The Basis of Morality

The basis on which it is here intended to place Ethics will prove to be a very small one; and the consequence is that of the many lawful, approvable, and praiseworthy actions of mankind, only the minority will be found to spring from purely moral motives, while the majority will have to be attributed to other sources.

the lawful and commendable actions of mankind often do not contain a particle of pure moral worth, and in most cases only a very little, resting, as they do, otherwise on motives, the sufficiency of which must ultimately be referred to the egoism of the doer

For the people morality comes through, and is founded on, theology, as the express will of God.

Our philosopher, then, by begging the question in his preface, simply assumes the conception of Moral Law as given and existing beyond all doubt; and he treats the closely related conception of Duty (page 8, R., p. 16) exactly in the same way. Without subjecting it to any further test, he admits it forthwith as a proper appurtenance of Ethics. But here, again, I am compelled to enter a protest. This conception, equally with the kindred notions of Law, Command, Obligation, etc., taken thus unconditionally, has its source in theological morals, and it will remain a stranger to philosophical morals, so long as it fails to furnish sufficient credentials drawn either from man's nature, or from the objective world. Till then, I can only recognise the Decalogue as the origin of all these connected conceptions. Since the rise of Christianity there is no doubt that philosophical has been unconsciously moulded by theological ethics.

Every obligation derives all sense and meaning; simply and solely from its relation to threatened punishment or promised reward

A commanding voice, whether it come from within, or from without, cannot possibly be imagined except as threatening or promising. Consequently obedience to it, which may be wise or foolish according to circumstances, is yet always actuated by selfishness, and therefore morally worthless.

Duties towards ourselves must, just as all others, be based either on right or on love. Duties towards ourselves based on right are impossible, because of the self-evident fundamental principle volenti non fit injuria (where the will assents, no injury is done). For what I do is always what I will; consequently also what I do to myself is never anything but what I will, therefore it cannot be unjust. Next, as regards duties towards ourselves based on love. Ethics here finds her work already done, and comes too late. The impossibility of violating the duty of self-love is at once assumed by the first law of Christian Morals: "Love thy neighbour as thyself." According to this, the love which each man cherishes for himself is postulated as the maximum, and as the condition of all other love; while the converse, "Love thyself as thy neighbour" is never added; for every one would feel that the latter does not claim enough.

First among the duties towards ourselves is generally placed that of not committing suicide, the line of argument taken being extremely prejudiced and resting on the shallowest basis. Unlike animals, man is not only a prey to bodily pain limited to the passing moment, but also to those incomparably greater mental sufferings, which, reaching forwards and backwards, draw upon the future and the past; and nature, by way of compensation, has granted to man alone the privilege of being able to end his life at his own pleasure, before she herself sets a term to it; thus, while animals necessarily live so long as they can, man need only live so long as he will.

If real moral motives for not committing suicide actually exist, it is certain that they lie very deep, and cannot be reached by the plummet of ordinary Ethics. They belong to a higher view of things than is adaptable even to the standpoint of the present treatise

Human consciousness as well as the whole external world, together with all the experience and all the facts they comprise, are swept from under our feet. We have nothing to stand upon. And what have we to hold to? Nothing but a few entirely abstract, entirely unsubstantial conceptions, floating in the air equally with ourselves. It is from these, or, more correctly, from the mere form of their connection with judgments made, that a Law is declared to proceed, which by so-called absolute necessity is supposed to be valid, and to be strong enough to lay bit and bridle on the surging throng of human desires, on the storm of passion, on the giant might of egoism.

