sublime must not be shown in products of art (e.g., buildings, columns, etc.), where a human end determines the form as well as the magnitude, nor in the natural things whose concept already brings with it a determinate end (e.g., animals of a known natural determination), but rather in raw nature (and even in this only insofar as it by itself brings with it neither charm nor emotion from real danger), merely insofar as it contains magnitude. (KU 5:252–3)

If an object, whether artistic or natural, is considered in light of teleological concepts, it cannot elicit an unmixed or purely aesthetic judgment of the sublime. Note that what obtains is a function of how the subject reflects on or considers the object, not of the features of the object. 124

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On a free fantasia as a natural, not artistic, phenomenon, see Kneller, Kant and the Power of Imagination, p. 154. Donald Crawford cites the passage quoted below (KU 5:252–3) as support for his argument that for Kant only nature can cause sublimity; Crawford, “The Place of the Sublime in Kant’s Aesthetic Theory,” in The Philosophy of Immanuel Kant, ed. Richard Kennington (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1985), p. 174. He acknowledges that KU 5:325, which I cite below, seems to go against this interpretation (p. 179). In his discussion of 5:252–3, Crowther states that such judgments would lack “ ‘pure’ aesthetic status”; see The Kantian Sublime, p. 152.

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Certain animals, insofar as they are viewed in light of the function of their parts or their place in the ecosystem, can elicit only a mixed judgment of the sublime. But this does not mean that these same animals, viewed in another way, could not elicit a free judgment of the sublime as well. Similar reasoning applies in the case of artistic objects. In other words, an object that is the product of human intentional activity (say, an arsenal) can elicit the sublime. When it is considered in light of its purpose (housing weapons), it elicits a dependent judgment. Moreover, judgments of the sublime elicited by artifactual or artistic objects can be free in certain cases as well. In such cases, there may actually be a purpose or function to the artwork, conceived by the artist or architect, but such a purpose or function could be abstracted from in making the judgment. In other words, the object’s purpose does not have to obtrude on the judgment in the act of judging. The sublime elicited by art here is in this respect parallel to the beauty evoked by art, since the latter may elicit either free or dependent judgments of taste, depending on how the object is viewed by the judge in the act of judging. As we have seen, the dependent/free distinction does not mark out distinct ontological sets of objects but refers to two ways of making aesthetic judgments.126 It might be objected that in making judgments of the sublime in response to art, we need to suppress our awareness that the object is a work of art in order to be aware of our freedom. But this objection is mistaken. First, Kant’s account does not imply that we must be directly aware of our freedom in every experience of the sublime. A subreption can occur in which we attribute sublimity to the object rather than to ourselves. Second, the case of beauty can help us understand what happens when a subreption does not occur and we are conscious of our freedom. Just as in the case of beauty we do not have to bracket our knowledge that an artwork is a human creation in order to feel the free play of the imagination and the understanding, so in the case of the sublime we can acknowledge that we are viewing an artwork created by humans and still be aware of our freedom. In other words, it is possible to feel the sublime in response to a vast or powerful human creation (a sky-scraper, a large or jagged sculpture, a shuttle launch), knowing full well that it is a product of human art or artifice. One can still view the object in its sheer vastness or raw power even if one knows that its form and magnitude were determined by the 126

Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 33. Allison raises this issue on p. 140 but deals with it in chapter 12 of Kant’ s Theory of Taste.


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intentional activity of human beings. A space-exploring shuttle, of course, may not actually be created in order to appear vast or powerful to an observer, but for some other purpose, say, space exploration. But this need not stop an observer from seeing it in its power, leading to aesthetic delight. Let us consider objections to my view that turn on the concepts of formlessness and infinity. One might object that since sublimity requires formlessness and the human architect or artist has a concept of the form of the object, an artwork cannot elicit the sublime. This objection might be valid if Kant’s position were that what elicits sublimity is formless. If my previous argument is sound, however, Kant does not hold this view (section 2.2.3). Alternatively, one might insist that a work of art is spatially limited and finite, but that nature is unlimited and infinite and only such objects can elicit the sublime. In other words, art has a determinate magnitude, but nature is infinite. But the latter is mistaken. For Kant, nature cannot be said to be infinite: it is limited to the conditions of human cognition and sensibility. Nature is “nothing in itself but a sum of appearances” (KrV a114). In the first antinomy of the Critique of Pure Reason, Kant argues that we cannot demonstrate that nature is temporally infinite or spatially infinite (KrV a426–33/b454–61). Of course, Kant holds that we cannot show that it is temporally finite or spatially finite either. The world is neither finite nor infinite in extent (KrV a523–5/b551–3; a519–20/b547–8). In fact, this feature is precisely what makes it possible for nature to function as a schema of infinity (KU 5:265; 268). Neither nature as a whole nor particular natural objects like icebergs, cliffs, and oceans is actually infinite. Moreover, there are several passages that provide positive support for the view that Kant’s account allows for artistic sublimity. In the Anthropology, Kant writes that the sublime can be presented by artworks: The sublime is thus not an object for taste, but one for the feeling of emotion [Ru¨hrung]; however, the artistic presentation [ku¨nstliche Darstellung] of the sublime in description and embellishment [Bekleidung] (in secondary works, parerga) can and should be beautiful, since otherwise it is wild, unwrought [rauh], and repulsive, and thus contrary [zuwider] to taste. (ApH 7:243; my translation)127 127

Compare: “But the representation of the sublime can and should be beautiful in itself ” (ApH 7:241). In his notes on anthropology, Kant indicates that one can find the sublime in art: “On the beautiful and sublime in art and in the fine arts and sciences” (Refl 992, 15:437).

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Likewise, in the third Critique Kant suggests that the sublime can be elicited by art. By writing that “we here consider first only the sublime in objects of nature,” Kant reveals that he considers the sublime in artistic objects to be possible and suggests that he will examine it later in the work (KU 5:245; italics added). Accordingly, in §52 Kant echoes the Anthropology view that the sublime can be combined with the beautiful: “Further, the presentation [Darstellung] of the sublime, so far as it belongs to beautiful art, can be united with beauty in a verse tragedy [gereimten Trauerspiel], a didactic poem [Lehrgedicht], an oratorio [Oratorium]” (KU 5:325; cf. 274).128 These works of art would elicit a form of sublimity that is a descendent of what the Observations and the marginal notes in the Observations refer to as the splendid sublime. There may be a potential objection to citing this passage (KU 5:325) as evidence for my position, however. One might claim that it is not manifestly true that what presents the sublime necessarily also elicits or evokes the sublime. However, I believe that a presentation (Darstellung) of the sublime does involve an evocation of the sublime. First, Kant connects a “tumultuous” movement of the mind, which is another way of referring to sublimity, with a “sublime presentation [Darstellung]” (KU 5:273). This suggests that a sublime presentation results in and requires an evocation of the sublime. Second, in addition to this textual argument, there is an a priori argument. It is not immediately apparent how an artist could successfully present the sublime without evoking it. It is worth recalling here that Kant equates Darstellung with exhibitio (ApH 7:167; FI 20:220; KU 5:192). Darstellung means exhibition or presentation, not representation. It is not obvious what a genuine (not cliche´d) exhibition could mean other than evocation. Surely it cannot mean placing before the spectator, viewer, or reader human beings who are undergoing the feeling of the sublime in a scene, picture, or episode. One finds this approach in, say, paintings of Saul of Tarsus falling off his horse or even in some hagiographic images where communion with the divine is combined with painful stigmata. Alas, one aesthetic demerit associated with some of these paintings is that they sometimes fail to exhibit or present the sublime, but 128

The inclusion of the oratorio is noteworthy, since Kant does not admire music very much and is especially disdainful of religious music (KU 5:330). Note that if didactic poetry elicits a judgment of the sublime, the latter would likely be a judgment of the moral sublime, since such poetry for Kant teaches and illustrates moral principles. It would not elicit the dynamical sublime, since it does not involve a frightening object.


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merely represent it by giving the viewer an image of someone undergoing an experience of the sublime (or some symbol of the sublime, e.g., an iceberg). They can strike us as hackneyed. Such works might of course bring about a merely cognitive judgment that the painting is supposed to represent the sublime or that the painting belongs to the genre of sublime paintings. In that case, however, they would fail to elicit an aesthetic experience of the sublime, a felt movement of the mind. Moreover, a presentation of the sublime cannot mean describing or portraying a particular sort of object, say a raging sea or a lofty waterfall; at least, it cannot mean this alone. For this is more a representation of the sublime than a presentation. We might be able to recognize, in a generalized, cognitive judgment, that a painting or scene contains an object that is traditionally a sign of sublimity: the raging sea thrashing about a small boat, a waterfall crashing down on the rocks. But for such pictures or scenes to present or exhibit the sublime, it seems that an aesthetic feeling of the sublime must be evoked, and that the sublime must actually be felt, not just cognized. Otherwise it is doubtful that such paintings, passages, or scenes, even though they contain objects that traditionally represent sublimity, can successfully present the sublime. In artistic attempts that only represent the sublime, the viewer or reader can feel manipulated by the artist’s inclusion of such objects. It is worth recalling in this context that on Kant’s account, an object is not truly sublime at all. The sublime is a property of an aesthetic judge. So it is difficult to see how the sublime could be presented without being evoked. To return to Kant’s texts: in the Analytic of the Sublime, Kant mentions the very example he used to explain the splendid in the Observations – St. Peter’s Basilica. “The very same thing can also suffice to explain the bewilderment or sort of embarrassment that is said to seize the spectator on first entering St. Peter’s in Rome” (KU 5:253). Even though we are conscious that it is a work of art, this massive yet well-formed architectural structure can evoke a judgment of the mathematical sublime by bringing to mind the idea of a magnitude that cannot be realized in the sensible world, i.e., the idea of infinity. Such a judgment could be either free or dependent. Which of these obtains depends on what, in the moment of judging, the aesthetic subject (not the artist, genius, or architect) takes the purpose of the structure to be. If the basilica is judged to be dependent sublime, the vastness is seen to be part of the purpose of the building, say to make vivid what human beings can

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achieve.129 If judged to be a free sublimity, the edifice is seen in its sheer magnitude – given before the eye. The remaining examples to consider hearken back to the rhetorical tradition of the sublime that began with pseudo-Longinus’ text: a sermon, a tragedy, a travel journal, a literary style, and a poetic saying or way of expressing a line. Although Kant does not explicitly say that a sermon and a tragedy can elicit a judgment of the (moral) sublime, this seems implied by his claims that a religious sermon is truly edifying only if it is erected on a “system of good maxims,” and that a tragedy improves the spectators only if it has a relation to the moral manner of thinking (Denkungsart) (KU 5:274). Kant’s claim that a sermon that “preaches a groveling, base currying of favor and self-ingratiation” thereby lacks sublimity (KU 5:273) suggests that a religious sermon that preaches an emboldened, courageous, moral way of thinking (Denkungsart) elicits sublimity. In Kant’s account, certain texts can elicit the sublime. Kant claims that the travel writer M. de Saussure aimed at the “edification of mankind, and this excellent man experienced the elevating sentiment [seelenerhebende Empfindung] that he gave to the readers of his travels as part of the bargain” (KU 5:265). Moreover, Kant states that the expression “noble,” while it properly is applied to a tranquil or peaceful mental state, is subsequently applied to buildings, forms of dress, a literary style, and even posture (KU 5:272). Because buildings, costume, posture, and rhetorical style can elicit the sublime, we sometimes call them noble. Of course, for Kant they are not truly sublime and we are committing a subreption when we speak in this way. But the point here is simply that they are able to elicit the experience of the sublime. Finally, an inscription of poetry over the temple of Isis contains a line in comparison to which “perhaps nothing more sublime has ever been said, or any thought more sublimely expressed” (KU 5:316n.).130 While the line, its conceptual content, and its manner of being expressed are not strictly works of art, they are non-natural objects that are created by human intentional activity. Accordingly, there are several passages in which Kant suggests that art can elicit the sublime, and Kant’s text supports the position that I and 129

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Crowther calls this the “artifactual” sublime in The Kantian Sublime, p. 153. But one might consider the more hubristic Tower of Babel a better example of Crowther’s artifactual sublime than St. Peter’s, since the former is allegedly intended to demonstrate human ability while the latter, as a basilica, was not primarily built for these reasons. On Isis, see Sarah Kofman, Le respect des femmes (Paris: Galilee, 1982), chapter 1. One last passage is worth mentioning: Jupiter’s eagle can act as a presentation of, or “yield,” an aesthetic idea of the sublimity and majesty of creation (KU 5:315).


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other commentators have proposed.131 On my reading, these passages refer to cases in which the sublime is elicited by art. Moreover, we can explain why Kant focuses on the sublime in nature. Kant’s analysis proceeds primarily from an analysis of the sublime elicited by nature, but I do not think that Kant’s method of exposition by itself removes the possibility that a work of art can produce the sublime. It is likely that Kant focuses on nature for primarily heuristic or pedagogical reasons. Indeed, he follows a similar procedure in presenting his views of taste and judgments of beauty. Kant first analyzes judgments of free beauty and then complicates that characterization with an account of the ideal of beauty, fine art, aesthetic ideas, and so on, ultimately describing taste as a faculty of judging the sensible presentation of moral ideas (KU 5:356). Note, finally, that if my position is incorrect and Kant’s Critical view is that there is no conceptual space for artistic sublimity, this constitutes a significant departure from the position defended in the Observations. In the latter, Kant’s examples reveal that he believes that there is artistic sublimity. Indeed, some of the examples are the same (e.g., St. Peter’s Basilica). While such a development in Kant’s position is possible, an explanation of why his view changes would have to be given. In conclusion, the nature/art issue, though important, actually seems to be rather easily resolved by Kant’s claim that the subject’s rational ideas, and neither nature nor art, are the proper grounds of the judgment of the sublime.

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For Wallace Stevens and Kant’s dynamical sublime, see Michael T. Beehler, “Kant and Stevens: The Dynamics of the Sublime and the Dynamics of Poetry,” in The American Sublime, ed. Mary Arensberg (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1986), pp. 131–52. Rob Wilson discusses different theories of the sublime, including Kant’s, and the poetry of Anne Bradstreet, William Livingston, William Cullen Bryant, Walt Whitman, and Wallace Stevens in American Sublime: The Genealogy of a Poetic Genre (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1991).

chapter 3

Moral feeling and the sublime

Morality and sublimity have a complex relationship that can easily be misunderstood. On the one hand, Kant grounds sublimity on moral or rational ideas. The experience of the sublime thus presupposes these ideas; it reveals that the judging subject has practical freedom and a moral vocation, a calling to be moral. On the other hand, Kant also clearly wishes to preserve the distinctness of and difference between aesthetic and moral judging. Indeed, most interpreters of the Kantian sublime fall somewhere between two ends of a spectrum, both of which contain some element of truth. One side emphasizes the affinities between aesthetic and moral judging, while the other side focuses on their distinctness. Understanding the affinities and differences between Kantian morality and sublimity is necessary if we are to understand properly how and to what extent the sublime can reveal freedom and indirectly contribute to the realization of morality in the natural order. This chapter reviews the well-known phenomenology of the moral feeling of respect and discusses how the moral feeling differs from sublimity (section 3.1.1). Respect has a positive–negative structure similar to that of the sublime, although there are important differences between the two feelings. Next, in examining how the (dynamical and the moral) sublime presuppose a capacity to be moral, I refer to Kant’s deduction of the sublime in §30 as well as to the role of a moral predisposition as a presupposition of having an experience of the sublime (section 3.2). Finally, I conclude by noting something that Kant’s account implies for the ethical treatment of nature, which can evoke judgments of sublimity. I discuss how the sublime can indirectly support morality not only by revealing freedom but also by encouraging us to care for those objects (especially those in nature) that elicit the sublime (section 3.3). I argue that Kant’s account implies that the sublimity elicited by nature can contribute to the perfection of moral character. In other words, preserving and sustaining nature can prepare us to care for other human beings. Some 126


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individuals have an indirect duty to promote what indirectly supports morality by disclosing human freedom, and the sublime elicited by nature can support morality this way. 3.1 the moral feeling of respect Kant considers respect for the moral law to be synonymous with the moral feeling.1 He writes: “the capacity to take such an interest in the law (or respect for the moral law itself) is the moral feeling properly speaking” (KpV 5:80; cf. KpV 5:86, KU 5:257). Since we will discuss interests in the next chapter, it is worth noting that the moral feeling, respect for the moral law, is described as interest in the law and in doing what the law commands.2 The moral feeling of respect indicates an interest in the moral law on the part of the agent. It is the effect on our capacity of feeling of the decision to act according to a moral maxim.3 In the Groundwork, Kant describes respect as the subject’s response to the moral law (G 4:400), a response which reveals an interest in the law. According to Kant, the moral law alone deserves respect. The respect we attribute to others is actually respect for their ability to obey the moral law. “Any respect for a person is properly only respect for the law (of integrity and so forth) of which he gives us an example” (G 4:401n.). Respect is not exactly meant here in the sense of respecting the “humanity in its proper dignity in his own person” (KpV 5:88), but in the sense of admiring a person for obeying the moral law. By association, in other words, we transfer respect for the moral law to respect for him. “Because we also regard enlarging our talents as a duty, we represent a person of talents also as, so to speak, an example of the law (to become like him in this by practice) and this is what constitutes our respect” (G 4:401n.). Kant argues that respect is a feeling that derives from the moral law as the effect of the law: the law, and not feeling, is the ultimate basis and motive of moral action. The feeling is self-wrought and self-imposed by an autonomous will, not a feeling received through the influence of an external source. Respect is the effect of the law on the subject, not the cause of the law itself: “All so-called moral interest consists simply in respect for the law” (G 4:401n.; Kant’s emphasis). Kant’s claim that respect is a mode of moral interest, and thus interested, might be potentially confusing since 1 2

3

Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, p. 358. Kneller, Kant and the Power of Imagination, p. 64. To anticipate the terminology I introduce there, we can point out that this moral interest counts as a “first-order” interest. Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, p. 358.

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Kant also describes respect as the disinterested response to the moral law, but disinterestedness in this context should be understood as the overcoming of selfishness (self-conceit) and as selecting maxims that do not make an exception of oneself. Disinterestedness in the adoption of a moral maxim is not a lack of desire; after all, it is an essential part of a moral activity that satisfies the (moral) interests of reason.4 Nor is disinterestedness a form of self-loathing or self-hatred, for it is compatible with self-interest and may sometimes even promote it in the long run.5 The positive–negative structure of the moral feeling is clearly evident in the second Critique (KpV 5:71–89). There may be some differences between the second Critique passage and the Groundwork footnote, but these differences do not concern us here.6 Rather, I would like to point out that, given its negative–positive structure, the moral feeling of respect is a composite, mixed feeling.7 The negative component of respect consists in the humiliation of the inclinations by the moral law. “Respect as consciousness of direct necessitation of the will by the law is hardly an analogue of the feeling of pleasure” (KpV 5:117). The positive feeling in respect should be distinguished from the moral law’s being posited by reason (i.e., as a Gesetz). In actions that have moral worth, freedom functions as an intellectual causality and as a justification and motive for the action. Accordingly, this freedom is not simply freedom from determination by sensible impulses (negative practical freedom). It is also the capacity to do something, namely, to select and act on moral maxims (positive practical freedom) (KpV 5:73). The removal of a possible hindrance to pure practical reason, i.e., self-conceit, is regarded as equivalent to a furthering of reason’s causality (KpV 5:75), for whatever diminishes the hindrances to an activity is a furthering of this activity itself (KpV 5:79).

4

5

6 7

As Allen Wood notes, “Kant’s view, however, is that pure reason can determine the will because it is also a source of desire. The big mistake is to think that Kant regards moral truths (or our beliefs about them) as bringing about action in a way that is entirely distinct from (and even precludes) desire”; see Kant’ s Ethical Thought, p. 348 n.6. This sense, i.e., well-being or welfare, is one of the senses of interest (the third sense, as described in section 4.1). For such differences, see Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Freedom, p. 123. Fenves interprets respect in terms of its temporality. The past, he writes, is represented by respect’s painful side, because of the humiliation of inclination. The present is represented by the formula of the categorical imperative, jederzeit zugleich (always at the same time). The future is represented by the rest and contentment (Zufriedenheit) consequent upon action from respect for the moral law. See Fenves, A Peculiar Fate, pp. 230–5. However, it is unclear to me why the future could not represent the painful side, since in action from respect one is sacrificing one’s chance to get future pleasure that derives from the satisfaction of inclinations. It seems best to me to appeal to the Wille/ Willku¨r distinction here and to see the Wille as legislating outside of time.


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Henry Allison claims that the positive side of respect, though connected with self-approbation, is “distinguished sharply from pleasure.”8 However, it seems to me that the positive feeling in respect is a type of pleasure after all, albeit unique. To the extent that Allison is referring to the pleasure of the agreeable, he is correct. The pleasure of respect is not the pleasure of the agreeable. Nor does it seem identical to the pleasure of having achieved something, even something morally good (cf. KpV 5:117).9 The pleasure in respect is the pleasure in constraining one’s will to the moral law in autonomous legislation. Pleasure is produced when the moral law determines the will (Willku¨r) and one spontaneously incorporates a moral incentive into a maxim of action (R 6:24). Just as the moral law’s negative effect upon feeling is disagreeableness or pain (KpV 5:75), the law’s positive effect upon feeling is pleasure.10 Submission to the moral law – the negative moment – is painful, but the fact that this constraint is exercised by reason’s self-legislation – the elevating, positive moment – is pleasant (KpV 5:80). This mixture of pain and pleasure (KpV 5:78) is not to be understood in a chronological sense, as if either pain or pleasure preceded the other, but as constitutive of the feeling itself. The mixture is part of the feeling’s structure. It may therefore be surprising that in the second Critique Kant claims that the feeling of respect is neither a feeling of pleasure nor a feeling of displeasure (KpV 5:77). “But it [respect] is a feeling which is directed only to the practical and which depends on the representation of a law only as to its form and not on account of any object of the law; thus it cannot be reckoned either as enjoyment or as pain” (KpV 5:80). This claim is potentially confusing and merits explanation. Respect is partly burdensome and unpleasant, so we sometimes try to rid ourselves of the feeling. For example, we might imagine a seemingly virtuous person to be devious when she is alone or believes that she is not being watched. In this sense respect is unpleasant. We try to lighten the burden of respecting that individual (or, more precisely, of respecting the moral law he or she obeys and embodies). But by saying that “so little is respect a feeling of pleasure that we give way to it only reluctantly with regard to 8 9

10

Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Freedom, p. 123. Guyer cautions against reading even the feeling of self-approbation (not the moral feeling) as a feeling of pleasure. See Guyer, Kant and the Claims of Taste, 2nd edn, p. 345. In a footnote to their edition of Critique of the Power of Judgment, Guyer and Matthews correctly describe the negative component as painful or unpleasant insofar as the feeling of respect involves the moral law’s striking down of self-conceit, and rightly call respect’s positive side pleasant because it “reveals the power of our own practical reason to govern our conduct”; see p. 369 n.27.

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a human being” (KpV 5:77), Kant apparently means to emphasize the painful side of respect, which humiliates our self-conceit. Kant denies that respect is an unmixed feeling of displeasure, but he does not suggest that it lacks displeasure altogether. Indeed, Kant continues: “But, in turn, so little displeasure is there in it that, once one has laid self-conceit aside and allowed practical influence to that respect, one can in turn never get enough of contemplating the majesty of this law” (KpV 5:77). Although Kant apparently writes that the feeling of respect is neither pleasant nor unpleasant, he ultimately believes that it is both pleasant and unpleasant, though in unique ways. He denies that respect is composed of a pure or unmixed pleasure (or pain), but he leaves room for a mixture of pain and pleasure that derives from an a priori source (the moral law). Kant hesitates to recognize the pleasure of such a feeling, it seems, because he is wary of appearing to base his ethics on a feeling, which would indeed taint his moral philosophy at its very core (cf. KpV 5:89). Because pleasure and pain usually have empirical origins Kant sometimes hesitates to call the a priori feeling of respect pleasant or to acknowledge the painful side of respect. As in the Groundwork, in the second Critique Kant refers to the exemplarity of an individual who embodies obedience to the moral law. The object of respect is a person, he states, never a thing (KpV 5:76). All respect for objects or persons other than the moral law is, of course, produced by what we might call a subreption. Even if we do not realize it, we are really respecting the moral law that the person represents or embodies. Thus, respect is distinguished from fear and from inclination, which always refer to things. Citing Fontenelle, Kant points out that we can pay our respects to (kneel before) a prominent person in a formal or external fashion while not bowing our spirit in respect, but that we cannot resist being humbled before a person who is truly virtuous and obeys the moral law. “His example holds before me a law that strikes down my selfconceit when I compare it with my conduct, and I see observance of that law and hence its practicality proved before me in fact” (KpV 5:77). Such a person is considered exemplary, and this can have motivational value when one realizes not only that it is possible to obey the moral law, but also that there is some evidence (even if not incontestable) that someone has actually acted according to the moral law, that the moral will seems to have been effective in nature, even if this cannot be proven. One cannot refuse to respect someone who genuinely obeys the moral law (KpV 5:77). I may try to see faults in the virtuous person and to imagine his weaknesses in order to soften the blow to self-conceit, but


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insofar as I cannot avoid recognizing his upright character, I must bow my spirit whether I want to or not (KpV 5:77). Even the boldest of criminals trembles at the voice of pure practical reason and is forced to hide from it (KpV 5:79). Although such a person may disobey the moral law, he or she cannot help but recognize its unconditional status. “A human being is indeed unholy enough,” but the moral law is “inviolable” (KpV 5:87). Kant likewise claims in the Religion that we are “never able” to lose the incentive that consists in the respect for the moral law (R 6:46). In the third Critique, Kant refers to two distinct kinds of moral feeling. The first type is contentment or satisfaction felt after the completion of an action from duty, a subjective delight in moral action.11 Moral satisfaction is, unlike respect, a non-composite, simple feeling of pleasure, even if it is not to be identified with ordinary pleasure or pleasure of the agreeable. The second kind of moral feeling simply is the moral feeling of respect, the subjective response to the moral law. Kant’s account of the moral feeling of respect in the third Critique has much in common with the Groundwork and second Critique accounts. This pleasure, the sensation of the determination of the will through reason, is the positive element in the feeling of respect, as we have seen. According to §5 of the third Critique, respect is the pleasure or satisfaction caused by the morally good, which one esteems and approves (KU 5:209–10). Because it is a response to the moral law, respect is neither simply pleasant nor painful, and differs from the pleasures and pains that arise from interaction with ordinary objects (KU 5:222). Unlike moral contentment or satisfaction, which follows the performance or completion of an act from duty, the moral feeling of respect produces an interest yet is disinterested (KU 5:300). The interest produced by the moral feeling of respect is an interest in realizing morality and actualizing the laws of freedom in the natural world.12 Although the foregoing overview admittedly treads over what is relatively well-covered ground, it puts us in the proper position to observe the similarities and differences between the moral feeling and sublimity. 3.1.1 Respect and the sublime: similarity and difference Although the moral feeling is a feeling of respect, this does not mean that all respect is identical to the moral feeling of respect. Thus, Kant defines respect in general as “the feeling of the inadequacy of our capacity for 11

Guyer, Kant and the Claims of Taste, p. 165.

12

Cf. Guyer, Kant and the Claims of Taste, p. 328.

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the attainment of an idea that is a law for us” (KU 5:257). In the mathematical sublime (which Kant is discussing in this passage) the unattainable idea is that of infinity, since the imagination fails in its attempt to apprehend an infinite magnitude, whereas in the moral feeling of respect, and in the moral sublime, the supersensible idea is that of the moral law. Nonetheless, the feeling of sublimity in general and the moral feeling of respect do share a similar structure, since the sublime is a mental movement in which pain and pleasure are combined to create a “negative” pleasure. The negativity of pain even augments the positive pleasure. Kant might seem to hold that the unpleasant momentary check of our “vital forces” is temporally prior to the release or outpour that is greater on account of that stoppage (KU 5:245). The frustration of our sensibility would on this view precede the negative pleasure that results from it. It is not necessary that the subject be conscious or aware of a temporal passage between the pain and pleasure of sublimity, however. Indeed, Kant elsewhere suggests that the mental movement is constituted by a simultaneous attraction and repulsion (KU 5:258). This could be described as an upward/downward vibration – downward because of the humiliation of the sensible faculty, and upward because of the pleasant awareness of the supersensible nature that accompanies this humiliation. Commentators have already acknowledged the structural similarity between sublimity and the moral feeling, so I will not pursue this point and will present some fundamental similarities and differences between the two feelings.13 The similarities between the moral feeling of respect and the feeling of sublimity include the following.14 First, they share a similar positive/ negative, pleasant/painful, upward/downward structure. Second, the moral feeling, like the sublime feeling, is grounded in and presupposes a priori principles and the possession of moral ideas. Both experiences are based on an idea or ideas of reason.15 Third, both require a degree 13

14

15

Guyer rightly notices a certain structural kinship; Editor’s Introduction, Critique of the Power of Judgment, p. xxxi. Guyer writes elsewhere that the structure of Kant’s account in the second Critique (KpV 5:74–5) is the same as that which Kant uses to characterize the sublime; Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, p. 359. Cf. Louden, Kant’ s Impure Ethics, pp. 123–4; and Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, pp. 155–9. For a discussion of respect and the sublime in connection with purposiveness, see Menegoni, Finalita` e destinazione morale nella “ Critica del Giudizio” di Kant, pp. 70–1. Robert Louden notes: “So while respect and the sublime do seem to differ with respect to what initially triggers them, ultimately they both refer to moral ideas”; see Kant’ s Impure Ethics, p. 124. Of course, we should keep in mind Kant’s doctrine of subreption, which I view as a frequent but not necessary occurrence. Thus, I prefer to say that the sublime is based on moral ideas, or even better freedom, than to say that the sublime refers to moral ideas.


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of concreteness. Sublimity requires some empirical object or event to catalyze the aesthetic experience; after all, the judgment of the sublime is a singular judgment. The moral feeling requires, in addition to a priori universal moral ideas, a concrete situation in which to act. Fourth, both can give rise to a subreption.16 The (frequent) subreption in aesthetic sublimity consists in respecting something other than the idea of the humanity in our subject, and the (possible) subreption in respect consists in respecting something other than the moral law. Fifth, the development of the capacity for moral feeling and for sublimity can be legitimately required of every human being. I will say more about this in the section on the deduction of the sublime and the presupposition of freedom (section 3.2). Nevertheless, there are important differences between the two feelings. The feeling of sublimity as such does not produce an interest and thus does not immediately involve agency, or the incorporation of an incentive into a maxim of action. Aesthetic sublimity, by Kant’s definition, cannot be a reason for acting. The sublime has no direct motivational force.17 By contrast, the moral feeling of respect is part of the act of making a practical and moral judgment in which the moral law functions as the incentive or reason for morally worthy action. In sublimity, no interest is directly produced (although an interest can be aroused indirectly, as we will see), but moral feeling produces an interest, namely, a moral one. Second, the capacity for moral feeling is a necessary condition of being able to feel sublimity. Third, moral feeling is based on a determinate idea (the moral law), but the sublime feeling is based on ideas of reason that remain indeterminate and the aesthetic judgment of sublimity is merely reflective. The aesthetic sublime reveals that one possesses ideas of reason (infinity, freedom, the moral law), even if the sublime does not require one to act on such ideas or imply that the judge is so acting. Fourth, since reason is ultimately practical, and given the practical thrust of Kant’s philosophy, moral feeling clearly plays a more central role in the Critical philosophy. Sublimity cannot be the basis of the Critical ethics, since the former is an aesthetic response and a feeling, and the Critical ethics cannot be grounded on feeling. Finally, the subreptions in the case of respect and the sublime also appear to be different, since in the subreption in respect we somehow still recognize morality as the basis of the respect (the person embodies the moral law), but in the subreption in the sublime we think that the object actually is sublime.18 16 18

Cf. Zammito, Genesis, p. 300. 17 Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, p. 156. Cf. Louden, Kant’ s Impure Ethics, pp. 123–4; and Zammito, Genesis, pp. 300–1.

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The Kantian Sublime and the Revelation of Freedom 3.1.2 Two hermeneutic mistakes

If the foregoing account of the similarities and differences between sublimity and the moral feeling is correct, it becomes apparent that at least two kinds of interpretive mistakes are possible. One might be tempted to emphasize the aesthetic aspects of the sublime to the exclusion of the moral, or vice versa. The first kind of mistake consists of over-aestheticizing the sublime by neglecting or ignoring its relation to and affinity with morality. The second type of mistake is to moralize the Kantian sublime by reducing it to the moral feeling of respect. A proper interpretation of the sublime preserves the Critical distinction between aesthetic and moral judging. The moralization of the sublime can arise in various ways. For instance, one might reduce the sublime to the moral feeling or identify sublimity with the moral feeling.19 The correct view, by contrast, is that the sublime presupposes and reveals a capacity to transcend the sensibly given (mathematical sublime) or a practical power not to be determined by sensibility (dynamical sublime) or the capacity to be moral (the moral sublime). Going beyond this correct view, one could claim that, since sublimity represents the morally good, the ideas of practical reason make the judgment determining rather than merely reflective. This further claim is clearly not Kant’s position.20 Alternatively, one might aestheticize the Kantian sublime by making too much of the exhilaration of the imagination, set free by the task given to it by reason. One might downplay the fact that in the mathematical sublime the imagination fails to reach the task set by reason and that in the dynamical sublime sensibility is shown to be inadequate to resist the might demonstrated by a powerful object. Such a hermeneutic mistake overlooks or downplays the moral dimension of the Kantian sublime, namely, the fact that the sublime discloses different aspects of freedom.21

19

20

21

For such tendencies, see Crowther, The Kantian Sublime, esp. pp. 134–5, 165–6; Eva Schaper, “Taste, Sublimity, Genius,” in The Cambridge Companion to Kant, ed. Paul Guyer (Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 384; and Crawford, Kant’ s Aesthetic Theory, pp. 145–59. Patricia M. Matthews criticizes such readings that downplay or neglect the aesthetic nature of judgment of the sublime in “Kant’s Sublime: A Form of Pure Aesthetic Reflective Judgment,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 54(2) (Spring, 1996): 165–80, esp. pp. 172–8. Cf. Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 398 n.37. Kirwan sometimes inadequately distinguishes moral respect from respect in general, which includes the respect in the sublime; see The Aesthetic in Kant, pp. 89–100. Makkreel, “On Sublimity, Genius and the Explication of Aesthetic Ideas,” pp. 619–20, makes this distinction. Nevertheless, the power of judgment can be said to be determining in a certain sense: it serves as the determining ground for “the feeling of pleasure and displeasure” (FI 20:208). Lyotard sometimes tends toward this pole.


