Source:
http://www.english.upenn.edu/~mgamer/Etexts/kant.html
Enlightenment is man’s emergence from his
self-imposed immaturity. Immaturity is the inability to use one’s understanding
without guidance from another. This immaturity is self-imposed when its cause
lies not in lack of understanding, but in lack of resolve and courage to use it
without guidance from another. Sapere Aude! [dare to know] “Have courage
to use your own understanding!” – that is the motto of enlightenment.
Laziness and cowardice are the reasons
why so great a proportion of men, long after nature has released them from
alien guidance (naturaliter maiorennes), nonetheless gladly remain in
lifelong immaturity, and why it is so easy for others to establish themselves
as their guardians. It is so easy to be immature. If I have a book to serve as
my understanding, a pastor to serve as my conscience, a physician to determine
my diet for me, and so on, I need not exert myself at all. I need not think, if
only I can pay: others will readily undertake the irksome work for me. The
guardians who have so benevolently taken over the supervision of men have
carefully seen to it that the far greatest part of them (including the entire
fair sex) regard taking the step to maturity as very dangerous, not to mention
difficult. Having first made their domestic livestock dumb, and having
carefully made sure that these docile creatures will not take a single step
without the go-cart to which they are harnessed, these guardians then show them
the danger that threatens them, should they attempt to walk alone. Now this
danger is not actually so great, for after falling a few times they would in
the end certainly learn to walk; but an example of this kind makes men timid
and usually frightens them out of all further attempts.
Thus, it is difficult for any individual
man to work himself out of the immaturity that has all but become his nature.
He has even become fond of this state and for the time being is actually
incapable of using his own understanding, for no one has ever allowed him to
attempt it. Rules and formulas, those mechanical aids to the rational use, or
rather misuse, of his natural gifts, are the shackles of a permanent
immaturity. Whoever threw them off would still make only an uncertain leap over
the smallest ditch, since he is unaccustomed to this kind of free movement.
Consequently, only a few have succeeded, by cultivating their own minds, in
freeing themselves from immaturity and pursuing a secure course.
But that the public should enlighten
itself is more likely; indeed, if it is only allowed freedom, enlightenment is
almost inevitable. For even among the entrenched guardians of the great masses
a few will always think for themselves, a few who, after having themselves
thrown off the yoke of immaturity, will spread the spirit of a rational
appreciation for both their own worth and for each person’s calling to think
for himself. But it should be particularly noted that if a public that was
first placed in this yoke by the guardians is suitably aroused by some of those
who are altogether incapable of enlightenment, it may force the guardians
themselves to remain under the yoke – so pernicious is it to instill
prejudices, for they finally take revenge upon their originators, or on their
descendants. Thus a public can only attain enlightenment slowly. Perhaps a
revolution can overthrow autocratic despotism and profiteering or
power-grabbing oppression, but it can never truly reform a manner of thinking;
instead, new prejudices, just like the old ones they replace, will serve as a
leash for the great unthinking mass.
Nothing is required for this
enlightenment, however, except freedom; and the freedom in question is the
least harmful of all, namely, the freedom to use reason publicly in all matters.
But on all sides I hear: “Do not argue!” The officer says, “Do not argue,
drill!” The tax man says, “Do not argue, pay!” The pastor says, “Do not argue,
believe!” (Only one ruler in the World says, “Argue as much as you want and
about what you want, but obey!”) In this we have examples of pervasive
restrictions on freedom. But which restriction hinders enlightenment and which
does not, but instead actually advances it? I reply: The public use of one’s
reason must always be free, and it alone can bring about enlightenment among
mankind; the private use of reason may, however, often be very narrowly
restricted, without otherwise hindering the progress of enlightenment. By the
public use of one’s own reason I understand the use that anyone as a scholar makes
of reason before the entire literate world. I call the private use of reason
that which a person may make in a civic post or office that has been entrusted
to him. Now in many affairs conducted in the interests of a community, a
certain mechanism is required by means of which some of its members must
conduct themselves in an entirely passive manner so that through an artificial
unanimity the government may guide them toward public ends, or at least prevent
them from destroying such ends. Here one certainly must not argue, instead one
must obey. However, insofar as this part of the machine also regards himself as
a member of the community as a whole, or even of the world community, and as a
consequence addresses the public in the role of a scholar, in the proper sense
of that term, he can most certainly argue, without thereby harming the affairs
for which as a passive member he is partly responsible. Thus it would be
disastrous if an officer on duty who was given a command by his superior were
to question the appropriateness or utility of the order. He must obey. But as a
scholar he cannot be justly constrained from making comments about errors in
military service, or from placing them before the public for its judgment. The
citizen cannot refuse to pay the taxes imposed on him; indeed, impertinent
criticism of such levies, when they should be paid by him, can be punished as a
scandal (since it can lead to widespread insubordination). But the same person
does not act contrary to civic duty when, as a scholar, he publicly expresses
his thoughts regarding the impropriety or even injustice of such taxes.
