CHAPTER IX.

FICHTE'S ETHICS AS A MAGNIFYING GLASS FOR THE ERRORS OF THE KANTIAN.

Just as in Anatomy and Zoology, many things are not so obvious to the

pupil in preparations and natural products as in engravings where there

is some exaggeration; so if there is any one who, after the above

criticism, is still not entirely satisfied as to the worthlessness

of the Kantian foundation of Ethics, I would recommend him Fichte's

_System der Sittenlehre_, as a sure means of freeing him from all doubt.

In the old German Marionnettes a fool always accompanied the emperor,

or hero, so that he might afterwards give in his own way a highly

coloured version of what had been said or done In like manner behind

the great Kant there stands the author of the _Wissenschaftslehre_,[1]

a true _Wissenschaftsleere[2]._ In order to secure his own, and his

family's welfare, Fichte formed the idea of creating a sensation by

means of subtle mystification. It was a very suitable and reasonable

plan, considering the nature of the German philosophic public, and he

executed it admirably by outdoing Kant in every particular. He appeared

as the latter's living superlative, and produced a perfect caricature

of his philosophy by magnifying all its salient points. Nor did the

Ethics escape similar treatment? In his _System der Sittenlehre_, we

find the Categorical Imperative grown into a Despotic Imperative; while

the absolute "Ought," the law-giving Reason, and the Hest of Duty

have developed into a =moral Fate=, an unfathomable Necessity,

requiring mankind to act strictly in accordance with certain maxims.

To judge (pp. 308, 309) from the pompous show made, a great deal must

depend on these formulae, although one never quite discovers what.

So much only seems clear. As in bees there is implanted an instinct

to build cells and a hive for life in common, so men (it is alleged)

are endowed with an impulse leading them to play in common a great,

strictly moral, world-embracing Comedy, their part being merely to

figure as puppets--nothing else. But there is this important difference

between the bees and men. The hive is really brought to completion;

while instead of a moral World-Comedy, as a matter of fact, an

exceedingly immoral one is enacted. Here, then, we see the imperative

form of the Kantian Ethics, the moral Law, and the absolute "Ought"

pushed further and further till a system of ethical =Fatalism= is

evolved, which, as it is worked out, lapses at times into the comic.[3]

If in Kant's doctrine we trace a certain moral pedantry; with Fichte

this pedantry reaches the absurd, and furnishes abundant material

for satire. Let the reader notice, for example (pp. 407-409), how he

decides the well-known instance of casuistry, where of two human lives

one must be lost. We find indeed all the errors of Kant raised to the

superlative. Thus, on p. 199, we read: "To act in accordance with

the dictates of sympathy, of compassion, and of loving-kindness is

distinctly unmoral; indeed this line of conduct, as such, is contrary

to morality." Again, on p. 402: "The impulse that makes us ready to

serve others must never be an inconsiderate good-nature, but a clearly

thought-out purpose; that, namely, of furthering as much as possible

the causality of Reason." However, between these sallies of ridiculous

pedantry, Fichte's real philosophic crudeness peeps out clearly

enough, as we might only expect in the case of a man whose teaching

left no time for learning. He seriously puts forward the _liberum

arbitrium indifferentiae_ (a free and indifferent choice), giving as

its foundation the most trivial and frivolous reasons. (Pp. 160, 173,

205, 208, 237, 259, 261.) There can be no doubt that a motive, although

working through the medium of the intelligence, is, nevertheless, a

cause, and consequently involves the same necessity of effect as all

other causes; the corollary being that all human action is a strictly

necessary result. Whoever remains unconvinced of this, is still,

philosophically speaking, barbarous, and ignorant of the rudiments

of exact knowledge. The perception of the strict necessity governing

man's conduct forms the line of demarcation which separates philosophic

heads from all others; arrived at this limit Fichte clearly showed that

he belonged to the others. Moreover, following the footsteps of Kant

(p. 303), he proceeds to make various statements which are in direct

contradiction to the above mentioned passages; but this inconsistency,

like many more in his writings, only proves that he, being one

who was never serious in the search for truth, possessed no strong

convictions to build on; as indeed for his purpose they were not in

the least necessary. Nothing is more laughable than the fact that this

man has received so much posthumous praise for strictly consequential

reasoning; his pedantic style full of loud declamation about trifling

matters being actually mistaken for such.

The most complete development of Fichte's system of =moral

Fatalism= is found in his last work: _Die Wissenschaftslehre in

ihrem Allgemeinen Umrisse Dargestellt_, Berlin, 1810. It has the

advantage of being only forty-six pages (duodecimo) long, while it

contains his whole philosophy in a nutshell. It is therefore to be

recommended to all those who consider their time too precious to be

wasted on his larger productions, which are framed with a length and

tediousness worthy of Christian Wolff, and with the intention, in

reality, of deluding, not of instructing the reader. In this little

treatise we read on p. 32: "The intuitive perception of a phaenomenal

world only came about, to the end that in such a world the Ego as the

=absolute Ought= might be visible to itself." On p. 33 we actually

find: "The =ought=," (_i.e._, the moral necessity,) "of the

=Ought's= visibility;" and on p. 36: "An =ought=," (_i.e._, a

moral necessity,) "of the perception that I =ought=." This, then,

is what we have come to so soon after Kant! =His imperative Form=,

with its unproved =Ought=, which it secured as a most convenient

_ποῡ στῶ_ (standpoint), is indeed an _exemplar vitiis imitabile_!

For the rest, all that I have said does not overthrow the service

Fichte rendered. Kant's philosophy, this late masterpiece of human

sagacity, in the very land where it arose, he obscured, nay, supplanted

by empty, bombastic superlatives, by extravagances, and by the nonsense

which is found, in his _Grundlage der gesammten Wissenschaftslehre,_

appearing under the disguise of profound penetration. His merit was

thus to show the world unmistakably what the capacity of the German

philosophical public is; for he made it play the part of a child who

is coaxed into giving up a precious gem in exchange for a Nürnberg

toy. The fame he obtained in this fashion still lives on credit; and

still Fichte is always mentioned in the same breath with Kant as being

another such _Ἡραkλῆς καὶ πίθηêκος!_[4] Indeed his name is often

placed above the latter's.[5] It was, of course, Fichte's example that

encouraged his successors in the art of enveloping the German people,

in philosophic fog. These were animated by the same spirit, and crowned

with the same prosperity. Every one knows their names; nor is this the

place to consider them at length. Needless to say, their different

opinions, down to the minutest details, are still set forth, and

seriously discussed, by the Professors of Philosophy; as if one had

really to do with philosophers! We must, then, thank Fichte for lucid

documents now existing, which will have to be revised one day before

the Tribunal of posterity, that Court of Appeal from the verdicts of

the present, which--like the Last Judgment looked forward to by the

Saints--at almost all periods, has been left to give to true merit its

just award.

[1] _I.e._ Scientific Doctrine.

[2] _I.e._ Scientific Blank. Perhaps we might translate:--"Scientific

Instruction" and "Scientific Misinstruction."--(_Translator._)

[3] As evidence of the truth of my words, space prevents me from

quoting more than a few passages. P. 196: "The moral instinct is

absolute, and its requirements are peremptory, without any object

outside itself." P. 232: "In consequence of the Moral Law, the

empirical Being in Time must be an exact copy of the original Ego." P.

308: "The whole man is a vehicle of the Moral Law." P. 342: "I am only

an instrument, a mere tool of the Moral Law, not in any sense an end."

P. 343: "The end laid before every one is to be the means of realising

Reason: this is the ultimate purpose of his existence; for this alone

he has his being, and if this end should not be attained, there is not

the least occasion for him to live." P. 347: "I am an instrument of the

Moral Law in the phaenomenal world." P. 360: "It is an ordinance of the

Moral Law to nourish one's body, and study one's health; this of course

should be done in no way, and for no other purpose, except to provide

an _efficient instrument_ for furthering the end decreed by Reason,

_i.e._, its realisation,"--(cf. p. 371.) P. 376: "Every human body is

an instrument for furthering the end decreed by Reason, _i.e._, its

realisation; therefore the greatest possible fitness of each instrument

must constitute for me an end: consequently I must take thought for

every one."--This is Fichte's derivation of loving-kindness! P. 377: "I

can and dare take thought for myself, solely because, and is so far as

I am, _an instrument of the Moral Law_." P. 388: "To defend a hunted

man at the risk of one's own life, is an absolute duty; whenever the

life of another human being is in danger, you have no right to think

of the safety of your own." P. 420: "In the province of the Moral

Law there is no way whatever of regarding my fellow-man except as an

_instrument_ of Reason."