Just as we recognise intelligence in general to be an attribute of animal beings alone, and are therefore never justified in thinking of it as existing outside, and independent, of animal nature; so we recognise Reason as the exclusive attribute of the human race, and have not the smallest right to suppose that Reason exists externally to it, and then proceed to set up a genus called "Rational Beings," differing from its single known species "Man"; still less are we warranted in laying down laws for such imaginary rational beings in the abstract. To talk of rational beings external to men is like talking of heavy beings external to bodies. One cannot help suspecting that Kant was thinking a little of the dear cherubim, or at any rate counted on their presence in the conviction of the reader. In any case this doctrine contains a tacit assumption of an anima rationalis, which as being entirely different from the anima sensitiva, and the anima vegetativa, is supposed to persist after death, and then to be indeed nothing else but rationalis. But in the Kritik der Reinen Vernunft Kant himself has expressly and elaborately made an end of this most transcendent hypostasis. Nevertheless, in his ethics generally, and in the Kritik der Praktischen Vernunft especially, there seems always to hover in the background the thought that the inner and eternal essence, of man consists of Reason. In this connection, where the matter only occurs incidentally, I must content myself with simply asserting the contrary. Reason, as indeed the intellectual faculty as a whole, is secondary, is an attribute of phaenomena, being in point of fact conditioned by the organism; whereas it is the Will in man which is his very self, the only part of him which is metaphysical, and therefore indestructible. The success with which Kant had applied his method to the theoretical side of philosophy led him on to extend it to the practical. Here also he endeavoured to separate pure a priori from empirical a posteriori knowledge. For this purpose he assumed that just as we know a priori the laws of Space, of Time, and of Causality, so in like manner, or at any rate analogously, we have the moral plumb-line for our conduct given us prior to all experience, and revealed in a Categorical Imperative, an absolute "Ought." But how wide is the difference between this alleged moral law a priori, and our theoretical knowledge a priori of Space, Time, and Causality! The latter are nothing but the expression of the forms, i.e., the functions of our intellect, whereby alone we are capable of grasping an objective world, and wherein alone it can be mirrored; so that the world (as we know it) is absolutely conditioned by these forms, and all experience must invariably and exactly correspond to them—just as everything that I see through a blue glass must appear blue. While the former, the so- called moral law, is something that experience pours ridicule on at every step; indeed, as Kant himself says, it is doubtful whether in practice it has ever really been followed on any single occasion. How completely unlike are the things which are here classed together under the conception of apriority! Moreover, Kant overlooked the fact that, according to his own teaching, in theoretical philosophy, it is exactly the Apriority of our knowledge of Time, Space, and Causality—independent as this is of experience—that limits it strictly to phaenomena, i.e., to the picture of the world as reflected in our consciousness, and makes it entirely invalid as regards the real nature of things, i.e., as regards whatever exists independently of our capacity to grasp it.

Now I maintain without hesitation that what opens the hand of the above- described (p. 11; R., p. 18) loveless doer of good, who is indifferent to the sufferings of other people, cannot (provided he have no secondary motives) be anything else than a slavish δεισιδαιµονία (fear of the gods), equally whether he calls his fetich "Categorical Imperative" or Fitzlipuzli.[2] For what but fear can move a hard heart?

It is certain that docendo disco (I learn by teaching) is not unconditionally true; sometimes indeed one is tempted to parody it by saying: semper docendo nihil disco (by always teaching I learn nothing); and even what Diderot puts into the mouth of Rameau's nephew is not altogether without reason: "'And as for these teachers, do you suppose they understand the sciences they give instruction in? Not a bit of it, my dear sir, not a bit of it. If they possessed sufficient knowledge to be able to teach them, they would not do so.' 'Why?' 'Because they would have devoted their lives to the study of them.'"—(Goethe's translation, p. 104.) Lichtenberg too says: "I have rather observed that professional people are often exactly those who do not know best." But to return to the Kantian Ethics: most persons, provided only the conclusion reached agrees with their moral feelings, immediately assume that there is no flaw to be found in its derivation; and if the process of deduction looks difficult, they do not trouble themselves much about it, but are content to trust the faculty.

Act only in accordance with that precept which you can also wish should be a general law for all rational beings.

