THE PROOF NOW GIVEN CONFIRMED BY EXPERIENCE.
The truth I have here laid down, that Compassion is the sole non-egoistic stimulus, and therefore the only really moral one, is a strange, indeed almost incomprehensible paradox. I shall hope, therefore, to render it less extraordinary to the reader, if I show that it is confirmed by experience, and by the universal testimony of human sentiment.
(1) For this purpose I shall, in the first place, state an imaginary case, which in the present investigation may serve as an experimentum crucis[1] (a crucial test). But not to make the matter too easy, I shall take no instance of loving-kindness, but rather a breach of lawful right, and that of the worse kind. Let us suppose two young people, Caius and Titus, to be passionately in love, each with a different girl, and that both are completely thwarted by two other men who are preferred because of certain external circumstances. They have both resolved to put their rivals out of the way, and are perfectly secure from every chance of detection, even from all suspicion. But when they come to actually prepare for the murder, each of them, after an inward struggle, draws back. They are now to give us a truthful and clear account of the reasons why they abandoned their project. As for Caius, I leave it entirely to the reader to choose what motive he likes. It may be that religions grounds checked him; for instance, the thought of the Divine Will, of future retribution, of the judgment to come, etc. Or perhaps he may say: "I reflected that the principle I was going to apply in this case would not be adapted to provide a rule universally valid for all possible rational beings; because I should have treated my rival only as a means, and not at the same time as an end." Or, following Fichte, he may deliver himself as follows: "Every human life is a means towards realising the moral law; consequently, I cannot, without being indifferent to this realisation, destroy a being ordained to do his part in effecting it."—(Sittenlehre, p. 373.) (This scruple, be it observed in passing, he might well overcome by the hope of soon producing a new instrument of the moral law, when once in possession of his beloved.) Or, again, he may speak after the fashion of Wollaston: "I considered that such an action would be the expression of a false tenet." Or like Hutcheson: "The Moral Sense, whose perceptions, equally with those of every other sense, admit of no final explanation, forbade me to commit such a deed." Or like Adam Smith: "I foresaw that my act would awaken no sympathy with me in the minds of the spectators." Or his language may be borrowed from Christian Wolff: "I recognised that I should thereby advance neither the work of making myself perfect, nor the same process in any one else." Or from Spinoza: "Homini nihil utilius homine: ergo hominem interimere nolui." (To man nothing is more useful than man: therefore I was unwilling to destroy a man.) In short, he may say what one pleases. But Titus, whose explanation is supplied by myself, will speak as follows: "When I came to make arrangements for the work, and so, for the moment, had to occupy myself not with my own passion, but with my rival; then for the first time I saw clearly what was going to happen to him. But simultaneously I was seized with compassion and pity; sorrow for him laid hold upon me, and overmastered me: I could not strike the blow." Now I ask every honest and unprejudiced reader: Which of these two is the better man? To which would he prefer to entrust his own destiny? Which is restrained by the purer motive? Consequently, where does the basis of morality lie?
(2) 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. When we hear of intensely cruel conduct, as, for instance, the act, which has just been recorded in the papers, of a mother, who murdered her little son of five years, by pouring boiling oil into his throat, and her younger child, by burying it alive; or what was recently reported from Algiers: how a casual dispute between a Spaniard and an Algerine ended in a fight; and how the latter, having vanquished the other, tore out the whole of his lower jaw bone, and carried it off as a trophy, leaving his adversary still alive;—when we hear of cruelty like this, we are seized with horror, and exclaim: "How is it possible to do such a thing?" Now, let me ask what this question signifies. Does it mean: "How is it possible to fear so little the punishments of the future life?" It is difficult to admit this interpretation. Then perhaps it intends to say: "How is it possible to act according to a principle which is so absolutely unfitted to become a general law for all rational beings?" Certainly not. Or, once more: "How is it possible to neglect so utterly one's own perfection as well as that of another?"' This is equally unimaginable. The sense of the question is assuredly nothing but this: "How is it possible to be so utterly bereft of compassion?" The conclusion is that when an action is characterised by an extraordinary absence of compassion, it bears the certain stamp of the deepest depravity and loathsomeness. Hence Compassion is the true moral incentive.
