[8] Avatāra (ava-tṛī to descend), descent of a deity from heaven;

_e.g._, the ten incarnations of Vishṇu. _V_. Monier Williams' _Sanskrit

Dictionary_.--(_Translator_.)

[9] Sannyāsin (one who lays down, or resigns), an ascetic; a religious

mendicant, or Brāhman of the fourth order. _V._ Monier Williams'

_Sanskrit Dictionary_.--(_Translator_.)

[10] _V_. Apuleius: _Apologia sive De Magia Liber_ (Lipsiae, Teubner,

1900: page 41, chap, xxxi): _Pythagoram ... memoriae prodiderunt,

cum animaduertisset proxime Metapontum in litore Italiae suae, quam

subsiciuam Graeciam fecerat, a quibusdam piscatoribus euerriculum

trahi, fortunam iactus eius emisse et pretio dato iussisse,

ilico piscis eos qui capti tenebantur solui retibus et reddi

profundo._--(_Translator_.)

[11] In Vol. II. of my _Parerga_, § 177, I have shown that its origin

can be traced to the Old Testament.

[12] How seriously the matter is being taken up may be seen from the

following case which is quite recent. I quote from the _Birmingham

Journal_ of December, 1839. "Arrest of a company of eighty-four

abettors of dog-fights.--It had come to the knowledge of the Society

of Animals' Friends that the Square in Fox Street, Birmingham, was

yesterday to be the scene of a dog-fight. Measures were accordingly

taken to secure the assistance of the police, and a strong detachment

of constables was sent to the spot. At the right moment all the persons

present were arrested. These precious conspirators were then handcuffed

together in pairs, and the whole party was made fast by a long rope

passing between each couple. In this fashion they were marched off

to the Police Station, where mayor and magistrate were sitting in

readiness for them. The two ringleaders were condemned to pay, each,

a fine of £1, and 8s. _6d_. costs; in default, to undergo 14 days'

hard labour." The coxcombs whose habit is never to miss noble sport of

this sort, must have looked somewhat crestfallen in the midst of the

procession. But the _Times_ of April 6, 1855, p. 6, supplies a still

more striking instance from the present day; and here we find the paper

itself assuming judicial functions, and imposing the right punishment.

It recounts the case of a very wealthy Scotch baronet's daughter. The

matter had been brought before the law, and the evidence showed that

the girl had used a cudgel and knife on her horse with the greatest

cruelty; for which she was ordered to pay a fine of £5. But for one

in her position such a sum means nothing, and she would practically

have got off scot-free, had not the _Times_ intervened to inflict

on her a proper correction, such as she would really feel. It twice

mentions the young lady's name in full, printing it in large type,

and concludes as follows: "We cannot help saying that a few months'

imprisonment with the addition of an occasional whipping administered

in private, but by the most muscular woman in Hampshire, would have

been a much more suitable penalty for Miss M. N. A wretched being of

this sort has forfeited all the consideration and the privileges that

attach to her sex; we cannot regard her any longer as a woman." These

newspaper paragraphs I would especially recommend to the notice of the

associations now formed in Germany against cruelty to animals; for they

show what lines should be adopted, in order to reach some solid result.

At the same time I desire to express my cordial appreciation of the

praiseworthy zeal shown by Herrn Hofrath Perner, of Munich, who has

entirely devoted himself to this branch of well-doing, and succeeded in

arousing interest in it all over the country. [It should be observed

that the first portion of this note belongs to the earliest edition

of the work, published September, 1840; the latter part was written

for the second edition, which appeared in August, 1860. This explains

why Schopenhauer says that the first instance, dated 1839, is "quite

recent," and that the second, dated 1855, is taken "from the present

day."--(_Translator_.)

[13] There is another principle which Hobbes did not perceive

at all. It was implanted in man in order to soften, in certain

circumstances, the fierceness of his self-love, and it moderates the

ardour, which he feels for his own well-being, by producing a certain

_innate aversion to the sight of a fellow-creature's suffering_. In

attributing to man _the only natural virtue,_ which even the most

advanced scepticism has been forced to recognise, I stand, assuredly,

in no fear of any contradiction. I allude to _compassion_, etc.

[14] Mandeville was right in thinking that with all their

systems of morality, men would never have been anything but monsters,

if nature had not given them _compassion_ to support their reason; but

he failed to see that _from this one quality spring all the social

virtues_, which he was unwilling to credit mankind with. In reality,

what is generosity, clemency, humanity, if not _compassion_, applied

to the weak, to the guilty, or to the human race, as a whole? Even

benevolence and friendship, if we look at the matter rightly, are

seen to result from a constant compassion, directed upon a particular

object; for to desire that some one should not suffer is nothing else

than to desire that he should be happy.... The more closely _the living

spectator identifies himself with the living sufferer,_ the more active

does pity become.

[15] It is, then, quite certain that compassion is a natural

feeling, which checking, as it does, the love of self in each

individual, helps by a reciprocal process to preserve the whole race.

This it is, which in the state of nature, takes the place of laws,

customs, and virtues, with the added advantage that no one will be

tempted to disobey its gentle voice; this it is, which will restrain

every able-bodied savage, provided he hope to find his own livelihood

elsewhere, from robbing a weak child, or depriving an infirm old man of

the subsistence won by hard toil; this it is, which inspires all men,

not indeed with that sublime maxim of reasoned justice: "Do to others

as you would they should do unto you;" but with another rule of natural

goodness, no doubt less perfect, but perhaps more useful, namely: "Do

what is good for yourself with the least possible harm to others." In a

word, it is _in this natural feeling rather than in subtle arguments_

that we must look for the reason of the repugnance with which every

one is accustomed to view bad conduct, quite independently of the

principles laid down by education.

[16] In fact, how is it that we let ourselves be moved to

pity, if not by getting out of our own consciousness, and _becoming

identified with the living sufferer; by leaving_, so to say, _our own

being, and entering into his?_ We do not suffer, except as we suppose

he suffers; _it is not in us, it is in him_, that we suffer ... offer

a young man objects, on which the expansive force of his heart can

act; objects such as may enlarge his nature, and incline it to go out

to _other beings_, in whom he may everywhere _find himself again_.

Keep carefully away those things which narrow his view, and make

him self-centred, and which tighten the strings of the _human ego_.

(_Tendent le ressort_ (stretch the spring) _du moi humain: i.e._,

stimulate the _egoistic tendency_.)--(_Translator_.)

[17] _Journal Asiatique_, Vol. ix., p. 62. Cf. Meng-Tseu

(otherwise called Mencius), edited by Stanislas Julien, 1824, Bk. I, §

45; also Meng-Tseu in the _Livres Sacrés de l'Orient_, by Panthier p.

281.

_V. Dictionnaire Français--Latin--Chinois_, par Paul Perny (Didot Frères, Paris,

1869); where the five cardinal virtues (image) are transliterated] ou

châng. _V_. also: _A Syllabic Dictionary of the Chinese Language_; by

S. Wells Williams, LL.B. (Shanghai: 1874); where Sin (Sin), _i.e._,

humanity, love of one's neighbour, is written Sin'.--(_Translator._)

[18] The Athenians have an altar in their Agora to Compassion;

for this deity, they believe, is of all the gods the most helpful in

human life, and its vicissitudes. They are the only Greeks who have

instituted this cultus.--(_Translator_.)

[19] _V_. Lucian, _Timon_, chap. 42 (_Ausgewählte Schriften des

Lucian_, edit. Julius Sommerbrodt; Weidmann, Berlin, 1872, p. 75):

_ϕίλος δὲ ἣ ξένος ἣ ἑταῑρος ἣ Έλέον βωμός ὔθλος πολύς_. _V_. also

Apollodorus (edit. J. Bekker); 2, 8, 1. 3, 7, 1. Dem. (edit. Reisk.),

57. Scholiast on Soph. _Œd. Col._,258.--(_Translator_.)

[20] A temple must not be despoiled of its altar, nor human

nature of compassion. _V_. Joannis Stobaei _Anthologium,_ edit. Curtius

Wachsmuth et Otto Hense; Weidmann, Berlin, 1894; Vol. III., p. 20, Nr.

52.--(_Translator_.)

[21] The chief of virtues is said to be Compassion. The

_Paṅća-tantra_ is a well-known collection of moral stories and fables

in five (_paṅćan_) books or chapters (_tantra_), from which the author

of the _Hitopadeśa_ drew a large portion of his materials. _V_. Monier

Williams' _Sanskrit Dictionary_.--(_Translator_.)

CHAPTER IX.

ON THE ETHICAL DIFFERENCE OF CHARACTER.

There still remains a question to be resolved, before the basis which

I have given to Ethics can be presented in all its completeness. It

is this. On what does the great difference in the moral behaviour of

men rest? If Compassion be the original incentive of all true, that

is, disinterested justice and loving-kindness; how comes it that some

are, while others are not, influenced thereby? Are we to suppose that

Ethics, which discloses the moral stimulus, is also capable of setting

it in motion? Can Ethics fashion the hard-hearted man anew, so that

he becomes compassionate, and, as a consequence, just and humane?