You can, because you ought

no one likes to turn his conscience inside out.

in the life of the individual a single youthful mistake often ruins the whole career;

The philosophaster's object was not to instruct, but to befool his hearers, as every page attests. At first Fichte and Schelling shine as the heroes of this epoch; to be followed by the man who is quite unworthy even of them, and greatly their inferior in point of talent—I mean the stupid and clumsy charlatan Hegel. The Chorus is composed of a mixed company of professors of philosophy, who in solemn fashion discourse to their public about the Endless, the Absolute, and many other matters of which they can know absolutely nothing.

The mind sees, the mind hears; everything else is deaf and blind

On the other hand, the epithet reasonable has at all times been applied to the man who does not allow himself to be guided by intuitive impressions, but by thoughts and conceptions, and who therefore always sets to work logically after due reflection and forethought. Conduct of this sort is everywhere known as reasonable. Not that this by any means implies uprightness and love for one's fellows. On the contrary, it is quite possible to act in the most reasonable way, that is, according to conclusions scientifically deduced, and weighed with the nicest exactitude; and yet to follow the most selfish, unjust, and even iniquitons maxims. So that never before Kant did it occur to any one to identify just, virtuous, and noble conduct with reasonable; the two lines of behaviour have always been completely separated, and kept apart. The one depends on the kind of motivation; the other on the difference in fundamental principles. Only after Kant (because he taught that virtue has its source in Pure Reason) did the virtuous and the reasonable become one and the same thing, despite the usage of these words which all languages have adopted—a usage which is not fortuitous, but the work of universal, and therefore uniform, human judgment. "Reasonable" and "vicious" are terms that go very well together; indeed great, far-reaching crimes are only possible from their union. Similarly, "unreasonable" and "noble-minded" are often found associated; e.g., if I give to-day to the needy man what I shall myself require to-morrow more urgently than he; or, if I am so far affected as to hand over to one in distress the sum which my creditor is waiting for; and such cases could be multiplied indefinitely.

If we discovered a species of apes which intentionally prepared instruments for fighting, or building, or for any other purpose; we should immediately admit that it was endowed with Reason. On the other hand, if we meet with savages destitute of all metaphysics, or of all religion (and there are such); it does not occur to us to deny them Reason on that account

the customary jargon about justice is well known to be nothing but diplomacy's official style; the real arbiter is brute force.

it is absolutely certain (as daily experience attests) that men in the vast majority of cases turn to self-destruction directly the gigantic strength of the innate instinct of self-preservation is distinctly overpowered by great suffering.

From it the division of Duty into what is prescribed by law, and what is taught by love, or, better, into justice and loving-kindness, results quite naturally though a principle of separation which arises from the nature of the subject, and which entirely of itself draws a sharp line of demarkation; so that the foundation of Morals, which I shall present, has in fact ready to hand that confirmation, to which Kant, with a view to support his own position, lays a completely groundless claim.

simplex sigillum veri (simplicity is the seal of truth)

Every "worth" is a valuation by comparison, and its bearing is necessarily twofold. First, it is relative, since it exists for some one; and secondly, it is comparative, as being compared with something else, and estimated accordingly.

What ought I to do?" as a rule, nothing else will occur to our counsellor, but how we should shape our action to suit his own ends; and to this effect he will give his reply immediately, and as it were mechanically, without so much as bestowing a thought on our ends; because it is his Will that directly dictates the answer, or ever the question can come before the bar of his real judgment. Hence he tries to mould our conduct to his own benefit, without even being conscious of it, and while he supposes that he is speaking out of the abundance of his discernment, in reality he is nothing but the mouth-piece of his own desire; indeed, such self-deception may lead him so far as to utter lies, without being aware of it. So greatly does the influence of the Will preponderate that of the Intelligence. Consequently, it is not the testimony of our own consciousness, but rather, for the most part, that of our interest, which avails to determine whether our language be in accordance with what we discern, or what we desire. To take another case. Let us suppose that a man pursued by enemies and in danger of life, meets a pedlar and inquires for some by-way of escape; it may happen that the latter will answer him by the question: "Do you need any of my wares?" It is not of course meant that matters are always like this. On the contrary, many a man is found to show a direct and real participation in another's weal and woe, or (in Kant's language) to regard him as an end and not as a means.