Likewise a pastor is bound to instruct his catecumens and congregation in
accordance with the symbol of the church he serves, for he was appointed on
that condition. But as a scholar he has complete freedom, indeed even the
calling, to impart to the public all of his carefully considered and
well-intentioned thoughts concerning mistaken aspects of that symbol, as well
as his suggestions for the better arrangement of religious and church matters.
Nothing in this can weigh on his conscience. What he teaches in consequence of
his office as a servant of the church he sets out as something with regard to
which he has no discretion to teach in accord with his own lights; rather, he
offers it under the direction and in the name of another. He will say, “Our
church teaches this or that and these are the demonstrations it uses.” He
thereby extracts for his congregation all practical uses from precepts to which
he would not himself subscribe with complete conviction, but whose presentation
he can nonetheless undertake, since it is not entirely impossible that truth
lies hidden in them, and, in any case, nothing contrary to the very nature of
religion is to be found in them. If he believed he could find anything of the
latter sort in them, he could not in good conscience serve in his position; he
would have to resign. Thus an appointed teacher’s use of his reason for the
sake of his congregation is merely private, because, however large the
congregation is, this use is always only domestic; in this regard, as a priest,
he is not free and cannot be such because he is acting under instructions from
someone else. By contrast, the cleric – as a scholar who speaks through his
writings to the public as such, i.e., the world – enjoys in this public use of
reason an unrestricted freedom to use his own rational capacities and to speak
his own mind. For that the (spiritual) guardians of a people should themselves
be immature is an absurdity that would insure the perpetuation of absurdities.
But would a society of pastors, perhaps a
church assembly or venerable presbytery (as those among the Dutch call
themselves), not be justified in binding itself by oath to a certain
unalterable symbol in order to secure a constant guardianship over each of its
members and through them over the people, and this for all time: I say that
this is wholly impossible. Such a contract, whose intention is to preclude
forever all further enlightenment of the human race, is absolutely null and
void, even if it should be ratified by the supreme power, by parliaments, and
by the most solemn peace treaties. One age cannot bind itself, and thus
conspire, to place a succeeding one in a condition whereby it would be impossible
for the later age to expand its knowledge (particularly where it is so very
important), to rid itself of errors, and generally to increase its
enlightenment. That would be a crime against human nature, whose essential
destiny lies precisely in such progress; subsequent generations are thus
completely justified in dismissing such agreements as unauthorized and
criminal. The criterion of everything that can be agreed upon as a law by a
people lies in this question: Can a people impose such a law on itself? Now it
might be possible, in anticipation of a better state of affairs, to introduce a
provisional order for a specific, short time, all the while giving all
citizens, especially clergy, in their role as scholars, the freedom to comment
publicly, i.e., in writing, on the present institution’s shortcomings. The
provisional order might last until insight into the nature of these matters had
become so widespread and obvious that the combined (if not unanimous) voices of
the populace could propose to the crown that it take under its protection those
congregations that, in accord with their newly gained insight, had organized
themselves under altered religious institutions, but without interfering with
those wishing to allow matters to remain as before. However, it is absolutely
forbidden that they unite into a religious organization that nobody may for the
duration of a man’s lifetime publicly question, for so doing would deny, render
fruitless, and make detrimental to succeeding generations an era in man’s progress
toward improvement. A man may put off enlightenment with regard to what he
ought to know, though only for a short time and for his own person; but to
renounce it for himself, or, even more, for subsequent generations, is to
violate and trample man’s divine rights underfoot. And what a people may not
decree for itself may still less be imposed on it by a monarch, for his
lawgiving authority rests on his unification of the people’s collective will in
his own. If he only sees to it that all genuine or purported improvement is
consonant with civil order, he can allow his subjects to do what they find
necessary to their spiritual well-being, which is not his affair. However, he
must prevent anyone from forcibly interfering with another’s working as best he
can to determine and promote his well-being. It detracts from his own majesty
when he interferes in these matters, since the writings in which his subjects
attempt to clarify their insights lend value to his conception of governance.
