Sacrifice and the Sublime in Kant’s Moral Vision

Abstract

This article examines how Kant’s conception of sacrifice in Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason connects with his account of the sublime in the Critique of Judgment. We argue that the analogy between sacrifice and sublimity illuminates the transformation involved in moral rebirth, whereby the old self is relinquished for the sake of the new. This transformation comprises two interrelated aspects: suppressive sacrifice, which subordinates self-centered inclinations to the moral law, and kenotic sacrifice, in which self-centeredness is relinquished as part of a radical reorientation of one’s disposition. By situating these aspects within Kant’s discussions of grace, the archetype–prototype distinction, and the imagination’s “sacrifice” during experiences of the sublime, we show how sacrifice functions as a symbol both of the moral exemplar (Vorbild) and of the conversion process. The resulting threefold analogy—between the old/new self, Christ’s kenotic self-emptying, and the imagination’s renunciation within the experience of the sublime—reveals how aesthetic experience, especially the sublime, helps exemplify and empower moral transformation in Kant’s thought, supplementing what his ethics alone can explain.

1. Introduction

This paper explores the interplay between sacrifice and sublimity in Kant’s philosophy, with the aim of demonstrating how these concepts intersect to illuminate the process of moral rebirth and conversion. Central to this analysis is the distinction between suppressive sacrifice, which involves the subordination of the self-centered inclinations to the moral law, and kenotic sacrifice, which entails a transformative self-emptying, where the individual relinquishes something constitutive of their nature for the sake of others. While the most straightforward interpretation of the analogy between the sublime and morality suggests an alignment with suppressive sacrifice, we argue that this analogy is more fully realized through the model of kenotic sacrifice. This interpretation captures the moral and aesthetic dimensions of Kant’s thought and reveals how sublimity, when linked to kenotic sacrifice, illuminates moral transformation. Specifically, we argue that the sublime plays a pivotal role, through its analogous relationship with sacrifice, in aesthetically reinforcing the transition from virtue toward holiness.

By emphasizing this relationship, we show that Kant’s aesthetics and religion contribute more significantly to the understanding of his ethics than is traditionally recognized. The analogy drawn between the sublime and sacrifice reveals a connection in which the sublime serves as a symbol of the morally good. This connection extends into Kantian religion, offering a nuanced perspective on the sublime’s role in moral dimensions beyond conventional Kantian ethics. For Kant, holiness (Heiligkeit) designates the ideal moral state in which the will achieves the complete and unwavering conformity of its maxims with the moral law, such that inclination no longer presents any resistance to duty. As such, holiness is not attainable by any finite beings in the world of sense, but functions as a practical ideal that guides moral striving toward perfect purity of will. Kant describes holiness as involving a complete transformation of the moral disposition through conversion and rebirth. We argue that this dimension is clarified by the relationship between the prototype, as the symbol of moral perfection, and the sublime. We also argue that the prototype, by exemplifying a kenotic form of sacrifice, serves as a model for human moral striving, where the sublime provides an aesthetic framework through which this transformation can be grasped.

2. Sacrifice and the Archetype-Prototype Distinction in Moral Rebirth

2.1. The Threefold Sense of Sacrifice in Kant

The concept of “sacrifice” is inherently ambiguous, encompassing distinct ethical and religious implications. A useful philosophical distinction is that between suppressive and kenotic sacrifice ([1], pp. 1–4). Suppressive sacrifice involves the destruction or suppression of something—material goods or personal inclinations—for the sake of a higher principle. Kenotic sacrifice, by contrast, entails a transformative “withdrawal” for the sake of others, a notion derived by Philippians 2:7, where it is said that Christ “withdrew” or “emptied” himself. What fundamentally distinguishes kenotic from suppressive sacrifice is the willingness to relinquish something constitutive of one’s nature, not merely as subordination to a higher principle but as an act of self-giving oriented toward others.

We argue that both suppressive and kenotic notions of sacrifice are operative within Kant’s thought, though in different ways. To clarify Kant’s position, we must disambiguate three types of sacrifice that emerge, either explicitly or implicitly, in his philosophy.

The first type of sacrifice is explicitly discussed in the Critique of Practical Reason. Kant provides examples (e.g., sacrificing one’s life for one’s country) and argues that such sacrifices are not morally appropriate, as they may involve pride alongside duty. A sacrifice can be performed “from ebullitions of feeling” ([2], 5:85),1 lacking the purity of a moral symbol. This type of sacrifice can be deemed “suppressive”, as it entails the suppression of something (such as one’s life) for the sake of something else (such as one’s country). Thus, Kant seems to conclude that (suppressive) sacrifice is not suitable within the realm of morality.2 Moreover, he remains skeptical of the use of sacrifice as a religious symbol.3

The second type of sacrifice is the implicit sacrificial dynamic at work in Kant’s ethics. Here, the satisfaction of human instincts and desires is de-emphasized to gain access to practical reason and adhere to the moral law. Although Kant does not explicitly term this as sacrifice, his language might imply a sacrificial undertone. While suppressing inclinations is sometimes good but sometimes unnecessary, what must invariably be sacrificed for the sake of morality is prioritizing self-interest over the moral motive. It might be argued that the prioritization of self-interest is merely subordinated to the moral law; yet, Kant himself remarks that overcoming this inclination towards self-interest “always costs the subject some sacrifice (Aufopferung) and therefore requires self-constraint, that is, inner necessitation to what one does not altogether like to do” ([2], 5:83). This is particularly relevant in relation to moral choice-making, as sacrifice reflects the need to forsake self-interest in favor of practical reason to attain freedom. More than mere alignment, subordination of inclinations to rational duty involves a deeper moral sacrifice, where desires are suppressed when they conflict with moral law.4

However, this suppression is not the end of the story; rather, it prepares the way for the third type of sacrifice in Kant’s philosophy: a “kenotic” transformation, where desires are not merely suppressed, but radically reoriented towards the moral good. Kenotic sacrifice sometimes appears in Kant’s ethical writings; for example, in the Metaphysics of Morals, Kant states: “I ought to sacrifice [Opfer machen] a part of my welfare to others without hope of return [ohne Hoffnung der Wiedervergeltung]” ([7], 6:393). This reflects the principle that the happiness of others is an end in itself, to which one’s welfare must be subordinated. Initially, such subordination may take the form of suppressive sacrifice, as it entails negating the natural tendency to prioritize self-interest. However, true moral transformation occurs when sacrifice is no longer experienced as a mere suppression, but entails relinquishing something constitutive of one’s nature for the sake of others, thereby reorienting one’s entire disposition toward the moral good. Thus, this form of sacrifice aligns more closely with the kenotic model.

In Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason, the kenotic model of sacrifice emerges more evidently, particularly in Kant’s discussion of the prototype of moral perfection. Kant employs two terms in relation to the pure moral disposition: archetype (Urbild), the universal of moral perfection as an abstract rational idea within reason; and prototype (Vorbild), embodying the archetype in a symbolic and accessible form.5

Kant remarks that the archetype exists “from all eternity” ([9], 6:60) as an idea of reason. He remains careful not to affirm or deny any supernatural claims about its nature, explicitly avoiding making judgments concerning supersensible matters, as such concerns lie outside the scope of practical philosophy (see [10]). The archetype’s function is to motivate human agents to reverse the order of the incentives that are adopted into their disposition. If humans can model themselves on this archetype, which provides them with a paradigm for the correct ordering of their incentives, they will eventually be able to overcome evil.

However, the archetype requires mediation to become applicable to human behavior. While this mediation cannot be cognized or—in Kant’s terms—schematized, it can be symbolized; this is what Kant refers to as “schematism of analogy” ([9], 6:65). Symbols function as transitional forms or analogical presentations (Darstellungen) that mediate the application of the pure principles of practical reason to experience, insofar as they serve as models for moral behavior. In other words, symbols make visible the invisible movement of moral reason: they allow the abstract form of the moral law to become imaginatively graspable. It is important to note that this definition of “symbol” is programmatic for the entire argument that follows. In what comes next, the reader should retain that a symbol, for Kant, operates as a mediating form that makes the moral idea practically and sensibly graspable. Religious tradition provides such symbolic mediation through prototypes, which assume a role analogous to schemata in theoretical reason.6 The prototype serves as an effective symbol only insofar as it refers back to the archetype (see [12], p. 429). Thus, the archetype-prototype distinction reflects the relationship between the rational idea (archetype) and its historical-symbolic instantiations (prototypes), which symbolically illustrate moral ideals and motivate moral striving.7 By endeavoring to align their moral disposition with the prototype (which symbolically reflects the archetype), human beings commit to a new way of life, thereby engaging in the ongoing process of moral rebirth.

The “ideal of humanity” that Kant speaks of is an instantiation of an idea; this personified idea is the prototype—an embodiment of the archetype (see [12]; [15], pp. 374–386). Kant refers to the prototype using appellations such as “Holy One” (Heiliger, [9], 6:64) or, more frequently, “Son of God” (Der Sohn Gottes, [9], 6:61). This “divinely disposed teacher” embodies “the ideal of goodness” ([9], 6:65). While Kant never explicitly mentions Christ by name, likely due to his concern with maintaining the autonomy of reason and avoiding explicit religious identification, the structure of his argument and the moral characteristics he ascribes to the “prototype” strongly suggest that Christ serves as the historical and symbolic model of pure moral disposition.8 Kant emphasizes the need for an exemplar who demonstrates the perfection of moral action—someone whose life and moral disposition serve as an image to which all moral agents must conform. In this context, the moral purity and self-sacrificial love attributed to Christ in Christian doctrine align with Kant’s notion of the “prototype” as a symbolic instantiation of the highest moral ideal. In this way, Kant’s “prototype” can be understood as a moral ideal that, while not explicitly named as such, corresponds to the Christian tradition’s conception of Christ; in other words, in Kant’s theory of rational religion, the concept of the prototype closely aligns with the Christian idea that the man Jesus became “the Christ”.9 It is true that in some other writings, Kant refers explicitly to Christ as “archetype” (Urbild) rather than as “prototype” (Vorbild); however, when Kant uses Urbild to designate Christ, he does so insofar as Christ embodies the archetype.10

In introducing, in the context of the schematism of analogy, “such a divinely disposed teacher, though in fact totally human”, Kant refers to “the highest sacrifice” performed in order “to make even the unworthy happy” ([9], 6:65). Crucially, kenosis is not a suppression of an originally divine nature,11 but its relinquishment: Kant explicitly states that the union of the prototype with us may be “regarded as a state of abasement [Erniedrigung] of the Son of God” ([9], 6:61).

The pivotal text for understanding how the prototype functions as a model—also, and perhaps especially, because of this “kenotic” attitude—is found in the Second Piece, Section One, Subsection C, when Kant addresses the third of the ethical difficulties arising from the qualification of a critical approach to the theological concept of grace ([1], pp. 13–14). It is important to note that Kant is not developing a theological doctrine of grace in this section; rather, he is reassessing the concept of grace to determine how belief in it can be rendered consistent with Critical principles, particularly moral autonomy. The core idea is that, in order to become a morally good subject, the individual must undergo conversion—a “rebirth” transforming their disposition from evil to good. The process of conversion consists in the activation of the moral archetype (Urbild)—of which the “Son of God” is the prototype (Vorbild)—so that the “old man” (the former, pre-conversion self) can die and the “new man” (the post-conversion self) can come to birth. In this sense, the prototype functions as a powerful symbol that helps activate the archetype inherent in all humans, thereby making the ideal of moral perfection more accessible and applicable to the world. The prototype provides a focal point through which individuals can orient themselves toward the ideal of moral perfection, facilitating their moral development through recognition and emulation ([11], p. 24).

