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Kantian Subjects
Kantian Subjects
Critical Philosophy and Late Modernity
KA R L A M E R I K S
1
1
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© Karl Ameriks 2019
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
First Edition published in 2019
Impression: 1
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted
by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics
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above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above
You must not circulate this work in any other form
and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer
Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2019945434
ISBN 978–0–19–884185–2
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198841852.001.0001
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for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials
contained in any third party website referenced in this work.
Contents
Acknowledgments vii
Note on Sources and Key to Abbreviations and Translations ix
PA RT I . KA N T
1. Introduction to an Extended Era 3

2. On the Many Senses of “Self-Determination” 14
3. From A to B: On “Critique and Morals” 36
4. Revisiting Freedom as Autonomy 53
5. Once Again: The End of All Things 71
6. Vindicating Autonomy: Kant, Sartre, and O’Neill 87
7. Universality, Necessity, and Law in General in Kant 103
8. Prauss and Kant’s Three Unities: Subject, Object, and
Subject and Object Together 120
PA RT I I . SU C C E S S O R S
9. Some Persistent Presumptions of Hegelian Anti-Subjectivism 139

10. History, Idealism, and Schelling 153
11. History, Succession, and German Romanticism 170
12. Hölderlin’s Kantian Path 189
13. On Some Reactions to “Kant’s Tragic Problem” 207
14. The Historical Turn and Late Modernity 214
15. Beyond the Living and the Dead: On Post-Kantian
Philosophy as Historical Appropriation 231
References 251
Index 267
Acknowledgments
This volume is dedicated to the memory of my closest colleague at Notre Dame,

Gary Gutting (1942–2019), an exemplary friend, philosopher, and teacher of
teachers. He is sorely and widely missed. In these worrisome times, I am all the
more indebted to my wife Geraldine and our whole family. We remain energized
by being, for the most part, still near many of our longtime Notre Dame friends,
including, of late, Robert Audi and Peter van Inwagen. Their active presence has
been a constant spur for me to keep trying to make philosophical progress, and
in a cosmopolitan vein—even if we cannot keep up with their whirlwind aca-
demic travels.
For this volume I am indebted in particular to the helpful philosophers behind
the events that led to these essays, especially: Nicholas Boyle, Elizabeth Millán
Brusslan, Eckart Förster, Paul Guyer, Anja Jauernig, Jane Kneller, Charles
Larmore, Béatrice Longuenesse, Michela Massimi, Dalia Nasser, Jörg Noller,
Judith Norman, Onora O’Neill, Robert Pippin, Fred Rush, Susan Meld Shell,
Dieter Sturma, Eric Watkins, and Rachel Zuckert, as well as again to Peter
Momtchiloff at Oxford and my senior guides on these topics to this day—Karsten
Harries, David Carr, Gerold Prauss, and Manfred Frank. Thanks also to help at
Notre Dame from Linda Grams and Aaron Wells, as well as the organizers, edi-
tors, and participants at the meetings in which versions of these chapters were
presented in Providence, Philadelphia, Worcester, Knoxville, Berlin, Tübingen,
Munich, Notre Dame, San Diego, Edinburgh, Bonn, Warwick, Boston, Cambridge,
Chicago, New Haven, Vienna, and New York.
My focus on many of the themes in this volume was especially inspired by my
Europe-oriented godparents, Lula Jean Elliott (New York/Munich/La Jolla) and
Franz Mikkelsons (Riga/Chicago), along with all our immigrant relatives and
their children, the young and diverse latest generation of United States “Ameriki”:
Nolan, Keizen, Tyki, Teo, Jack, and Maude (a namesake of my mother, who was
fortunate, like many others then, to be born in Brooklyn, and a birthright citizen,
to a family just escaping from the czar’s reach).
Except for Chapters 1 and 8, which have not been published elsewhere, the
essays in this book (now reformatted and updated, with minor but numerous
revisions), which have appeared in an earlier form in the following publications,
are reprinted with permission, and their publishers are hereby thankfully
acknowledged: “On the Many Senses of ‘Self-Determination’,” in Kant on Freedom
and Spontaneity, Kate Moran (ed.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2018), 171–94 (also presented as the 2014 Walter de Gruyter APA Kant Prize
viii acknowledgments
lecture and reprinted in the Proceedings of the American Philosophical Association

92 (2018), 258–83); “On ‘Kritik und Moral’,” in Übergänge- diskursiv oder intuitiv?
Essays zu Eckart Försters “Die 25 Jahre der Philosophie,” Johannes Haag and
Markus Wild (eds.) (Frankfurt am Main: Vittorio Klostermann GmbH, 2013),
59–80; “Kant on Freedom as Autonomy,” in Freiheit nach Kant - Tradition,
Rezeption, Transformation, Aktualität, Sasa Josifovic and Jörg Noller (eds.) (Leiden
and Boston: Brill, 2018), 95–116; “Once Again: The End of All Things,” in Kant on
Persons and Agency, Eric Watkins (ed.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2018), 213–30; “Vindicating Autonomy: Kant, Sartre, and O’Neill,” in Kant on
Moral Autonomy, Oliver Sensen (ed.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2013), 53–70; “On Universality, Necessity, and Law in General in Kant,” in Kant and
the Laws of Nature, Michela Massimi and Angela Breitenbach (eds.) (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2017), 30–48; “Some Persistent Presumptions of
Hegelian Anti-Subjectivism,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society Supplementary
Volume 89 (2015), 43–60 (reprinted by courtesy of the Editor of the Aristotelian
Society: © 2015); “History, Idealism, and Schelling,” Internationales Jahrbuch des
Deutschen Idealismus/International Yearbook of German Idealism 10 (2012), 123–42;
“History, Succession, and German Romanticism,” in The Relevance of Early
Romanticism. Essays on German Romantic Philosophy, Dalia Nassar (ed.) (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2014), 47–67; “Hölderlin’s Path: On Sustaining
Romanticism, from Kant to Nietzsche,” in A Companion to Early German
Romantic Philosophy, Elizabeth Millán Brusslan and Judith Norman (eds.) (Leiden
and Boston: Brill, 2019), 258–79; “On Some Reactions to ‘Kant’s Tragic Problem’,”
in Natur und Freiheit. Akten des XII. Internationalen Kant Kongresses, Violetta
Waibel, Margit Ruffing, and David Wagner (eds.) (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2018),
3255–62; “The Historical Turn and Late Modernity,” in Hegel on Philosophy in
History, Rachel Zuckert and James Kreines (eds.) (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2017), 139–56; “Beyond the Living and the Dead: On Post-
Kantian Philosophy as Historical Appropriation,” Graduate Faculty Philosophy
Journal 40:1 (2019), 33-61.
Note on Sources and Key to

Abbreviations and Translations
References to Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason (Critik der reinen Vernunft, Riga:
Hartknoch, 1781 and 1787) are given in the standard way by citing pages of the
first (“A”) and/or second (“B”) edition, and use the translation of Norman Kemp
Smith, London: Macmillan and Co. (1923). Otherwise, references to Kant’s works
use the abbreviations below and cite, in square brackets, the volume and page of
the Academy edition: Kant’s Gesammelte Schriften, Ausgabe der Preussischen
Akademie der Wissenschaften (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1900ff). Details on translations
are given in the list of references at the end of this volume.
List 1: Kant’s Writings, Listed by Abbreviation

Anth Anthropologie in pragmatischer Hinsicht (1798) [7: 119–333], trans. in Kant
(2007).
AnthFried “Anthropologie Friedländer” (1775–6) [25: 469–728], trans. in ssss
(2012b).
Auf “Beantwortung der Frage: Was ist Aufklärung?” (1784) [8: 35–42], trans. in
Kant (1996a).
Bem Bemerkungen in den “Beobachtungen iiber das Gefühl des Schönen und
Erhabenen” (1764–65), ed. Marie Rischmüller, Hamburg: Meiner, 1991, trans. in
Kant (2011b) [corrected edition of [29: 1–102]].
Br Briefwechsel [10]–[12], trans. in part in Kant (1999).
Diss di mundi sensibilis atque intelligibilis forma et principii [“Inaugural
Dissertation”] (1770) [2: 385–419], trans. in Kant (1992a).
EaD “Das Ende aller Dinge” (1794) [8: 327–39], trans. in Kant (2nd edition, 2017).
EEMW “Etwas über den Einfluß des Mondes auf die Witterung” (1794) [8:
315–24], trans. in Kant (2012a).
Feyerabend “Naturrecht Feyerabend” (1784) [27: 1319–94], trans. in Kant (2016).
G Grundlegung der Metaphysik der Sitten (1785) [4: 387–463], trans. in Kant
(2011a).
Idee “Idee zur einer allgemeinen Weltgeschichte in weltbürgerlichen Absicht”
(1784) [8: 17–31], trans. in Kant (2007).
JL Immanuel Kants Logik, Ein Handbuch zu Vorlesungen [“Jäsche”] (1800) [9:
1–150], trans. in Kant (1992b).
x note on sources and key to abbreviations and translations
KpV Kritik der praktischen Vernunft (1788) [5: 1–164], trans. in Kant (1996a).
KU Kritik der Urteilskraft (1790) [5: 164–486], trans. in Kant (2000).
MdS Die Metaphysik der Sitten (1797–8) [6: 205–493], trans. in Kant (1996a).
MetD “Metaphysik Dohna” (1792–3) [28: 615–702], trans. in part in Kant
(1997a).
MetM “Metaphysik Mrongovius” (1782–3) [29: 747–940], trans. in Kant (1997a).
MetV “Metaphysics Volckmann” (1784–5) [28: 440–50], trans. in part in Kant
(1997a).
MK2 “Metaphysik K2” (early 1790s) [29: 753–75], trans. in part in Kant (1997a).
ML1 “Metaphysik L1” [Pölitz] (1770s) [28: 157–350], trans. in part in Kant (1997a).
ML2 “Metaphysik L2” (1790–1?) [28: 531–610], trans. in part in Kant (1997a).
MM2 “Moral Mrongovius II” (1784–5) [597–633], trans. in Kant (1997b).
MPC “Moral Philosophie Collins” (1774–7?) [27: 243–471], trans. in Kant (1997b).
Nachschrift “Nachschrift zu Christian Gottlieb Mielckes Littauisch-deutschem
und deutsch-littauischem Wörterbuch,” (1800) [8: 445], trans. in Kant (2007).
PPH “Praktische Philosophie Herder” (1762–4) [27: 3–78], trans. in Kant
(1997b).
Prol Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, die als Wissenschaft wird
auftreten können (1783) [4: 255–383], trans. in Kant (2004).
Raum “Vom dem ersten Grund des Untesrchieds der Gegenden im Raume,”
(1768) [2: 377-83], trans. in Kant (1992a).
Refl Reflexionen [16]–[18], trans. in part in Kant (2005).
Rel Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der bloßen Vernunft (1793–4) [6: 1–202], trans.
in Kant (2nd edition, 2017).
RevSch “Rezension von Johann Heinrich Schulz’s Versuch einer Anleitung zur
Sittenlehre für alle Menschen, ohne Unterschied der Religion, nebst einem
Anhang von den Todesstrafen” (1783) [8: 10–14], trans. in Kant (1996a).
RezHerder “Rezension zu Johann Gottfried Herder, Ideen zur Philosophie der
Geschichte der Menschheit (erster Teil)”; “Erinnerungen des Rezensenten der
Herderschen Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit über ein in
Februar des Teutschen Merkur gegen diese Rezension gerichtetes Schreiben”;
“Rezension zu Johann Gottfried Herder, Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte
der Menschheit (zweiter Teil)” (1785) [8: 43–66], trans. in Kant (2007).
RL “Philosophische Religionslehre nach Pölitz” (1817) [28: 993–1126], trans. in
Kant (1996b).
SF Der Streit der Fakultäten in drei Abschnitten (1798) [7: 5–116], trans. in Kant
(1996b).
TP Über den Gemeinspruch: Das mag in der Theorie richtig sein, taugt aber nicht
für die Praxis (1793) [8: 275–313], trans. in Kant (1996a).
VzeF Verkündigung des nahen Abschlusses eines Tractats zum ewigen Frieden in der
Philosophie (1796) [8: 413–22], trans. in Kant (2002).
note on sources and key to abbreviations and translations xi
VorlM Immanuel Kant: Vorlesung zu Moralphilosophie (1770s), ed. Werner Stark,

Berlin: de Gruyter (2004) (a newly edited version of MPC, using Kaehler’s
notes).
WHO “Was heisst: Sich im Denken orientieren?” (1786) [8: 133–47], trans. in
Kant (1996b).
ZeF Zum ewigen Frieden. Ein Philosophischer Entwurf (1795, 1796) [8: 343–86],
trans. in Kant (1996a).
List 2: Abbreviations for Works by Other Authors

E Prauss, Gerold. Die Einheit von Subjekt und Objekt. Kants Probleme mit den
Sachen selbst, Freiburg and Munich: Karl Alber (2015).
HW Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. Werke in zwanzig Bänden, ed. Eva
Moldenhauer und Karl Markus Michel, Suhrkamp: Frankfurt (1970).
JN Noller, Jörg. Die Bestimmung des Willens. Zum Problem individueller Freiheit im
Ausgang von Kant, Freiburg and Munich: Alber (2015).
RSV New Revised Standard Version with Apocrypha, Augsburg: Fortress Press
(1992).
SW Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph. Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Schelling’s
Sämmtliche Werke, ed. K. F. A. Schelling, Stuttgart: Cotta (1856–61).
PART I
KA N T
1
Introduction to an Extended Era
1.1. Three Kinds of Kantian Subjects
The title Kantian Subjects is to be understood as having a threefold meaning.

