Transcript Reading: Kant Part 7

We’re winding up our study on Kant, and we’ve covered the categorical imperative. This idea of the source of ethics is that reason itself, which is the hallmark of our very nature, commands us not to do some things. When you universalize them, writing them down as though they’re a law that holds for the reality you live in, that law then becomes self-contradictory, self-defeating, or inconsistent with the way the world really is. Or, it’s the rule that you must always be sure to treat humans as ends, not as means—don’t just use people.

I mentioned that this didn’t entirely cover the ground. It certainly doesn’t have the universal applicability that the Christian idea of "love your neighbor as yourself" does, as it comes close to the principle of "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Kant wants his ethics to be as universally applicable, as transcendental, as the Christian ethic is. But I don’t think he quite makes it.

Think about this: This is the kind of stuff we get in ethics books all the time. You’re standing near a railroad track, and you’re right next to the switch. The railroad track diverges ahead of you, and there’s a train coming from behind. There are two platforms, one on your left and one on your right. There are people on each platform. The train is a runaway, and you know it’s going way too fast. When it gets to whichever track it turns onto, it’s going to come off the tracks and crash into the people at that station. On one station, there are 100 people, and on the other, there are 10. You’ve got the switch in your hand, and you can direct the train to one or the other. What do you do?

How does “treat people as ends, not means” help you here? How does the categorical imperative in any of its formulations tell you what to do? Should you pull the switch to send the train to the right track or the left? Do you have a duty to save more people if there are more on the left side? Suppose you have reason to believe, based on the evidence, that the crash will be more severe on the side with fewer people—it’s going to wipe them out entirely—but on the left side, with more people, it won’t be as severe, and there’s a chance it might overturn after it passes them. Which side do you pick? I don’t see how the categorical imperative in any of its three versions tells you what to do in that scenario.

Or, think of a classic moral dilemma like Sophie’s Choice by William Styron. An evil Nazi officer tells the young mother, Sophie, to choose which one of her children she wants to save, and he’ll send the other to the death camps. If she refuses to choose, he’ll take both—and perhaps her too. How does Kant’s ethics help in a situation like that? What’s the right thing to do?

The Christian ethic includes the recognition that sometimes, all of your options are evil, and in those cases, you choose the lesser evil, rather than a good. In a situation like Sophie’s, I think I’d try to kill the Nazi officer—but that’s another discussion for another day. Kant’s Categorical Imperative just doesn’t answer all of the moral dilemmas that we might face. None of the three versions tell us who to rescue and who not.

At this point, Kant brings God back into the picture for his ethics. He says there is a practical, not logical, proof of God. This practical proof is that, even though we encounter God as an idea of reason, this idea organizes our experience in ways we can’t duplicate without believing in God. So, this practical proof of God means we need the idea of God, and we should live as if it were true. He introduces this to help reinforce his ethics. The ethics is a command to us, not from God, but from our rational nature. Reason itself commands, and we have a duty to reason. It’s out of that recognition that we should have respect for the moral law.

But now, Kant seems to realize that reason alone may not do the trick, so he brings God back in, saying, essentially, that we should live as if this idea were true. I don't know that even Kant’s view is going to tell us what to do in those cases where there is no good choice, only evil, and we try to choose the lesser evil. I think that’s something that’s been recognized before. For example, Luther says there are times and places where there's nothing good that can be done, and if we don't act at all, that’s not good either. I think that’s when he says, "In that case, sin boldly." Just pick one of the things and do it, but more boldly, trust Christ for forgiveness. Well, that’s not bad advice, I guess. But Kant doesn’t have that. You’ve just heard the hatchet job he did on the Christian story of the incarnation—God coming down from heaven, taking on the form of a man, and living and dying among us. “Well, that’s a great story,” Kant seems to say, “so live as if it were true. But of course, it’s not.”

I don't know what kind of advice that is—foolish, I guess I’d call it—but he goes ahead and makes his argument.

The goal of a good life, of the moral life, is happiness, and Kant says we need the idea of God to be happier than we’d otherwise be. So, live as though God is real and Christ was incarnated on Earth. And of course, on Earth means in somebody’s experience—something like that is his best advice.