The third of the three “Difficulties Opposing the Reality of This Idea” (namely, the idea of the archetype) wonders how a just God can overlook pre-conversion evil. In this context, the sacrifice of the “Son of God” is regarded as being symbolic of the rebirth, that is, of the conversion of the old self into the new self. In Kant’s own words:

The emergence from the corrupted disposition into the good is in itself already sacrifice (as “the death of the old man”, “the crucifying of the flesh”) and entrance into a long train of life’s ills which the new human being undertakes in the disposition of the Son of God, that is, simply for the sake of the good, yet are still fitting punishment for someone else, namely the old human being (who, morally, is another human being).

([9], 6:74)

Therefore, Kant’s response to the third difficulty12 is that the new self willingly undergoes the active humbling of self-conceit as a surrender of self-love. This act is modeled on the prototype, which takes upon itself “all the ills and sufferings” ([9], 6:75), to which the new self stands in an analogous relation. Since Kant advocates for the “practical adoption” of the idea of the “Son of God” “for our imitation” ([9], 6:64),13 it can be argued that the post-conversion self models its self-sacrifice (on behalf of the old self) on the sacrifice of the “Son of God”. The process of conversion itself entails a form of sacrifice: as the new self adopts an archetypal disposition, following the example of the prototype, it willingly takes upon itself the punishment for the moral debt of the old self. In theological terms, this transformation mirrors the symbolic function of Christ’s sacrifice in the Scriptures: just as Christ is depicted as taking on the punishment for the sake of humanity, the new self, in undergoing conversion, bears the moral burden of the old self.

2.2. The Symbolic Structure of Sacrifice and Moral Rebirth

Kant’s account of the sacrifice performed by the new self on behalf of the old self can initially appear to oscillate between two interpretations: as vicarious punishment and as a transformation of disposition from evil to good. The idea of vicarious punishment, in which the new self assumes the punishment for the guilt of the old self, falls within the framework of suppressive sacrifice—requiring the acknowledgment of guilt and the suppression of the prioritization of self-centered inclinations. The punishment consists in an “atoning sacrifice […] mandated by the moral economy of Kant’s universe, a universe requiring symmetry and correct proportion” ([18], p. 119);14 and there is no doubt that a punitive and retributive element is present in Kant’s account of sacrifice. However, this suppressive aspect is only the preliminary stage in the broader process of conversion.

Indeed, the inherent predisposition toward selfishness and the misuse of freedom, symbolized by original sin, are not eradicated but redeemed by the new self’s willingness to bear the evil of the old self. The culmination of moral rebirth lies in a “kenotic” act of self-emptying, where the new self embodies the moral idea symbolized by the prototype. Sacrifice, in this sense, becomes a disposition or attitude, marking a radical transformation within the whole person—a rebirth. What is relinquished in this a-temporal act is the human constitutive propensity to prioritize self-centered concerns. This transformation of disposition then necessitates constant reiteration on the temporal level, in everyday life. For the new self, this reiteration introduces a kind of suffering that would not have troubled the old self: if the new self were to pursue such selfish goals, it would experience guilt. In short, what the old self once experienced as happiness is now a source of suffering for the new self, reflecting the profound moral shift involved in the process of conversion.15

The post-conversion person shifts their underlying disposition from evil to good, a transformation that, as Kant asserts, “takes the place of perfected action (vertritt […] die Stelle der Tat in ihrer Vollendung)” ([9], 6:75). This transformation mirrors the example of the prototype—the “Son of God”. The Christ of the Scriptures surrenders his divine absoluteness (first moment) so that he can bring into himself the sins of the guilty through suffering on the cross (second moment). Similarly, the new self relinquishes its post-conversion innocence (first moment) so that it can bring into itself the sins of the old self (second moment). The moral subject follows the prototype by emulating this attitude, hence engaging in an act that reflects Christ’s kenotic sacrifice. This act entails the new self assuming responsibility for the old self, corresponding to the second moment of the kenotic dynamic. This sacrifice is an internal moral transformation inspired by the symbolic function of the prototype. The innocent new self accepts the burden of guilt left by the old self as part of the process of moral rebirth. In doing so, it does not merely experience a suppression of self-interest but undergoes a transformation that reorients its entire disposition towards the moral good. Thus, while the sacrifice implicated in the old self’s moral failures is experienced as suppressive, the new self’s voluntary acceptance of punishment for those sins reflects a deeper “kenotic” sacrifice. In this way, justice is served through a transformative act that marks the true rebirth of the moral subject.

Strictly speaking, this does not constitute a classical vicarious atonement: while the old self and the new self are, in their physical nature and temporal continuity, the same person, they are radically distinct in their moral nature (which lies outside of time). The Christ of the Scriptures becomes man to bear the sins of humanities; similarly, the new, post-conversion self assumes responsibility for the sins of the old self—not as a vicar, but as the same subject, now morally transformed.

This assumption of guilt reflects the dual structure of sacrifice in Kant’s thought: initially suppressive, in that it entails the subordination of self-interest to moral duty, and ultimately “kenotic”, as it marks a self-emptying that reorients the individual’s entire disposition toward the moral good. Kant seems to endorse this type of sacrifice as properly symbolic and therefore relevant in the context of morality. The sacrifice of the “Son of God” serves as the ultimate symbol of kenotic sacrifice, exemplifying the self-emptying necessary for moral transformation. Two analogies come into play here. The first is the analogy between the punishment of the old self and Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross, which represents the suppressive aspect of sacrifice. The second (upon which the first is grounded) is the analogy between the conversion of the old self into the new self and Christ’s incarnation, which represents the kenotic transformation of moral rebirth. The crucial point of this second analogy is that the new self undergoes a fundamental change in its underlying disposition—from self-centeredness to a disposition that no longer prioritizes its own desires and interests above those of others.

Therefore, Kant’s philosophy incorporates two interrelated senses of sacrifice: suppressive sacrifice and kenotic sacrifice. A closer reading reveals that these are not distinct moral acts but two perspectives on the same moral process, depending on the disposition of the agent undergoing it. For the old self, sacrifice takes the form of suppression—the subordination of self-centered inclinations to the moral law. For the new self, however, this same process is no longer experienced as mere suppression, but as an internal revolution of the disposition—a “kenotic” relinquishment of self-conceit in the pursuit of moral rebirth. In this way, the moral transformation is not merely a negation of prior inclinations, but a positive reorientation of one’s entire disposition toward the good, in alignment with the archetype of moral perfection.