(3) The ethical basis, or the original moral stimulus, which I have disclosed, is the only one that can be justly said to have a real and extended sphere of effective influence. No one will surely venture to maintain as much of all the other moral principles that philosophers have set up; for these are composed of abstract, sometimes even of hair-splitting propositions, with no foundation other than an artificial combination of ideas; such that their application to actual conduct would often incline to the comic. A good action, inspired solely by Kant's Moral Principle, would be at bottom the work of philosophic pedantry; or else would lead the doer into self-deception, through his reason interpreting conduct, which had other, perhaps nobler, incentives, as the product of the Categorical Imperative, and of the conception of Duty, which, as we have seen, rests on nothing. But not only is it true that 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 religion of Hellas had an exceedingly small moral tendency,—it hardly went further than respect for oaths. No dogma was taught, and no system of Ethics publicly preached; nevertheless, all things considered, it does not appear that the Greeks were morally inferior to the men of the Christian era. 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. Indeed, the scale will be found rather to turn unfavourably for Christendom, when we put into the balance the long list of inhuman cruelties which have constantly been perpetrated within its limits and often in its name. We need only recall for a moment the numerous religious wars; the crusades that nothing can justify; the extirpation of a large part of the American aborigines, and the peopling of that continent by negroes, brought over from Africa, without the shadow of a right, torn from their families, their country, their hemisphere, and, as slaves, condemned for life to forced labour;[2] the tireless persecution of heretics; the unspeakable atrocities of the Inquisition, that cried aloud to heaven; the Massacre of St. Bartholomew; the execution of 18,000 persons in the Netherlands by the Duke of Alva; and these are but a few facts among many. Speaking generally, however, if we compare with the performances of its followers the excellent morality which Christianity, and, more or less, every creed preaches, and then try to imagine how far theory would become practice, if crime were not impeded by the secular arm of the state; nay more, what would probably happen, if, for only one day all laws should be suspended; 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. Should he be so hopeful of escaping detection as to cast such fears aside, the next barrier that meets him is regard for his honour. If this second rampart be crossed, there is very little likelihood, after both these powerful hindrances are withdrawn, that any religious dogma will appeal to him strongly enough to keep him back from the deed. For if he be not frightened by near and immediate dangers, he will hardly be curbed by terrors which are distant, and rest merely on belief. Moreover, there is a positive objection that may be brought against all good conduct proceeding solely from religions conviction; it is not purged of self-interest, but done out of regard for reward and punishment, and hence can have no purely moral value. This view we find very clearly expressed in a letter of the celebrated Grand-Duke of Weimar, Karl August. He writes: "Baron Weyhers was himself of opinion that he, who is good through religion, and not by natural inclination, must be a bad fellow at heart. In vino veritas."[3] —(Letters to J. H. Merck; No. 229.) But now let us turn to the moral incentive which I have disclosed. Who ventures for a moment to deny that it displays a marked and truly wonderful influence at all times, among all peoples, in all circumstances of life; even when constitutional law is suspended, and the horrors of revolutions and wars fill the air; in small things and in great, every day and every hour? Who will refuse to admit that it is constantly preventing much wrong, and calling into existence many a good action, often quite unexpectedly, and where there is no hope of reward? Is there any one who will gainsay the fact that, where it and it alone has been operative, we all with deep respect and emotion unreservedly recognise the presence of genuine moral worth?
(4) 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. On the other hand, if we try to say: "This man is virtuous, but he is a stranger to Compassion"; or: "he is an unjust and malicious man, yet very compassionate;" the contradiction at once leaps to light. In former times the English plays used to finish with a petition for the King. The old Indian dramas close with these words: "May all living beings be delivered from pain." Tastes differ; but in my opinion there is no more beautiful prayer than this.