Now, he had something else here: God doesn’t just back up these laws, but also repeats them. He gives them in the Ten Commandments and in the commandment of love. Kant also wants to say that we have the idea of God as judge, and that’s really valuable. So, his practical justification for belief in God is that everyone naturally thinks that good should be rewarded and evil punished, even if the reward is simply praising someone for having done well or recognizing, "Good job!" Everyone likes that. No one likes to see something outstandingly good go completely ignored while everyone goes on, "ho-hum." At the very least, people want credit where it’s due. And evil? It should be punished.

Now, that idea is in the New Testament too. Christianity believes in the day of judgment. Kant’s argument is that this idea of reward and punishment corresponds to the highest possible good. He’s essentially saying that everyone naturally thinks this, and therefore it ought to be an idea of reason too—though he doesn’t state it that way. But, God is not just an idea of reason; he’s a postulate.

Do you know what that means? A postulate is a guess, a theory, a proposal of moral reason. If morality needs us to think that God has commanded it, then we should think that God has commanded it. That’s what this comes down to—God is a theory, a guess. This isn’t just an idea of reason; it’s also the idea of a judge of good and evil, one who will somehow, someday see to it that good is rewarded and evil is punished.

Well, that’s not the Christian idea. In Christianity, God is judge because He created us and the entire universe, and He will hold every moral being responsible for what they do. As the Book of Revelation puts it, in the end, every knee will bow, and every tongue confess, of every creature in heaven and on earth, that Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father. It’s going to be a real judgment, not just an idea. But in Kant’s view, this is a practical need we have—therefore, treat God as real, even though He’s not.

Kant speaks out of both sides of his mouth. He wants us to believe that the Critique of Pure Reason is right about how we know things, including the fact that we can’t know certain things—like God. But now, when he gets to ethics, he suddenly says, "Oh, but we can make up our minds to act as though it were true," like waiting for the Great Pumpkin in the pumpkin patch, hoping he’ll show up because you believe in him.

Kant’s hope here seems to be that with respect to ethics, not only is the rational real, but the real is rational. It makes rational sense to think that good will be rewarded and evil will be punished, so we postulate the existence of God to do that and to make ethics come out the way reason seems geared for it to come out. Everywhere else, Kant has rejected the idea that the rational is real, but now he’s trying to sneak it back in. He calls it a "practical need" and says that practical reason requires us to make this postulate.

And of course, with that, he not only tries to save the idea of God, but also the doctrine of everlasting life. Kant says God sets before us the task of a morally perfect life, something the New Testament describes as the condition of those who have been raised from the dead and entered God's kingdom—where there is no sin, no wrongdoing, no suffering. In Kant’s picture, any grief that life can impose on us is more than made up for in heaven. He suggests this moral perfection is a goal we never quite reach, so God extends the time for us—forever improving ourselves, always becoming more moral than the day, week, or month before.

In Kant’s view, this is all just a picture we give to ourselves and live by. And why do we have to do this? Well, because we need to, not because it’s true. I think that’s the only reason Kant believes anything.

Notice what happens with these postulates. Kant argues for believing that God is real, not only as an idea of reason, but as a guess of moral reason. So, moral reason comes back and says, "Oh, but you need this for enforcement." Then, there’s everlasting life. We need the idea of immortality as an inducement. He calls it "the immortality of the soul," but of course, the New Testament describes it as the resurrection of the body—body and soul together, living in God’s kingdom, which is said to be on this earth.

So, what’s the Christian take on this? According to Christian teaching, God is not a hypothesis. I want to stop here to add that hypotheses and guesses need proof. But we don’t need proof of what we directly experience. What we directly experience, we know to be true. That’s my argument. And when we get to that tomorrow, I’ll argue that this is how believers know God—by their experience of Him. And that doesn’t need proof.

Don't be suckered into that "What's your proof?" stuff. The answer is: God’s not a theory. God’s an experience report. So, it doesn’t need proof. Tomorrow, we’ll not only elaborate on that, but I’ll be talking about the inevitable response to this, which is: “Well, it’s not my experience, so I need proof.”