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The correct interpretation of Kant is situated somewhere between these two positions. The Kantian sublime remains an aesthetic judgment, but it has its ground (Grundlage) in human nature (i.e., human freedom) (KU 5:265, 280) and is based on a moral predisposition (Anlage) (KU 5:265). Accordingly, the sublime presupposes human freedom; it is thus in a position to reveal freedom. Since the disclosure of freedom can be valuable for the development of character, this implies that the sublime can be used for moral purposes. It seems that the four features (freedom, universal validity, disinterestedness, and immediacy of pleasure) attributed to the beautiful in characterizing beauty as a symbol of morality can be applied to the sublime, at least if we make the appropriate adjustments (KU 5:354). For the sublime teaches us to esteem contrary to sensory interests (KU 5:271), i.e., when the sensible faculty is transcended or shown to be inadequate and human freedom is therefore exposed and revealed. Second, the universal validity of pure judgments of the sublime bestows on them a communicability that prepares us for the universal validity of moral judgments. In making judgments of sublimity, not only do we experience a feeling of freedom, we also communicate to other human beings that we are having such an experience.22 Third, the disinterestedness of the judgment of the sublime is analogous to the disinterestedness of the moral judgment. Feeling a disinterested (negative) pleasure in the sublime prepares us for the disinterested pleasure of the moral feeling of respect. Finally, just as the concept of the morally good brings about an immediate pleasure (the positive element in the structure of the moral feeling), i.e., one that is not achieved by the satisfaction of (mediate) means to ends, the aesthetic reflection on the ultimate harmony (through initial conflict) between sensibility and the ideas of reason pleases immediately in the judgment of the sublime. 3.2 sublimity as presupposing freedom Although, insofar as it is a pure aesthetic judgment, sublimity is disinterested, there is a sense in which we can take a deeper interest in it: practical reason naturally takes an interest in what can (indirectly) promote morality by revealing freedom. Reason’s interest in sublimity thus derives from the latter’s basis in human freedom. Note that freedom is a moral idea of reason which supposedly every human being has, just as everyone has an intuitive, even if sometimes inarticulate, sense of the moral law and of the 22

Cf. Zammito, Genesis, p. 294–5.

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categorical imperative. To understand this grounding, we must turn to §29 and §30, where Kant deals with the deduction of the aesthetic judgment of the sublime, a deduction that Kant says was accomplished by the very exposition of the sublime (KU 5:280).23 A deduction, it is recalled, is “the justification of the claim of such a judgment to universally necessary validity” (KU 5:280), a “legitimation of its presumption” (KU 5:279). Kant writes that judgments of the sublime deserve, and will have, a deduction: “That the sublime is therefore not to be sought in the things of nature but only in our ideas follows from this; but in which of these it lies must be saved for the deduction” (KU 5:250). Moreover, in his notes on anthropology, Kant refers to a deduction of judgments of sublimity: “Deduction of the aesthetic power of judgment on the beauty in nature; [deduction of the aesthetic power of judgment] on the sublime in nature” (Refl 992, 15:437). Although passages such as these suggest that Kant owes the reader of the third Critique a deduction of the sublime, one might be surprised at what one finally finds. Kant claims that the exposition of the judgments on the sublime in nature was at the same time their deduction, since the sublime in nature “should properly be ascribed only to the manner of thinking [Denkungsart], or rather to its foundation in human nature” (KU 5:280). I take the latter to refer to the basis of the sublime in practical freedom, which for Kant all human beings have. Kant’s view that there is indeed a deduction, but that it is simply the exposition of the sublime, requires some explanation. In the B edition of the Transcendental Aesthetic, Kant explains what he means by exposition: “I understand by exposition (expositio) the distinct (even if not complete) representation of that which belongs to a concept; but the exposition is metaphysical when it contains that which exhibits the concept as given a priori” (KrV b38; cf. JL 9:141).24 Presumably, Kant’s exposition of the judgment of the sublime counts as a metaphysical exposition. For the exposition contains an exhibition of the concept (the capacity for moral 23

24

Although the section titles of both sections as well as key sentences in the sections refer to the sublime in nature, I see no good reason not to read Kant’s claims about the deduction/exposition as also applying to judgments of the sublime in art. As mentioned, Kant may be focusing on nature for heuristic reasons. Compare: “I understand by a transcendental exposition the explanation of a concept as a principle [Princips] from which insight into the possibility of other synthetic a priori cognitions can be gained” (KrV b 40). Kant distinguishes his “transcendental exposition of aesthetic judgments” from a “physiological” (first edition: “psychological”) exposition; here his main point is to distinguish his transcendental exposition from the empirical investigations made by Burke and others (KU 5:277). A transcendental exposition, Kant reveals, involves a discussion of a priori principles that would allow us to demand or require assent to our judgments (KU 5:278). His exposition of the sublime does involve such a discussion and is therefore transcendental in this sense.


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feeling or a moral way of thinking) as given a priori, or as grounded in human nature. Kant’s exposition of the aesthetic judgment of the sublime analyzes the conditions of the possibility of the judgment, the most important of which for our purposes is human freedom. Needless to say, Kant does not think that his analysis reveals a synthetic a priori cognition of freedom, since on his account such cognition is impossible. Kant believes that the mere exposition of judgments of sublimity removes the need to justify their “universal validity for every subject” (KU 5:279). Kant indicates this much even in the title of §30: “The deduction of aesthetic judgments concerning the objects of nature may not be directed towards that which we call sublime among them, but only to the beautiful” (KU 5:279). He thinks that the mere analysis or exposition of “what is thought” in judgments of sublimity suffices to show that no deduction is necessary (KU 5:279). Fortunately, Kant reveals that the real reason the deduction of the sublime is its exposition is that the sublime is grounded on freedom (KU 5:265, 280, 245–6). Thus, Kant did not write a separate deduction, not from idiosyncratic reasons or because of an alleged late composition of the Analytic of the Sublime into the third Critique (a point that appears difficult to prove in any case),25 but because the object is merely the occasion for the consciousness of freedom.26 This awareness can and should be used for moral purposes or ends, Kant maintains (KU 5:280). Nonetheless, Guyer offers an objection to Kant’s failure to offer a separate deduction of sublimity.27 He notes that the judgment of the sublime makes a claim on the agreement of others as does the judgment of beauty. The judgment must rest on the assumption that one’s own faculties (the imagination and reason) are affected by given objects in the

25

26

27

See Editor’s Introduction (Guyer’s), Critique of the Power of Judgment, p. xli. For adherence to the late composition thesis, see Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 304; Makkreel, “On Sublimity, Genius and the Explication of Aesthetic Ideas,” pp. 615 and 623; and Zammito, Genesis, pp. 264, 275; Michel Souriau, Le jugement reflećhissant dans la philosophie critique de Kant (Paris: Alcan, 1926); and Giorgio Tonelli, “La formazione del testo della Kritik der Urteilskraft,” Revue Internazionale de Philosophie, 30(8) (1954): 423–48. In §29 Kant claims that the sublime is based on “the predisposition to the feeling for (practical) ideas, i.e., to that which is moral,” which can be required and demanded of everyone (KU 5:265). My framing the issue in terms of positive practical freedom rather than a moral predisposition or vocation is compatible with this passage. For Kant holds that if one has positive practical freedom, then one has the capacity for moral feeling and can also be required to cultivate the latter. Kant claims that if we have a free will, we are subject to moral laws (G 4:447). Guyer, Kant and the Claims of Taste, pp. 236–7. But cf. Paul Guyer, “Kant’s Principles of Reflecting Judgment,” in Paul Guyer (ed.), Kant’ s “ Critique of the Power of Judgment” : Critical Essays (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003), pp. 1–61, pp. 42–3.

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same way as those of everyone else. Accordingly, if a transcendental deduction is needed to justify such an assumption about the imagination and its harmony with another faculty of cognition in the case of beauty, it is also needed for the judgment of sublimity, which likewise assumes the fundamental similarity of faculties among human subjects. I agree that if a deduction is supposed to justify the possibility of universal subjective agreement grounded in the fact that we share the same faculties, Kant should have given a deduction of sublimity in addition to merely explaining the concept of a judgment of sublimity. It is not too difficult to imagine how such a deduction might proceed, however. (Whether or not it succeeds is another matter.) Kant seems to have thought that his exposition gives enough conceptual material to render superfluous an explicit deduction, since he had already argued in the Analytic of the Sublime that reason was present in the mathematical and dynamical sublime and he had described the functions of the imagination in both forms of the sublime. The ideas of reason are grounded in human nature (KU 5:280); Kant’s exposition describes the activity of the faculty of reason in the mathematical, dynamical, and moral sublime. As for the imagination, Kant need only adduce the ability of the imagination to comprehend a manifold of sensible units (in the mathematical sublime), its capacity to imagine a threatening situation (in the dynamical sublime), and its ability to formulate an ideal of happiness (in the moral sublime). In his arguments regarding the free play of the faculties in §9, Kant describes the ability of the imagination to comprehend a manifold of sensible intuition (KU 5:217). To give evidence of the capacity to imagine a threatening situation, Kant could refer to the imagination as the faculty for representing an object even without its presence in intuition (KrV b151; KU 5:232–3). Finally, for evidence of the ability to formulate an ideal of happiness, he could refer to the role of the imagination in proposing and executing hypothetical imperatives that aim to bring about the ideal of happiness (G 4:418–19). Such a deduction would be relatively straightforward, though dependent on other Kantian doctrines. Kant might have considered such a deduction of the sublime “easy” in the same way that, as he famously maintains, the deduction of judgments of taste is so easy: This deduction is so easy because it is not necessary for it to justify any objective reality of a concept; for beauty is not a concept of the object, and the judgment of taste is not a judgment of cognition. It asserts only that we are justified in presupposing universally in every human being the same subjective conditions of the power of judgment that we find in ourselves. (KU 5:290)


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It is worth noting, in concluding this section, what the deduction does not attempt to show. Neither the deduction of judgments of taste nor, presumably, of sublimity attempts to show that human beings actually make aesthetic judgments of the beautiful or the sublime. Kant takes it as a given that there is such a thing as pure aesthetic experience, even if we can never prove or be sure that a particular instance exhibits the four moments. Kant thinks that the existence of experiences of beauty is confirmed by empirical observation – “the reality of the beauties of nature is open to experience” (KU 5:291). Moreover, a deduction certainly does not specify beforehand which particular objects will appear sublime or beautiful to judging subjects. This is presumably an empirical matter in the case of the sublime, as it is in the case of taste (KU 5:191). 3.3 sublimity as supporting morality Now that we have seen how sublimity presupposes freedom, we can see several ways in which the sublime indirectly supports morality.28 Indeed, the first way is connected to the results of the previous section: sublimity can encourage us as agents by supporting our belief that we are transcendentally or practically free. Moreover, Kant argues that the sublime represents or acts as a symbol of the moral law, suggesting that by having judgments of sublimity, we understand by analogy how the moral law feels (KU 5:271). The sublime offers us the possibility of feeling the freedom to choose to live up to the demands of morality. For instance, the dynamical sublime shows that we have negative practical freedom and that we are not necessarily determined by sensuous incentives in the selection of maxims. The dynamical sublime thus helps us believe that we are free to choose to do what is required of us. The second way concerns motivation.29 In feeling the sublime we experience a feeling that is not only disinterested or not based on an interest, but, like the moral feeling of respect, is even contrary to sensible interests. The sublime prepares us to esteem something even against our self-centered interests. Such habituation can help us act out of moral respect when the right time comes. 28

29

Cf. Guyer’s fourfold description of how aesthetic experience can contribute to morality, discussed in my introduction. See also John R. Goodreau, The Role of the Sublime in Kant’ s Moral Metaphysics (Washington, DC: The Council for Research in Values and Philosophy, 1998), p. 2.

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Third, although the sublime, properly speaking, involves a realization of one’s independence from nature, some instances of the sublime may be able to contribute to our understanding of ourselves as being in harmony with nature. This point is more contentious than the first two ways. Nonetheless, I have two cases in mind: the subreption and enthusiasm. If a subreption occurs in the experience of the sublime, nature can be viewed by the aesthetic judge as being in harmony with spirit (Geist). The subreption can bring to mind a possible ontological unity of the supersensible ground of nature with the supersensible ground of man.30 I do not intend to evaluate, but merely to state, this implication of Kant’s account here; his theory of the subreption implies that when the subreption obtains the aesthetic judge can see a consistency between the laws of nature and the law of freedom. The second case involves enthusiasm. As briefly discussed in my introduction and as we will see in chapter 5, Kant takes enthusiasm to be both a natural phenomenon and an encouraging sign of the human capacity for morality. Fourth, when the subreption does not occur in response to a natural object, the aesthetic judge is conscious of his or her moral vocation, since the feeling of the sublime is respect for humanity in one’s subject. While this awareness is not a recognition of the moral law per se, it does involve the recognition of a moral calling. As Kant argues in the Religion (R 6:50) and in the second Critique (KpV 5:158), the feeling of the sublime can remind us of, and prepare us for, our moral vocation. Fifth, when a work of art created by an artistic genius elicits an experience of the sublime, the aesthetic ideas expressed by the work can offer a sensuous presentation of moral ideas or even of the moral law itself. Note that this last way assumes that the sublime can be elicited by an artwork (section 2.6). Sixth, certain forms and experiences of the sublime can bring together people who are distant from each other in terms of geographical, class, or national differences. This unifying tendency can support morality. Seventh and finally, although Kant is wary of using feeling in moral education, since it can lead to flighty fancifulness and sentimentality (KpV 5:155; 155n.; 157), the feeling of the sublime can play a role here. Presenting as a model or exemplar someone who fulfills a common duty can elicit a judgment of the moral sublime:

30

Zammito, Genesis, p. 301.


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We give the most perfect esteem to compliance with it [the common duty] at the sacrifice of everything that could ever have value for our dearest inclinations, and we find our soul strengthened and elevated by such an example when we convince ourselves, in it, that human nature is capable of so great an elevation above every incentive that nature can oppose to it. (KpV 5:158)

This use of the sublime in moral education involves at least the first and second ways described above, namely, the feeling of freedom and the sacrifice of sensible interests. Of course, certain feelings that are part of the experience of the sublime may transform from aesthetic judgments into practical judgments. If they are used in the correct and appropriate way, they can thus contribute to bringing about the morally good. Note that if they do this they are no longer aesthetic judgments (hence neither free nor dependent ones), but become practical judgments. There is a restriction here, too. Such feelings can further the ends of morality only if such intense feelings are put to a morally good use. Indeed, this caveat is part of Kant’s criticism of affects. One undesirable feature of affects (intense feelings) as such, for example, is that they are not in themselves constrained by moral concepts, since they briefly inhibit or hamper the freedom to adopt and act on principles (KU 5:272n.). If such intense feelings transform into practical judgments they must first be checked by reason, and, to use the language of the Incorporation Thesis, they must be incorporated into a maxim. 3.3.1 Caring for nature In concluding this chapter on the sublime and morality, I would like to suggest what Kant’s account implies for the ethical treatment of nature, which can elicit the sublime. I propose that Kant’s discussion of caring for nature (i.e., the natural environment, not the sum of all appearances) illustrates some of the ways in which the feeling of sublimity can indirectly support moral ends (above all, the first and second ways described in the previous section). The characterization of Kant’s philosophy that one finds in environmental ethics can be unflattering to say the least, and I cannot here answer many of the criticisms made against Kant’s ratiocentric approach. My aim in this section is to see how for Kant an aesthetic engagement with nature can partially contribute to morality, and how this might in turn imply that we should care for nature. One of the key claims in Kant’s environmental ethics is that nature has no intrinsic value. Kant’s anthropocentric (or, perhaps more properly, ratiocentric) approach when reflecting on the environment is a main

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target of biocentric environmental theory, which attributes intrinsic value to nature.31 Such critics charge that Kant, by insisting on the superiority of human beings over nature, does not recognize the intrinsic value of nature. To the delight of such critics, one of Kant’s early biographers, E. A. Christian Wasianski, relates that, in order to have a clear view of the Lo¨benichtschen Tower from his window, Kant ordered a poplar tree to be cut down, thereby implying that human interests in general predominate over those of the natural environment.32 Whereas biocentric theorists consider nature to have intrinsic value or inherent worth, Kant denies this on the grounds that animals, plants, and other organisms do not deliberate, set goals, select maxims, or otherwise exhibit the kind of rationality that demands to be treated ethically or respected. Kant’s argument for why we should care for nature focuses on the interests of humanity: we get pleasure from the beauty (and presumably sublimity) exhibited by nature and, more importantly, such treatment can help us improve our moral characters by habituating us to treating an object with something analogous to moral respect. In a strangely Kantian twist, some critics of Kant claim that the motive behind an agent’s treatment of nature determines whether the agent’s action has moral worth: the relation to nature has moral worth only if one attributes to nature intrinsic value. Because Kant defends the care for nature insofar as it serves human interests, such treatment lacks moral worth, it is argued. Of course, for Kant’s critics, moral improvement is a nobler goal than economic “use and exchange” value, but it is still unsatisfactory since the focus remains on human beings. Let us look in more detail at the Kantian grounds for caring for the environment and natural organisms. One can appeal to Kant’s reflections on duties to oneself and to his theory of aesthetic judgment. Kant defends the humane treatment of nature in the original sense of the word: caring for nature is a duty because it edifies the human being and improves human character (MS 6:443). The cruel treatment of animals dulls the agent’s ability to sympathize with the pain felt by the animals and thus uproots a natural predisposition to sympathize with other 31

32

See, e.g., Paul Taylor, Respect for Nature (Princeton University Press, 1986); and Holmes Rolston, Environmental Ethics: Duties to and Values in the Natural World (Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press, 1988), pp. 339–40. E. A. Wasianski, “Immanuel Kant in seinen letzten Lebensjahren,” in Immanuel Kant: Sein Leben in Darstellung von Zeitgenossen, ed. Felix Gross (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1993), pp. 200–1. This story is discussed by Scott Roulier, Kantian Virtue (University of Rochester Press, 2004), p. 129.


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people, a predisposition that is serviceable to morality even if it cannot ground it. For Kant, we cannot have any duties to non-human beings such as minerals, plants, and animals. The person who thinks that we do have such duties is simply confused – he demonstrates an “amphiboly in his concepts of reflection” (MS 6:442). We can, however, have a duty to ourselves with regard to other beings. Nature should be treated with something analogous to the respect we give to persons, Kant claims, but we should respect fellow human beings first and foremost. A second argument for why nature should not be wantonly harmed or destroyed is connected to aesthetic experience. Kant refers to the disinterested feeling of beauty elicited by inanimate nature in a way similar to how I have been conceiving of the sublime – the beautiful, although it does not directly promote or actualize morality, nevertheless prepares the way for the realization of morality in the natural order. Kant writes: A propensity to wanton destruction of what is beautiful in inanimate nature (spiritus destructionis) is opposed to a human being’s duty to himself; for it weakens or uproots that feeling in him which, though not of itself moral, is still a disposition [Stimmung] of sensibility that greatly promotes morality or at least prepares the way for it: the disposition, namely, to love something (e.g., beautiful crystal formations, the indescribably beauty of plants) even apart from any intention to use it. (MS 6:443)

Kant’s commentators are certainly right to discuss how the experience of natural beauty leads to a duty not to harm nature.33 Nonetheless, it seems that the sublime should also be examined in this context. Since, according to Kant’s view, the sublime in nature elicits disinterested pleasure, it is also suited to promote morality indirectly. Kant’s argument that we should develop the disposition “to love something . . . even apart from any intention to use it” (MS 6:443) applies to the sublime as much as to beauty. Although the sublime is similar to esteem, respect, and admiration, and beauty is more like love, the key to Kant’s argument is not whether the feeling directed toward nature is beautiful rather than sublime, but whether the aesthetic pleasure (and hence the judgment upon which it is based) is disinterested.34 As we have seen, the pleasure in the sublime is disinterested. 33

34

E.g., Roulier, Kantian Virtue, pp. 129ff; Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, pp. 304–34; Kneller, “Beauty, Autonomy, and Respect for Nature,” pp. 403–14. Roulier correctly notices the importance of disinterestedness in Kant’s argument; see Kantian Virtue, p. 130.

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The Kantian sublime’s disinterestedness and its phenomenological structure enable the experience to prepare human beings to feel moral respect, since respect also involves disinterestedness and has a structure similar to that of sublimity. The aesthetic appreciation of nature can thus prepare for and promote morality. Insofar as there is an indirect duty to improve ourselves morally, there is an indirect duty to promote the means to our moral development. The experience of the sublime in nature is such a means to that end. Since nature can elicit the sublime feeling and thereby reveal human freedom, which in turn indirectly promotes morality, there seems to be an indirect duty to appreciate its aesthetic qualities insofar as (or if) that leads to one’s moral development. Moreover, in such a case there seems to be a corresponding indirect duty to protect, preserve, and sustain nature, since if we do not do so there will be little natural environment to be the object of our aesthetic appreciation. Through the aesthetic appreciation of nature, certain individuals might be able to gradually improve and refine their moral capacities and sensitivities. In turn, nature would benefit by their carrying out an indirect duty (to themselves) to care for nature. In this way practical reason and nature enter into a mutually supportive relationship: nature gives rise to a sublime feeling that indirectly supports our moral vocation by revealing human transcendental or practical freedom, and we recognize that we have a duty with regard to nature.35 To summarize: we have a direct duty to develop our morality. If the foregoing interpretation is correct, having aesthetic experiences of either the beautiful or the sublime is a way of helping us to discharge this duty. Therefore, we have an indirect duty to cultivate or promote such experiences. Since at least some of these experiences are experiences of natural phenomena, we thus have an indirect duty to care for nature. That is, we have an indirect duty to ensure that these experiences of natural phenomena can occur or are possible, since without them we could not discharge the aforementioned indirect duty.36 An acknowledgement of the indirectness and limited character of the proposed interpretation of Kant on the treatment of nature is in order. The foregoing extension of Kantian environmental ethics is unlikely to silence critics of Kant’s position. Kant’s critics might not be satisfied by 35

36

Indeed, perhaps looking at Kant’s account in this way counterbalances the statements in the Conjectural Beginning that appear harsh toward animals (MA 8:114). Guyer and Kneller offer similar arguments, but focus on beauty; see Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, pp. 304–34; Kneller, “Beauty, Autonomy, and Respect for Nature,” pp. 403–14.


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conceiving of the ethical duty to care for nature as what is, in effect, an indirect duty to support whatever is required to discharge a duty of morality, and a duty owed to humanity at that. Kant’s critics might very well think that we should care for nature as it is in itself, and not just to the extent that it enables us to have aesthetic experiences of the beautiful and the sublime. As mentioned, however, my point is not to argue against the views of such critics. As we can see, the notion of disinterestedness plays a crucial role in the foregoing argument. In the next chapter, we will examine the various senses of interest and disinterestedness in Kant’s aesthetics and practical philosophy.

chapter 4

Various senses of interest and disinterestedness

How can a pure aesthetic judgment, which according to Kant is disinterested, contribute to the interests of reason (Vernunftinteresse)? It is essential to understand the various senses of interest and disinterestedness that Kant uses in order to comprehend reason’s interest in the sublime as a disinterested aesthetic judgment and as a revelation of freedom. Accordingly, this chapter elucidates various senses of interest and introduces several fundamental distinctions to see how reason can take an interest in the sublime.s 4.1 interest There are many ways of understanding Kant’s claim that a judgment is disinterested. Indeed, part of the reason Kant’s notion of disinterestedness has been criticized so widely in contemporary ethics and aesthetics is that he uses the concept in so many distinct ways. Since we can evaluate Kant’s position better if we properly understand what he is actually saying, I would like to distinguish the various senses of disinterestedness and interest. Disinterestedness, as a counterpart to interest, clearly depends on how interest is understood. Kant uses “interest” pervasively throughout his writings, though often in different ways (e.g., KrV a466/b494; a655/ b683; a805/b833). The five senses that I focus on are the following: 1. pleasure in the object’s existence (KU 5:204, 207, 209, 249, and 296; KrV a830n./b858n., a830/b858; KpV 5:160); 2. rational (“pure sense-free”) or sensory desire, the satisfaction of which is pleasant (KpV 5:79, 160; cf. MS 6:212–13; KU 5:209, 220, 221);1 1

In similar fashion, Malcolm Budd describes “a desire or concern, based on a concept or on a sensible inclination, that something should be the case”; see Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature, p. 46.

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3. self-interest: direct promotion of one’s preservation, welfare, or happiness (G 4: 395, 418–19);2 4. that by which reason becomes practical or determines the will (G 4:460n.; 414n.): the attempt to achieve, through principles of reason, a moral or prudential end; 5. active interaction or engagement with an object (KU 5:222). It must be emphasized that many of these senses can be related to one another, but that this does not mean that they are identical. For example (to take senses 1 and 2), to desire an object is to represent it in order to bring about the object’s existence, which representation is accompanied by pleasure (KpV 5:9n.; MS 6:211). These senses will be referred to throughout the remainder of this monograph, but a brief word about them is in order at this point. The first sense is defended in (and clearly crucial to) the third Critique. It is related to the second, more ordinary (at least in English) sense of satisfying a desire, since an object that satisfies a desire will usually bring pleasure that the object exists. The third sense is used in debates concerning individual and communal interest; this sense actually goes back to the Remarks, where Kant distinguishes private from public interest (Rem 20:160f; 119f). It is related to the previous two senses, since the individual has an interest in securing pleasure and in satisfying desires. The fourth sense is used in discussions of how the moral law directly produces an interest. Note that the end that is realized by the action that is taken need not be moral. Prudential ends associated with hypothetical imperatives can also be fulfilled here. When the end is moral, Kant calls the interest “immediate” and “pure” (G 4:414n.; 460n.). When the end is prudential, Kant refers to the interest as a “practical interest in the action” and calls the interest “mediate” and “empirical,” a “pathological” interest in the object of the action. He claims that the agent is “acting from interest” rather than taking an interest in the action itself and in its rational principle, the moral law. The fourth sense can clearly be connected to the third sense since the ends that are set by the individual can be self-interested (prudential), as well as to the second sense since one might take action to satisfy a previous moral or prudential desire. The second sense is not identical to the fourth one, however, since I can desire (sense 2) a morally good end without directly 2

This sense seems to be close to the notion of interest explored by game theory, sociobiology, and the philosophy of economics.

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taking action to achieve that end (sense 4). Moreover, an object that so satisfies the agent would bring pleasure in the object’s existence (sense 1). Finally, “disinterested” aesthetic experience can, indeed must, be “interested” in the fifth sense. As Kant appropriately notes (KU 5:222), we naturally wish to linger in any pure aesthetic pleasure that we feel in response to an object. This desire for pleasure does not by itself make the pleasure an interested one. Kant describes interest (sense 4) in the Groundwork: “Interest is that through which reason becomes practical, that is, a cause that determines the will” (G 4:460n.). In the second Critique, Kant stipulates that a drive (Triebfeder) is the subjective ground of an action, or what impels us to take the action (KpV 5:79). From the concept of a drive derives the concept of an interest (sense 4); this interest can be either moral or prudential. An agent takes a moral interest (not to be confused with morally based) in an action when he acts because the maxim of his action is universalizable, i.e., when the maxim’s universalizability functions as a sufficient ground of the agent’s will.3 When reason becomes “purely practical,” it satisfies a moral interest (sense 2). Because the latter is sense-free, it is called pure (KpV 5:79). By contrast, when reason can determine the will only through or by means of a particular object of desire, or under the presupposition of a particular feeling of the agent, reason takes only a mediate (mittelbar) interest in the action. This interest is called an empirical interest, since the will is determined by a sensible impulse which is taken up into a maxim of action (sense 2). Empirical interests, including interests of inclination (Interesse der Neigung), are sensible, that is, not grounded on principles of reason (MS 6:212). For an agent to take an immediate interest in an action that he or she might carry out, reason must determine the will only by or through the moral law, which awakens in the agent the moral feeling of respect. So far we have been discussing the first-order determination of an agent’s will, that is, interest exhibited in and required by agency. However, Kant also discusses taking an interest in morality itself. This interest is a second-order one, an interest in the fact that (sense 1) there is such a thing as moral interest or morally worthy action. Kant refers to such an interest when he claims that the human being, insofar as it is a rational being, takes a natural interest in morality (KrV b857). One can also take an interest in aesthetic experience itself. Like interest in morality, interest in aesthetic experience (sense 1) is second-order. Like a rational being’s 3

H. J. Paton discusses moral interest in this first-order sense of “interest”; see The Categorical Imperative: A Study in Kant’ s Moral Philosophy (London: Hutchinson, 1947), p. 257.


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natural interest in morality, morally based interest for the enthusiasm elicited by the transition to a republican form of government is a secondorder interest, as we shall see. Taking or having an interest can be positive or negative. Although the term “taking an interest” ordinarily connotes giving a positive valuation to something, we can also take an interest in something that we disapprove of, by repudiating or being repulsed by it, and thereby improving our condition or welfare (sense 3). Positive interest includes supporting, endorsing, or affirming the object, event, or the state of affairs (sense 1), and negative interest comprises repudiating or rejecting it. Repudiation and rejection involve desires, attitudes, or conative states (sense 2), but they may also lead to deliberate actions (sense 4), such as protest, civil disobedience, revolt, and revolution. 4.1.1 Disinterestedness Corresponding to the senses of interest, the senses of disinterestedness include the following: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

not not not not not

taking pleasure in the object’s existence4 having a rational or sensory desire directly promoting one’s preservation, welfare, or happiness attempting to achieve a moral or prudential end being partial (KU 5:223).

Whereas the other senses of disinterestedness are the negations of the positive senses of interest, sense 5 of disinterestedness is a new addition to the list.5 Sense 5 of interest could not be fruitfully negated to create a corresponding sense of disinterestedness, since aesthetic experience always requires active relation to or engagement with an object or event. 4

5

Kant expresses this sense of disinterestedness in the judgment of the sublime as follows: “We have no interest at all in the [sublime] object, i.e., its existence is indifferent to us” (KU 5:249; cf. KU 5:211). Kant is referring to a spatial–temporal object, not an idea. Uninteressiert and its relatives are found at KU 5:205, 205n., 210, 381n.; in the Ja¨sche Logic at JL 9:103; and in ApH 7:316 n.7. For a history of disinterestedness, see Bosanquet, History of Aesthetic. An important account is Jerome Stolnitz, “On the Origins of ‘Aesthetic Disinterestedness’,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 20(2) (1961): 131–43. See also Remy Saisselin, “A Second Note on Eighteenth Century ‘Aesthetic Disinterestedness’,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 21(2) (1962): 209; George Dickie, “Stolnitz Attitude: Taste and Perception,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 43(2) (1984): 105–203; Jerome Stolnitz, “The Aesthetic Attitude in the Rise of Modern Aesthetics – Again,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 43(2) (1984): 205–8; Dabney Townsend, “From Shaftesbury to Kant: The Development of the Concept of Aesthetic Experience,” Journal of the History of Ideas, 48(2) (April–June 1987): 287–305; and Werner Strube, “Interesselosigkeit: Zur Geschichte eines Grundbegriffs der Aesthetik,” Archiv fu¨r Begriffsgeschichte, 22 (1979): 148–74.

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A recent critic of Kant’s notion of disinterestedness, Michael Kelly, understands Kantian disinterestedness primarily in terms of distance and abstraction. According to Kelly, Kantian disinterestedness “is achieved when we abstract or distance ourselves” from any interest in the existence of an artwork in order to make a judgment of it that can command universal assent.6 This formulation is misleading, however, since it conjures up notions of psychic distance and disengagement that Kant never defended. Kantian disinterestedness should not be identified with detachment, abstraction, or distance, for one requirement of making an aesthetic judgment is that we actively engage with the object.7 This active involvement can even be understood as a type of interest (sense 5 of interest). Accordingly, Kant writes that the pleasure involves a kind of causality. Although the pleasure in a pure aesthetic judgment is not practical, it nonetheless has a causality in itself, namely that of maintaining the state of the mind in aesthetic contemplation.8 Thus we linger in the contemplation of the aesthetic object because this active consideration strengthens and reproduces itself, “which is analogous to (yet not identical with) the way in which we linger when a charm in the representation of the object repeatedly attracts attention, where the mind is passive” (KU 5:222; cf. FI 20:230–1).9 Although in this passage Kant is discussing the beautiful, there is no good reason to think that the description of lingering in aesthetic pleasure cannot apply to the sublime. However, one might object that such lingering is not possible in the case of the mathematical sublime since the state of sublimity is instantaneous. Kant’s account of the instant (Augenblick) in the mathematical sublime supposedly reveals that the state is instantaneous.10 Note that this objection addresses only the

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Michael Kelly, Iconoclasm in Aesthetics (Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 7. Kelly (pp. 7–8 n.16) seems to over-emphasize detachment and abstraction in disinterestedness. Kirwan, in The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 28, notes that it is the pleasure in, not awareness of, the object that is disinterested. Cf. Nick Zangwill’s useful discussion in “UnKantian Notions of Disinterest,” in Kant’ s “ Critique of the Power of Judgment” : Critical Essays, ed. Paul Guyer (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littefield, 2003), pp. 63–6. Martin Heidegger, in Nietzsche, vol. i , trans. David Farrell Krell (New York: Harper, 1979), p. 110, makes a similar point. Makkreel, in Dilthey, p. 18, points out that the view that aesthetic contemplation requires a passive state derives more from Schopenhauer than from Kant. See Paul Guyer, “Free Play and True Well-Being: Herder’s Critique of Kant’s Aesthetics,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 65(4) (2007): 353–68, p. 366. To his credit, Kelly notes that the relationship between disinterestedness and interest is not mutually exclusive; Kelly, Iconoclasm, p. 8. I am grateful to an anonymous reviewer for making this objection. Cf. Zammito, Genesis, p. 282, for a similar worry that arises from the sublime’s complexity, pain, and seriousness.