This dynamic can be illustrated by a concrete example. Consider an individual who devotes much of their time to caring for a chronically ill relative. At first, this ongoing commitment may be experienced as a burdensome duty, demanding the suppression of personal desires and comfort in obedience to the moral law. In this initial phase, the action represents a suppressive sacrifice: the subordination of inclination to duty. Yet as the agent’s moral disposition transforms, the same act can come to be performed no longer as reluctant obedience, but as an unconditional commitment to the moral law. In this second phase, the very same external behavior becomes the active humbling of self-conceit: a voluntary, kenotic surrender of self-love. The difference, therefore, does not lie in the act itself but in the interior standpoint of the agent—the transition from moral constraint to the moral rebirth brought about by the revolution of the heart.

This dual model of sacrifice, as we shall argue, is illuminated by Kant’s remarks on the sublime and its symbolic relationship with morality. Specifically, the revolution in one’s disposition, which we identify as expressing a form of kenotic sacrifice, plays a central role in the analogy we will draw between sublimity and sacrifice in the next section.

3. The Sublime and Moral Transformation

3.1. The Sublime as Aesthetic Analogue of Kenotic Sacrifice

The preceding discussion has established the centrality of “kenotic” sacrifice within Kant’s thought on moral conversion. We now turn to its aesthetic counterpart in Kant’s account of the sublime, where a parallel form of sacrifice—one involving the imagination—plays a crucial role. Kant’s first reference to sacrifice in the third Critique comes within his discussion of the sublime and its analogous relationship with the moral.16 At 269 and 271 of the third Critique, Kant indicates that aesthetic revelation of the moral law through sacrifice takes place during an experience of the sublime. With this in mind, Trexler Drees [21], pp. 216–240 has argued for a further analogy between sublimity and morality than that which is traditionally recognized. In this section, we want to examine that analogy more closely.

In the full passage included in the General Comment, Kant maintains that “the object of a pure and unconditioned intellectual liking”, or “sublimity”, is

the moral law in its might, the might that it exerts in us over any and all of those incentives of the mind […]. This might actually reveal itself aesthetically only through sacrifice (which is a deprivation—though one that serves our inner freedom—in return for which it reveals in us an unfathomable depth of this supersensible power, whose consequences extend beyond what we can foresee.

([20], 5:271)

During an experience of the sublime, we glimpse Achtung (moral feeling), when nature is presented in a way that exceeds the capacity of our imagination. This is analogous with the presentation of the supersensible—an indeterminate idea of reason that reminds us of the idea of practical freedom that transcends nature. The role played by the imagination as it deprives itself of a kind of freedom and is purposively determined according to a different law, one dictated by the sublime, allows that the imagination “acquire an expansion and a might that surpasses the one it sacrifices” ([20], 5: 269). In the same way, as we make a sacrifice in the interest of morality, we acquire true freedom. During an experience of the sublime, the imagination sacrifices its usual routine and process to gain something higher: specifically, contact with the supersensible. Just as something supersensible is reached aesthetically only through the imagination’s sacrifice in the case of the sublime, the sacrifice we often make by willing to forgo our desires and personal interest when we make a moral choice yields true goodness as a feature of the supersensible kingdom of ends.

For Kant, the recognition of a representation as a symbol works by analogy. For example, if we use an image of an eagle to symbolize courage, it serves as a symbol because the relation between the eagle and other animals is analogous to the relation between a virtuous character and other states of mind. Our experience of an aesthetic object is analogous to being a product of freedom because the relations between the faculties during a moral judgment are analogous to the relations between the faculties during a judgment of taste. The analogy between aesthetic experience and morality does not rest on any similarity among the relevant terms. Rather, the analogy can be drawn in virtue of the analogous relations between the two sets of relevant terms. With this in mind, one might think that the relationship between the imagination and reason during an experience of the sublime symbolizes the sacrifice that is often involved in moral choice-making. That is, there is an analogy between the aesthetic judgment of the sublime and the judgment of the moral, in virtue of the similar relations between reason and the imagination during these kinds of judgments.

Indeed, as we have seen in the previous section, Kant’s ethics implicitly relies on a sacrificial structure, wherein the satisfaction of instincts and desires is subordinated to the moral law (see [1], pp. 10, 29). Morality, framed as a duty, requires overcoming the lack of necessary agreement between will and reason, thus implying a forceful stance against our inclinations and desires. At first glance, this analogy between sublimity and sacrifice appears to reinforce a suppressive understanding of sacrifice.17 As previously noted, Kant, in the Critique of Practical Reason, warns that pride can render sacrifice morally deficient and prevent it from being properly symbolic. Yet, in the same text, he also acknowledges that certain sacrifices are morally legitimate, as the following passage suggests:

actions […] that are done with great sacrifice and for the sake of duty alone may indeed be praised by calling them noble and sublime deeds, but only insofar as there are traces suggesting that they were done wholly from respect for duty and not from ebullitions of feeling. But if someone wants to represent these [sublime deeds] to someone as examples to be imitated, respect for duty (which is the only genuine moral feeling) must be used as the incentive.

([2], 5:85)

This seems to suggest that sacrifice done for the sake of duty alone is praiseworthy, and also sublime. Additionally, these deeds can be represented as examples to be imitated with respect (Achtung) as the incentive for that imitation. In this view, for Kant, a sacrifice can be inherently sublime and, in this particular way, functions as a symbolic representation of moral action.