To that, we say: You don’t need proof; you need the experience. We’ll get into that. But anyway, notice that, according to Kant, God is a hypothesis, and I’m saying that the Christian view is different. Number one: God’s not a hypothesis. God’s not merely a moral umpire.

Does God preside in judgment? Absolutely, in the person of Jesus Christ. Everyone comes before that throne. Those who have believed and confessed their sins get a pass—they are not charged—and those who haven’t are charged. But there are some believers who have done evil that still needs to be punished. Jesus himself says to people who come to him on the final day of judgment, “Lord, we’re on your side. We did miracles in your name.” And he responds, “Depart from me, you workers of iniquity. I never knew you.”

You have to think about people who believe, genuinely, or at least say they do, but do horrible things, like harming little children. The judgment remains. God is not just a moral umpire; He also happens to be the creator and sustainer of the entire universe, which is not just inside our minds.

And the third thing is: according to Christianity, God has already made provision for the redemption of the entire world.

Of course, Kant says nothing about that. To him, this all belongs on the "myth" side of the ledger, right? I read you what he wrote about Christ and the Incarnation—as if this idea comes down from heaven and we need to grasp it and believe in it, living as though God is going to judge us, when, in fact, all of that isn’t true. I don’t even know why anyone would bother putting that on paper. Who’s going to live like that? It’s a lie, but we’re supposed to live as though it’s true? Yeah, right. How many people are going to do that? Nobody with any sense, it seems to me.

Now, the next point is this: there is a real judgment. Kant doesn’t believe that, but that’s part of the Christian message. The Christian message is mostly good news—remember what the angels said on the first Christmas: “We bring you good tidings of great joy that will be for all people.” But for those who have committed terrible evils, there is a judgment. There’s a reckoning coming.

Pope Benedict XVI made a comment that might be helpful here. He suggested that perhaps the judgment is simply appearing before Christ when we are raised, and when we see what He suffered for us, the grief and repentance that will be stirred in us will be our punishment. That might be true as well.

At least, we can contrast this with Kant’s idea. For him, God is just a postulate of moral reasoning, and everlasting life is also an idea that doesn’t comfort or help us in any way because it’s something we can’t help but think about, but which can’t possibly be true. Yet, we’re supposed to live as though it is. Yeah, right.

Well, I feel like summarizing Kant’s mistakes. I did that earlier, and I also mentioned some ways he improved on his predecessors. But let’s remind ourselves of what we’ve been told here. First of all, we’ve been told to rely on the “given in experience” motto.

Okay, we're back. I lost my blackboard for a minute, but it's recovered now. I was about to summarize some of Kant’s mistakes when I realized I was about to make one myself—there’s one more topic we haven’t covered in Kant, and I’d like to address that before we summarize. It has to do with a big topic: free will.

What does Kant say about that? Well, he affirms that we have free will. He says we can know the moral commands—what the moral law wants us to do—and we can think about that as if it came from God, or as if it were exemplified in an actual human life, like Christ’s life. We can do all of that, but we are still confronted by a choice, and we’re free to make that choice. This is tough for Kant, but it’s what he wants to say.

The opposite view, the denial of free will, is determinism. Determinism claims that our choices aren’t freely made by us; they’re determined by other forces, powers, or influences that compel us to believe and act the way we do. Now, you would think, based on everything Kant says about knowledge—his big theories about the architecture of the mind and how things are imposed on us automatically and unconsciously—that there wouldn’t be any room for freedom. The laws and categories of the understanding are exceptionless. Cause and effect is forced on us.

So Kant does two things. He makes our experience seem entirely determined but leaves the self outside of that determined experience, so that he can still say we are free. That’s what he tries to do.

Let me explain determinism a little more. It’s the claim that all our beliefs and choices are forced on us by external forces. The version of determinism fills in the blank with whatever it thinks are the powers that force us to choose and believe the way we do. Materialists like to say it’s the Big Bang. From that point on, all atoms and subatomic particles have developed according to the initial conditions set in motion by the Big Bang. So, ultimately, our choices are products of how our brains operate—our brains being the result of physical forces going back to the Big Bang. Given that everything happened the way it did, we can’t help but think and act the way we do.