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mathematical sublime; it might still be possible to linger in an experience of the moral or dynamical sublime even if this point is correct. But there is good reason for doubting the validity of this objection. For the experience of the instant or moment occurs temporally or in time. After all, the suspension of time as the form of inner sense is not the annihilation of time as such. Although the time-condition is suspended in the mathematical sublime, this felt suspension is part a temporal process, as indeed are all aesthetic responses and affects. Thus, it is possible to linger in the response. Moreover, since the feeling of the sublime is ultimately one of pleasure, even if a negative pleasure based on frustration and deprivation, there is reason for the subject to wish to continue to feel that pleasure. Finally – to return to Kelly – it is also worth noting that Kelly claims that disinterestedness, which he understands in terms of abstraction, is a sufficient condition of universality (i.e., universal validity) for Kant, and that Kant infers the universality of the judgment from disinterestedness or uses disinterestedness in order to arrive at universality.11 Although my own view is that Kant attempts to justify the universal validity of the judgment of taste by appealing to a shared sensus communis rather than to disinterestedness alone, here is not the place to evaluate Kelly’s thesis or to examine the four moments of pure aesthetic judgment. It is sufficient for us to note that universal validity and disinterestedness are logically and conceptually distinct and, although these two conditions of a pure aesthetic judgment might be interrelated in some interesting ways, they should not be conflated.12 4.2 first-order and second-order interests There is an important difference between acting on universalizable maxims, or “moral interest” (sense 4 of interest; cf. MS 6:212–13), and taking an interest in the existence or actualization of morality (sense 1 of interest). The former is an example of first-order interest, and the latter is an instance of a second-order interest. Taking an interest in morality involves recognizing the fact that there is such a thing as (first-order) moral interest or its product, morally worthy action. Kant refers to such second-order interest when he claims that the human being, insofar as it is a rational being, takes a natural interest in morality: 11 12

Kelly, Iconoclasm, p. 8. Allison distinguishes the quid facti (the four moments of purity) from the quid juris (the deduction); Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, pp. 72–84.

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The human mind takes (as I believe is necessarily the case with every rational being) a natural interest in morality, even though this is not undivided and practically overwhelming. Strengthen and magnify this interest, and you will find reason very tractable and even enlightened for uniting the speculative with the practical interest. But if you do not take care to make human beings first at least half-way good, you will never be able to make sincere believers out of them. (KrV a 830n./b 858n.)

This interest is positive when one supports, affirms, and endorses the presence of morality in the world. For example, a mother might want to see her children act in good and virtuous ways, to make the right decisions, and to exercise good moral judgment.13 The flipside of such positive, second-order interest is negative secondorder interest, which takes the form of disapproval, disappointment, or even protest. Here an agent deliberately and willingly acts (sense 4 of interest) and satisfies desires (sense 2 of interest) in light of certain guidelines or principles, whether categorical or hypothetical imperatives. This negative interest can take the form of disapproval, sadness, and disdain. For instance, Kant characterizes a mental state, moral sadness, as sublime (in the sense of eliciting a judgment of the sublime, or a member of subset 1; see section 2.3.1) because it is grounded on moral ideas in a similar vein. Likewise, a mother might express disappointment at the poor decisions made by her children. She might take a (negative) interest in the fact that there is action based on forbidden maxims, especially if the immoral actions are carried out by her children. She might try to improve the situation accordingly, taking action. Note that the influence of these principles can go unrecognized or unstated by the agent. Explicit recognition is not necessary here. Second-order interest is not limited to interest in morally worthy actions, i.e., acts done from a first-order moral interest. One might take a second-order (positive) interest in the aesthetic experience of other human beings.14 Like the interest in morality, interest in aesthetic disinterestedness would be an instance of second-order interest.15 For 13

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On moral judgment in Kantian ethics, see Otfried Ho¨ffe, Kant’ s Cosmopolitan Theory of Law and Peace, trans. Alexandra Newton (Cambridge University Press, 2006), pp. 48–9. Budd seems to recognize something like my first-order/second-order distinction. “Additional pleasures are also possible, e.g., higher-order pleasures (pleasure in the communicability of one’s pleasure, for example)”; see The Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature, p. 47. Nevertheless, he does not try to fit it all together in a unified account, as I am trying to do. Jane Kneller argues that disinterested aesthetic reflection can produce moral interests. Chapter 3 of her Kant and the Power of Imagination is suggestively entitled “The interest of disinterest.” However, Kneller focuses on judgments of taste rather than the sublime (p. 60). Cf. chapter 3 in


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example, a museum curator might have a positive interest in and desire to witness the aesthetic pleasure of visitors who view the works she collects, but it is probable that she does this partly (but not necessarily only) because her livelihood depends on this aesthetic pleasure. This does not preclude her from also having moral motives, however. She may very well have a second-order moral interest in the development of fellow members of her community, wanting them to become better individuals. She might desire their overall happiness, and see their aesthetic appreciation as part of their leading fulfilled and enriched lives. This interest would be moral because it would be a recognition of the duty to help others seek their happiness. Aesthetic experience, then, can indirectly produce an interest, an interest in the existence of aesthetic experience in others or even oneself. This interest may be either moral or non-moral, depending on one’s motives. Perhaps a young person interested in the arts, reflecting from a second-order perspective, is pleased by the fact that he has aesthetic experiences, taking them as a sign of character or of his developing maturity. But he might also display a prudential interest, for example, liking or practicing a certain art because it allows him to meet new friends or because such activity provides an amusing diversion. One passage from Kant’s aesthetic theory (in addition to the sections devoted to empirical and intellectual interests in beauty) in which he hints at the first-order/second-order distinction is found at the end of his discussion of the ideal of beauty in §17: The correctness of such an ideal of beauty is proved by the fact that no sensory charm is allowed to be mixed into the satisfaction in its object, while it nevertheless allows a great interest to be taken in it, which then proves that judging in accordance with such a standard can never be purely aesthetic [rein a¨sthetisch], and judging in accordance with an ideal of beauty is no mere [kein bloßes] judgment of taste. (KU 5:235–6; italics added)

Unless one reads Kant in light of a first-order/second-order distinction that I am proposing, the reference to taking a great interest in the context of discussing the ideal of beauty is quite puzzling. For if a person is taking any interest (let alone a great one) in the (human) beauty in the first-order senses of interest, either the person is not making a judgment of beauty, Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, “The dialectic of disinterestedness: II. Kant and Schiller on interest in disinterestedness,” pp. 94–130. Like Kneller, Guyer focuses on beauty; see pp. 97–116. In the scholarship, there is very little discussion of the (second-order) interests of reason in the sublime.

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or Kant is plainly contradicting his theory that a judgment of beauty (or the pleasure it involves) must be disinterested. The first cannot be the case since Kant is here presenting his theory of the ideal of beauty. He clearly distinguishes the satisfaction in the judgment at hand (beauty) from sensory charm, so there is no question that an ideal of beauty is being discussed. The second hermeneutic alternative (inconsistency) should be chosen only as a last resort. Fortunately, there is a way to understand this text that does not force us to conclude that Kant is being inconsistent, especially in such an obvious way. Using the first-order/second-order distinction, we can say that one can take a “great interest” in the ideal of beauty. This passage confirms the analysis of the free/dependent distinction given in section 2.4. By saying that the ideal of beauty is no mere judgment of taste, Kant clearly does not wish to deny that it is a judgment of taste. It could in principle satisfy the four conditions of purity. The judgment is a judgment of taste, but it is also more than that: it is partly teleological. Likewise, the judgment in question is not a purely teleological judgment; but it is partly teleological, since it incorporates a concept of the perfection of the human being (and thus the concept of freedom). Although it is an aesthetic judgment, it is certainly not a judgment of the agreeable, but, since it does appeal to a teleological concept, it is also not a purely aesthetic judgment. The interest that a person can take in the ideal of beauty would be an interest of reason, a morally based interest. Indeed, it seems natural for reason to take an interest in the sensible presentation of the perfection of the human being and in the exhibition of the concept of freedom. Accordingly, let us look at the concept of a morally based interest more closely. 4.3 empirical and morally based interests Although Kant does not directly address morally based interest in sublimity, Kant’s theory implies that human beings can take a morally based interest in sublimity. First, his account of empirical and morally based interests in beauty naturally provides a basis for constructing a similar account of empirical and morally based interests in sublimity. Second, if reason takes an interest in signs of its presence in the world (sense 1 of interest, i.e., pleasure in a state of affairs), and if sublimity reveals the presence of reason (or freedom), reason will take an interest in sublimity. If Kant is right that sublimity reveals the moral capacity of humanity, his views imply that human beings should and will take an interest in the aesthetic experience of the sublime. Working through the intricacies of


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Kant’s account of empirical and morally based interests in the sublime sheds light on how aesthetic experience can contribute to morality, since it clarifies how aesthetic experience can satisfy the interests of reason. The theme of empirical and intellectual interests in sublimity has been largely overlooked by discussions of empirical and intellectual interests in beauty, where one might have expected to find it.16 For instance, Budd analyzes Kant’s account of empirical and intellectual interests in natural beauty without raising questions about empirical or morally based (intellectual) interests in the sublime.17 Similarly, although scholars have examined Kant’s account of empirical and morally based interests in beauty, no one to my knowledge discusses the possibility of a Kantian account of interest in the sublime, much less provides one. Before proceeding, it is worth emphasizing that taking an empirical or morally based interest in an aesthetic reflective judgment presupposes that the latter judgment is pure. In other words, the object of the empirical or morally based interest is a pure judgment.18 4.3.1 Empirical interest in beauty In §41, Kant states that one can take an interest (sense 1) in a pure judgment of natural beauty (KU 5:297). For Kant, such interest would be “indirect,” meaning that one views the pure aesthetic judgment of taste as combined with something else (KU 5:296). Since the interest is indirect, something else must be conjoined to the pure judgment to produce the interest. This “something else” is either empirical, e.g., the 16

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E.g., Gasche´, The Idea of Form, chapter 6; Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, chapter 3; and Kneller, Kant and the Power of Imagination, chapter 3 (cf. “interests of disinterested reflection on the beautiful,” p. 15). See Malcolm Budd, “Delight in the Natural World: Kant on the Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature. Part I: Natural Beauty,” British Journal of Aesthetics, 38(1) (1998): 1–18; “Delight in the Natural World: Kant on the Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature. Part II: Natural Beauty and Morality,” British Journal of Aesthetics, 38(2) (1998): 117–26; and “Delight in the Natural World: Kant on the Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature. Part III: The Sublime in Nature,” British Journal of Aesthetics, 38(3) (1998): 233–50. These articles form the basis of Budd’s book The Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature. It is noteworthy that Budd does not discuss the indirect duty to care for nature. As we have seen, this indirect duty also arises in virtue of natural beauty, not just sublimity; thus, overlooking that Kant has a theory of interest in the sublime cannot be the only reason for Budd’s not discussing the indirect duty to care for nature. Kneller likewise rightly claims that the interests presuppose pure aesthetic reflective judgments. However, in her account the interests take the form of “interested judgments of aesthetic reflection”; see Kant and the Power of Imagination, p. 11. It is unclear how these interests can take the form of judgments of aesthetic reflection. In contrast, I characterize the intellectual interest in beauty or the sublime as a morally based, second-order interest of practical reason (not the imagination).

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natural human inclination to be social, or moral/intellectual, such as the will’s capacity to be determined a priori through reason (KU 5:296). Kant thus distinguishes empirical from morally based interest in beauty in that the former is based on inclination, in particular sociability, but morally based interest is not. One intriguing issue here concerns whether one can only take an interest in the object (the thing, the beauty) or whether one can also take an interest in the experience itself (and the corresponding judgment). It seems to me that both are possible, although commentators nearly always focus on the natural object rather than on the subject’s experience or judgment.19 In §41 and §42 Kant describes interest (sense 1) in the existence of beautiful objects (“not only the form of its product but also its existence pleases him” [KU 5:299]). In this sense, one can preserve or care for the natural objects. We have already examined an example of this in the case of caring for nature and natural objects (section 3.3.1). Likewise, Kant distinguishes between the interest in natural beauty and artistic beauty, or “two sorts of objects” (KU 5:300), and he refers to “interest in the object” (KU 5:301), such as a beautiful wildflower, bird, or insect (KU 5:299).20 Although one can take an interest in the existence of objects that seem beautiful or sublime, one can also take an interest in the subject’s experience and pure aesthetic judgment and in what is implied by the fact that a pure aesthetic judgment exists. Kant refers to interest in taste itself: “This much can certainly be said about the empirical interest in objects of taste and in taste itself ” (KU 5:298; italics added). Furthermore, there are other reasons for viewing the matter in this way. Even though we attribute beauty and sublimity to objects, beauty and sublimity are not objective properties but interactions between the mental faculties of understanding and the imagination (in the case of beauty) or reason and the imagination (in the case of sublimity). Saying that an object is beautiful or sublime, after all, requires committing a subject– object conflation, since beauty and sublimity, despite their important differences, both ultimately refer in some way to properties of the subject. Indeed, that is why the pure aesthetic judgment of beauty or sublimity is an aesthetic judgment. So, while it might seem odd to refer to interest in experiences or judgments of beauty or sublimity rather than the objects that elicit them, Kant’s account actually allows this move. 19 20

E.g., Anne-Marie Roviello, “Du beau comme symbole du bien,” in Kants A¨sthetik, ed. Parret, p. 382. Budd’s discussion focuses on the existence of an object; see Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature, pp. 47ff.


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The latter interpretation makes good sense of other elements of Kant’s position. First, what is interesting from a social point of view, in the case of empirical interest, is that the feelings and judgments of other human beings agree with our own feelings and judgments, not that the object is somewhere out there in the world. Hence Kant says that we call refined “someone who is inclined to communicate his pleasure to others and is skilled at it, and who is not content with an object if he cannot feel his satisfaction in it in community with others” (KU 5:297). The satisfaction here concerns the communication of the pleasant feeling, not the object. Second, what is interesting from a moral point of view, in the case of morally based interest, can sometimes have little to do with the existence of an object that exhibits certain features. While sometimes we are pleased by the fact that nature seems to hint that it is made a certain way, namely, that it is conducive to our attempts to be moral (in the case of intellectual interest in beauty), this is not the only thing that can interest us from a moral perspective. We can also take a morally based interest in the fact that we have a capacity for making disinterested, aesthetic judgments. For such judgments will indirectly prepare us for making free moral judgments. We can also be interested in the fact that we possess the ability to judge in a universal manner. Keeping in mind that we can be interested in aesthetic experiences as well as objects, let us see how we can take an empirical interest in beauty. As social creatures, Kant argues, we take an interest in the fact that feelings of aesthetic pleasure can be (and are) communicated with universal and necessary validity. We have an interest in satisfying our social inclination because we have a need and desire for community and fellowfeeling.21 The existence of the pure aesthetic judgment of beauty is socially interesting because we delight in the fact that we have evidence of the proper functioning of the human capacity to communicate with other human beings. It is noteworthy that Kant’s discussion of the empirical interest we take in beauty appears immediately after §40, “On taste as a kind of sensus communis,” since the sensus communis accounts for and makes possible the universal communicability of judgments of taste. As Bosanquet notes, the communicability that is distinctive of aesthetic feeling has made the latter of much social interest. This interest is not an interest in beauty as such, but in the communicability of the feeling.22 The social inclination to 21 22

Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, pp. 299–300. Bosanquet, History of Aesthetic, p. 273.

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communicate with other human beings is the basis of the empirical interest in beauty. Unfortunately, it is also a double-edged sword, according to Kant, since it can easily lead to vanity or pride. The art collector, for instance, might buy expensive and beautiful paintings merely to appear to be, but not actually to be, a good judge of aesthetic value or merit, or to be famous for owning such a collection. Kant’s theory of empirical interest has affinities with empiricist theories of the social nature of aesthetic experience, such as Hume’s appeal to the operations of sympathy and imagination in aesthetic responses to art and nature.23 According to Hume, the mechanism of sympathy allows nonproprietors to enjoy a well-designed artifact or a well-formed piece of nature that is useful but in fact can be used only by the proprietor: one sympathizes with the pleasure felt by the proprietor. A beautiful house “must delight us merely by communication, and by our sympathizing with the proprietor of the lodging. We enter into his interest by the force of the imagination, and feel the same satisfaction, that the objects naturally occasion in him.”24 Of course, the use of the notion of interest to explain aesthetic appreciation of the house is clearly un-Kantian, since it would taint the purity of the judgment in Kant’s account. Pure aesthetic judgments cannot be based solely on the usefulness of an object. But, since empirical interest is socially based and derives from feelings such as sympathy (not to be confused with enthusiasm’s Teilnehmung), Kant’s theory of empirical interest in beauty resonates with Hume’s account of aesthetic appreciation. 4.3.2 Morally based interest in beauty To clarify morally based interest in beauty, consider a man, a lover of beauty, who takes a morally based interest in a natural beauty. Gottlieb – let us call him – regards and aesthetically estimates the beautiful form, shape, or appearance of a bird of paradise, and makes a pure judgment of beauty about the bird, without intending “to communicate his observations to others” (KU 5:299; cf. Kant’s description of Gottfried Leibniz at KpV 5:160). Gottlieb takes an interest in the bird out of admiration and even wonder, and neither to satisfy his social inclination nor because it promotes his personal welfare or happiness (sense 3 of interest). He is 23 24

Cf. Guyer, Values of Beauty, p. 117. David Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, ed. David Fate Norton and Mary J. Norton (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000), p. 235. Guyer cites this passage in Values of Beauty, p. 117.


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interested in the bird only insofar as it is beautiful, i.e., precisely because the beauty is there or exists for him to enjoy (sense 1). Because it is not based on sociability or affability (an inclination Gottlieb also has), such interest is not empirical. His interest is grounded solely in the fact that whenever he intuits and reflects on the beautiful form of nature (though not its wondrous colors or other “charms”), he is led to think that nature has produced that beauty especially for his aesthetic delight (KU 5:299). Gottlieb’s morally based interest in the bird is, unlike empirical interest, directly or immediately connected to the creature. However, this [empirical] interest, attached to the beautiful indirectly, through an inclination to society, and thus empirical, is of no importance for us here, for we must [regarding intellectual interest] find that importance only in what may be related to the judgment of taste a priori, even if only indirectly. (KU 5:297)

Kant’s terms require explanation. The interest is indirect in that it does not belong or attach to the judgment of beauty itself, but is superadded to it. In other words, interest here presupposes, but is not a component of, the judgment of beauty.25 Kant calls the morally based interest intellectual because it is based on the capacity of the will to be determined by reason (KU 5:296; cf. MS 6:213). In admiring the bird of paradise, Gottlieb notices that the bird appears to have been produced to stimulate the coordination of his mental faculties in aesthetic activity. Such a claim, of course, can indicate nothing about how nature is in itself: “At least this is how we interpret nature, whether anything of the sort is its intention or not” (KU 5:181). If an object is intended for Gottlieb, by definition it should serve his purposes or ends. He cannot find this purpose anywhere but in his moral calling or vocation (cf. KU 5:301). The fact that human beings react to the forms of nature with a pure judgment of beauty based on a feeling of aesthetic pleasure is interpreted to mean that nature will not hinder the attempt to realize morality in the natural order. Gottlieb is interested in nature’s hint that it is with him, not against him. Nature seems to say to him that it will not frustrate his attempts to be moral (cf. KU 5:300). Of course, this does not guarantee that his ends will be achieved, and such a judgment can be regulative at most. Kant maintains that since nature seems to be designed to elicit a pleasant feeling of beauty in us, we think that nature intends or was designed to serve our ends, goals, and purposes. Since our ultimate purpose, for Kant, is to be moral, nature is thought to be designed to help us fulfill our attempts to act from 25

Budd, Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature, p. 54.

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duty and not to frustrate any good or moral intentions we have. In taking a morally based interest in the pure judgment of natural beauty, nature is considered to be amenable to moral ends in the negative sense of not frustrating human attempts to be moral. The “interest” that can be combined with, or attached to, a “feeling for the beautiful” can be united with the “moral interest” through an “inner affinity” shared by these two kinds of interest (KU 5:298). Kant offers an interpretation of the “cipher” by means of which nature figuratively speaks to us in its beautiful forms (KU 5:301). The beauty in nature – say, a bird of paradise – offers a form of purposiveness in which nature seems to favor us. To make sense of this favoring, we naturally connect it to the final end of nature, morality (KU 5:300–1). Kant insists that the beauty in which we take a morally based interest must be a beauty of nature (KU 5:299). If Gottlieb believes that he is admiring a bird of paradise and subsequently discovers that the bird is a fake, he will be disappointed and will no longer have a morally based interest in it, whatever interest or curiosity he might still have (KU 5:302).26 Kant argues that, in the case of art, which is intentionally produced, one of two situations obtains.27 Either art imitates nature such that one’s immediate interest in it results from the fact that art deceptively appears to be natural, or else the art is “intentionally directed toward our satisfaction,” whereby the morally based interest in artistic beauty ceases to be immediate. In the first case, we think we are observing nature. In the second case, Kant claims that art interests us only through its end (our satisfaction) and not in itself (KU 5:301). Thus he states that the interest is mediated. It would appear that the transcendental principle of judgment, the principle of the purposiveness of nature, cannot be applied in the second case, since we are dealing with a human product. This seems to imply that in this case there is no interest in nature’s amenability because the object is a human product. However, this interpretation is 26

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Kant even says that upon discovering that one was deceived by artifice, a person will not only lose any morally based interest he might have had, but will no longer be in a position to make a judgment of beauty or even to be charmed: “But this interest, which we here take in beauty, absolutely requires that it be the beauty of nature; and it disappears entirely as soon as one notices that one has been deceived and that it is only art, so much so that even taste can no longer find anything beautiful in it or sight anything charming” (KU 5:302). Deception here is crucial; surely Kant does not wish to imply that we cannot find non-natural objects beautiful or charming. Moreover, Kant’s point here is that artifactual objects could do nothing to show the amenability of nature toward human attempts to be moral, which Kant argues throughout the section. For a discussion of this, see Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, pp. 268–71.


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problematic. Kant’s theory of genius as a natural gift suggests that nature plays a role in the production of that object, as we have seen (KU 5:307). Kant thus seems to be overemphasizing the role of the individual’s artistic intentions and the will of the artist in the production of the artwork. After all, Kant writes elsewhere that if we are to feel pleasure in the beauty of an artwork, we must not be overly conscious of the artist’s intentions, since art can be called beautiful only if we are aware that it is art and yet it looks to us like nature. The purposiveness in the artwork’s form must seem to be as free from all constraint from arbitrary rules as if it were a product of nature (KU 5:306).28 The purposiveness in the product of beautiful art, although it is intentional, must not seem intentional (KU 5:306–7). Kant’s rejection of a morally based interest in art may be too hasty for another reason. Kant holds that we can feel a universally communicable pleasure in response to the arts, and that through structural similarities (disinterestedness, freedom, etc.) between beauty and moral feeling, this communicable pleasure can indirectly help human beings develop moral character. Although an empirical interest based on sociability is often driven by vanity and pride (KU 5:289) and cannot qualify as morally based, it seems that Kant should have noticed that there can be a morally based interest in art, given the structural similarities between beauty and moral feeling and the moral uses to which the communicable responses to beautiful art can be put. Accordingly, a bewildered Bosanquet writes that Kant should have acknowledged the possibility of morally based interest in art. He notes that it is “remarkable” that Kant explicitly refuses to do so and suggests Rousseau’s “undue” influence as the probable reason for Kant’s position.29 Kant’s view is defensible only if one restricts the moral significance of beauty to what can be understood in terms of the transcendental principle of judgment, the purposiveness of nature, and also interprets the production of art in terms of a very strict conception of artistic intention and the will of the artist. In short, even if the principle of the purposiveness of nature does not apply in the case of artistic beauty, there are other reasons for a person such as Gottlieb to take a morally based interest in artistic beauty. The judgment of beauty is disinterested and thus has a structural similarity to the moral feeling, and the aesthetic judge can reflect on certain moral ideas expressed by the beautiful artwork. 28 29

Cf. Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, pp. 269, 271. Bosanquet, History of Aesthetic, p. 274. He is right that Rousseau influences Kant here.

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Kant seems to argue that since art is created for our pleasure, any interest that we can have in it is derived from sociability and hence must be empirical. But there is little basis for the view that interest in art always derives from sociability and that a morally based interest in art is impossible. Kant overlooks the fact that art can give us aesthetic pleasure and yet we might still have a morally based interest in the moral ideas expressed by its conceptual content (the aesthetic ideas), which can be depicted or represented in richly imaginative ways. We might also take an interest in the fact that our aesthetic pleasure has a disinterestedness that is similar to that of the moral feeling. Surely the fact that the pleasure is elicited by art does not mean that the aesthetic judge cannot reflect on this affinity with morality. Accordingly, even if it is thought that art is purposely created for pleasing consumption by an aesthetic judge and is guided by artistic intention in a thick or strong sense, there are other Kantian grounds for the possibility of taking a morally based interest in art. When Kant calls the morally based interest in natural beauty a “moral” interest (KU 5:300), he means that the morally good is the ultimate basis of the interest. Kant does not here mean that human beings have a duty to take a morally based interest in nature, say, in the sense examined in section 3.3.1. Nor does he mean that the interest rests on objective laws such as the moral law, for the interest is described as “free” (KU 5:301). In contrast to what occurs in the case of moral agency, here there is no law that determines or produces an interest in natural beauty. Rather, Kant means that because aesthetic judgments have an “affinity” with moral feeling (KU 5:301), we are justified in expecting someone (e.g., Gottlieb) who takes a morally based interest in natural beauty to be someone who also has a good moral disposition (KU 5:300), even if such persons are rare (KU 5:301). Gottlieb’s interest presupposes a morally good predisposition, but in admiring natural beauties he can continue to develop his moral character. Gottlieb is “either already trained to the good, or especially receptive to such training” (KU 5:301; emphasis added). With this disjunction, Kant acknowledges using the feeling of beauty for moral purposes. By encouraging a morally based interest in natural beauty, Gottlieb can help realize the very moral ideas that led him to take the interest in beauty: Taste as it were makes possible the transition from sensible charm to the habitual moral interest without too violent a leap by representing the imagination even in its freedom as purposively determinable for the understanding and teaching us to find a free satisfaction in the objects of the senses even without any sensible charm. (KU 5:354)


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In this way, the feeling of beauty can indirectly help realize morality in the natural order and promote habitual (first-order) “moral interest,” a rational desire to act according to maxims of duty (sense 2 of interest). 4.3.3 Empirical interest in sublimity If the Analytic of the Sublime were indeed written at the “last minute,” as a prominent thesis holds,30 it is possible that Kant failed to give an account of intellectual and empirical interests in the sublime because he had only just written the Analytic of the Sublime. Since this thesis is controversial,31 however, I will not pursue this point here. The lack of such a discussion might also derive from the influence of Burke. After all, Kant famously refers to Burke as the “foremost author” of “extremely fine” analyses of psychological phenomena (KU 5:277). Let me explain what Burke might have to do with empirical interest in the sublime. Kant refers to Burke’s empirical, physiological, and psychological account of the sublime, citing Burke’s own words: “the feeling of the sublime is grounded on the drive to self-preservation and on fear” (KU 5:277). Kant also notes that Burke grounds the beautiful on “love, which, however, he [Burke] would have known as separate from desire” (KU 5:277). For Burke, beauty refers to the ideas of pleasure that are connected with the human being’s social nature, whereas the sublime (apparent formlessness, power, magnitude) refers to ideas of pain and danger.32 Pain and danger, however, are not merely linked to the principle of selfpreservation – they threaten it. Accordingly, pain and danger elicit fear. Given Burke’s famous and influential opposition between beauty and sublimity, and between the human being’s social nature and the selfpreservation principle, it is easy to see why Kant may have omitted an account of interests in the sublime that are based either on the social inclination or on morality. In Burke’s account, beauty can be easily connected with social interests and morality, but the sublime cannot be so 30 31 32

Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 304. Editor’s Introduction, Critique of the Power of Judgment, p. xli. Edmund Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (1757), ed. J. T. Boulton (London and New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul and Columbia University Press, 1958), part 1, section 6. Bosanquet mentions Burke’s influence on Kant and calls Burke’s connection of the sublime to self-preservation “strange”; see History of Aesthetic, pp. 203–4. Baldine Saint Girons argues that for Burke the sublime is the fundamental category in an anthropology that attributes great importance to the emotional life of the subjects in a community. She holds, perhaps with some exaggeration, that this philosophy of the passions and emotions is lacking in Kant; Baldine Saint Girons, “Kant et la mise en cause de l’esthe´tique,” in Kants A¨sthetik, ed. Parret, pp. 706–20.

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linked, since it is associated with fear, survival, and self-preservation. Kant may very well have been thinking along these lines when he decided not to analyze empirical and intellectual interests in the sublime. Nevertheless, Kant’s account implies that it is possible to take an empirical, socially based interest in judgments of sublimity to the extent that they are universally communicable. He notes that “the satisfaction in the beautiful, as much as that in the sublime, is not only clearly distinguished among the other aesthetic judgings by means of universal communicability, but also, by means of this property, acquires an interest in relation to society (in which it can be communicated)” (KU 5:275; italics added). The implications of this passage have not been sufficiently examined by the literature. Since the pleasure in the aesthetic judgment of the sublime is universally communicable in the act of judging, it can give rise to an interest based on the human being’s natural desire to have social relations. Empirical interest in the sublime arises for the very same reasons that it does in the case of beauty. What might this interest look like? First, just as one’s interest in beauty requires a pure judgment of beauty, so interest in sublimity requires a pure judgment of the sublime. Kant’s account would have to exclude those cases where we are interested in instances of the morally good or the agreeable. Second, in taking an empirical interest in the sublime, I take pleasure in the fact that the judgments of others agree with mine. Seeing the presence of the sublime in the world brings me pleasure since I am inherently a social being. However, Kant would surely point out that such an interest risks being motivated by vanity, pride, or the desire to impress. Third, one can take an empirical interest in sublimity in either works of art or natural objects (cliffs, waterfalls, etc.). The possibility of empirical interest in artistic sublimity obtains for the same reasons that held in the case of empirical interest in artistic beauty. 4.3.4 Morally based interest in sublimity Paul Crowther’s characterization of the sublime can help illustrate why Kant would have agreed that the sublime merits a morally based interest. Crowther divides the sublime into the “cognitive,” “personalized,” “artifactual,” and “expressive” sorts, although the precise meaning of these distinctions need not concern us here.33 The cognitive and personalized sublime can lead us to respect other human beings because these forms of 33

Crowther, The Kantian Sublime, p. 162.


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the sublime are a projection of “rational comprehension through the vicissitudes of sensible embodiment.”34 For Crowther, the moral import of the sublime is that it helps us to respect other persons because they have a worth of a wholly different order than the members of the merely animal world. Such moral import, I suggest, would elicit a morally based interest. The artifactual and expressive experiences of sublimity, similarly, are conducive to respect for persons because of the enjoyment of species solidarity. By this, Crowther means that extraordinary capacities and achievements of humanity help us identify with our species’ conquests of intractable nature. It might seem that “species solidarity” suggests that we take an empirical interest in the sublime, since solidarity appeals to our social inclination. However, what Crowther calls “species solidarity” would actually elicit a morally based interest because the relevant feature is the human species’ superiority to animal and unwrought nature, not the fact that human beings communicate with members of the same species. In Kant’s text, too, we find the basis for a theory of morally based interest in sublimity. As we have seen, before describing enthusiasm, Kant writes that: “even that which we call sublime in nature outside us or even within ourselves (e.g., certain affects) is represented only as a power of the mind to soar above certain obstacles of sensibility by means of moral principles, and thereby to become interesting” (KU 5:271; my italics). Thus, even in the third Critique Kant gives an example of a morally based interest in enthusiasm. He describes a person’s sadness that arises from observing the evil that people do to themselves, a sadness that “rests on ideas” and is for that reason “sublime” (KU 5:276). Kant calls such sadness “interesting”: it provokes a morally based interest. What are the features of this morally based interest? Morally based interest in the pure judgment of sublimity derives from pure practical reason, which has a stake in any hint that reason is present in the world, even if the sublime cannot show that reason is efficacious and that the moral will has actually acted in nature. The interested person feels pleasure that the world is a certain way, pleasure in a fact about the world, a fact that can be revealed through observation, conversation, reading, and the like. The morally based interest in sublimity is immediate because the sublime (in nature) is not used for any other external purposes, i.e., sublimity is liked for the sake of sublimity itself, for what it means or represents: the presence of reason. The person admires human rationality, especially in its practical uses: the interest is by practical reason and, 34

Crowther, The Kantian Sublime, p. 173.

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ultimately, in practical reason (the revelation of freedom). Instead of taking an interest in the hint that nature is on her side, the subject is pleased or interested (sense 1) in the fact that she transcends nature and possesses a rational faculty that legislates over inner and outer nature. She is reminded that her final vocation is a moral one. Since reason is interested in whatever contributes to the fulfillment of its ends, even if only indirectly, it is interested in such awareness. Can the sublime in art elicit a morally based interest? If my earlier argument is correct (section 2.6), art can elicit judgments of the sublime (see, e.g., KU 5:253, 265, 273–4, 325; cf. Refl 992, 15:437; ApH 7:241–3). This is not the place to put into question the capacity of art to elicit the sublime. To understand whether artistic sublimity can elicit a morally based interest, we must restate why the sublime is morally interesting. It is disinterested (like moral feeling), has the structure of the moral feeling, and, through its contrapurposive form or apparent formlessness, offers a form of purposiveness in which nature reminds us of our transcendence of nature, thereby possibly contributing to the realization of the final end of nature, morality. We examined the first of these, disinterestedness, in the case of artistic beauty, and since sublimity’s disinterestedness is similar to moral feeling’s disinterestedness in the way discussed in the case of beauty, the argument need not be repeated. The sublime is not only disinterested, of course, but also contains a phenomenological structure that runs against the subject’s sensible interests. Surely the sublime elicited by art is capable of bringing out this structural element, too. Therefore, even if we admit that, since we are speaking about art, the sublime elicited by art is not morally interesting in terms of the principle of the purposiveness of nature, there are two other reasons for taking a morally based interest: the disinterestedness and the structure of the experience. Finally, given Kant’s conception of the sublime, there is conceptual room for a morally based interest in the sublime elicited by art, since the judgment of sublimity is grounded on human freedom. Whereas the judgment of beauty is subjective in a first-order sense of being about a property of the subject, the pure judgment of sublimity is subjective in a second-order sense (in addition to the first-order sense) because the most genuine judgment of sublimity (without a subreption) involves the sensory consciousness of subjectivity (the humanity in one’s subject) and of freedom. “We express ourselves on the whole incorrectly if we call some object of nature sublime, although we can quite correctly call very many of them beautiful” (KU 5:245). As we have seen, a judgment of the


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sublime can be a response to “artificial” as much as to natural objects, since the genuine ground of “sublime” is the rational idea: “what is properly sublime . . . concerns only ideas of reason” (KU 5:245; cf. KU 5:256), especially that of freedom. 4.4 conclusion For Kant, reason delights in or takes an interest in (sense 1) any instance in which it is revealed or made palpable to human beings. Since the sublime reveals the presence of reason, reason takes an interest in the sublime (sense 2), in that it desires to see the sublime promoted and is satisfied when this happens. Likewise, despite the differences between moral affectlessness and the sublime, reason feels a similar desire to see, and satisfaction in, moral affectlessness (KU 5:272). The disinterested experience of the sublime satisfies an interest, an interest of reason. This seemingly paradoxical claim, that the disinterested judgment of the sublime produces an interest (at least indirectly), does not nullify the fact that the sublime is disinterested. In fact, the judgment of the sublime leads to a morally based interest precisely because the judgment is disinterested and has a phenomenological structure that threatens sensible interests. It should be pointed out that, given the healthy effects that the sublime can have on the body, the sublime can awaken a non-moral or prudential interest (sense 2), too. For Kant, whereas the beautiful “directly brings with it a feeling of the promotion of life” (KU 5:244), the sublime inhibits the vital powers but then releases them all the more strongly (KU 5:245).35 The shudder that is associated with the sublime belongs to the vital sense (sensus vagus) and penetrates the body to the center of life (ApH 7:154). It is unsurprising that the sublime could enliven and vivify the body, given the sublime’s repulsion and attraction, its springboard-like bouncing between positive and negative poles, its dam-and-release mechanism. Since this mental movement is physically healthy for the body, it can awaken an interest, if not of pure practical reason, then at least of prudential reason (empirical practical reason). Such physical stretching can contribute to one’s happiness. Kant holds that all gratification (Vergnu¨gen) 35

See Makkreel, Imagination and Interpretation in Kant, chapter 5, pp. 88–107. Rodolfe Gasche´ examines the harmonious play of the faculties in relation to mood (Stimmung) and the feeling of life (Lebensgefu¨hl), and discusses Makkreel’s interpretation; see “Transcendentality, in Play,” in Kants A¨sthetik, ed. Parret, pp. 297–312; reprinted as chapter 2 in The Idea of Form: Rethinking Kant’ s Aesthetics (Stanford University Press, 2003), pp. 42–59. Zammito describes the feeling of life as the awareness of our empirical freedom; Zammito, Genesis, p. 295.