A closer examination of Kant’s remarks in the General Comment in §29 of the third Critique suggests that there is more to the imagination’s sacrifice than what is revealed at first glance. Kant states that “a liking for the sublime in nature […] is a feeling that the imagination by its own action is depriving [Beraubung] itself of its freedom, in being determined purposively according to a law different from that of its empirical use” ([20], 5:269). This passage precedes Kant’s remark that the imagination acquires “an expansion and might that surpasses the one it sacrifices”. Kant goes on to say that “the basis of this might is concealed from it; instead, the imagination feels the sacrifice or deprivation and at the same time the cause to which it is being subjugated”. Kant’s remarks here are actually quite in line with a kenotic theory of sacrifice. The imagination “by its own action deprives itself” and “feels the sacrifice or deprivation”, as it is “being determined purposively according to a different law”. Significantly, Kant’s language in these passages is reminiscent of Philippians 2 where Christ empties or withdraws himself to assume a different form, or the concept of Verlassen, where Christ relinquishes his own divinity in the incarnation. Additionally, there is a resonance with Freilassen—the notion of liberation from the self.18 In each case, a deprivation or withdrawal is involved, thereby enabling access to a higher (supersensible) good.

Admittedly, Kant’s description at 5: 267–269 first presents this sacrifice of the imagination as imposed rather than chosen: imagination is “deprived” of its freedom and “subjugated” in the face of reason’s supersensible demand. Yet the kenotic analogy does not depend on denying this initial coercion; this initial humiliation (Demütigung) gives rises to a subsequent reflective stance through which the subject’s power of judgment consents to its own limitation in the sensible realm. In acknowledging the superiority of reason (specifically, the moral idea), the mind inwardly reorients its maxim toward the moral law. The sacrifice thereby becomes “kenotic”—not a mere suppression of faculty, but rather the negative precondition for the positive feeling of respect, which is a reflective practical alignment with the supersensible vocation disclosed in the very failure of imagination to encompass the infinite.

Similarly, Kant uses “sacrifice” in ethics to emphasize moral duty and in the Critique of Judgment to explore the reflective judgments required for human understanding. While the term carries the idea of giving up something significant in both contexts, the nature and purpose of that which is sacrificed differs. Yet, the relationship between the relevant terms is analogical. In this light, it appears that the analogy between sublimity and sacrifice in Kant does not align solely with the suppressive model of sacrifice, which generally characterizes his ethics, but rather inclines more strongly towards a kenotic interpretation of sacrifice.

3.2. The Prototype as Ultimate Sublime Exemplar

In Section 2, we have proposed a symbolic relationship between Christ’s sacrifice and the relinquishment of the old self for the acquisition of the new self—the process of rebirth outlined by Kant in Religion. We now extend this symbolic correspondence further, encompassing the sacrifice made by the imagination during the experience of the sublime. In such experiences, the imagination must give up its usual routine and process and, as a result, facilitates access to the moral dimension of transcendental freedom. Our suggestion is that a threefold analogy can be drawn: through the shared structure of kenotic sacrifice, an analogous relationship emerges between the initial set of terms discussed (Christ’s sacrifice, the sacrifice of self’s love/the old self, and the sacrifice of the imagination) and their respective counterparts (Christ’s incarnation, the new self, and the imagination’s attainment of supersensible freedom).

As we have argued, the sacrifice of the “Son of God” serves as a symbolic representation of the (kenotic) sacrifice inherent in the process of moral rebirth outlined by Kant in Religion, which entails relinquishing the old self for the sake of the new. In our view, the suppression of the propensity to prioritize self-centered inclinations and self-love for the sake of practical reason is an instrumental stage in the moral development of the individual. True moral goodness, we contend, is achieved ultimately on the level of “kenotic” sacrifice—a transformative self-mastery that reorients the entire disposition toward the moral good through the active humbling of self-conceit. Building on this framework, our objective is to bring together Bubbio’s [11] work on the analogy between the role of kenotic sacrifice in the conversion of the old self into the new and Trexler Drees’ [21] exploration of the analogy between the sublime and Jesus in Kant’s philosophy. Our contention is that the sublime is analogous with sacrifice—specifically, to the “kenotic” sacrifice integral to the “old self/new self” transformation discussed by Kant in the Second Piece, Section One, Subsection C of Religion.

Trexler Drees [21], p. 240 argued that, since an aesthetic revelation of Achtung for the moral law through sacrifice takes place during an experience of the sublime, it is only fitting that the most extreme case of sacrifice and the prototypical instantiation of moral perfection be himself a sublime phenomenon. Drawing on Palmquist [23], Trexler Drees argued that Jesus is the personification of

the Word (λόγος), which is sacrificial, taking up the reversal of the order of predispositions such that, when necessary, self-love is sacrificed for the sake of the moral law. In this way, the Word, too, “acquires an expansion and a might that surpasses the one it sacrifices”.

([20], 5:269) ([21], p. 238)

The converted person, for Kant, not only realizes the necessity of sacrificing self-centered inclinations to morality, but also undergoes a transformation of disposition, transitioning from an evil disposition to a good one. In this way, Jesus symbolizes more than reason’s triumph over inclination. He exemplifies the properly ordered moral disposition, the model of conversion, and the good-heartedness that accompanies moral rebirth.

On this view, while Kant does not regard all sublime phenomena as morally good, the experience of sublimity symbolizes morality, and “this does not preclude Jesus—an extreme case of moral goodness—from being himself sublime, due to the immensity of his sacrifice” ([21], p. 239). Jesus, through his ultimate sacrifice (the sacrifice of self for the sake of the salvation of others), is the greatest symbol of morality. Trexler Drees has argued ([21], p. 239) that “if Jesus—the instantiation of the archetype of moral perfection (the prototypic symbol of moral perfection)—could be viewed as sublime, then it just follows that sublimity, in general, must be symbolic of the morally good”. According to this perspective, as historical “clothing” that fills (or perhaps adorns) the rational space (the archetype),19 the historical Jesus provides aesthetic content to the form, as a sort of ultimate sublime phenomenon.