what is an interest other than the working of a motive upon the Will? Therefore where a motive moves the Will, there the latter has an interest; but where the Will is affected by no motive, there in truth it can be as little active, as a stone is able to leave its place without being pushed or pulled. No educated person will require any demonstration of this. It follows that every action, inasmuch as it necessarily must have a motive, necessarily also presupposes an interest.

Ei bine, eu voi ridica mâna acum doar că vreau, fără nici un motiv.

Every value is the estimation of one thing compared with another;

An incomparable, unconditioned, absolute value, such as "dignity" is declared by Kant to be, is thus, like so much else in Philosophy, the statement in words of a thought which is really unthinkable; just as much as "the highest number," or "the greatest space.

The alleged Practical Reason with its Categorical Imperative, is manifestly very closely connected with Conscience, although essentially different from it in two respects. In the first place, the Categorical Imperative, as commanding, necessarily speaks before the act, whereas Conscience does not till afterwards. Before the act Conscience can at best only speak indirectly, that is, by means of reflection, which holds up to it the recollection of previous cases, in which similar acts after they were committed received its disapproval. It is on this that the etymology of the word Gewissen (Conscience) appears to me to rest, because only what has already taken place is gewiss[1] (certain). Undoubtedly, through external inducement and kindled emotion, or by reason of the internal discord of bad humour, impure, base thoughts, and evil desires rise up in all people, even in the best. But for these a man is not morally responsible, and need not load his conscience with them; since they only show what the genus homo, not what the individual, who thinks them, would be capable of doing. Other motives, if not simultaneously, yet almost immediately, come into his consciousness, and confronting the unworthy inclinations prevent them from ever being crystallised into deeds; thus causing them to resemble the out-voted minority of an acting committee. By deeds alone each person gains an empirical knowledge no less of himself than of others, just as it is deeds alone that burden the conscience. For, unlike thoughts, these are not problematic; on the contrary, they are certain (gewiss), they are unchangeable, and are not only thought, but known (gewusst). The Latin conscientia,[2] and the Greek συνείδησις[3] have the same sense. Conscience is thus the knowledge that a man has about what he has done.

It is not true that the accuser must always lose, when the accused is the same person as the judge; at least not in the court of judgment in our hearts.

As a matter of fact it is a sufficiently common form, which our thoughts easily take when we consider any circumstance of real life. It is due for the most part to the conflict of opposing motives which usually spring up, and which are successively weighed and tested by our reflecting reason. And no difference is made whether these motives are moral or egoistic in their nature, nor whether our deliberations are concerned with some action in the past, or in the future

It is with our conduct per se that we are discontented, not with its result, and this feeling does not, as in every other case in which we regret the stupidity of our behaviour, rest on egoistic grounds. For on these occasions the cause of our dissatisfaction is precisely because we have been too egoistic, because we have taken too much thought for ourselves, and not enough for our neighbour; or perhaps even because, without any resulting advantage, we have made the misery of others an object in itself. That we may be dissatisfied with ourselves, and saddened by reason of sufferings which we have inflicted, not undergone, is a plain fact and impossible to be denied

what is done is a consequence of that which is

his acts are a consequence of what he is

To sum up. What Plato meant seems to be this. Souls (he said) have free power, before passing into bodies and different modes of being, to choose this or that form of life, which they will pass through in a certain kind of existence, and in a body adapted thereto. (For a soul may choose a lion's, equally with a man's, mode of being.) But this free power of choice is removed simultaneously with entrance into one or other of such forms of life. For when once they have descended into bodies, and instead of unfettered souls have become the souls of living things, then they take that measure of free power which belongs in each case to the organism of the living thing. In some forms this power is very intelligent and full of movement, as in man; in some it has but little energy, and is of a simple nature, as in almost all other creatures. Moreover, this free power depends on the organism in such a way that while its capability of action is caused by itself alone, its impulses are determined by the desires which have their origin in the organism.

