Those who combat the sceptical view appeal specially to the testimony of conscience. But conscience itself is impugned, and doubts are raised about its natural origin. Now, as a matter of fact, there is a conscientia spuria (false conscience), which is often confounded with the true. The regret and anxiety which many a man feels for what he has done is frequently, at bottom, nothing but fear of the possible consequences. Not a few people, if they break external, voluntary, and even absurd rules, suffer from painful searchings of heart, exactly similar to those inflicted by the real conscience. Thus, for instance, a bigoted Jew, if on Saturday he should smoke a pipe at home, becomes really oppressed with the sense of having disobeyed the command in Exodus xxxv. 3: "Ye shall kindle no fire throughout your habitations upon the Sabbath day." How often it happens that a nobleman or officer is the victim of self-reproach, because on some occasion or other he has not properly complied with that fools' codex, which is called knightly honour! Nay more: there are many of this class, who, if they see the impossibility of merely doing enough in some quarrel to satisfy the above-named code—to say nothing of keeping their pledged word of honour—are ready to shoot themselves. (Instances of both have come under my knowledge.) And this, while the self-same man would with an easy mind break his promise every day, if only the shibboleth "Honour" be not involved. In short, every inconsequent, and thoughtless action, all conduct contrary to our prejudices, principles, or convictions, whatever these may be; indeed, every indiscretion, every mistake, every piece of stupidity rankles in us secretly, and leaves its sting behind. The average individual, who thinks his conscience such an imposing structure, would be surprised, could he see of what it actually consists: probably of about one-fifth, fear of men; one-fifth, superstition; one-fifth, prejudice; one-fifth, vanity; and one-fifth, habit. So that in reality he is no better than the Englishman, who said quite frankly: "I cannot afford to keep a conscience." Religious people of every creed, as a rule, understand by conscience nothing else than the dogmas and injunctions of their religion, and the self-examination based thereon; and it is in this sense that the expressions coercion of conscience and liberty of conscience are used. The same interpretation was always given by the theologians, schoolmen, and casuists of the middle ages and of later times. Whatever a man knew of the formulae and prescriptions of the Church, coupled with a resolution to believe and obey it, constituted his conscience. Thus we find the terms "a doubting conscience," "an opinionated conscience," "an erring conscience," and the like; and councils were held, and confessors employed, for the special purpose of setting such irregularities straight. How little the conception of conscience, just as other conceptions, is determined by its own object; how differently it is viewed by different people; how wavering and uncertain it appears in books; all this is briefly but clearly set forth in Stäudlin's Geschichte der Lehre vom Gewissen. These facts taken in conjunction are not calculated to establish the reality of the thing; they have rather given rise to the question whether there is in truth a genuine, inborn conscience. I have already had occasion in Part II., Chapter VIII., where the theory of Freedom is discussed, to touch on my view of conscience, and I shall return to it below.
All these sceptical objections added together do not in the least avail to prove that no true morality exists, however much they may moderate our expectations as to the moral tendency in man, and the natural basis of Ethics. Undoubtedly a great deal that is ascribed to the ethical sense can be proved to spring from other incentives; and when we contemplate the moral depravity of the world, it is sufficiently clear that the stimulus for good cannot be very powerful, especially as it often does not work even in cases where the opposing motives are weak, although then the individual difference of character makes itself fully felt.