This, we argue, suggests a deeper relationship between morality, religion, and the sublime in Kant than has been previously recognized. If there is an analogous relationship between the interplay of imagination and reason as it mediates the representation of moral ideas and the sacrifice of the imagination in the experience of the sublime, it may be as follows: The prioritization of self-love must be sacrificed in the interest of the moral law, and the person who has undergone moral conversion will tend to surrender self-centered inclinations as a result of the proper reordering of dispositions. The imagination’s sacrifice during an experience of the sublime has a twofold analogical function. On the one hand, the aesthetic deprivation of the imagination (the feeling of its inability) is functionally analogous to the “kenotic” sacrifice of sensuous self-love required for the revolution of the moral disposition. On the other hand, this self-mastery resulting from that relinquishment is made accessible to our cognition by the prototype (the “Son of God”), presented as the historical embodiment of moral perfection.

Kant’s archetype-prototype schema renders the prototype indispensable as the intelligible historical “clothing” that makes the archetype exemplary. Since the sublime experience is an aesthetic reference to the moral law and the supersensible vocation it discloses, and the prototype is the moral reference to the absolute demands of virtue, the two modes mutually illuminate one another. Through this analogical reciprocity, the imagination’s sacrifice aesthetically reflects the authority of reason, which, in turn, is practically exemplified by the prototype’s relentless fulfillment of moral duty. The sublime thus serves as a locus of moral feeling (Achtung), which reinforces the principled self-mastery necessary for all moral transformation, including the kind exemplified by the prototype.

Under this reading, the sacrifice in question is kenotic, and thus is acceptable as a moral symbol. Jesus—understood here as a historical figure whose representation excites the feeling of the sublime—made the ultimate sacrifice and thereby symbolizes a change of heart, in the sense that his self-withdrawal aimed at attaining a higher good for others—“to take upon himself all sufferings” ([9], 6:61). The sublime thus functions as a locus of moral feeling (Achtung)—perhaps a satisfaction via the “stretching” of a power.20 Kant suggests that it is through a kind of attention or mental attunement that we are able to glimpse the sublimity of God ([20], 5:264). As Palmquist [23], p. 536 points out, Christ (as the prototype) has a similar effect on the individual: the prototype “can empower religious believers to return the good principle to its rightful place of sovereignty over the will”. Similarly, Wood suggests that “the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ symbolizes something about the moral change in ourselves” ([13], p. 151). Thus, the sublime, through its analogy with sacrifice, plays a role in empowering moral agents to reach a dimension of morality beyond that which is described in Kant’s ethics alone.21

It is also worth noting that the distinction between the beautiful and the sublime can be read as an aesthetic analogy to the moral distinction between virtue and holiness. The feeling of the beautiful corresponds to the harmony of faculties that symbolizes the moral disposition of virtue—the moral strength in maxims through the necessary subordination of inclination to duty. By contrast, the feeling of the sublime corresponds to the rupture of harmony that points to holiness, the ideal of a will wholly determined by the moral law. In this sense, the beautiful reflects the moral discipline that prepares the ground for moral autonomy, whereas the sublime expresses the consciousness of the supersensible power of reason, which is felt as respect for the infinite moral vocation. This symbolic correspondence reinforces the idea that aesthetic experience, far from being morally indifferent, anticipates and deepens the revolution of the moral disposition and the resulting self-mastery. To be fully ethical involves undergoing the complete conversion and rebirth described in Kant’s Religion—a process further illuminated by the relationship between Christ and the sublime.

Finally, as a further implication of this “kenotic analogy”, we should emphasize the formal, rational role of practical love (praktische Liebe) within this revolution of the disposition. The transformed disposition is characterized by the adoption of the moral law as the sole sufficient incentive. The unconditioned authority of this moral law—the command to be virtuous—is aesthetically presented in the experience of the sublime, which, by humbling the subject’s sensible capacity, reveals the supersensible destination of reason and necessitates principled self-mastery (the resistance to sensuous motives). This transformation thus grounds all ethical duties, compelling the maxim of beneficence as a duty to love one’s neighbor, whereby practical love is understood as the readiness to adopt the morally permissible ends of others. While Kant rigorously avoids doctrines of theological love (caritas) as the ground of moral obligation, this rational duty of love constitutes the practical fulfillment of that same transcendent ideal of pure goodwill that caritas denotes in religious language.

If all this is correct, the analogies between aesthetics and morality in Kant’s philosophy, and the moral empowerment they inspire, extend beyond the third Critique into Religion. This evidences an aesthetic dimension of Kant’s Religion that has yet to receive full scholarly appreciation.

4. The Aesthetic Dimension of Kant’s Religion

4.1. Aesthetic Mediation of Rational Religion

In the previous section, we argued that the sublime and “kenotic” sacrifice are bound by an analogical reciprocity: the imagination’s self-renunciation in the experience of the sublime mirrors the active humbling of self-conceit that transforms the old self into the new, a process symbolically embodied by the “Son of God”. Moreover, we suggested that Jesus Christ—as the historical instantiation of the prototype and an extreme case of moral goodness—can be seen as a sublime phenomenon, given the magnitude of his sacrifice. If Jesus is sublime, then sublimity itself can also be symbolic of morality. At the very least, this highlights a blind spot in the literature on Kant’s theory of religion, particularly regarding the presence and role of the sublime in Religion within The Boundaries of Mere Reason.22 In this section, we argue that Jesus’ status as a sublime phenomenon introduces an aesthetic dimension to Kant’s discussion of the historical Jesus.

The archetype represents a rational idea, which, according to Kant’s “schematism of analogy”, requires the symbols of historical religion to make the norms of rational religion applicable to the world. The “Son of God”—the “divinely disposed teacher”, the Jesus Christ of the Scriptures—occupies that space as the embodiment of the Good (the archetype).23 For the prototype to be morally empowering, it must be embedded in the contingencies of histories. This requires conceiving of the “Son of God” as temporally (historically) and locally (geographically) situated, sharing the same needs, sufferings, temptations, and inclinations as ordinary human beings. As Kant explains, if the “Son of God”’s will were perceived as supernaturally pure, “the consequent distance from the natural human being would then again become so infinitely great that the divine human being could no longer be held forth to the natural human being as example” ([9], 6:64). Without this shared humanity, the “Son of God” would cease to function as a prototype, and belief in him would lose its moral power. This aligns with the core of kenotic sacrifice, as epitomized in Philippians 2:7, where it is said that Christ “emptied himself (ἐκένωσεν)” of his divinity, “taking the form of a servant (μορφὴν δούλου λαβών), and was made in the likeness of men”.