Others might say it’s due to social conditioning or the way we were potty trained—it doesn’t matter what they put in the blank. They’ve got something that’s making us do what we do, believe what we believe, and choose what we choose.

But no matter how that blank is filled, this theory is self-defeating. Here’s why: when determinism claims that all beliefs and choices are forced on us, it includes the belief in determinism itself. If all beliefs are forced on us by something like the Big Bang, then so is the belief that all our beliefs are forced on us by the Big Bang. We haven’t weighed evidence or gone through reasoning; we’re just forced to believe it. In that case, it’s not the result of seeing something as self-evident and coming to a reasonable conclusion. According to determinism, even this belief is forced on us by external causes.

I remember once, I was talking with a colleague in the philosophy department, and we were out in the hall between classes. I don’t remember what provoked this, but an English professor walked by, overheard us, stopped, turned around, and came back. She said to me, “Oh, do you believe in God?” I said, “Yes.” And she replied, “Oh, you must have a high serotonin level in your frontal cortex.” I said, “Are all our beliefs determined by the serotonin levels in our frontal cortex?” She said, “Yes.” Then I asked, “Does that include the belief that all our beliefs are determined by serotonin levels?” And she responded, “That’s logic, and logic is a trick.”

But the point is, determinism is self-canceling. If it’s true of all beliefs, it’s true of itself. If all beliefs are forced on us by non-rational forces, then none of our beliefs are the product of rational discourse or deliberation, and nothing can be said to be knowledge. We may believe something, but we can’t say we know it. And that applies to determinism itself—it undermines its own claim.

That’s why I think free will is true. I also believe free will is presupposed everywhere in the New Testament. There is no explicit statement saying “God gave people freedom,” but everywhere, God treats people as though they are free to act in one way or another—to believe or not believe, to do good or evil. It’s assumed everywhere, and that’s why God holds us responsible.

Kant wants free will too, especially for his ethics. He wants to say people have free will, so he’s against determinism, but his whole philosophy of experience is deterministic. Yet, he leaves the self outside that deterministic picture and now wants us to think of the self as real.

So, here’s the picture: Self, God, moral laws, and immortality—for Kant, these are all somehow real. But if the rest of his philosophy holds any weight, they aren’t real, or they’re just ideas. At times, he talks about them as if they’re just ideas, and at other times, he says they’re practical necessities—things we need to think about. He calls it a practical proof of God, the self, immortality, and morality. But all it means is we need to think it, like a practical fiction.

Well, maybe I need to think I’m rich, but that doesn’t make me rich. We need to think these things, Kant says, but at times, he goes on to talk about them as if they’re real. So, he’s plumping for free will, but only as an idea of the reason—a regulative concept. That means it regulates how we think about other things, or how we act. He’s trying to claim there’s real freedom despite the determinism in his system.

But how does that square with the fact that everything that comes into our minds from outside is rigidly determined by natural laws? What we experience is determined by cause and effect. So how can we make a difference in that world, morally or otherwise? How can we be a player in that world?

Kant still has the mind-body interaction problem. How does the self cause actions in the world if everything we experience is determined by external forces? He assumes that we can act, but then the self would have to be real. He’s right about that. To get any practical value out of belief in God, you’d have to believe God is real.

It does no good to say, “This is a practical proof of God’s existence; we need him to act morally.” That sounds like Voltaire: “If God didn’t exist, we’d have to invent him.” But that’s not the point. The point in Christianity is that we experience God and know He is real. We live in responsibility to God, and we have the freedom to act in His world because it’s not just a mental construct.

How can our self—which is supposed to be just a regulative idea—act in the real world and change anything in the perceptual world? Cause and effect, Kant says, only applies to perceptions, not to the mind, which is why we can be free. But how can we then act in the world?

Kant tries mightily to reconcile all this—rationalism, empiricism, and free will—but in the end, his system doesn’t cohere. It has all the same problems, maybe even worse than before.