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is animal, even the kind of gratification that arises from aesthetic judgments of taste (KU 5:334–5). The gratification or pleasure associated with the sublime is likewise partly animal: we have a natural and healthy desire to seek such gratification. We can thus take a non-moral interest in pursuing the pleasure involved in the sublime.

chapter 5

Aesthetic enthusiasm

If enthusiasm is a form of sublimity, the account of the morally based interest in sublimity that was presented in the previous chapter applies to it. If enthusiasm is grounded in a moral predisposition and in freedom, it can be the object of a morally based interest. Insofar as enthusiasm functions as a sign of humanity’s capacity for morality, Kant is committed to the view that one can and should take a morally based interest in it. It is to Kant’s account of aesthetic enthusiasm that we now turn. As we have seen, Kant describes enthusiasm (Enthusiasm) as the “idea of the good with affect” (KU 5:272). He claims that it “is aesthetically sublime because it is a stretching [Anspannung] of the powers through ideas, which give the mind a momentum that acts far more powerfully and persistently than the impetus given by sensory representations” (KU 5:272). I refer to this kind of enthusiasm as aesthetic enthusiasm, and submit that it can sometimes qualify as an aesthetic feeling of the sublime – a possibility that is opened up by Kant’s calling enthusiasm “aesthetically sublime.” In characterizing enthusiasm in this way, I am arguing that it belongs to subset 2 of the sublime of mental states (section 2.3.1). Three points are called for at the outset. First, as we have seen, Kant actually has two conceptions of enthusiasm, one aesthetic and the other practical or having to do with desires, intentions, and agency (ApH 7:254; cf. 314).1 This chapter focuses on aesthetic enthusiasm. Second, practical enthusiasm may be closer to our ordinary concept of enthusiasm than aesthetic enthusiasm. Nonetheless, I am more concerned with 1

In an earlier draft of “An Old Question,” Kant claims that the affect of enthusiasm “approaches the most powerful moral incentive [Triebfeder]” (19:612). Fenves cites this passage in A Peculiar Fate, p. 256. This is clearly an instance of practical enthusiasm. Kant’s claim is reminiscent of his preCritical view that nothing great can be achieved without enthusiasm. Such practical enthusiasm would later conflict with the Critical doctrine that the moral law alone can act as a genuinely moral incentive.

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understanding Kant’s own conception of aesthetic enthusiasm than with evaluating it and comparing it to contemporary accounts of the term. Third, even though I argue that some instances of aesthetic enthusiasm can qualify as aesthetic feelings of the sublime, it should be kept in mind that for Kant enthusiasm is ambiguous. Despite its sublimity, enthusiasm can be undesirable in some respects. I examine enthusiasm as it is portrayed in some crucial passages in Kant’s writings, especially in “An Old Question” (section 5.1). I show how enthusiasm differs from another concept with which it is frequently confused: fanaticism. Enthusiasm is an affect (section 5.2); affect as such is not pleasing to (practical) reason. But enthusiasm does have some redeeming properties. In short, enthusiasm is morally ambiguous (section 5.3). It fares better than fanaticism, which Kant more clearly condemns. I next explain how enthusiasm can be an aesthetic feeling of the sublime (section 5.4). Enthusiasm is a feeling of exhilaration or excitement; indeed, this exaltation is one of the features of enthusiasm that enables it to be sublime. I also suggest that enthusiasm, if a judgment of the sublime, would be dependent. I note that the four moments of merely reflective aesthetic judgment can be applied to enthusiasm. I show how Kant’s Critical conception of enthusiasm differs from his pre-Critical notion, according to which nothing great has been achieved without enthusiasm (section 5.5). Finally, I demonstrate how enthusiasm relates to a theme crucial to the third Critique, namely, the role of feelings in the realization of morality in the natural order, in bridging the gulf between feeling and freedom (section 5.6).2 I examine how enthusiasm can be understood to advance the progress toward morality. Adapting Guyer’s recent descriptions of how beauty and sublimity support morality (mentioned in the introduction), I show not only how enthusiasm presupposes a moral predisposition, but also how it promotes morality. 5.1 enthusiasm in the corpus 5.1.1 Enthusiasm and fanaticism In the “General remark on the exposition of aesthetic reflective judgments,” Kant describes fanaticism (Schwa¨rmerei) as “a delusion of being able to see something beyond all bounds of sensibility, i.e., to dream 2

This way of putting it is influenced by Guyer, Kant and the Experience of Freedom, p. 33.


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in accordance with principles (to rave with reason)” (KU 5:275; cf. KpV 5:86). Whereas enthusiasm is an affect, fanaticism is a passion. Passions belong to the faculty of desire, but affects to sensibility (KU 5:272n.). Passions are longer lasting than affects. A passion is sustained and deliberate, but an affect is “tumultuous and unpremeditated” (KU 5:272n.). A flash of anger would be an example of an affect. Hatred, vindictiveness, and holding a grudge are examples of passion in the Kantian sense. Kant compares enthusiasm to delusion of sense (Wahnsinn), but, contrary to a common interpretation, he does not actually state that enthusiasm is an instance of Wahnsinn. Similarly, he likens fanaticism to delusion of mind or the loss of wits (Wahnwitz), which is brooding and ridiculous and thus least of all compatible with (sich am wenigsten vertra¨gt) the sublime (KU 5:275).3 Whereas Wahnwitz is incompatible with sublimity, “enthusiasm is aesthetically sublime,” for it is a stretching of the powers through ideas (KU 5:272). In my view, Kant makes the otherwise peculiar point that Wahnwitz is least of all compatible with the sublime precisely because, as I argue in section 5.4, enthusiasm is compatible with (and can constitute an experience of) the sublime.4 In enthusiasm, the imagination is unreined/unbridled (zu¨gellos); in fanaticism, it is unruled (regellos).5 In characterizing enthusiasm in this way, Kant may very well be connecting enthusiasm as an unrestrained imagination that thinks up and describes possible worlds to its Platonic 3

4

5

The passage reads: “Wenn der Enthusiasm mit dem Wahnsinn, so ist die Schwa¨rmerei mit dem Wahnwitz zu vergleichen, wovon der letztere sich unter allen am wenigsten mit dem Erhabenen vertra¨gt, weil er gru¨blerisch la¨cherlich ist. Im Enthusiasm als Affect ist die Einbildungskraft zu¨gellos; in der Schwa¨rmerei als eingewurzelter bru¨tender Leidenschaft regellos. Der erstere ist voru¨bergehender Zufall, der den gesundesten Verstand bisweilen wohl betrifft; der zweite eine Krankheit, die ihn zerru¨ttet.” It is unclear from Kant’s use of der letztere whether it is Schwa¨rmerei or instead Wahnwitz that indicates a mental disease that destroys the healthy understanding, although I read him as referring to Wahnwitz. This may be important, since for a similar reason (i.e., Kant’s use of der erstere) it is unclear whether Enthusiasm or Wahnsinn occasionally strikes or befalls (betrifft) in a passing or transitory accident (voru¨bergehender Zufall) even the healthiest of minds (den gesundesten Verstand). Pluhar’s translation (p. 136) states that Wahnsinn, not enthusiasm, is the passing accident. The Guyer/Matthews (p. 157), Meredith (p. 128), and Bernard (p. 77) translations all preserve Kant’s ambiguity using either the “former” or the “first.” Pluhar’s rendering leads to the best interpretation (though it is probably not the best translation), since Kant’s contrast is clearly between a healthy and an unhealthy mind, and Wahnsinn is unhealthier than enthusiasm. Fenves reads voru¨bergehender Zufall as applying to affect; see A Peculiar Fate, p. 273. Fenves’ reading thus goes against Pluhar’s interpretation. On Zu¨gel, see MS 6:408; KpV 5:85. In the Anthropology, the son of a harness maker likewise contrasts the imagination’s being zu¨gellos and effrenis (i.e., unbridled) to its being regellos (perversa) (ApH 7:181). This is clearly a parallel to the zu¨gellos/regellos distinction at KU 5:275. It also reveals how much better it is to be zu¨gellos than regellos.

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roots as inspiration that results in poetic works (Dichtung), a connection that Kant explores in the Anthropology (ApH 7:181). It should be recalled (when we return to the issue in section 5.4) that this characterization supports the claim that aesthetic enthusiasm can be a form of sublimity, since in the sublime, too, the imagination is unreined, extended, and enlarged. Of course, the imagination remains under the rule of reason, which gives the imagination its very extension and enlargement. Kant rejects fanaticism insofar as it does not require us to improve our own moral character and to bring about the “good [that is] based on selfactivity” (R 6:83). Fanaticism is described as “alleged (merely passive) inner illuminations,” and the passivity of fanaticism is contrasted with the activity of self-improvement. Fanaticism is called the “disadvantageous” effect of an idea that is morally transcendent (R 6:52–3). In short, fanaticism is more deplorable than enthusiasm. Kant is critical of enthusiasm if it does not contribute to a moral disposition, but an acceptable type of enthusiasm is expressed in the Jewish law (Exodus 20:4) that prohibits fashioning graven images of the divine. Kant calls this prohibition of images sublime; the divine commandment elicits the feeling of sublimity. The sublimity elicited by the divine law has a bipolar, positive–negative structure. It is not simply made up of either a positive pole that merely attracts and uplifts or a negative pole that repels, but combines both aspects in sublime “awe” [Ehrfurcht]. This awe arouses respect for ourselves as moral beings: The majesty of the law (like the law on Sinai) instills awe [Ehrfurcht] (not dread [Scheu], which repels; and also not fascination [Reiz], which invites familiarity); and this awe rouses the respect [Achtung] of the subject toward his master, except that in this case, since the master lies in us, it rouses a feeling of the sublimity of our own vocation [Bestimmung] that enraptures [hinreißt] us more than any beauty. (R 6:23n.)

A similar passage is found in the Critique of the Power of Judgment: Perhaps there is no more sublime passage in the Jewish Book of the Law than the commandment: Thou shalt not make unto thyself any graven image, nor any likeness either of that which is in heaven or on the earth, or yet under the earth, etc. This commandment alone can explain the enthusiasm [Enthusiasm] that the Jewish people felt in its civilized period for its religion when it compared itself with other people. (KU 5:274)6

6

In a fragment based on The Conflict of the Faculties, Kant writes: “I read the Bible with pleasure and admire the enthusiasm [bewundere den Enthusiasm] in its New Testament teaching” (23:451).


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This passage reveals why enthusiasm can be sublime. Just as the imagination is enlarged or expanded in both the dynamical and mathematical sublime (though for different reasons), it feels unbounded in enthusiasm. In mathematical sublimity, this expansion is caused by reason’s demand for the infinite, which the imagination, however much it is extended, cannot reach or comprehend in an instant (Augenblick). In the dynamical sublime, the extension is caused by the fact that the imagination presents various cases in which it feels threatened by a superior force or power, a representational process that reveals a rational capacity to transcend sensible impulses. Sensible images and representations (e.g., used by religions) offer a representation with which the imagination is satisfied. The imagination therefore does not feel a need to transcend the sensible. The sublime commandment not to make images (of the supersensible) is sublime precisely because it encourages the imagination to rise above the sensible realm and to try to represent the unrepresentable idea of reason (e.g., God) through its own image, since no image exists. The commandment encourages enthusiasm as the (seeming) unboundedness of the imagination because it forbids images that would satisfy the imagination and keep it from taking flight in enthusiasm.7 In such religious enthusiasm, the imagination enlarges and feels its freedom because of its purposive relation to ideas of reason. 5.1.2 The Conflict of the Faculties I would like to give an overview of enthusiasm for the idea of a republic as Kant characterizes it in The Conflict of the Faculties. We will return to some features of this enthusiasm in the next chapter when we discuss Kant’s views of the French Revolution. In this section, I will simply assume that enthusiasm counts as an aesthetic feeling of the sublime. The arguments for this will be given in section 5.4, but I think those arguments are more easily understood if we have a basic idea of the main instance of enthusiasm to which they refer. In “An Old Question,” enthusiasm is described as a sublime mental movement that is disinterested and has universal validity. Although this passage is among the most frequently cited of those found in “An Old Question,” I do not think that the literature has fully understood its 7

Christian theology, according to such an account, inverts the sublimity of the divine prohibition. The appearance of Christ de-sublimates the sublime prohibition against representation of the supersensible.

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implications. The passage has not yet been properly connected to the characterization of enthusiasm in the Analytic of the Sublime. It is simply the way of thinking [Denkungsart] of the spectators which reveals itself publicly in this play [Spiele] of great revolutions [Umwandlungen], and manifests such a universal yet disinterested participation [uneigennu¨tzige Teilnehmung] for the players on the one side against those on the other, even at the risk that this partiality could become very disadvantageous for them if discovered; thus, owing to its universality, this way of thinking demonstrates a character of the human race at large and all at once; owing to its disinterestedness, a moral character of humanity, at least in its predisposition, a character which not only permits people to hope for progress toward the better, but is already itself progress insofar as its capacity is sufficient for the present. (SF 7:85; Kant’s italics)

The onlookers’ enthusiasm functions not as an intuition that schematizes a concept, but as a phenomenal hint of a moral predisposition (Anlage) and thus of human freedom. The revolution of a gifted people which we have seen unfolding in our day may succeed or miscarry; it may be filled with misery and atrocities to the point that a right-thinking human being, were he boldly to hope to execute it successfully the second time, would never resolve to make the experiment at such cost – this revolution, I say, nonetheless finds in the hearts of all spectators (who are not engaged in this play themselves) a wishful participation [Teilnehmung] that borders closely on enthusiasm [die nahe an Enthusiasm grenzt], the very expression of which is fraught with danger; this participation, therefore, can have no other cause than a moral predisposition [Anlage] in the human race. (SF 7:85)

The enthusiasm described in The Conflict essay seems to meet the four moments of pure aesthetic judgment. Such enthusiasm is not to be expressed by just one or two spectators, but is required of “all” cultivated, informed, and disinterested spectators of the events. Everyone who views the events from an aesthetic perspective is required (though not expected) to agree. In other words, this judgment of enthusiasm lays claim to universal validity and, presumably, to necessary validity as well. That the response has universal validity and necessity means that other disinterested spectators who are cultivated and informed should, under the proper circumstances, feel enthusiasm too. This universal validity and necessity is grounded on the fact that the idea of the republic is a shared, normative idea of pure practical reason. Of course, the spectators, as disinterested observers, are not acting in light of that idea or attempting to give it objective reality.


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The participant adopts the perspective of a spectator or onlooker (Zuschauer). She does not attempt to bring about or actualize a morally good end (sense 4 of interest); to do so would nullify the aesthetic character of the enthusiasm.8 Actively contributing to the revolutionary events would not only be non-aesthetic, it would also be immoral in Kant’s view. The spectator observes the events, but does not engage in them, since assisting the revolution, for Kant, would be unjust (SF 7:86n.). The “uninvolved public looking on” the events “with exaltation” sympathizes, but “without the least intention of assisting” (SF 7:87) in the revolution. Although the expression of the onlookers’ enthusiasm is “fraught with danger” (SF 7:85), the (negative) satisfaction in the feeling is disinterested (sense 4). The spectators feel and express their enthusiasm without interest, and thus without actually being afraid, even though the situation or atmosphere is capable of arousing the fear of ostracism or persecution. Finally, as an aesthetic response to the good, enthusiasm clearly has to do with purposes. The idea of the republic, as an instance of the good, gives rise to a purposive response which nevertheless remains without a purpose since the spectator remains uninvolved, does not directly contribute to the revolution, and even has no intention of assisting. Since one might understandably think that the spectators’ feelings border on or approximate enthusiasm but do not actually become enthusiasm, it is worth showing why this view is not the best reading. Although Kant unquestionably writes that the wishful participation (Teilnehmung) of the spectators borders closely on (nahe grenzt) enthusiasm, it is worth noting that Kant characterizes this wishful participation as the “passionate participation in the good” (Teilnehmung am Guten mit Affect). This formula is nearly identical to his definition of enthusiasm in the third Critique: the idea of the good with affect. Moreover, it is evident from Kant’s discussion of enthusiasm throughout §6 of “An Old Question” that he thinks the spectators express enthusiasm. Even if this were not so, the claim that the spectators’ participation borders on enthusiasm is quite compatible with the assertion that they also feel, on separate grounds, aesthetic enthusiasm. However, it is not even necessary to insist on this compatibility, for there is 8

Similarly, Gumbrecht describes certain sports fans as enthusiastic, “being in communion with other enthusiastic fans,” yet also as disinterested, although of course they are engaged by (sense 5 of interest) the sporting event; Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht, In Praise of Athletic Beauty (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006), p. 206. However, Lyotard, in Lessons, p. 155, distinguishes enthusiasm from the “impetuousness” of sports crowds.

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ample textual evidence showing that the onlookers are actually feeling enthusiasm. Kant’s concluding remark, which he considers “important for anthropology” and implied by his “history,” explicitly mentions enthusiasm: “genuine enthusiasm always moves only toward what is ideal and indeed, to what is purely moral” (SF 7:86). In addition to this, Kant refers to enthusiasm in the footnote to this passage: “Of such an enthusiasm – for upholding justice for the human race we can say . . .” (SF 7:87n.). Furthermore, Kant’s use of the language of exaltation (Exaltation) and being extended or stretched (gespannt werden), and his description of the “zeal and grandeur of soul” (Eifer und der Seelengro¨ße) (SF 7:86–7), make the best sense when interpreted in terms of the aesthetic enthusiasm characterized in the third Critique. As I will later argue, it is plausible that the enthusiasm described in The Conflict exhibits the moments of pure aesthetic judgment as described in the Critique of the Power of Judgment because the spectators’ enthusiasm, in this case at least, seems to qualify as an aesthetic feeling of the sublime. For all of these reasons, the feeling of the spectators in The Conflict seems to be an instance of the enthusiasm described in the third Critique. 5.2 affect Enthusiasm is an affect. Although we discussed affects earlier, it would be helpful to reexamine Kant’s notion of an affect.9 An affect is a feeling, but, by virtue of its overpowering intensity, it is unlike most feelings. It consists in the surprising and unexpected increase in the degree and intensity of a sensation or feeling, whereby the mental ability to get a hold of things or to concentrate is overcome by the intensity of the feeling (ApH 7:252). Affects do not last for a long time but come and go quickly, like water breaking through a dam. They are healthy and good for the body, since the intense feeling is followed by moments of relaxation. Affects are not easily hidden or kept to oneself, but are generally expressed publicly and candidly, whether through words or body language. (One can imagine the spectators expressing their enthusiasm in this way.) Affects are beyond our control. An affect is tumultuous and unpremeditated (KU 5:272n.), not sustained over a long period of time like a 9

On affects, see Herman Parret, “Le timbre de l’affect et les tonalite´s affectives,” in Kants A¨sthetik, ed. Parret, pp. 545–56. Parret argues that Kant assigns much value to affect, which can be related either to our receptive faculty or, more significantly, to aesthetic feeling and the sensus communis.


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passion. In the presence of an affect, it is nearly impossible to deliberate or reflect on a course of action. Affects seem to descend upon us from beyond. Hence Kant thinks it is contradictory to say that in cold reflection one could actually choose whether or not to have a certain affect (ApH 7:253). Because affects are not willed, the person who feels an affect caused by an idea of reason cannot be a resolute, determined agent, but can at that moment only be a subject who is subjected to a momentary flash of intense feeling elicited by the idea. Affects relate or refer to the capacity for feeling, i.e., to sensibility, not to the faculty of desire.10 Since in order to set ends the faculty of desire must be determined, and because affects cannot determine the faculty of desire, affects cannot set ends. Thus, as an affect, enthusiasm does not concern the setting or fulfillment of ends. Moreover, even if a rational end were chosen, it would be difficult for a person who is experiencing such intensity of feeling to find the means to reach the end. Kant calls affects blind since they tend to inhibit the realization of one’s rational ends and they momentarily prevail over one’s ability to find means to ends. Because affects are blind in this sense, at the moment an affect is felt it fails to satisfy the rational interests of the subject who is subjected to it: Now, however, every affect is blind, either in the choice of its end, or even if this is given by reason, in its implementation; for it is that movement of the mind that makes it incapable of engaging in free consideration of principles, in order to determine itself in accordance with them. Thus it cannot in any way merit a satisfaction of reason. (KU 5:272)

Since, as an affect, enthusiasm temporarily inhibits a person’s ability to choose and act according to principles, it cannot directly satisfy the rational interests of the enthusiastic subject.11 Of course, this does not mean that an onlooker’s expression of enthusiasm cannot stimulate others to take a second-order, morally based interest in his or her enthusiasm.

10

11

Cf. Kant’s discussion of the affects at ApH 7:252–65 and MS 6:407–8. It might be puzzling why Kant discusses affect in On the Faculty of Desire in the Anthropology; however, he seems to discuss it there because he wishes to contrast it with passion, which is defined as an “inclination which can hardly, or not at all, be controlled by reason” (ApH 7:251) and obviously has to do with the faculty of desire. Kant defines affect as the “feeling of a pleasure or displeasure at a particular moment, which does not give rise to reflection (namely the process of reason whether one should submit to it or reject it)” (ApH 7:251). Affect is thus best seen as aesthetic, having to do with the sensible faculties of the subject. Kant also refers to enthusiasm as a manner of thinking (Denkungsart) (SF 7:85), a characterization that seems to support my conceiving of enthusiasm as a form of sublimity since Kant holds that the sublime “should properly be ascribed only to the manner of thinking” (KU 5:280).

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The Kantian Sublime and the Revelation of Freedom 5.3 enthusiasm as morally ambiguous

After this overview of enthusiasm, it can now be shown that enthusiasm is neither wholly deplorable nor entirely praiseworthy, but morally ambiguous. Since Kant characterizes enthusiasm as aesthetically sublime, it would be odd for him to view enthusiasm as completely worthy of moral censure. Likewise, because it is a response to a morally good idea, it is difficult to imagine how responding to such an idea could be wholly unacceptable. On the other hand, it would also be hard to believe that enthusiasm is entirely desirable, since the mind is unable to be guided by reason, even if the feeling is a rational response to the morally good: “in the case of an affect the freedom of the mind is certainly hampered” (KU 5:272n.). This leaves, then, the third option: enthusiasm is morally ambiguous. It is helpful to recall that there is precedent for characterizing the sublime as morally ambiguous insofar as the feeling overwhelms the deliberative, rational capacities of the mind. Burke, for example, describes how in sublimity the mind is “so entirely filled with its object, that it cannot entertain any other, nor by consequence reason on that object which employs it.” The sublime, Burke says, “hurries us on by an irresistible force.”12 As we have seen, Kant likewise characterizes the sublime as an intense sensory response that, even if it reveals freedom, has some of the characteristics of an affect. Accordingly, the fact that enthusiasm is ambiguous is not so shocking if we keep in mind that the sublime, qua intense sensory response, does not directly prepare the mind for action either, and certainly not the way moral apathy does. I am not suggesting, however, that the sublime is morally ambiguous in the same respects that enthusiasm is, but only claiming that some of the traits exhibited by enthusiasm may actually have been inherited from the sublime. In his early account, as we have seen, Kant characterizes enthusiasm as morally ambiguous. Kant’s conception of enthusiasm in the mid 1760s connects enthusiasm with the good or the moral, but condemns it for adopting principles that are good in themselves to an excessive degree. In the third Critique (KU 5:272), enthusiasm is still a response to the good (though one that affects sensibility, not desire), and it is still an ambiguous phenomenon. As similar to, though not necessarily an instance of, a delusion of sense (Wahnsinn), and as an intense affect in 12

Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry, ed. J. T. Boulton (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul and Columbia University Press, 1958), p. 53. Kirwan cites this passage in The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 119.


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which reason loses its grip, the feeling of enthusiasm as such does not have any moral worth. Enthusiasm may even be used improperly (ApH 7:251). Moreover, to be subject to affects habitually is surely undesirable, since affects momentarily “exclude the sovereignty of reason” (ApH 7:251). Nonetheless, since the feeling of enthusiasm, like sublimity in general, is grounded on human freedom, it would be a mistake to overlook the fact that enthusiasm can be connected to morality. In particular, as a response to the idea of the morally good, it can reveal human freedom and the capacity for morality. But it is still not wholly desirable. After discussing (what I call) the moral sublime, specifically, the feeling of a “spectator” who views an “admired action” based on “respect for the law” (KpV 5:156–7), Kant characterizes enthusiasm as morally ambiguous: In our times, when one hopes to have more influence on the mind through melting, tender feelings or high-flown, puffed-up pretensions, which make the heart languid instead of strengthening it, than by a dry and earnest representation [Vorstellung] of duty, which is more suited to human imperfection and to progress in goodness, it is more necessary than ever to direct attention to this method. It is altogether contrapurposive to set before children, as a model, actions as noble, magnanimous, meritorious, thinking that one can captivate them by inspiring an enthusiasm [durch Einflo¨ßung eines Enthusiasmus] for such actions. For, since they are still so backward in observance of the commonest duty and even in the correct judging [Beurtheilung] of it, this is tantamount to soon making them fantasizers [Phantasten]. But even with the instructed and experienced part of humankind this supposed incentive has, where it is not [wo nicht] a prejudicial effect on the heart, at least no genuine moral one, though this is what one wanted to bring about by means of it. (KpV 5:157)

Even if Kant holds that some instances of enthusiasm can have a prejudicial effect on us, however, this ambivalent characterization is not a problem for my view that enthusiasm can support morality. The feeling of enthusiasm, which has no genuine moral worth, has a harmful effect if it is mistakenly taken to possess genuine moral worth. The reason that enthusiasm has no genuine moral worth is that feelings as such can never have genuine moral worth in the full Kantian sense. The moral law, as well as intentions and actions carried out in accordance with the moral law and from duty, have genuine moral worth, but feelings do not. Thus, the passage does not actually claim that enthusiasm cannot be used for moral ends. Indeed, it would be odd for Kant to have this view, since he holds that enthusiasm is sublime from an aesthetic point of view. If the proposed interpretation is correct, enthusiasm can play an indirect moral

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role. For example, enthusiasm can function as a morally encouraging yet phenomenal sign to observers; if it is a feeling of the sublime, it can reveal human freedom and disclose the superiority of a rational faculty over sensibility. Of course, claiming that enthusiasm can play an indirect moral role does not entail that enthusiasm has genuine moral worth. Nor does it even guarantee that enthusiasm will have a genuine moral effect; to the contrary, Kant points out that sometimes enthusiasm lacks a genuine moral effect. Moreover, the enthusiasm that can play an indirect moral role is a special and perhaps rare kind of enthusiasm. As the aesthetic response to a morally good idea, or the idea of the good with affect, the morally based aesthetic enthusiasm correctly identifies what is good or right. The quoted passage actually involves three distinct cases: a child who is not able to judge and identify even the commonest duty and therefore cannot discharge such duties; an experienced and morally cultivated adult on whom the enthusiasm has a prejudicial effect; and an experienced and morally cultivated adult on whom the enthusiasm has a harmless effect that, while harmless, still lacks moral worth. Genuine morally based enthusiasm is not evoked in the first case, since the child does not identify the morally good idea and does not judge what is morally salient in the example that he observes or hears. In the second case, the feeling is mistakenly taken to be a moral incentive; this experienced agent is confused about what the moral incentive is. In this case he mistakes his ecstatic enthusiasm for the moral feeling of respect. In the third case, presumably such a conflation is avoided, and the enthusiasm is therefore harmless. But it still lacks moral worth, since it remains a feeling and only the moral law for Kant can have a genuinely moral effect. In conclusion, nothing in the passage suggests that a particular kind of enthusiasm cannot be used for moral ends. Kant condemns a detrimental use of enthusiasm. He warns against substituting genuine moral resolve, which is based on respect for the moral law, with the feeling produced by merely observing the meritorious or noble acts of others and viewing them as so supererogatory as to be beyond the reach of ordinary individuals. Kant’s point is that moral pupils should acknowledge the conceptual and principled basis of duty, and that they should not simply indulge in warm feelings elicited by observing other agents or delight in tender feelings without actually being prepared to act, and eventually acting, in morally desirable ways. As long as the aforementioned harmful or disadvantageous effects are avoided, enthusiasm is in a position to assist the moral development of those who feel it as well as the moral


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development of those who observe other human beings feeling enthusiasm in response to the right thing, even if there is of course no guarantee that enthusiasm will assist in this way.13 James Kirwan, who discusses enthusiasm in relation to sublimity, recognizes that Kantian enthusiasm is complicated.14 However, my account differs from his in several ways. He characterizes enthusiasm as an instance of the false sublime, as opposed to the genuinely or justifiably sublime.15 Kirwan suggests that for the Critical Kant the difference between the true and the false lies in the phenomenology of the experience. Enthusiasm, he argues, is a form of false sublimity because the dominion over the sensuous is exercised by affect, itself a form of sensuousness. While I agree that there is a false/genuine distinction with respect to Kant’s Critical account of enthusiasm, I do not think that the phenomenology helps us draw the line between them. Moreover, I take Kant’s claim that enthusiasm is the idea of the good with affect to mean that reason, not affect, overcomes the sensuous, and that reason, through a supersensible idea, produces the affect. Kirwan, by contrast, holds that affect dominates sensuousness. Even though Kirwan cites Kant’s definition of enthusiasm (the idea of the good with affect) and thus acknowledges enthusiasm’s rational side, Kirwan interprets enthusiasm as a case in which sensibility is overcome not by reason but by another greater sensuous interest, namely, the intense feeling or affect.16 This claim is puzzling, since affect is a type of sensuousness and belongs to sensibility, according to Kant’s account. Moreover, Kirwan’s own reading of beauty – if it feels like beauty, it is beauty – would seem to suggest: “If it feels like enthusiasm, it is enthusiasm.” It is thus ironic that Kirwan attempts to appeal to enthusiasm’s phenomenology in order to distinguish true from false instances. A better way to draw the line is provided by Kant himself: if the enthusiasm is used for immoral ends, it can only be a false form. 13

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15

16

Cf. Bernard Freydberg, Imagination in Kant’ s “ Critique of Practical Reason” (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2005), pp. 120–3. Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 91. For the view that enthusiasm is ambiguous, as well as a form of the sublime, see also Shell, The Embodiment of Reason, p. 217. Shell correctly distinguishes between enthusiasm (Enthusiasmus) and fanaticism (Schwa¨rmerei). As mentioned, Lyotard, in L’ Enthousiasme, and Fenves, in A Peculiar Fate, connect enthusiasm to sublimity. Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 92. In the Remarks and in the Observations, Kant also employs a true/false sublime distinction (Obs 2:218; 62). Mere display is the false form of the splendid, the grotesque the false form of the terrifying, and honor the false form of the noble. The difference between the true and the false forms, according to these accounts, lies in the features of objects (not the subject’s feelings). Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 90.

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Fortunately, Kirwan at one point recognizes this way of drawing the false/genuine distinction. Enthusiasm may feel sublime to the subject, Kirwan claims, but in fact it may sometimes be incompatible with morality.17 A feeling that resembles enthusiasm can be put to immoral or unjust uses; but this feeling seems to be better characterized as a type of undesirable frenzy or fervor. There seems to be no response to the good in such cases, which is a necessary element of Kantian enthusiasm. Moreover, such enthusiasm seems to be practical, not aesthetic: the feeling of enthusiasm acts as a motive or incentive to actions. If the subject believes that she is responding to an idea of the good, but is misled and uses it in an immoral or unjust manner, then she did not feel genuine enthusiasm. At least, so Kant’s account implies. True enthusiasm, for Kant, must actually accord with the morally right (SF 7:86), and not just be thought to so accord. Another, perhaps less significant, problem with Kirwan’s account concerns an imprecise use of the concept of affect. Kirwan cites “affect, passion, sentimentality, or enthusiasm” as forms of the false sublime. The problem with this is that Kant holds that enthusiasm is an affect, not a distinct form along side it.18 Perhaps inconsistently, Kirwan elsewhere characterizes enthusiasm as a form of desire, not sensibility: “The most outrageous illusions of enthusiasm, too, will appear to raise the forces of the soul above the height of vulgar commonplace, will allow us to soar over the abyss of our quotidian finitude – on wings not of reason, however, but of desire.”19 While passions belong to the faculty of desire (KU 5:272n.), affects belong to sensibility. Accordingly, while I agree with Kirwan that Kant distinguishes between false and true sublimity, I do not follow the way he understands this distinction. Before concluding this section, I would like to make one final point about how many forms of aesthetic enthusiasm there are. While I have distinguished practical from aesthetic enthusiasm and have also argued that aesthetic enthusiasm contains both positive and negative features, I would not say that this bipolarity splits aesthetic enthusiasm into two forms, one positive and the other negative. I thus disagree with a reading offered by Peter Fenves.20 It is better to say that aesthetic enthusiasm is a single phenomenon that is intrinsically ambiguous rather than to claim 17 20

Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 92. 18 Ibid. 19 Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 96. Fenves claims that in Maladies of the Mind (2:267) Kant distinguishes two forms of enthusiasm, “only one of which can be said to have legitimate (philosophical, moral) ground”; see A Peculiar Fate, p. 243. But the second form of enthusiasm Fenves has in mind (and that Kant mentions at 2:267) is Schwa¨rmerei. In my view, Schwa¨rmerei is not a form of enthusiasm.