For Kant, historical faith holds a legitimate place in genuine religion insofar as it provides a symbolic and aesthetic framework that renders the principles of rational religion applicable to human life. Although historical faiths can at times obscure or distort ethical interpretation, they also offer, through the schematism of analogy, the necessary historical “clothing” that makes moral ideas accessible to human practice.24 The integration of moral religion with historical faith serves to mediate rational religion, presenting it in a form that is both beautiful and prudentially compelling. As Kant explains, a “historical narrative […], which is not itself history, is a beautiful ideal of the moral world-epoch brought about by the introduction of the true universal religion” ([9], 6:136). Through this idealized and beautiful narrative, Jesus offers a morally empowering glimpse of bare moral religion. As the symbolic and aesthetic “clothing” of the archetype, the historical Jesus supplies aesthetic content to the form to an otherwise abstract moral idea, thereby functioning as a sublime phenomenon—as a figure of tragedy and suffering but also of moral struggle and triumph. In this way, beauty and sublimity guide us toward an appreciation of the truth and goodness inherent in moral religion.

Historical faith presents moral religion aesthetically. Accordingly, the ethical community—the good church—also acquires an aesthetic dimension: through morally charged symbols and historical beliefs, it becomes both beautiful and sublime ([9], 6:100). If the ethical community possesses an aesthetic character, its members do not merely learn moral principles abstractly but are moved toward the good through beauty, sublimity, and the glimpses of moral perfection that symbols provide. As Trexler Drees [21], pp. 245–246 argues, such a community is another example of a sublime phenomenon of moral empowerment. For Kant, religion provides a vision of how moral progress is possible through moral education. As a moral educator, religion empowers individuals to combat evil and strive for moral perfection by cultivating the ideal ethical community—the true church. This community itself can be sublime insofar as it serves as a model of moral striving, and, like individual persons, it may continually progress toward the good.

In this context, practical love assumes a systematic practical significance. Within the ethical community, the simultaneous adoption of the maxim of beneficence (to adopt the permissible ends of others) and the maxim of respect (to limit one’s self-esteem by the dignity of humanity) establishes the principled mutual recognition necessary for a collective moral state. This systematic adherence to the duty of love realizes the ethical commonwealth (which is the analogue of the “kingdom of ends” in the world of sense), uniting free agents through the internal moral constraint of duty, grounded in the supreme moral law. This union of virtue is, therefore, a principled cohesion of the moral community, determined by the pure practical reason in its necessary striving toward the highest good.

Aesthetic experience fosters an appreciation of the deep truth of moral religion, which is itself good, thereby leading us to embrace it. As Trexler Drees has previously suggested ([21], p. 242), Kant’s remarks indicate that the Greek and Roman moral philosophers understood how to interpret

even the wild yet beautiful fancies of their poets, with a mystical meaning that brought popular faith (which it would never have been advisable to destroy, for the result might perhaps have been an atheism even more dangerous to the state) close to a moral doctrine intelligible to all human beings and alone beneficial.

([9], 6:111)

These passages, in conjunction with Palmquist’s argument that historical faith plays a prudential role in Kant’s philosophy, suggest that historical faith is valuable not despite but because it presents moral religion in an aesthetically compelling form. Religion, as both an aesthetic and moral phenomenon, enables us to grasp a deeper dimension of morality by mediating moral truths through beauty and sublimity.

4.2. Lucifer as a Sublime Symbol of Radical Evil

Kant’s use of Lucifer provides another example of the connection between aesthetic experience and moral symbolism. Kant writes:

Scriptures express this incomprehensibility [of the propensity to evil] in a historical narrative, which adds a closer determination of the depravity of our species, by projecting evil at the beginning of the world, not, however, within the human being, but in a spirit of an originally sublime determination [ursprünglich erhabener Bestimmung].

([9], 6:44; translation slightly altered)

There is unanimous consensus that Kant is referring to Lucifer in this passage (see, for example, [27], p. 74; [8], p. 119). The general meaning of the sentence is clear: Kant suggests that Lucifer, being (originally) an angelic being, lacks the mitigating factors that human beings can appeal to—specifically, the “temptation of the flesh”. While human beings struggle with moral frailty and may mistake evil for good, Lucifer wills evil for evil’s sake. Of particular relevance for our argument is Kant’s use of the term erhabener, “sublime”. One possibility is that Kant employs erhabener in a generic sense, meaning “higher” or “loftier”, simply to emphasize that Lucifer, as an angelic being, is beyond the temptations that beset human nature, hence his moral corruption is entirely a product of his will, rendering him, unlike humans, wholly irredeemable. However, given the significance of the term erhabener within Kant’s philosophy, it would be unusual for him to use the term in a purely generic sense. The other possibility is that Kant is invoking erhabener in its more technical sense, referring to an experience that is both awe-inspiring and terrifying, and which, as we have seen, can have and often does have an important symbolic function in morality. For the sake of the argument, let us indulge in the latter interpretation. What consequences follow?

As Palmquist [25], p. 119 notes, Kant here is “depicting the entry of evil into human nature symbolically”. But symbolically of what? The Judeo-Christian Bible does not provide a clear explanation for Lucifer’s rebellion against God, which led to his fall from Heaven. However, in Religion, Kant frequently associates the principle of evil with self-centeredness ([9], 6:27)—an attitude that Adams [28] refers to as autonomy in the extreme sense.25 Of course, autonomy, within Kant’s ethics, is a necessary condition for moral agency and a fundamental aspect of moral dignity. Yet, when autonomy is perverted into self-centeredness, it becomes the very principle of evil. Lucifer, then, can be seen as an analogical presentation (Darstellung) of this principle of radical moral corruption and the mirror-like opposite of the selfless, kenotic disposition of Christ.26 Following this interpretation, both Christ and Lucifer function as sublime symbols, but in opposing moral directions. It is the very experience of sublimity—marked by awe and terror—that symbolizes morality. As simia Dei, Lucifer represents the most perverted moral disposition and thus serves as a negative prototype of radical evil. As an originally angelic being, he is beyond redemption: he made no sacrifice and will have no rebirth. He is the symbol of a will that has irreversibly turned away from the good. Yet, Lucifer remains morally useful as a symbol, as a contrast that highlights the possibility of human moral redemption. By contemplating Lucifer’s irredeemability, we recognize the distinctive human capacity for conversion and moral renewal.