Certainly not. The difference of character is innate, and ineradicable.

The wicked man is born with his wickedness as much as the serpent is

with its poison-fangs and glands, nor can the former change his nature

a whit more than the latter.[1] _Velle non discitur_ (to use one's will

is not a thing that can be taught) is a saying of Nero's tutor. In the

_Meno_, Plato minutely investigates the nature of virtue, and inquires

whether it can, or cannot, be taught. He quotes a passage from Theognis:

_ἀλλὰ διδάσκων_

_Οὔποτε ποιήσεις τὸν κακὸν ἄνδρ' ἀγαθόν._

(But thou wilt ne'er,

By teaching make the bad man virtuous.)

and finally reaches this conclusion: _ἀρετὴ ἃν εἴη oὔτε ϕύσει,

oὔτε διδακτόν, ἀλλὰ θείᾳ μοίρᾳ παραγυγνομένη, ἄνευ νοῡ, οἷς ἄν

παραγίγνηται_.[2] Here the terms _ϕύσει_ and _θείᾳ μοίρᾳ_, form a

distinction, in my opinion, much the same as that between "physical"

and "metaphysical." Socrates, the father of Ethics, if we may trust

Aristotle, declared that _oὐκ ἐϕ' ἡ μῑν γενέσθαι τὸ σπουδαίους εἶναι,

ἢ ϕαύλους._[3] (_Moralia Magna_, i. 9.) Moreover, Aristotle himself

expresses the same view; _παςι γὰρ δοκεῑ ἕκαστα τῶν ἠθῶν ὑπάρχειν

ϕύσει τως' καὶ γὰρ δίκαιοι, καὶ σωϕρονικοὶ, καὶ τἄλλa ἔχομεν εὐθyς

ἐκ γενετῆς._[4] (_Eth. Nicom._ vi. 13.) We find also a similar

conviction very decidedly expressed in the fragments attributed

to the Pythagorean Archytas, and preserved by Stobaeus in the

_Florilegium_ (Chap. i. § 77).[5] If not authentic, they are certainly

very old. Orelli gives them in his _Opuscula Graecorum Sententiosa et

Moralia_. There (Vol. II., p. 240) we read in the Dorian dialect as

follows:--_Τὰς γὰρ λόγοις καὶ ἀποδείξεσιν ποτιχρωμένας ἀρετὰς δέον

έπιστάμας ποταγορεύεν, ἀρετὰν δέ, τὰν ἠθικὰν καὶ βελτίσταν ἕξιν τῶ

ἀλόγω μέρεος τᾱς ·ψυχᾱς, καθ' ἃν καὶ ποιοί τινες ἦμεν λεγόμεθα κατὰ

τὸ ἦθος, οἷον ἐλευθέριοι, δίκαιοι καὶ σώϕρονες_.[6] On examining the

virtues and vices, as summarised by Aristotle in the _De Virtutibus

et Vitiis_, it will be found that all of them, without exception, are

not properly thinkable unless assumed to be inborn qualities, and

that only as such can they be genuine. If, in consequence of reasoned

reflection, we take them as voluntary, they are then seen to lose their

reality, and pass into the region of empty forms; whence it immediately

follows that their permanence and resistance under the storm and stress

of circumstance could not be counted on. And the same is true of the

virtue of loving-kindness, of which Aristotle, in common with all the

ancients, knows nothing. Montaigne keeps, of course, his sceptical

tone, but he practically agrees with the venerable authorities

above quoted, when he says: _Serait-il vrai, que pour être bon tout

à fait, il nous le faille être par occulte, naturelle et universelle

propriété, sans lot, sans raison, sans exemple_?[7]--(Liv. II., chap.

11.) Lichtenberg hits the mark exactly in his _Vermischte Schriften_,

(_v. Moralische Bemerkungen_). He writes: "All virtue arising from

premeditation is not worth much. What is wanted is feeling or habit."

Lastly, it should be noted that Christianity itself, in its original

teaching, recognises, and bears witness to this inherent, immutable

difference between character and character. In the Sermon on the Mount

we find the allegory of the fruit which is determined by the nature of

the tree that bears it (_Luke_ vi. 43, 44; cf. _Matthew_ vii. 16-18);

and then in the following verse (_Luke_ vi. 45), we read: _ὁ ἀγαθὸς

ἄνθρωπος ἐκ τοῡ ἀγαθοῡ θησαυροῡ τῆς καρδίας αὐτοῡ προϕέρει τὸ ἀγαθὸν

καὶ ὁ πονμρὸς ἄνθρωπος ἐκ τοῡ πoνηροῡ θησαυροῡ τῆς καρδίας αὐτοῡ

προϕέρει τὸπονηρόν._[8] (Cf. _Matthew_ xii. 35.)

But it was Kant who first completely cleared up this important

point through his profound doctrine of the =empirical= and

=intelligible=[9] character. He showed that the empirical

character, which manifests itself in time and in multiplicity

of action, is a phaenomenon; while the reality behind it is the

intelligible character, which, being the essential constitution of the

Thing in itself underlying the phaenomenon, is independent of time,

space, plurality, and change. In this way alone can be explained what

is so astonishing, and yet so well known to all who have learnt life's

lessons,--the fixed unchangeableness of human character. There are

certain ethical writers, whose aim is the moral improvement of men, and

who talk of progress made in the path of virtue; but their assurances

are always met and victoriously confuted by the irrefragable facts

of experience, which prove that virtue is nature's work and cannot

be inculcated. The character is an original datum, immutable, and

incapable of any amelioration through correction by the intellect. Now,

were this not so; and further: if (as the above-mentioned dull-headed

preachers maintain) an improvement of the character, and hence "a

constant advance towards the good" were possible by means of moral

instruction; then, unless we are prepared to suppose that all the

various religious institutions, and all the efforts of the moralists

fail in their purpose, we should certainly expect to find that the

older half of mankind, at least on an average, is distinctly better

than the younger. This, however, is so far from being the case, that it

is not to the old, who have, as we see, grown worse by experience, but

to the young that we look for something good. It may happen that in his

old age one man appears somewhat better, another worse, than he was in

his youth. But the reason is not far to seek. It is simply because with

length of days the intelligence by constant correction becomes riper,

and hence the character stands out in purer and clearer shape; while

early life is a prey to ignorance, mistakes, and chimeras, which now

present false motives, and now veil the real. For a fuller explanation

I would refer the reader to the principles laid down in Chapter III. of

the preceding Essay, on "The Freedom of the Will."[10] It is true that

among convicts the young have a large majority; but this is because,

when a tendency to crime exists in the character, it soon finds a way

of expressing itself in acts, and of reaching its goal--the galleys, or

the gibbet; while he, whom all the inducements to wrong doing, which

a long life offers, have failed to lead astray, is not likely to fall

at the eleventh hour. Hence the respect paid to age is, in my opinion,

due to the fact that the old are considered to have passed through a

test of sixty or seventy years, and kept their integrity unsullied; for

this of course is the _sine qua non_ of the honour accorded them. These

things are too well known for any one, in real life, to be misled by

the promises of the moralists we have spoken of. He who has once been

proved guilty of evil-doing, is never again trusted, just as the noble

nature, of which a man has once given evidence, is always confidently

believed in, whatever else may have changed. _Operari sequitur esse_

(what one does follows from what one is) forms, as we have seen in Part

II., Chapter VIII., a pregnant tenet of the Schoolmen. Everything in

the world works according to the unchangeable constitution of which

its being, its =essentia= is composed. And man is no exception.

As the individual is, so will he, so must he, act: and the _liberum

arbitrium indifferentiae_ (free and indifferent choice) is an invention

of philosophy in her childhood, long since exploded; although there

are some old women, in doctor's academicals, who still like to drag it

about with them.

The three fundamental springs of human action--Egoism, Malice,

Compassion--are inherent in every one in different and strangely

unequal proportions. Their combination in any given case determines

the weight of the motives that present themselves, and shapes the

resulting line of conduct. To an egoistic character egoistic motives

alone appeal, and those, which suggest either compassion or malice,

have no appreciable effect. Thus, a man of this type will sacrifice

his interests as little to take vengeance on his foes, as to help his

friends. Another, whose nature is highly susceptible to malicious

motives, will not shrink from doing great harm to himself, so only he

may injure his neighbour. For there are characters which take such

delight in working mischief on others, that they forget their own

loss, which is perhaps, equal to what they inflict. One may say of

such: _Dum alteri noceat sui negligens_[11] (disregarding himself so

long as he injures the other). These are the people that plunge with

passionate joy into the battle in which they expect to receive quite

as many wounds as they deal; indeed, experience not seldom testifies

that they are ready deliberately, first to kill the man who thwarts

their purposes, and then themselves, in order to escape the penalty

of the law. On the other hand, =goodness of heart= consists of a

deeply felt, all-embracing Compassion for everything that has breath,

and especially for man; because, in proportion as the intelligence

develops, capacity for pain increases; and hence, the countless

sufferings of human beings, in mind and body, have a much stronger

claim to Compassion than those of animals, which are only physical,

and in any case less acute. This goodness of heart, therefore, in the

first place restrains a man from doing any sort of harm to others, and,

next, it bids him give succour whenever and wherever he sees distress.