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that there are two forms of aesthetic enthusiasm. The former characterization is more faithful not only to Kant’s descriptions, as we have seen, but also to the history of the concept. Indeed, Platonic enthusiasm seems to contain both positive and negative aspects: the revelation of truth, a gift from the gods or muse, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, the loss of reason or the inability to articulate the truth philosophically or with precise speech. Or so Socrates characterizes the poets. Just as we would not say that there are two forms of Platonic enthusiasm, so should we not say that there are two kinds of Kantian aesthetic enthusiasm. In short, aesthetic enthusiasm is deeply ambivalent.21 Although it is grounded on, and a response to, the idea of morally good, as an affect it involves a momentary inhibition of the rule of reason. Like the sublime, aesthetic enthusiasm reveals freedom. However, like any feeling (including, presumably, sublimity and beauty) qua feeling it does not have any moral worth. Finally, enthusiasm can be used improperly, although Kant would no longer call this true or genuine enthusiasm. Moreover, such a feeling would determine the faculty of desire rather than sensibility. 5.4 enthusiasm as an aesthetic feeling of sublimity Enthusiasm can be conceived as an aesthetic feeling. Enthusiasm is an affect, or an intense feeling that blinds and overwhelms reason (KU 5:272). Enthusiasm is a feeling that belongs to and can be predicated of the subject’s state. Hence enthusiasm is aesthetic, since any feeling that belongs to and can be predicated of the subject’s state is aesthetic. Note that calling enthusiasm an aesthetic response does not entail that it is disinterested,22 universally valid, or, in short, a pure aesthetic response 21

22

Several passages collectively reflect enthusiasm’s ambiguity. The positive side is evident in the following: Obs 2:253, on the North American Indian; 23:451, a fragment based on The Conflict of the Faculties; and ApH 7:269, where the concept of freedom under moral laws elicits an affect called enthusiasm. The negative side is revealed in the following: ApH 7:314, where enthusiasm is connected with freedom; ApH 7:202; MS 6:409; KpV 5:15; and KU 5:273, where enthusiasm is distinguished from Phantasie. This is not an exhaustive list, and I leave undetermined which of these instances of enthusiasm are practical and which are aesthetic and affective. At ApH 7:254 Kant describes a kind of enthusiasm that, since it is not an affect and it determines the faculty of desire, counts as practical. Fenves suggests that the enthusiastic spectators are calm: “Exaltation is thus utter sobriety and complete calmness after the law”; see A Peculiar Fate, p. 267. This characterization is hard to reconcile with Kant’s description of enthusiasm as the idea of the good with affect. Moreover, Fenves does not note that the spectators are rooting for one side in the struggle (that of the revolutionaries) against the other side. Thus, his claim seems false: “It does not matter how it turns out” (p. 267). The spectators are disinterested in the first-order sense of not directly contributing or taking action, but not in the sense of impartiality. Moreover, there is certainly something at

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characterized by the four moments. The pleasure felt in the agreeable, for example, is an aesthetic feeling, but it is not characterized by the four moments since it is not disinterested. The main task of this section is to show that enthusiasm, when it is an aesthetic feeling, counts as a feeling of the sublime, rather than as some other kind of aesthetic feeling (of the beautiful, the agreeable, or the good). Note that in this section I am arguing that enthusiasm belongs in subset 2 of the sublime of mental states. In other words, I wish to show how enthusiasm can be an aesthetic feeling of the sublime, and not simply elicit aesthetic experience in spectators or observers (as do the mental states in subset 1). One might wonder how an affect could ever be part of an experience of the sublime. But it is useful to recall here that the feeling of the sublime is itself powerful and overwhelming. The fact that one’s ordinary reasoning abilities are temporarily overwhelmed in the experience of an affect should not prevent us from conceiving of certain affects as experiences of the sublime. The sublime involves a movement of the mind, an intense feeling that shares the features of an affect. Thus, Makkreel suggestively claims that the sublime is, or includes, an affect.23 The feeling of the sublime is produced by “the feeling of a momentary inhibition of the vital powers and the immediately following and all the more powerful outpouring of them” (KU 5:245). It is helpful to examine the affective nature of the judgment of the sublime in order to see how enthusiasm can be an experience of the sublime.24 Although it is rarely noted in the literature, the Kantian sublime involves a feeling of astonishment.25 The forceful, striking movement of

23

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stake for the interests of reason (in the second-order sense). I hope that my account of the various senses of interest (section 4.1) helps us understand such issues. Makkreel states in “On Sublimity, Genius and the Explication of Aesthetic Ideas,” that the sublime “is an affect” (p. 615) and “seems to cover affects” (p. 620). Note that not all affects are sublime, according to Kant, since sublime affects must have a moral grounding or basis, but not all affects do (e.g., road rage). Kant’s association of the sublime with astonishment is not unique. See Edmund Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (part i i , §1), in The Sublime: A Reader in British Eighteenth-Century Aesthetic Theory, ed. Andrew Ashfield and Peter de Bolla (Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 131–44, p. 132. Burke claims that the sublime in nature causes astonishment, which is “that state of the soul, in which all its motions are suspended, with some degree of horror . . . the mind is so entirely filled with its object, that it cannot entertain any other, nor by consequence reason on that object which employs it . . . Astonishment . . . is the effect of the sublime in its highest degree; the inferior effects are admiration, reverence, and respect.” Jane Forsey cites this passage in discussing the cognitive failure in the experience of the Kantian sublime; Jane Forsey, “Is a Theory of the Sublime Possible?” Journal of Aesthetics and Art


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the mind (Bewegung des Gemu¨ths) in which the sublime consists is characterized as astonishment (Verwunderung). In the “General remark,” Kant writes: The astonishment bordering on terror, the horror and the awesome shudder, which grip the spectator in viewing mountain ranges towering to the heavens, deep ravines and the raging torrents in them, deeply shadowed wastelands inducing melancholy reflection, etc., is, in view of the safety in which he knows himself to be, not actual fear, but only an attempt to involve ourselves in it by means of the imagination, in order to feel the power of that very faculty, to combine the movement of the mind thereby aroused [erregte Bewegung des Gemu¨ths] with its calmness. (KU 5:269)26

Astonishment is “an affect in the representation of novelty that exceeds expectation” (KU 5:272). Astonishment, an affect, is a “mental shock at the incompatibility of a representation and the rule that is given through it with the principles already grounded in the mind, which thus produces a doubt as to whether one has seen or judged correctly” (KU 5:365). Since sublimity consists in astonishment and astonishment is a kind of affect, sublimity consists in a kind of affect. While defining the sublime in the Anthropology, too, Kant claims that the sublime arouses astonishment, which is described as a pleasant feeling through the continual overcoming of pain (ApH 7:243). The satisfaction in astonishment, in other words, is a negative pleasure, which is precisely how Kant characterizes the satisfaction in the sublime at the beginning of the Analytic of the Sublime (KU 5:245). Similarly, in the Anthropology Kant characterizes astonishment – confusion or embarrassment (Verlegenheit) at being confronted by the unexpected – as an affect (ApH 7:261). Astonishment is said to be an excitation of feeling (Erregung des Gefu¨hls) that contains a negative pleasure (ApH 7:261). Affect, embarrassment, failure, arousal, negative pleasure – the features associated with astonishment in the Anthropology accord with the characterization of astonishment in the third Critique. The feeling before St. Peter’s Basilica, for

26

Criticism, 65(4) (2007): 381–89, pp. 381–82. Kant’s notion that in the mathematical sublime the time-condition is suspended is reminiscent of Burke’s notion that the soul’s motions are suspended in astonishment. Like Burke, Kant associates admiration and astonishment (KU 5:272). The aesthetic judge here is a spectator, not an agent. Although not actually afraid, he responds to an object that is capable of inducing fear. It is noteworthy that such a characterization of the object that elicits the sublime occurs in the “General remark” and thus presumably applies to mathematical sublimity as well as dynamical sublimity (in which the powerful object is more clearly fear-inducing).

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instance, is described as that of bewilderment (Bestu¨rzung) or a kind of embarrassment (Verlegenheit) (KU 5:252). Kant characterizes the sublime as admiration (Bewunderung) as well. In §23, he claims that “the satisfaction in the sublime does not so much contain positive pleasure as it does admiration or respect” (KU 5:245). Moreover, Kant later asks, “For what is it that is an object of the greatest admiration even to the savage?” (KU 5:262). For Kant, Bewunderung is a type of Verwunderung: admiration is a kind of astonishment, though perhaps more prolonged and calmer. Admiration is “an astonishment that does not cease when the novelty is lost” (KU 5:272); it is an “astonishment that continually recurs despite the disappearance” of the doubt as to whether one has estimated correctly (KU 5:365). According to the Ja¨sche Logic, when an event unexpectedly goes against one’s expectations, which are ordered by general rules, one is initially astonished or wonders about it (verwundert man), and this astonishment (Verwunderung) often turns into admiration (Bewunderung) ( JL 9:80). Precisely because admiration is a type of astonishment, admiration remains a kind of mental shock, even when the initial doubt about one’s judgment or perception subsides. In short, whether as astonishment (KU 5:269) or admiration (KU 5:245, 262), the sublime involves a mental shock. The sublime involves a kind of affect. Indeed, one could say that it is due to its affective nature that the sublime consists in a mental shock and intense mental movement. Let us connect this result with enthusiasm. The intense feeling involved in affect is not only compatible with the sublime, it even seems to be intrinsic to the sublime. Enthusiasm has this affective nature, and it can be conceived of as a feeling of the sublime, since the sublime in general shares this affective nature. The fact that affects are intense feelings does not mean that an affect cannot be part of a pure aesthetic experience that is disinterested and universally valid. Now let us see how enthusiasm counts as an aesthetic feeling of the sublime. Note that Kant’s texts give us good reason to view enthusiasm as a form of the sublime. It is not only in the third Critique that Kant apparently considers enthusiasm an experience of the sublime (KU 5:272). In “An Old Question,” Kant describes enthusiasm as the “zeal and grandeur of soul” that the pure concept of right produces (SF 7:86). Using the language of uplift and exaltation – the language of the sublime – Kant apparently views the feeling as a type of sublimity. But why is the feeling of enthusiasm one of sublimity, and not some other kind of aesthetic feeling? For Kant, there are four ways in which the


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aesthetic power of judgment can be employed by human beings: “In relation to the feeling of pleasure an object is to be counted among either the agreeable or the beautiful or the sublime or the (absolutely) good (iucundum, pulchrum, sublime, honestum)” (KU 5:266; cf. 207–8). Let us look at each of these in turn. Clearly, a judgment of enthusiasm does not count as a feeling of the agreeable, since enthusiasm is defined as the idea of the good with affect, whereas the agreeable is the pleasurable response to sensory charms or the result of the satisfaction of bodily needs. Enthusiasm surely contains pleasure, but the source of the pleasure is different from that of the agreeable. Aesthetic enthusiasm is not an instance of the agreeable because the spectators in The Conflict are expressing enthusiasm not only without interest but even against their interests, since they might be persecuted by oppressive governments or even fellow subjects thereof who strongly disagree with them. Enthusiasm does not qualify as a judgment of the beautiful, since the mental play is between imagination and reason, or the faculty of ideas, and not between imagination and the understanding. This leaves the sublime and the good as the remaining candidates. Indeed, the more difficult undertaking is to show why enthusiasm does not qualify as a moral feeling, in which the idea of the good functions as the source of the feeling. Indeed, Kant’s claim that “genuine enthusiasm [wahrer Enthusiasm] always moves only toward what is ideal and, indeed, to what is purely moral, such as the concept of right, and it cannot be grafted onto self-interest” (SF 7:86) might be taken as suggesting that enthusiasm is a moral feeling. Nevertheless, Kant’s point in this passage, it seems to me, is to put a moral constraint on enthusiasm, not to claim that the enthusiasm is a moral feeling. Enthusiasm is not a moral feeling or judgment because, unlike the latter, enthusiasm does not directly produce an interest. The enthusiastic onlooker remains uninvolved and does not directly advance the goals of the revolutionaries. He or she does not attempt to achieve a moral or prudential end. In short, the various senses of disinterestedness explored in section 4.1.1 prove to be useful here. That enthusiasm is not a moral feeling can be revealed by reflecting on the senses of “disinterestedness,” which, as we have seen, include the following: 1. not taking pleasure in the object’s existence 2. not having a rational or sensory desire 3. not directly promoting one’s preservation, welfare, or happiness

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4. not attempting to achieve a moral or prudential end 5. not being partial (KU 5:223). Kant’s characterization of enthusiasm as disinterested (uneigennu¨tzig) should not be understood in the first sense, since the spectators seem to be experiencing pleasure at the existence of something, namely, the attempt to establish a republic. The spectator is not disinterested in the second sense, either, since clearly she does possess a rational desire to see the realization of the good. If she recognizes an idea or its appearance in reality as good, she desires it (at least at some level, even if indirectly or in a second-order sense). The third sense of disinterestedness indeed applies to the spectator in this case, since she is not only “non-opportunistic”27 but is even endangered by her enthusiasm. Because the enthusiasm actually runs contrary to the personal interests of the onlooker, her welfare is not promoted by expressing the enthusiasm publicly. Similarly, the spectators are also disinterested in the fourth sense, since they do not contribute to the revolutionaries’ success or attempt to realize the ends of the revolutionaries. Finally, the fifth sense of disinterestedness does not obtain. The onlookers are rooting for one side (the revolutionaries) against another side (the ancien re´gime) and therefore are not impartial to the outcome of the events. In short, only the third and fourth senses of disinterestedness obtain in the case of the enthusiasm in “An Old Question.” In order to confirm that this enthusiasm is not a moral feeling, we can note that different senses of disinterestedness hold of enthusiasm and moral feeling. They differ with regard to the fourth and fifth senses of disinterestedness. Moral feeling is disinterested in the third sense. For the moral judge is obeying a categorical, not hypothetical, imperative and hence is not directly promoting his welfare, even though some good to him or others might indirectly result from it. Unlike aesthetic enthusiasm, moral feeling is also disinterested in the fifth sense, since deliberation and action according to the categorical imperative require one to adopt an impartial perspective. But moral feeling is not disinterested in the first sense, since one is pleased at the existence of a moral action (KU 5:207–8); nor in the second sense, since one satisfies a determination of the faculty of desire (MS 6:212); nor (unlike aesthetic enthusiasm) in the fourth sense, since 27

Kneller, Kant and the Power of Imagination, p. 108; Fenves, in Late Kant, p. 45, likewise rightly characterizes the spectator’s feeling as contrary to “self-interest” (sense 3).


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Table 1 Aesthetic enthusiasm and the moral feeling: which senses of disinterestedness obtain Senses of disinterestedness


Moral feeling

1 Not taking pleasure in existence 2 Not having desire 3 Not promoting welfare 4 Not attempting to achieve an end 5 Not being partial

Interested Interested Disinterested Disinterested Interested

Interested Interested Disinterested Interested Disinterested

the agent is taking action to realize a (rational, moral) end. These results are shown in Table 1, which contrasts the two feelings in terms of the senses of disinterestedness. Moreover, whereas enthusiasm is “not to be wholly esteemed” (SF 7:86), moral feeling is not ambiguous but merits the full satisfaction of reason. Insofar as it is an affect, enthusiasm is not wholly pleasing to reason. Enthusiasm is ambiguous because, although it is a response to a morally good idea, as an affect it is blind in the selection or achievement of ends, and as a movement of the mind it is unable to engage in a free deliberation about principles (KU 5:272). By contrast, since the moral feeling accords with the moral law, the moral feeling is wholly pleasing to pure practical reason. Moreover, in moral feeling, an agent attempts to achieve morally desirable ends, and thus selects and attempts to implement ends of a certain sort. But in the case of aesthetic enthusiasm, the person feeling enthusiasm does not select means to achieve ends at all, including even moral ones, much less implement them. For all of these reasons, enthusiasm is not the moral feeling. One might think that enthusiasm qualifies as yet another kind of judgment that has not yet been mentioned, namely, historical judgment.28 Although this suggestion has some plausibility since Kant adopts a broad historical perspective in “An Old Question” and he may, by implication, wish to attribute such a perspective to the way of thinking of the spectators, I do not think the enthusiasm described in the essay counts as a historical judgment. First, the prima facie evidence is in favor of seeing the enthusiasm as a feeling of the sublime because Kant simply never characterizes enthusiasm as a historical judgment, whereas he does 28

I would like to thank Sharon Anderson-Gold for suggesting this to me in conversation.

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at least describe enthusiasm as aesthetically sublime in the third Critique and he uses the language of sublimity to describe enthusiasm in The Conflict. Second, Kant does not offer us as rich a theory of historical judgment as he does for the aesthetic judgment of sublimity. Third, it seems that a Kantian historical judgment (if we were to develop such an account) would be cognitive, not aesthetic. But enthusiasm is clearly an aesthetic feeling. It might be plausible to consider historical judgment to be a kind of moral judgment.29 Even if this were correct, it still would not allow us to claim that enthusiasm is a historical judgment, since enthusiasm is not a kind of moral judgment or feeling, as we have seen. Let us return to the third Critique to address a potential objection. James Kirwan, as noted, denies that enthusiasm is an instance of the genuine sublime.30 Commentators like Kirwan read Kant’s claim that enthusiasm “seems [scheint] to be sublime” (KU 5:272) in terms of the “seems” of dissemblance or illusion rather than of predication. However, it is not necessary to interpret Kant in this way. Indeed, in the very same passage Kant uses “seems” in the sense of the “is” of predication: “But (what seems [scheint] strange) even affectlessness (apatheia, phlegma in significactu bono) [apathy, being phlegmatic in a positive sense] in a mind that emphatically pursues its own unalterable principles is sublime, and indeed in a far superior way” (KU 5:272). It is the sublimity of affectlessness that “seems strange,” not the sublimity of enthusiasm. Moreover, Kant’s claim that even affectlessness is sublime makes sense only if enthusiasm, too, is sublime. Affectlessness can be said to be sublime in a far superior (vorzu¨glichere) way only if enthusiasm is sublime. If this were not the case, there would be nothing with which to compare the sublimity of affectlessness.31 For these reasons, enthusiasm as Kant conceives it in this passage is best characterized as sublime. 29

30 31

In the “Idea for Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Intent” (1784) Kant distinguishes empirical history from the morally based reflection, which Kant takes himself to have carried out in the essay. Kantian moral history makes use of an “a priori guiding thread” (IAG 8:30), namely the concept of freedom, and looks for “steady progress and slow development of [the human species’] original capacities” (IAG 8:17). See Perpetual Peace and Other Essays, trans. Ted Humphrey (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1983), p. 39 and p. 29, respectively. See Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 92. Kant’s claim that apathy is to be preferred to enthusiasm should not surprise us, since enthusiasm is ambiguous and not completely desirable. Pure practical reason prefers apathy because the latter is not an aesthetic feeling of the sublime, but a readiness to exercise practical freedom. In short, Kant’s comparative praise of apathy supports reading enthusiasm as an aesthetic feeling of the sublime. Kant would probably say that apathy is to be preferred to an aesthetic feeling of beauty, too, and for similar reasons – apathy elicits the satisfaction of pure practical reason. As readiness for the pursuit of “its own inalterable principles” (KU 5:272), apathy has a closer connection than


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If the foregoing analysis is correct and enthusiasm can be an aesthetic feeling of the sublime, what features does it have? As aesthetic, there is a (negative) pleasure felt in response to a certain stimulus. The stimulus can be either an object or event that is based on an idea of reason, or the idea itself. In other words, the imagination responds to some morally good idea (e.g., the idea of a republic) or to some event or object associated with a morally good idea. The experience of aesthetic enthusiasm involves a stretching of the powers of the mind through ideas. The morally good idea, object, or event functions in a manner similar to how an idea, object, or event operates in the mathematical and the dynamical sublime. Consider the following passage, where an object of nature acts as the stimulus to the experience of the sublime: “This idea of the supersensible . . . is awakened in us by means of an object the aesthetic judging of which stretches imagination to its limit, whether that of enlargement (mathematically) or of its power over the mind (dynamically)” (KU 5:268). Just as the imagination gains an extension in the dynamical and mathematical sublime, in the experience of enthusiasm the imagination is unreined (KU 5:275) and the mental powers are stretched by reflection on the ideas (KU 5:272). Before we turn to whether enthusiasm is a dependent or free aesthetic experience, it is worth making two final points. First, since an idea, object, or event that is considered morally good acts as the stimulus of the experience, it is unlikely that a natural object as such or by itself could perform this role. For, as is well known, Kant does not attribute moral goodness to natural objects. Second, it should be emphasized that an experience can be properly called enthusiasm only if it satisfies a morality constraint: it cannot be felt in response to something that is considered immoral or unjust (e.g., revolt, revolution, terrorism). To determine whether something passes this constraint, of course, Kant holds that we should apply the categorical imperative test (section 6.1). 5.4.1 Enthusiasm as dependent sublimity The next issue to be dealt with is whether enthusiasm, if it resulted in an aesthetic judgment, would be dependent or free. In my view, the aesthetic enthusiasm in The Conflict of the Faculties would be a dependent beauty to the exercise of practical freedom. Thus Kant writes with regard to judgments of taste, “Practical philosophy, accordingly, speaks of contemplative pleasure only in passing, not as if the concept belonged within it” (MS 6:212).

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judgment, since it would appeal to a concept of the good purposes of the thing or event that elicits the enthusiasm. As we have seen (section 2.4), an aesthetic judgment is dependent if it involves not only mere reflection on the representation of an object, but also the concept of the internal or external perfection or even moral goodness associated with or attributed to the object. A dependent aesthetic judgment presupposes the “perfection of the object” in accordance with the concept of what the object ought to be (KU 5:229). In the establishment of the French Republic, for example, the event or object is an attempt to realize the idea of a republican form of government. The event stands under the concept of a particular end, the securing of rights established by a just government. The presumed purpose of the French republican constitution is to defend and protect the rights of the citizens and to prevent the political freedom of a citizen from being limited unjustly by another citizen or by the state. The republic is clearly not a natural object, much less an instance of pristine or unwrought nature. The opening sentence of On the Relation of the Faculties in The Conflict of the Faculties, indeed, refers to the form of government as an example of an “artificial institution” that is “based on an idea of reason” (SF 7:21). The republic is a construction of reason, founded on a priori principles. The purpose in light of which the artifice is constructed, according to Kant, is to maximize and protect an individual’s freedom from constraint in a way that is consistent with the freedom of other individuals. Enthusiasm for the idea of the republic is dependent insofar as it incorporates or depends on a notion of what the republican form of government is and what purposes it serves.32 The enthusiasm that Kant describes is based on the moral right to a constitution and incorporates the notion of the purpose of the republican constitution (SF 7:85). The 32

Cf. Myskja, The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, p. 299 n.29. Myskja reads the enthusiasm as a moral and a teleological judgment. Although the enthusiasm is morally based, this does not make it a moral judgment, however. Likewise, although the aesthetic response has to do with concepts of the good purposes of a republic, this need not render the enthusiasm a teleological judgment, but on my reading only makes it dependent. To his credit, Myskja is one of the few commentators who suggestively observes that the enthusiasm can lead to a judgment. Moreover, he even considers that it can be an applied or dependent judgment of the sublime. Unfortunately, he leaves this issue undecided (p. 300). I hope my reading shows how it can be dependent. I reject his claim that Kant should recognize the Revolution’s sublimity and that the “enormous power of the masses of people united in a common resolve to change the order of society” is what evokes the sublime (p. 300), since this reading falls prey to the tendency to characterize as sublime the revolutionaries’ acts rather than the idea of the republic. I also disagree with his claim that the enthusiasm would be an instance of the dynamical sublime (p. 300); I characterize it as an instance of the moral sublime, for it is a response to a morally good idea.


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experience combines elevation and exaltation, without which it would not be a feeling of the sublime, with the “judgment of the understanding or of reason” (KU 5:253), which on my reading is the idea of the republic,33 without which it would not be dependent. Such a combination of feeling and intellectual content renders the judgment a dependent judgment of the sublime. Although the enthusiasm in “An Old Question” is dependent, it seems possible for other instances of aesthetic enthusiasm to be free. For even in the case of an object or event that has a purpose one can still abstract from that conceptual content in the act of judging and therefore make a free judgment. As Kant notes, the satisfaction in the sublime is “still related to concepts, although it is indeterminate which” one, suggesting that the conceptual content can change or even be abstracted from by the judge (KU 5:244; cf. 231).34 If the reflecting subject abstracted in this way, the aesthetic enthusiasm would be free. Although it is conceptually possible, however, such aesthetic enthusiasm is unlikely. I would conjecture that aesthetic enthusiasm is usually dependent, since when experiencing the feeling it seems difficult to abstract from the goodness or perfection of the relevant object or event.35 Since aesthetic enthusiasm is based on the idea of the good, for Kant, it is hard to imagine what could elicit the enthusiasm if one abstracted from the good purposes for which the event or object was created.

33

34

35

Myskja, in The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, p. 300, plausibly suggests that the relevant concept could be that of the moral purpose of humankind. I acknowledge this possibility. Presumably, different concepts can be the grounds of distinct (dependent) judgments of sublimity (cf. KU 5:244). Note that the enthusiasm in this case would still be an instance of the moral sublime. Manfred Geier, in Kants Welt: Eine Biographie (Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt Verlag, 2003), p. 10, sees the enthusiasm as a response to the ideas of freedom and equality; since these are found in a just republic, his reading agrees with mine. Geier rightly notes that for Kant enthusiasm, not the Revolution (p. 285), is the unforgettable sign of an ability to make things better. Geier characterizes Kant as an enthusiastic republican (begeisterter Republikaner) (p. 273) and rightly connects enthusiasm to the sublime (p. 285). Kant famously concludes §16 with the claim that one can abstract from a concept of the object’s purpose, implying that one can thereby make a free and pure judgment of beauty. “A judgment of taste in regard to an object with a determinate internal end would thus be pure only if the person making the judgment either had no concept of this end or abstracted from it in his judgment” (KU 5:231; emphasis added). Note that this way of putting it assumes that a subreption is being committed, attributing goodness (enthusiasm–worthiness) to the object. The corresponding, and seemingly objective, judgment might express the proposition, “I feel that the object is good (worthy of enthusiasm).” This makes the judgment look more like a moral judgment than it is. By contrast, a judgment that avoids the subreption is possible. Its expressed proposition might be, “I feel that I am enthusiastic,” which has the true structure of the sublime – a subjective structure.

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In concluding, I would like to note that, if enthusiasm does ever become a genuine judgment of the sublime, the purity conditions of aesthetic judgment would apply to it (KU 5:247), whether dependent or free. Indeed, the four moments obtain if and only if it is a pure aesthetic judgment (which is not to be confused with purely aesthetic judgment). 5.5 “without enthusiasm nothing great can be accomplished” Now that we have examined the Critical account of enthusiasm, it is interesting to compare it to his earlier account. In the third Critique Kant mentions and reflects on his pre-Critical view that nothing great can be achieved without enthusiasm. It is worth looking at this claim in more detail, since there may be some confusion surrounding Kant’s use of vorgiebt, which means “alleges” or “maintains.” I take Kant to be saying that it is commonly, but not necessarily falsely, maintained that enthusiasm is required to achieve something great. The idea of the good with affect is called enthusiasm. This state of mind seems to be sublime, so much so that it is commonly maintained [vorgiebt] that without it nothing great can be accomplished: “Die Idee des Guten mit Affect heißt der Enthusiasm. Dieser Gemu¨thszustand scheint erhaben zu sein, dermaßen daß man gemeiniglich vorgiebt: ohne ihn ko¨nne nichts Großes ausgerichtet werden.” (KU 5:272)

Kant seems to be stating a common opinion so that he can assess to what extent that view is true. This method is reminiscent of how Aristotle reports commonly held doctrines and evaluates them, proceeding from how a matter appears to how it really is. Although vorgeben sometimes includes the concept of falsely claiming, it can also be used in the more neutral sense of hypothetically supposing, as one might do in the case of a mathematical postulate. Elsewhere in the third Critique Kant uses vorgiebt to mean profess, allege, and the like, without the notion of falsity (KU 5:237, 287). The Bernard, Meredith, and Pluhar translations, and not only that of Guyer/Matthews, all interpret vorgiebt (KU 5:272) as alleging (or some similar term) rather than falsely alleging.36 In Essay on the Maladies on the Mind, as we have seen, Kant does not even use vorgiebt but straightforwardly asserts the commonly held view 36

For instance: “we commonly assert” (Bernard, p. 74); “there is a common saying that” (Meredith, p. 124); “it is commonly alleged” (Pluhar, p. 132).


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(VK 2:267).37 Peter Fenves correctly observes that in the early account Kant subscribes to the view in question.38 Since the Critical theory of the moral feeling of respect implies that the latter, but not enthusiasm, is required for morally great acts, Kant came to believe that the view in question is false by the time he wrote the third Critique: his position changed significantly. In my view, Kant tells us that it is commonly said or claimed that enthusiasm is required for achieving something great, and then proceeds to assess the claim. Kant’s assessment of this claim amounts to his clarification of the senses in which enthusiasm is aesthetically sublime (KU 5:272). In other words, the claim acts as a starting point for Kant’s reflections. Kant seems to grant a kernel of truth to the claim, but significantly modifies it by characterizing the greatness or sublimity that is associated with enthusiasm as a merely aesthetic feeling, not a requirement for moral activity. Of course, enthusiasm remains ambiguous, for it is both a response to the morally good and an affect that momentarily overwhelms the very rational capacity that is required for acting on a priori motives. As we have seen, affectlessness (Affectlosigkeit) is sublime in a far preferable way, according to Kant, since it reveals a mental state that is in a better position to act on a priori principles than a state of mind that is under the sway of an intense affect. Fortunately, even if the common view that Kant mentions is false, enthusiasm can still play an indirect moral role. It does not have to be true that without enthusiasm nothing great can be achieved for it to be true that enthusiasm can be a form of the sublime that reveals transcendental and practical freedom; or that as a feeling it can help prepare us for esteeming the moral law when it is independent of or even contrary to our interests; or that as an aesthetic response to the morally good it can help expose what morality requires of us; or that by being a communicable aesthetic response to the attempt to realize the morally good it can be a morally encouraging sign. Furthermore, even if Kant believes that the commonly held opinion to which he himself subscribes in Essay on the Maladies of the Mind is incorrect, aesthetic enthusiasm could still be a form of sublimity. The two issues are distinct. Moreover, in suggesting that enthusiasm as an aesthetic 37

38

“Dieser zweideutige Anschein von Phantasterei in an sich guten, moralischen Empfindungen ist der Enthusiasmus, und es ist niemals ohne denselben in der Welt etwas Großes ausgerichtet worden” (VK 2:267). This passage does not in any way hint or suggest that the view might be false. Fenves (ed.), Raising the Tone, pp. xi, 243.

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feeling of the sublime is exemplary for understanding Kant’s views of the moral role of the sublime, I am not claiming that enthusiasm is a necessary condition of acting from a priori, moral motives. It would taint Kant’s ethics to argue that in order to be autonomous one must feel aesthetic enthusiasm. Such a thesis would conflate enthusiasm with the moral feeling of respect in response to the moral law, which is a necessary component of human moral agency, according to Kant. Thus, in light of Kant’s ethics, the common view that enthusiasm is required to achieve something great does turn out to be false. Enthusiasm is not required to achieve something great, if we take “great” to designate a morally worthy action. Kant would reject the common view that enthusiasm is a necessary condition of achieving something great not because of the meaning of vorgiebt, but because the moral feeling of respect, not enthusiasm, is the moral agent’s response to the moral law and thus an important necessary condition of achieving something great. Finally, it is easy to see that aesthetic enthusiasm certainly is not a sufficient condition of moral activity, either, since it is an aesthetic modification of sensibility and not a determination of desire. 5.6 conclusion: kantian enthusiasm and the revelation of freedom In Kant’s account, aesthetic enthusiasm can reveal human freedom in several ways. If a person is able to experience enthusiasm and such an experience presupposes the idea of the good, that person has some idea of the good. Since enthusiasm is the affective, aesthetic response to the good, it follows that if one feels genuine aesthetic enthusiasm, one has in his or her stock of ideas the idea of the good. Moreover, since having an idea of the good presupposes that we have positive practical freedom (the ability to adopt moral principles) as well as negative practical freedom (independence from determination by sensible impulses), such an experience indicates that we have practical freedom in its positive and negative senses. If Kant is right that practical freedom presupposes transcendental freedom (KrV a533–5/b561–3; cf. KrV a800–2/b829–31), enthusiasm also implies that we are transcendentally free or can act as a first beginning or cause in a causal series. Genuine aesthetic enthusiasm reveals human freedom in these ways. Moreover, when the enthusiasm is a response to a rational, moral idea that is itself concerned with and based on the idea of freedom, viz., the idea of a republic that is intended to defend and maximize freedom such that a citizen’s freedom coexists


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with and even harmonizes with that of another (KrV a316/b373), such enthusiasm is particularly interesting to practical reason. In addition to maintaining that enthusiasm presupposes an idea of the good and thus the capacity for morality, Kant’s account implies that enthusiasm can contribute to or promote morality. Since, for Kant, morality is the final end of nature, this would indeed be a significant contribution. Of course, enthusiasm cannot contribute to morality if the latter is taken to mean that enthusiasm directly improves a person’s character or immediately fulfills or promotes some moral end. But it might still support morality in a number of more indirect ways, which are worth reviewing here. First, as the affective response to the idea of the good, or the idea of the good with or accompanied by affect, aesthetic enthusiasm can put us in a special position to perceive the moral goodness of a morally good object or event that embodies or exhibits that morally good idea. Of course, I am not suggesting that enthusiasm can or should replace the moral feeling of respect in Kant’s account of moral agency. My point is that there is room in Kant’s account to claim that if we feel genuine aesthetic enthusiasm about a morally good object or event, we can then reflect on the relevant object or event and see it for what it is, even though enthusiasm is not required in order to engage in reflection on the moral goodness of such an object or event. For example, a person might observe or witness an object or event that embodies the morally good, respond to it with an affect in Kant’s sense, become aware that she is responding in this way, reflect on that object or event as an embodiment of moral goodness, and thereby come to recognize the morally good in one of its instances. Or, to cite an example that is central to this book, a person observing a people’s attempt to set up a just republic might be filled with genuine aesthetic enthusiasm – genuine because it would be about, or a response to, a morally good event, and aesthetic because, ex hypothesi, the person would be a spectator feeling pleasure rather than an agent. The person might then reflect on the goodness of just republics, the contribution of the latter to human moral progress, and so on. Such reflection, of course, would take the person beyond the initial reflection that was involved in the original experience of enthusiasm. In short, genuine aesthetic enthusiasm can put us in a good position (though not the only one) to recognize, in their moral goodness, morally good objects or events. Needless to say, even without aesthetic enthusiasm we can still identify the moral goodness of such objects as well as the morally good as such. The moral law, not enthusiasm, determines what is morally good.