First, it signifies a discussion of various topics related to Kant’s Critical philosophy.
Second, it concerns the specific thought that Kant himself had a distinctive—and
often still misunderstood—non-Luciferian1 conception of what it is to be a sub-
ject, especially in the context of modernity, that is, the era dominated by Newton’s
and Rousseau’s demanding claims about our being bound, fortunately, by univer-
sal necessities. For this reason, much of the volume focuses on the Critical philos-
ophy’s “keystone” notions of absolute freedom and strict law, and their
combination in the complex concept of an individual subject’s fundamental
capacity for self-determination, practical as well as theoretical. Third, the title also
points to the idea that, after Kant’s work, there is a significant sense in which most
of us—that is, reflective, educated citizens of post-1780s Western civilization—
have, to a large extent, become subjects in a late modern and broadly (but only
indirectly) Kantian kind of culture.
To be a “Kantian subject” in this extended, cultural sense, is to understand
oneself as having entered into a distinctive late form of what Herder, Kant’s early
and most prominent student, called “this autumn of our reflectiveness.”2 With the
rise, already in the 1790s, of harsh critiques of Kant’s system in its orthodox form,
the classical modern period of philosophy came to a disappointing end. It imme-
diately morphed, however, into a still enduring eon of post-Kantianism, a period
that has often been obsessed with attacking Kant while nevertheless defining itself
in terms of significant relations to his Critical philosophy and especially its notion
of autonomy. Step by step, the initial attempts to restore the classical modern
(Cartesian, Leibnizian, transcendental) ideal of a boldly optimistic system of
tightly linked scientific, metaphysical, and theological claims to knowledge of
pure necessities gave way to a closely related and yet distinct philosophical and
1 See Chapter 6 for a critique of Iris Murdoch’s influential remark about Lucifer. Murdoch (1970)
connects Kant to Milton simply by comparing her own highly unappealing notion of the Kantian
subject with Milton’s Lucifer, while offering no clear textual grounds and entirely overlooking the pos-
itive connections of Kant to Milton and religion. See also Chapter 12 and Kant’s reference (KU §49) to
Milton’s use of “heaven” and “hell” as paradigmatic “aesthetic Ideas.”
2 Herder (1997, 46). See my (2011), (2018a), and (forthcoming b). In this context it is not inappro-
priate to also think of phenomena such as Beethoven (a reader of Kant), and the issue of “late style” in
music as discussed (in their own late work) by Adorno (1998) and Said (2003).
Kantian Subjects: Critical Philosophy and Late Modernity. Karl Ameriks, Oxford University Press (2019). © Karl Ameriks.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198841852.001.0001
4 Introduction to an Extended Era
cultural outlook. In its most influential forms of self-understanding, this outlook

turned to stressing the contingencies of history and a narrative of belatedness,3
although always still under the sign of Kant’s general enlightenment goals. Hence,
this volume’s subtitle: Critical Philosophy and Late Modernity.4
A complication of this era is that the Kantian subjects who occupy it, within
philosophy and in culture at large, fall into quite different groups. Some work
energetically against, or even sympathetically with, numerous unfortunate carica-
tures that define the Critical philosophy in hopelessly subjectivist, monological,
or anti-natural terms. Others work basically in line with Kant’s own thought but
stress the need to supplement it in significant ways in order to be more effective
in achieving the main goals of enlightenment in a later age. This volume will
occasionally concern writings in the first group, which can be shown to involve
influential misunderstandings of the Critical philosophy, but its main concern
will be with members of the second group, and with pointing out underappreci-
ated ways in which they carry forward Kant’s spirit in a manner most appropriate
for our own times.
1.2. Overview of the Whole
These preliminaries should help explain why this volume is divided into two
parts—“Kant” and “Successors”—and how there is an internal relation between
these parts.5 The main focus in most of the essays in the first part is to make clear,
from a variety of perspectives, exactly how central, multi-layered, and ambiguous
Kant’s notion of self-determination is. These essays explain the notion both in
terms of complexities in Kant’s own texts as well as in relation to current interpre-
tations that pick up on, or tend to distort, one or other of its basic features. More
specifically, since the notion of self-determination involves both the concepts of
3 Perhaps the best short characterization of the era comes, not surprisingly, from Friedrich
Hölderlin, who was obsessed with what is to be done in what he calls our “age of need” (dürftiger Zeit).
This theme in Hölderlin is well known for having been stressed by Martin Heidegger, but in a
non-Kantian way. My own study of Hölderlin and Heidegger was first stimulated by the teaching of
Karsten Harries, and a version of Chapter 12 was presented at a conference in his honor at Yale.
4 Some of the main ideas of this story already appear in my (2006), chs. 11–13 and (2012), chs. 13–15
(the term “late modern” is explained at 307). In the present volume, however, even more attention is
given to the philosophical significance of writings from the Early Romantic era. While my (2000a)
stressed negative features of the post-Kantian reaction to Kant, later works have turned more to a
focus on distinctive positive strands in the work of his successors.
5 The essays in this volume are closely connected in time of publication as well as theme. Most of
them have a publication date of 2017 or after, and the remaining essays were published in the period
2013–15. The essays are presented in a natural thematic sequence but can also be read individually in
any order. Numerous cross-references are provided for readers who may take the latter option.
Readers familiar with earlier versions of these essays may notice that numerous emendations and clar-
ifications have been made for this volume, but no substantial changes are intended.
Overview of the Whole 5
self and of determination, it is possible, and quite common, to misconstrue Kant’s

use of these concepts in overly individualistic or contingent terms. In clarifying
these points, the essays in Part I build on, but also go beyond, arguments pre-
sented in my earlier works. They offer my first treatment of several of Kant’s lesser
known positions, as well as new reactions to work by leading senior scholars such
as Eckart Förster, Paul Guyer, Charles Larmore, Onora O’Neill, and Gerold
Prauss, along with arguments that connect with recent work by younger Kant
specialists such as Michela Massimi, Jörg Noller, Owen Ware, and Eric Watkins.
The second part of the book, on the post-Kantians, is not at all an incidental
addendum but is ultimately the book’s main concern. It provides a set of overlap-
ping arguments that there are positive connections—as well as a few key differ-
ences—between genuine Kantianism and what is most valuable in the
ever-developing post-Kantian tradition. The best post-Kantian writing follows
Kant in building on a threefold respect for modern science, autonomy-oriented
practical philosophy, and—in the wake of these developments—the thought that
philosophy has a distinctive constructive role to play even after we have absorbed
the main lessons of the Scientific and French Revolutions as well as of the limits
of philosophy in the old, broadly Cartesian style.
The main positive line to be drawn between Kant’s own modern philosophical
era, and the late modern era that began right after his work, concerns the replace-
ment of Kant’s still largely non-historical and quasi-scientific systematic concep-
tion of philosophy with a more explicitly historical methodology, one that consists
largely in strings of detailed argumentative correction and appropriation of one’s
main predecessors. In discussing the complex interactions of figures such as
Herder, Reinhold, Hegel, Schelling, Hölderlin, Novalis, and Schlegel, I argue that
their work, at its best, introduced a productive new paradigm for philosophy, one
that stresses history, subjectivity, and aesthetics in a progressive way that avoids
the shortcomings of historicism, subjectivism, and aestheticism. Rather than
regarding their philosophical remarks, and literary experiments of a philosophi-
cal nature, as a weak substitute for enlightened science, politics, or religion, we
should read these post-Kantians as providing a valuable supplement to, and pow-
erful reinforcement of, what is most valuable in these institutions. This strategy
builds on an influential idea found already in Kant, namely, that the insights of
cultural “geniuses” can be understood as being creatively “exemplary”—especially
for questions of humanity’s vocation (Bestimmung)—in a successive manner that
allows for noteworthy progress even in the absence of an apodictic path of scien-
tific or philosophic proof, mystical intuition, or precise imitation. I compare and
contrast my arguments here with recent work by, among others, Frederick Beiser,
Robert Brandom, Manfred Frank, Gregg Horowitz, Stephen Houlgate, Odo
Marquard, Robert Pippin, and Richard Rorty.
1.3. Overview of Part I: Kant
Chapter 2, “On the Many Senses of ‘Self-Determination’,” begins with a clarifica-

tion of the central concept of the Kantian era. It argues for a middle path between
two extreme but common ways of reacting to Kant’s Groundwork account of
moral self-determination as autonomy. In this case, the Scylla objection claims
that to speak of the moral law as rooted in self-legislation, that is, with a stress on
the “auto” component of “autonomy,” is to be too subjective and to do an injustice
to the essentially receptive character of our reason. Here the contention is that
Kant misunderstands how reason is a capacity that basically appreciates reasons
to act given to the subject by what is outside of it. The contrasting Charybdis
concern stems from a worry about what can appear to be an overly close connec-
tion drawn between morality and freedom as autonomy. Here the critic’s conten-
tion is that the “nomos” component of self-determination in the Groundwork is
too restrictive, and in a sense overly objective. Insofar as it makes our action
appear so thoroughly law-oriented that it seems to leave only the options of
being forced either by our reason to follow the moral law, or by the “natural
necessity” of our sensibility to go against the moral law; and thus (in contrast at
least to Kant’s own later works) it does injustice to the full power of our faculty of
free choice and our ability to act in ways more complex than these two narrow
options. I explain both how Kant can defend himself against these objections
(especially worries about the notion of “giving the law to oneself ”), and how,
because of various terminological complications, it is not surprising that the wor-
ries have been raised.
The essay focuses on the argument at the end of Section II of Kant’s Groundwork
of the Metaphysics of Morals and concludes that, far from serving as an independent
Archimedean lever, Kant’s introduction of what he calls a “principle of autonomy”
is dependent upon the prior formulations of the categorical imperative and is
fundamentally a thesis about the autonomy of a pure faculty of reason (not to be
identified with mere rationality). The key point is that, given the substantive
necessity in the content and force of the imperative, and the limitations of the
faculties of sensibility and understanding, a faculty of pure practical reason
(Wille) is required—just as, for Kant, pure intuition is required for the substantive
necessities of the Transcendental Aesthetic that cannot be grounded in sensibility
or understanding.
Chapter 3, “From A to B: On ‘Critique and Morals’,” presents an account of why
it is that the Groundwork was suddenly written at the particular time that it
appeared (1785)—an important issue that, surprisingly, is rarely discussed. This
time was not only shortly after there had appeared several harsh criticisms and
misunderstandings of the Critique of Pure Reason (1781) but also at a moment
when Kant was forced to become aware of a growing wave of anti-libertarian
writings in general—not only in standard Leibnizian and Spinozist circles but
Overview of Part I: Kant 7
also among younger writers such as Herder and J. H. Schulz. Understanding this
context, and the fact that Kant had left the status of the grounds for our belief in
absolute freedom unclear in the first edition of his Critique, helps considerably in
explaining several features of the second edition (1787) as well as the genesis of
the Critique of Practical Reason (1788) and its surprising invocation of a “fact of
reason.”6 My interpretation of this phase of Kant’s work is presented as a contrast
to some aspects of important recent work on the period by Förster.
Chapter 4, “Revisiting Freedom as Autonomy,” focuses on two significant new
interpretations of Kant, one in a book-length review of the literature by a German
scholar, Jörg Noller, and the other in a sequence of closely linked apologetic stud-
ies of Kant by the Canadian philosopher, Owen Ware. Noller presents a valuable
treatment of the background of key Kantian terms such as Willkür and Wille, and
this provides another opportunity to more precisely define my account of how
Kant’s notions of freedom and autonomy are to be understood within the devel-
opments of Kant’s Critical period. In his interpretation, Ware argues—against
positions that I and others have favored—that, instead of a great “reversal,” there
is considerable agreement between Kant’s discussions of freedom in the
Groundwork and the second Critique. While appreciating many of the subtle
points Ware raises, I stress passages that still support the claim that there is an
important methodological distinction between the approaches of Kant’s two main
books on ethics.7
Chapter 5, “Once Again: The End of All Things,” concerns a widely neglected
but very noteworthy short essay by Kant, written right around the time of his
retirement. In discussing “the end of all things,” and in pairing the issues of
immortality and the phenomenon of continuing interest in an apocalypse (which
has numerous political aspects that he dares to touch on in a controversial fash-
ion), Kant forces himself to address some of the most difficult features of his eth-
ics and metaphysics. In particular, he gives a new and challenging account of how
the nature of the self, and its vocation, is to be understood in light of his general
doctrine of the transcendental ideality of time. I argue that, after considerable
preliminary work, sense can be given to Kant’s discussion of the mysterious
notion of “noumenal duration,” but I also point out that the implications of his
account contrast with what one might naturally believe that he meant in his many
earlier, albeit brief, discussions of immortality, which seemed to rely on a rela-
tively traditional notion.
Chapter 6, “Vindicating Autonomy: Kant, Sartre, and O’Neill,” contrasts Kant’s
notion of autonomy with two serious misconstruals of it, identified by Onora
6 This argument is largely an amplification of an interpretation advanced in my (1982a) and

(2000b).
7 These passages parallel others that are cited, with more detail, in a contribution by Klaus Düsing
(2018). It was a pleasant and surprising coincidence that Düsing happened to offer his interpretation
in a talk given directly after mine at a conference set up by Jörg Noller (among others) in Munich.
O’Neill as “radical existentialism” and “panicky metaphysics.” As O’Neill shows,

these misconstruals try to force us to choose between two absurd alternatives:
either that, as Iris Murdoch supposed, Kantian ethics is a matter of “anarchy,” or,
as others have assumed, it is a matter of mere uniformity and dogmatic obedi-
ence. While agreeing with O’Neill about the inappropriateness of these options, I
argue that there is also a relatively non-radical form of existentialism that can be
identified in Sartre’s work, and that, once numerous very commonly misunder-
stood aspects of his writing are clarified, his position can be understood as in line
with a sensible version of Kantian autonomy. Similarly, I argue that although
“panicky” metaphysics should be eschewed, there is still a relatively moderate
metaphysical way of understanding some of the key notions (reason, law, and
self-legislation) in Kant’s ethics.8
Chapter 7, “Universality, Necessity, and Law in General in Kant,” focuses on
clarifying the fundamental Critical meanings of three closely related terms that
are essential to understanding Kant’s doctrine of autonomy. I explore these con-
cepts at first mainly in a theoretical and scientific context,9 and note ways in
which the crucial strict conception of them in Kant’s system has often been
underappreciated. To provide an overview, I offer a systematic taxonomy of the
many different ways in which these terms can be employed in the context of the
Critical philosophy. I conclude that Kant’s statements about the mind as “law-
prescribing” claim neither too much, because they back off from theoretically
determining unconditioned things in themselves, nor too little, because their ulti-
mate meaning actually reinforces rather than undercuts the substantive objectivity
that they intend.10 Although Kant’s idealism is central to his Critical philosophy,
and the theoretical rules that we can determinately use cannot transcend the
realm of experience, this does not mean that the very meaning of his notions of
universality, necessity, and law is restricted to a merely ideal realm.
Chapter 8, “Prauss and Kant’s Three Unities: Subject, Object, and Subject and
Object Together,” explores Kant’s theoretical philosophy further in a contempo-
rary context by offering an overview of some features of the extensive discussions
of subjectivity, space, time, and infinity presented in a massive recent volume by
the well-known Kant scholar Gerold Prauss. Prauss is mainly concerned here not
with Kant exegesis but with giving a systematic account of how, as spontaneous
and intuitive subjects in a broadly Kantian sense, we manage to construct a spa-
tial world with very specific a priori constraints. According to Prauss, this occurs
in a manner in which each subject, from its one-dimensional temporal point of
8 See also my (2015) and (2016a). 9 See also my (2013).