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.

there is nothing either good or bad by nature, but these things are decided by human judgment

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.

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.

To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man pick'd out of ten thousand.

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.

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.

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

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.

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).

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

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.

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.

(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.

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.

(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.

(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.

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[…]

Neminem laede; immo omnes, quantum potes, juva. (Do harm to no one; but rather help all people, as far as lies in your power.)

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 general, the feminine half of humanity is inferior to the masculine in the virtue of justice, and its derivatives, uprightness, conscientiousness, etc.; the explanation is found in the fact that, owing to the weakness of its reasoning powers the former is much less capable than the latter of understanding and holding to general laws, and of taking them as a guiding thread. Hence injustice and falseness are women's besetting sins, and lies their proper element. On the other hand, they surpass men in the virtue of loving-kindness; because usually the stimulus to this is intuitive, and consequently appeals directly to the sense of Compassion, of which females are much more susceptible than males.

nothing brings a man back so easily to the path of justice, as the realisation of the trouble, the grief, the lamentation of the loser.

injustice or wrong always consists in working harm on another. Therefore the conception of wrong is positive, and antecedent to the conception of right, which is negative, and simply denotes the actions performable without injury to others; in other words, without wrong being done.

Quintus Curtius: Nulla res efficacius multitudinem regit, quam superstitio: alioquin impotens, saeva, mutabilis; ubi vana religione capta est, melius vatibus, quam ducibus suis paret.

causa causae est causa effectus. (The cause of a cause is the cause of the effect.) Taken in this connection the words mean: if any one desires to injure me, it is not I, but he, that is the cause of whatever I am obliged to do in self-defence; and I can consequently oppose all encroachments on his part, without wronging him. Here we have, so to say, a law of moral repercussion. Thus it comes about that the union of the empirical idea of injury done with the axiom supplied by the pure understanding, gives rise to the fundamental conceptions of wrong and right, which every one grasps a priori, and learns by actual trial to immediately adopt. The empiric, who denies this, and refuses to accept anything but the verdict of experience, may be referred to the testimony of the savage races, who all distinguish between wrong and right quite correctly, often indeed with nice precision; as is strikingly manifested when they are engaged in bartering and other transactions with Europeans, or visit their ships. They are bold and self-assured, when they are in the right; but uneasy, when they know they are wrong. In disputes a just settlement satisfies them, whereas unjust procedure drives them to war.

I give therefore the following definition: the amount of injustice in my conduct varies as the amount of evil, which I thereby bring on another, divided by the amount of advantage, which I myself gain; and the amount of justice in my conduct varies as the amount of advantage, which injury done to another brings me, divided by the amount of harm which he thereby suffers.

It is forgotten that "Duty"[7] necessarily means a debt which is owing, being thus an action, by the simple omission of which another suffers harm, that is, a wrong comes about. Clearly in this case the injury only takes place through the person, who neglects the duty, having distinctly pledged or bound himself to it. Consequently all duties depend on an obligation which has been entered into. This, as a rule, takes the form of a definite, if sometimes tacit, agreement between two parties: as for instance, between prince and people, government and its servants, master and man, lawyer and client, physician and patient; in a word, between any and every one who undertakes to perform some task, and his employer in the widest sense of the word. Hence every duty involves a right; since no one undertakes an obligation without a motive, which means, in this case, without seeing some advantage for himself. There is only one obligation that I know of which is not subject to an agreement, but arises directly and solely through an act; this is because one of the persons with whom it has to do was not in existence when it was contracted. I refer to the duty of parents towards their children. Whoever brings a child into the world, has incumbent on him the duty of supporting his offspring, until the latter is able to maintain himself; and should this time never come, owing to incapacity from blindness, deformity, cretinism, and the like, neither does the duty ever come to an end. It is clear that merely by failing to provide for the needs of his son, that is, by a simple omission, the father would injure him, indeed jeopardise his life. Children's duty towards their parents is not so direct and imperative. It rests on the fact that, as every duty involves a right, parents also must have some just claim on their issue. This is the foundation of the duty of filial obedience, which, however, in course of time ceases simultaneously with the right out of which it sprang. It is replaced by gratitude for that which was done by father and mother over and above their strict duty. Nevertheless, although ingratitude is a hateful, often indeed a revolting vice, gratitude cannot be called a duty; because its omission inflicts no injury on the other side, and is therefore no wrong.