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Although we can identify the morally good without feeling enthusiasm, the latter can still contribute indirectly and play a role in our understanding of the morally good.39 Second, if my interpretation of Kant’s account is correct, the feeling of enthusiasm reveals human freedom. Aesthetic enthusiasm can thus provide heartening confirmation that we have practical and transcendental freedom. We can be emboldened by the fact that freedom is being made palpable.40 Third, as an aesthetic feeling of the sublime, enthusiasm can prepare us to esteem an object even contrary to our own interests, just as the spectators express their enthusiasm despite being in personal danger.41 It should be recalled here, however, that in moral education Kant is critical of replacing firm, resolute states of mind with tenderhearted ebullitions, in short, with oversensitivity (KpV 5:156n.; KU 5:273),42 and I am not suggesting that enthusiasm be used in this way. Finally, seeing enthusiasm on the part of others, expressed at the morally appropriate objects and events, can provide us with a moral boost. Like Kant, observers of enthusiasm might be encouraged by the fact that not only do people seem to be attempting to realize the good (e.g., erect a just republic) but enthusiastic onlookers seem to be excited about this, even despite personal injury to them. It thus seems that enthusiasm, an empirical phenomenon, can give us confidence in the human moral predisposition and offer hope that humanity will in fact actualize its capacity for morality.43 This last point calls for clarification. One might question whether we need enthusiasm at all as a moral sign in this case, whether it adds anything new or offers fresh evidence that is not already contained by the morally good event itself. In other words, in order to take the enthusiasm of other human beings as morally encouraging, we would need to believe that they are feeling enthusiasm for some morally good event that has already occurred in the natural order. But this means that at least one end 39

40

41

42 43

This can be compared to Guyer’s first condition of acting morally; Guyer, Kant, p. 310; cf. pp. 328–9; and Values of Beauty, p. 201; cf. p. 203. In the Introduction to this book, I discussed Guyer’s four conditions. Cf. Guyer’s second condition; Guyer, Kant, p. 310; cf. p. 329; and Values of Beauty, pp. 201–2; cf. p. 203. Cf. Guyer’s fourth condition; Guyer, Kant, p. 310; cf. pp. 329–30; and Values of Beauty, p. 202; cf. p. 204. The tenderhearted, “weak soul” may be called “fantastic but [is] not even enthusiastic” (KU 5:273). Cf. Guyer’s third condition; Guyer, Kant, p. 310; cf. p. 329; and Values of Beauty, p. 202; cf. pp. 203–4.


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of morality has already been (or is being) achieved, in which case it seems that there is little need for enthusiasm – we could simply look to the morally good event itself for encouragement. Indeed, in discussing moral education, Kant suggests that a moral exemplar can be taken as a sign that it is possible to act in morally worthy ways: “A good example (exemplary conduct) should not serve as a model, but only as a proof that it is really possible to act in conformity with duty” (MS 6:480). Nevertheless, Kant would concede that human beings need all the help they can get in their attempt to realize their moral predisposition and to promote the realization of the laws of freedom in the natural order. These morally encouraging signs count as some of the supports or crutches that human beings can (though perhaps not must) rely on in order to realize morality in the natural realm.44 Note that an enthusiastic response might also be an encouragement to the agent who acted morally, and not just to observers of the agent. That is, an enthusiastic response by a spectator can further embolden the agent who did the right or just thing. In short, although it is true that when the morally good is being realized we can look to those realizations for encouragement, it also seems to be true that a given enthusiastic response, a Begebenheit, can offer added encouragement and hope to observers and agents alike.45 If genuine aesthetic enthusiasm can sometimes help us identify the morally good, believe that we are free, indirectly prepare us to be moral agents, and give us moral encouragement, one can take a morally based interest in such enthusiasm. In summary, enthusiasm can function as a moral sign only if enthusiasm presupposes having an idea of the morally good, just as the sublime in general requires moral ideas. In turn, enthusiasm can indirectly support morality in the four aforementioned ways, especially by offering moral encouragement to interested persons such as the author of the essay “An Old Question,” about which we ourselves raise a newer question. How could Kant be interested in enthusiasm for a republic that was established through violent resistance and revolution, which the principles of Kant’s practical philosophy judges to be immoral and unjust? 44 45

On empirical helps, see Frierson, Freedom and Anthropology in Kant’ s Moral Philosophy, pp. 96–7. It is worth pointing out that the enthusiastic spectators are not acting as models of virtue for us. They cannot act as models of virtuous agents since they are not even practical agents.

chapter 6

Enthusiasm for the idea of a republic

An Englishman not filled with esteem and admiration at the sublime manner in which one of the most i m p o r t a n t re v o l u t i o n s the world has ever seen is now effecting, must be dead to every sense of virtue and of freedom; not one of my countrymen who has had the good fortune to witness the transactions of the last three days in this great city, but will testify that my language is not hyperbolical.1 The Morning Post (July 21, 1789) on the fall of the Bastille

These words, taken from a report on the storming of the Bastille on July 14, 1789, suggest that the author of this article has undergone an experience of the sublime. Unlike Edmund Burke, who considered unnecessary the “dreadful things” brought about by the French Revolution,2 the excited writer describes his feelings in terms of esteem and admiration. Note that the author connects the experience of the sublime to a sense of freedom and to virtue. In some ways Kant has a similar response to the events in France. To be sure Kant, unlike the author, did not witness first hand the events of the French Revolution. But the interest that Kant displays in The Conflict of the Faculties is morally based in the sense articulated in chapter 4. In fact, Kant connects the sublime not just to the sense of freedom of the individuals feeling the sublime, but even to the moral character of the human species as a whole. Moreover, the object that elicits the enthusiasm described in The Conflict is the idea of a republic, which Kant defines in terms of freedom (KrV a316/b373). In this chapter I wish to apply some of the distinctions that I have made in previous chapters, showing how they can help us understand 1

2

Original emphasis; quoted from Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Revolution 1789–1848 (New York: Random House, 1962), p. 53. Edmund Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France (London: Penguin, 1968), p. 126. For a discussion, see Luke Gibbons, Edmund Burke and Ireland: Aesthetics, Politics and the Colonial Sublime (Cambridge University Press, 2003).

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Kant’s views of the French Revolution. More specifically, I reformulate the charge that some interpreters bring against Kant (section 6.1). In presenting Kant’s position, I will make use not only of the familiar Kantian distinction between means and ends (section 6.2), but also of the various senses of interest and the notion of genuine aesthetic enthusiasm examined in chapters 4 and 5, respectively. I discuss Kant’s notion of a republic and what it has to do with freedom (section 6.3). Finally, I show how we can make sense of Kant’s views without accusing him either of inconsistency or of folding to political pressure (section 6.4). 6.1 the charge against kant As we have seen, in “An Old Question,” Kant takes an interest in (sense 1 of interest) the existence of disinterested spectators’ enthusiasm for the establishment of a republican constitution in France. Kant maintains that the categorical imperative test forbids the regicidal and revolutionary means used to establish the republic. For Kant, therefore, these means are immoral. A question thus arises: can Kant, without being inconsistent,3 endorse the expressions of enthusiasm elicited in spectators by immoral or unjust events? Or does taking such an interest imply that Kant has contradicted the very moral and political judgment that condemns the use of the guillotine? In the following, I argue that feeling pleasure at the existence of enthusiasm for a transition to a republic that is executed in the wrong way can sometimes be consistent with the very moral or political philosophy that condemns the means taken, and that Kant’s response is consistent in this way. Showing the consistency of Kant’s position is important. The analysis can help us understand Kant’s otherwise perplexing views of the French Revolution. Once we realize that Kant takes a morally based interest in the enthusiasm felt and expressed by disinterested spectators and not in the violent, revolutionary means used to carry out the transition to a republic, we will be in a better position to understand Kant’s account. Showing the consistency of Kant’s position will allow us to understand the Critical philosophy better. Moreover, by looking at Kant’s case, we may be better prepared to comprehend those situations in which we feel and express enthusiasm for a newly founded state, even if we disagree with the means taken to bring it about. Indeed, it is easy to think of 3

Some of Kant’s contemporaries believed that his take on the French Revolution was inconsistent with his condemnation of revolt and revolution. See Geier, Kants Welt, p. 275.

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recent and contemporary parallels to the enthusiasm for the transition to a republic that occurred in late eighteenth-century France. The question I wish to focus on is not why Kant did not support the French Revolution in particular or the right to revolution in general, but the question of how it is possible for Kant to take an interest in enthusiasm evoked by those political events with philosophical consistency, given that Kant’s moral philosophy supposedly requires that one oppose the violent means used to overthrow the ancien re´gime. Susan Neiman maintains that it is uncontroversial and undeniable that Kant’s position is inconsistent. She characterizes Kant scholarship as undecided about why, but not whether, Kant was inconsistent: “Indeed, two centuries of Kant scholarship have been unable to decide even whether his undeniable inconsistencies on the subject of the French Revolution were the result of philosophical unclarity or political caution.”4 Similarly, Reiss claims that there is a “curious discrepancy” within Kant’s views of the French Revolution.5 Although Reiss, Neiman, and other scholars believe that Kant’s position is inconsistent,6 I believe that it need not be interpreted in this way. While the assertion that Kant’s views are inconsistent or even “philosophically unclear” exists throughout the literature, refuting this claim is not necessarily a scholarly matter alone. It bears upon every situation in which one supports the attempt to approximate the “idea” of a republic (in the Kantian sense), even if that attempt is executed in the wrong manner. We should distinguish three phenomena that can easily be confused and thus lead to interpretive errors: the French revolutionaries’ violent acts of resistance, the spectators’ disinterested expressions of enthusiasm, and Kant’s interest in these expressions of enthusiasm. Patrick Riley, like many other commentators, incorrectly claims that Kant regards the French Revolution as the sign of the moral tendency of humanity.7 Howard Williams correctly points out that it is not the Revolution or the acts of violence but the expressions of enthusiasm, the “reaction they [the events] produced amongst enlightened spectators,” that function as

4 5 6

7

Susan Neiman, The Unity of Reason: Rereading Kant (Oxford University Press, 1994), p. v. H. S. Reiss, “Kant and the Right of Rebellion,” Journal of the History of Ideas, 17(2) (1956): 179–92. Neiman rescues Kant by arguing that precisely because Kant bent to political pressure, we should not and need not take his inconsistency seriously; Neiman, The Unity of Reason, p. 121. For another biographical explanation, see Frederick Beiser, Enlightenment, Revolution, and Romanticism (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992), p. 53. Patrick Riley, “On Kant as the Most Adequate of Social Contract Theorists,” Political Theory, 1(4) (1973): 450–71.


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the sign for Kant.8 However, even Williams does not carefully distinguish interest from enthusiasm (which, following the widespread translation of Teilnehmung, he calls “sympathy”): “In saying that the deep interest and sympathy shown by onlookers in other countries was not without danger to themselves Kant cannot but have had himself in mind, as well as countless others.”9 To be sure, Kant most likely was an enthusiastic onlooker and he certainly took an interest in enthusiasm, but enthusiasm and interest should not be confused.10 As we have seen, the enthusiasm that is described in “An Old Question” may be fruitfully conceived as a disinterested aesthetic feeling, and Kant clearly describes the enthusiastic subject as an unassisting spectator. Although the means taken to achieve the republican form of government are immoral for Kant, the ends are not; in fact, I take the morality and desirability of these ends to be uncontroversial. If we assume that the end of the political events and activities in France is to establish a just republic, the end is an idea of reason. For Kant, the genuine attempt to realize an idea can never be immoral. It is not inconsistent or incoherent for Kant to respond with pleasure or interest to the enthusiasm inspired by a transition to a republic even if the means taken to erect the constitution are immoral or unjust. We do not have to see Kant’s interest as disingenuous or insincere (what Neiman calls succumbing to “political caution”), a betrayal of the verdict reached by his otherwise sound political judgment. There is conceptual room to see Kant’s interest as consistent with his political judgment. Nor do we have to view Kant’s position as confused (Neiman’s “philosophically unclear”), as if his interest in enthusiasm evoked by the republic in France contradicted his moral and political philosophy without his realizing it. Kant’s position can escape this dilemma. One can make sense of Kant’s support of and interest in the enthusiasm and of his firm rejection of 8 9

10

Williams, Kant’ s Political Philosophy, p. 209. Williams, Kant’ s Political Philosophy, p. 210; emphasis added. In a more recent book, Williams continues to describe the spectators’ responses as sympathy as well as enthusiasm; see Williams, Kant’ s Critique of Hobbes, p. 35 et passim. Although Kant may have been an enthusiastic spectator, this aesthetic enthusiasm never became (at least we have no such evidence) a practical enthusiasm that went to excess. Commenting on why in “Theory and Practice” Kant chose independence rather than the French fraternite´, Williams puts the point well: “Kant evidently wanted to set some distance between himself and the uncritical enthusiasts for the events in France”; Kant’ s Critique of Hobbes, p. 131. I am not suggesting that the spectators are uncritical enthusiasts, however. In any case, Kant apparently checked and controlled any intense affective response to the good: perhaps one can be critical and enthusiastic after all. As noted in my introduction, Kant states that he is an enthusiastic defender of common sense (23:59).

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the revolutionary means. To see this, let us turn to his theory of means and ends. 6.2 means and ends Because my solution to an apparent conflict in Kant’s practical philosophy appeals to certain elements of Kant’s theory of agency, his conception of maxims and his account of the relationship between ends and means, it is necessary to consider these issues. Without such a discussion it may not be clear that an acceptance of the ends but not the means is compatible with Kant’s practical philosophy.11 A maxim is the subjective principle “of volition” (G 4:400n.) and “of action” (G 4:421n.). It is a general rule according to which an agent wills to conduct himself (R 6:24). A maxim is a policy that a rational agent freely adopts, a self-imposed product of the power of choice (Willku¨r). Maxims express a generalized intent or lasting policy on which an agent acts and tends to act in relevantly similar circumstances (KpV 5:18–19). They are self-imposed rules (sich selbst auferlegten Regeln) in the sense that one makes a principle one’s maxim (G 4:438). According to what is now commonly known as the Incorporation Thesis – namely, Kant’s view that the freedom of the power of choice can be determined to action through an incentive only if an agent has incorporated that incentive into a maxim (R 6:24) – an inclination or desire does not of itself constitute a reason for acting.12 Rather, an inclination or desire can become a reason only with reference to a maxim or rule of action, which dictates that we ought to pursue the satisfaction of that inclination or desire.13 Although an agent may or may not explicitly or consciously recognize the maxim by which he acts in a particular situation, it must be possible for him to recognize it as his own. It is, after all, a policy for an action that he undertakes. The concept of a maxim is based on that of an interest (KpV 5:79). An interest can here be understood in terms of a sensory or rational desire (sense 2 of interest) that has been spontaneously adopted by a rational

11

12

13

My reading is influenced by that of Henry Allison and Allen Wood. See Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Freedom, pp. 86–94; Wood, Kant’ s Ethical Thought, pp. 50–3. My overview of maxims is intended to be relatively noncontroversial (as Allison takes his account of maxims to be), even if I am applying the account to the French Revolution. See Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Freedom, pp. 5–6 and pp. 40ff. Jeanine Grenberg describes how drives fit into Kant’s account of agency, in “Feeling, Desire and Interest in Kant’s Theory of Action,” Kant-Studien, 92 (2001): 153–79. Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Freedom, p. 40.


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agent through some kind of reflective evaluation process. Maxims, in other words, are policies adopted on the basis of interests. Maxims are also closely connected to ends, for every maxim involves an end, even if, in the case of a good will, it is not an end to be “effected” or an empirical end, but an independently existing (selbsta¨ndiger) end (G 4:436; cf. KpV 5:21). When a rational agent “sets an end” (G 4:437), she does this on the basis of her interests. These interests can be either a priori, as in the case of a moral “interest of reason” (Vernunftsinteresse), or empirical, as when the will is determined by a preceding pleasure, desire (Begierde), or inclination (Neigung), a habitual or unreflective desire (MS 6:212–13; cf. KpV 5:21). Similarly, the setting of an end always involves the implicit adoption of some general rule (maxim) serving as the basis for a choice of means to reach or realize that end.14 Maxims are rules dictating action-types rather than particular actions, and thus are general with respect to the number of possible actions that fall under them. There are always a number of distinct ways in which an agent can act upon (or interpret) a maxim, just as there are a number of different maxims and means by which one can attempt to realize an end that one has chosen.15 This indeterminacy leaves scope for practical judgment, by which one can decide whether acting on the maxim is appropriate in given circumstances (whether or not to follow the maxim) as well as how best to carry out the general policy in a certain situation (how to follow it).16 Such indeterminacy will turn out to be significant for the analysis of the French revolutionaries. 6.3 freedom and the idea of a republic According to Kant’s account in Perpetual Peace (1795), there are two forms of government (Regierung, forma regiminis): the republican and the despotic (PP 8:352).17 The better form of government, the republican one, is based on the separation of the legislative and executive powers and adheres to the principle of representation. Only the just republican

14 15

16 17

Wood, Kant’ s Ethical Thought, p. 52. Allison uses maxim in the sense of means, as I do; Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Freedom, pp. 90–1. Allison also seems to use end and interest synonymously (p. 91). If my analysis of the senses of interest is correct (section 4.1), this use might work for some of the senses of interest, though not necessarily for all of them. Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Freedom, p. 90. For Kant’s conception of the republic, see Ho¨ffe, Kant’ s Cosmopolitan Theory of Law and Peace, pp. 178–81.

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constitution represents in its form the united will of the people in the giving and administration of laws (PP 8:340). The despotic regime is characterized by the arbitrary execution of the law and the use of the public will as if it were the private will of those in power. Every form of government that is not representative and does not recognize the separation of powers is, like “Cromwell’s abortive monster [verunglu¨ckete Mißgeburt] of a despotic republic” (SF 7:92n.), a failed form (Unform) since the legislature acts as executor of its own will (PP 8:352). In the first Critique, Kant describes a republican constitution (Verfassung) as “providing for the greatest human freedom according to laws that permit the freedom of each to exist together with that of others (not one providing for the greatest happiness, since that would follow of itself)” (KrV a316/b373). This maximization of freedom under laws can never be fully realized in the sensible world, but nonetheless functions as a valid “archetype” grounding practical judgments regarding existing political arrangements.18 Of course, viewed aesthetically, the idea of freedom can evoke the (moral) sublime, and it can elicit aesthetic enthusiasm. This idea of the republican constitution is indeterminable. A determinate concept is a concept that can be exemplified or exhibited in experience, a concept that can be provided with a corresponding sensible intuition. Examples of a determinate concept include the pure, as well as the empirical, concepts of the understanding. An indeterminate concept is one that is not exhibited in intuition, though it can be, whereas an indeterminable concept is one that necessarily or in principle cannot be exhibited. An example of an indeterminable concept is reason’s transcendental concept of a supersensible condition or ground, e.g., the idea that there is a substrate underlying sensible intuition (KU 5:339). In fact, any idea of reason is an indeterminable concept, since an idea of reason is a concept of a supersensible ground or condition. “Taken literally, and considered logically, ideas cannot be presented” (KU 5:268). Unlike determinate concepts, an idea necessarily exceeds experience and cannot be exhibited in the observable world.19 A moral idea can be described as the concept of a maxim or unconditioned totality that functions as an archetype grounding and conditioning the estimation of its ectypal approximations, or the attempts to achieve or realize the idea in the experienced world. As ideas of reason, 18 19

Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Taste, p. 248. See John Rawls, “Themes in Kant’s Moral Philosophy,” in Kant’ s Transcendental Deductions, ed. Eckart Fo¨rster (Stanford University Press, 1989), pp. 81–113.


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moral ideas are indeterminable concepts, but they also determine our practical judgments when, adopting a practical point of view, we act according to the standards that they set. Indeed, moral ideas are suited primarily to determine our judgments in this way, since after all they are practical ideas. Of course, we may also respond to a moral idea aesthetically, that is, without acting in the attempt to approximate its archetypal standard. Such spectatorship obtains in the experience of enthusiasm described in “An Old Question.” For the indeterminable moral idea of a just republic in the described enthusiasm does not lead to action or determine a practical judgment. To be sure, the idea of the just republican constitution is normally or otherwise a determining concept for our practical reason, in the sense that it orders our maxims (our subjective rules of action) and thereby influences our actions by generating practical judgments. But in a merely reflective aesthetic experience the moral idea does not guide any maxims at all. What does the republic have to do with bringing about morality in the natural order? Without the republic, Kant suggests, it is unlikely that individuals can develop a stable moral character.20 It is easier to fulfill the demands of morality if one is a citizen of a just political form of government. Kant thinks there is a duty to move out of the state of nature and into a civil society in which individual rights and civil liberties are protected. Doing so is a duty, not simply a self-serving opportunity to improve one’s welfare or well-being, even though one may in fact profit from it. The republic, then, helps the ends of morality to be achieved since it clears the ground for the individual to act in morally worthy ways, even if a republican form of government cannot guarantee that individuals will so act.21 In short, although political structures do not directly attempt to institute and actualize the moral law and even if for Kant the political sphere is distinct from the moral, political institutions are not morally neutral but are oriented towards the realization of morality insofar as they secure the conditions needed to promote inner morality.

20

21

For a discussion of the republic and the federation of states in relation to freedom, see Henry Allison, “The Gulf between Nature and Freedom in Nature’s Guarantee of Perpetual Peace,” Proceedings of the Eighth International Kant Congress Memphis 1995, ed. Hoke Robinson (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1996), vol. i , pp. 37–49. On morality and political justice, see Ho¨ffe, Kant’ s Cosmopolitan Theory of Law and Peace, pp. 81–3.

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The Kantian Sublime and the Revelation of Freedom 6.4 the consistency of kant’s position

The categorical imperative test forbids one to make an exception for oneself, i.e., to act on a maxim that, if adopted by everyone, would no longer be possible to adopt. It forbids maxims, rational policies, and principles of action that are impossible to will universally. This formal test thus disallows maxims that are the basis of actions in which one uses others not as ends in themselves but merely as means to one’s ends. For example, it picks out and prohibits maxims of lying and deception, force and fraud, and violence against others. In my view, it is primarily owing to the revolutionaries’ violence that Kant’s practical philosophy prohibits the means used by the revolutionaries. By contrast, the Kantian moral and political philosophy, as we have seen, supports and affirms the aim or end of the French Revolution – assuming that the end is the establishment of the republican form of government – since the republic is an idea of reason and the basis of a political obligation. If the Kantian moral and political philosophy supports the ends of the Revolution, then, what is wrong with the French Revolution? What Kant’s universalizability test condemns is the means used by the revolutionaries in order to establish the republic (SF 7:86n.). The maxim employed by the revolutionaries fails Kant’s universalizability test because it violently undermines the conditions of justice and destroys one state or government in order to establish another. If everyone resisted an unjust sovereign through violent revolt, the conditions of justice themselves would be undermined. Violence, I suggest, is important here. Kant does not have a problem with a subject’s lodging a complaint (Beschwerden, gravamina) against the sovereign’s particular acts of injustice (MS 6:319). He would not even repudiate non-violent civil disobedience by objectors who are willing to accept punishment by the state, since such objectors publicly affirm the idea of the rule of law while protesting the law’s failure to live up to a standard of justice.22 Like writers and philosophers who criticize authority to bring about the gradual correction of instances of injustice, dissenters who use civil disobedience do not undermine the conditions of justice. Violent resistance is based on a conceptually contradictory maxim, something like “When you desire to establish justice, use injustice.”23 22 23

Neiman, The Unity of Reason, pp. 121–2. This maxim takes the form characterized by Henry Allison: “When in S-type situations, perform A-type actions”; Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Freedom, pp. 89–90.


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This maxim cannot be universalized any more than one can universalize the maxim to revert to the anarchic state of nature. Beheading the head of state and killing fellow citizens in order to establish a just government cannot be willed universally or justified rationally, since violence is meant to be overcome by the rule of law provided by a form of government.24 The maxim that guides the act of bringing about political change through violent revolt instead of through reform by legislation or other legal procedures would involve a contradiction in concepts. Because such a maxim cannot be willed universally and does not conform to the rational ideas of the government and of the citizen, Kant calls it conceptually absurd: To refuse to obey an external and supreme will on the grounds that it allegedly does not conform with reason would be absurd; for the dignity of the government consists precisely in this: that it does not leave its subjects free to judge what is right or wrong according to their own notions, but [determines right and wrong] for them by precepts of the legislative power. (SF 7:25)

The foregoing remarks outline why Kant rejects violent revolutionary means to establish a republic.25 It is only a sketch, however, and I have not addressed the complex issue of whether Kant’s practical philosophy forbids all instances of the right to violent resistance, or whether there is room for a Kantian to argue that certain dire circumstances require 24

25

For the sake of simplicity, I am assuming that the oppression, inequality, general lack of rights, etc., have not degenerated to the levels that are found in an anarchic state of nature, where it seems that, as Howard Williams notes, “it is not possible for anyone to act legally, and grave doubts are cast on the possibility of acting morally”; Kant’ s Political Philosophy, p. 204. Williams implies that if these conditions had reached such levels, the right to resistance would be morally permissible, and, since in the state of nature there is an obligation to establish sovereignty, it would even be morally obligatory. One problem, however, with such attempts to rescue Kant is that we can never fully return to the state of nature but remain under some form of political rule. Kant seems to insist that we must respect whatever form of government is in power. One difficult passage for those interpreters who would attempt to rescue Kant is the following: “Nor could a right of necessity [Notrecht] (ius in casu necessitatis), which, as a supposed right to do wrong when in extreme (physical) need, is in any case an absurdity, enter here and provide a way to raise the barrier limiting the people’s despotic power [die Eigenmacht des Volks]. For, the head of state can as well urge that his harsh behavior toward his subjects is justified by their complaints against him of their undeserved suffering; and who is to decide the issue? Only he who possesses the supreme administration of public right can do so, and that is precisely the head of state; and no one within a commonwealth can, accordingly, have a right to contest his possession of it” (TP 8:300). Kant suggests that even in the case of the ruler who turns despotic, the state has the final word and determines what counts as just and unjust. Fenves, in A Peculiar Fate, p. 277, likewise claims that Kant’s attitude toward revolution is “not at all ambivalent” and that the issue is not even “a matter of attitude at all” since revolution as such is for Kant always ungrounded and unjustifiable on any count, regardless of what attitude it prompts. He cites MS 6:318–23; 370–2.

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employing violent means. In any case, a more detailed Kantian argument could proceed along these lines.26 “An Old Question” confirms the consistency of Kant’s views of the French Revolution. Although I have already examined enthusiasm in that essay, I would like to return briefly to the notion of enthusiasm in light of the aims of this chapter. Kant describes the spectators’ feeling as a sublime mental movement and “way of thinking” that is “disinterested” and has “universal validity” (SF 7:85). It is worth emphasizing once again that, according to Kant, enthusiasm, not the fact that the revolutionaries beheaded the king and shed the blood of fellow citizens, signifies the moral tendency of the human race. Since the end or aim of the Revolution, setting up a republican form of government, brings humanity a step closer to instantiating practical reason’s regulative idea of justice, the enthusiastic spectator is fascinated and enthralled by the prospect of “upholding justice for the human race” (SF 7:86n.). Kant takes an interest in the existence of this enthusiasm because (among other things) it offers moral encouragement. About the success of the French Revolution itself, however, Kant is rather skeptical, as we have seen: “The revolution of a gifted people which we have seen unfolding in our day may succeed or miscarry; it may be filled with misery and atrocities to the point that a right-thinking human being, were he boldly to hope to execute it successfully the second time, would never resolve to make the experiment at such cost” (SF 7:85). In discussing the character of the French people (ApH 7:313–14), Kant recognizes the violent errors that can be created by enthusiasm when it is practical rather than aesthetic and, worse, is unrestrained by sound reason. The enthusiasm he describes “shakes everything and goes beyond all bounds” (ApH 7:314). However, since such enthusiasm involves an interested, practical activity, it cannot be an instance of genuine aesthetic enthusiasm.27 In addition to this aesthetic orientation, genuine aesthetic 26

27

For a related issue, see Thomas E. Hill, Jr., “How a Kantian Might Think about Terrorism,” in Dignity and Practical Reason in Kant’ s Moral Theory (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992), pp. 196–225. Thomas E. Hill, Jr. reflects on what responses to terrorism, conceived as the immoral use of violence against innocent persons (p. 197), are ethically permissible. He takes a “value of humanity” approach (p. 204). One might be tempted to think that the salient difference between aesthetic and practical enthusiasm is the fact that practical enthusiasm “goes beyond all bounds” but aesthetic enthusiasm does not. However, in a certain sense aesthetic enthusiasm, too, goes beyond all bounds: aesthetic enthusiasm is an affective response to an idea of reason, which is beyond the limits of sensibility. Rather, the key difference is that what I am calling practical enthusiasm involves agency, desires, and intentions (ApH 7:254), but aesthetic enthusiasm is disinterested (in the fourth sense of disinterestedness).


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enthusiasm is, despite the intensity of the affect, constrained by sound reason, for it is based on the idea of the morally good. This is not true of the enthusiasm Kant describes here (ApH 7:314). The enthusiastic subject adopts the perspective of a spectator, not that of an agent; she observes the events, but does not engage in or contribute to them. She “participates” in them, to be sure, but her participation is aesthetic, not practical. Her participation (Teilnehmung) is at most an aesthetic communication (Mitteilung), a sympathy, not the active contribution to a revolution, whether in France or in another country. Just as Kant describes the sublime in terms of spectatorship rather than agency (KU 5:269), so is the person who feels enthusiasm a spectator rather than an agent.28 Even though the onlooker feels enthusiasm, she does not become a revolutionary, and nor should she, according to Kant, since joining the revolutionaries would be unjust: But this right [of human beings] is still always only an idea of which the realization is restricted to the condition of accord of its means with morality, which the nation may not transgress; and this may not come to pass through revolution, which is always unjust [ungerecht]. (SF 7:86n.; italics added)

In this passage it is quite clear that Kant opposes the means taken by the revolutionaries in order to establish the republic, although, as we have seen, he affirms the goal of establishing a just form of government that is based on the right of citizens. Kant claims that it would be contrary to reason to go against right (Recht) in order to establish right. In “An Old Question,” Kant takes a morally based interest in the enthusiasm expressed by the spectators, not in the actions of those who stormed the Bastille or who plied the guillotine. In order to make more explicit what was wrong with the actions of those who took the Bastille or who shed blood, it might be helpful to make a few more general comments about Kant’s philosophy of action. As mentioned, an agent, by using his or her practical judgment, is in a position to decide both whether acting on a given maxim is appropriate for the relevant circumstances and how best to carry out the general policy in that situation. Henry Allison makes the plausible suggestion that maxims come in various degrees of generality and can be arranged hierarchically. 28

For the argument that the spectators will initiate similar revolutionary events, see Harry Van der Linden, Kantian Ethics and Socialism (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1988), pp. 166–75. It should be noted that Hannah Arendt’s interpretation of Kant also relies on a spectator/agent distinction; Hannah Arendt, Lectures on Kant’ s Political Philosophy (University of Chicago Press, 1982).

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According to this view, if a more general or higher maxim is forbidden, so is the particular means that leads to the realization of that forbidden maxim. Naturally, if this is right, the ordering of maxims and principles is important. It should also be noted that the choice of a more general or higher maxim does not predetermine what lower maxims must or will be selected. For instance, commitment to the general principle that I should treat others with respect does not necessarily commit me to adopting the more particular maxim that I should give to charities. I could reach the general end (i.e., obey the general principle) by using some other means or adopting another maxim. According to Allison, implicit in every maxim is the assumption that the selected maxim is thought to be, under the particular circumstances, the best available means for the attainment of the chosen end.29 In the case being discussed, these circumstances include the social, political, and economic contexts that pertain to Paris in 1789, and the relevant end is the establishment of a republic, or a representative form of government. The practical judgment of the revolutionaries failed to determine the best available means to their end. My phrase “the best available means,” of course, contains an ambiguity: “best” can be taken to mean expedient, prudential, or moral. The maxim that the revolutionaries chose may very well have been the most expedient one, since revolutions tend to be efficient in bringing in a new form of government, but expedience is only conditionally good: it is not the most important feature in determining what is best. In light of the Reign of Terror that followed the Revolution, the maxim by which they acted was not even the best available means in a prudential sense. For this reason, Kant notes that should a reasonable person, with the gift of hindsight, be in a position to determine whether or not to carry out the Revolution again, one would decide against it (SF 7:85). But the real problem with the revolutionaries’ maxims, for Kant, is not their unfortunate consequences, the costs of the Revolution, or the maxims’ failure to be “best” in a prudential sense. Rather, it is the fact that the maxims chosen by the revolutionaries were immoral and unjust. The means failed to be the best ones, where “best” is understood not only in a prudential sense, but also in a moral sense. In short, although the revolutionaries were right in believing that the selected end was worth pursuing, they chose the morally wrong plan of action. What they thought was the best

29

Allison, Kant’ s Theory of Freedom, p. 91.