10 This discussion parallels, and departs only in a very slight way, from an especially clear presenta
tion of similar issues in Watkins (2017a), which was also presented at an Edinburgh conference hosted
by Michela Massimi and published in the same volume in which my essay originally appeared. More
changes in formulation have been made in this chapter than the others, but none are intended to alter
the substance of the argument.
Overview of Part II: Successors 9
view, forms intentions that generate a tightly structured world of three-dimen-

sional spatial extensions that are always already part of an infinite field, rather
than something built up from separate finite pieces, one independent step at a
time. Rather than attempting an assessment of the full mathematical and scien-
tific complexity of Prauss’s subtle exposition, Chapter 8 mainly reviews some cen-
tral themes in the book that relate to Prauss’s earlier work on the fundamental
role of our intentional spontaneity, as well as to similar developments in
Anglophone Kant scholarship, such as the influence of Strawson and Sellars.11
1.4. Overview of Part II: Successors
Chapter 9, “Some Persistent Presumptions of Hegelian Anti-Subjectivism,” is a

response to Stephen Houlgate’s Hegelian critique of Kant’s philosophy. Houlgate’s
restatement of this kind of critique very efficiently brings together, in the latest
form, many of the stock charges that Hegelians and other post-Kantians have
raised about Kant’s alleged subjectivism. It thus provides an ideal opportunity for
clarifying how it is that such objections have so frequently arisen, and why it is
that Kantians can nonetheless take these charges to rest on misreadings of the
Critical philosophy. The core of the Hegelian attack concerns, but is not limited to,
objections to the doctrine of transcendental idealism—objections that are hardly
limited to the Hegelian tradition but can be resolved, I argue, upon a closer read-
ing of Kant’s texts. To defend Kant from these charges of subjectivism is not, how-
ever, to deny that there are other problems with the Critical philosophy, or that
there are significant advances, or at least interesting proposals, to be found in the
Hegelian program, especially as reformulated by contemporary philosophers.12
Chapter 10, “History, Idealism, and Schelling,” offers a broad overview of
Schelling’s extensive concern with history and of how his discussions on this topic
are closely related to early writings by Reinhold and Hegel. In one early essay,
Schelling seems to deny that a rigorously philosophical treatment of history is
possible, insofar as this field appears not to be amenable to Cartesian or Fichtean
demands of a strict science. It turns out, however, that the very unpredictability of
history, which Schelling stresses here, is a feature that is connected with the spe-
cial creative and aesthetic significance of historical developments that Schelling’s
philosophy eventually values more highly than any quasi-Cartesian or “Identity
philosophy” foundational project. A study of several of Schelling’s lesser known
later writings reveals that he remains dominated by a lifelong interest in turning
the providential dogmas of Christianity into a non-miraculous account of the
11 For a discussion of some of Prauss’s earlier work, see my (1982b) and (1982c).
12 For further discussion of the relation of Kant’s philosophy to Hegel and current interpreters, see
Chapters 14 and 15.
general progressive development of religious thinking in broadly naturalistic

forms of mythology, culminating with the thought that history is “the revelation
of God.” Schelling’s final “positive philosophy” combines this result with a detailed
dialectical account of the main stages of earlier philosophy. He applies this essen-
tially retrospective approach to his own development and concludes that the
“same philosophy which was Naturphilosophie at an earlier stage here became
philosophy of history” (SW [10: 116]).
Chapter 11, “History, Succession, and German Romanticism,” offers an outline
and defense of what I take to be the best version of a philosophy of history devel-
oped by the post-Kantians. The essay focuses on the famous definition by Novalis
and Friedrich Schlegel of Romanticism, in their ideal programmatic sense, as
“progressive universal poetry.” After assigning a specific philosophical meaning
to each of these three key terms, I argue that they provide a useful framework for
defining a distinctive Early Romantic conception of history, one that is all at
once political, philosophical, and aesthetic in a holistic religious sense. Especially
for our late modern age, this conception can be shown to have advantages over
merely linear, circular, or chaotic models of history. I take the most impressive
version of this conception to be expressed by Hölderlin, whose work can be
understood as a further development of the projects of predecessors such as
Milton, Kant, and Hölderlin’s own student comrades, Hegel and Schelling. In
particular, Hölderlin’s celebrated 1801 poem, “Celebration of Peace” (Friedensfeier),
can be understood as a paradigmatic expression of the Early Romantic thought
that our philosophical and cultural history is primarily a matter of the influence
of a sequence of exemplary geniuses13 who have creatively responded to and
gone beyond their major predecessors, from biblical times through Rousseau
and after.14 The poem culminates in a picture of the enlightened culture of late
modernity as an era that transcends the ancient veneration of mere nature
(“thunderstorms”—what Hegel was to call “the parti-colored show of the sensu-
ous immediate”) as well as the medieval fascination with the supernatural
(“miracles”—what Hegel called “the dark void of the transcendent and remote
super-sensuous”).15 Here Hölderlin (who enthusiastically reported to friends that
13 Cf. Michael Friedman (2001, 67) on “the genius of a Descartes, a Newton, or an Einstein.”
Friedman’s analysis of the history of science is similar to my account of the stress on history in
post-Kantian philosophy because it also features the phenomenon of a progressive appropriation of
one’s predecessors, although it does so in a way that puts more emphasis on the goal of convergence.
14 For one recent account of how controversial the interpretation of this poem is, see Die Zeit
(1956). Rather than identifying the “prince of the festival” (Fürst des Festes) in the poem as one
particular figure or party, I take Hölderlin to be celebrating the significance for humanity of an
extraordinary sequence of exemplary figures, a sequence in which his own work as a writer is meant
to occupy a pivotal place.
15 These phrases come from the chapter on “Self-Consciousness” in Hegel’s Phenomenology of
Spirit, HW [3: 145], just before the mention of the “spiritual daylight of the present,” and the transition
to the discussion of the master/slave relation. In an American context, it may be difficult to believe
that poets, philosophers, or literary figures in general could imagine they might have an enlightened
he was devoting his time to reading Kant) appears to be directly alluding to Kant’s
rejection of the alternatives of that which is either “veiled in obscurity” or in “the
transcendent region.” These terms occur right next to Kant’s famous conclusion of
his practical philosophy with a call to reflect on what is directly present in the
“starry heavens above” and the “moral law within,” and, above all, on the thought
of how they are linked, through the postulates of pure practical reason, in a uni-
fied teleological and cosmological vision of nature and history (KpV [5: 161f.]).
Chapter 12, “Hölderlin’s Kantian Path,” presents a more detailed account of
Hölderlin’s philosophy as the most sophisticated version of a combination of
Kantian and post-Kantian ideas. It offers a reading of the novel Hyperion that
takes it to be intended primarily as an evaluation of the main competing aesthetic,
moral, and religious answers to the prime question of eighteenth-century German
thought, namely, how best to define the vocation of humanity (die Bestimmung
des Menschen). Despite decades of fascination with both Hölderlin and Kant, it
was only in the last stages of researching this essay that I was led to the surprising
discovery of how much Hölderlin’s work can be read as explicitly intended to be,
above all, an advocacy of Kant’s moral philosophy.16 It is not generally appreciated
that, at the time of Hyperion, Hölderlin’s main aim was to illustrate how a Kantian
ethic, properly understood, can incorporate political, aesthetic, and religious con-
cerns in an enlightened way that overcomes the extremes of other treatments of
these concerns, such as in the work of Schiller and Fichte.17 Hölderlin believed
this position could be not only defended on abstract philosophical grounds but
also energetically supported in literature. As an extraordinarily gifted and enlight-
enment-oriented “poet of the people,” he understandably chose to write in a revo-
lutionary style that he believed would be most effective in motivating people at
large to embrace progressive Kantian ideals, and to achieve what he called a
“more beautiful than merely bourgeois society.”18 I defend Hölderlin’s version of
impact on culture at large. Nonetheless, the literary/political work of Milton and Rousseau, and the
general modern notion of the poet as a revolutionary legislator, had considerable influence through-
out the whole era leading to the French Revolution and beyond (for example, in Ireland). The elo-
quent formulations of the “founding fathers,” and the rhetoric of Lincoln, Whitman, and Martin
Luther King have come perhaps closest to playing this kind of role in American society. Some influen-
tial but unenlightened tendencies (still far from “spiritual daylight”) that are unfortunately present in
Kant’s more popular work are discussed in my (forthcoming a) and (forthcoming c).
16 Just after a draft of this essay was finished, it was heartening to learn, through a tip from Manfred
Frank, that recent work by a top Germanist, Friedrich Strack, independently had reached a similar con-
clusion, namely, that relatively unappreciated letters by Hölderlin demonstrate his deep knowledge of
and overriding commitment to Kant’s moral philosophy, including the postulates. See Chapter 12, n. 50.
17 There is added confirmation for this reading in comments in a remarkable discussion of
“Hölderlin’s Sorrow,” by René Girard (2009, 120–1): “It is through Hölderlin, and no one else, that we
can understand what was happening at Jena in 1806 [. . .] Hölderlin is much less haunted by Greece
than we have been led to believe. I see him instead as frightened by the return to paganism that
infused the classicism of his time.” Thanks to David Dudrick for a reminder on this point.
18 See Franz (2015). This essay offers an excellent account of the complex local political situation
surrounding the very early work of Hölderlin and his colleagues.
the Kantian position as superior (because more balanced) even to the ideals of its
most significant post-Kantian successors, namely, Hegel’s conception of ethical
life, Kierkegaard’s conception of religious life, and Nietzsche’s conception of aes-
thetic life.
Chapter 13, “On Some Reactions to ‘Kant’s Tragic Problem’,” focuses on a
remark by Nietzsche that gives a vivid characterization of the basic trajectory of
German philosophy from Kant through the Romantic era and up to his own time:
“man longs to be completely truthful [. . .] that is noble [. . .] but we get only to the
relative [. . .] that is tragic. That is Kant’s problem. Art now acquires an entirely
new dignity. The sciences, in contrast are degraded to a degree.” Early German
Romantic writers can be understood as also having appreciated “Kant’s problem”
in precisely these “tragic” terms. The tragedy here is not a matter of sensory pain
or ethical conflict but comes simply from a restrictive theoretical thesis similar to
a position held by many nineteenth-century philosophers of science, namely, that
our theoretical knowledge cannot make determinations that go beyond phenom-
ena and reach unconditioned things in themselves. In response to this Critical
situation, the Early Romantics developed an appropriate way of giving a “new
dignity” to art that is compatible with the main features of the elevated, but also
objective and disciplined, role that Kant gives to aesthetic values in our apprecia-
tion of nature and art.19 To defend this position, I argue against recent broadly
Hegelian interpretations of the Romantics that sharply distinguish these writers
from Kant or that criticize their position as all too “subjectivist.” I conclude that
the Romantics can be understood as combining the best features of Kantianism
and Hegelianism: a deep, non-relativist appreciation for modern morality and
subjectivity, along with an eye for developing art and philosophy in the context of
a creatively interconnected historical process of succession.
Chapter 14, “The Historical Turn and Late Modernity,” contrasts Hegel’s sys-
tem and the philosophy of the Early Romantics by offering a further account (in
part in reaction to the extensive work of Robert Pippin on this era) of their role
in relation to the two pivotal claims in my interpretation of post-Kantianism:
first, that, with Reinhold and immediately after, a Historical Turn began that has
continued to dominate all thought influenced by philosophy in the German tra-
dition; and second, that this post-Kantian era is best characterized, in contrast to
the ancient, medieval, and modern periods, as the age of late modernity. The
stress on history as well as the stress on lateness are consequences of two funda-
mental reactions: first, a disenchantment with classical modern forms of philos-
ophy that attempted to model themselves upon, or even provide an independent
foundation for, the remarkable achievements of the exact sciences in the
Scientific Revolution; and second, a belief that the practical goal of rational
19 On the ultimately objective orientation of Kant’s aesthetics, see my (2003), chs. 12–14, (2016b),
and (2017a).
self-determination, as advocated in the main ideas of Rousseau’s work, the ideals

of the French Revolution, and the concern with autonomy in Kant’s ethics, is still
worthy of the highest attention by philosophy, despite shortcomings in the
original main advocacies of this goal. I argue that Hegel’s version of this

post-Kantian project, just like the other early Jena systems, remains in part tied
down by questionable broadly Cartesian ideals—certainty, necessity, and
completeness—inherited from the earlier modern period of philosophy, and
that therefore the more tentative, open, and fragmentary approach of the Early
Romantic writers provides a better model (and one that is in part closer to what
is best in Kant) for continuing the Historical Turn in our own late period of late
modernity.20 I conclude by pointing out that Hegelians have tended to neglect
Early Romanticism simply because they have falsely assumed that the movement
was infected by subjective, nostalgic, reactionary, and basically anti-scientific or
anti-philosophic tendencies.
Chapter 15, “Beyond the Living and the Dead: On Post-Kantian Philosophy
as Historical Appropriation,” offers another assessment of the contrast between
Hegelian and Early Romantic approaches to making an emphasis on history
central in philosophical methodology. It notes the recent stress on history by
philosophers such as Richard Rorty, Bernard Williams, Richard Moran, and
Raymond Geuss, and it focuses on the work of Robert Brandom in particular as
a prime instance of an impressive contemporary appropriation of Hegel’s
philosophy. It concludes by criticizing Brandom’s approach, noting that the
alternative of Early Romantic thought does not suffer, as Hegelians have assumed,
from a rejection of reason (but, on the contrary, has significant similarities
with many of Williams’s remarks), and that Brandom’s specific version of
Hegelianism, despite its emphasis on the term “autonomy,” cannot do justice to
the original and still defensible core Kantian meaning of the notion.
20 In addition to path-breaking work by German scholars, there is a growing philosophical litera-