And the path of Compassion may lead as far in one direction as Malice

does in the other. Certain rare characters of fine sensibility take to

heart the calamities of others more than their own, so that they make

sacrifices, which, it may be, entail on themselves a greater amount

of suffering than that removed from those they benefit. Nay, in cases

where several, or, perhaps, a large number of persons, at one time,

can be helped in this way, such men do not, if need be, flinch from

absolute self-effacement. Arnold von Winkelried was one of these. So

was Paulinus, Bishop of Nola, in the fifth century, when the Vandals

crossed over from Africa and invaded Italy. Of him we read in Johann

von Müller's _Weltgeschichte_ (Bk. X., chap. 10) that "in order to

ransom some of the prisoners, he had already disposed of all the church

plate, his own and his friends' private property. Then, on seeing the

anguish of a widow, whose only son was being carried off, he offered

himself for servitude in the other's stead. For whoever was of suitable

age, and had not fallen by the sword, was taken captive to Carthage."

There is, then, an enormous difference between character and character.

Being original and innate, it measures the responsiveness of the

individual to this or that motive, and those alone, to which he is

specially sensitive, will appeal to him with anything like compelling

force. As in chemistry, with unchangeable certainty, one substance

reacts only upon acids, another only upon alkalies, so, with equal

invariableness, different natures respond to different stimuli. The

motives suggesting loving-kindness, which stir so deeply a good

disposition, can, of themselves, effect nothing in a heart that listens

only to the promptings of Egoism. If it be wished to induce the egoist

to act with beneficence and humanity, this can be done but in one way:

he must be made to believe that the assuaging of others' suffering

will, somehow or other, surely turn out to his =own advantage=.

What, indeed, are most moral systems but attempts of different kinds in

this direction? But such procedure only misleads, does not better, the

will. To make a real improvement, it would be necessary to transform

the entire nature of the individual's susceptibility for motives. Thus,

from one we should have to remove his indifference to the suffering

of others as such; from another, the delight which he feels in causing

pain; from a third, the natural tendency which makes him regard the

smallest increase of his own well-being as so far outweighing all other

motives, that the latter become as dust in the balance. Only it is far

easier to change lead into gold than to accomplish such a task. For

it means the turning round, so to say, of a man's heart in his body,

the remoulding of his very being. In point of fact, all that can be

done is to clear the =intellect=, correct the =judgment=,

and so bring him to a better comprehension of the objective realities

and actual relations of life. This effected, the only result gained is

that his will reveals itself more logically, distinctly, and decidedly,

with no false ring in its utterance. It should be noted that just as

many a good act rests at bottom on false motives, on well-meant, yet

illusory representations of an advantage to be obtained thereby in

this, or another, world; so not a few misdeeds are due solely to an

imperfect understanding of the conditions of human life. It is on this

latter truth that the American penitentiary system is based. Here the

aim is not, to improve the =heart=, but simply, to educate the

=head= of the criminal, so that he may intellectually come to

perceive that prosperity is more surely, indeed more easily, reached by

work and honesty than by idleness and knavery.

By the proper presentment of motives =legality= may be secured,

but not =morality=. It is possible to remodel what one does, but

not what one =wills to do=; and it is to the will alone that

real moral worth belongs. It is not possible to change the goal which

the will strives after, but only the path expected to lead thither.

Instruction may alter the selection of means, but not the choice of

the ultimate object which the individual keeps before him in all he

does; this is determined by his will in accordance with its original

nature. It is true that the egoist may be brought to understand that,

if he gives up certain small advantages, he will gain greater; and the

malicious man may be taught that by injuring others he will injure

himself still more. But Egoism itself, and Malice itself, will never

be argued out of a person; as little as a cat can be talked out of her

inclination for mice. Similarly with goodness of heart. If the judgment

be trained, if the relations and conditions of life become understood,

in a word, if the intellect be enlightened; the character dominated by

loving-kindness will be led to express itself more consistently and

completely than it otherwise could. This happens when we perceive the

remoter consequences which our conduct has for others: the sufferings,

perhaps, that overtake them indirectly, and only after lapse of

time, through one act or another of ours, which we had no idea was

so harmful. It occurs, too, when we come to discern the evil results

of many a well-meant action, as, for instance, the screening of a

criminal; and it is especially true when we realise that the _Neminem

laede_ (injure no one) has in all cases precedence over the _Omnes

juva_ (help all men). In this sense there is undoubtedly such a thing

as a moral education, an ethical training capable of making men better.

But it goes only as far as I have indicated, and its limits are quickly

discovered. The head is filled with the light of knowledge; the heart

remains unimproved. The fundamental and determining element, in things

moral, no less than in things intellectual, and things physical, is

that which is inborn. Art is always subordinate, and can only lend a

helping hand. Each man is, what he is, as it were, "by the grace of

God," _jure divino, θείᾳ, μοίρᾳ_, (by divine dispensation).

_Du bist am Ende--WAS DU BIST._

_Setz' dir Perrücken auf von Millionen Locken,_

_Setz' deinen Fuss auf ellenhohe Socken:_

_DU BLEIBST DOCH IMMER WAS DU BIST._[12]

But the reader, I am sure, has long been wishing to put the question:

Where, then, does blame and merit come in? The answer is fully

contained in Part IL, Chapter VIII., to which I therefore beg to call

particular attention. It is there that the explanation, which otherwise

would now follow, found a natural place; because the matter is closely

connected with Kant's doctrine of the co-existence of Freedom and

Necessity. Our investigation led to the conclusion that, once the

motives are brought into play, the _Operari_ (what, is done) is a thing

of absolute necessity; consequently, Freedom, the existence of which

is betokened solely by the sense of =responsibility=, cannot

but belong to the _Esse_ (what one is). No doubt the reproaches of

conscience have to do, in the first place, and ostensibly, with our

acts, but through these they, in reality, reach down to what we are;

for what we do is the only indisputable index of what we =are=,

and reflects our character just as faithfully as symptoms betray the

malady. Hence it is to this _Esse_, to what we =are=, that blame

and merit must ultimately be attributed. Whatever we esteem and love,

or else despise and hate, in others, is not a changeable, transient

appearance, but something constant, stable, and persistent; it is that

which they are. If we find reason to alter our first opinion about

any one, we do not suppose that he is changed, but that we have been

mistaken in him. In like manner, when we are pleased or displeased

with our own conduct, we say that we are satisfied or dissatisfied

with ourselves, meaning, in reality, with that which we are, and are

unalterably, irreversibly; and the same is true with regard to our

intellectual qualities, nay, it even applies to the physiognomy. How

is it possible, then, for blame and merit to lie otherwise than in

what we =are=? As we saw in Part II., Chapter VII., Conscience

is that =register= of our acts, which is always growing longer,

and therefore that acquaintance with ourselves which every day becomes

more complete. Conscience concerns itself directly with all that we

do; when, at one time, actuated by Egoism, or perhaps Malice, we

turn a deaf ear to Compassion, which bids us at least refrain from

harming others, if we will not afford them help and protection; or

when again, at another time, we overcome the first two incentives,

and listen to the voice of the third. Both cases measure the

=distinction= we =draw between ourselves and others=. And on

=this distinction= depends in the last resort the degree of our

morality or immorality, that is, of our justice and loving-kindness,

or the reverse. Little by little the number of those actions, whose

testimony is significant on this point, accumulates in the storehouse

of our memory; and thus the lineaments of our character are depicted

with ever greater clearness, and a true knowledge of ourselves is

nearer attainment. And out of such knowledge there springs a sense of

satisfaction, or dissatisfaction with ourselves, with that which we

are, according as we have been ruled by Egoism, by Malice, or else by

Compassion; in other words, according as the difference we have made

between ourselves and others is greater or smaller. And when we look

outside ourselves, it is by the same standard that we judge those about

us; and we become acquainted with their character--less perfectly

indeed--yet by the same empirical method as we employ with reference to

our own. In this case our feelings take the form of praise, approval,

respect, or, on the other hand, of reproach, displeasure, contempt,

and they are the objective translation, so to say, of the subjective

satisfaction or dissatisfaction (the latter deepening perhaps into

remorse), which arises in us when we sit in judgment on ourselves.

Lastly, there is the evidence of language. We find certain constantly

occurring forms of speech which bear eloquent testimony to the fact

that the blame we cast upon others is in reality directed against their

unchangeable character, touching but superficially what they do; that

virtue and vice are practically, if tacitly, regarded as inherent

unalterable qualities. The following are some of these expressions:

_Jetzt sehe ich, wie du bist_! (Now I know your nature!) _In dir habe

ich mich geirrt_. (I was mistaken in you.) "Now I see what you are!"

