[CHAPTER III.]
ANTIMORAL[1] INCENTIVES.
The chief and fundamental incentive in man, as in animals, is Egoism, that is, the urgent impulse to exist, and exist under the best circumstances. The German word Selbstsucht (self-seeking) involves a false secondary idea of disease (Sucht).[2] The term Eigennutz (self-interest) denotes Egoism, so far as the latter is guided by reason, which enables it, by means of reflection, to prosecute its purposes systematically; so that animals may be called egoistic, but not self-interested (eigennutzig). I shall therefore retain the word Egoism for the general idea. Now this Egoism is, both in animals and men, connected in the closest way with their very essence and being; indeed, it is one and the same thing. For this reason all human actions, as a rule, have their origin in Egoism, and to it, accordingly, we must always first turn, when we try to find the explanation of any given line of conduct; just as, when the endeavour is made to guide a man in any direction, the means to this end are universally calculated with reference to the same all-powerful motive. Egoism is, from its nature, limitless. The individual is filled with the unqualified desire of preserving his life, and of keeping it free from all pain, under which is included all want and privation. He wishes to have the greatest possible amount of pleasurable existence, and every gratification that he is capable of appreciating; indeed, he attempts, if possible, to evolve fresh capacities for enjoyment. Everything that opposes the strivings of his Egoism awakens his dislike, his anger, his hate: this is the mortal enemy, which he tries to annihilate. If it were possible, he would like to possess everything for his own pleasure; as this is impossible, he wishes at least to control everything. "All things for me, and nothing for others" is his maxim. Egoism is a huge giant overtopping the world. If each person were allowed to choose between his own destruction and that of the rest of mankind, I need not say what the decision would be in most cases. Thus, it is that every human unit makes himself the centre of the world, which he views exclusively from that standpoint. Whatever occurs, even, for instance, the most sweeping changes in the destinies of nations, he brings into relation first and foremost with his own interests, which, however slightly and indirectly they may be affected, he is sure to think of before anything else. No sharper contrast can be imagined than that between the profound and exclusive attention which each person devotes to his own self, and the indifference with which, as a rule, all other people regard that self,—an indifference precisely like that with which he in turn looks upon them. To a certain extent it is actually comic to see how each individual out of innumerable multitudes considers himself, at least from the practical point of view, as the only real thing, and all others in some sort as mere phantoms. The ultimate reason of this lies in the fact that every one is directly conscious of himself, but of others only indirectly, through his mind's eye; and the direct impression asserts its right. In other words, it is in consequence of the subjectivity which is essential to our consciousness that each person is himself the whole world; for all that is objective exists only indirectly, as simply the mental picture of the subject; whence it comes about that everything is invariably expressed in terms of self-consciousness. The only world which the individual really grasps, and of which he has certain knowledge, he carries in himself, as a mirrored image fashioned by his brain; and he is, therefore, its centre. Consequently he is all in all to himself; and since he feels that he contains within his ego all that is real, nothing can be of greater importance to him than his own self.[3] Moreover this supremely important self, this microcosm, to which the macrocosm stands in relation as its mere modification or accident,—this, which is the individual's whole world, he knows perfectly well must be destroyed by death; which is therefore for him equivalent to the destruction of all things.
Such, then, are the elements out of which, on the basis of the Will to live, Egoism grows up, and like a broad trench it forms a perennial separation between man and man. If on any occasion some one actually jumps across, to help another, such an act is regarded as a sort of miracle, which calls forth amazement and wins approval. In Part II., Chapter VI., where Kant's principle of Morals is discussed, I had the opportunity of describing how Egoism behaves in everyday life, where it is always peering out of some corner or other, despite ordinary politeness, which, like the traditional fig-leaf, is used as a covering. In point of fact, politeness is the conventional and systematic disavowal of Egoism in the trifles of daily intercourse, and is, of course, a piece of recognised hypocrisy. Gentle manners are expected and commended, because that which they conceal—Egoism—is so odious, that no one wishes to see it, however much it is known to be there; just as people like to have repulsive objects hidden at least by a curtain. Now, unless external force (under which must be included every source of fear whether of human or superhuman powers), or else the real moral incentive is in effective operation, it is certain that Egoism always pursues its purposes with unqualified directness; hence without these checks, considering the countless number of egoistic individuals, the bellum omnium contra omnes[4] would be the order of the day, and prove the ruin of all. Thus is explained the early construction by reflecting reason of state government, which, arising, as it does, from a mutual fear of reciprocal violence, obviates the disastrous consequences of the general Egoism, as far as it is possible to do by negative procedure. Where, however, the two forces that oppose Egoism fail to be operative, the latter is not slow to reveal all its horrible dimensions, nor is the spectacle exactly attractive. In order to express the strength of this antimoral power in a few words, to portray it, so to say, at one stroke, some very emphatic hyperbole is wanted. It may be put thus: many a man would be quite capable of killing another, simply to rub his boots over with the victim's fat. I am only doubtful whether this, after all, is any exaggeration. Egoism, then, is the first and principal, though not the only, power that the moral Motive has to contend against; and it is surely sufficiently clear that the latter, in order to enter the lists against such an opponent, must be something more real than a hair-splitting sophism or an a priori soap-bubble. In war the first thing to be done is to know the enemy well; and in the shock of battle, now impending, Egoism, as the chief combatant on its own side, is best set against the virtue of Justice, which, in my opinion, is the first and original cardinal virtue.