This holds whether he acts from his own highest insight – whereby he calls upon
himself the reproach, “Caesar non est supra grammaticos.” [Caesar is not above
the scholars] – as well as, indeed even more, when he despoils his highest
authority by supporting the spiritual despotism of some tyrants in his state
over his other subjects.
If it is now asked, “Do we presently live
in an enlightened age?” the answer is, “No, but we do live in an age of
enlightenment.” As matters now stand, a great deal is still lacking in order
for men as a whole to be, or even to put themselves into a position to be able
without external guidance to apply understanding confidently to religious
issues. But we do have clear indications that the way is now being opened for
men to proceed freely in this direction and that the obstacles to general
enlightenment – to their release from their self-imposed immaturity – are
gradually diminishing. In this regard, this age is the age of enlightenment,
the century of Frederick.
A prince who does not find it beneath him
to say that he takes it to be his duty to prescribe nothing, but rather to
allow men complete freedom in religious matters – who thereby renounces the
arrogant title of tolerance – is himself enlightened and deserves to be praised
by a grateful present and by posterity as the first, at least where the
government is concerned, to release the human race from immaturity and to leave
everyone free to use his own reason in all matters of conscience. Under his
rule, venerable pastors, in their role as scholars and without prejudice to
their official duties, may freely and openly set out for the world’s scrutiny
their judgments and views, even where these occasionally differ from the
accepted symbol. Still greater freedom is afforded to those who are not
restricted by an official post. This spirit of freedom is expanding even where
it must struggle against the external obstacles of governments that
misunderstand their own function. Such governments are illuminated by the
example that the existence of freedom need not give cause for the least concern
regarding public order and harmony in the commonwealth. If only they refrain
from inventing artifices to keep themselves in it, men will gradually raise
themselves from barbarism.
I have focused on religious matters in
setting out my main point concerning enlightenment, i.e., man’s emergence from
self-imposed immaturity, first because our rulers have no interest in assuming
the role of their subjects’ guardians with respect to the arts and sciences,
and secondly because that form of immaturity is both the most pernicious and
disgraceful of all. But the manner of thinking of a head of state who favors
religious enlightenment goes even further, for he realizes that there is no
danger to his legislation in allowing his subjects to use reason publicly and
to set before the world their thoughts concerning better formulations of his
laws, even if this involves frank criticism of legislation currently in effect.
We have before us a shining example, with respect to which no monarch surpasses
the one whom we honor.
But only a ruler who is himself
enlightened and has no dread of shadows, yet who likewise has a
well-disciplined, numerous army to guarantee public peace, can say what no
republic may dare, namely: “Argue as much as you want and about what you want,
but obey!” Here as elsewhere, when things are considered in broad perspective,
a strange, unexpected pattern in human affairs reveals itself, one in which
almost everything is paradoxical. A greater degree of civil freedom seems
advantageous to a people’s spiritual freedom; yet the former established
impassable boundaries for the latter; conversely, a lesser degree of civil
freedom provides enough room for all fully to expand their abilities. Thus,
once nature has removed the hard shell from this kernel for which she has most
fondly cared, namely, the inclination to and vocation for free thinking, the
kernel gradually reacts on a people’s mentality (whereby they become
increasingly able to act freely), and it finally even influences the principles
of government, which finds that it can profit by treating men, who are now more
than machines, in accord with their dignity.
I. Kant
Konigsberg in Prussia, 30 September 1784