_Voilà donc, comme tu es!_ (This, then, is what you are!) _So bin ich

nicht!_ (I am not a person of that sort!) _Ich bin nicht der Mann, der

fähig wäre, Sie zu hintergehen_. (I am not the man to impose upon you.)

Also: _les âmes bien nées_ (persons well-born, _i.e._, noble-minded),

the Spanish _bien nacido; εὐγενής_ (properly "well-born"), _εὐγένεια_

(properly "nobility of birth") used for "virtuous" and "virtue";

_generosioris animi amicus_ (a friend of lofty mind. _Generosus_: lit.

"of noble birth"), etc.

Reason is a necessary condition for conscience, but only because

without the former a clear and connected recollection is impossible.

From its very nature conscience does not speak till =after=

the act; hence we talk of being arraigned before its =bar=.

Strictly speaking, it is improper to say that conscience speaks

=beforehand=; for it can only do so indirectly; that is, when

the remembrance of particular cases in the past leads us, through

reflection, to disapprove of some analogous course of action, while yet

in embryo.

Such is the ethical fact as delivered by consciousness. It forms of

itself a metaphysical problem, which does not directly belong to the

present question, but which will be touched on in the last part.

Conscience, then, is nothing else than the acquaintance we make

with our own changeless character through the instrumentality of

our acts. A little consideration will show that this definition

harmonises perfectly with, and hence receives additional confirmation

from, what I have here specially emphasised: namely, the fact that

=susceptibility= for the motives of Egoism, of Malice, and of

Compassion, which is so widely dissimilar in different individuals, and

on which the whole moral value of a man depends, cannot be interpreted

by anything else, nor be gained, or removed, by instruction, as if it

were something born in time, and therefore variable, and subject to

chance. On the contrary, we have seen that it is innate and fixed, an

ultimate datum, admitting of no further explanation. Thus an entire

life, with the whole of its manifold activity, may be likened to a

clock-dial, that marks every movement of the internal works, as they

were made once for all; or it resembles a mirror, wherein alone, with

the eye of his intellect, each person sees reflected the essential

nature of his own Will, that is, the core of his being.

Whoever takes the trouble to thoroughly think out what has been put

forward here, and in Part. II., Chapter VIII., will discover in the

foundation given by me to Ethics a logical consecution, a rounded

completeness, wanting to all other theories; to say nothing of the

consonance of my view with the facts of experience,--a consonance which

he will look for in vain elsewhere. For only the truth can uniformly

and consistently agree with itself and with nature; while all false

principles are internally at variance with themselves, and externally

contradict the testimony of experience, which at every step records its

silent protest.

I am perfectly aware that the truths advanced in this Essay, and

particularly here at the close, strike directly at many deeply rooted

prejudices and mistakes, and especially at those attaching to a

certain rudimentary system of morals, now much in vogue, and suitable

for elementary schools. But I cannot own to feeling any penitence or

regret. For, in the first place, I am addressing neither children, nor

the _profanum vulgus_, but an Academy of light and learning. Their

inquiry is a purely theoretical one, concerned with the ultimate

fundamental verities of Ethics; and to a most serious question a

serious answer is undoubtedly expected. And secondly, in my opinion,

there can be no such thing as harmless mistakes, still less privileged

or useful ones. On the contrary, every error works infinitely more evil

than good. If, however, it is wished to make existing prepossessions

the standard of truth, or the boundary beyond which its investigation

is not to go, then it would be more honest to abolish philosophical

Faculties and Academies altogether. For where no reality exists, there

also no semblance of it should be. <hr class="r5" />

[1] Cf. _Jeremiah_ xiii. 23.--(_Translator._)

[2] Virtue would appear not to come naturally (_i.e_., through

the physical order of things), nor can it be taught; but in whomsoever

it dwells, there it is present, _apart from the intellect, under divine

ordinance. [V_. Platonis _Opera_, edit. Didot, Paris, 1856; Vol. I.

_Meno_, 96 and 99, _ad fin_.-- (_Translator_.)

[3] _It is not in our power_ to be either good or bad.

[4] For it appears that the different characters of all men

are in some way implanted in them _by nature_; if we are just, and

temperate, and otherwise virtuous, we are so _straightway from our

birth._

[5] _V_. Joannis Stobaei _Florilegium_, edit. Meineke, publ.

Lipsiae, Teubner, 1855; Vol. I., p. 33,1. 14, sqq.--(_Translator_.)

[6] For the so-called virtues, that require reasoning and

demonstration, ought to be called sciences. By the term "virtue" we

mean rather a certain moral and excellent disposition of _the soul's

unreasoning part_. This disposition determines the character which we

show, and in accordance with which we are called generous, just, or

temperate.

[7] Are we to believe it true that we can only be thoroughly

good by virtue of a certain occult, natural, and universal faculty,

without law, without reason, without precedent?

[8] The good man out of the good treasure of his heart

bringeth forth that which is good; and the evil man out of the evil

treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is evil.

[9] _V_. Note on "intelligible," Part. II., Chapter

I.--(_translator_.)

[10] _Die Freiheit des Willens_ and the present treatise

were published by Schopenhauer together, under the title of

_Die Beiden Grundprobleme der Ethik. V_. Introduction, p. xv.,

note.--(_Translator_.)

[11] Seneca, _De Ira_, I. 1.

[12]

In spite of all, thou art still--_what thou art._

Though wigs with countless curls thy head-gear be,

Though shoes an ell in height adorn thy feet:

_Unchang'd thou e'er remainest what thou art._

_V_. Goethe's _Faust_, Part I., Studirzimmer.--(_Translator_.)]

PART IV.

ON THE METAPHYSICAL EXPLANATION OF THE PRIMAL ETHICAL PHAENOMENON.

CHAPTER I.

HOW THIS APPENDIX MUST BE UNDERSTOOD.

In the foregoing pages the moral incentive (Compassion) has been

established as a fact, and I have shown that from it alone can proceed

unselfish justice and genuine loving-kindness, and that on these two

cardinal virtues all the rest depend. Now, for the purpose of supplying

Ethics with a foundation, this is sufficient, in a certain sense; that

is, in so far as Moral Science necessarily requires to be supported by

some actual and demonstrable basis, whether existing in the external

world, or in the consciousness. The only alternative is to tread in the

footsteps that so many of my predecessors have left, in other words, to

choose arbitrarily some proposition or other,--some bare and abstract

formula--and make it the source of all that morality prescribes;

or, like Kant, to sublimate a mere idea, that of =law=, into

the key-stone of the ethical arch. But, dismissing this method for

the reasons discussed above, in the Second Part, the investigation

proposed by the Royal Society appears to me now completed. For their

question, as it stands, deals only with the foundation of Ethics; as

to a possible metaphysical explanation of this foundation nothing

whatever is asked. Nevertheless, at the point we have reached, I am

very sensible that the human spirit can find no abiding satisfaction,

no real repose. As in all branches of practical research, so also

in Ethical Science, when all is said, man is inevitably confronted

with an ultimate phaenomenon, which while it renders an account

of everything that it includes, and everything deducible from it,

remains itself an unexplained riddle. So that here, as elsewhere, the

want is felt of a final interpretation (which, obviously, cannot but

be =metaphysical=) of the ultimate data, as such, and through

these,--if they be taken in their entirety--of the world. And here,

too, this want finds utterance in the question: How is it that, what

is present to our senses, and grasped by our intellect, is as it is,

and not otherwise? And how does the character of the phaenomenon, as

manifest to us, shape itself out of the essential nature of things?

Indeed, in Moral Science the need of a metaphysical basis is more

urgent than in any other, because all systems, philosophical no less

than religious, are at one in persistently attaching to =conduct=

not only an ethical, but also a metaphysical significance, which,

passing beyond the mere appearance of things, transcends every

possibility of experience, and therefore stands in the closest

connection with human destiny and with the whole cosmic process. For

if life (it is averred) have a meaning, then the supreme goal to which

it points is undoubtedly ethical. Nor is this view a bare unsupported

theory; it is sufficiently established by the undeniable fact that,

as death draws nigh, the thoughts of each individual assume a moral

trend, equally whether he be credulous of religious dogmas, or not;

he is manifestly anxious to wind up the affairs of his life, now

verging to its end, entirely from the =moral= standpoint. In

this particular the testimony of the ancients is of special value,

standing, as they do, outside the pale of Christian influence. I shall

therefore here quote a remarkable passage preserved by Stobaeus, in his

_Florilegium_ (chap. 44, §. 20). It has been attributed to the earliest

Hellenic lawgiver, Zaleucus, though, according to Bentley and Heyne,

its source is Pythagorean. The language is graphic and unmistakable.