It should be observed that this moral depravity is all the more difficult to discern, because its manifestations are checked and cloaked by public order, as enforced by law; by the necessity of having a good name; and even by ordinary polite manners. And this is not all. People commonly suppose that in the education of the young their moral interests are furthered by representing uprightness and virtue as principles generally followed by the world. Later on, it is often to their great harm that experience teaches them something else; for the discovery, that the instructors of their early years were the first to deceive them, is likely to have a more mischievous effect on their morality than if these persons had given them the first example of ingenuous truthfulness, by saying frankly: "The world is sunk in evil, and men are not what they ought to be; but be not misled thereby, and see that you do better." All this, as I have said, increases the difficulty of recognising the real immorality of mankind. The state —this masterpiece, which sums up the self-conscious, intelligent egoism of all—consigns the rights of each person to a power, which, being enormously superior to that of the individual, compels him to respect the rights of all others. This is the leash that restrains the limitless egoism of nearly every one, the malice of many, the cruelty of not a few. The illusion thus arising is so great that, when in special cases, where the executive power is ineffective, or is eluded, the insatiable covetousness, the base greed, the deep hypocrisy, or the spiteful tricks of men are apparent in all their ugliness, we recoil with horror, supposing that we have stumbled on some unheard-of monster: whereas, without the compulsion of law, and the necessity of keeping an honourable name, these sights would be of every day occurrence. In order to discover what, from a moral point of view, human beings are made of, we must study anarchist records, and the proceedings connected with criminals. The thousands that throng before our eyes, in peaceful intercourse each with the other, can only be regarded as so many tigers and wolves, whose teeth are secured by a strong muzzle. Let us now suppose this muzzle cast off, or, in other words, the power of the state abolished; the contemplation of the spectacle then to be awaited would make all thinking people shudder; and they would thus betray the small amount of trust they really have in the efficiency either of religion, or of conscience, or of the natural basis of Morals, whatever it be. But if these immoral, antinomian forces should be unshackled and let loose, it is precisely then that the true moral incentive, hidden before, would reveal its activity, and consequently be most easily recognised. And nothing would bring out so clearly as this the prodigious moral difference of character between man and man; it would be found to be as great as the intellectual, which is saying much.
The objection will perhaps be raised that Ethics is not concerned with what men actually do, but that it is the science which treats of what their conduct ought to be. Now this is exactly the position which I deny. In the critical part of the present treatise I have sufficiently demonstrated that the conception of ought, in other words, the imperative form of Ethics, is valid only in theological morals, outside of which it loses all sense and meaning. The end which I place before Ethical Science is to point out all the varied moral lines of human conduct; to explain them; and to trace them to their ultimate source. Consequently there remains no way of discovering the basis of Ethics except the empirical. We must search and see whether we can find any actions to which we are obliged to ascribe genuine moral worth: actions, that is, of voluntary justice, of pure loving-kindness, and of true nobleness. Such conduct, when found, is to be regarded as a given phaenomenon, which has to be properly accounted for; in other words, its real origin must be explored, and this will involve the investigation and explanation of the peculiar motives which lead men to actions so radically distinct from all others, that they form a class by themselves. These motives, together with a responsive susceptibility for them, will constitute the ultimate basis of morality, and the knowledge of them will be the foundation of Ethics. This is the humble path to which I direct the Science of Morals. It contains no construction a priori, no absolute legislation for all rational beings in abstracto; it lacks all official, academic sanction. Therefore, whoever thinks it not sufficiently fashionable, may return to the Categorical Imperative; to the Shibboleth of "Human Dignity"; to the empty phrases, the cobwebs, and the soap-bubbles of the Schools; to principles on which experience pours contempt at every step, and of which no one, outside the lecture-rooms knows anything, or has ever had the least notion. On the other hand, the foundation which is reached by following my path is upheld by experience; and it is experience which daily and hourly delivers its silent testimony in favour of my theory.
[1] I.e., there is nothing either good or bad by nature, but these things are decided by human judgment, as Timon says. V. Sexti Empirici Opera Quae Exstant: Adversus Mathematicos; p. 462 A ad fin. Aurelianae: Petrus et Jacobus Chouët, 1621. V. also: Sexti Empirici Opera, edit. Jo. Albertus Fabricius: Lipsiae, 1718, Lib. XI., 140, p. 716.
[2] See Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, Vol I., § 62, p. 396 sqq., and Vol. II., chap. 47, p. 682.
[3] In other words: If a be a given offence, or virtuous act, and x the punishment, or reward, proportional to it; then the punishment, or reward, actually inflicted, instead of being x, may be x2 or x3.—(Translator.)