as good-nature. What I mean is that the good-natured man is almost as
clearly conscious that he exists in other individuals as in himself. I
have often shown how this feeling gives rise to good-nature. It
also gives rise to courage, for the simple reason that the man who
possesses this feeling cares less for his own individual existence,
as he lives almost as much in the general existence of all creatures.
Accordingly he is little concerned for his own life and its
belongings. This is by no means the sole source of courage for it is
a phenomenon due to various causes. But it is the noblest kind of
courage, as is shown by the fact that in its origin it is associated
with great gentleness and patience. Men of this kind are usually
irresistible to women.
* * * * *
All general rules and precepts fail, because they proceed from the
false assumption that men are constituted wholly, or almost wholly,
alike; an assumption which the philosophy of Helvetius expressly
makes. Whereas the truth is that the original difference between
individuals in intellect and morality is immeasurable.
* * * * *
The question as to whether morality is something real is the question
whether a well-grounded counter-principle to egoism actually exists.
As egoism restricts concern for welfare to a single individual,
_viz_., the man's own self, the counter-principle would have to extend
it to all other individuals.
* * * * *
It is only because the will is above and beyond time that the stings
of conscience are ineradicable, and do not, like other pains,
gradually wear away. No! an evil deed weighs on the conscience years
afterwards as heavily as if it had been freshly committed.
* * * * *
Character is innate, and conduct is merely its manifestation; the
occasion for great misdeeds comes seldom; strong counter-motives keep
us back; our disposition is revealed to ourselves by our desires,
thoughts, emotions, when it remains unknown to others. Reflecting on
all this, we might suppose it possible for a man to possess, in some
sort, an innate evil conscience, without ever having done anything
very bad.
* * * * *
_Don't do to others what you wouldn't like done to yourself_. This is,
perhaps, one of those arguments that prove, or rather ask, too much.
For a prisoner might address it to a judge.
* * * * *
Stupid people are generally malicious, for the very same reason as the
ugly and the deformed.
Similarly, genius and sanctity are akin. However simple-minded a saint
may be, he will nevertheless have a dash of genius in him; and however
many errors of temperament, or of actual character, a genius may
possess, he will still exhibit a certain nobility of disposition by
which he shows his kinship with the saint.
* * * * *
The great difference between Law without and Law within, between
the State and the Kingdom of God, is very clear. It is the State's
business to see that _every one should have justice done to him_;
it regards men as passive beings, and therefore takes no account of
anything but their actions. The Moral Law, on the other hand, is
concerned that _every one should do justice_; it regards men as
active, and looks to the will rather than the deed. To prove that this
is the true distinction let the reader consider what would happen if
he were to say, conversely, that it is the State's business that every
one should do justice, and the business of the Moral Law that every
one should have justice done to him. The absurdity is obvious.
As an example of the distinction, let me take the case of a debtor and
a creditor disputing about a debt which the former denies. A lawyer
and a moralist are present, and show a lively interest in the matter.
Both desire that the dispute should end in the same way, although what
they want is by no means the same. The lawyer says, _I want this man
to get back what belongs to him_; and the moralist, _I want that man
to do his duty_.
It is with the will alone that morality is concerned. Whether external
force hinders or fails to hinder the will from working does not in the
least matter. For morality the external world is real only in so far
as it is able or unable to lead and influence the will. As soon as
the will is determined, that is, as soon as a resolve is taken, the
external world and its events are of no further moment and
practical do not exist. For if the events of the world had any
such reality--that is to say, if they possessed a significance in
themselves, or any other than that derived from the will which is
affected by them--what a grievance it would be that all these events
lie in the realm of chance and error! It is, however, just this which
proves that the important thing is not what happens, but what is
willed. Accordingly, let the incidents of life be left to the play of
chance and error, to demonstrate to man that he is as chaff before the
wind.
The State concerns itself only with the incidents--with what happens;
nothing else has any reality for it. I may dwell upon thoughts of
murder and poison as much as I please: the State does not forbid me,
so long as the axe and rope control my will, and prevent it from
becoming action.
Ethics asks: What are the duties towards others which justice imposes
upon us? in other words, What must I render? The Law of Nature asks:
What need I not submit to from others? that is, What must I suffer?
The question is put, not that I may do no injustice, but that I
may not do more than every man must do if he is to safeguard his
existence, and than every man will approve being done, in order that
he may be treated in the same way himself; and, further, that I may
not do more than society will permit me to do. The same answer will
serve for both questions, just as the same straight line can be drawn
from either of two opposite directions, namely, by opposing forces;
or, again, as the angle can give the sine, or the sine the angle.