_Δεῑ τίθεσθαι πρὸ ὀμμάτων τὸν καιρὸν τοῡτον, ἐν ᾧ γίγνεται τὸ τέλος

ἑκάστῳ τῆς ἀπαλλαγς τοῡ ξῆν. Πᾱσι γὰρ ἐμπίπτει μεταμέλεια τοῑς μέλλουσι

τελευτᾱν, μεμνημένοις ὧν ἠδικήκασι, καὶ ὁρμὴ τοῡ βούλεσθαι πάντα

πεπράχθαι δικαίως αὐτοῑς_.[1]

Furthermore, to come to an historical personage, we find Pericles, on

his death-bed, unwilling to hear anything about his great achievements,

and only anxious to know that he had never brought trouble on a

citizen. (Plutarch, _Life of Pericles_.) Turning to modern times, if

a very different case may be placed beside the preceding, I remember

having noticed in a report of depositions made before an English jury

the following occurrence. A rough negro lad, fifteen years old, had

been mortally injured in some brawl on board a ship. As he was dying,

he eagerly begged that all his companions might be fetched in haste:

he wanted to ask if he had ever vexed or insulted any one of them, and

after hearing that he had not, his mind appeared greatly relieved. It

is indeed the uniform teaching of experience that those near death wish

to be reconciled with every one before they pass away.

But there is evidence of another kind that Ethics can only be finally

explained by Metaphysics. It is well known that, while the author of an

intellectual performance,--even should it be a supreme masterpiece--is

quite willing to take whatever remuneration he can get, those, on the

other hand, who have done something morally excellent, almost without

exception, refuse compensation for it. The latter fact is specially

observable where conduct rises to the heroic. For instance, when a

man at the risk of his life has saved another, or perhaps many, from

destruction, as a rule, he simply declines all reward, poor though he

may be; because he instinctively feels that the metaphysical value

of his act would be thereby impaired. At the end of Bürger's song,

"The Brave Man," we find a poetical presentment of this psychological

process. Nor does the reality, for the most part, differ at all from

the ideal, as I have frequently noticed in English papers. Conduct

of this kind occurs in every part of the world, and independently of

all religious differences. In human beings there is an undeniable

ethical tendency, rooted (however unconsciously) in Metaphysics, and

without an explanation of life on these lines, no religion could gain

standing-ground; for it is by virtue of their ethical side that they

all alike keep their hold on the mind. Every religion makes its body

of dogmas the basis of the moral incentive which each man feels, but

which he does not, on that account, understand; and it unites the two

so closely, that they appear to be inseparable. Indeed the priests take

special pains to proclaim unbelief and immorality as one and the same

thing. The reason is thus apparent, why believers regard unbelievers

as identical with the vicious, and why expressions such as "godless,"

"atheistic," "unchristian," "heretic," etc., are used as synonymes

for moral depravity. The religions have, in fact, a sufficiently easy

task. =Faith= is the principle they start from. Hence they are

in a position to simply insist on its application to their dogmas,

and this, even to the point of employing threats. But philosophy

has no such convenient instrument ready to hand. If the different

systems be examined, it will be found that the situation is beset with

difficulties, both as regards the foundation to be provided for Ethics,

and in relation to the point of connection discoverable in any such

foundation with the given metaphysical theory. And yet,--as I have

emphasised in the introduction, with an appeal to the authority of

Wolff and Kant--we are under the stringent necessity of obtaining from

Metaphysics a support for Moral Science.

Now, of all the problems that the human intellect has to grapple with,

that of Metaphysics is by far the hardest; so much so that it is

regarded by many thinkers as absolutely insoluble. Apart from this,

in the present case, I labour under the special disadvantage which

the form of a detached monograph involves. In other words, I am not

at liberty to start from some definite metaphysical system, of which

I may be an adherent; because, if I did, either it would have to be

expounded in detail, which would take too much space; or else there

would be the necessity of supposing it granted and unquestioned,--an

exceedingly precarious proceeding. The consequence is that I am as

little able to use the synthetic method here as in the foregoing Part.

Analysis alone is possible: that is, I must work backwards from the

effects to their cause, and not _vice versâ_. This stern obligation,

however, of having at the outset no previous hypothesis, no standpoint

other than the commonly accepted one, made the discovery of the ethical

basis so laborious that, as I look back upon the task, I seem to have

accomplished some wondrous feat of dexterity, not unlike that of a man

who executes with subtlest skill in mid air what otherwise is only

done on a solid support. But now that we have come to the question

whether there can be given a metaphysical explanation of the foundation

obtained, the difficulty of proceeding without any assumption becomes

so enormous, that but one course appears to me open, namely, to attempt

nothing beyond a general sketch of the subject. I shall, therefore,

indicate rather than elaborate the line of thought: I shall point out

the way leading to the goal, but not follow it thither; in short, I

shall present but a very small part of what, under other circumstances,

could be adduced. In adopting this attitude for the reasons stated, I

wish, before beginning, to emphatically remark, that in any case the

actual problem put forward has now been solved; consequently, that what

I here add is an _opus supererogationis_, an appendix to be given and

taken entirely at will.

[1] We ought to realise as if before our eyes that moment

of time when the end comes to each one for deliverance from living.

Because all who are about to die are seized with repentance,

remembering, as they do, their unjust deeds, and being filled with the

wish that they had always acted justly.-- _Ἀπαλλαγή = Erlösung. V_.

Joannes Stobeaus, _Florilegium,_ edit. Meineke; publ. Lipsiae: Teubner,

1855. Vol. ii., p. 164, l. 7 sqq.--(_Translator_.)

CHAPTER II.

THE METAPHYSICAL GROUNDWORK.

So far all our steps have been supported by the firm rock of

experience. But at this point it fails us, and the solid earth sinks

from under our feet, as we press forward in our search after a final

theoretical satisfaction, there, where no experience can ever by any

possibility penetrate; and happy shall we be, if perchance we gain

one hint, one transient gleam, that may bring us a certain measure

of content. What, however, shall not desert us is the honesty that

has hitherto attended our procedure. We shall not make shift with

dreams, and serve up fairy tales, after the fashion of the so-called

post-Kantian philosophers; nor shall we, like them, seek, by a wordy

exuberance, to impose upon the reader, and cast dust in his eyes. A

little is all we promise; but that little will be presented in perfect

sincerity.

The principle, which we discovered to be the final explanation of

Ethics, now in turn itself requires explaining; so that our present

problem has to deal with that natural Compassion, which in every man

is innate and indestructible, and which has been shown to be the sole

source of =non-egoistic= conduct, this kind alone being of real

moral worth. Now many modern thinkers treat the conceptions of Good

and Bad as =simple=, that is, as neither needing, nor admitting

any elucidation, and then they go on, for the most part, to talk very

mysteriously and devoutly of an "Idea of the Good," out of which

they make a pedestal for their moral system, or at least a cloak for

their poverty.[1] Hence I am obliged in this connection to point out

parenthetically, that these conceptions are anything but =simple=,

much less _a priori_; that they in fact express a relation, and are

derived from the commonest daily experience. Whatever is in conformity

with the desires of any individual will, is, relatively to it, termed

=good=; for instance, good food, good roads, a good omen; the

contrary is called =bad=, and, in the case of living beings,

=malicious=. And so one, who by virtue of his character, has

no wish to oppose what others strive after, but rather, as far as

he reasonably may, shows himself favourable and helpful to them;

one, who, instead of injuring, assists his neighbours, and promotes

their interests, when he can; is named by the latter, in respect to

themselves, a =good man=; the term =good= being applied to

him in the sense of the above definition, and from their own point of

view, which is thus relative, empirical, and centred in the passive

subject. Now, if we examine the nature of such a man, not only as it

affects others, but as it is in itself, we are enabled by the foregoing

exposition to perceive that the virtues of justice and loving-kindness,

which he practises, are due to a direct participation in weal and

woe external to himself; and we have learnt that the source of such

participation is Compassion. If, further, we pause to consider what is

the essential part in this type of character, we shall certainly find

it to lie in the fact that such a person =draws less distinction

between himself and others than is usually done=.

In the eyes of the malicious individual this difference is so great

that he takes direct delight in the spectacle of suffering,--a delight,

which he accordingly seeks without thought of any other benefit to

himself, nay, sometimes, even to his own hurt. From the egoist's point

of view the same difference is still large enough to make him bring

much trouble on his neighbours, in order to obtain a small personal

advantage. Hence for both of these, between the =ego=, which is

limited to their own persons, and the =non-ego=, which includes

all the rest of the world, there is fixed a great gulf, a mighty abyss:

_Pereat mundus, dum ego salvus sim_ (the world may perish, provided

I be safe), is their maxim. For the good man, on the contrary, this

distinction is by no means so pronounced; indeed, in the case of

magnanimous deeds, it appears to become a vanishing quantity, because

then the weal of another is advanced at the cost of the benefactor, the

self of another placed on an equality with his own. And when it is a

question of saving a number of fellow-beings, total self-obliteration

may be developed, the one giving his life for many.