ture in English on the Early Romantics by philosophers such as Frederick Beiser, Richard Eldridge,
Jane Kneller, Charles Larmore, Elizabeth Millán Brusslan, and Fred Rush. For further references, see
my (2017b).
2
On the Many Senses of
“Self-Determination”
2.1. Preliminary Overview
Many a Scylla and Charybdis threatens the navigations of the dutiful Groundwork
reader. By focusing on a clarification of some of the very different meanings of
“self-determination” in Kant’s work, the following apologetic interpretation seeks
to steer a middle path between two extreme but common ways of reacting to the
Groundwork’s account of moral self-determination as autonomy. In this case, the
“Scylla” objection claims—in view of the “auto” component of Kantian “auton-
omy”—that to speak of the moral law as rooted in “self-legislation” is to be too
ambitious and overly subjective, and to do an injustice to the essentially receptive
character of our reason. Here the contention is that Kant misunderstands how
reason is a capacity that basically appreciates reasons to act given to the subject by
what is outside of it. The contrasting “Charybdis” concern stems from a worry
about what can appear to be an overly close connection drawn between morality
and freedom as autonomy. Here the critic’s contention is that the “nomos” com-
ponent of self-determination in the Groundwork is too restrictive, and in a sense
overly objective, insofar as it makes our action appear so thoroughly law-oriented
that it seems to leave only the options of being forced either by our reason to fol-
low the moral law or by the “natural necessity” of our sensibility to go against it,
and thus—in contrast to Kant’s own later work—it does injustice to our faculty of
free choice, or at least our ability to act in ways more complex than these two nar-
row options.
2.2. Vindicating Kantian Self-Determination
2.2.1. On “determination” and Bestimmung
Unlike “autonomy,” the components of “self-determination,” as well as those of its

German correlate Selbstbestimmung, are everyday terms in their native languages,
and ones that have many similar meanings and ambiguities. The verb bestimmen
(“determine”) is used repeatedly in numerous contexts by Kant, and yet, like
Kantian Subjects: Critical Philosophy and Late Modernity. Karl Ameriks, Oxford University Press (2019). © Karl Ameriks.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198841852.001.0001
Vindicating Kantian Self-Determination 15
casual English speakers, he generally does not bother to make explicit the quite
different senses that the term can have.
One basic ambiguity concerns two distinct philosophical senses of “determin-
ation,” namely, an epistemological (E) and a causal (C) sense. We can say, in a first,
or E sense, that we determine something when—even without having any rele-
vant effect on it—we simply learn something informative about it, for example,
when we cognitively determine the fact that a surface appears warm. We can also
say, in a second, or C sense, that we determine it when we simply bring about that
something beyond our immediate situation is the case, for example, when we
causally determine that a surface is warm—even when, in the relevant sense, we
may not at all know what we are doing. It can of course also happen that cognitive
and causal kinds of determination combine in one complex event; we can come to
learn that something is warm in the very act of making it warm. (In English, these
meanings are combined in a further sense when we use knowledge in a decisive
way to try to bring something about, as when we say, for example, that, “no mat-
ter what,” we are “determined to” heat a surface.)
In addition to these basic E and C senses of “determine,” there are, especially
for the noun form of the term, what I will call its basic F and N senses, namely a
formal or definitional sense,1 as well as a normative sense, one that, for Kant,
ultimately is to be understood as having a complex moral and teleological mean-
ing. For example, in the course of determining the composition of a metal, in the
E sense of merely finding out some things about it, we may eventually arrive at its
determination in the more exact F sense of a formula defining its basic nature.2
(Here the English term has roots in the French verb determiner and the process of
fixing a thing’s boundaries and gaining a relevantly complete notion of it.) In
Kant’s tradition, the nature of something can, furthermore, be something more
than a mere physically defined arrangement, in a broadly mechanical sense, for
this nature can need to be understood in terms of an ideal practical form such as,
above all, the notion of a moral telos or destiny.
It is this biblical and broadly Lutheran sense that is most relevant when, after
J. J. Spalding’s very popular 1748 volume Die Bestimmung des Menschen,3 Kant
and numerous other German philosophers, including especially Fichte, focus on
Bestimmung in the N sense of our essential “vocation,” or “calling,” at a species as
well as individual level. The term “determination” does not have this normative
meaning in English, and thus its relation to the other terms can often get lost in
translation, but this sense must always be kept in mind when reading Kant and
1 See e.g., G [4: 461]: “autonomy—as the formal condition under which it alone can be determined.”
2 See e.g., G [4: 436]: “a complete determination (Bestimmung) of all maxims by that formula.”
3 On Spalding’s significance, see e.g., Munzel (2012) and Brandt (2007).
16 On the Many Senses of “ Self-Determination ”
his use of various forms of the term bestimmen, for it is this kind of determination
that always is of greatest significance to him.4
Kant’s very early works, such as his 1755 Universal Natural History, go along
with the dominant broadly Leibnizian view of his era, which stresses that human
beings have a significant normative determination but maintains a compatibilist
doctrine of freedom, one that denies absolute free choice. This view distinguishes,
as basically a matter of mere degree, our rational essence as human beings with
this kind of (merely relative) freedom from the broadly mechanistic nature of
lower kinds of beings, while still allowing that, according to a more inclusive
meaning of the term “nature,” human beings are thoroughly determined as parts
of nature in the E, C, F, and N senses. Although Kant holds to this view through-
out his earliest works, he then, after the fundamental revolution in his thinking
upon reading Rousseau and achieving philosophical maturity at the age of forty
in the early 1760s, adopts a very different conception of the relation of nature and
human freedom.5 From that time on, Kant believes that our own nature is unique
in having a non-compatibilist Bestimmung in its pure moral vocation, a vocation
that cannot be understood as being fulfilled, as Leibnizians and other compatibil-
ists claim, simply by attaining higher degrees of clear representation and conse-
quent power.
2.2.2. On the “self ” of Selbstbestimmung
Although the notion of “determination” will be my main focus, it is also necessary

to add a few preliminary observations about the “self ” component in the complex
term “self-determination.” In a Kantian context, it is of course crucial to keep in
mind that his use of the word “self ” is not limited to ordinary empirical particu-
lars. When he speaks of “simple acts of reason,” that is, our fundamental logical
capacities, as being found “in my own self,”6 he clearly has in mind, in part, a
general and pure faculty that cannot be explained as the product of empirical
actions or capacities. It is then, I believe, an additional—and of course still much
disputed—feature of Kant’s ultimate moral metaphysics that it favors affirming
that the self (of each of us) has not only a range of pure general capacities (for
pure intuiting, pure understanding, pure theoretical and practical reasoning, and
even for generating feelings that in part have a pure origin) but also a kind of pure
4 See e.g., G [4: 396], “the true vocation (Bestimmung) of human beings must be to produce a will
that is good.”
5 See Ameriks (2012), ch. 1.
6 A xiv: “ich demütig gestehe . . . ich es lediglich mit der Vernunft selbst und ihrem reinen Denken
zu tun habe . . . weil ich sie [deren ausführlichen Kenntnis] in mir selbst antreffe . . . alle ihre einfache
Handlungen.”
Vindicating Kantian Self-Determination 17
and particular independent form of existence, that is, an immortality conceived

of as in itself lacking any sensory qualities, spatial or temporal.7
In addition to these basic empirical and pure senses of “self,” which I take to
include substantial as well as functional characterizations, there is a complex
reflexive meaning to the term “self ” that has a fundamental significance in the
context of self-determination.8 To begin with, this reflexive meaning needs to be
understood as having at least a threefold structure with implications at both
empirical and pure levels of determination (and concerning all E, C, F, and N
senses). For Kant, to say that we are self-determined reflexively is to say, at the
least, that, at both levels, the self is determined (1) in (or, one could also say, of)
itself and (2) by itself as well as (3) for itself.
At the first level, this means that human beings, individually and as a group,
are commonly understood to be acting with empirical effects that are in part
within them, and that are caused by empirical sources in them, and that exist for
the sake of empirical ideals concerning them. Thus, we can speak, as Lincoln did
at Gettysburg, of a government “of the people, by the people, and for the people.”
But Kant would go on to insist that we speak, in addition, in terms of three paral-
lel forms of pure reflexivity, and thus affirm, at a second level, pure effects, pure
causings, and pure ideals—all to be understood as part of our own self-deter-
mined existence and not merely a possibility for divine beings.
The mere general or structural feature of reflexivity thus does not by itself cap-
ture what Kant takes to be most important about us. That is, the three kinds of
Gettysburg empirical reflexivity just listed are by themselves merely empirical,
and they could exhaust the capacities of the kind of agents that Kant memorably
stigmatizes in terms of the image of a mere “turnspit” (Bratenwender) (KpV [5:
97]). In saying this, he realizes, of course, that even at the empirical level human
beings are not literally mechanical turnspits, for, as rational animals, their reflex-
ive acts have a conscious intentionality aimed at complex ideals. But if Kant had
lived long enough to hear Lincoln’s threefold reflexive remark about government,
and understood all that it was directly saying as a merely empirical statement,
presumably he still would have maintained what he says in his 1783 review of
Pastor J. H. Schulz’s “well-intentioned” quasi-Leibnizian tract on penal reform,
namely, that by itself it still misses our essential (for our Bestimmung) and abso-
lutely pure (in E, C, F, and N senses) freedom to act and to think,9 which is denied
7 See, however, Chapter 5, and Kant’s criticism (Rel [6: 128–9 n.]) of the notion of resurrection.
8 See Prauss (1989) and O’Neill (2013).
9 Here Kant at first calls this a freedom to “always act as if one were free [and such that] this idea
also actually produces the deed,” and then he adds that “the understanding is able to determine
(bestimmen) one’s judgment in accordance with objective grounds that are always valid,” and hence we
must “always admit freedom to think, without which there is no reason” (RevSch [8: 13]). These ways
of characterizing the absolute freedom to act and to think are not clearly in line with the best formula-
tions of Kant’s position, but they vividly disclose, in an initial way, the topic that he is most concerned
with writing about right at this time. See the end of his essay “An Answer to the Question: What is
in all compatibilist systems, no matter how sophisticated their picture of us as

conscious, rational, and power enhancing agents.
Once the full context and multiple meanings of Kant’s Groundwork Section II
discussion of autonomy as reflexive self-determination by reason has been spelled
out, and once the pure normative sense of autonomy is understood as its essential
meaning there—in contrast to merely political and psychological senses of
“thinking for oneself ” or being “self-governing” according to just any rational
principles that contrast with merely reacting to “threats and rewards”10—it
becomes possible to deflect common objections to Kantian autonomy as overly
subjective. Explaining this sense can also help clarify aspects of the Groundwork’s
difficult transition from Section II to Section III, and this can set the stage for
responding to objections that Kant has an overly objective or law-obsessed under-
standing of action in general.
2.3. Groundwork, Section III, De Capo
2.3.1. Preconditions
The title of the first subsection of Section III is “The concept of freedom is the key
to the explanation of the autonomy of the will” (Wille) (G [4: 440]). This title
might suggest to some readers that we already have a distinct concept of freedom
at hand, and now we can directly apply this concept to explain a mysterious fea-
ture called “autonomy of the will.” This kind of approach is problematic, however,
because the previous Section culminates in an argument that already elucidates a
normative principle of autonomy, whereas it is the nature and existence of free-
dom, especially in its fundamental philosophical sense, that is, a transcendental
causal one, that has not yet been addressed in a direct way. In other words, at the
outset of Section III, there is an at least partially well-understood notion of auton-
omy that Kant is taking as given at this point—one involving self-determination
basically in the E, F, and N senses—and it is now his goal to introduce a direct
discussion of freedom that may begin to shed light on further features of auton-
omy—features that abruptly shift the discussion of determination largely from its
previously mentioned senses to its C sense.11
Enlightenment?” (1784) and his reviews of Herder in 1785 as well as the Groundwork (1785). His “Idea
for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Intent” (1784) also has a basic, although indirectly
expressed, concern with absolute freedom. See Ameriks (2012), chs. 9 and 10.
10 See Larmore (2011, 11).