[4] _I.e._, Hercules and an ape. A Greek proverb denoting the

juxtaposition of the sublime and the ridiculous. _V_. Greg. Cypr.

_M._3, 66; Macar. 4, 53; Luc. _pisc._ 37; and _Schol. Bachm. An._ 2,

332.--(_Translator._)

[5] My proof for this is a passage from the latest philosophical

literature. Herr Feuerbach, an Hegelian (_c'est tout dire!_) in his

book, _Pierre Bayle: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Philosophie_, 1838,

p. 80, writes as follows: "But still more sublime than Kant's are

Fichte's ideas as expressed in his Doctrine of Morals and elsewhere.

Christianity has nothing in sublimity that could bear comparison with

them."

PART III.

THE FOUNDING OF ETHICS.

CHAPTER I.

CONDITIONS OF THE PROBLEM.

Thus the foundation which Kant gave to Ethics, which for the last sixty

years has been regarded as a sure basis, proves to be an inadmissible

assumption, and merely theological Morals in disguise; it sinks

therefore before our eyes into the deep gulf of philosophic error,

which perhaps will never be filled up. That the previous attempts to

lay a foundation are still less satisfactory, I take for granted, as

I have already said. They consist, for the most part, of unproved

assertions, drawn from the impalpable world of dreams, and at the

same time--like Kant's system itself--full of an artificial subtlety

dealing with the finest distinctions, and resting on the most abstract

conceptions. We find difficult combinations; rules invented for the

purpose; formulae balanced on a needle's point; and stilted maxims,

from which it is no longer possible to look down and see life as it

really is with all its turmoil. Such niceties are doubtless admirably

adapted for the lecture-room, if only with a view to sharpening

the wits; but they can never be the cause of the impulse to act

justly and to do good, which is found in every man; as also they are

powerless to counterbalance the deep-seated tendency to injustice and

hardness of heart. Neither is it possible to fasten the reproaches of

conscience upon them; to attribute the former to the breaking of such

hair-splitting precepts only serves to make the same ridiculous. In a

word, artificial associations of ideas like these cannot possibly--if

we take the matter seriously--contain the true incentive to justice and

loving-kindness. Rather must this be something that requires but little

reflection, and still less abstraction and complicated synthesis;

something that, independent of the training of the understanding,.

speaks to every one, even to the rudest,--a something resting simply on

intuitive perception, and forcing its way home as a direct emanation

from the reality of things. So long as Ethics cannot point to a

foundation of this sort, she may go on with her discussions, and make

a great display in the lecture-rooms; but real life will only pour

contempt upon her. I must therefore give our moralists the paradoxical

advice, first to look about them a little among their fellow-men.

CHAPTER II

SCEPTICAL VIEW.

But when we cast a retrospect over the attempts made, and made in vain,

for more than two thousand years, to find a sure basis for Ethics,

ought we not perhaps to think that after all there is no natural

morality, independent of human institution? Shall we not conclude that

all moral systems are nothing but artificial products, means invented

for the better restraint of the selfish and wicked race of men; and

further, that, as they have no internal credentials and no natural

basis, they would fail in their purpose, if without the support of

positive religion? The legal code and the police are not sufficient in

all cases; there are offences, the discovery of which is too difficult;

some, indeed, where punishment is a precarious matter; where, in short,

we are left without public protection. Moreover, the civil law can at

most enforce justice, not loving-kindness and beneficence; because,

of course, these are qualities as regards which every one would like

to play the passive, and no one the active, part. All this has given

rise to the hypothesis that morality rests solely on religion, and that

both have the same aim--that of being complementary to the necessary

inadequacy of state machinery and legislation. Consequently, there

cannot be (it is said) a natural morality, _i.e._, one based simply

on the nature of things, or of man, and the fruitless search of

philosophers for its foundation is explained. This view is not without

plausibility; and we find it as far back as the Pyrrhonians:

_οὔτε ἀγάθον ἐστί ϕύσει, oὔτε κακόν,_

_ἀλλὰ πρὸς ἀνθροπών ταὒτα νό κέκριται,_

_κατὰ τὸν Tίρωνα_[1]

--_Sext. Emp. adv. Math_., XI., 140.

Also in modern times distinguished thinkers have given their adherence

to it. A careful examination therefore it deserves; although the easier

course would be to shelve it by giving an inquisitorial glance at the

consciences of those in whom such a theory could arise.

We should fall into a great, a very childish blunder, if we believed

all the just and legal actions of mankind to have a moral origin. This

is far from being the case. As a rule, between the justice, which men

practise, and genuine singleness of heart, there exists a relation

analogous to that between polite expressions, and the true love of

one's neighbour, which, unlike the former, does not ostensibly overcome

Egoism, but really does so. That honesty of sentiment, everywhere

so carefully exhibited, which requires to be regarded as above all

suspicion; that deep indignation, which is stirred by the smallest

sign of a doubt in this direction, and is ready to break out into

furions anger;--to what are we to attribute these symptoms? None but

the inexperienced and simple will take them for pure coin, for the

working of a fine moral feeling, or conscience. In point of fact, the

general correctness of conduct which is adopted in human intercourse,

and insisted on as a rule no less immovable than the hills, depends

principally on two external necessities; first, on legal ordinance,

by virtue of which the rights of every man are protected by public

authority; and secondly, on the recognised need of possessing civil

honour, in other words, a good name, in order to advance in the world.

This is why the steps taken by the individual are closely watched by

public opinion, which is so inexorably severe that it never forgives

even a single false move or slip, but remembers it against the guilty

person as an indelible blot, all his life long. As far as this goes,

public opinion is wise enough; for, starting from the fundamental

principle: _Operari sequitur esse_ (what one does is determined by what

one is), it shows its conviction that the character is unchangeable,

and that therefore what a man has once done, he will assuredly do

again, if only the circumstances be precisely similar. Such are the two

custodians that keep guard on the correct conduct of people, without

which, to speak frankly, we should be in a sad case, especially with

reference to property, this central point in human life, around which

the chief part of its energy and activity revolves. For the purely

ethical motives to integrity, assuming that they exist, cannot as a

rule be applied, except very indirectly, to the question of ownership

as guaranteed by the state. These motives, in fact, have a direct and

essential bearing only on =natural= right; with =positive=

right their connection is merely indirect, in so far as the latter

is based on the former. Natural right, however, attaches to no other

property than that which has been gained by one's own exertion;

because, when this is seized, the owner is at the same time robbed of

all the efforts he expended in acquiring it. The theory of preoccupancy

I reject absolutely, but cannot here set forth its refutation.[2]

Now of course all estate based on positive right ought ultimately

and in the last instance (it matters not how many intermediate links

are involved) to rest on the natural right of possession. But what

a distance there is, in most cases, between the title-deeds, that

belong to our civil life, and this natural right--their original

source! Indeed their connection with the latter is generally either

very difficult, or else impossible, to prove. What we hold is ours by

inheritance, by marriage, by success in the lottery; or if in no way

of this kind, still it is not gained by our own work, with the sweat

of the brow, but rather by shrewdness and bright ideas (_e.g._, in the

field of speculation), yes, and sometimes even by our very stupidity,

which, through a conjunction of circumstances, is crowned and glorified

by the _Deus eventus._ It is only in a very small minority of cases

that property is the fruit of real labour and toil; and even then

the work is usually mental, like that of lawyers, doctors, civilians,

teachers, etc.; and this in the eyes of the rude appears to cost but

little effort.

Now, when wealth is acquired in any such fashion, there is need of

considerable education before the ethical right can be recognised and

respected out of a purely moral impulse. Hence it comes about that

not a few secretly regard the possessions of others as held merely by

virtue of positive right. So, if they find means to wrest from another

man his goods, by using, or perhaps by evading, the laws, they feel

no scruples; for in their opinion he would lose what he holds, in the

same way in which he had previously obtained it, and they consequently

regard their own claims as equal to his. From their point of view, the

right of the stronger in civil society is superseded by the right of

the cleverer.

Incidentally we may notice that the =rich= man often shows an

inflexible correctness of conduct. Why? Because with his whole heart

he is attached to, and rigidly maintains, a rule, on the observance of

which his entire wealth, and all its attendant advantages, depend. For

this reason his profession of the principle: _Suum cuique_ (to each his

own), is thoroughly in earnest, and shows an unswerving consistency.