(5) Also from separate matters of detail it may be inferred that the original stimulus of true morality is Compassion. For instance, to make a man lose a hundred thalers, by legal tricks involving no danger, is equally unjust, whether he be rich or poor; but in the latter case the rapping of conscience is much louder, the censure of disinterested witnesses more emphatic. Aristotle was well aware of this, and said: δεινότερον δέ εστι τὸν ἀτυχοῡντα, ἢ τον ετὐχοῡντα, ἀδικεῑν. (It is worse to injure a man in adversity than one who is prosperous.)—(Probl. xxix. 2.) If the man have wealth, self-reproach is proportionally faint, and grows still fainter, if it be the treasury that has been overreached; for state coffers can form no object of Compassion. It thus appears that the grounds for self-accusation as well as for the spectators' blame are not furnished directly by the infringement of the law, but chiefly by the suffering thereby brought upon others. The violation of right, by itself and as such, which is involved in cheating the exchequer, (to take the above instance,) will be disapproved by the conscience alike of actor and witness; but only because, and in so far as, the rule of respecting every right, which forms the sine qua non of all honourable conduct, is in consequence broken. The stricture passed will, in fact, be indirect and limited. If, however, it be a confidential employé in the service that commits the fraud, the case assumes quite another aspect; it then has all the specific attributes of, and belongs to, that class of actions described above, whose characteristic is a double injustice. The analysis here given explains why the worst charge which can ever be brought against rapacious extortioners and legal sharpers is, that they appropriate for themselves the goods of widows and orphans. The reason appears in the fact that the latter, more than others, owing to their helplessness, might be expected to excite Compassion in the most callous heart. Hence we conclude that the entire absence of this sense is sufficient to lower a man to the last degree of villainy.
(6) Compassion is the root no less of justice than of loving-kindness; but it is more clearly evidenced in the latter than in the former. We never receive proofs of genuine loving-kindness on the part of others, so long as we are in all respects prosperous. The happy man may, no doubt, often hear the words of good-will on his relations' and friends' lips; but the expression of that pure, disinterested, objective participation in the condition and lot of others, which loving-kindness begets, is reserved for him who is stricken with some sorrow or suffering, whatever it be. For the fortunate as such we do not feel sympathy; unless they have some other claim on us, they remain alien to our hearts: habeant sibi sua. (They may keep their own affairs, pleasures, etc., to themselves.) Nay, 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. Nevertheless this menace is, for the most part, not fulfilled; the Sophoclean γελῶσι δ' ἐχθροί (his enemies laugh) does not generally become an actual fact. As soon as the day of ruin comes to one of fortune's spoiled children, there usually takes place a great transformation in the minds of his acquaintances, which for us in this connection is very instructive. In the first place this change clearly reveals the real nature of the interest that the friends of his happiness took in him: diffugiunt cadis cum faece siccatis amici. (When the casks are drained to the dregs, one's friends run away.)[4] On the other hand, the exultation of those who envied his prosperity, the mocking laugh of malicious satisfaction, which he feared more than adversity itself, and the contemplation of which he could not face, are things usually spared him. Jealousy is appeased, and disappears with its cause; while Compassion which takes its place is the parent of loving-kindness. Those who were envious of, and hostile to, a man in the full tide of success, after his downfall, have not seldom become his friends, ready to protect, comfort, and help. Who has not, at least in a small way, himself experienced something of the sort? Where is the man, who, when overtaken by some calamity, of whatever nature, has not noticed with surprise how the persons that previously had displayed the greatest coldness, nay, ill-will towards him, then came forward with unfeigned sympathy? For 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!" Such thoughts as these, if anything, will avail to moderate his wrath. For Compassion is the true antidote of anger; and by practising on oneself this artifice of the imagination, one awakes beforehand, while there is yet time,
la pitié, dont la voix,
Alors qu'on est vengé, fait entendre ses lois.[5]
—(Voltaire, Sémiramis, V. 6.)
And in general, the hatred we may cherish for others is overcome by nothing so easily as by our taking a point of view whence they can appeal to our Compassion. The reason indeed why parents, as a rule, specially love the sickly one of their children is because the sight of it perpetually stirs their Compassion.