The inquiry now presents itself, whether the latter way of looking at

the relation subsisting between the ego and the non-ego, which forms

the mainspring of a good man's conduct, is mistaken and due to an

illusion; or whether the error does not rather attach to the opposite

view, on which Egoism and Malice are based.

No doubt the theory lying at the root of Egoism is, from the

=empirical standpoint=, perfectly justified. From the testimony of

experience, the =distinction= between one's own person and that of

another appears to be absolute. I do not occupy the same space as my

neighbour, and this difference, which separates me from him physically,

separates me also from his weal and woe. But in the first place, it

should be observed that the knowledge we have Of our own selves is by

no means exhaustive and transparent to its depths. By means of the

intuition, which the brain constructs out of the data supplied by the

senses, that is to say, in an indirect manner, we recognise our body as

an object in space; through an inward perception, we are aware of the

continuous series of our desires, of our volitions, which arise through

the agency of external motives; and finally, we come to discern the

manifold movements, now stronger, now weaker, of our will itself, to

which all feelings from within are ultimately traceable. And that is

all: =for the perceiving faculty is not in its turn perceived=.

On the contrary, the real substratum of our whole phaenomenal nature,

our inmost essence in itself, that which wills and perceives, is not

accessible to us. We see only the outward side of the ego; its inward

part is veiled in darkness. Consequently, the knowledge we possess

of ourselves is in no sort radical and complete, but rather very

superficial. The larger and more important part of our being remains

unknown, and forms a riddle to speculate about; or, as Kant puts it:

"The ego knows itself only as a phaenomenon; of its real essence,

whatever that may be, it has no knowledge." Now, as regards that side

of the self which falls within our ken, we are, undoubtedly, sharply

distinguished, each from the other; but it does not follow therefrom

that the same is true of the remainder, which, shrouded in impenetrable

obscurity, is yet, in fact, the very substance of which we consist.

There remains at least the possibility that the latter is in all men

uniform and identical.

What is the explanation of all plurality, of all numerical diversity of

existence? Time and Space. Indeed it is only through the latter that

the former is possible: because the concept "many" inevitably connotes

the idea either of succession (time), or of relative position (space).

Now, since a homogeneous plurality is composed of =Individuals=,

I call Space and Time, as being the conditions of multiplicity, the

_principium individuationis_ (the principle of individuation); and I

do not here pause to consider whether this expression was exactly so

employed by the Schoolmen.

If in the disclosures which Kant's wonderful acumen gave to the world

there is anything true beyond the shadow of a doubt, this is to be

found in the Transcendental Aesthetics, that is to say, in his

doctrine of the ideality of Space and Time. On such solid foundations

is the structure built that no one has been able to raise even an

apparent objection. It is Kant's triumph, and belongs to the very small

number of metaphysical theories which may be regarded as really proved,

and as actual conquests in that field of research. It teaches us that

Space and Time are the forms of our own faculty of intuition, to which

they consequently belong, and not to the objects thereby perceived;

and further, that they can in no way be a condition of things in

themselves, but rather attach only to their mode of =appearing=,

such as is alone possible for us who have a consciousness of the

external world determined by strictly physiological limits. Now, if to

the Thing in itself, that is, to the Reality underlying the kosmos, as

we perceive it, Time and Space are foreign; so also must multiplicity

be. Consequently that which is objectivated in the countless phaenomena

of this world of the senses cannot but be a unity, a single indivisible

entity, manifested in each and all of them. And conversely, the web of

plurality, woven in the loom of Time and Space, is not the Thing in

itself, but only its =appearance-form=. Externally to the thinking

subject, this appearance-form, as such, has no existence; it is merely

an attribute of our consciousness, bounded, as the latter is, by

manifold conditions, indeed, depending on an organic function.

The view of things as above stated,--that all plurality is only

apparent, that in the endless series of individuals, passing

simultaneously and successively into and out of life, generation

after generation, age after age, there is but one and the same entity

really existing, which is present and identical in all alike;--this

theory, I say, was of course known long before Kant; indeed, it may be

carried back to the remotest antiquity. It is the alpha and omega of

the oldest book in the world, the sacred *Vedas, whose dogmatic part,

or rather esoteric teaching, is found in the *Upanishads.[2] There, in

almost every page this profound doctrine lies enshrined; with tireless

repetition, in countless adaptations, by many varied parables and

similes it is expounded and inculcated. That such was, moreover, the

fount whence Pythagoras drew his wisdom, cannot be doubted, despite

the scanty knowledge we possess of what he taught. That it formed

practically the central point in the whole philosophy of the Eleatic

School, is likewise a familiar fact. Later on, the New Platonists

were steeped in the same, one of their chief tenets being: _διὰ τὴν

ἑνότητα ἀπάντων πάσας ψuχὰς mίαν εἶναι_. (All souls are one, because

all things form a unity.) In the ninth century we find it unexpectedly

appearing in Europe. It kindles the spirit of no less a divine than

Johannes Scotus Erigena, who endeavours to clothe it with the forms and

terminology of the Christian religion. Among the Mohammedans we detect

it again in the rapt mysticism of the *Sûfi.[3] In the West Giordano

Bruno cannot resist the impulse to utter it aloud; but his reward is a

death of shame and torture. And at the same time we find the Christian

Mystics losing themselves in it, against their own will and intention,

whenever and wherever we read of them![4] Spinoza's name is identified

with it. Lastly, in our own days, after Kant had annihilated the old

dogmatism, and the world stood aghast at its smoking ruins, the same

teaching was revived in Schelling's eclectic philosophy. The latter

took all the systems of Plotinus, Spinoza, Kant, and Jacob Boehm,

and mixing them together with the results of modern Natural Science,

speedily served up a dish sufficient to satisfy for the moment the

pressing needs of his contemporaries; and then proceeded to perform a

series of variations on the original theme. The consequence is that

in the learned circles of Germany this line of thought has come to be

generally accepted; indeed even among people of ordinary education,

it is almost universally diffused.[5] A solitary exception is formed

by the University philosophers of the present day. They have the hard

task of fighting what is called =Pantheism=. Being brought

through the stress of battle into great embarrassment and difficulty,

they anxiously catch now at the most pitiful sophisms, now at phrases

of choicest bombast, so only they may patch together some sort of

respectable disguise, wherein to dress up the favourite petticoat

Philosophy, that has duly received official sanction. In a word, the

_Ἕν καὶ πᾱν_[6] has been in all ages the laughing-stock of fools, for

the wise a subject of perpetual meditation. Nevertheless, the strict

demonstration of this theory is only to be obtained from the Kantian

teaching, as I have just shown. Kant himself did not carry it out;

after the fashion of clever orators, he only gave the premises, leaving

to his hearers the pleasure of drawing the conclusion.

Now if plurality and difference belong only to the

=appearance-form=; if there is but one and the same Entity

manifested in all living things: it follows that, when we obliterate

the distinction between the _ego_ and the _non-ego_, we are not the

sport of an illusion. Rather are we so, when we maintain the reality of

individuation,--a thing the Hindus call *Mâyâ,[7] that is, a deceptive

vision, a phantasma. The former theory we have found to be the actual

source of the phaenomenon of Compassion; indeed Compassion is nothing

but its translation into definite expression. This, therefore, is

what I should regard as the metaphysical foundation of Ethics, and

should describe it as the sense which identifies the =ego= with

the =non-ego=, so that the individual directly recognises in

another his own self, his true and very being. From this standpoint

the profoundest teaching of theory pushed to its furthest limits may

be shown in the end to harmonise perfectly with the rules of justice

and loving-kindness, as exercised; and conversely, it will be clear

that practical philosophers, that is, the upright, the beneficent,

the magnanimous, do but declare through their acts the same truth as

the man of speculation wins by laborious research, by the loftiest

flights of intellect. Meanwhile moral excellence stands higher than

all theoretical sapience. The latter is at best nothing but a very

unfinished and partial structure, and only by the circuitous path of

reasoning attains the goal which the former reaches in one step. He

who is morally noble, however deficient in mental penetration, reveals

by his conduct the deepest insight, the truest wisdom; and puts to

shame the most accomplished and learned genius, if the latter's acts

betray that his heart is yet a stranger to this great principle,--the

metaphysical unity of life.

"Individuation is real. The _principium individuationis,_ with the

consequent distinction of individuals, is the order of things in

themselves. Bach living unit is an entity radically different from all

others. In my own self alone I have my true being; everything outside

it belongs to the =non-ego=, and is foreign to me." This is the

creed to the truth of which flesh and bone bear witness: which is at

the root of all egoism, and which finds its objective expression in

every loveless, unjust, or malicious act.