No doubt there is an =objective= loyalty to sincerity and good

faith, which avails to keep them sacred; but such loyalty is based

simply on the fact that sincerity and good faith are the foundation of

all free intercourse among men; of good order; and of secure ownership.

Consequently they very often benefit =ourselves=, and with this

end in view they must be preserved even at some cost: just as a good

piece of land is worth a certain outlay. But integrity thus derived

is, as a rule, only to be met with among wealthy people, or at least

those who are engaged in a lucrative business. It is an especial

characteristic of tradesmen; because they have the strongest conviction

that for all the operations of commerce the one thing indispensable

is mutual trust and credit; and this is why mercantile honour stands

quite by itself. On the other hand, the _poor_ man, who cannot make

both ends meet, and who, by reason of the unequal division of property,

sees himself condemned to want and hard work, while others before his

eyes are lapped in luxury and idleness, will not easily perceive that

the _raison d'être_ of this inequality is a corresponding inequality of

service and honest industry. And if he does =not= recognise this,

how is he to be governed by the purely ethical motive to uprightness,

which should keep him from stretching out his hand to grasp the

superfluity of another? Generally, it is the order of government

as established by law that restrains him. But should ever the rare

occasion present itself when he discovers that he is beyond the reach

of the police, and that he could by a single act throw off the galling

burden of penury, which is aggravated by the sight of others' opulence;

if he feels this, and realises that he could thus enter into the

possession and enjoyment of all that he has so often coveted: what is

there then to stay his hand? Religions dogmas? It is seldom that faith

is so firm. A purely moral incentive to be just and upright? Perhaps

in a few isolated cases. But in by far the greater number there is in

reality nothing but the anxiety a man feels to keep his good name,

his civil honour--a thing that touches closely even those in humble

circumstances. He knows the imminent danger incurred of having to pay

for dishonest conduct by being expelled from the great Masonic Lodge

of honourable people who live correct lives. He knows that property

all over the world is in their hands, and duly apportioned among

themselves, and that they wield the power of making him an outcast for

life from good society, in case he commit a single disgraceful action.

He knows that whoever takes one false step in this direction is marked

as a person that no one trusts, whose company every one shuns, and from

whom all advancement is cut off; to whom, as being "a fellow that has

stolen," the proverb is applied: "He who steals once is a thief all his

life."

These, then, are the guards that watch over correct behaviour between

man and man, and he who has lived, and kept his eyes open, will admit

that the vast majority of honourable actions in human intercourse must

be attributed to them; nay, he will go further, and say that there are

not wanting people who hope to elude even their vigilance, and who

regard justice and honesty merely as an external badge, as a flag,

under the protection of which they can carry out their own freebooting

propensities with better success. We need not therefore break out into

holy wrath, and buckle on our armour, if a moralist is found to suggest

that perhaps all integrity and uprightness may be at bottom only

conventional. This is what Holbach, Helvetius, d'Alembert, and others

of their time did; and, following out the theory, they endeavoured

with great acumen to trace back all moral conduct to egoistic motives,

however remote and indirect. That their position is literally true of

most just actions, as having an ultimate foundation centred in the

Self, I have shown above. That it is also true to a large extent of

what is done in kindness and humanity, there can be no doubt; acts of

this sort often arise from love of ostentation, still oftener from

belief in a retribution to come, which may be dealt out in the second

or even the third power;[3] or they can be explained by other egoistic

motives. Nevertheless, it is equally certain that there occur actions

of disinterested good-will and entirely voluntary justice. To prove

the latter statement, I appeal only to the facts of experience, not

to those of consciousness. There are isolated, yet indisputable cases

on record, where not only the danger of legal prosecution, but also

all chance of discovery, and even of suspicion has been excluded, and

where, notwithstanding, the poor man has rendered to the rich his own.

For example, things lost, and found, have been given back without any

thought or hope of reward; a deposit made by a third person has been

restored after his death to the rightful owner; a poor man, secretly

intrusted with a treasure by a fugitive, has faithfully kept, and

then returned, it. Instances of this sort can be found, beyond all

doubt; only the surprise, the emotion, and the high respect awakened,

when we hear of them, testify to the fact that they are unexpected

and very exceptional. There are in truth really honest people: like

four-leaved clover, their existence is not a fiction. But Hamlet uses

no hyperbole when he says: "To be honest, as this world goes, is to be

one man pick'd out of ten thousand." If it be objected that, after all,

religious dogmas, involving rewards and penalties in another world,

are at the root of conduct as above described; cases could probably be

adduced where the actors possessed no religions faith whatever. And

this is a thing by no means so infrequent as is generally maintained.

Those who combat the =sceptical view= appeal specially to the

testimony of =conscience=. But conscience itself is impugned,

and doubts are raised about its natural origin. Now, as a matter of

fact, there is a _conscientia spuria_ (false conscience), which is

often confounded with the true. The regret and anxiety which many a

man feels for what he has done is frequently, at bottom, nothing but

fear of the possible consequences. Not a few people, if they break

external, voluntary, and even absurd rules, suffer from painful

searchings of heart, exactly similar to those inflicted by the real

conscience. Thus, for instance, a bigoted Jew, if on Saturday he

should smoke a pipe at home, becomes really oppressed with the sense

of having disobeyed the command in Exodus xxxv. 3: "Ye shall kindle

no fire throughout your habitations upon the Sabbath day." How often

it happens that a nobleman or officer is the victim of self-reproach,

because on some occasion or other he has not properly complied with

that fools' codex, which is called knightly honour! Nay more: there

are many of this class, who, if they see the impossibility of merely

doing enough in some quarrel to satisfy the above-named code--to say

nothing of keeping their pledged word of honour--are ready to shoot

themselves. (Instances of both have come under my knowledge.) And this,

while the self-same man would with an easy mind break his promise every

day, if only the shibboleth "Honour" be not involved. In short, every

inconsequent, and thoughtless action, all conduct contrary to our

prejudices, principles, or convictions, whatever these may be; indeed,

every indiscretion, every mistake, every piece of stupidity rankles

in us secretly, and leaves its sting behind. The average individual,

who thinks his conscience such an imposing structure, would be

surprised, could he see of what it actually consists: probably of about

one-fifth, fear of men; one-fifth, superstition; one-fifth, prejudice;

one-fifth, vanity; and one-fifth, habit. So that in reality he is no

better than the Englishman, who said quite frankly: "I cannot afford

to keep a conscience." Religious people of every creed, as a rule,

understand by conscience nothing else than the dogmas and injunctions

of their religion, and the self-examination based thereon; and it

is in this sense that the expressions =coercion of conscience=

and =liberty of conscience= are used. The same interpretation

was always given by the theologians, schoolmen, and casuists of the

middle ages and of later times. Whatever a man knew of the formulae and

prescriptions of the Church, coupled with a resolution to believe and

obey it, constituted his conscience. Thus we find the terms "a doubting

conscience," "an opinionated conscience," "an erring conscience," and

the like; and councils were held, and confessors employed, for the

special purpose of setting such irregularities straight. How little the

conception of conscience, just as other conceptions, is determined by

its own object; how differently it is viewed by different people; how

wavering and uncertain it appears in books; all this is briefly but

clearly set forth in Stäudlin's _Geschichte der Lehre vom Gewissen_.

These facts taken in conjunction are not calculated to establish the

reality of the thing; they have rather given rise to the question

whether there is in truth a genuine, inborn conscience. I have already

had occasion in Part II., Chapter VIII., where the theory of Freedom is

discussed, to touch on my view of conscience, and I shall return to it

below.

All these sceptical objections added together do not in the least avail

to prove that no true morality exists, however much they may moderate

our expectations as to the moral tendency in man, and the natural basis

of Ethics. Undoubtedly a great deal that is ascribed to the ethical

sense can be proved to spring from other incentives; and when we

contemplate the moral depravity of the world, it is sufficiently clear

that the stimulus for good cannot be very powerful, especially as it

often does not work even in cases where the opposing motives are weak,

although then the individual difference of character makes itself fully

felt.