(7) There is another proof that the moral incentive disclosed by me is the true one. I mean the fact that animals also are included under its protecting aegis. In the other European systems of Ethics no place is found for them,—strange and inexcusable as this may appear. It is asserted that beasts have no rights; the illusion is harboured that our conduct, so far as they are concerned, has no moral significance, or, as it is put in the language of these codes, that "there are no duties to be fulfilled towards animals." Such a view is one of revolting coarseness, a barbarism of the West, whose source is Judaism. In philosophy, however, it rests on the assumption, despite all evidence to the contrary, of the radical difference between man and beast,—a doctrine which, as is well known, was proclaimed with more trenchant emphasis by Descartes than by any one else: it was indeed the necessary consequence of his mistakes. When Leibnitz and Wolff, following out the Cartesian view, built up out of abstract ideas their Rational Psychology, and constructed a deathless anima rationalis (rational soul); then the natural claims of the animal kingdom visibly rose up against this exclusive privilege, this human patent of immortality, and Nature, as always in such circumstances, entered her silent protest. Our philosophers, owing to the qualms of their intellectual conscience, were soon forced to seek aid for their Rational Psychology from the empirical method; they accordingly tried to reveal the existence of a vast chasm, an immeasurable gulf between animals and men, in order to represent them, in the teeth of opposing testimony, as existences essentially different. These efforts did not escape the ridicule of Boileau; for we find him saying:
Les animaux ont-ils des universités?
Voit-on fleurir chez eux des quatre facultés?[6]
Such a supposition would end in animals being pronounced incapable of distinguishing themselves from the external world, and of having any self-consciousness, any ego! As answer to such absurd tenets, it would only be necessary to point to the boundless Egoism innate in every animal, even the smallest and humblest; this amply proves how perfectly they are conscious of their self, as opposed to the world, which lies outside it. If any one of the Cartesian persuasion, with views like these in his head, should find himself in the claws of a tiger, he would be taught in the most forcible manner what a sharp distinction such a beast draws between his ego and the non-ego. Corresponding to these philosophical fallacies we notice a peculiar sophism in the speech of many peoples, especially the Germans. For the commonest matters connected with the processes of life,—for food, drink, conception, the bringing forth of young; for death, and the dead body; such languages have special words applicable only to animals, not to men. In this way the necessity of using the same terms for both is avoided, and the perfect identity of the thing concealed under verbal differences. Now, since the ancient tongues show no trace of such a dual mode of expression, but frankly denote the same things by the same words; it follows that this miserable artifice is beyond all doubt the work of European priestcraft, which, in its profanity, knows no limit to its disavowal of, and blasphemy against, the Eternal Reality that lives in every animal. Thus was laid the foundation of that harshness and cruelty towards beasts which is customary in Europe, and on which a native of the Asiatic uplands could not look without righteous horror. In English this infamous invention is not to be found; assuredly because the Saxons, when they conquered England, were not yet Christians. Nevertheless the English language shows something analogous in the strange fact that it makes all animals of the neuter gender, the pronoun "it" being employed for them, just as if they were lifeless things. This idiom has a very objectionable sound, especially in the case of dogs, monkeys, and other Primates, and is unmistakably a priestly trick, designed to reduce beasts to the level of inanimate objects. The ancient Egyptians, who dedicated all their days to religion, were accustomed to place in the same vault with a human mummy that of an ibis, a crocodile, etc.; in Europe it is a crime, an abomination to bury a faithful dog beside the resting-place of his master, though it is there perhaps that he, with a fidelity and attachment unknown to the sons of men, awaited his own end. To a recognition of the identity, in all essentials, of the phaenomena which we call "man" and "beast," nothing leads more surely than the study of zoology and anatomy. What shall we say then, when in these days (1839) a canting dissector has been found, who presumes to insist on an absolute and radical difference between human beings and animals, and who goes so far as to attack and calumniate honest zoologists that keep aloof from all priestly guile, eye-service, and hypocrisy, and dare to follow the leading of nature and of truth?