11 Hence the title of the Groundwork itself, and of Section III, which introduces the notion of a
“Critique [i.e., explanation] of Pure Practical Reason.”
Groundwork, Section III, De Capo 19
Prior to this new causal discussion, autonomy is treated in strict normative

terms, as in the title of Section II’s subsection: “The autonomy of the will as the
supreme principle of morality” (G [4: 440]). That title expresses an initial and
relatively non-mysterious idea of what Kant means by autonomy, namely, a way of
characterizing the normative principle of morality as necessarily supreme. Here
the most basic feature of the norm that Kant is concerned with is that it not only
meet the condition of definitely concerning a principle that is “supreme” within
morality but also that it not endanger the claim of morality’s principle to be prac-
tically supreme overall. Kant is looking for a principle that is not threatened by
even the possibility of being normatively derivative, and hence is necessarily
supreme in the sense of being wholly unconditioned in its value, even if it may in
other respects depend on general non-moral features. For this principle to be able
to concern, as Kant has already argued that it must, an imperative that is categor-
ical, it has to be such that it does not get its distinctive normative status from
outside, from “something else” (G [4: 433]).12 The supreme principle is therefore a
kind of essentially reflexive principle in a new and axiological sense. At this point
the idea of a will with autonomy is basically the idea of the faculty of the will as
something that does not take the value of its supreme norm from outside, that is,
merely through faculties external to Wille. In this way, the principle can be said to
have a value that holds true of the will not merely in some kind of psychological
sense but in a reflexively normative sense, that is, in terms of its own basic
resources, and thus purely by or through it, as opposed to on account of some
other source of standards (such as mere sensation).
Given this context, it is understandable that the end of Section II treats what is
outside primarily in negative terms, as when it argues that traditional factors
external to the will, such as empirical conditions—whether turned psychologic-
ally inward or not (that is, involving feelings for others and not just oneself)—or
dogmatic theological or teleological considerations, whatever significance they
may have otherwise, have a kind of externality and contingency13 that conflicts
with the pure standard of necessary value that other parts of the Groundwork
already connect in categorical moral terms with the notion of the will. Hence,
when we then turn to what appears to be the only option left, namely, to what is
inside the will, it turns out that it cannot, after all, be internality in any ordinary
sense that carries the weight of Kant’s argument. This is because, if we were to try
to focus on features that seem in an ordinary sense internal to the will but contin-
gent, we would immediately have to concede that, as conditional, these features
12 See also G [4: 458], and [4: 427], where Wille is described as “the capacity to determine itself to
action in conformity with certain laws . . . the objective ground of its self-determination is the end.” The
term “end” makes clear that the point of speaking of the will’s (“objective”) self-determination is to
stress a matter of normative determination.
13 See G [4: 425], which says the ground of value cannot be in any “special natural predisposition of
humanity.”
are still inappropriate for determining, in an E, F, or N sense, what Kant requires

of a “supreme principle” of morality.14
Therefore, instead of loading Kant’s idea of autonomy with the weight of
some kind of extra and mysterious boot-strapping “willful” process—which
readers are understandably still tempted to do15—it is essential to see that the
underlying claim of Section II depends not on an appeal to internality or even
reflexivity in a traditional general sense but simply on the specific need for
finding a basic faculty that is normatively relevant because of an at least pos-
sibly appropriate connection to an unconditionally necessary principle of
value. On this interpretation, Kant’s basic thought is that we have no adequate
access to such necessity from some faculty altogether outside reason (hence
also his constant attacks on mystical intuition), whereas reason, the faculty
that concerns the unconditioned in general, also belongs, in particular, to
Wille, that is, the pure practical side of the self.16
For Kant, Wille essentially has such a special feature simply because it is defined
as a faculty of practical reason, and by this he means pure practical reason,
in contrast to mere instrumental rationality, let alone mere arbitrium brutum
(G [4: 412]).17 Although this feature, the appreciation of absolute necessity, is in
one sense internal because, on Kant’s view, it is intrinsically needed for us to be
what we most fundamentally are, and thus it reflects what one always is in one’s
“ownmost” self,18 this is not a matter of internality in any kind of ordinary
psychological, subjectivistic, or humanistic sense. Hence, insofar as it rests on a
previously affirmed respect (in principle, in the second formula of the categorical
imperative) for the absolute value of rational agency in this pure sense,19 the nor-
mative self-determination of Kantian morality, as explained in the Groundwork’s
discussion of the supreme practical principle of autonomy, can be read as the very
opposite of what it has appeared to be to many unsympathetic readers—and even
many others who have been trying to be sympathetic. Because Kant argues for the
14 See G [4: 432–3]: “[When] one thought of [oneself] as subject to [unterworfen, i.e., merely
assively subject in contrast to ‘legislating’] a law . . . it had to carry with it some interest or
p
constraint . . . necessitated (genötigt) by something else [because not arising from the will’s own law, my
emphasis] in conformity with a law . . . a certain interest, be it one’s own interest or another . . . But then
the imperative also had to be conditional.” Later Kant also speaks of “interests” generated by reason
itself, in which case they have an intrinsically necessary status.
15 A similar common and understandable, but also self-defeating, approach is often taken to the
metaphysics of Kant’s idealism, as if somehow a special process of human “making” could provide a
consistent Kantian explanation of the necessary conditions of our grasp of spatiotemporality itself.
16 Kant therefore stresses later in Section III that reasons still need to be given for the synthetic
claim that we do have will in a strong sense or at least, in some persuasive sense, must regard ourselves
in this way.
17 See A 534/B 562 and Deligiorgi (2012, 90).
18 See e.g., G [4: 455], “das moralische Sollen ist also unser eigenes notwendiges Wollen als Glied
einer intelligiblen Welt,” and G [4: 457] and [4: 458], “das eigentliche Selbst.”
19 I take this absolute value of being an end in itself to reside for Kant neither in actually acting
with a perfectly good will, nor in simply setting whatever ends, but in having the capacity always to set
ends that meet the conditions of pure morality. See Ameriks (forthcoming a).
principle from the basis of a respect for absolute necessity, the burden is on others
to show that his notion of self-determination has the ultimately subjectivist and
limited character that is attached to it in most contemporary uses of the notion of
autonomy,20 and even in many otherwise perceptive discussions of Kant
himself.21
2.3.2. How to undercut what can seem to be Kant’s self-undercutting
There are, of course, passages that can understandably lead readers astray and
make it appear as if Kant himself goes on to undercut the fundamentally objective
position just discussed. The most frequently cited text of this sort is a passage
from Groundwork II that expresses a principle of autonomy as normatively reflex-
ive pure self-determination, which I will call NRSPD: “Hence the will (Wille) is not
merely subject to the law [as it would still seem to be on moral theories rooted in
contingent factors such as fear or good feeling] but subject to it in such a way that
it must be viewed as also giving the law to itself (als selbstgesetzgebend) and just
because of this as first subject to the law” (G [4: 431]).22 Taken out of context,
NRSPD might appear to be stressing, after all, an act of arbitrary imposition. The
context of NRSPD, however, as indicated by the word “hence,” shows that it is
meant to follow from preceding considerations, and thus, methodologically con-
sidered, it does not invoke mere imposition (or, to be precise, what the rest of the
sentence calls the will’s “regarding itself as the author”)—in the loose popular
sense of autonomy—as an Archimedean point. The immediately preceding sen-
tence, and the logical precondition for NRSPD, is that “all maxims are repudi-
ated” that are inconsistent with “the will’s own universal-law-giving” (4: 431).23 In
addition to the special significance of the qualification “universal” (discussed fur-
ther below) in the essentially unified term “universal-law-giving,” there are two
other basic points here that must be reiterated whenever trying to understand
sentences like this in Kant.
The first point is that the term Kant uses throughout for “will” here is Wille and
not Willkür (choice),24 which means that it does not at all have the common
20 One needs to sharply distinguish Kantian autonomy from less demanding uses of the term,
which concern contingent political or psychological matters. This point about the absolutely necessary
character of Kantian autonomy is compatible, I believe, with an argument by Paul Guyer (2013), that
Kant also develops an empirical account of how humanity gets better over time at committing itself to
autonomous principles.
21 See Ameriks (2012), ch. 6. 22 Cited at Larmore (2011, 9).
23 “der eigenen allgemeinen Gesetzgebung des Willens.” My translation substitutes for the
Cambridge, “the will’s own giving of universal law,” because the latter translation (see also below, note
31) might suggest a contingent relation between the terms, as many Anglophone interpretations tend
to assume. For criticism of this tendency, see Ameriks (2012), ch. 6.
24 This term has a common connotation of arbitrariness in German, e.g., at G [4: 428].
casual and contingent English meaning of a derivative capacity or arbitrary act—

or, for that matter, of anything characterized independently of the rigorous condi-
tions of what Kant calls pure “practical reason.” The second point is that by such
reason, in this context, Kant precisely also does not mean any kind of casual and
contingent reasoning about merely accidental ends25—in contrast to almost all
English uses of this phrase. What he means is not just any form of practical
rationality but instead the strictly universal “legislation” of pure practical reason,
which intends a law that applies by unconditional necessity and not as a matter of
mere general empirical fact, as in Lincoln’s political phrase. What pure reason
alone allows for is a determination of not just any kind of maxims but ones appro-
priate for what Kant calls “lawfulness”—that is to say, law as such, which, in the
pure context of morality, signifies its having the “form” of absolute necessity—
unlike the accidentally posited laws that characterize our merely empirical exist-
ence and “counsels of prudence” (G [4: 416]).
Unfortunately, Kant tends to signal this condition of strictness by simply call-
ing the relevant kind of law “universal,” and this has led to considerable confusion
about what most concerns him. Kant’s frequent use of the term “universal” is
understandable in a sense, as a reminder that laws that are merely posited do not
in fact tend to be universally valid, nor are they generally even meant to apply
universally (and, even if they have a general intention, as with the principles of a
rational egoist or an advocate of mere prudence, this is not an unrestricted uni-
versality, but conditional, Kant would say, on limited interests not shared by all).
But this is just an accidental truth, although it can function as a convenient touch-
stone, for if something can be shown to be in no way universal, then it cannot be
necessary. Kant’s fundamental concern, however, as he makes explicit at least on
some occasions, is with not just any kind of universality but rather a condition of
“strict universality”26 tantamount to necessity. Moreover, in this case, it is a prac-
tical necessity that is understood as absolute, involving a law that holds even for
divine nature (TP [8: 280n.], Rel [6: 104], MPC [27: 277]), and hence it goes
beyond even the transcendental schematized Kantian necessities of the Analytic
of the first Critique, which apply merely at the sensory and ultimately contingent
levels of our existence.
Only once all these qualifications are appreciated can one properly begin to
understand what Kant intends by repeatedly speaking here of the “universal law”
as a matter of Wille’s “own giving.” This reflexive claim is made in both sentences
25 These are ends that one could be “subject to,” so as to meet the first, but only the first, part of the
key phrase, just cited, characterizing autonomy at G [4: 431]. I bracket here the vexed external issue of
whether happiness or universal well-being in general, rather than either accidental particular ends or
the Kantian notion of pure duty, may by itself be an absolutely necessary value.
26 Cf. G [4: 430–1]: “because of its universality it applies to all rational beings as such.” This phrase
surely must be understood as expressing a necessary essence, and not a universality reflecting mere
contingent applicability. See also Chapter 7 and G [4: 426], “it is a necessary law for all rational
beings . . . ”
of the short paragraph that contains NRSPD, as well as in the concluding sentence
of the long immediately preceding paragraph. The reason why Kant insists on
calling the law a matter of Wille’s “own giving” is basically that he is trying to find
a way to express, as he says in this sentence, that a proper normative principle of
Wille must not be rooted in something that would not allow it to serve “as
supreme condition of its [i.e., the will’s] harmony with universal practical reason”
(G [4: 431]). In other words, the “own giving” by Wille here is not a free-floating
feature but is one directly tied to Kant’s attempt to characterize its principle in
such a way that it makes possible a “harmony” with practical reason insofar as
such reason is strictly universal, that is, “fit to be a law” (G [4: 431]).
Kant’s concern here with “harmony” is tied to his thought that the principle of
morality, in accord with the general organizational principle of reason, must have
a consistent threefold specification in “form,” “matter,” and “complete determin-
ation” (G [4: 436]). This harmony has a transcendental faculty assignment
aspect27 as well as, derivatively, a concrete intersubjective aspect. First, practical
reason as Wille, unlike the other basic faculties of mere sensibility and mere
understanding, just is the only faculty that is, as Kant goes one to say, harmonious
in the sense of “well suited” (G [4: 432]; see the contrast of reason and under-
standing at G [4: 452]) for such universal norms simply because reason is defined
as the faculty alone appropriate for expressing and systematizing unconditional
necessity. In this regard, it alone is not possibly dependent in its authority on con-
tingent factors, what Kant here calls the “interests” of the other faculties.28
This is why, secondly, he goes on to note that its norms can always be intended
to apply harmoniously in a “complete determination” or structural specification
of an entire ethical commonwealth (Reich der Zwecke).29 As he stresses in the
universal-law-giving passage right before the NRSPD passage, its norms equally
concern “every rational being” (G [4: 431]) as an agent and thus, as a Kantian
Lincoln might say, they can be understood as having validity in a pure sense, and
are necessarily not only “of ” and “by” but also “for” each rational being as Wille. It
is this interpersonal but a priori sense of normativity, and not any empirical pro-
cess, that is crucial to Kant’s understanding of moral authority. Because it is the
precondition driving Kant’s overall argument toward NRSPD and is sufficient for
his distinctive purposes, the idea of a strict moral necessity and independence
of Wille as a faculty, as expressed in NRSPD itself, should not be read as
27 This is part of Kant’s general project of demarcating the transcendental “location” of the diversity
of our faculties, in opposition to empiricist and rationalist “single root” tendencies that eliminate any
non-derivative conception of will.
28 G [4: 432]: “the principle of . . . universally legislating . . . is founded on no interest, and thus can
alone, among all possible imperatives, be unconditional.”
29 The presumption of this harmony is overly swift. As later work in logic has revealed, even seem-
ingly necessary formal principles of theoretical reason can lead to paradoxes and a multiplicity of
incompatible options, and so one should keep in mind that even Kantian practical norms based on
pure reason may be vulnerable to similar problems.
characterizing some kind of extra process of literal “giving,” in either a humanist