It should be observed that this moral depravity is all the more

difficult to discern, because its manifestations are checked and

cloaked by public order, as enforced by law; by the necessity of

having a good name; and even by ordinary polite manners. And this is

not all. People commonly suppose that in the education of the young

their moral interests are furthered by representing uprightness and

virtue as principles generally followed by the world. Later on, it is

often to their great harm that experience teaches them something else;

for the discovery, that the instructors of their early years were the

first to deceive them, is likely to have a more mischievous effect on

their morality than if these persons had given them the first example

of ingenuous truthfulness, by saying frankly: "The world is sunk in

evil, and men are not what they ought to be; but be not misled thereby,

and see that you do better." All this, as I have said, increases the

difficulty of recognising the real immorality of mankind. The state

--this masterpiece, which sums up the self-conscious, intelligent

egoism of all--consigns the rights of each person to a power, which,

being enormously superior to that of the individual, compels him to

respect the rights of all others. This is the leash that restrains

the limitless egoism of nearly every one, the malice of many, the

cruelty of not a few. The illusion thus arising is so great that,

when in special cases, where the executive power is ineffective, or

is eluded, the insatiable covetousness, the base greed, the deep

hypocrisy, or the spiteful tricks of men are apparent in all their

ugliness, we recoil with horror, supposing that we have stumbled on

some unheard-of monster: whereas, without the compulsion of law, and

the necessity of keeping an honourable name, these sights would be of

every day occurrence. In order to discover what, from a moral point

of view, human beings are made of, we must study anarchist records,

and the proceedings connected with criminals. The thousands that

throng before our eyes, in peaceful intercourse each with the other,

can only be regarded as so many tigers and wolves, whose teeth are

secured by a strong muzzle. Let us now suppose this muzzle cast off,

or, in other words, the power of the state abolished; the contemplation

of the spectacle then to be awaited would make all thinking people

shudder; and they would thus betray the small amount of trust they

really have in the efficiency either of religion, or of conscience, or

of the natural basis of Morals, whatever it be. But if these immoral,

antinomian forces should be unshackled and let loose, it is precisely

then that the true moral incentive, hidden before, would reveal its

activity, and consequently be most easily recognised. And nothing

would bring out so clearly as this the prodigious moral difference of

character between man and man; it would be found to be as great as the

intellectual, which is saying much.

The objection will perhaps be raised that Ethics is not concerned with

what men actually do, but that it is the science which treats of what

their conduct =ought= to be. Now this is exactly the position

which I deny. In the critical part of the present treatise I have

sufficiently demonstrated that the conception of =ought=, in

other words, the =imperative form= of Ethics, is valid only in

theological morals, outside of which it loses all sense and meaning.

The end which I place before Ethical Science is to point out all the

varied moral lines of human conduct; to explain them; and to trace

them to their ultimate source. Consequently there remains no way of

discovering the basis of Ethics except the empirical. We must search

and see whether we can find any actions to which we are obliged to

ascribe =genuine moral worth=: actions, that is, of voluntary

justice, of pure loving-kindness, and of true nobleness. Such conduct,

when found, is to be regarded as a given phaenomenon, which has to

be properly accounted for; in other words, its real origin must be

explored, and this will involve the investigation and explanation of

the peculiar motives which lead men to actions so radically distinct

from all others, that they form a class by themselves. These motives,

together with a responsive susceptibility for them, will constitute

the ultimate basis of morality, and the knowledge of them will be

the foundation of Ethics. This is the humble path to which I direct

the Science of Morals. It contains no construction _a priori_, no

absolute legislation for all rational beings _in abstracto_; it lacks

all official, academic sanction. Therefore, whoever thinks it not

sufficiently fashionable, may return to the Categorical Imperative;

to the Shibboleth of "Human Dignity"; to the empty phrases, the

cobwebs, and the soap-bubbles of the Schools; to principles on which

experience pours contempt at every step, and of which no one, outside

the lecture-rooms knows anything, or has ever had the least notion. On

the other hand, the foundation which is reached by following my path

is upheld by experience; and it is experience which daily and hourly

delivers its silent testimony in favour of my theory.

[1] _I.e._, there is nothing either good or bad by nature, but these

things are decided by human judgment, as Timon says. _V_. Sexti

Empirici _Opera Quae Exstant: Adversus Mathematicos;_ p. 462 A _ad

fin_. Aurelianae: Petrus et Jacobus Chouët, 1621. _V_. also: Sexti

Empirici _Opera_, edit. Jo. Albertus Fabricius: Lipsiae, 1718, Lib.

XI., 140, p. 716.

[2] See _Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, Vol I., § 62, p. 396

sqq., and Vol. II., chap. 47, p. 682.

[3] In other words: If _a_ be a given offence, or virtuous act, and _x_

the punishment, or reward, proportional to it; then the punishment,

or reward, actually inflicted, instead of being _x_, may be _x_^2 or

_x_^3.--(Translator.)

CHAPTER III.

ANTIMORAL[1] INCENTIVES.

The chief and fundamental incentive in man, as in animals, is

=Egoism=, that is, the urgent impulse to exist, and exist under

the best circumstances. The German word _Selbstsucht_ (self-seeking)

involves a false secondary idea of disease (_Sucht_).[2] The term

_Eigennutz_ (self-interest) denotes Egoism, so far as the latter

is guided by reason, which enables it, by means of reflection, to

prosecute its purposes systematically; so that animals may be called

egoistic, but not self-interested (_eigennutzig_). I shall therefore

retain the word =Egoism= for the general idea. Now this Egoism

is, both in animals and men, connected in the closest way with their

very essence and being; indeed, it is one and the same thing. For this

reason all human actions, as a rule, have their origin in Egoism, and

to it, accordingly, we must always first turn, when we try to find the

explanation of any given line of conduct; just as, when the endeavour

is made to guide a man in any direction, the means to this end are

universally calculated with reference to the same all-powerful motive.

Egoism is, from its nature, limitless. The individual is filled with

the unqualified desire of preserving his life, and of keeping it free

from all pain, under which is included all want and privation. He

wishes to have the greatest possible amount of pleasurable existence,

and every gratification that he is capable of appreciating; indeed,

he attempts, if possible, to evolve fresh capacities for enjoyment.

Everything that opposes the strivings of his Egoism awakens his

dislike, his anger, his hate: this is the mortal enemy, which he tries

to annihilate. If it were possible, he would like to possess everything

for his own pleasure; as this is impossible, he wishes at least to

control everything. "All things for me, and nothing for others" is his

maxim. Egoism is a huge giant overtopping the world. If each person

were allowed to choose between his own destruction and that of the

rest of mankind, I need not say what the decision would be in most

cases. Thus, it is that every human unit makes himself the centre of

the world, which he views exclusively from that standpoint. Whatever

occurs, even, for instance, the most sweeping changes in the destinies

of nations, he brings into relation first and foremost with his own

interests, which, however slightly and indirectly they may be affected,

he is sure to think of before anything else. No sharper contrast can

be imagined than that between the profound and exclusive attention

which each person devotes to his own self, and the indifference with

which, as a rule, all other people regard that self,--an indifference

precisely like that with which he in turn looks upon them. To a

certain extent it is actually comic to see how each individual out of

innumerable multitudes considers himself, at least from the practical

point of view, as the only real thing, and all others in some sort

as mere phantoms. The ultimate reason of this lies in the fact that

every one is =directly= conscious of himself, but of others only

_indirectly_, through his mind's eye; and the direct impression asserts

its right. In other words, it is in consequence of the subjectivity

which is essential to our consciousness that each person is himself

the whole world; for all that is objective exists only indirectly, as

simply the mental picture of the subject; whence it comes about that

everything is invariably expressed in terms of self-consciousness. The

only world which the individual really grasps, and of which he has

certain knowledge, he carries in himself, as a mirrored image fashioned

by his brain; and he is, therefore, its centre. Consequently he is all

in all to himself; and since he feels that he contains within his ego

all that is real, nothing can be of greater importance to him than his

own self.[3] Moreover this supremely important self, this microcosm,

to which the macrocosm stands in relation as its mere modification

or accident,--this, which is the individual's whole world, he knows

perfectly well must be destroyed by death; which is therefore for him

equivalent to the destruction of all things.