"Individuation is merely an appearance, born of Space and Time; the

latter being nothing else than the forms under which the external

world necessarily manifests itself to me, conditioned as they are

by my brain's faculty of perception. Hence also the plurality and

difference of individuals is but a =phaenomenon=, that is, exists

only as my mental picture. My true inmost being subsists in every

living thing, just as really, as directly as in my own consciousness

it is evidenced only to myself." This is the higher knowledge: for

which there is in Sanskrit the standing formula, =tat tvam asi=,

"that art thou."[8] Out of the depths of human nature it wells up in

the shape of Compassion, and is therefore the source of all genuine,

that is, disinterested virtue, being, so to say, incarnate in every

good deed. It is this which in the last resort is invoked, whenever we

appeal to gentleness, to loving-kindness; whenever we pray for mercy

instead of justice. For such appeal, such prayer is in reality the

effort to remind a fellow-being of the ultimate truth that we are all

one and the same entity. On the other hand, Egoism and its derivatives,

envy, hatred, the spirit of persecution, hardness of heart, revenge,

pleasure at the sight of suffering, and cruelty, all claim support

from the other view of things, and seek their justification in it. The

emotion and joy we experience when we hear of, still more, when we see,

and most of all, when we ourselves do, a noble act, are at bottom

traceable to the feeling of certainty such a deed gives, that, beyond

all plurality and distinction of individuals, which the _principium

individuationis_, like a kaleidoscope, shows us in ever-shifting

evanescent forms, there is an underlying unity, not only truly

existing, but actually accessible to us; for lo! in tangible, objective

form, it stands before our sight.

Of these two mental attitudes, according as the one or the other is

adopted, so the _ϕιλία_ (Love) or the _νεῑκος_ (Hatred) of Empedocles

appears between man and man. If any one, who is animated by _νεῑκος_,

could forcibly break in upon his most detested foe, and compel him to

lay bare the inmost recesses of his heart; to his surprise, he would

find again in the latter his very self. For just as in dreams, all the

persons that appear to us are but the masked images of ourselves; so

in the dream of our waking life, it is our own being which looks on

us from out our neighbours' eyes,--though this is not equally easy to

discern. Nevertheless, =tat tvam asi=.

The preponderance of either mode of viewing life not only determines

single acts; it shapes a man's whole nature and temperament. Hence the

radical difference of mental habit between the =good= character

and the =bad=. The latter feels everywhere that a thick wall

of partition hedges him off from all others. For him the world is

an =absolute non-ego=, and his relation to it an essentially

hostile one; consequently, the key-note of his disposition is hatred,

suspicion, envy, and pleasure in seeing distress. The good character,

on the other hand, lives in an external world homogeneous with his

own being; the rest of mankind is not in his eyes a non-ego; he

thinks of it rather as "myself once more." He therefore stands on an

essentially amicable footing with every one: he is conscious of being,

in his inmost nature, akin to the whole human race,[9] takes direct

interest in their weal and woe, and confidently assumes in their

case the same interest in him. This is the source of his deep inward

peace, and of that happy, calm, contented manner, which goes out on

those around him, and is as the "presence of a good diffused." Whereas

the bad character in time of trouble has no trust in the help of his

fellow-creatures. If he invokes aid, he does so without confidence:

obtained, he feels no real gratitude for it; because he can hardly

discern therein anything but the effect of others' folly. For he is

simply incapable of recognising his own self in some one else; and

this, even after it has furnished the most incontestible signs of

existence in that other person: on which fact the repulsive nature of

all unthankfulness in reality depends. The moral isolation, which thus

naturally and inevitably encompasses the bad man, is often the cause

of his becoming the victim of despair. The good man, on the contrary,

will appeal to his neighbours for assistance, with an assurance equal

to the consciousness he has of being ready himself to help them. As I

have said: to the one type, humanity is a =non-ego=; to the other,

"myself once more." The magnanimous character, who forgives his enemy,

and returns good for evil, rises to the sublime, and receives the

highest meed of praise; because he recognises his real self even there

where it is most conspicuously disowned.

Every purely beneficent act all help entirely and genuinely unselfish,

being, as such, exclusively inspired by another's distress, is, in

fact, if we probe the matter to the bottom, a dark enigma, a piece

of mysticism put into practice; inasmuch as it springs out of, and

finds its only true explanation in, the same higher knowledge that

constitutes the essence of whatever is mystical.

For how, otherwise than metaphysically, are we to account for even

the smallest offering of alms made with absolutely no other object

than that of lessening the want which afflicts a fellow-creature? Such

an act is only conceivable, only possible, in so far as the giver

=knows= that it is his very self which stands before him, clad in

the garments of suffering; in other words, so far as he recognises the

essential part of his own being, under a form not his =own=.[10]

It now becomes apparent, why in the foregoing part I have called

Compassion the great mystery of Ethics.

He, who goes to meet death for his fatherland, has freed himself from

the illusion which limits a man's existence to his own person. Such a

one has broken the fetters of the _principium individuationis_. In his

widened, enlightened nature he embraces all his countrymen, and in them

lives on and on. Nay, he reaches forward to, and merges himself in the

generations yet unborn, for whom he works; and he regards death as a

wink of the eyelids, so momentary that it does not interrupt the sight.

We may here sum up the characteristics of the two human types

above indicated. To the Egoist all other people are uniformly and

intrinsically strangers. In point of fact, he considers nothing

to be truly real, except his own person, and regards the rest of

mankind practically as troops of phantoms, to whom he assigns merely

a relative existence, so far as they may be instruments to serve, or

barriers to obstruct, his purposes; the result being an immeasurable

difference, a vast gulf between =his ego= on the one side, and the

=non-ego= on the other. In a word, he lives exclusively centred in

his own individuality, and on his death-day he sees all reality, indeed

the whole world, coming to an end along with himself.[11] Whereas the

Altruist discerns in all other persons, nay, in every living thing,

his own entity, and feels therefore that his being is commingled, is

identical with the being of whatever is alive. By death he loses only

a small part of himself. Patting off the narrow limitations of the

individual, he passes into the larger life of all mankind, in whom he

always recognised, and, recognising, loved, his very self; and the

illusion of Time and Space, which separated his consciousness from that

of others, vanishes. These two opposite modes of viewing the world are

probably the chief, though not indeed the sole cause of the difference

we find between very good and exceptionally bad men, as to the manner

in which they meet their last hour.

In all ages Truth, poor thing, has been put to shame for being

paradoxical; and yet it is not her fault. She cannot assume the form

of Error seated on his throne of world-wide sovereignty. So then, with

a sigh, she looks up to her tutelary god, Time, who nods assurance

to her of future victory and glory, but whose wings beat the air so

slowly with their mighty strokes, that the individual perishes or ever

the day of triumph be come. Hence I, too, am perfectly aware of the

paradox which this metaphysical explanation of the ultimate ethical

phaenomenon must present to Western minds, accustomed, as they are, to

very different methods of providing Morals with a basis. Nevertheless,

I cannot offer violence to the truth. All that is possible for me to

do, out of consideration for European blindness, is to assert once

more, and demonstrate by actual quotation, that the Metaphysics of

Ethics, which I have here suggested, was thousands of years ago the

fundamental principle of Indian wisdom. And to this wisdom I point

back, as Copernicus did to the Pythagorean cosmic system, which was

suppressed by Aristotle and Ptolemaeus. In the Bhagavadgîtâ (Lectio

XIII.; 27, 28), according to A. W. von Schlegel's translation, we find

the following passage: _Eundem in omnibus animantibus consistentem

summum dominum, istis pereuntibus kaud pereuntem qui cernit, is vere

cernit. Eundem vero cernens ubique praesentem dominum, non violat

semet ipsum sua ipsius culpa: exinde pergit ad summum iter_.[12]

With these hints towards the elaboration of a metaphysical basis for

Ethics I must close, although an important step still remains to be

taken. The latter would presuppose a further advance in Moral Science

itself; and this can hardly be made, because in the West the highest

aim of Ethics is reached in the theory of justice and virtue. What lies

beyond is unknown, or at any rate ignored. The omission, therefore, is

unavoidable; and the reader need feel no surprise, if the above slight

outline of the Metaphysics of Ethics does not bring into view--even

remotely--the corner-stone of the whole metaphysical edifice, nor

reveal the connection of all the parts composing the _Divina Commedia_.

Such a presentment, moreover, is involved neither in the question set,

nor in my own plan. A man cannot say everything in one day, and should

not answer more than he is asked.

He who tries to promote human knowledge and insight is destined to

always encounter the opposition of his age, which is like the dead

weight of some mass that has to be dragged along: there on the ground

it lies, a huge inert deformity, defying all efforts to quicken

its shape with new life. But such a one must take comfort from the

certainty that, although prejudices beset his path, yet the truth is

with him. And Truth does but wait for her ally, Time, to join her; once

he is at her side, she is perfectly sure of victory, which, if to-day

delayed, will be won =to-morrow=.

[1] The conception of _the Good_, in its purity, is an

_ultimate_ one, "an _absolute Idea_, whose substance loses itself in

infinity."--(Bouterweek: _Praktische Aphorismen_, p. 54.)