or supernaturalist sense, for this would replace the supreme principle of moral
law with what would have to appear to be a mere quasi-necessity of arbitrary acts
of authorship that could claim no more than ultimately subjective validity. In
other words, Kant’s autonomy formula builds on, rather than undercuts, the
thought that the moral law, and a person’s being an “end itself,” is something that
has a value “in itself,” with an unrestricted validity for all agents as such.30 Kant’s
third basic formula for morality can thus be understood as simply meant to
express the point that this value must not only concern (that is, be “of ” and “for”)
beings with reason but also cannot be explained independently of being rooted in
the faculty of will, which alone can be at once pure—unlike mere feeling—and
practical—unlike mere understanding.
The full final clause of the sentence immediately prior to the paragraph of
NRSPD is: “from this there follows now the third practical principle of the will, as
supreme condition of its harmony with universal practical reason, the idea of the
will of every rational being as a universal-lawgiving-will” (G [4: 431]).31 Note that
in this sentence, which is the crucial step supplementing the first two basic for-
mulations of the Categorical Imperative, Kant is taking NRSPD itself as some-
thing that “follows.” I propose that this means that, for Kant, to fill out normative
reflexive self-determination in transcendentally reflective, intersubjectively “uni-
versal,” and “complete determination” terms,32 is simply to reiterate, in the new
30 This worry is raised by Larmore (2011, 8–9, and 19), who raises the common, and self-defeating,
worry that Kant is literally turning reason into an “agent.” I take my reading of the Groundwork, as
basically just trying to give moral principles their proper faculty location, to entail all that Larmore
wants from his own (allegedly more realistic) normative theory, especially insofar as Larmore goes on
to state that what is valuable is not to be thought of existing in a totally isolated way but as in corres-
pondence with our reason. Larmore himself says, “reasons have a relational character,” that is, involve
relations to “possibilities of thought and action that need to be discovered” (2011, 20)—presumably by
agents with the faculty of reason. Anti-Kantians tend to believe this kind of response is ruled out by
Kant’s characterization of heteronomy as a matter of allowing the “object” to determine the (moral)
law (G [4: 441]), but this is to overlook that what Kant is rejecting is simply the thought that a norma-
tively contingent or indeterminate “object” could be law-determining; in other contexts, he is willing
to speak of the law itself as the proper “object” of practical reason.
31 This again is my modification of the Cambridge translation, which reads, “will giving universal
law,” and thus does not as exactly reflect the German “allgemein gesetzgebenden Willens,” a phrase
that is found on the next page and elsewhere without a break between the terms characterizing will:
allgemeingesetzgebenden Willens. The combining of the terms without a break best expresses the cru-
cial point that Kant is making an essential and not an accidental characterization of what he calls
Wille.
32 This three-step structure dominates the Groundwork from the beginning, although sometimes in
a partially inverted order. The three principles of Section I are introduced heuristically in the order of,
first, “subjective” (that is, existing in the subject) content, that is, the good will and its necessary value
(the notion of necessary value is also placed first in the Preface, G [4: 389]); then “objective” form, that
is, having a right (universalizable) maxim; and, third, “determination” through “pure respect for prac-
tical law,” which “outweighs” all mere inclination (G [4: 400]) and is expressed later in terms of the
formula of autonomy. In the initial presentation of the three basic formulae of the categorical impera-
tive in Section II, and then also in the summary at G [4: 431], the order becomes (1) the “objective”
form of universality, (2) the “subjective” content of the necessary value of being an agent with reason,
and (3) the unity of these in the notion of a “legislating” rather than simply passive Wille—a third
language of the third formulation, our need to resist any reliance on any contin-
gent use of faculties that would undermine a kind of already assumed necessary
practical “harmony.” Rather than imposing on Kant an odd and invalid extra
meaning to the notion of self-determination, one can read him as basically just
repeating a point that is made throughout his work and that is systematically
elaborated, in an explicitly negative manner, in the concluding subsections of
Groundwork II, “Heteronomy of the Will as the Source of all Spurious Principles
of Morality,” namely, that if one were to try normatively to account for the neces-
sary authority of morality in terms of exercises of faculties that are manifestly
contingent, such as our sensitivity to either external or internal empirical pres-
sures, or even theological concepts characterized in a merely arbitrary fashion
(concerning a desire to please the whims of a tyrannical superpower), then this
would be tantamount to sacrificing the normative necessity of the moral law and
its chance for harmony with universal reason.33
Note that although it is true that there is a contingent causal relation between
our awareness of such mere pressures, and the existence of particular stimuli for
them, it is not the relational causal contingency of the pressures that is the key to
Kant’s objection to them; what matters is the immediately evident contingency of
their value relevance.34 There is, for example, no reason to think that the prestige
often associated with social rank is necessarily a moral good. But if contingent
sources of normativity do not as such harmonize with the strict modal and uni-
versal nature of the moral demands of practical reason, some kind of fitting and
necessary location for the possibility of this harmony needs to be sought. From a
Kantian perspective, there is one and only one obvious alternative here, namely,
to look toward practical reason itself. Reason in general is characterized through-
out Kant’s philosophy as precisely that faculty which determines (in E, F, C, and N
senses)35 all strictly necessary truths, and hence it only makes sense to say that
point that “follows” on reflection because the preceding two points about the universality and neces-
sity of the supreme principle of morality cannot be understood in terms of a merely contingently
determined will. See also Allison (2011, 124) and below, note 42.
33 Here Kant has a special problem insofar as he must concede that, of the four basic options, the
perfectionist theory of value need not be vulnerable to the objection of relying on contingent values at
its base. This may be part of the reason why Kant is especially interested in the feature of the universal-
izability of maxims, which he thinks gives his theory a special advantage, given what he takes to be the
inescapable indeterminacy of the notion of “perfection” alone.
34 Hence I assume there is concern about a judgment (ultimately involving freedom) of value, and
not a mere causal relation, at work in passages such as this (G [4: 460]): “it is not because the law
interests us that it has validity for us (for that is heteronomy and dependence [normative!] of practical
reason [this is a point about reason, not mere psychology] . . . ).”
35 This statement about “reason in general” is compatible with allowing that reason “in particular,”
that is, as it is actually taken up on a particular occasion by a person reasoning in action, is part of
what allows that person to be causally effective. The causality of practical reason has been emphasized
in recent work by Stephen Engstrom.
the practical necessities of morality must be sought within the faculty of practical
reason, what Kant also calls Wille.
Given that these necessities are unavoidably valid, it may be disconcerting at
first that Kant uses an active voice here and speaks of “the will” as “giving” the
law36 rather than simply seeing, understanding, or appreciating it. But there are
understandable reasons for his use of the active voice here. The most obvious one
is that he wants to mark a strong contrast with what he takes to be the manifestly
passive and inadequate putative sources of unconditional value that others tend
to rely on: mere sensation, tradition, threats, and such. Moreover, even when, in a
moral context, Kant does use, and even emphasizes, a term that is translated as
“impose” (auferlegen), he also uses it in part in a passive voice, as something
imposed “upon the will.” That is, he states that for actions (for example, not lying
to someone about a truth that they have a right to know) out of “immediate
respect,” “nothing but reason is required to impose them upon the will,” since
“these actions need no recommendation from any subjective proclivity . . . to coax
[erschmeicheln, that is, lure by mere flattery] them” (G [4: 435]).37 Here again it is
clear that the cash value of the term “impose” is simply to sharply oppose the idea
of accepting only manifestly contingent sources of value. As Wille, we “give our-
selves” the law most basically insofar as we cannot, as beings of reason, let a
“supreme principle,” no matter how flattering, be contingently imposed upon us
as normatively decisive. We understand that mere efficient causal determination,
as a contingent fact about events, cannot be the same thing as the normative
determination of a necessary standard of value—and this is true even if the caus-
ation is a matter of our own active imagination.
Throughout his philosophy, Kant makes use of a basic distinction between Tun
and Lassen (G [4: 396]), that is, between being active in a paradigmatic initiating
sense, in contrast to allowing something to happen. But even “allowing” is under-
stood in this context as also a kind of action, and it is clearly Kant’s general view
that, in the context of our relation to the status of norms, for us even to merely
allow any of these actually to hold sway in one’s life is to engage in a kind of act
and to determine oneself “efficiently” in a “self-incurred” way.38 Hence, intentions
36 One should also keep in mind that what look like German uses of the term “give,” that is, geben,
are often translated more properly in non-activist terms. Es gibt does not mean “it gives,” but simply
“there is,” just as in English, when we say “it rains,” we really are not speaking of a separate “it” but just
mean that now “there is rain.” I suspect that Kant is most attracted to the word “give” here simply
because he wants to use a verb that contrasts with “take,” which in this context signifies merely taking
over from an external source in a normatively lazy way. Another complication is that here “give” and
“take” have connotations that contrast with how they are generally used in relation to the English
philosophical notion of the “myth of the (merely passively) given.”
37 I have inserted the phrase “these actions . . . proclivity” from an earlier part of the paragraph, for
grammatical and explanatory reasons. Without the insertion the translation of Kant’s phrase reads, “to
impose them upon the will, not to coax . . . ,” and here one sees perhaps even more directly how Kant’s
main aim is simply to make a contrast with contingent sources such as mere “coaxing.”
38 See Section 2.4.
in which one chooses to ignore the claim of morality and to accept as basic what
Kant calls the merely heteronomous standards of sensibility and self-love must
also involve a kind of act on our part, even if it is not in an explicit phenomeno-
logical sense.39
A common objection at this point is to say that even if the value of a law is not
something to be merely “taken” in the sense of a natural process that is undergone
totally passively, this does not mean that we should say it is self-given either, for
one might want to characterize it as simply recognized as authoritatively present.40
Against this gambit, a Kantian might at first argue that we should speak of the
faculty of reason in active terms simply because of considerations that go back to
a long-standing Scholastic and rationalist tradition of understanding intentional-
ity in general as active because at least implicitly propositional (and thus involv-
ing synthesis, in contrast to mere sensation and primitive feeling), although by no
means in a necessarily arbitrary way. Here, however, one must distinguish
between reason’s general normative (N and F) determination of the standing of a
practical law, and the cognitive and appreciative acts in which a particular reason-
ing subject determines itself, through reason in a concrete E and C sense, to be
committed to a maxim in a way that takes an actual stance on the law. Even
though the latter kind of determination, on each occasion, is understandably
always a matter of activity rather than mere passivity, this may leave it unclear
why the general formal and normative determination of the law’s status as
supreme should be said to be self-given. Nonetheless, there remain the grounds
already given for speaking of even the mere formal determination of the law’s
standing as something that is self-determined, in a non-subjectivist, pure, and
distinctively internal sense, rather than other-determined. Kant’s view is that,
even before trying to ground the synthetic claim that the moral law is in fact
binding on us, the philosophical analysis of what the acceptance of such a law
would entail41 does point directly to a non-subjectivist understanding of NRSPD.
The key point here, once again, is simply that it must be within the faculty of prac-
tical reason itself, and neither of the two other faculties distinct from it, namely,
mere feeling and mere theoretical understanding, that such a strict standard for
practical life would have to reside (and thus is "self-given" with Wille).
It is, to be sure, a bit of provocative language to speak of this necessary har-
mony between pure reason, as a basic faculty, with pure morality, as a practical
standard with content, in terms of reason’s “authoring” and “legislating” morality’s
pure law (cf. G [4: 448]), for this might suggest to some readers the existence of
something like an independent being, such as a person or a government, engaged
with a totally independent other item, that is, an entity that need not be. Reason,
39 This point is stressed in Pippin (2013).

40 See again Larmore (2011).
41 Note Kant’s cautious language in this section: “if there is a categorical imperative” (G [4: 432]).
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Sigurd goes to slay, 244, 245, 246;
Gudrun eats heart of, 251;
personification of cold and darkness, 262, 292;
compared to Python, 291.
Fairy Rings. Magic spell of, 221.
Fairyland. Alf-heim is, 112.
Farbauti (far-bou´tē). Same as Bergelmir, 199.
Faroe Islands. Thor’s name in, 81.
Fates. Yggdrasil sprinkled by Northern, 20;
compared to Norns, 286, 287.
February. Vali’s month is, 153.
Feng. Same as Odin, 244.
Fenia. Giantess slave of Frodi, 122.
Fenris (fen´ris). Birth and capture of, 89;
story of, 89–92;
shoe to defend Vidar against, 148;
prediction concerning, 149;
Hel related to, 166;
birth of, 200;
Loki, father of, 212;
released from bonds, 265;
Loki leads, 268;
death of, 269;
Tyr alone dare face, 283;
compared to Nemean lion, 286;
compared to Pyrrhus, 290.
Fensalir (fen´säl-ir). Frigga’s palace, 47;
Frigga spinning in, 187.
Fialar (fyälár).
1. Kvasir slain by, 93.
2. Red cock of Valhalla, 265.
Fimbulwinter (fim´bul-win-ter). Prediction of coming, 192;
terror of people at approach of, 264;
Greek equivalent, 290.
Finite Nature. Of gods, 16.
F H d i it th 145
Finns. Hermod visits the, 145.
Fiolnir (fyolńir).
1. Birth of, 117.
2. Same as Odin, 244.
Fiorgyn (fyôr´gēn). Genealogy of, 43;
Frigga, daughter of, 46.
Flax. Discovery of, 54–56.
Flint. Origin of, 75, 76.
Flitch. Of bacon, 120, 121.
Flora. Nanna compared to, 289.
Folkvang (fōk´vang). Freya´s home, 77, 124;
warriors and wives in, 125;
Loki enters, 140.
Forenoon. Part of day, 17.
Fornjotnr (fôrn-yōtńr). Same as Ymir, 199;
giants descended from, 212.
Forseti (fôr-seté). God of justice, 134–137;
Greek equivalent for, 286;
the land of, 136.
Fraananger (frā-nan´ger). Loki takes refuge in, 206.
France. Golden age in, 58;
Oberon, fairy king in, 223.
Franconia. Conquered by Odin, 44.
Frankish. Kings’ descent, 212;
queen marries giant, 290.
Frankland. Hindarfiall in, 246.
Franks. Worship of Tyr among the, 85;
martial games of the, 88.
Frau Gode (frou gō´dā). Same as Frigga, 59.
Frau Holle. Same as Frigga, 54.
Frau Venus. Same as Holda, 56.
Frederick Barbarossa. Wild Hunt led by, 31.
Freki (frek´ē). Odin´s wolf, 24, 278.
French Revolution. Wild Hunt announces, 32.
,
Frey (frī). Comes to Asgard, 22, 107;

present for, 66;
Gullin-bursti and Skidbladnir for, 68;
toast to, 111;
god of summer, 112–124;
Freya, sister of, 124;
rides with Freya, 128;
Freya marries, 129;
sword of, 219;
elves governed by, 221;
deprived of power, 223;
weapon, a stag’s horn, 267;
fights Surtr, 268;
death of, 269;
boar of, 282;
Freya (frī´ȧ). Comes to Asgard, 22, 107;
Hrungnir wants, 74;
Loki borrows falcon plumes of, 77, 103;
anger of, 77;
Thor borrows garments of, 78;
Thor personates, 79;
Freya, goddess of beauty, 124–130;
Friday sacred to, 128;
Loki steals necklace of, 140, 199;
the earth is, 141;
Valkyrs led by, 162;
promised to giant, 202;
gods fear to lose, 203;
dwarfs make necklace for, 218;
Greek equivalents, 279, 282, 285.
Freygerda (frī-gēr´ȧ). Wife of Fridleef, 122.
Friday. Sacred to Freya, 128.
Fridleef (frid´leef). Same as Frey, 122.
Frigga (frig´ȧ). Sits on Hlidskialf, 23;
Odin disguises himself by advice of 37;
Odin disguises himself by advice of, 37;
Agnar fostered by, 40;
Odin outwitted by, 41, 49;
wife of Vili and Ve, 42;
Odin’s wife, 43;
seven sons of, 44;
goddess of earth, 44–60;
goddess of atmosphere, 46;
secrecy of, 46;
worshiped with Odin, 54;
Thor, son of, 61;
Nerthus same as, 108;
Freya same as, 124;
Uller marries, 131;
Balder and Hodur, sons of, 182;
Balder’s depression noticed by, 183;
all things swear to, 184;
Loki wrests secret from, 187, 188;
Hermod departs at request of, 189;
the hope of, 192;
emblem of earth, 196;
grants Rerir’s wish, 226;
Greek equivalents, 279, 280, 282, 289.
Frisians (frizíanz). Want new laws, 135;
tradition of, 214.
Fro. Same as Frey, 112, 120, 284.
Frodi (frō´dē). Mill of, 122;
death of, 123.
Fulla (ful´ȧ). Attendant of Frigga, 48, 50, 57;
Nanna sends ring to, 194.
Funfeng (fun´feng). Ægir’s servant, 174;
Loki jealous of, 205.
Fylgie (fēl´gye). Guardian spirit, 159.
Gabriel’s Hounds. Wild Hunt in England, 30.