Those persons must indeed be totally blind, or else completely chloroformed by the foetor Judaicus (Jewish stench), who do not discern that the truly essential and fundamental part in man and beast is identically the same thing. That which distinguishes the one from the other does not lie in the primary and original principle, in the inner nature, in the kernel of the two phaenomena (this kernel being in both alike the Will of the individual); it is found in what is secondary, in the intellect, in the degree of perceptive capacity. It is true that the latter is incomparably higher in man, by reason of his added faculty of abstract knowledge, called Reason; nevertheless this superiority is traceable solely to a greater cerebral development, in other words, to the corporeal difference, which is quantitative, not qualitative, of a single part, the brain. In all other respects the similarity between men and animals, both psychical and bodily, is sufficiently striking. So that we must remind our judaised friends in the West, who despise animals, and idolise Reason, that if they were suckled by their mothers, so also was the dog by his. Even Kant fell into this common mistake of his age, and of his country, and I have already administered the censure[7] which it is impossible to withhold. The fact that Christian morality takes no thought for beasts is a defect in the system which is better admitted than perpetuated. One's astonishment is, however, all the greater, because, with this exception, it shows the closest agreement with the Ethics of Brahmanism and Buddhism, being only less strongly expressed, and not carried to the last consequences imposed by logic. On the whole, there seems little room for doubting that, in common with the idea of a god become man, or Avatar,[8] it has an Asiatic origin, and probably came to Judaea by way of Egypt; so that Christianity would be a secondary reflection of the primordial light that shone in India, which, falling first on Egypt, was unhappily refracted from its ruins upon Jewish soil. An apt symbol of the insensibility of Christian Ethics to animals, while in other points its similarity to the Indian is so great, may be found in the circumstance that John the Baptist comes before us in all respects like a Hindu Sannyasin,[9] except that he is clothed in skins: a thing which would be, as is well known, an abomination in the eyes of every follower of Brahmanism or Buddhism. The Royal Society of Calcutta only received their copy of the Vedas on their distinctly promising that they would not have it bound in leather, after European fashion. In silken binding, therefore, it is now to be seen on the shelves of their library. Again: the Gospel story of Peter's draught of fishes, which the Saviour blesses so signally that the boats are overladen, and begin to sink (Luke v. 1-10), forms a characteristic contrast to what is related of Pythagoras. It is said that the latter, initiated as he was in all the wisdom of the Egyptians, bought the draught from the fishermen, while the net was still under water, in order to at once set at liberty the captive denizens of the sea. (Apuleius: De Magia, p. 36: edit. Bipont.)[10] 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. Moreover, this compassion manifestly flows from the same source whence arise the virtues of justice and loving-kindness towards men. Thus, for instance, people of delicate sensitiveness, on realising that in a fit of ill-humour, or anger, or under the influence of wine, they punished their dog, their horse, their ape undeservedly, or unnecessarily, or excessively, are seized with the same remorse, feel the same dissatisfaction with themselves, as when they are conscious of having done some wrong to one of their fellows. The only difference—a purely nominal one—is that in the latter case this remorse, this dissatisfaction is called the voice of conscience rising in rebuke. I remember having read of an Englishman, who, when hunting in India, had killed a monkey, that he could not forget the dying look which the creature cast on him; so that he never fired at these animals again. Another sportsman, William Harris by name, a true Nimrod, has much the same story to tell. During the years 1836-7 he travelled far into the heart of Africa, merely to indulge his passion for the chase. A passage in his book, published at Bombay in 1838, describes how he shot his first elephant, a female. Next morning on going to look for his game, he found that all the elephants had fled from the neighbourhood, except a young one which had spent the night beside its dead mother. Seeing the huntsmen, it forgot all fear, and came to meet them, with the clearest and most lively signs of disconsolate grief, and put its tiny trunk about them, as if to beg for help. "Then," says Harris, "I was filled with real remorse for what I had done, and felt as if I had committed a murder."