I may, then, without any injustice match cunning with cunning, and anticipate all crafty encroachments on me, even if they be only probable; and I need neither render an account to him who unwarrantably pries into my personal circumstances, nor by replying: "I cannot answer this," show him the spot where I have a secret, which perilous to me, and perhaps advantageous to him, in any case puts me in his power, if divulged: Scire volunt secreta domus, atque inde timeri. (They wish to know family secrets, and thus become feared.) On the contrary, I am justified in putting him off with a lie, involving danger to himself, in case he is thereby led into a mistake that works him harm. Indeed, a falsehood is the only means of opposing inquisitive and suspicious curiosity; to meet which it is the one weapon of necessary self- defence. "Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies" is here the right maxim.

Again: if a man be found in the house of another, whose daughter he is wooing; and he is asked the cause of his unexpected presence; unless he has entirely lost his head, he will not give the true reason, but unhesitatingly invent a pretext. And the cases are numberless in which every reasonable being tells an untruth, without the least scruple of conscience. It is this view of the matter alone that removes the crying contradiction between the morality which is taught, and that which is daily practised, even by the best and most upright of men. At the same time, the restriction of a falsehood to the single purpose of self-defence must be rigidly observed; for otherwise this doctrine would admit of terrible abuse, a lie being in itself a very dangerous instrument. But just as, even in time of public peace, the law allows every one to carry weapons and to use them, when required for self-defence, so Ethics permits lies to be employed for the same purpose, and—be it observed—for this one purpose only. Every mendacious word is a wrong, excepting only when the occasion arises of defending oneself against violence or cunning.

Talleyrand: l'homme a reçu la parole pour pouvoir cacher sa pensée

Man has received the gift of language, so as to be able to conceal his thoughts.

Declamation is easier than demonstration, and to moralise less difficult than to be sincere.

in the same place (Matth. vi. 2) we find it stated with perfect truth that ostentations almsgivers ἀπέχουσιν τὸν µισθὸν αὐτῶν. (Get in full—exhaust their reward.) Although, in this respect too, the Vedas shed on us the light of a higher teaching. They repeatedly declare that he, who desires any sort of recompense for his work, is still wandering in the path of darkness, and not yet ripe for deliverance. If any one should ask me what he gets from a charitable act, my answer in all sincerity would be: "This, that the lot of the poor man you relieve is just so much the lighter; otherwise absolutely nothing. If you are not satisfied, and feel that such is not a sufficient end, then your wish was not to give alms, but to make a purchase; and you have effected a bad bargain. But if the one thing you are concerned with is that he should feel the pressure of poverty less; then you have gained your object; you have diminished his suffering, and you see exactly how far your gift is requited.

Ethics is in truth the easiest of all sciences. And this is only to be expected, since it is incumbent on each person to construct it for himself, and himself form the rule for every case, as it occurs, out of the fundamental law which lies deep in his heart; for few have leisure and patience enough to learn a ready-made system of Morals.