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strategy for attaining the desired end turned out not to be best after all. They were mistaken in their maxim selection. What, then, were the possibilities that were open to the revolutionaries? They could have renounced their end (i.e., setting up a republic) on the grounds that under the circumstances other ends or moral principles take precedence over it. Second, they could have modified the end in some significant way. Third, they might have chosen to set up the republic in a morally permissible (i.e., gradual and procedural) way and thus could have altered something fundamental about the maxim used to realize the end.30 The third option is closest to what Kant’s account recommends. Since Kant recognizes that the end of these agents is a moral one – indeed it is a duty to erect a just republic – it is unlikely that he would have recommended giving up on the end altogether (the first option), although he might have accepted renouncing it temporarily. Nor would Kant have urged the agent to modify the end significantly (the second option); after all, the end was the setting up and realization of an idea of reason (which presumably never significantly changes). The problem with the revolutionaries is not that they had the wrong end or the wrong conception of it but that they did not use their practical judgment correctly in executing the means to realize it. Since it would be surprising for Kant to recommend giving up a moral end, it seems that either the maxim adopted by the revolutionaries to bring about the end (“Use violence to bring about a republic”) should have been changed, or that the manner selected (beheading aristocrats) to implement the maxim should have been different. Of these, the more general maxim seems to be the one to give up (if we must choose one), since if one rejects using violence to bring about the republic one cannot rationally or consistently will the beheading of aristocrats. In short, Kant’s interest in enthusiasm is morally based, and it accords with practical reason. Far from being inconsistent with a practical philosophy that condemns bloodshed and revolution, Kant’s interest in the onlookers’ expressions of enthusiasm is not only consistent with his practical philosophy – it is grounded in it. Contrary to commentators like Neiman, I have argued that Kant’s position is neither philosophically unclear nor confused. Kant’s pleasure in the existence of enthusiasm is in agreement with the very moral and political philosophy that rejects the means taken to establish the republic in France. The Kantian practical 30

Wood discusses similar possibilities with regard to having a desire generally (though not with regard to the French Revolution); see Kant’ s Ethical Thought, p. 53; cf. pp. 346–7 n.1.

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philosophy condemns actively participating in the revolutionary means but permits feeling excited about the Revolution’s goals and ends. Before concluding this chapter, I would like to consider an alternate solution and then present my reasons for rejecting it. It might seem that the apparent conflict in Kant’s practical philosophy can be solved in a much easier way than the one that I have articulated here. One might think that Kant’s position is simply that the spectators feel something like enthusiasm or react almost (though not actually) with enthusiasm. The incentive for this reading, presumably, is that Kant clearly endorses the spectators yet has serious reservations about enthusiasm itself. The spectators only come close to feeling enthusiasm, but do not actually feel the latter. Thus, the argument goes, Kant writes that the spectator’s aesthetic response “borders closely on” (nahe grenzt) enthusiasm (SF 7:85).31 In this way, Kant could both support the spectators and continue to reject enthusiasm. However, there are several problems with this interpretation. First, it may be questioned whether Kant unconditionally rejects enthusiasm; it seems instead that enthusiasm is ambiguous and therefore contains some redeeming features. Second, there is only a single passage (a phrase at that) that provides textual support for this position. Although I admit that the phrase as such seems to indicate that the onlookers do not feel enthusiasm, there are no other passages like this. We have no other grounds for denying that the onlookers feel enthusiasm. Third, as I argued in chapter 5, this reading is very difficult to reconcile with other parts of the passage. There are very good textual grounds for thinking that the observers do feel enthusiasm. For example, the alternative reading overlooks the fact that Kant explicitly calls this feeling enthusiasm (SF 7:86, 87n.) and describes the feeling as “exaltation” and other terms indicative of the experience of sublimity (SF 7:86–7). Indeed, many commentators such as Howard Williams, Peter Fenves, Paul Guyer, and Jane Kneller recognize that Kant describes the spectators as having a feeling of enthusiasm.32 Thus, whereas the supporting text for the alternative reading consists in a single phrase alone, there is a substantial amount of textual and conceptual support for my interpretation. 31

32

Fenves, in Late Kant, p. 136, wavers on this issue, writing about both a “near” enthusiasm and “the universal enthusiasm” of the spectators. He rightly notes, however, that they are responding to the idea of right, or to the idea of a just republic. Williams, Kant’ s Political Philosophy, p. 209; and Kant’ s Critique of Hobbes, pp. 35 and 131; Fenves, A Peculiar Fate, pp. 171ff. and Late Kant, p. 136; Guyer, Kant, pp. 369–71; and Kneller, Kant and the Power of Imagination, p. 108.

chapter 7

Conclusion

In this concluding chapter, I first summarize the main claims made in the book (section 7.1). I then consider a point that is a pressing issue for any interpretation (such as my own) that makes much of the sublime’s connection with freedom. I examine whether we should endorse or repudiate Kant’s grounding the sublime on transcendental and practical freedom (section 7.2). This issue is also important because commentators such as Malcolm Budd have argued that we should reject Kant’s thesis. Although there may be some good reasons to reject Kant’s thesis that the sublime is based on freedom, I believe that the arguments for endorsing Kant’s thesis outweigh the arguments against doing so. I therefore think that we should follow Kant in grounding the feeling of the sublime on practical freedom. Because it is based on and reveals human freedom, the feeling of the sublime is in a good position to be used for moral ends. Of course, this does not necessarily imply that it will be so used. Accordingly, I conclude the book with a few remarks about how the feelings discussed in the preceding chapters can contribute, even if only indirectly, to the achievement of moral ends (section 7.3). 7.1 summary This monograph has examined the ways in which sublimity can indirectly contribute to the achievement of morality in the natural order. The sublime does this above all by revealing practical freedom and by providing us with a feeling that has a structure similar to the feeling felt in moral agency in response to the motivating moral law, or the moral feeling of respect. Perhaps less frequently, certain forms of sublimity can also help us feel what morality demands of us by giving us an intense affective response to the morally good, and some experiences of the sublime can also act as morally encouraging signs. In defending these and 215

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other claims, I articulated my interpretations of other components of Kant’s aesthetics and practical philosophy. I began by examining sublimity, the moral feeling, and freedom in Kant’s writings from the 1760s, above all the Observations and the corresponding notes collectively known as the Remarks (chapter 1). I did this not only in order to put us in a better position to understand and appreciate the origins of the Critical account, but also to enable us to see that the earlier accounts do not clearly distinguish between the moral feeling and the sublime. Moreover, some crucial claims from the early period reemerge in Kant’s Critical period, sometimes in modified form. For example, somewhat reminiscent of Aristotle, Kant takes a common opinion, in this case the view that “nothing great can be achieved” without enthusiasm, as a starting point for his own claim that enthusiasm is aesthetically sublime (KU 5:272), a view that he asserted in Essay on the Maladies of the Mind (VK 2:267). Moreover, the Observations’ division of the sublime into the terrifying, splendid, and noble, and the notion of the monstrous, resurface in some way in the third Critique or the Anthropology. And in “An Old Question” Kant appeals to a distinction between the false and the true sublime that can be traced back (albeit in a different form) to the grotesque/sublime distinction in the Observations. I also examined four distinct senses of freedom in the marginal notes. It should be clear from looking at the Observations and the notes that the transition problem was not simply generated by writing the first and the second Critiques. We can gain a better understanding of the development of Kant’s reflections on feelings and freedom by looking at the writings of the mid 1760s. I then examined the judgment of sublimity as a pure aesthetic judgment that is based on a feeling of negative pleasure (chapter 2). Kant holds that the sublime is grounded on positive practical freedom in the sense of a capacity to obey the moral law. I characterized the relation between feeling and judgment and the difference between dependent and free aesthetic judgments of the sublime. It seemed necessary to reconsider the widely accepted typology of the sublime in order to make sense of Kant’s suggestive claim that “enthusiasm is aesthetically sublime” (KU 5:272). The traditional division of the sublime into the dynamical and the mathematical, while undoubtedly rooted in Kant’s text, is too narrow to account for other forms of the sublime that are also found in the third Critique – the moral sublime and its subset, the sublime of mental states. Of course, it might be possible simply to ignore the moral sublime, but it seems to me that our understanding of Kant’s aesthetics and practical

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philosophy suffers if we make this move. Since there is little ground for ignoring this form of the sublime, I have drawn out the implications that such an account offers. For instance, it helps us understand several passages in Kant’s corpus as well as his views of the French Revolution. In order to discuss how the sublime can contribute indirectly to morality, it was important to be clear about certain features of the judgment of sublimity and to consider issues associated with it (the subreption, formlessness, etc.). Although in the sublime the imagination is extended or enlarged, the rule of reason in the sublime should not be ignored or downplayed, lest we miss the connection to freedom and the indirect contribution to morality. I concluded the chapter by examining the colossal and monstrous (Ungeheuer) as well as arguing for the possibility of artistic sublimity or, more precisely, the sublime elicited by art. I then turned to the similarities and differences between the moral feeling of respect and the sublime (chapter 3). Some interpreters tend to reduce the Kantian sublime to a moral feeling or read the sublime as a disguised form of the latter, confusing the fact that the sublime is based on practical freedom (which endows us with a moral calling) with the erroneous view that the sublime amounts to the moral feeling of respect or a moral judgment. Both this moralist tendency and the inclination to overemphasize the extension of the imagination in the sublime are misleading. Nonetheless, these interpretive poles each contain an element of truth. After all, the Kantian sublime is ultimately grounded on the human capacity to adopt and act on moral maxims (positive practical freedom), and the imagination does enjoy an exhilarated delight even as it fails to meet reason’s demand. The sublime not only reveals and presupposes practical freedom, it also seems indirectly to support morality in various ways. I have found it useful to characterize these ways in light of Guyer’s four conditions of morality. Finally, by having a structural similarity to the moral feeling of respect, the sublime can prepare us to esteem even contrary to our own interests. This structural similarity might give us more reason to care for, preserve, and protect the natural environment, since for Kant nature is an important source of the sublime. I discussed the various senses of disinterestedness and interest, defending distinctions between positive/negative interests, first-order/ second-order interests, and empirical/morally based interests (chapter 4). These distinctions help us to understand better how a disinterested aesthetic judgment of the sublime can lead to an interest and in what ways a Kantian – and even Kant himself – can take an interest in the sublime.

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This issue is particularly important if enthusiasm can indeed be an experience of the sublime (as I argue in chapter 5), since Kant takes a morally based interest in enthusiasm. My account of empirical and intellectual (or morally based) interests in sublimity was based on Kant’s account of empirical and intellectual interests in beauty. It shows how his intellectual or morally based interest in enthusiasm fits into his aesthetic theory. I fleshed out an account of enthusiasm as an aesthetic feeling of the sublime (chapter 5). I argued that enthusiasm should not be confused with fanaticism (Schwa¨rmerei), although some English-language scholarship and translations continue to contribute to this conflation. With both positive and negative features, however, aesthetic enthusiasm is doubtless an ambiguous phenomenon. As an affect, it overwhelms the rule of reason. Nonetheless, it can still reveal human freedom, act as a morally encouraging sign, give us a strong affective response to the morally good, and share some of the structural features of moral experience (e.g., disinterestedness, universal validity). Accordingly, my interpretation takes seriously Kant’s claim that enthusiasm not only “seems to be sublime” to many but also is “aesthetically sublime” (KU 5:272). Interpreting enthusiasm as an aesthetic feeling of the sublime agrees with the definition of enthusiasm as the “idea of the good with affect” (KU 5:272) much better than does denying that enthusiasm can be an aesthetic feeling of the sublime. When enthusiasm is an experience of the sublime, it is most likely going to be dependent, rather than free, in the sense of dependent sublimity elaborated in section 2.4. The Critical view of enthusiasm differs from the pre-Critical view that without enthusiasm nothing great has been accomplished. Although enthusiasm can reveal freedom and can indirectly contribute to the ends of morality (say, by acting as a moral sign that is given in the natural order), it is not a necessary condition of moral agency. Finally, I showed how a proper interpretation of aesthetic enthusiasm, means and ends, and first-order/second-order interests can be applied to an otherwise puzzling issue, namely, Kant’s simultaneous interest in enthusiasm for the transition to a republic in France and his condemnation of the means used to bring about the first French Republic (chapter 6). I examined Kant’s conception of a republic as a guarantor of basic civil liberties, his morally based interest in enthusiasm for the republic, and his condemnation of the violent actions carried out by the revolutionaries. I hope to have shown that without the interpretations and distinctions that I have articulated in this book we cannot make the

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best sense of Kant’s views of the French Revolution. One advantage of my interpretation is that it enables us to avoid seeing Kant’s position as either politically motivated or philosophically imprecise. I would like to believe that the fact that my interpretation shows Kant’s position to be coherent and consistent is a confirmation of the utility of the distinctions and arguments articulated in previous chapters. 7.2 sublimity’s basis in freedom In this section, I consider the reasons for defending Kant’s attempt to ground the experience of the sublime on a notion of freedom. One point is worth making at the outset. Kant’s “basis in freedom” thesis should be distinguished from the doctrine of subreption in the sublime. Kant’s “basis in freedom” thesis maintains that the sublime is based on our positive practical freedom or moral autonomy, that is, our ability to act in accordance with the moral law.1 Without this positive practical freedom, we would not be able to feel the sublime at all. It is a necessary condition of the experience of the sublime. Kant’s thesis is a statement about the feeling’s basis, whereas the doctrine of subreption concerns the degree of self-awareness that is present in the experience. In the experience of the sublime it is not always necessary to explicitly recognize or put into concepts the fact that one is free; if it were necessary, it is difficult to see how a subreption could occur at all, and Kant clearly believes that it does. The doctrine of the subreption maintains that the sublime is attributed to an object even though its true referent is a moral idea, the idea of humanity in our subject (KU 5:257). The doctrine of the subreption holds that we often (though presumably not always) attribute sublimity to the object instead of to the humanity in our subject. Unlike the basis in freedom, whether or not the subreption obtains is an empirical matter. This can be seen as analogous, though not identical, to metaphysical error, or an error in judgment brought about by the influence of transcendental illusion. The basis in freedom thesis, by contrast, concerns the sublime’s foundation or grounding, which is decidedly not an empirical matter, but what Kant would call a transcendental one. It concerns the possibility of the experience of the sublime. Nonetheless, the two issues are logically related, since if the basis in freedom thesis is rejected, our conception of the subreption should be 1

As mentioned, such freedom presupposes transcendental freedom, for Kant.

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modified accordingly. For if the basis in freedom thesis no longer obtains, there still might be a subject/object conflation, but it would not be a failure to recognize the idea of humanity in our subject, which is a moral idea that presupposes human freedom. It would simply be a kind of subject/object conflation, and that is all. In fact, other eighteenth-century writers besides Kant might be able to commit themselves to such an account. As we saw in section 2.2.4, Kant is not very clear about whether the judgment of the sublime always contains a subreption; or instead always consists in the subject’s self-identification as the source of the sublime (in which case the subreption is recognized as a subreption); or sometimes attributes sublimity to the object and sometimes to the subject. There may be textual support for the first two alternatives, but I think it best to read Kant as defending the third alternative. One advantage of my position is that it leaves room for both possibilities, subreption and selfawareness. The state of affairs that obtains, of course, is a function of contingent psychological circumstances. Thus, I take Kant to be saying that sometimes we are directly aware of the idea of humanity in our subject as the ground of the feeling of the sublime, while at other times we attribute the ground of the feeling to an external object. Now we can turn to whether we should affirm or renounce Kant’s thesis. As mentioned, this is an important issue, since recent commentators have criticized Kant’s position. For example, Budd argues that we should repudiate Kant’s thesis and accuses Kant of (over)moralizing the experience of the sublime: The identification of pleasure in the sublime as pleasure in the felt realization of our superiority to nature appears to be no more than a product of his [Kant’s] inveterate tendency to evaluate everything by reference to moral value – by its capacity or disposition to further moral value or to make vivid morality’s supreme status – a tendency that let him to moralize, in one way or another, any experience he valued.2

One disadvantage of rejecting Kant’s thesis is that problems that the basis in freedom thesis had previously addressed suddenly begin to appear. For example, if the sublime is no longer thought to be grounded on practical freedom (including a capacity for morality), it can no longer satisfy a morally based interest, at least not in the same way as when freedom was the basis of the sublime. This means that morally based interest in the 2

Budd, The Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature, p. 84.

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sublime cannot be explained in the way discussed in the foregoing chapters; in other words, Kant’s account cannot much help us understand the different kinds of rational and empirical (sensible) interests that we might have. Either any interest in the sublime would have to be only an empirical interest, or else one must find something else in the sublime besides its revelation of freedom that is interesting from a moral point of view. The latter seems very unlikely, as it is hard to see what else could be morally interesting without a basis in freedom. Likewise, if the feeling has no grounding in freedom and fails to reveal freedom, it would seem difficult for the sublime to play any sort of role in the transition from nature to freedom, a role that is so important to Kant’s entire philosophical project and to the third Critique in particular. Admittedly, this might not be a decisive argument against rejecting Kant’s thesis. Indeed, one might very well not care that Kant’s philosophy becomes less relevant or that his philosophical project is now missing an important element. But if one thinks that Kant’s project is important and relevant, and cares about the overall coherence of his philosophy, this is a significant price to pay. A second disadvantage is that if one rejects Kant’s thesis, the sublime is robbed of an explanation of its ground, even if Kant’s explanation is deemed inadequate. Such a grounding would then need to be provided. Kirwan recognizes that this situation is indeed a tough one for Kant’s critics to be in: With regard to the grounding of the sublime, if not the implications of that grounding, Kant’s theory may be taken as a synthesis of those theories [eighteenth-century theories of the sublime]. Of subsequent theories, once one has filtered out the Kantian, those that are either overtly or covertly theological, and those which confuse the sublime with the merely overwhelming, the uncanny, the horrifying, or the disgusting, the only real contender left is probably Collingwood’s account.3

Here is not the place to examine the differences between the sublime and the disgusting and the like; I have already touched on some of these differences in section 2.5. Nor do I here wish to evaluate Collingwood’s position in order to determine if it is more appealing than Kant’s account. The point here is simply that if we reject the basis in freedom thesis, we shall have to find a new grounding for the sublime. Providing such a ground is no easy task. 3

Kirwan, The Aesthetic in Kant, p. 181 n.29. Kirwan is referring to R. G. Collingwood, Outlines of a Philosophy of Art (London: Oxford University Press, 1925), pp. 34–44.

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Moreover, it might be questioned whether one could plausibly provide such a ground without appealing to the notion of freedom or transcendence in some sense, even if not a notion identical to Kant’s conception of freedom or even one that is explicitly practical or moral.4 Accordingly, I believe that a connection to rising above or transcending is essential to the sublime. While one might not wish to understand freedom as Kant does, it seems hard to discuss the experience of the sublime without some reference to transcendence. Third, the critic of Kant’s thesis would have to find another reason for attributing universal and necessary validity to the judgment of the sublime, since Kant seems to attribute these two formal conditions to the sublime by virtue of its basis in freedom. Indeed, because of the sublime’s basis in freedom, the exposition of the sublime is for Kant at the same time its deduction, or the proof that the judgment of the sublime necessarily requires everyone’s assent (KU 5:265). Of course, one could avoid this problem by giving up on the notions of universal and necessary validity. To be sure, many contemporary critics of Kant have no problem renouncing these notions. But if one cares about these features, one would have to find another reason for claiming that they pertain to the experience of the sublime. I would like to consider a few more arguments against Kant’s thesis. I believe that none of them, neither separately nor jointly, is sufficient to warrant rejecting Kant’s thesis that the sublime is grounded on freedom. First, one might argue that a theory of the sublime that does not ground the sublime on freedom could more easily account for sublimity elicited by art, an issue relevant to the philosophy of art and to the part of aesthetics that deals with art. After all, scholars debate whether in Kant’s account there is room for the sublime elicited by art. Commentators who deny sublimity elicited by art might argue that the recognition of autonomy or freedom over nature that is required by the Kantian sublime 4

Budd’s alternative grounding turns out to be reminiscent of Heidegger’s description of authenticity as a coming out of everydayness, since for Budd, pace Kant, the sublime arises from a “disruption of our ordinary sense of self, the sudden shock of a change of vision”: “With the sudden dropping away, when confronted by the magnitude or power of nature, of our everyday sense of the importance of our self and its numerous concerns and projects, or of our normal sense of the security of our body from external natural forces, the heightened awareness of our manifest vulnerability and insignificance in the natural world counteracting our normal self-centeredness, in the experience of the sublime the disappearance of our preoccupation with and concern for self is, after the initial shock, experienced with pleasure”; see, The Aesthetic Appreciation of Nature, p. 85. This has a ring of transcendence to it, since one is rising above everyday concerns: Budd may be appealing to a notion of freedom after all. Likewise, Myskja argues for grounding the sublime on transcendence in The Sublime in Kant and Beckett, pp. 57–9.

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can be elicited by nature alone. They might claim that an artwork is created by an artist who predetermines the subject’s response to the object and therefore the artwork acts as a hindrance to, not a stimulus of, the recognition of autonomy. By no longer basing the sublime on freedom, the argument might go, we are now opening up the possibility of a plausible account of artistic sublimity, since Kant’s notion of freedom no longer gets in the way of our experience of art as sublime. However, this line of thinking is flawed. As we have seen, it is likely that Kant’s position is that the subreption frequently, but not always, occurs in the experience of the sublime. Thus, it is not necessary for the subject to actually recognize and identify his freedom or autonomy while undergoing an experience of the sublime; in fact, such recognition rarely occurs since, on my reading of Kant’s account, one usually commits a subreption. An experience of the sublime brought about by art can very well be based on freedom without being a recognition of freedom. Second, Kant’s account can adequately account for sublimity evoked by art. In support of this view, I would here adduce the reasons that were articulated and defended in section 2.6. Let us consider another argument, which runs as follows. If we reject Kant’s thesis we might be able to discover new forms of sublimity (e.g., the bodily sublime, the social sublime) and also make sense of the various empirical, and not just morally based, interests (in the sense discussed in section 4.1) that we take in the sublime. If the sublime is no longer thought to be based on freedom, new forms of sublimity can be recognized, and with them would arise new forms of interest in the sublime. These interests could be empirical, based on either our social inclination or our sense of vitality and well-being. For instance, as if he were himself aware of the possibility of a bodily or social sublime, Kant claims that we call bodily posture and ways of dress noble or sublime (KU 5:272). He also considers, even if he later rejects, the possibility that the movements associated with bodily massage are sublime. When considering the agreeable effects felt after the bodily movements of a healthy massage, Kant insists that the sublime must leave behind a disposition of the mind “that, even if only indirectly, has influence on the consciousness of its strength and resolution in regard to that which brings with it intellectual purposiveness (the supersensible)” and claims that massages, stretching, and the like, however desirable and pleasant they might be, lack this influence: For otherwise all these emotions belong only to the motion that we are glad to have for the sake of health. The agreeable exhaustion that follows such an

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agitation by the play of affects is an enjoyment of the well-being resulting from the equilibrium of the various vital forces that is thus produced in us, which in the end comes down to the same thing as that which the voluptuaries of the Orient find so comforting when they have their bodies as it were kneaded, and all their muscles and joints softly pressed and flexed; only in the first case [the morally based sublime] the moving principle is for the most part in us, while in the latter it is entirely outside us. (KU 5:273–4)

Kant himself refers to “social interest,” in addition to the capacity to promote “health” (KU 5:273). By rejecting Kant’s thesis, the argument goes, we can legitimately characterize as sublime certain forms of sublimity from which Kant backed away. We can also make sense of the empirical interests that we take in these forms. The spirit of this suggestion is a good one. Attention to the social and bodily dimensions of the sublime is welcome and would fill in a gap in Kant’s approach. However, it is doubtful that one must reject Kant’s thesis in order to acknowledge such experiences as well as account for the various interests that we take in them (though his account indeed disallows our calling bodily movements and the like genuinely sublime). While there appear to be excellent reasons for examining more closely the social and bodily dimensions of the experience of the sublime, we need not call these dimensions and occurrences sublime in order to pay careful attention to them. Moreover, giving such attention seems compatible with Kant’s grounding of the sublime on freedom. Kant himself admires Burke’s physiological account of the sublime; he simply recognizes that Burke’s account is not transcendental. According to Burke’s mechanistic account, the sublime is caused by the opening and unblocking of the nerves and muscles, freeing them of what he believed to be dangerous and burdensome stoppages.5 Kant criticizes Burke’s empirical, “physiological exposition” of the sublime because, as empirical and physiological, such an account is not appropriate or sufficient for a transcendental critique, which, Kant insists, examines and requires a priori principles (KU 5:277). Kant worries that an empirical theory is not able to account for the universal validity and necessity that he imputes to judgments of the sublime. An empirical theory would not be able to contribute to crossing

5

See Richard Shusterman, “Somaesthetics and Burke’s Sublime,” British Journal of Aesthetics 45(4) (2005): 323–41; and Vanessa L. Ryan, “The Physiological Sublime: Burke’s Critique of Reason,” Journal of the History of Ideas, 62(2) (April 2001): 265–79.

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the gulf between feelings and freedom and thus could not indirectly promote the realization of morality in nature. The limited scope of the empirical approach notwithstanding, Kant does not repudiate the fact that Burke devotes attention to the body or the fact that Burke’s theory of the sublime describes the feeling in terms of bodily mechanism. Kant admits that Burke is the “foremost author” of the empirical approaches and says that such remarks can provide “rich materials for the favorite researches of empirical anthropology” (KU 5:277). It may very well be that the Burkean and the Kantian approaches are compatible, although I cannot defend this thesis here. There may be a way to connect the empirical methods exemplified by Burke and the transcendental approaches exhibited by Kant, or to find a middle ground that recognizes both empirical reality and the ideal conditions of aesthetic judgment. Of course, contemporary somatic approaches to aesthetic experience would deploy more accurate physiology than Burke’s eighteenth-century account of terror as an “unnatural tension and certain violent emotions of the nerves” (Enquiry; part iv, §v). Burke’s view of heightened tension as the necessary but physiologically mechanical efficient cause of the experience is certainly too one-sided, and Burke wrongly identifies contractions with pain and terror. The different physiological responses (contractions, relaxations, breathing, faster heartbeat) and behavioral responses (directional orientations, gestures, speech) could be analyzed empirically, producing potentially intriguing results. Both Burke’s and Kant’s accounts might be able to be updated by contemporary psychological and neurobiological explanations of the processes associated with the sublime. In short, we need not call such things as massages, stretching, posture, or costume sublime in order to study them or consider them philosophically. We do not have to reject Kant’s grounding of the sublime on the alleged reason that otherwise we cannot examine these phenomena. Nor do we need to reject Kant’s thesis in order to explain our various kinds of interest in these bodily processes or social phenomena. We can explain, in terms consistent with Kant’s position, our empirical interest in pursuing these bodily processes and social phenomena for the sake of our bodily or social well-being, as well as our scientific and theoretical interest in analyzing and studying them. Finally, a physiological, empirical approach to analyzing these processes and phenomena seems to be compatible with Kant’s transcendental approach. Kant’s admiration for Burke’s approach suggests that it is compatible with his own.

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To conclude: although some arguments for rejecting Kant’s thesis can be offered, upon closer scrutiny these arguments do not amount to a sufficient reason for rejecting Kant’s grounding of the sublime on practical freedom.6 Moreover, on the positive side, there are also several compelling reasons to endorse Kant’s thesis. 7.3 the transition to freedom Since Kant holds that morality is the final purpose of human existence, it should come as little surprise that Kant believes that the various kinds of human feelings discussed in this book can in some way help us make the transition to freedom and realize moral ends (see Appendix 2). For instance, the moral feeling of respect reveals a practical agent’s response to the moral law. Moreover, the feelings of the sublime and the beautiful can represent the moral law aesthetically. The sublime can do this by, among other things, having a phenomenological structure in which sensible interests are sacrificed to supersensible rationality (KU 5:271), and the beautiful by virtue of its immediacy, disinterestedness, freedom, and universality (KU 5:354). Sublimity can play a moral role by accustoming us to how the moral agent’s response to the moral law feels, by giving us a palpable awareness of our transcendental and practical freedom, and in various other ways that we have examined. Genuine aesthetic enthusiasm, I have argued, bears a likeness to sublimity. Not only does it bear the structure of the sublime, it can even be a part of an aesthetic experience of the sublime. This reading is one plausible (though not necessarily the only) way to read Kant’s claim that enthusiasm is aesthetically sublime. In this book I have attempted to show that a correct understanding of aesthetic enthusiasm not only clarifies Kant’s otherwise confusing views of the French Revolution, but also shows how the sublime can indirectly contribute to morality. It is noteworthy that Kant’s discussion of (genuine aesthetic) enthusiasm comes immediately after two key claims: first, that sublimity, even better than beauty, represents the moral law, the “intellectual, intrinsically 6

Forsey, in “Is a Theory of the Sublime Possible?” pp. 381–9, argues that a theory of the sublime is not possible, since the sublime is either “nothing” (it cannot be an object of experience), “anything” (a description of the cognitive failure of a judging subject), or “cannot be theorized at all” (dealing only with a feeling or emotive state) (p. 388). However, she evidently offers a theory of the sublime herself, one that amounts to “an error theory” (p. 381). Presumably, her theory of the sublime rejects Kant’s grounding of the sublime in freedom. She asserts that accepting his theory of the sublime requires a “commitment to Kantian terminology” and an interpretation of the “Kantian system” (p. 385), but makes no attempt to explain what the problem with this is.

Conclusion

227

purposive (moral) good” (KU 5:271); and second, that “certain affects” become “interesting” if they demonstrate a soaring above certain “obstacles of sensibility by means of moral principles” (KU 5:271). I have attempted to flesh out both of these claims by showing how one affect in particular – enthusiasm – can be conceived of as both a form of sublimity and as interesting from a moral point of view, the object of a morally based or intellectual interest. Fortunately, Kant’s commentators are paying increasingly more attention to how beauty and sublimity can contribute to the transition to freedom. Nonetheless, relatively little (or at least faithful) consideration has been given to Kant’s conceptions of the monstrous and the grotesque or to his account of the sublime’s more wholesome offspring, aesthetic enthusiasm.7 I hope to have filled in this gap. One of the aims of my examination of Kant’s aesthetics and practical philosophy was thus to contribute to the growing interest in how feelings can reveal freedom or otherwise relate to purposiveness and to morality. Accordingly, I hope that this book enables us to appreciate that, if indeed Kant is right that “the depth of the mind in moral things is sublime” (Refl 993; 15:438), this profundity has a corresponding elevation that is based on human freedom – a stretching of the powers through ideas (KU 5:272).

7

Lyotard characterizes enthusiasm as having siblings; see Lessons, p. 189.

appendix 1

On the Remarks

Richard Velkley, in Freedom and the End of Reason, p. 50, maintains that “the Remarks can be assigned its date of composition more securely than any other part of Kant’s Nachlass.” Taking cues from the location of certain reflections, differences in ink quality, and textual content, Erich Adickes concluded that Kant must have written, in succession, on the interleaved sheets between January of 1764 and the fall of 1765. He claims that only thereafter, between the middle and end of 1765, did Kant write on the margins and printed pages the short observations associated with (but not corrections of) the text of the Observations. In the Akademie edition (1942), Lehmann followed Adickes in believing that the Remarks was most likely written between 1764 and 1765. Maria Rischmu¨ller, in her introduction, p. xvii, offers the date of no later than the publication of Dreams of a Spirit-Seer (Traüme eines Geistersehers) in 1766. Clemens Schwaiger, in Kategorische und Andere Imperative: Zur Entwicklung von Kants praktischer Philosophie bis 1785 (Stuttgart: Frommann-Holzboog, 1999), pp. 66ff., argues that it is likely that the notes were written during different periods. He cautions against canonizing the view that all of the notes were written in a single, continuous period of time, since this view is doubted even by Adickes. In particular, Schwaiger correctly points out that the notes that are written in Latin contain a conceptually advanced position in Kant’s ethics. He admits that the fragments in Latin are difficult to date because they contain few points of reference to other events or writings. Schwaiger (pp. 69–70) reminds us that the content of the Latin passages expresses the Critical ethics in its basic form and, without any essential changes, finds its way into the main works of moral philosophy in the 1780s. The view that the Latin passages are conceptually advanced is held by Dieter Henrich and Joseph Schmucker, who agree with the Adickes/Lehmann date of 1764–5. The conceptually advanced state of the Latin passages suggests, Schwaiger argues, that they were written relatively late, a conclusion that runs 228

On the Remarks

229

counter to the Adickes/Lehmann date. Schwaiger (p. 74) concedes that a strong indication of a relatively early inception of the notes is the fact that “imperative” is not yet found in these Latin passages. Despite this concession, he continues to defend a date of composition later than 1765. Unfortunately, Schwaiger does not specify an alternate terminus ante quem. He merely suggests that it is likely or probable that a later date than 1765 is the genuine terminus ante quem. We can, of course, be certain of the terminus post quem, 1764, since the Remarks was written into a copy of a treatise published in 1764. Schwaiger’s basic points are convincing: the dating of the text cannot be determined with complete certainty; the notes might not have been composed in a single, continuous period; and it is also possible that parts (above all the Latin ones) of the Remarks were written somewhat later than 1765. We cannot be certain about how much later, however, for several reasons. The Latin remarks are mixed together with the German ones in a manner that suggests that Kant wrote the fragments during the same period. Frequently, a Latin fragment will extend the argument of a German fragment, and vice versa, and employ similar concepts. Furthermore, Kant often germanizes Latin phrases in a way that suggests the contemporary composition of Latin and German passages. Finally, in passages that are written in German, Kant sometimes leaves whole words or phrases in Latin (e.g., Rem 20:180; 134), and, conversely, he uses German words in the middle of Latin fragments (e.g., Rem 20:80; 62). While none of these features definitively proves a contemporary composition, they do suggest its likelihood. Schwaiger’s three points, in any case, are compatible with Adickes’ and Rischmu¨ller’s claim that Kant composed the text before the emergence of the Dreams in 1766. In conclusion, it is reasonable to name 1766 as the terminus ante quem and to maintain that Kant wrote the Remarks between 1764 and 1766. Although the original manuscript has been lost, Adickes took photographs of the manuscript, made a transcription, and wrote explanatory notes at some time in the 1930s. In 1842, Friedrich Wilhelm Schubert published selections of the Remarks. See Immanuel Kant’ s sa¨mtliche Werke, ed. Rosenkranz/Schubert, vol. xi, 1: Briefe. Erkla¨rungen. Fragmente aus seinem Nachlasse (Leipzig, 1842), pp. 221–60. See also Rischmu¨ller, introduction, p. xii. A century later (1942), Lehmann published the manuscript in its entirety, this time as part of the Akademie Ausgabe collection of Kant’s writings. Lehmann entitled the text Bemerkungen zu den “ Beobachtungen u¨ber das Gefu¨hl des Scho¨nen und Erhabenen” (20:1– 192). Since the original manuscript had been lost, Lehmann was forced to work with the Adickes photographs, transcription, and notes. In 1967,

230

Appendix 1

Lehmann gave the Adickes photographs, transcription, and corresponding notes to the Niedersa¨chsischen StaatsUniversita¨t Bibliotek in Go¨ttingen, where the documents are as this book went to press. Rischmu¨ller, in editing the second German edition of the Remarks, made use of the Adickes photos and Nachlass materials as well as the Lehmann edition; see Rischmu¨ller, introduction, p. xix. Interest in the Remarks has been minimal, at least until recently, in part due to its late publication and the fact that in 1842 only selections were published, not to mention the fact that the notes are fragmentary and also require acquaintance with Latin and other languages. Moreover, there is no evidence that Kant reread his notes or referred to them in later years. Although the fragments mark an important step in Kant’s intellectual development, the notes do not seem to have figured prominently in Kant’s self-understanding of the latter. Commentators writing in German, French, Italian, and English have recently demonstrated a renewed interest in the notes, however. Since the publication of Rischmu¨ller’s richly annotated and documented edition, one complete translation of the notes has appeared in French and two translations in Italian: Immanuel Kant, Remarques touchant les observations sur le sentiment du beau et du sublime, trans. Brigitte Geonget (Paris: Jacques Vrin, 1994); Immanuel Kant, Annotazioni alle osservazioni sul sentimento del bello e del sublime, trans. Maria Teresa Catena (Naples: Guida, 2002); Immanuel Kant, Bemerkungen: Note per un diario filosofico, trans. Katrin Tenenbaum (Rome: Meltemi, 2001). Immanuel Kant, Notes and Fragments, ed. Guyer, contains twenty-five pages of notes that deal with Kant’s moral philosophy and most, though not all, of the notes that deal with aesthetics, taste, and the sublime. Kant’s notes are examined in many studies; e.g., Ernst Cassirer, Rousseau, Kant, Goethe, trans. James Guttmann (Princeton University Press, 1945); Jean Ferrari, Les sources françaises de la philosophie de Kant (Paris: Librarie Klincksieck, 1979); V. Delbos, La philosophie practique de Kant (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1905, 3rd edn. 1969); J. Starobinski, Jean-Jacques Rousseau: Transparency and Obstruction, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (University of Chicago Press, 1971); and Arturo Deregibus, Il problema morale in Jean-Jacques Rousseau e la validita` dell’ interpretazione kantiana (Turin: G. Giappichelli Editore, 1957).

negative pleasure

practical (moral) n/a

agency

Pleasure?