The English nation, with its fine sensibility, is, in fact, distinguished above all others for extraordinary compassion towards animals, which appears at every opportunity, and is so strong that, despite the "cold superstition" which otherwise degrades them, these Anglo-Saxons have been led through its operation to fill up by legislation the lacuna that their religion leaves in morality. For this gap is precisely the reason why in Europe and America there is need of societies for the protection of animals, which are entirely dependent on the law for their efficiency. In Asia the religions themselves suffice, consequently no one there ever thinks of such associations. Meanwhile Europeans are awakening more and more to a sense that beasts have rights, in proportion as the strange notion is being gradually overcome and outgrown, that the animal kingdom came into existence solely for the benefit and pleasure of man. This view,[11] with the corollary that non-human living creatures are to be regarded merely as things, is at the root of the rough and altogether reckless treatment of them, which obtains in the West. To the honour, then, of the English be it said that they are the first people who have, in downright earnest, extended the protecting arm of the law to animals: in England the miscreant, that commits an outrage on beasts, has to pay for it, equally whether they are his own or not. Nor is this all. There exists in London the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, a corporate body voluntarily formed, which, without state assistance, and at great cost, is of no small service in lessening the tale of tortures inflicted on animals. Its emissaries are ubiquitous, and keep secret watch in order to inform against the tormentors of dumb, sensitive creatures; and such persons have therefore good reason to stand in fear of them.[12] At all the steep bridges in London this Society stations a pair of horses, which without any charge is attached to heavy freight-waggons. Is not this admirable? Does it not elicit our approval, as unfailingly as any beneficent action towards men? Also the Philanthropic Society of London has done its part. In 1837 it offered a prize of £30 for the best exposition of the moral reasons which exist to keep men from torturing animals. The line of argument, however, had to be taken almost exclusively from Christianity, whereby the difficulty of the task was, of course, increased; but two years later, in 1839, Mr. Macnamara was the successful competitor. At Philadelphia there is an Animals' Friends' Society, having the same aims; and it is to the President of the latter that a book called Philozoia; or, Moral Reflections on the Actual Condition of Animals, and the Means of Improving the Same (Brussels, 1839), has been dedicated by its author, T. Forster. It is original and well written. Mr. Forster earnestly commends to his readers the humane treatment of animals. As an Englishman he naturally tries to strengthen his position by the support of the Bible; but he is on slippery ground, and meets with such poor success that he ends by catching at the following ingenious position: Jesus Christ (he says) was born in a stable among oxen and asses; which was meant to indicate symbolically that we ought to regard the beasts as our brothers, and treat them accordingly. All that I have here adduced sufficiently proves that the moral chord, of which we are speaking, is now at length beginning to vibrate also in the West. For the rest, we may observe that compassion for sentient beings is not to carry us to the length of abstaining from flesh, like the Brahmans. This is because, by a natural law, capacity for pain keeps pace with the intelligence; consequently men, by going without animal food, especially in the North, would suffer more than beasts do through a quick death, which is always unforeseen; although the latter ought to be made still easier by means of chloroform. Indeed without meat nourishment mankind would be quite unable to withstand the rigours of the Northern climate. The same reasoning explains, too, why we are right in making animals work for us; it is only when they are subjected to an excessive amount of toil that cruelty begins.
(8) It is perhaps not impossible to investigate and explain metaphysically the ultimate cause of that Compassion in which alone all non-egoistic conduct can have its source; but let us for the moment put aside such inquiries, and consider the phaenomenon in question, from the empirical point of view, simply as a natural arrangement. Now if Nature's intention was to soften as much as possible the numberless sufferings of every sort, to which our life is exposed, and which no one altogether escapes; if she wished to provide some counterbalance for the burning Egoism, which fills all beings, and often develops into malice; it will at once strike every one as obvious that she could not have chosen any method more effectual than that of planting in the human heart the wonderful disposition, which inclines one man to share the pain of another, and from which proceeds the voice that bids us, in tones strong and unmistakable, take thought for our neighbour; calling, at one time, "Protect!" at another, "Help!" 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.
(9) The following circumstance will be found in complete accord with the last paragraph. The foundation, which I have given to Ethics, leaves me without a forerunner among the School Philosophers; indeed, my position is paradoxical, as far as their teaching goes, and many of them, for instance, the Stoics (Seneca, De Clementia, II., 5), Spinoza (Ethica, IV., prop. 50), and Kant (Kritik der Praktischen Vernunft, p. 213; R. p. 257) only notice the motive of Compassion to utterly reject and contemn it. On the other hand, my basis is supported by the authority of the greatest moralist of modern times; for such, undoubtedly, J. J. Rousseau is,—that profound reader of the human heart, who drew his wisdom not from books, but from life, and intended his doctrine not for the professorial chair, but for humanity; he, the foe of all prejudice, the foster-child of nature, whom alone she endowed with the gift of being able to moralise without tediousness, because he hit the truth and stirred the heart. I shall therefore venture here to cite some passages from his works in support of my theory, observing that, so far, I have been as sparing as possible with regard to quotations.