Such, then, are the elements out of which, on the basis of the Will to

live, Egoism grows up, and like a broad trench it forms a perennial

separation between man and man. If on any occasion some one actually

jumps across, to help another, such an act is regarded as a sort of

miracle, which calls forth amazement and wins approval. In Part II.,

Chapter VI., where Kant's principle of Morals is discussed, I had

the opportunity of describing how Egoism behaves in everyday life,

where it is always peering out of some corner or other, despite

ordinary politeness, which, like the traditional fig-leaf, is used

as a covering. In point of fact, politeness is the conventional and

systematic disavowal of Egoism in the trifles of daily intercourse,

and is, of course, a piece of recognised hypocrisy. Gentle manners are

expected and commended, because that which they conceal--Egoism--is so

odious, that no one wishes to see it, however much it is known to be

there; just as people like to have repulsive objects hidden at least by

a curtain. Now, unless external force (under which must be included

every source of fear whether of human or superhuman powers), or else

the real moral incentive is in effective operation, it is certain that

Egoism always pursues its purposes with unqualified directness; hence

without these checks, considering the countless number of egoistic

individuals, the _bellum omnium contra omnes_[4] would be the order

of the day, and prove the ruin of all. Thus is explained the early

construction by reflecting reason of state government, which, arising,

as it does, from a mutual fear of reciprocal violence, obviates the

disastrous consequences of the general Egoism, as far as it is possible

to do by =negative= procedure. Where, however, the two forces

that oppose Egoism fail to be operative, the latter is not slow to

reveal all its horrible dimensions, nor is the spectacle exactly

attractive. In order to express the strength of this antimoral power

in a few words, to portray it, so to say, at one stroke, some very

emphatic hyperbole is wanted. It may be put thus: many a man would

be quite capable of killing another, simply to rub his boots over

with the victim's fat. I am only doubtful whether this, after all, is

any exaggeration. =Egoism=, then, is the first and principal,

though not the only, power that the =moral Motive= has to contend

against; and it is surely sufficiently clear that the latter, in order

to enter the lists against such an opponent, must be something more

real than a hair-splitting sophism or an _a priori_ soap-bubble. In war

the first thing to be done is to know the enemy well; and in the shock

of battle, now impending, =Egoism=, as the chief combatant on its

own side, is best set against the virtue of =Justice=, which, in

my opinion, is the first and original cardinal virtue.

The virtue of =loving-kindness=, on the other hand, is rather to

be matched with =ill-will=, or =spitefulness=, the origin

and successive stages of which we will now consider. Ill-will, in

its lower degrees, is very frequent, indeed, almost a common thing;

and it easily rises in the scale. Goethe is assuredly right when

he says that in this world indifference and aversion are quite at

home.--(_Wahlverwandtschaften,_ Part I., chap. 3.) It is very fortunate

for us that the cloak, which prudence and politeness throw over this

vice, prevents us from seeing how general it is, and how the _bellum

omnium contra omnes_ is constantly waged, at least in thought. Yet

ever and anon there is some appearance of it: for instance, in the

relentless backbiting so frequently observed; while its clearest

manifestation is found in all out-breaks of anger, which, for the most

part, are quite disproportional to their cause, and which could hardly

be so violent, had they not been compressed--like gunpowder--into the

explosive compound formed of long cherished brooding hatred. Ill-will

usually arises from the unavoidable collisions of Egoism which occur

at every step. It is, moreover, objectively excited by the view of

the weakness, the folly, the vices, failings, shortcomings, and

imperfections of all kinds, which every one more or less, at least

occasionally, affords to others. Indeed, the spectacle is such, that

many a man, especially in moments of melancholy and depression, may

be tempted to regard the world, from the aesthetic standpoint, as a

cabinet of caricatures; from the intellectual, as a madhouse; and

from the moral, as a nest of sharpers. If such a mental attitude be

indulged, misanthropy is the result. Lastly, one of the chief sources

of ill-will is envy; or rather, the latter is itself ill-will, kindled

by the happiness, possessions, or advantages of others. No one is

absolutely free from envy; and Herodotus (III. 80) said long ago:

_ϕθόνος ἀρχῆθεν ἐμϕύεται ἀνθρώπῳ_ (envy is a natural growth in man from

the beginning). But its degrees vary considerably. It is most poisonous

and implacable when directed against personal qualities, because then

the envious have nothing to hope for. And precisely in such cases

its vilest form also appears, because men are made to hate what they

ought to love and honour. Yet so "the world wags," even as Petrarca

complained:

_Di lor par più, che d'altri, invidia s'abbia,_

_Che per se stessi son levati a volo,_

_Uscendo fuor della commune gabbia._

(For envy fastens most of all on those,

Who, rising on their own strong wings, escape

The bars wherein the vulgar crowd is cag'd.)

The reader is referred to the Parerga, vol. ii., § 114, for a more

complete examination of envy.

In a certain sense the opposite of envy is the habit of gloating over

the misfortunes of others, At any rate, while the former is human, the

latter is diabolical. There is no sign more infallible of an entirely

bad heart, and of profound moral worthlessness than open and candid

enjoyment in seeing other people suffer. The man in whom this trait is

observed ought to be for ever avoided: _Hic niger est, hunc tu, Romane,

caveto_.[5] These two vices are in themselves merely theoretical; in

practice they become malice and cruelty. It is true that Egoism may

lead to wickedness and crime of every sort; but the resulting injury

and pain to others are simply the means, not the end, and are therefore

involved only as an accident. Whereas malice and cruelty make others'

misery the end in itself, the realisation of which affords distinct

pleasure. They therefore constitute a higher degree of moral turpitude.

The maxim of Egoism, at its worst is: _Neminem juva, immo omnes, si

forte conducit_ (thus there is always a condition), _laede_ (help no

body, but rather injure all people, if it brings you any advantage).

The guiding rule of malice is: _Omnes, quantum potes, laede_ (injure

all people as far as you can). As malicious joy is in fact theoretical

cruelty, so, conversely, cruelty is nothing but malicious joy put into

practice; and the latter is sure to show itself in the form of cruelty,

directly an opportunity offers.

An examination of the special vices that spring from these two primary

antimoral forces forms no part of the present treatise: its proper

place would be found in a detailed system of Ethics. From =Egoism=

we should probably derive greed, gluttony, lust, selfishness, avarice,

covetousness, injustice, hardness of heart, pride, arrogance, etc.;

while to =spitefulness= might be ascribed disaffection, envy,

ill-will, malice, pleasure in seeing others suffer, prying curiosity,

slander, insolence, petulance, hatred, anger, treachery, fraud, thirst

for revenge, cruelty, etc. The first root is more bestial, the second

more devilish; and according as either is the stronger; or according

as the moral incentive, to be described below, predominates, so

the salient points for the ethical classification of character are

determined. No man is entirely free from some traces of all three.

Here I bring to an end my review of these terrible powers of evil;

it is an array reminding one of the Princes of Darkness in Milton's

Pandemonium. But my plan, which in this respect of course differs from

that of all other moralists, required me to consider at the outset

this gloomy side of human nature, and, like Dante, to descend first to

Tartarus.

It will now be fully apparent how difficult our problem is. We have

to find a motive capable of making a man take up a line of conduct

directly opposed to all those propensities which lie deeply ingrained

in his nature; or, given such conduct as a fact of experience, we must

search for a motive capable of supplying an adequate and non-artificial

explanation of it. The difficulty, in fact, is so great that, in order

to solve it, for the vast majority of mankind, it has been everywhere

necessary to have recourse to machinery from another world. Gods have

been pointed to, whose will and command the required mode of behaviour

was said to be, and who were represented as emphasising this command

by penalties and rewards either in this, or in another world, to

which death would be the gate. Now let us assume that belief in a

doctrine of this sort took general root (a thing which is certainly

possible through strenuous inculcation at a very early age); and let

us also assume that it brought about the intended effect,--though this

is a much harder matter to admit, and not nearly so well confirmed

by experience; we should then no doubt succeed in obtaining strict

legality of action, even beyond the limits that justice and the police

can reach; but every one feels that this would not in the least imply

what we mean by morality of the heart. For obviously, every act arising

from motives like those just mentioned is after all derived simply from

pure Egoism. How can I talk of unselfishness when I am enticed by a

promised guerdon, or deterred by a threatened punishment? A recompense

in another world, thoroughly believed in, must be regarded as a bill

of exchange, which is perfectly safe, though only payable at a very

distant date. It is thus quite possible that the profuse assurances,

which beggars so constantly make, that those, who relieve them, will

receive a thousandfold more for their gifts in the next world, may lead

many a miser to generous alms-giving; for such a one complacently views

the matter as a good investment of money, being perfectly convinced

that he will rise again as a Croesus. For the mass of mankind, it

will perhaps be always necessary to continue the appeal to incentives

of this nature, and we know that such is the teaching promulgated by

the different religions, which are in fact the =metaphysics of the

people=. Be it, however, observed in this connection that a man is

sometimes just as much in error as to the true motives that govern

his own acts, as he is with regard to those of others. Hence it is

certain that many persons, while they can only account to themselves

for their noblest actions by attributing them to motives of the kind

above described, are, nevertheless, really guided in their conduct by

far higher and purer incentives, though the latter may be much more

difficult to discover. They are doing, no doubt, out of direct love

of their neighbour, that which they can but explain as the command of

their God. On the other hand, Philosophy, in dealing with this, as with

all other problems, endeavours to extract the true and ultimate cause

of the given phaenomena from the disclosures which the nature itself

of man yields, and which, freed as they must be from all mythical

interpretation, from all religious dogmas, and transcendent hypostases,

she requires to see confirmed by external or internal experience. Now,

as our present task is a philosophical one, we must entirely disregard

all solutions conditioned by any religion; and I have here touched on

them merely in order to throw a stronger light on the magnitude of the

difficulty.