It is obvious that this writer would like to transform the familiar, nay,

trivial conception "_Good_" into a sort of _Διἴπετής,_ to be set up

as an idol in his temple. _Διἴπετής_ lit., "fallen from Zeus"; and so

"heaven-sent," "a thing of divine origin." Cf. Horn., _Il._. XVI, 174;

_Od._. IV. 477. Eur., _Bacch._, 1268.--(_Translator_.)

[2] The genuineness of the Oupnek'hat has been disputed on

the ground of certain marginal glosses which were added by Mohammedan

copyists, and then interpolated in the text, it has, however, been

fully established by the Sanskrit scholar, F. H. H. Windischmann

(junior) in his _Sancara, sive de Theologumenis Vedanticorum_, 1833,

p. xix; and also by Bochinger in his book _De la Vie Contemplative

chez les Indous_, 1831, p. 12. The reader though ignorant of Sanskrit,

may yet convince himself that Anquetil Duperron's word for word Latin

translation of the Persian version of the Upanishads made by the martyr

of this creed, the Sultan Dârâ-Shukoh, is based on a thorough and

exact knowledge of the language. He has only to compare it with recent

translations of some of the Upanishads by Rammohun Boy, by Poley, and

especially with that of Colebrooke, as also with Röer's, (the latest).

These writers are obviously groping in obscurity, and driven to make

shift with hazy conjectures, so that without doubt their work is much

less accurate. More will be found on this subject in Vol. II. of the

_Parerga_, chap. 16, § 184. [_V. The Upanishads_, translated by Max

Müller, in _The Sacred Books of the East_, Vols. I. and XV. Cf. also

Max Müller, _The Science of Language_, Vol. I., p. 171. Now that an

adequate translation of the original exists, the Oupnek'hat has only

an historical interest. The value which Schopenhauer attached to the

Upanishads is very clearly expressed also in the _Welt als Wille und

Vorstellung_, Preface to the first Edition; and in the _Parerga,_ II.,

chap, xvi., § 184.--(_Translator_.)

[3] For the Sûfi, more correctly *Sūfīy a sect which appeared already

in the first century of the Hijrah, the reader is referred to:

Tholuck's _Blüthensammlung aus der Morgenländischen Mystik_ (Berlin,

1825); Tholuck's _Sûfismus, sive Theosophia Persarum Pantheistica_

(Berlin, 1821); Kremer's _Geschichte der Herrschenden Ideen des

Islâms_ (Leipzig, 1868); _Palmer's Oriental Mysticism_ (London, 1867);

Gobineau's _Les Religions et les Philosophies dans l'Asie Centrale_

(2nd edit. Paris, 1866); _A Dictionary of Islâm_, by T. P. Hughes

(London, 1885), p. 608 sqq.--(_Translator_.)]

[4] This is too well-known to need verification by references.

The _Cantico del Sole_ by St. Francis of Assisi sounds almost like a

passage from the Upanishads or the *Bhagavadgîtâ.--(_Translator_.)]

5:

On ne peut assez longtemps, chez notre espèce,_

_Fermer la porte à la Raison._

_Mais, dès qu'elle entre avec adresse,_

_Elle reste dans la maison,_

_Et bientôt elle en est maîtresse._

--(Voltaire.)

(We men may, doubtless, all our lives

To Reason bar the door.

But if to enter she contrives,

The house she leaves no more,

And soon as mistress there presides.)

[6] _Τὸ ἔν_= the eternal Reality outside Time and Space _Tὸ

πᾱν_ = the phaenomenal universe.--(_Translator_.)

[7] Mâyâ is "the delusive reflection of the true eternal

Entity."--(_Translator_.)]

[8] This expression is used in the Brahmanical philosophy

to denote the relation between the world-fiction as a whole and its

individualised parts. _V._ A. E. Gough, _Philosophy of the Upanishads_,

1882.--(_Translator_.)

[9] _Homo sum: humani nil a me alienum puto_. Terence,

_Heaut_., I. 1, 25.--(_Translator_.)

[10] It is probable that many, perhaps, most cases of truly

disinterested Compassion--when they really occur--are due not to any

conscious _knowledge_ of this sort, but to an unconscious impulse

springing from the ultimate unity of all living things, and acting, so

to say, automatically.--(_Translator_.)

[11] Cf. Richard Wagner: _Jesus von Nazareth_; pp.

79-90.--(_Translator_.)

[12] That man is endowed with true insight who sees that

the same ruling power is inherent in all things, and that when these

perish, it perishes not. For if he discerns the same ruling power

everywhere present, he does not degrade himself by his own fault:

thence he passes to the highest path.--For the _Bhagavadgîtâ_ the

reader is referred to Vol. VIII. of _The Sacred Books of the East_

(Oxford: Clarendon Press), where (p. 105) this passage is translated as

follows:--"He sees (truly) who sees the supreme lord abiding alike in

all entities, and not destroyed though they are destroyed. For he who

sees the lord abiding everywhere alike, does not destroy himself[*] by

himself, and then reaches the highest goal."

[*]Not to have true knowledge, is equivalent to self-destruction."

Cf. Fauche] Le Mahā-bhārata: Paris, 1867; Vol. VII., p. 128:--

"Celui-là possède une vue nette des choses, qui voit ce principe

souverain en tous les êtres d'une manière égale, et leur survivre,

quand ils périssent. Il ne se fait aucun tort à soi-même par cette vue

d'un principe qui subsiste également partout: puis, après cette vie, il

entre dans la voie supérieure."

The obscurity of Schlegel's Latin in the second sentence is sufficiently

removed by these more recent translations.--(_Translator_.)

JUDICIUM

REGIAE DANICAE SCIENTIARUM SOCIETATIS.

_Quaestionem anno_ 1837 _propositam, "utrum philosophiae moralis

fons et fundamentum in idea moralitatis, quae immediate conscientia

contineatur, et ceteris notionibus fundamentalibus, quae ex ilia

prodeant, explicandis quaerenda sint, an in alio cognoscendi

principio," unus tantum scriptor explicare conatus est, cujus

commentationem, germanico sermone compositam, et his verbis

notatam_: "MORAL PREDIGEN IST LEICHT, MORAL BEGRÜNDEN IST SCHWER,"

_praemio dignam judicare nequivimus. Omisso enim eo, quod potissimum

postulabatur, hoc expeti putavit, ut principium aliquod ethicae

conderetur, itaqae eam partem commentationis suae, in qua principii

ethicae a se propositi et metaphysicae suae nexum exponit, appendices

loco habuit, in qua plus quam postulatum esset praestaret, quum tamen

ipsum thema ejusmodi disputationem flagitaret, in qua vel praecipuo

loco metaphysicae et ethicae nexus consideraretur. Quod autem scriptor

in sympathia fundamentum ethicae constituere conatus est, neque ipsa

disserendi forma nobis satisfecit, neque reapse, hoc fundamentum

sufficere, evicit; quin ipse contra esse confiteri coactus est. Neque

reticendum videtur, plures recentioris aetatis summos philosophos tam

indecenter commemorari, ut justam et gravem offensionem habeat._

JUDGMENT OF THE DANISH ROYAL SOCIETY OF SCIENCES.

In 1837 the following question was set as subject for a Prize Essay:

"Is the fountain and basis of Morals to be sought for in an idea of

morality which lies directly in the consciousness (or conscience), and

in the analysis of the other leading ethical conceptions which arise

from it? Or is it to be found in some other source of knowledge?" There

was only one competitor; but his dissertation, written in German,

and bearing the motto: "_To preach Morality is easy, to found it is

difficult_"[1] we cannot adjudge worthy of the Prize. He has omitted

to deal with the essential part of the question, apparently thinking

that he was asked to establish some fundamental principle of Ethics.

Consequently, that part of the treatise, which explains how the moral

basis he proposes is related to his system of metaphysics, we find

relegated to an appendix, as an "_opus supererogationis_," although

it was precisely the connection between Metaphysics and Ethics that

our question required to be put in the first and foremost place. The

writer attempts to show that compassion is the ultimate source of

morality; but neither does his mode of discussion appear satisfactory

to us, nor has he, in point of fact, succeeded in proving that such a

foundation is adequate. Indeed he himself is obliged to admit that it

is not.[2] Lastly, the Society cannot pass over in silence the fact

that he mentions several recent philosophers of the highest standing in

an unseemly manner, such as to justly occasion serions offence.

[1] The Academy has been good enough to insert the second "is" on its

own account, by way of proving the truth of Longinus' theory (_V. De

Sublimitate_: chap. 39, _ad fin._), that the addition or subtraction

of a single syllable is sufficient to destroy the whole force of a

sentence. (P. Longinus: _De Sublimitate Libellus_; edit. Joannes

Vablen, Bonnae, 1887.)--(_Translator_)

[2] I suppose this is the meaning of _contra esse

confiteri_.--(_Translator_.)

End of Project Gutenberg's The Basis of Morality, by Arthur Schopenhauer