It has been said that the historian is an inverted prophet. In the
same way it may be said that a teacher of law is an inverted moralist
(_viz_., a teacher of the duties of justice), or that politics are
inverted ethics, if we exclude the thought that ethics also teaches
the duty of benevolence, magnanimity, love, and so on. The State is
the Gordian knot that is cut instead of being untied; it is Columbus'
egg which is made to stand by being broken instead of balanced, as
though the business in question were to make it stand rather than to
balance it. In this respect the State is like the man who thinks that
he can produce fine weather by making the barometer go up.
* * * * *
The pseudo-philosophers of our age tell us that it is the object of
the State to promote the moral aims of mankind. This is not true;
it is rather the contrary which is true. The aim for which mankind
exists--the expression is parabolic--is not that a man should act in
such and such a manner; for all _opera operata_, things that have
actually been done, are in themselves matters of indifference. No! the
aim is that the Will, of which every man is a complete specimen--nay,
is the very Will itself--should turn whither it needs to turn; that
the man himself (the union of Thought and Will) should perceive what
this will is, and what horrors it contains; that he should show the
reflection of himself in his own deeds, in the abomination of them.
The State, which is wholly concerned with the general welfare, checks
the manifestation of the bad will, but in no wise checks the will
itself; the attempt would be impossible. It is because the State
checks the manifestation of his will that a man very seldom sees the
whole abomination of his nature in the mirror of his deeds. Or does
the reader actually suppose there are no people in the world as bad as
Robespierre, Napoleon, or other murderers? Does he fail to see that
there are many who would act like them if only they could?
Many a criminal dies more quietly on the scaffold than many a
non-criminal in the arms of his family. The one has perceived what his
will is and has discarded it. The other has not been able to discard
it, because he has never been able to perceive what it is. The aim
of the State is to produce a fool's paradise, and this is in direct
conflict with the true aim of life, namely, to attain a knowledge of
what the will, in its horrible nature, really is.
* * * * *
Napoleon was not really worse than many, not to say most, men. He was
possessed of the very ordinary egoism that seeks its welfare at the
expense of others. What distinguished him was merely the greater power
he had of satisfying his will, and greater intelligence, reason and
courage; added to which, chance gave him a favourable scope for his
operations. By means of all this he did for his egoism what a thousand
other men would like to do for theirs, but cannot. Every feeble lad
who by little acts of villainy gains a small advantage for himself by
putting others to some disadvantage, although it may be equally small,
is just as bad as Napoleon.
Those who fancy that retribution comes after death would demand that
Napoleon should by unutterable torments pay the penalty for all the
numberless calamities that he caused. But he is no more culpable than
all those who possess the same will, unaccompanied by the same power.
The circumstance that in his case this extraordinary power was added
allowed him to reveal the whole wickedness of the human will; and the
sufferings of his age, as the necessary obverse of the medal, reveal
the misery which is inextricably bound up with this bad will. It is
the general manipulation of this will that constitutes the world. But
it is precisely that it should be understood how inextricably the will
to live is bound up with, and is really one and the same as, this
unspeakable misery, that is the world's aim and purpose; and it is an
aim and purpose which the appearance of Napoleon did much to assist.
Not to be an unmeaning fools' paradise but a tragedy, in which the
will to live understands itself and yields--that is the object for
which the world exists. Napoleon is only an enormous mirror of the
will to live.
The difference between the man who causes suffering and the man who
suffers it, is only phenomenal. It is all a will to live, identical
with great suffering; and it is only by understanding this that the
will can mend and end.
* * * * *
What chiefly distinguishes ancient from modern times is that in
ancient times, to use Napoleon's expression, it was affairs that
reigned: _les paroles aux choses_. In modern times this is not so.
What I mean is that in ancient times the character of public life,
of the State, and of Religion, as well as of private life, was a
strenuous affirmation of the will to live. In modern times it is a
denial of this will, for such is the character of Christianity. But
now while on the one hand that denial has suffered some abatement even
in public opinion, because it is too repugnant to human character, on
the other what is publicly denied is secretly affirmed. Hence it is
that we see half measures and falsehood everywhere; and that is why
modern times look so small beside antiquity.
* * * * *
The structure of human society is like a pendulum swinging between two
impulses, two evils in polar opposition, _despotism_ and _anarchy_.
The further it gets from the one, the nearer it approaches the other.
From this the reader might hit on the thought that if it were exactly
midway between the two, it would be right. Far from it. For these
two evils are by no means equally bad and dangerous. The former is
incomparably less to be feared; its ills exist in the main only as
possibilities, and if they come at all it is only one among millions
that they touch. But, with anarchy, possibility and actuality are
inseparable; its blows fall on every man every day. Therefore every
constitution should be a nearer approach to a despotism than to
anarchy; nay, it must contain a small possibility of despotism.