[1] I venture to use this word although irregularly formed, because

"antiethical" would not here give an adequate meaning. _Sittlich_

(in accordance with good manners) and _unsittlich_ (contrary to good

manners), which have lately come into vogue, are bad substitutes

for _moralisch_ (moral) and _unmoralisch_ (immoral): first, because

_moralisch_ is a scientific conception, which, as such, requires to be

denoted by a Greek or Latin term, for reasons which may be found in

_Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, vol. ii., chap. 12, p. 134 sqq.;

and secondly, because _sittlich_ is a weaker and tamer expression,

difficult to distinguish from _sittsam_ (modest) which in popular

acceptation means _zimperlich_ (simpering). No concessions must be made

to this extravagant love of germanising!

[2] In _Sucht_ (_siech_ = sick) and _Selbst-sucht_ (_suchen_=

seek) there is an apparent confusion between the two bases SUK

(_seuka_) to be ill, and SÔKYAN, to seek. _V_. Skeat's _Etymological

Dictionary._--(_Translator._)

[3] It should be noticed that while from the _subjective_ side a man's

self assumes these gigantic proportions, _objectively_ it shrinks to

almost nothing--namely, to about the one-thousand-millionth part of the

human race.

[4] The war of all against all. Hobbes uses this expression.

--(_Translator._)

[5] This man is black; of him shalt thou, O Roman, beware. _V_. Horace,

_Sat_., Lib. I. 4. 85.--(_Translator_.)

CHAPTER IV.

CRITERION OF ACTIONS OF MORAL WORTH.

There is first the empirical question to be settled, whether actions

of voluntary justice and unselfish loving-kindness, which are capable

of rising to nobleness and magnanimity, actually occur in experience.

Unfortunately, this inquiry cannot be decided altogether empirically,

because it is invariably only the act that experience gives, the

=incentives= not being apparent. Hence the possibility always

remains that an egoistic motive may have had weight in determining a

just or good deed. In a theoretical investigation like the present,

I shall not avail myself of the inexcusable trick of shifting the

matter on to the reader's conscience. But I believe there are few

people who have any doubt about the matter, and who are not convinced

from their own experience that just acts are often performed simply

and solely to prevent a man suffering from injustice. Most of as, I

do not hesitate to say, are persuaded that there are persons in whom

the principle of giving others their due seems to be innate, who

neither intentionally injure any one, nor unconditionally seek their

own advantage, but in considering themselves show regard also for the

rights of their neighbours; persons who, when they undertake matters

involving reciprocal obligations, not only see that the other party

does his duty, but also that he gets his own, because it is really

against their will that any one, with whom they have to do, should be

shabbily treated. These are the men of true probity, the few _aequi_

(just) among the countless number of the _iniqui_ (unjust). Such

people exist. Similarly, it will be admitted, I think, that many help

and give, perform services, and deny themselves, without having any

further intention in their hearts than that of assisting another, whose

distress they see. When Arnold von Winkelried exclaimed: "_Trüwen,

lieben Eidgenossen, wullt's minem Wip und Kinde gedenken_,"[1] and then

clasped in his arms as many hostile spears as he could grasp; can any

one believe that he had some selfish purpose? I cannot. To cases of

voluntary justice, which cannot be denied without deliberate and wilful

trifling with facts, I have already drawn attention in Chapter II. of

this Part. Should any one, however, persist in refusing to believe that

such actions ever happen, then, according to his view, Ethics would

be a science without any real object, like Astrology and Alchemy, and

it would be waste of time to discuss its basis any further. With him,

therefore, I have nothing to do, and address myself to those who allow

that we are dealing with something more than an imaginary citation.

It is, then, only to conduct of the above kind that genuine moral worth

can be ascribed. Its special mark is that it rejects and excludes

the whole class of motives by which otherwise all human action is

prompted: I mean the =self-interested= motives, using the word in

its widest sense. Consequently the moral value of an act is lowered by

the disclosure of an accessory selfish incentive; while it is entirely

destroyed, if that incentive stood alone. The absence of all egoistic

motives is thus the =Criterion= of an action of moral value. It

may, no doubt, be objected that also acts of pure malice and cruelty

are not selfish.[2] But it is manifest that the latter cannot be

meant, since they are, in kind, the exact opposite of those now being

considered. If, however, the definition be insisted on in its strict

sense, then we may expressly except such actions, because of their

essential token--the compassing of others' suffering.

There is also another characteristic of conduct having real moral

worth, which is entirely internal and therefore less obvious. I allude

to the fact that it leaves behind a certain self-satisfaction which

is called the approval of conscience: just as, on the other hand,

injustice and unkindness, and still more malice and cruelty, involve

a secret self-condemnation. Lastly, there is an external, secondary,

and accidental sign that draws a clear line between the two classes.

Acts of the former kind win the approval and respect of disinterested

witnesses: those of the latter incur their disapproval and contempt.

Those actions that bear the stamp of moral value, so determined,

and admitted to be realities, constitute the phaenomenon that lies

before us, and which we have to explain. We must accordingly search

out what it is that moves men to such conduct. If we succeed in our

investigation, we shall necessarily bring to light the true moral

incentive; and, as it is upon this that all ethical science must

depend, our problem will then be solved.

[1] Comrades, true and loyal to our oath, care for my wife and child in

remembrance of this.

[2] Acts of malice and cruelty are so many gratifications of the ego,

and are therefore, in a certain sense, selfish. _V_. Introduction, pp.

xvi. and xvii.--(_Translator._)

CHAPTER V.

STATEMENT AND PROOF OF THE ONLY TRUE MORAL INCENTIVE.

The preceding considerations, which were unavoidably necessary in order

to clear the ground, now enable me to indicate the true incentive

which underlies all acts of real moral worth. The seriousness, and

indisputable genuineness, with which we shall find it is distinguished,

removes it far indeed from the hair-splittings, subtleties,

sophisms, assertions formulated out of airy nothings, and _a priori_

soap-bubbles, which all systems up to the present have tried to make

at once the source of moral conduct and the basis of Ethics. This

incentive I shall not put forward as an hypothesis to be accepted or

rejected, as one pleases; I shall actually =prove= that it is

the only possible one. But as this demonstration requires several

fundamental truths to be borne in mind, the reader's attention is first

called to certain propositions which we must presuppose, and which may

properly be considered as axioms; except the last two, which result

from the analysis contained in the preceding chapter, and in Part II.,

Chapter III.

(1) No action can take place without a sufficient motive; as little as

a stone can move without a sufficient push or pull.

(2) Similarly, no action can be left undone, when, given the character

of the doer, a sufficient motive is present; unless a stronger

counter-motive necessarily prevents it.

(3) Whatever moves the Will,--this, and this alone, implies the sense

of weal and woe, in the widest sense of the term; and conversely, weal

and woe signify "that which is in conformity with, or which is contrary

to, a Will." Hence every motive must have a connection with weal and

woe.

(4) Consequently every action stands in relation to, and has as its

ultimate object, a being susceptible of weal and woe.

(5) This being is either the doer himself; or another, whose position

as regards the action is therefore =passive=; since it is done

either to his harm, or to his benefit and advantage.

(6) Every action, which has to do, as its ultimate object, with the

weal and woe of the agent himself, is =egoistic=.

(7) The foregoing propositions with regard to what is done apply

equally to what is left undone, in all cases where motive and

counter-motive play their parts.