Aesthetic or practical? Free or dependent?

Agency or spectatorship?

Moral feeling of respect

aesthetic free or dependent spectatorship

free or dependent spectatorship

pleasure

Beauty

aesthetic

negative pleasure

Sublimity

dependent (object is contrapurposive) spectatorship

aesthetic

negative pleasure

The monstrous

agency

n/a

practical

pleasure

Practical enthusiasm

Some features of the feelings discussed in this book

appendix 2

spectatorship

usually dependent

negative pleasure (contrary to sensible interests) aesthetic


appendix 3

Classification of what elicits sublimity

Following my three-fold typology, this table classifies the objects that can elicit an aesthetic judgment of the sublime. Cf. the list in Bo¨hme, Kants “ Kritik der Urteilskraft,” pp. 83–107, which unlike my table does not classify the objects. It is limited to the third Critique. The sublime of mental states is conceived as a subset of the moral sublime. Some sublime mental states (subset 1) only elicit feelings of the sublime, while some states can actually be or constitute such feelings (subset 2). Mountain ranges, the ocean, and the idea of infinity can evoke either the dynamical or the mathematical sublime, depending on the act of judging. For example, the ocean can be seen as a mirror or as an abyss (KU 5:270).

232

Subset 1 of SMS: states that elicit the sublime Morally based, courageous affect (KU 5:272; cf. 263)

Subset of the moral sublime: the sublime of mental states (SMS)

The morally good (KU 5:271) Lawfulness of an action from duty (KU 5:267) Divine command (KU 5:274) People’s way of thinking (KU 5:263) Courage (KU 5:263) Fearless human being (KU 5:262) The human figure (KU 5:270) Virtuous soldier (KU 5:262) General (KU 5:262) War conducted justly (KU 5:263) Morally based self-sufficiency (KU 5:275) a Religious sermon (KU 5:273, 274) a Tragedy (KU 5:274) a Verse tragedy (KU 5:325) a Oratorio (KU 5:325) a Didactic poem (KU 5:325)

Mountain ranges (KU 5:269) Ocean (KU 5:261; as abyss, 270) Icy mountains (KU 5:265) Shadowy wastelands (KU 5:269) Deep ravines with raging torrents (KU 5:269) Threatening cliffs (KU 5:261) Thunder clouds (KU 5:261) Violent volcanoes (KU 5:261) Devastating hurricanes (KU 5:261) High waterfall (KU 5:261) God (KU 5:263) Jupiter’s eagle (KU 5:315) a Content of de Saussure’s travel books (KU 5:265) a Inscription at the temple of Isis (KU 5:316n.) Idea of infinity (KU 5:265)

Mountain ranges (KU 5:256) Ocean (KU 5:245; as mirror, 270) Dark, raging sea (KU 5:256) Starry heavens (KU 5:270) A series (human, tree, mountain, earth, planetary system, Milky Way, nebulae) (KU 5:256) Nature as infinite (KU 5:255) Egyptian pyramids (KU 5:252) St. Peter’s Basilica (KU 5:252) Idea of infinity (KU 5:255) c Raw nature (KU 5:253)

Both dynamical and mathematical sublime Mountain ranges (KU 5:256; 269) Ocean (KU 5:245; 261; 270) Idea of infinity (KU 5:255, 265)

The moral sublime

The dynamical sublime

The mathematical sublime

c

b

a

The dynamical sublime

Subset 2 of SMS: states that can be part of the experience of the sublime Aesthetic enthusiasm (KU 5:272) Admiration (KU 5:272)

Righteous anger (KU 5:272) Enraged despair (KU 5:272) Moral sadness (Traurigkeit) (KU 5:276) Moral sorrow (Betru¨bniß) (KU 5:276) b Moral apathy (KU 5:272)

The moral sublime

These forms of sublimity retrieve the pseudo-Longinian origins of the sublime. Whereas moral apathy is sublime, a literary style, buildings, costume (Kleid ), and bodily posture are improperly called noble (edel ) (KU 5:272). Kant distinguishes free judgments of the sublime elicited by “raw nature” from the dependent judgments evoked by “buildings, columns, etc.” and “animals of a known natural determination” (KU 5:253; cf. 270, 279).

The mathematical sublime

(cont.)

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Index

the absolutely great, the sublime defined as, 64, 66 Adickes, Erich, 228 admiration and the sublime, 186 adoptive virtues, 38–9 the aesthetic and the practical, relationship between, 54 aesthetic enthusiasm, 30, 169–70, 218 as affect, 170, 171, 176–7, 181, 182, 184–6 characteristics of, 231 in The Conflict of the Faculties, 173–6, 191, 192, 200 defined, 169 as dependent sublimity, 96, 191–4 evolution of Kant’s thought on, 1, 170 false sublimity, Kirwan’s view of enthusiasm as, 181–2, 190 fanaticism distinguished, 4, 40, 170–3 four moments of pure/merely reflective aesthetic judgment and, 64, 170, 174, 176, 184, 194 freedom and, 11, 41, 170, 172–3, 179, 196–9 for French Revolution/republic; see French Revolution, enthusiasm for imagination enlarged and expanded by, 171, 173 interest and disinterestedness, 11, 175, 187–9 mental states, as sublime of, 91, 169, 184 moral apathy or affectlessness preferred to, 190 moral constraints on, 191 moral idea, as response to, 117, 197–8 morality and, 9, 140, 170, 172–3, 179–81, 196–9 morally ambiguous nature of, 170, 172, 178–83, 214 morally based interest in, 165, 169 natural objects not stimulus of, 182 nature, sense of self as in harmony with, 140 only one form of, 182 patriotism, association with, 41

Platonic origins of concept of, 11, 24, 171, 183 practical enthusiasm distinguished, 3, 42, 169, 203, 210, 231 pre-Critical theory of, 39–42, 50–2, 55, 170, 194–6, 218 reason and, 177, 178, 179, 181 spectator, enthusiast’s perspective as, 211 the sublime, as aesthetic feeling of, 16, 19, 30, 170, 183–91 sympathy and, 5 transition problem, 29 aesthetic judgment; see judgment of the sublime affect aesthetic enthusiasm as, 170, 171, 176–7, 181, 182, 184–6 defined, 176–7 Kirwan’s view of, 182 mental states, sublime of, 90, 92 morality, relationship between, 92 the sublime, as experience of, 184–6 affectlessness or apathy, moral, 92–4, 167, 190 the agreeable, feelings of, 187 Allison, Henry on intellectual categorical imperative, 74 on the mathematical sublime, 66 on maxims, 211, 212 on morality and the sublime, 11, 19 on Observations, 34 on respect, as moral feeling, 129 on sublime of mental states, 89, 95–6 on transcendental illusion, 72 ambiguity, moral of aesthetic enthusiasm, 170, 172, 178–83, 214 of the sublime, 178 ambition and the noble sublime distinguished, 54 anarchic state of nature, duty to establish sovereignty in, 209 anthropocentrism of Kant’s view of nature, 141–2 apathy or affectlessness, moral, 92–4, 167, 190

250

Index Arendt, Hannah, 211 Aristotle, 216 art deception and, 160 morality and the sublime, 140 morally based interest in, 160–2, 166 the sublime, elicitation of, 58, 116–25, 222–3 astonishment and the sublime, 184–6 awe, 172

251

constraints, moral on aesthetic enthusiasm, 191 on the moral sublime, 86, 96 Critical and pre-Critical theory aesthetic enthusiasm, evolution of Kant’s thought on, 1, 170 morality and the sublime in pre-Critical theory compared, 52–5 on the sublime, 14 Crockett, Clayton, 21, 22 Cromwell, Oliver, 206 Crowther, Paul, 164–5

the beautiful aesthetic enthusiasm not a feeling of, 187 in art, 120, 125 characteristics of, 231 empirical interest in, 155, 155–8 free/dependent distinction in, 98 morality and, 10, 16, 135 morally based interest in, 155, 158–63 the sublime distinguished from, 34 transition problem, 9 the ugly and the monstrous vs., 115 Beiner, Ronald, 15 biocentric critique of Kant’s view of nature, 141–2, 144 bodily health; see health, bodily Boileau, Nicolas, 13 Bosanquet, Bernard, 15, 161 Bouchet, Louis-Andre´-Gabriel, 1, 2 Bouillon, Pierre, 1 Budd, Malcolm on alternative grounding of the sublime, 28, 31, 215, 220, 222 on dependent and free sublimity, 96, 102–6, 107 on interest and disinterestedness, 152, 155 Burke, Edmund astonishment, association of sublime with, 184 empirical interest in sublimity and, 163 on French Revolution, 200 on moral ambiguity of the sublime, 178 on opposition of beauty and sublimity, 163 physiological account of the sublime by, 224–5 theories of the sublime, 13, 15

de Saussure, M., 67, 124 deception and artifice, 160 deduction of the sublime, 136–9 delusion of mind or loss of wits (Wahnwitz), fanaticism compared to, 171 delusion of sense (Wahnsinn), enthusiasm compared to, 171, 178 Dennis, John, 23 dependent/free distinction applied to the sublime, 28, 57, 96–108, 154, 191–4 desire disinterestedness as not having, 149 interest as, 146, 147, 148, 152, 167 despotic government, 205, 209 determinate and indeterminate concepts, 206–7 disgust, 111, 114, 115 disinterestedness; see interest and disinterestedness drives, 148 Dunham, Barrows, 59, 91, 118 Dutton, Denis, 98 the dynamical sublime, 18, 29, 54, 67–9 fear elicited by, 68, 113 free/dependent distinction applied to, 105, 107 imagination enlarged and expanded in, 173 the moral sublime not subset of, 87 practical freedom revealed by, 17, 67–8, 139 sublime of mental states not subset of, 94 table of objects eliciting aesthetic judgment of, 232

categorical imperative, 74, 201, 208–9 Cato the Younger, 1, 41, 51–2 Charles I (king of England), 115 Christian theology as de-sublimization of Jewish law forbidding graven images, 173 civil disobedience, non-violent, 208 Collingwood, R. G., 221 the colossal, 57, 108 Conflict of the Faculties, The aesthetic enthusiasm in, 173–6, 191, 192, 200

ecological sensibilities, 141–5; see also nature economics, concept of interest in, 147 education, moral; see moral education E´mile (Rousseau), 46 empirical interests, 148, 154–5 in beauty, 155–8 grounding of sublimity in freedom, possibilities of rejection of, 223–5 social aspect of, 157 in sublimity, 163–4

252

Index

ends Kant’s theory of means and ends, 204–5, 208–14 moral, rational, or prudential: beauty, morally based interest in, 163; disinterestedness as not attempting to achieve, 149; interest as attempt to achieve, 147–8 engagement or interaction disinterestedness requiring, 150, 167 interest as, 147, 148 spectator, enthusiast’s perspective as, 211 enthusiasm, 2 aesthetic; see aesthetic enthusiasm as affect, 170, 171 defined, 169 fanaticism distinguished, 4, 40, 170–3 for French Revolution/republic; see French Revolution, enthusiasm for Platonic origins of concept of, 11, 24, 171, 183 practical, 3, 42, 169, 203, 210, 231 environmental sensibilities, 141–5; see also nature error theory, subreption as, 72 exposition of the sublime, 136–7 false sublimity, Kirwan’s view of enthusiasm as, 181–2, 190 fanaticism distinguished from enthusiasm, 4, 40, 170–3 fear dynamical sublime eliciting, 68, 113 moral sublime not eliciting, 87 feelings; see also specific feelings, e.g. moral feeling genuine moral worth, lack of, 179 judgment, relationship to, 58–61 table of characteristics of, 231 Fenves, Peter, 5, 20, 128, 182, 195, 214 first-order interests, 148, 151–4 Fontenelle, Bernard le Bovier de, 130 form/formlessness of that which elicits the sublime, 56, 69–72, 121 Forsey, Jane, 222 four moments of pure/merely reflective aesthetic judgment, 61–4, 170, 174, 176, 184, 194 freedom, 2, 215–19 aesthetic enthusiasm and, 11, 41, 170, 172–3, 179, 196–9 art as well as nature eliciting the sublime, 116–25 dynamical sublime, practical freedom revealed by, 17, 67–8 French Revolution, enthusiasm for: aesthetic enthusiasm as revelatory of 196; concept of republic and, 205–7 imagination and, 79–83

as independence or self-sufficiency, 46–7, 88 judgment and feeling, relationship between, 61 luxury threatening, 46, 47 mathematical sublime: dependent/free distinction applied to, 100, 107; infinity and, 66; transcendental freedom experienced via, 17, 18 metaphysical, 49 the monstrous and, 109, 116 moral freedom, 48–9 moral sublime, as revealed by, 18 morality and the sublime: presupposition of, 135–9; sublimity supporting morality by encouraging belief in freedom, 139, 215, 226–7 nature vs., 7 political freedom, 47 practical; see practical freedom pure and free used by Kant as synonyms, 99 reason and, 79–83 in Remarks, 45 and the sublime: dependent/free distinction applied to, 28, 57, 96–108, 154, 191–4; grounding in freedom, 28, 31, 78, 215, 219–26; morality supported by sublimity by encouraging belief in freedom, 139, 215, 226–7; morally based interest in art and, 117; presupposition of freedom by, 135, 135–9; Remarks, relationship between freedom and sublimity in, 45, 49–50 subreption and, 78 transcendental; see transcendental freedom transition problem, 3, 6, 29, 31, 216 virtue, freedom, and aesthetic feeling, 37–9, 49–50 French Revolution, enthusiasm for, 31, 200–1, 218 as aesthetic response bordering on or closely resembling enthusiasm, 214 Burke’s lack of, 200 in The Conflict of the Faculties, 173–6, 191, 192, 200 consistency of Kant’s position regarding, 201–4, 208–14 critique of Kant’s position as inconsistent, 201–4 as dependent sublimity, 192–3 and freedom: aesthetic enthusiasm as revelatory of, 196; concept of republic and, 205–7 intellectual interest in the sublime, 16, 26 Louis XVI, execution of, 115 maxims, 204–5, 206–7, 211–13

Index means and ends, Kant’s theory of, 204–5, 208–14 moral progress, as sign of, 5, 6, 197, 207, 210–14, 226 practical judgment in Kant’s theory of means and ends, 204, 205, 211–13 practical vs. aesthetic enthusiasm, 203, 210 Reign of Terror, 212 spectator, enthusiast’s perspective as, 211 the sublime, aesthetic enthusiasm as experience of, 2, 20, 26, 30 success of Revolution, Kant’s skepticism regarding, 210 violence as means, Kant’s condemnation of, 208–10 Gadamer, Hans-Georg, 14 game theory, concept of interest in, 147 Gasche´, Rodolfe, 28 Geier, Manfred, 193 genius, 25, 118, 161 Goldthwait, John, 35 government anarchic state of nature, duty to establish sovereignty in, 209 despotic government, 205, 209 Kant’s refusal to allow overthrow of, 208–10 Kant’s two forms of, 205 graven images, Jewish law forbidding, 172–3 greatness, necessity of enthusiasm for, 194–6 Grier, Michelle, 28, 57, 72–9 grotesque the, 27, 28, 35–7, 113 Gue´rin, Pierre-Narcisse, 1 Guyer, Paul on art and the sublime, 117 on deduction of the sublime, 137 on form/formlessness of that which elicits the sublime, 69 on free/dependent distinction applied to the sublime, 96, 105–7 on freedom as independence, 46 on French Revolution, enthusiastic response of spectators of, 214 on interest and disinterestedness, 28 on morality and the sublime, 9, 19, 170 on Observations, 33 on subreption, 78 on the ugly, 70–1 Haller, Albrecht von, 35 happiness, 81, 138 health, bodily affects positively affecting, 176 the sublime positively affecting, 167 sublimity in, 223–5

253

Heidegger, Martin, 222 hierarchy of maxims, 211 Hill, Thomas E., Jr., 210 historical judgment, 189 Hobbes, Thomas, 36 Home, Henry, Lord Kames, 23, 24, 67 humanity, Kant’s concept of, 72, 219–20 Hume, David, 15, 33, 158 Hutcheson, Francis, 15, 33, 44 ideality in judgment of the sublime, 63 ideas, moral, 117, 197–8, 206–7 imagination, 79–83, 138, 171, 173, 217 impartiality, disinterestedness as, 149 Incorporation Thesis, 204 independence or self-sufficiency, freedom as, 46–7, 88 indeterminate and determinate concepts, 206–7 inequality, luxury leading to, 46 infinity, 66, 70–1, 121, 132 interaction or engagement disinterestedness requiring, 150, 167 interest as, 147, 148 spectator, enthusiast’s perspective as, 211 interest and disinterestedness, 28, 30, 146, 167–8, 217 abstraction or distance, disinterestedness not to be interpreted as, 150 aesthetic enthusiasm, 11, 175, 187–9 attempt to achieve rational, moral or prudential end: beauty, morally based interest in, 163; disinterestedness as not attempting, 149; interest as, 147–8, 152 different senses of disinterestedness in Kant’s writings, 149–51 different senses of interest in Kant’s writings, 146–9 empirical interests; see empirical interests first-order and second-order interests, 148, 151–4 in game theory, sociobiology, and economics, 147 impartiality, disinterestedness as, 149 maxims based on interest, 204 positive or negative, taking an interest as, 148, 152 pre-Critical account of, 53 the sublime, intellectual interest in, 16, 26 universal validity and disinterestedness, 151 Jewish law forbidding graven images, 172–3 Johnson, Gregory R., 5 judgment and feeling, relationship between, 58–61

254

Index

judgment of the sublime disinterestedness of, 61–4, 135 four moments of pure/merely reflective aesthetic judgment, 61–4, 170, 174, 176, 184, 194 historical judgment, 189 ideality in, 63 lingering in contemplative pleasure of, 150 moral idea as true referent of, 117 nature, dependent judgments in, 102 necessity in judgment, 61–4, 222 purity of aesthetic judgment, Kant’s concept of, 98–101, 119 singularity of pure aesthetic judgment, 97 subjective purposiveness of, 61–4 table of objects eliciting, 232 universal validity of, 61–4, 135, 151, 174, 222 judgment, practical, in Kant’s theory of means and ends, 204, 205, 211–13 Kames, Lord [Henry Home], 23, 24, 67 Kelly, Michael, 150, 151 Kirwan, James, 59, 98, 181–2, 190, 221 Kneller, Jane, 152, 155, 214 Lacan, Jacques, 113 Lehmann (editor of Kant), 42, 228 Leibniz, Gottfried, 158 lingering in contemplative pleasure of aesthetic judgment, 150–1 Lo¨benichtschen Tower, Kant’s view of, 142 Longinus, Cassius, 12 Louden, Robert, 132 Louis XVI (king of France), 115 Luther, Martin, 4 luxury, 46, 47 Lyotard, Jean-François, 20 Makkreel, Rudolf, 17, 21, 184 marginalia in Observations; see Remarks, the mathematical sublime, 17, 29, 55, 64–6 freedom: dependent/free distinction, 100, 107; infinity and, 66; transcendental, 17, 18 imagination enlarged and expanded in, 173 infinity, 66, 70–1, 121, 132 lingering in contemplative pleasure of aesthetic judgment, 150 Lyotard on, 22 the monstrous and, 109 the moral sublime not subset of, 87 sublime of mental states not subset of, 94 table of objects eliciting aesthetic judgment of, 232 universally valid (subjective) standard, judgments grounded on, 65

maxims, 204–5, 206–7, 211–13 McAdoo, Nick, 98 means and ends, Kant’s theory of, 204–5, 208–14 Melville, Herman, 108, 109, 110 Mendelssohn, Moses, 33 Menninghaus, Winfred, 114 mental states, the sublime of, 19, 84, 88–96, 169, 184, 232 Menzer, Paul, 44 metaphysical freedom, 49 meteors, as monstrous, 112 Moby Dick, or The Whale (Melville), 108, 109, 110 monarchs and monarchy execution of monarchs, 115 universal monarchy, monstrosity of, 113 the monstrous, 27, 29, 55, 57, 108, 231 Montaigne, Michel de, 36, 52 moral ambiguity of aesthetic enthusiasm, 170, 172, 178–83, 214 of the sublime, 178 moral apathy or affectlessness, 92–4, 167, 190 moral character, fanaticism not requiring improvement of, 172 moral constraints on aesthetic enthusiasm, 191 on the moral sublime, 86, 96 moral education aesthetic enthusiasm and, 198, 199 examples for, 199 moral sublime in, 85–6 morality and the sublime, 140 moral feeling aesthetic enthusiasm not an instance of, 187–9 of respect; see respect, as moral feeling moral freedom, 48–9 moral ideas, 117, 197–8, 206–7 moral interest, 148, 151–4 moral law moral sublime as aesthetic experience of, 84 pre-Critical account of, 53 respect for, 127–31; see also respect, as moral feeling moral, rational, or prudential end beauty, morally based interest in, 163 disinterestedness as not attempting to achieve, 149 interest as attempt to achieve, 147–8 moral satisfaction, 131 the moral sublime, 29, 57, 84–7, 216 aesthetic enthusiasm and, 19 constraints on, 86, 96 defined, 17, 84 existence of, 84–7 freedom revealed by, 18

Index Kant’s examples of, 85–6 mental states, the sublime of, 19, 84, 88–96, 169, 184, 232 not subset of mathematical or dynamical sublime, 87 pre-Critical noble sublime and, 55 respect differentiated from, 84–6 scholarly neglect of form of, 27 significance of, 56 subreption, likelihood of, 86 table of objects eliciting aesthetic judgment of, 232 morality and the sublime, 30, 126–7, 215–19 aesthetic enthusiasm and, 9, 140, 170, 172–3, 179–81, 196–9 affects and morality, relationship between, 92 artwork, 140 awareness of moral vocation, 140 the beautiful and, 10, 16, 135 education, moral, 140 freedom: presupposition of, 135–9; sublimity supporting morality by encouraging belief in freedom, 139, 215, 226–7 French Revolution, enthusiasm for, 5, 6, 197, 207, 210–14, 226 the grotesque, 35–7 Guyer on, 10 interest and disinterestedness, 11, 135, 139 the monstrous and, 116 pre-Critical and Critical theory compared, 52–5 support of morality by the sublime, 139–41 transition problem, 3, 6, 29, 31, 216 universal validity, 135 virtue, freedom, and aesthetic feeling, 37–9, 49–50 morality, second-order interest in, 148 morally based interests, 154, 154–5; see also interest and disinterestedness in aesthetic enthusiasm, 165, 169 in art, 160–2, 166 in beauty, 155, 158–63 existence of object not central to, 156 Kant’s use of intellectual and morally based interests as terms, 10 in sublimity, 164–7 music, Kant’s lack of admiration for, 122 Myskja, Bjørn K., 62, 192, 193 nature aesthetic enthusiasm, natural objects not stimulus of, 182 anarchic state of, duty to establish government in, 209

255

art as well as nature eliciting the sublime, 58, 116–25 biocentric critique of Kant’s view of, 141–2, 144 dependent judgments of the sublime in, 102 duties regarding, 28 ethical treatment of, 141–5 fear of, 68 freedom vs., 7 luxury contrasted with, 46 no intrinsic value to nature in Kant’s ethics, 141 as a power, 67 sense of self as in harmony with, 140 transition problem, 3, 6, 29, 31, 216 necessity of aesthetic enthusiasm, 174 in judgment of the sublime, 61–4, 222 of subreption in experience of the sublime, 76–8 Neiman, Susan, 202, 203, 213 new forms of the sublime, discovering, 223–5 the noble sublime, 35, 54, 55 obligation, 48 Observations, 29, 33–4, 216 aesthetic enthusiasm in, 39–42 art and splendid sublime, 122 Critical theory on morality and the sublime compared to, 52–3 the grotesque in, 27, 28, 35–7, 113 importance of examining, 27, 32 Kant’s marginal notes in; see Remarks the sublime in, 13, 34–7 subreption in, 73 virtue, freedom, and aesthetic feeling in, 37–9 On the Sublime (Peri hypsous), pseudo-Longinus, 12, 124, 234 P1 and P2 (Grier), 72–9 pain; see pleasure/pain passion fanaticism as, 171 in Remarks, 50–2 patriotism, 36, 41 Peri hypsous (On the Sublime), pseudo-Longinus, 12, 124, 234 philosophy of economics, concept of interest in, 147 Plato, origins of concept of enthusiasm in, 11, 24, 171, 183 pleasure/pain disinterestedness as not taking pleasure, 149 interest as pleasure, 146, 147, 148, 151, 154, 156, 167

256

Index

pleasure/pain (cont.) lingering in contemplative pleasure of aesthetic judgment, 150–1 of respect, as moral feeling, 128–30, 131, 132 of the sublime, 35, 62, 132, 135 in table of characteristics of feelings, 231 political freedom, 47 power, 67 the practical and the aesthetic, relationship between, 54 practical enthusiasm, 3, 42, 169, 203, 210, 231 practical freedom dynamical sublime revealing, 17, 67–8, 139 moral sublime and, 86 pre-Critical notion of moral freedom resembling positive practical freedom, 48 transcendental freedom presupposed by, 6, 49 practical judgment in Kant’s theory of means and ends, 204, 205, 211–13 pre-Critical Kantian thought, 216; see also Observations; Remarks on aesthetic enthusiasm, 39–42, 50–2, 55, 170, 194–6, 218 on interest and disinterestedness, 53 on moral law, 53 on morality and the sublime, 52–5 noble sublime and moral sublime, 55 practical freedom, pre-Critical notion of moral freedom resembling, 48 on respect, as moral feeling, 53 prudential, moral, or rational end beauty, morally based interest in, 163 disinterestedness as not attempting to achieve, 149 interest as attempt to achieve, 147–8 pseudo-Longinus, 12, 124, 234 purity of aesthetic judgment, Kant’s concept of, 98–101, 119 Quine, W. V., 14 Raymaekers, Bart, 11 realism, transcendental, 75 reason and the sublime, 217 aesthetic enthusiasm and, 177, 178, 179, 181 free/dependent judgments of the sublime and idea of reason, 102, 105 freedom and imagination, 79–83 interest as that through which reason becomes practical, 148 moral, rational, or prudential end: beauty, morally based interest in, 163; disinterestedness as not attempting to

achieve, 149; interest as attempt to achieve, 147–8, 152 nature, ratiocentrism of Kant’s view of, 141–2 respect and the sublime, similarities and differences between, 132, 133 subreption, 73–5 Reciprocity Thesis, 79 red, as color of sublimity, 110 Reign of Terror, 212 Reiss, H. S., 202 Remarks, 8, 29, 42–5, 216, 228 aesthetic enthusiasm in, 50–2 Critical theory on morality and the sublime compared to, 53–4 freedom in, 45 importance of examining, 27, 32, 43–5 subreption in, 73 transition problem in, 7 treated separately from Observations, 32 republic enthusiasm for idea of; see French Revolution, enthusiasm for as one of Kant’s two forms of government, 205 repulsion, 111, 116 respect, as moral feeling, 127–31, 217 aesthetic and moral aspects of the sublime, preserving, 134–5 aesthetic enthusiasm not replacing, 197 characteristics of, 231 defined, 73, 127 development of capacity for, 133 general concept of respect vs, 131 interest and disinterestedness, 127, 131, 133 moral sublime differentiated from, 84–6 object of, 127, 130–1 pleasure/pain of, 128–30, 131, 132 pre-Critical account of, 53 the sublime compared and contrasted, 131–3 subreption and, 72, 73, 77, 130, 133 temporality of, 128 Riley, Patrick, 202 Rischmu¨ller, Maria, 228 Robinson, Jenefer, 61 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 33, 44–5, 46, 54 Saint Girons, Baldine, 163 St. Peter’s Basilica, Rome, 123, 185 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 58 satisfaction, moral, 131 Saussure, M. de, 67, 124 Schaper, Eva, 98 Schilpp, Paul, 44–5 Schmucker, Joseph, 44

Index Schubert, Friedrich Wilhelm, 42, 228 Schwaiger, Clemens, 228 second-order interests, 148, 151–4 self-interest disinterestedness as not pursuing, 149 interest used in sense of, 147, 149 self-sufficiency or independence, freedom as, 46–7, 88 sensibility, 80 sermons, 124 servitude, 47 Shell, Susan, 45 Sidgwick, Henry, 49 singularity of pure aesthetic judgment, 97 slavery, 47 the social sublime, 223–5 sociobiology, concept of interest in, 147 Socrates, 24, 50, 183 spectator, enthusiast’s perspective as, 211 the splendid sublime, 35, 54, 122 Stoic apathy (moral affectlessness), 92–4 subjective purposiveness of judgment of the sublime, 61–4 the sublime, 2, 56–8, 215–19 the absolutely great, defined as, 64, 66 admiration and, 186 aesthetic enthusiasm as form of, 16, 19, 30, 170, 183–91 aestheticization of, 134–5 affect as experience of, 184–6 art as well as nature eliciting, 58, 116–25, 222–3 astonishment and, 184–6 the beautiful distinguished from, 34 characteristics eliciting feeling of, 34 characteristics of, 231 deduction of, 136–9 development of capacity for, 133 dynamical; see dynamical sublime empirical interest in, 163–4 evolution of concept of, 12 exposition of, 136–7 false sublimity, Kirwan’s view of enthusiasm as, 181–2, 190 feeling and judgment, relationship between, 58–61 form/formlessness of that which elicits, 56, 69–72, 121 four moments of pure aesthetic judgment, 61–4, 174, 176, 184, 194 freedom and; see under freedom French Revolution, aesthetic enthusiasm for, 2, 20, 26, 30 the grotesque, relationship to, 35–7 healthy effects of, 167

257

interest and disinterestedness; see interest and disinterestedness judgment of; see judgment of the sublime Kant’s theory of, 13 lingering in contemplative pleasure of aesthetic judgment, 150–1 mathematical; see mathematical sublime of mental states, 19, 84, 88–96, 169, 184, 232 the monstrous related to, 57, 108 moral ambiguity of, 178 moral idea as true referent of judgment of, 117 moral sublime; see moral sublime morality and; see morality and the sublime moralization of, 134–5 morally based interest in, 164–7 nature, duties regarding, 28 necessary validity of judgment of, 61–4, 222 new forms of, discovering, 223–5 noble-sublime, 35, 54, 55 number and types of, 64 in Observations, 13, 34–7 pleasure/pain of, 35, 62, 132, 135 in pre-Critical Kantian thought; see Observations; Remarks as process, 61 reason; see reason and the sublime respect compared and contrasted with, 131–3 splendid sublime, 35, 54, 122 subreption of; see subreption table of objects eliciting aesthetic judgment of, 232 terrifying sublime, 35, 36, 37, 54 transcendence, intimate connection to, 2, 56–8, 215–19 transition problem, 3, 6, 29, 31, 216 universal validity of judgment of, 61–4, 135, 151, 174, 222 virtue, freedom, and aesthetic feeling, 37–9, 49–50 subreption, 72–9 aesthetic enthusiasm as dependent sublimity, 193 art, sublimity elicited by, 120, 223 defined, 74 distinguishing grounding of sublimity in freedom from, 219–20 free/dependent distinction and, 107 judgment and feeling, relationship between, 60 the moral sublime and likelihood of, 86 nature, sense of self as in harmony with, 140 respect for persons as, 72, 73, 77, 130, 133 transcendental illusion and, 28, 57, 72–9 suicide of Cato, 1, 41, 51–2 sympathy and enthusiasm, 5

258

Index

temporality of respect, as moral feeling, 128 the terrifying sublime, 35, 36, 37, 54 terrorism, Kantian approach to, 210 tragedies, 124 transcendence and the sublime, intimate connection between, 222 transcendental exposition, 136 transcendental freedom aesthetic enthusiasm and, 196 defined, 6, 17 in mathematical sublime, 17, 18 practical freedom and, 49, 17 timelessness implied by, 18 transcendental illusion, doctrine of, 28, 57, 72–9 transcendental realism, 75 transition problem, 3, 6, 29, 31, 216 the ugly, 72–9 universal monarchy, monstrosity of, 113 universal validity of judgment of the sublime, 61–4, 135, 151, 174, 222 universalizability test, categorical imperative as, 208–9

violence as means, Kant’s condemnation of, 208–10 Virgil, 52 virtue adoptive virtues, 38–9 freedom, and aesthetic feeling, relationship to, 37–9, 49–50 moral apathy or affectlessness required for, 94 von Haller, Albrecht, 35 vorgiebt, Kant’s use of, 194, 196 Wahnsinn (delusion of sense), enthusiasm compared to, 171, 178 Wahnwitz (delusion of mind or loss of wits), fanaticism compared to, 171 war, Kant’s praise of, 86 Wasianski, E. A. Christian, 142 whiteness, 109, 110 Williams, Howard, 36, 202, 209, 214 Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 21 Wood, Allen, 128 ˇ izˇek, Slavoj, 113 Z

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