Galar (gälár). Kvasir slain by, 93.
Gambantein (gam´ban tīn) Wand of Hermod 145;
Gambantein (gam ban-tīn). Wand of Hermod, 145;
like Caduceus, 286.
Gamla Upsala (gam´lȧ up-sä´lȧ). Odin’s, Frey’s, and Thor’s
mounds near, 118.
Gangler (gang´ler). Deludes Gylfi, 44.
Gangrad (gang´räd). Odin as, 37.
Ganymede (ganí-mēd). Northern equivalent for story of, 283.
Garm. Dog of Hel, 167;
Odin passes, 184;
Hel followed by, 267;
Loki leads, 268;
death of, 269;
compared to Cerberus, 288.
Gefjon (gefýon). Gylfi visited by, 52;
compared to Dido, 280.
Gefn. Same as Freya, 125.
Geir Odds (gīr odz). Carving of, 44, 169.
Geirrod (gīr´rod).
1. Story of, 39–41.
2. Loki visits, 79;
Thor visits, 80, 81, 148;
Loki accompanies Thor to, 199;
Gelgia (gel´gyạ). End of Fenris’s fetter, 92.
Gerda (gẽr´dȧ). Wooed by Frey, 114, 115, 116;
Greek counterparts of, 285.
Geri (gẽr´ē). Odin’s wolf, 24, 278.
German. Cheru’s sword belongs to a, 86;
Langobart, a long beard in, 50;
Eckhardt the mentor, 56;
belief in Lorelei, 180;
topographical belief, 211;
belief in fairies, 222;
epic, Nibelungenlied, 225.
Germany. Wild Hunt in, 32;
Odi 43
Odin conquers, 43;
Abundantia worshiped in, 51;
worship of Frigga in, 54;
Easter-stones in, 58;
golden age in, 58;
belief in White Lady in, 59;
Thor, kettle vender in, 64;
storms in, 69;
Nerthus in, 108;
Frey is Fro in, 112;
Yule in, 119;
Freya´s worship in, 124, 125;
temple in Magdeburg in, 128;
Freya now a witch in, 130;
Uller in, 132;
the Elbe in, 179;
sandhills in, 214;
sacrifices to elves in, 223.
Gersemi (gēr´se-mē). Freya’s daughter, 125.
Gertrude (gēr´tro͞ od). Replaces Freya in Germany, 130.
Giallar (gyäl´lar). Bridge in Nifl-heim, 167;
Odin rides over, 184;
trembling of, 192;
Giallar-horn. Heimdall’s trumpet, 21, 138;
last blast of the, 265;
Gialp (gyälp). Incantation of, 80;
Thor breaks the back of, 81;
wave maiden called, 137.
Giants. Birth of ice, 11;
gods slay the, 12;
Ægir does not belong to the, 171;
Hyrrokin summoned by the, 190;
general account of the, 210–217;
Brimer, hall of, 273.
Gilling (gil´ling) Giant slain by dwarfs 93;
Gilling (gil ling). Giant slain by dwarfs, 93;
death of wife of, 94.
Gimli (gim´lē). Not consumed in Ragnarok, 272;
compared to Delphi, 290.
Ginnunga-gap (ge-no͞ on´gȧ-gap). Primeval abyss, 10;
giants come to life in, 210.
Gioll (gyol). Rock to which Fenris is bound, 92.
Giöll (gyēl). River boundary of Nifl-heim, 167;
Hermod crosses, 192;
like Acheron, 288.
Giuki (gi-ó͞ oki). Niblung king, 250;
Sigurd, blood brother of sons of, 251.
Giukings. Sons of Giuki, 251;
Sigurd slain by, 256.
Glads-heim (glädz-hīm). Twelve seats in, 25;
Tyr welcomed in, 84;
Vali dwells in, 153;
Odin returns to, 187.
Glasir (glä´sir). The golden grove of, 25.
Glaumvor (gloum´vor). Second wife of Gunnar, 257.
Glaur (glour). Husband of Sol, 14.
Gleipnir (glīpńir). Manufacture of, 90, 91.
Glitnir (glitńir). Forseti’s hall, 134.
Glittering Heath. Fafnir on the, 243.
Glut (glo͞ ot). Loki’s first wife, 199.
Gna (gnä). Messenger of Frigga, 51;
carries apple to Rerir, 226;
compared to Iris, 280.
Gnipa (gnē´pȧ). Cave in Nifl-heim, 167;
Garm in, 288.
Gnîtaheid (gnē´tȧ-hīd). Fafnir on, 243.
Gnomes (nōmz). Same as dwarfs, 18.
Goblins. Same as dwarfs, 217.
Gode (gō´de). Same as Frigga, 59.
Godey. Thor’s temple at, 82.
Godi. Human sacrifices by, 85.
Gold. Freya’s tears are, 126;
the flame of the sea, 172.
Golden Age, 19;
Norns arrive after, 154;
Greek equivalent for Northern, 278;
Frey’s reign the, 284.
Gondemar (gon´de-mar). King of the dwarfs, 218.
Gothland. Thor’s temple in, 82;
Sigmund leaves, 234;
Ermenrich, king of, 260.
Goths. Siggeir, king of the, 226;
Sigmund and Sinfiotli, prisoners of the, 233.
Grane (gräńē). Sigurd chooses, 240.
Great Bear. Odin’s Wain, 36.
Greenland. First settlement, 224.
Greip (grīp). Thor breaks the back of, 81;
a wave maiden called, 137.
Grendel. Son of Hler, 213.
Greyfell (grā´fel). Same as Grane, 240;
Sigurd loads hoard on, 246;
Gunnar borrows, 251;
Sigurd rides through flames on, 252;
burned with Sigurd, 256.
Grid. Wife of Odin, 43, 80, 147;
gives Vidar shoe, 148;
with Vidar and Odin, 149.
Grimhild (grim´hild). Queen of the Niblungs, 250;
wishes Gunnar to marry, 251, 252, 253;
gives magic potion to Guttorm, 254;
to Gudrun, 257.
Grimnir. Odin as, 41.
Griottunagard (gryot-tūńa-gärd). The dual in, 74.
Griottunagard (gryot tū na gärd). The dual in, 74.
Gripir (grē´pir). Stud-keeper of Elf, 240;

prophecies of, 244;
compared to Chiron, 291.
Groa (grō´ȧ). Incantations of, 76;
compared to Ceres, 282.
Grotti. Magic mill, 122, 123.
Grypto. Nun on, 212.
Gudrun (go͞ o-dro͞ on´).
1. A Valkyr marries Helgi, 235;
self-sacrifice of, 236.
2. Gives magic potion to Sigurd, 250;
marries Sigurd, 251;
Sigurd gives ring to, 253;
Sigurd offers to repudiate, 254;
mourning of, 255;
goes to Denmark, 256;
wooed by Atli, 257;
Niblungs helped by, 258;
slays her children, 259;
revenge of, 260;
sends sons to avenge Swanhild, 261;
same as Ildico, 262;
Gull-top (go͞ ol-top). Heimdall’s steed, 139.
Gullfaxi (go͞ ol-fax´ē). Hrungnir’s steed, 73;
Magni receives, 75.
Gullin-bursti (go͞ olín-bērs-tē). Making of, 67;
Frey receives, 68, 113;
dwarfs manufacture, 218.
Gullin-kambi (go͞ olín-käm-bē). Midgard rooster, 265.
Gullin-tani (go͞ olín-tä-nē). Same as Heimdall, 139.
Gundicarius (go͞ on-di-cärí-us). Same as Gunnar, 262.
Gungnir (go͞ ongńir). Odin’s spear, 24;
made of Yggdrasil wood, 37;
runes on 39;
runes on, 39;
Dvalin makes point of, 66, 218;
Odin receives, 68;
Hermod throws, 144;
Dag borrows, 235;
Gunlod (go͞ on´lod). Mother of Bragi, 43;
guardian of inspiration, 94;
Odin visits, 95, 96.
Gunnar (gunńär). Son of Giuki, 250;
wooing of Brunhild by, 251;
Brunhild marries, 253;
repentance of, 255;
Brunhild burned by order of, 256;
Atli asks compensation for death of the sister of, 257;
courage and oath of, 258;
death of, 259;
same as Gundicarius, 262;
Greek equivalents, 292.
Guttorm (go͞ ot´torm). Son of Giuki, 250;
Sigurd slain by, 254;
death of, 255.
Gylfi (gēl´fē). Odin welcomed by, 43;
delusion of, 44;
Gefjon visits, 52;
Gymir (gē´mir). Gerda, daughter of, 114;
dwelling of, 115;
Ægir same as, 173;
son of Hler, 212.
Hades (hā´dēz). Compared to Nifl-heim, 281, 289;

Jötun-heim compared to, 283.
Hagal. Fosters Helgi, 235.
Hagedises (hagé-dis-ez). Norns called, 159.
Hakon (hä´kon). Thora, daughter of, 256;
marries a Valkyr 287
marries a Valkyr, 287.
Hallinskide (häl´lin-skē-de). Heimdall, same as, 141.
Hamadryads. Northern equivalents, 277.
Hamdir (ham´dir). Son of Gudrun, 260;
death of, 261;
Hamelin (hamé-lin). Story of Pied Piper of, 33, 34;
Hammer. To dedicate boundaries, homes, marriages, 64;
effect of, 70;
the theft of the, 76;
sign of the, 99.
Hamond. Son of Sigmund, 234.
Hans von Hackelberg. Leader of Wild Hunt, 31, 32.
Har. One of the triad seen by Gylfi, 44.
Harald Harfager (här´fag-er). Norseman driven away by, 224.
Hati (hä´tē). Wolf pursuing orbs, 16;
fed in Ironwood, 265;
demon of darkness, 290.
Hatto. Bishop of Mayence, 35.
Hávamál (havá-mal). Code of laws and ethics, 45.
Hebe (hē´bē). Compared to Valkyrs, 287.
Hector. Northern equivalent, 290.
Heidrun (hī´dro͞ on). Goat supplying mead, 20;
compared to Amalthea, 278.
Heim-dellinger. Same as Heimdall, 139.
Heimchen. Unborn children, 58.
Heimdall (hīm´däl). Bifröst guarded by, 21;
nine mothers of, 43;
Thor advised by, 78;
Idun sought by, 105;
Brisinga-men saved by, 127;
watch-warder of Asgard, 137–143;
connected with Æsir, 147;
watchfulness of 202;
watchfulness of, 202;
Loki to be slain by, 208;
horn blown by, 265;
Loki fights, 268;
death of, 269;
Heime. Miming, the sword of, 165.
“Heimskringla” (hīmz´kring-lȧ). Northern chronicle, 117.
Hel. Goddess of death, 32;
birth and banishment of, 89, 200;
realm of, 98;
Idun’s sojourn with, 105, 106;
Uller with, 133;
Skuld as, 159;
the home of, 166–170;
Odin visits, 184;
daughter of Loki, 212;
Hermod goes to, 184;
couches spread by, 185;
Hermod visits, 189;
challenged, 192;
urged to release Balder, 193;
Hermod leaves, 194;
the bird of, 265;
arrives on Vigrid, 267;
army of, 268;
realm burned, 269;
Garm guards gate of, 288;
rake of, 289.
Hel-cake. Provided for Garm, 167.
Hel-gate. Hermod passes, 167, 193.
Hel-shoes. For feet of dead, 167.
Hel-way. Hermod journeys along the, 192.
Hela. Same as Hel, 166.
Helen. Northern equivalents, 290, 291, 292.
Helferich (hel´fer-ēkh). Same as Elf, 238.
Helfrat (hel´frat). Same as Elf, 238.
Helgi. Glorious career of, 234, 235;
marriage of, 287.
Heliades (he-līá-dēz). Northern equivalent, 285.
Helicon. Compared to Sokvabek, 279;
to Od-hroerir, 283.
Heligoland (helí-go-länd). Naming of, 131.
Helios (hē´li-os). Northern equivalent, 276.
Helmet of Dread, 242, 243;
Sigurd uses the, 246, 251, 256.
Hengi-kiaptr (heng´gē-kyäp’tr). Frodi’s mill called, 122.
Hengist (heng´gist). Descendant of Odin, 44.
Henry. Murder of, 32;
Ilse seen by, 215.
Heraclidæ (her-a-klī´dē). Northern equivalents, 279.
Hercules (hērću-lēz). Northern equivalents, 276, 281, 282,
286, 287, 289.
Herla. Mythical king of England, 32.
Herlathing. Wild Hunt called, 32.
Hermæ (hēr´mē). Comparison between Northern boundaries
and, 281.
Hermod (hēr´mod). Heroes welcomed by, 26;
Frigga mother of, 43;
messenger of gods, 144, 146;
journeys to Nifl-heim, 167, 189, 190–194;
Herod. Leader of Wild Hunt, 32.
Heru. Same as Tyr, 86;
same as Heimdall, 141.
Hervor (hēr´vor). Daughter of Angantyr, 219.
Hialli (hyäl´lē). The trembling heart of, 259.
High Song. Same as Hávamál, 45.
Himinbiorg (himín-byērg). Heimdall’s palace, 138, 143.
( y g) p , ,
Himinbrioter (himín-bryō-ter). Thor slays, 175.