In the Discours sur l'Origine de l'Inégalité, p. 91 (edit. Bipont.), he says: Il y a un autre principe, que Hobbes n'a point aperçu, et qui ayant été donné à l'homme pour adoucir, en certaines circonstances, la férocité de son amour-propre, tempère l'ardeur qu'il a pour son bien-être par une RÉPUGNANCE INNÉE À VOIR SOUFFRIR SON SEMBLABLE. Je ne crois pas avoir aucune contradiction à craindre en accordant à l'homme la SEULE VERTU NATURELLE qu'ait été forcé de reconnaître le détracteur le plus outré des vertus humaines. Je parle DE LA PITIÉ, etc.[13]
P. 92: Mandeville a bien senti qu'avec toute leur morale les hommes n'eussent jamais été que des monstres, si la nature ne leur eut donné LA PITIÉ à l'appui de la raison: mais il n'a pas vu, que DE CETTE SEULE QUALITÉ DECOULENT TOUTES LES VERTUS SOCIALES, qu'il veut disputer aux hommes. En effet, qu'est-ce que la générosité, la clémence, l'humanité, sinon LA PITIÉ, appliquée aux faibles, aux coupables, ou a l'espèce humaine en général? La bienveillance et l'amitié même sont, à le bien prendre, des productions d'une pitié constante, fixée sur un objet particulier; car désirer que quelqu'un ne souffre point, qu'est-ce autre chose, que désirer qu'il soit heureux?... La commisération sera d'autant plus énergique, que L'ANIMAL SPECTATEUR S'IDENTIFIERA plus intimement avec L'ANIMAL SOUFFRANT.[14]
P. 94: Il est donc bien certain, que la pitié est un sentiment naturel, qui, modérant dans chaque individu l'amour de soi-même, concourt à la conservation mutuelle de toute l'espèce. C'est elle, qui dans l'état de nature, tient lieu de lois, de mœurs, et de vertus, avec cet avantage, que nul ne sera tenté de désobéir à sa douce voix: c'est elle, qui détournera tout sauvage robuste d'enlever à un faible enfant, ou à un vieillard infirme, sa subsistence acquise avec peine, si lui même espère pouvoir trouver la sienne ailleurs: c'est elle qui, au lieu de cette maxime sublime de justice raisonnée: "Fais à autrui comme tu veux qu'on te fasse;" inspire à tous les hommes cette autre maxime de bonté naturelle, bien moins parfaite, mais plus utile peut-être que la précédente: "Fais ton bien avec le moindre mal d'autrui qu'il est possible." C'est, en un mot, DANS CE SENTIMENT NATUREL PLUTÔT, QUE DANS LES ARGUMENTS SUBTILS, qu'il faut chercher la cause de la repugnance qu'éprouverait tout homme à mal faire, même indépendamment des maximes de l'éducation.[15]
Let this be compared with what he says in Émile, Bk. IV., pp. 115-120 (edit. Bipont.), where the following passage occurs among others:—
En effet, comment nous laissons-nous émouvoir à la pitié, si ce n'est en nous transportant hors de nous et en nous IDENTIFIANT AVEC L'ANIMAL SOUFFRANT: EN QUITTANT, pour ainsi dire, NOTRE ÊTRE, POUR PRENDRE LE SIEN? Nous ne souffrons qu'autant que nous jugeons qu'il souffre: CE N'EST PAS DANS NOUS, C'EST DANS LUI, que nous souffrons ... offrir au jeune homme des objets, sur lesquels puisse agir la force expansive de son cœur, qui le dilatent, qui l'étendent sur les autres êtres, qui le fassent partout SE RETROUVER HORS DE LUI: écarter avec soin ceux, qui le resserrent, le concentrent, et tendent le ressort DU MOI HUMAIN, etc.[16]