(8) From the analysis in the foregoing chapter, it results that

=Egoism= and the =moral worth= of an action absolutely

exclude each other. If an act have an =egoistic= object as its

motive, then no moral value can be attached to it; if an act is to

have moral value, then no egoistic object, direct or indirect, near or

remote, may be its motive.

(9) In consequence of my elimination in Part II., Chapter III., of

alleged duties towards ourselves, the moral significance of our conduct

can only lie in the effect produced upon others; its relation to the

latter is alone that which lends it moral worth, or worthlessness, and

constitutes it an act of justice, loving-kindness, etc., or the reverse.

From these propositions the following conclusion is obvious: The

=weal and woe=, which (according to our third axiom) must, as its

ultimate object, lie at the root of everything done, or left undone,

is either that of the doer himself, or that of some other person,

whose _rôle_ with reference to the action is passive. Conduct in the

first case is necessarily =egoistic=, as it is impelled by an

interested motive. And this is not only true when men--as they nearly

always do--plainly shape their acts for their own profit and advantage;

it is equally true when from anything done we expect some benefit to

ourselves, no matter how remote, whether in this or in another world.

Nor is it less the fact when our honour, our good name, or the wish

to win the respect of some one, the sympathy of the lookers on, etc.,

is the object we have in view; or when our intention is to uphold a

rule of conduct, which, if generally followed, would occasionally be

useful to ourselves, for instance, the principle of justice, of mutual

succour and aid, and so forth. Similarly, the proceeding is at bottom

egoistic, when a man considers it a prudent step to obey some absolute

command issued by an unknown, but evidently supreme power; for in such

a case nothing can be the motive but =fear= of the disastrous

consequences of disobedience, however generally and indistinctly these

may be conceived. Nor is it a whit the less Egoism that prompts us

when we endeavour to emphasise, by something done or left undone,

the high opinion (whether distinctly realised or not) which we have

of ourselves, and of our value or dignity; for the diminution of

self-satisfaction, which might otherwise occur, would involve the

wounding of our pride. Lastly, it is still Egoism that is operative,

when a man, following Wolff's principles, seeks by his conduct to work

out his own perfection. In short, one may make the ultimate incentive

to an action what one pleases; it will always turn out, no matter by

how circuitous a path, that in the last resort what affects the actual

weal and woe of the agent himself is the real motive; consequently what

he does is =egoistic=, and therefore =without moral worth=.

There is only a single case in which this fails to happen: namely,

when the ultimate incentive for doing something, or leaving it undone,

is precisely and exclusively centred in the weal and woe of some one

else, who plays a passive part; that is to say, when the person on the

active side, by what he does, or omits to do, simply and solely regards

the weal and woe of another, and has absolutely no other object than

to benefit him, by keeping harm from his door, or, it may be, even

by affording help, assistance, and relief. It is this aim alone that

gives to what is done, or left undone, the stamp of moral worth; which

is thus seen to depend exclusively on the circumstance that the act

is carried out, or omitted, purely for the benefit and advantage of

another. If and when this is not so, then the question of weal and woe

which incites to, or deters from, every action contemplated, can only

relate to the agent himself; whence its performance, or non-performance

is entirely egoistic, and without moral value.

But if what I do is to take place solely on account of some one else;

then it follows that =his= weal and woe must directly constitute

=my= motive; just is, ordinarily, =my own= weal and woe

form it. This narrows the limits of our problem, which may now be

stated as follows: How is it possible that another's weal and woe

should influence my will directly, that is, exactly in the same way

as otherwise my own move it? How can that which affects another for

good or bad become my immediate motive, and actually sometimes assume

such importance that it more or less supplants my own interests, which

are, as a rule, the single source of the incentives that appeal to me?

Obviously, only because that other person becomes the ultimate object

of my will, precisely as usually I myself am that object; in other

words, because I directly desire weal, and not woe, for him, just as

habitually I do for myself. This, however, necessarily implies that I

suffer with him, and feel his woe, exactly as in most cases I feel only

mine, and therefore desire his weal as immediately as at other times I

desire only my own. But, for this to be possible, I must in some way

or other be =identified= with him; that is, the =difference=

between myself and him, which is the precise _raison d'être_ of my

Egoism, must be =removed=, at least to a certain extent. Now,

since I do not live in his skin, there remains only the knowledge, that

is, the mental picture, I have of him, as the possible means whereby

I can so far identify myself with him, that my action declares the

difference to be practically effaced. The process here analysed is not

a dream, a fancy floating in the air; it is perfectly real, and by

no means infrequent. It is, what we see every day,--the phaenomenon

of =Compassion=; in other words, the direct participation,

independent of all ulterior considerations, in the sufferings of

another, leading to sympathetic assistance in the effort to prevent

or remove them; whereon in the last resort all satisfaction and all

well-being and happiness depend. It is this Compassion alone which is

the real basis of all =voluntary= justice and all =genuine=

loving-kindness. Only so far as an action springs therefrom, has it

moral value; and all conduct that proceeds from any other motive

whatever has none. When once compassion is stirred within me, by

another's pain, then his weal and woe go straight to my heart, exactly

in the same way, if not always to the same degree, as otherwise I feel

only my own. Consequently the difference between myself and him is no

longer an absolute one.

No doubt this operation is astonishing, indeed hardly comprehensible.

It is, in fact, the great mystery of Ethics, its original phaenomenon,

and the boundary stone, past which only transcendental speculation

may dare to take a step. Herein we see the wall of partition,

which, according to the light of nature (as reason is called by old

theologians), entirely separates being from being, broken down, and

the non-ego to a certain extent identified with the ego. I wish

for the moment to leave the metaphysical explanation of this enigma

untouched, and first to inquire whether all acts of voluntary justice

and true loving-kindness really arise from it. If so, our problem will

be solved, for we shall have found the ultimate basis of morality, and

shown that it lies in human nature itself. This foundation, however,

in its turn cannot form a problem of Ethics, but rather, like every

other ultimate fact as such, of Metaphysics. Only the solution, that

the latter offers of the primary ethical phaenomenon, lies outside

the limits of the question put by the Danish Royal Society, which is

concerned solely with the basis; so that the transcendental explanation

can be given merely as a voluntary and unessential appendix.

But before I turn to the derivation of the Cardinal virtues from

the original incentive, as here disclosed, I have still to bring to

the notice of the reader two observations which the subject renders

necessary.

(1) For the purpose of easier comprehension I have simplified the

above presentation of compassion as the sole source of truly moral

actions, by intentionally leaving out of consideration the incentive

of =Malice=, which while it is equally useless to the self as

compassion, makes the =pain= of others its ultimate purpose. We

are now, however, in a position, by including it, to state the above

proof more completely, and rigorously, as follows:--

There are only =three= fundamental springs of human conduct, and

all possible motives arise from one or other of these. They are:

(_a_) Egoism; which desires the weal of the self, and is limitless.

(_b_) Malice; which desires the woe of others, and may develop to the

utmost cruelty.

(_c_) Compassion; which desires the weal of others, and may rise to

nobleness and magnanimity.

Every human act is referable to one of these springs; although two of

them may work together. Now, as we have assumed that actions of moral

worth are in point of fact realities; it follows that they also must

proceed from one of these primal sources. But, by the eighth axiom,

they cannot arise from the first, and still less from the second; since

all conduct springing from the latter is morally worthless, while the

offshoots of the former are in part neither good nor bad in themselves.

Hence they must have their origin in the third incentive; and this will

be established _a posteriori_ in the sequel.

(2) Direct sympathy with another is limited to his sufferings, and is

not immediately awakened by his well-being: the latter _per se_ leaves

us indifferent. J. J. Rousseau in his _Émile_ (Bk. IV.) expresses the

same view: "_Première maxime: il n'est pas dans le cœur humain, de

se mettre à la place des gens, qui sont plus heureux que nous, mais

seulement de ceux, qui sont plus à plaindre_,"[1] etc.