The difference between Christ’s aesthetic role and Lucifer’s lies in their moral and aesthetic significance. Christ is beautiful, sublime, and morally exemplary, whereas Lucifer is only sublime, lacking moral and aesthetic beauty.27 Indeed, it is the experience of the sublime, rather than the sublime object itself, that is symbolic of the good. A sublime object need not be morally good, as sublimity can be experienced in both moral and amoral contexts. However, Christ is a morally good example of sublimity, as his sacrificial act—rooted in kenotic self-emptying—represents the peak of moral purity. In this sense, both beauty and sublimity are, for Kant, symbolic of the morally good, and Christ, in his kenotic sacrifice, exemplifies the beautiful, the sublime, and the moral in perfect unity.

5. Conclusions

This paper has addressed a gap in the existing literature concerning the role of the sublime in Kant’s Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason. By examining Kant’s use of symbols as analogical presentations, we have emphasized the central role of kenotic sacrifice, both as embodied in the prototype and as a moral paradigm for human agents. From an ethical standpoint, kenotic sacrifice symbolizes the moral struggle to transcend the inclination to prioritize self-interested instincts in order to acquire true moral freedom. From a broader religious perspective, it reflects the process of conversion and a sacrificial dynamic that is crucial in orienting the disposition (Gesinnung) toward the good. While holiness, as the highest moral ideal, is represented only by the archetype, the pursuit of holiness empowers human agents to approach virtue more fully, enabling them to progress in their moral development. This leads to a first, important conclusion: the role of kenotic sacrifice allows ethics to play a more prominent role within Kant’s entire system of philosophy than his account in the Critique of Practical Reason previously allowed: in fact, it is through religion that morality achieves its full realization. As Kant himself claims, “Morality leads inevitably to religion” ([9], 6:6). Furthermore, we have argued that sacrifice is integral to the aesthetic dimension of Kant’s Religion. The analogy between Christ’s kenosis and the sacrifice of the imagination underscores the sublime nature of morality’s elevation to the supersensible, an elevation that inspires human beings to pursue virtue even more fully.

Beyond the moral transformation of the individual, the analogy between the sublime and kenotic sacrifice also points toward an intersubjective dimension. The moral vocation awakened by respect finds its fullest expression not in isolation but in the reciprocal recognition of others as equally autonomous agents—the necessary condition for the ethical community. In this sense, Kant’s conception of the ethical community can be read—retrospectively and critically—as anticipating the relational dimension that later philosophies, such as Hegel’s notion of recognition (Anerkennung), would make explicit. Kant’s idea of the archetype’s communicability through exemplarity already gestures toward a symbolic relationality that binds moral agents together. The kenotic surrender of self-centeredness thus not only unites the aesthetic and moral dimensions of experience but also lays the groundwork for a community grounded in mutual recognition.

As Kant explicitly states in the Critique of Judgment, “the beautiful is the symbol of the morally good”.28 As Redding [31], p. 97 explains, “beauty and moral goodness are not instances of the same type of goodness but some similarity holds between them”. This idea extends to Religion, where religious symbols and narratives carry both moral and aesthetic significance. If the line of argument we have followed so far is correct, it is possible to retrieve a deeper connection between aesthetic symbols and religious symbols. Furthermore, it becomes plausible to recognize in sublimity the symbol of a higher form of morality. Specifically, we can posit that if the beautiful symbolizes the morally good, the (experience of the) sublime symbolizes that higher form of morality represented by kenotic sacrifice—that is, morality striving to complete itself by aspiring toward the supersensible, guided by the archetype (even though human beings will always remain virtuous rather than holy).

Symbols play a significant role in Kant’s critical philosophy, functioning as the means by which moral principles can be applied to the world. Kant identifies symbols of both aesthetic and religious nature. From our analysis, it can be inferred that at least some symbols possess both aesthetic and religious dimensions. Christ stands out as a prime example of this dual function, being a religious symbol that is also sublime. Lucifer can be similarly understood as such a symbol. Lucifer is symbolic of a moral content negatively: his originally angelic nature underscores that his Fall is pure, rooted in a radical perversion of the will, rendering him beyond redemption. This, in turn, highlights the distinction between Lucifer and human beings, for our Fall is the result of weakness rather than radical perversion; thus, unlike Lucifer, we can hope for redemption.

Could it be argued that for Kant not only some, but all religious symbols possess an aesthetic dimension—that is, that the experience of all religious symbols is sublime? This is an intriguing hypothesis, one that might invite comparisons between Kant and Rudolf Otto’s [32] idea that religious experience (as an experience of “the idea of the holy”) elicits a dual response in human beings: a sense of fear and terror, alongside an irresistible allure that speaks to the profound beauty and goodness associated with the divine—the “mysterium tremendum et fascinans” (see [26]). However, we cannot pursue this hypothesis here, as it would require a comprehensive analysis of all the religious symbols referenced by Kant, a task that exceeds the scope of this paper. Future research might explore this communal and aesthetic dimension of religious symbolism more fully, particularly regarding how kenotic exemplarity shapes the moral life of a community rather than merely the individual. As a final conclusion, we maintain that the identification of the sublime nature of certain religious symbols, as argued in this paper, not only contributes to uncovering the presence of sublimity in Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason, but also highlights the broader implications of this presence for Kant’s moral anthropology and for the communal structure of his moral religion.