Hindarfiall (hin´dar-fyäl). Sigurd comes to, 246;
Brunhild asleep on, 248;
Brunhild’s story not ended on, 250.
Hindfell (hind´fel). Same as Hindarfiall, 248.
Hiordis (hyôr´dis). Sigmund marries, 237;
and leaves sword to, 238;
Elf marries, 239;
Sigurd obtains sword from, 244;
death of, 256.
Hippomenes (hip-pomé-nēz). Northern equivalent, 285.
Hiuki (hū´kē). Companion of Mani, 16.
Hlader (hlä´der). Thor’s temple at, 82.
Hleidra (hlī´drȧ). Capital of Denmark, 53.
Hler. Same as Ægir, 171, 173;
brother of Loki, 199;
son of Fornjotnr, 212.
Hlesey. Ægir’s palace in, 171, 174.
Hlidskialf (hlidz´kyȧlf). Odin’s seat, 23, 25, 79;
Odin sees sons of Hrauding from, 40;
Frigga sits on, 46;
Odin sees Vandals from, 49;
Frey mounts, 114.
Hlin. Frigga’s attendant, 51.
Hlodyn (hlo´dēn). Same as Nerthus, 60.
Hlora. Thor fostered by, 61.
Hlorridi (hlôr-rē´dē). Same as Thor, 61.
Hnikar (hnē´kar). Same as Odin, 244.
Hnoss. Freya’s daughter, 125.
Hodmimir (hod-mē´mir). The forest of, 270.
Hodur (hō´der). Personification of darkness, 133, 197;
Vali to slay, 152, 186;
twin brother of Balder, 182;
Balder to be slain by 185;
Balder to be slain by, 185;
Balder slain by, 188, 189;
Vali slays, 195, 287;
explanation of myth of, 196;
Loki guides hand of, 204;
return of, 271.
Hoenir (hēńir). Gives motion to man, 19;
earth visited by, 101, 240;
Loki joins, 102;
hostage in Vana-heim, 107;
peasant asks aid of, 201;
survival of, 271.
Hofvarpnir (hof-värpńir). Gna’s fleet steed, 51.
Högni (hēgńē). Son of Giuki, 250;
Sigurd’s death planned by, 254;
warning given by, 257;
captive, 258;
the heart of, 259.
Holda. Same as Frigga, 54;
Uller, husband of, 132.
Holland. Frigga worshiped in, 59.
Holle, Frau. Same as Frigga, 54.
Holler. Same as Uller, 132.
Holmgang. Thor’s and Hrungnir’s, 74, 75.
Holy Innocents. In Wild Hunt, 32.
Honey. Drips from Yggdrasil, 20.
Horn. Same as Freya, 125.
Horsa. Descendant of Odin, 44.
Hörselberg (hēr´sel-berg). Holda’s abode in the, 56, 281.
Hostages. Exchanged by Æsir and Vanas, 22.
Hræ-svelgr (hrā-svelgr´). Giant eagle, 17;
winds personified by, 277.
Hrauding (hroudíng). Agnar and Geirrod, sons of, 39.
Hreidmar (hrīd´mar). Story of, 240–243.
Hrim-faxi Steed of Night 15
Hrim-faxi. Steed of Night, 15.
Hrim-thurs (hrēm-to͞ ors). Ice giants at creation, 11;
Skadi, a, 109;
architect of Valhalla, a, 203.
Hrothi (hrō´tē). Sword of Fafnir, 243.
Hrungnir (hro͞ ongńir). Odin races with, 73;
Thor’s duel with, 74, 75;
Hrym (hrēm). Vessel steered by, 266.
Hubert, Saint. Uller merged into, 132.
Hugi (hū´gi). Thialfi races with, 72.
Hugin (hū´gin). Odin’s raven, 24, 278;
Od-hroerir discovered by, 94.
Hulda (hul´dȧ). Same as Holda, 54.
Huldra (hul´drȧ). Same as Holda, 60.
Huldra folk. Same as dwarfs and elves, 60, 217, 223.
Hunaland. Gna flies over, 51, 234;
Brunhild’s home in, 248.
Hunding. Helgi’s feud with, 235;
descendants of, 237, 257, 260, 262.
Hungary. Attila settles in, 87.
Huns. Invasion by the, 87;
Sigi, king of the, 226;
Land of the, 257, 258, 260, 262, 292.
Huntsman of Fontainebleau. Leader of Wild Hunt, 32.
Hvergelmir (hwer-gel´mir). The seething caldron, 10;
Yggdrasil root near, 19;
Nidhug in, 20;
ice streams from, 168;
wicked in, 169.
Hymir (hē´mir). Story of Thor’s visit and fishing with, 174–177.
Hyndla (hēnd´lȧ). Freya and Ottar visit, 129.
Hyperboreans. Northern equivalent, 276.
Hyperion. Northern equivalent, 276.
Hyrrokin (hēr´ro-kin). Ringhorn launched by, 190, 191.
Iafn-har (yȧfn´här). Gylfi sees, 44.

Iarn-greiper (yärn´grī-per). Thor’s glove, 63.
Iarnsaxa (yärn´sax-ȧ).
1. Thor’s wife called, 64;
feeds wolves, 265.
2. A wave maiden, 137.
Iceland. Thvera in, 118;
Freya in, 124;
maze in, 164;
earthquakes and geysers in, 208;
Norsemen settle in, 272;
scenery of, 275.
Icelanders. Records of, 9, 139;
call mountains Jokul, 211.
Icelandic. Shores, 224.
Ida. Same as Idavold, 187;
gods return to, 271;
same as Asgard, 277.
Idavold. Plain where gods dwell, 18;
gods play on, 187;
Balder slain on, 188;
last meeting on, 271.
Idises (ē-diséz). Norns, 159.
Idun (ē´doon). Daughter of Ivald, 98;
story of, 100–106;
returns to Asgard, 108;
apples of, 155;
Loki betrays, 199;
Greek equivalents, 283, 284.
Ifing (ē´fing). River surrounding Idavold, 18;
Vafthrudnir asks about, 38;
Loki flies across, 77.
Ildico (il´di-co). Wife of Attila, 87, 88;
Ildico (il di co). Wife of Attila, 87, 88;
same as Gudrun, 262.
Ilse (il´se). Story of Princess, 215;
compared to Arethusa, 288.
Ilsenstein (il´sen-stīn). Home of Princess Ilse, 215.
India. Languages of, 274.
Inglings. Frey’s descendants called, 122, 279.
Ingvi-Frey. Story of, 117–122.
Inspiration. The story of the draft of, 93–97.
Io. Northern equivalents for story of, 280, 281.
Iörmungandr (yēr´mun-gandr). Birth and banishment of, 89;
Hel related to, 166;
Thor angles for, 176;
origin of, 200;
rises from sea, 266;
Loki leads, 268;
tempests caused by, 288.
Iran (ē-rän´). The plateau of, 9.
Iris (ī´ris). Compared to Gna, 280.
Irmin (ēr´min). Same as Odin, Heimdall, or Hermod, 36, 141,
146.
Irmin’s Way. The Milky Way, 36.
Irminsul (ēr´min-so͝ ol). Destroyed by Charlemagne, 36.
Ironwood. Iron leaves of, 167;
wolves fed in, 265.
Islands. Eglimi, king of the, 237.
Italy. Golden Age in, 284.
Ivald (ē´väld). Dwarf blacksmith, 66, 86;
Idun, daughter of, 98.
Jack and Jill. Origin of story, 17.

Jack in the Green, 42.
Jack-o’-lanterns. Elf lights, 222.
January. Yule in, 121;
Vali’s month 153
Vali’s month, 153.
Jarl (yärl). The birth of, 143.
Jason. Northern equivalents, 282, 291.
Jill. The origin of Jack and, 143.
John the Baptist, 32.
Jokul (yō´ko͝ ol). Same as Jötun, 211.
Jonakur. Gudrun, wife of, 260.
Jörd (yērd). Daughter of Nott, 15;
wife of Odin, 43, 46, 61.
Jötun-heim (yē´to͞ on-hīm). Home of giants, 12;
Vafthrudnir inquires about, 38;
frost comes from, 69;
Loki’s journey to, 78;
Odin gazes at, 79;
Thor visits Geirrod in, 80;
Loki’s progeny in, 88, 89;
Odin goes to, 94;
Skirnir visits, 115;
Thor personates Freya in, 127;
Hel born in, 166;
Hyrrokin dwells in, 190;
Loki goes to, 198, 199;
Loki’s home in, 200;
giants dwell in, 210;
Tartarus compared to, 275;
Idun in, 283.
Jötuns. Earth in the power of the, 48;
the origin of, 210, 211;
Thor feared by the, 211.
Jove. Day of, in the North, 282.
Joyeuse (zhwäýēz). Charlemagne’s sword, 165.
Judea (ju-dē´ȧ). Bethlehem in, 122.
Juno. Compared to Frigga, 280, 282;
to Freya, 287.
Jupiter. Odin compared to, 275, 277, 278, 279, 280;
A lth f 278
Amalthea, nurse of, 278;
quarrels with Neptune, 278;
outwitted by Juno, 280;
Thor compared to, 281;
secures Ganymede, 283;
compared to Frey, 284;
wishes to marry Thetis, 286;
wooing of Europa, 290.
Justice. Compared to Forseti, 286.
Juternajesta (yo͞ o-ter-na-jest´ȧ). Senjemand loves, 212.
Kari (kär´ē). Brother of Ægir, 171;

brother of Loki, 199;
son of Fornjotnr, 212.
Karl. The birth of, 142.
Kerlaug (kēr´loug). Thor wades across, 62.
Knefrud (knef´ro͞ od). Invites Niblungs to Hungary, 257;
death of, 258.
Kobold. Same as dwarfs, 18, 217;
same as elves, 223.
Konur. The birth of, 143.
Koppelberg. Children in the, 34.
Kormt. Thor crosses, 62.
Kvasir (kvä´sir).
1. Murder of, 93;
Odin covets mead of, 94.
2. Loki surprised by, 206.
Læding (lā´ding). Chain for Fenris, 90;

proverb concerning, 283.
Laga (lä´gȧ). Same as Saga, 43.
Lampetia (lam-pe-tī´ȧ). Northern equivalent for flocks of, 276.
Landvidi (länd-vē´di). Home of Vidar, 147, 149.
Langobarden. Story of, 50;
Greek equivalent for, 280.
Laufeia (lou fī´ȧ) Mother of Loki 199

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1. Introduction to an Extended Era 3

9. Some Persistent Presumptions of Hegelian Anti-Subjectivism 139

This volume is dedicated to the memory of my closest colleague at Notre Dame,

lecture and reprinted in the Proceedings of the American Philosophical Association

Note on Sources and Key to

List 1: Kant’s Writings, Listed by Abbreviation

x note on sources and key to abbreviations and translations

note on sources and key to abbreviations and translations xi

VorlM Immanuel Kant: Vorlesung zu Moralphilosophie (1770s), ed. Werner Stark,

List 2: Abbreviations for Works by Other Authors

1.1. Three Kinds of Kantian Subjects

The title Kantian Subjects is to be understood as having a threefold meaning.

4 Introduction to an Extended Era

cultural outlook. In its most influential forms of self-understanding, this outlook

1.2. Overview of the Whole

Overview of the Whole 5

self and of determination, it is possible, and quite common, to misconstrue Kant’s

6 Introduction to an Extended Era

1.3. Overview of Part I: Kant

Chapter 2, “On the Many Senses of ‘Self-Determination’,” begins with a clarifica-

Overview of Part I: Kant 7

6 This argument is largely an amplification of an interpretation advanced in my (1982a) and

8 Introduction to an Extended Era

O’Neill as “radical existentialism” and “panicky metaphysics.” As O’Neill shows,

8 See also my (2015) and (2016a). 9 See also my (2013).

Overview of Part II: Successors 9

view, forms intentions that generate a tightly structured world of three-dimen-

1.4. Overview of Part II: Successors

Chapter 9, “Some Persistent Presumptions of Hegelian Anti-Subjectivism,” is a

10 Introduction to an Extended Era

general progressive development of religious thinking in broadly naturalistic

Overview of Part II: Successors 11

12 Introduction to an Extended Era

Overview of Part II: Successors 13

self-determination, as advocated in the main ideas of Rousseau’s work, the ideals

20 In addition to path-breaking work by German scholars, there is a growing philosophical litera-

2.1. Preliminary Overview

2.2. Vindicating Kantian Self-Determination

2.2.1. On “determination” and Bestimmung

Unlike “autonomy,” the components of “self-determination,” as well as those of its

Vindicating Kantian Self-Determination 15

16 On the Many Senses of “ Self-Determination ”

2.2.2. On the “self ” of Selbstbestimmung

Although the notion of “determination” will be my main focus, it is also necessary

Vindicating Kantian Self-Determination 17

and particular independent form of existence, that is, an immortality conceived

18 On the Many Senses of “ Self-Determination ”

in all compatibilist systems, no matter how sophisticated their picture of us as

1. Introduction to an Extended Era 3

9. Some Persistent Presumptions of Hegelian Anti-Subjectivism 139