Inside the pale of the Schools, as above remarked, there is not a single authority in favour of my position; but outside, I have other testimony to cite, in addition to Rousseau's. The Chinese admit five cardinal virtues (Tschang), of which the chief is Compassion (Sin). The other four are: justice, courtesy, wisdom, and sincerity.[17] Similarly, among the Hindus, we find that on the tablets placed to the memory of dead chieftains, compassion for men and animals takes the first place in the record of their virtues. At Athens there was an altar to Compassion in the Agora, as we know from Pausanias, I. 17: Άθηναίοις δὲ ἐν τῇ ἀγορᾷ ἐστι Ἐλέου βωμός, ᾧ, μάλιστα θεῶν ἐς ἀνθρώπινον βίον καὶ μεταβολὰς πραγμάτων ὃτι ὠ-ϕέλιμος, μόνοι τιμὰς Ἑλλήνων νέμουσιν Ἀθηνᾱίοι.[18]
Lucian also mentions this altar in the Timon, § 99.[19] A phrase of Phocion, preserved by Stobaeus, describes Compassion as the most sacred thing in human life: οὕτε ἐξ ἱεροn βωμόν, οὕτε ἐκ τῆς ἀνθρωπίυης ϕύσεως ἀϕαιρετέον τὸν ἔλεον.[20] In the Sapientia Indorum, the Greek translation of the Paṅća-tantra, we read (Section 3, p. 220): Δέγεται γάρ, ὡς πρώτη τῶν ἀρετῶν ἡ ἐλεημοσύνη.[21] It is clear, then, that the real source of morality has been distinctly recognised at all times and in all countries; Europe alone excepted, owing to the foetor Judaicus (Jewish stench), which here pervades everything, and is the reason why the Western races require for the object of their obedience a command of duty, a moral law, an imperative, in short, an order and decree. They remain wedded to this habit of thought, and refuse to open their eyes to the fact that such a view is, after all, based upon nothing but Egosim. Of course, now and then, isolated individuals of fine perception have felt the truth, and given it utterance: such a one was Rousseau; and such, Lessing. In a letter written by the latter in 1756 we read: "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."
[1] This term appears to have been first used by Newton and Boyle. The sense is undoubtedly derived from Bacon's phrase "instantia crucis," which is one of his "Prerogative Instances." Vide, Novum Organum: Lib. II., xxxvi., where it is explained as follows: Inter Praerogativas Instantiarum ponemus loco decimo quarto INSTANTIAS CRUCIS; translate vocabulo a Crucibus, quae erectae in Biviis, indicant et signant viarum separationes. Has etiam Instantias Decisorias et Judiciales, et in Casibus nonnullis Instantias Oraculi et Mandati, appellare consuevimus, etc.—(Translator.)
[2] According to Buxton (The African Slave-trade, 1839), their number is even now yearly increased by about 150,000 freshly imported; and to these more than 200,000 must be added, who perish miserably at the time of their capture, or on the voyage.
[3] I.e., under the influence of wine one speaks the truth. Cf. Pliny, Nat. Hist, xiv., chap. 22, § 28, 141, edit. Teubner; vulgoque VERITAS jam attributa VINO est. Gk. οἶνος καὶ ἀλήθεια. V. Paroemiographi, edit. Gaisford.—(Translator.)
[4] Hor., Carm., I., 35, 26.—(Translator. )
Compassion, who with no uncertain tone,
The work of vengeance done, her laws makes known.
Have beasts, forsooth, their universities,
Endowed, like ours, with all four faculties?
[7] V. Part II., Chapter VI.
[8] Avatāra (ava-tṛī to descend), descent of a deity from heaven; e.g., the ten incarnations of Vishṇu. V. Monier Williams' Sanskṛit Dictionary.—(Translator.)
[9] Sannyāsin (one who lays down, or resigns), an ascetic; a religious mendicant, or Brāhman of the fourth order. V. Monier Williams' Sanskṛit 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.
[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.
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.)