There is nothing that revolts our moral sense so much as cruelty. Every other offence we can pardon, but not cruelty. The reason is found in the fact that cruelty is the exact opposite of Compassion.

the philosophic moral principles, purely theoretical as they are, have seldom any operative power; of those established by religion, and expressly framed for practical purposes, it is equally difficult to predicate any marked efficiency. The chief evidence of this lies in the fact that in spite of the great religious differences in the world, the amount of morality, or rather of immorality, shows no corresponding variation, but in essentials is pretty much the same everywhere. Only it is important not to confound rudeness and refinement with morality and immorality.

The morality of Christianity is of a much higher kind than that of any other religion which previously appeared in Europe. But if any one should believe for this reason that European morals have improved proportionally, and that now at any rate they surpass what obtains elsewhere, it would not be difficult to demonstrate that among the Mohammedans, Gnebres, Hindus, and Buddhists, there is at least as much honesty, fidelity, toleration, gentleness, beneficence, nobleness, and self-denial as among Christian peoples.

we shall be obliged to confess that the effect of the various religions on Morals is in fact very small. This is of course due to weakness of faith. Theoretically, and so long as it is only a question of piety in the abstract, every one supposes his belief to be firm enough. Only the searching touch-stone of all our convictions is—what we do. When the moment for acting arrives, and our faith has to be tested by great self-denial and heavy sacrifices, then its feebleness becomes evident. If a man is seriously planning some evil, he has already broken the bounds of true and pure morality. Thenceforward the chief restraint that checks him is invariably the dread of justice and the police.

Boundless compassion for all living beings is the surest and most certain guarantee of pure moral conduct, and needs no casuistry. Whoever is filled with it will assuredly injure no one, do harm to no one, encroach on no man's rights; he will rather have regard for every one, forgive every one, help every one as far as he can, and all his actions will bear the stamp of justice and loving-kindness

if a man has many advantages over others, he will easily become an object of envy, which is ready, should he once fall from his height of prosperity, to turn into malignant joy.

misfortune is the condition of Compassion, and Compassion the source of loving-kindness. When our wrath is kindled against a person, nothing quenches it so quickly, even when it is righteous, as the words: "He is an unfortunate man." And the reason is obvious: Compassion is to anger as water to fire. Therefore, whoever would fain have nothing to repent of, let him listen to my advice. When he is inflamed with rage, and meditates doing some one a grievous injury, he should bring the thing vividly before his mind, as a fait accompli; he should clearly picture to himself this other fellow-being tormented with mental or bodily pain, or struggling with need and misery; so that he is forced to exclaim: "This is my work!

Compassion for animals is intimately connected with goodness of character, and it may be confidently asserted that he, who is cruel to living creatures, cannot be a good man.

Assuredly, from the mutual succour thus arising, there was more to be hoped for, towards the attainment of universal well-being, than from a stern Command of duty, couched in general, abstract terms,—the product of certain reasoning processes, and of artificial combinations of conceptions. From such an Imperative, indeed, all the less result could be expected because to the rough human unit general propositions and abstract truths are unintelligible, the concrete only having some meaning for him. And it should be remembered that mankind in its entirety, a very small part alone excepted, has always been rude, and must remain so, since the large amount of bodily toil, which for the race as a whole is inevitable, leaves no time for mental culture. Whereas, in order to awaken that sense, which has been proved to be the sole source of disinterested action, and consequently the true basis of Morals, there is no need of abstract knowledge, but only of intuitive perception, of the simple comprehension of a concrete case. To this Compassion is at once responsive, without the mediation of other thoughts.

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?

The best man, and the one most likely to excel in all social virtues, in all forms of magnanimity, is he who is most compassionate.

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. Velle non discitur (to use one's will is not a thing that can be taught) is a saying of Nero's tutor

It is not in our power to be either good or bad

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

where no reality exists, there also no semblance of it should be

the human spirit can find no abiding satisfaction, no real repose

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.)

It is indeed the uniform teaching of experience that those near death wish to be reconciled with every one before they pass away.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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). 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.