The reason of this is that pain or suffering, which includes all

want, privation, need, indeed every wish, is =positive=, and

works =directly= on the consciousness. Whereas the nature of

satisfaction, of enjoyment, of happiness, and the like, consists solely

in the fact that a hardship is done away with, a pain lulled: whence

their effect is =negative=. We thus see why need or desire is the

condition of every pleasure. Plato understood this well enough, and

only excepted sweet odours, and intellectual enjoyment. (_De Rep.,_

IX., p. 264 sq., edit. Bipont.)[2] And Voltaire says: "_Il n'est pas

de vrais plaisirs, qu'avec de vrais besoins_."[3] Pain, then, is

=positive=, and makes itself known by itself: satisfaction or

pleasure is =negative=--simply the removal of the former. This

principle explains the fact that only the suffering, the want, the

danger, the helplessness of another awakens our sympathy directly

and as such. The lucky or contented man, =as such=, leaves us

indifferent--in reality because his state is negative; he is without

pain, indigence, or distress. We may of course take pleasure in the

success, the well-being, the enjoyment of others: but if we do, it is

a secondary pleasure, and caused by our having previously sorrowed

over their sufferings and privations. Or else we share the joy and

happiness of a man, not =as such=, but because, and in so far as,

he is our child, father, friend, relation, servant, subject, etc. In a

word, the good fortune, or pleasure of another, =purely as such=,

does not arouse in us the same direct sympathy as is certainly elicited

by his misfortune, privation, or misery, =purely as such=. If

even on =our own behalf= it is only suffering (under which must

be reckoned all wants, needs, wishes, and even ennui) that stirs our

activity; and if contentment and prosperity fill us with indolence and

lazy repose; why should it not be the same when others are concerned?

For (as we have seen) our sympathy rests on an identification of

ourselves with them. Indeed, the sight of success and enjoyment,

=purely as such=, is very apt to raise the envy, to which every

man is prone, and which has its place among the antimoral forces

enumerated above.

In connection with the exposition of Compassion here given, as the

coming into play of motives directly occasioned by another's calamity,

I take the opportunity of condemning the mistake of Cassina,[4] which

has been so often repeated. His view is that compassion arises from

a sudden hallucination, which makes us put ourselves in the place

of the sufferer, and then imagine that we are undergoing =his=

pain in =own own person=. This is not in the least the case. The

conviction never leaves us for a moment that he is the sufferer, not

we; and it is precisely in his person, not in ours, that we feel the

distress which afflicts us. We suffer =with= him, and therefore in

him; we feel his trouble as =his=, and are not under the delusion

that it is ours; indeed, the happier we are, the greater the contrast

between our own state and his, the more we are open to the promptings

of Compassion. The explanation of the possibility of this extraordinary

phaenomenon is, however, not so easy; nor is it to be reached by the

path of pure psychology, as Cassina supposed. The key can be furnished

by Metaphysics alone; and this I shall attempt to give in the last Part

of the present treatise.

I now turn to consider the derivation of actions of real moral worth

from the source which has been indicated. The general rule by which to

test such conduct, and which, consequently, is the leading principle

of Ethics, I have already enlarged upon in the foregoing Part, and

enunciated as follows: _Neminem laede; immo omnes, quantum potes,

juva._ (Do harm to no one; but rather help all people, as far as lies

in your power.) As this formula contains two clauses, so the actions

corresponding to it fall naturally into two classes.

[1] First maxim: it is not in our hearts to identify ourselves with

those who are happier than we are, but only with those who are less

happy.

[2] Stallbaum: p. 584, sq.--(_Translator._)

[3] There are no real pleasures, without real needs.

[4] _V_. his _Saggio Analitico sulla Compassione_, 1788; German

translation by Pockels, 1790.

CHAPTER VI.

THE VIRTUE OF JUSTICE.

If we look more closely at this process called Compassion, which we

have shown to be the primary ethical phaenomenon, we remark at once

that there are two distinct degrees in which another's suffering may

become directly my motive, that is, may urge me to do something, or

to leave it undone. The first degree of Compassion is seen when,

by counter-acting egoistic and malicious motives, it keeps me from

bringing pain on another, and from becoming myself the cause of

trouble, which so far does not exist. The other higher degree is

manifested, when it works positively, and incites me to active help.

The distinction between the so-called duties of law and duties of

virtue, better described as justice and loving-kindness, which was

effected by Kant in such a forced and artificial manner, here results

entirely of itself; whence the correctness of the principle is

attested. It is the natural, unmistakable, and sharp separation between

negative and positive, between doing no harm, and helping. The terms in

common use--namely, "the duties of law," and "the duties of virtue,"

(the latter being also called "duties of love," or "imperfect duties,")

are in the first place faulty because they co-ordinate the _genus_

with the _species_; for justice is one of the virtues. And next, they

owe their origin to the mistake of giving a much too wide extension to

the idea "Duty"; which I shall reduce to its proper limits below. In

place, therefore, of these duties I put two virtues; the one, justice,

and the other, loving-kindness; and I name them cardinal virtues,

since from them all others not only in fact proceed, but also may be

theoretically derived.... Both have their root in natural Compassion.

And this Compassion is an undeniable fact of human consciousness,

is an essential part of it, and does not depend on assumptions,

conceptions, religions, dogmas, myths, training, and education. On

the contrary, it is original and immediate, and lies in human nature

itself. It consequently remains unchanged under all circumstances, and

reveals itself in every land, and at all times. This is why appeal is

everywhere confidently made to it, as to something necessarily present

in every man; and it is never an attribute of the "strange gods." [1]

As he, who appears to be without compassion, is called inhuman; so

"humanity" is often used as its synonyme.

The first degree, then, in which this natural and genuine moral

incentive shows itself is only =negative=. Originally we are all

disposed to injustice and violence, because our need, our desire, our

anger and hate pass into the consciousness directly, and hence have

the _Jus primi occupantis_. (The right of the first occupant.) Whereas

the sufferings of others, caused by our injustice and violence, enter

the consciousness indirectly, that is, by the secondary channel of a

mental picture, and not till they are understood by experience. Thus

Seneca (_Ep._ 50) says: _Ad neminem ante bona mens venit, quam mala_.

(Good feelings never come before bad ones.) In its first degree,

therefore, Compassion opposes and baffles the design to which I am

urged by the antimoral forces dwelling within me, and which will bring

trouble on a fellow-being. It calls out to me: "Stop!" and encircles

the other as with a fence, so as to protect him from the injury which

otherwise my egoism or malice would lead me to inflict on him. So

arises out of this first degree of compassion the rule: _Neminem

laede_. (Do harm to no one.) This is the fundamental principle of the

virtue of justice, and here alone is to be found its origin, pure and

simple,--an origin which is truly moral, and free from all extraneous

admixture. Otherwise derived, justice would have to rest on Egoism,--a

_reductio ad absurdum_. If my nature is susceptible of Compassion up

to this point, then it will avail to keep me back, whenever I should

like to use others' pain as a means to obtain my ends; equally, whether

this pain be immediate, or an after-consequence, whether it be effected

directly, or indirectly, through intermediate links. I shall therefore

lay hands on the property as little as on the person of another, and

avoid causing him distress, no less mental than bodily. I shall thus

not only abstain from doing him physical injury, but also, with equal

care I shall guard against inflicting on him the suffering of mind,

which mortification and calumny, anxiety and vexation so surely work.

The same sense of Compassion will check me from gratifying my desires

at the cost of women's happiness for life, or from seducing another

man's wife, or from ruining youths morally and physically by tempting

them to _paederastia_. Not that it is at all necessary in each single

case that Compassion should be definitely excited; indeed it would

often come too late; but rather the rule: _Neminem laede_, is formed by

noble minds out of the knowledge, gained once for all, of the injury

which every unjust act necessarily entails upon others, and which is

aggravated by the feeling of having to endure wrong through a _force

majeure_. Such natures are led by reflecting reason to carry out this

principle with unswerving resolution. They respect the rights of every

man, and abstain from all encroachment on them; they keep themselves

free from self-reproach, by refusing to be the cause of others'

trouble; they do not shift on to shoulders not their own, by force or

by trickery, the burdens and sorrows of life, which circumstances bring

to every one; they prefer to bear themselves the portions allotted

to them, so as not to double those of their neighbours. For although

generalising formulae, and abstract knowledge of whatever kind, are

not in the least the cause, or the real basis of morality; these are

nevertheless indispensable for a moral course of life. They are the

cistern or reservoir, in which the habit of mind, that springs from

the fount of all morality (a fount not at all moments flowing), may

be stored up, thence to be drawn off, as occasion requires. There is

thus an analogy between things moral and things physiological; among

many instances of which we need only mention that of the gall-bladder,

which is used for keeping the secretion of the liver. Without

firmly held principles we should inevitably be at the mercy of the

antimoral incentives, directly they are roused to activity by external

influences; and =self-control= lies precisely in steadfast

adherence and obedience to such principles, despite the motives which

oppose them.