The virtue of loving-kindness, on the other hand, is rather to be matched with ill-will, or spitefulness, the origin and successive stages of which we will now consider. Ill-will, in its lower degrees, is very frequent, indeed, almost a common thing; and it easily rises in the scale. Goethe is assuredly right when he says that in this world indifference and aversion are quite at home.—(Wahlverwandtschaften, Part I., chap. 3.) It is very fortunate for us that the cloak, which prudence and politeness throw over this vice, prevents us from seeing how general it is, and how the bellum omnium contra omnes is constantly waged, at least in thought. Yet ever and anon there is some appearance of it: for instance, in the relentless backbiting so frequently observed; while its clearest manifestation is found in all out-breaks of anger, which, for the most part, are quite disproportional to their cause, and which could hardly be so violent, had they not been compressed—like gunpowder—into the explosive compound formed of long cherished brooding hatred. Ill-will usually arises from the unavoidable collisions of Egoism which occur at every step. It is, moreover, objectively excited by the view of the weakness, the folly, the vices, failings, shortcomings, and imperfections of all kinds, which every one more or less, at least occasionally, affords to others. Indeed, the spectacle is such, that many a man, especially in moments of melancholy and depression, may be tempted to regard the world, from the aesthetic standpoint, as a cabinet of caricatures; from the intellectual, as a madhouse; and from the moral, as a nest of sharpers. If such a mental attitude be indulged, misanthropy is the result. Lastly, one of the chief sources of ill-will is envy; or rather, the latter is itself ill-will, kindled by the happiness, possessions, or advantages of others. No one is absolutely free from envy; and Herodotus (III. 80) said long ago: ϕθόνος ἀρχῆθεν ἐμϕύεται ἀνθρώπῳ (envy is a natural growth in man from the beginning). But its degrees vary considerably. It is most poisonous and implacable when directed against personal qualities, because then the envious have nothing to hope for. And precisely in such cases its vilest form also appears, because men are made to hate what they ought to love and honour. Yet so "the world wags," even as Petrarca complained:
Di lor par più, che d'altri, invidia s'abbia,
Che per se stessi son levati a volo,
Uscendo fuor della commune gabbia.
(For envy fastens most of all on those,
Who, rising on their own strong wings, escape
The bars wherein the vulgar crowd is cag'd.)
The reader is referred to the Parerga, vol. ii., § 114, for a more complete examination of envy.
In a certain sense the opposite of envy is the habit of gloating over the misfortunes of others, At any rate, while the former is human, the latter is diabolical. There is no sign more infallible of an entirely bad heart, and of profound moral worthlessness than open and candid enjoyment in seeing other people suffer. The man in whom this trait is observed ought to be for ever avoided: Hic niger est, hunc tu, Romane, caveto.[5] These two vices are in themselves merely theoretical; in practice they become malice and cruelty. It is true that Egoism may lead to wickedness and crime of every sort; but the resulting injury and pain to others are simply the means, not the end, and are therefore involved only as an accident. Whereas malice and cruelty make others' misery the end in itself, the realisation of which affords distinct pleasure. They therefore constitute a higher degree of moral turpitude. The maxim of Egoism, at its worst is: Neminem juva, immo omnes, si forte conducit (thus there is always a condition), laede (help no body, but rather injure all people, if it brings you any advantage). The guiding rule of malice is: Omnes, quantum potes, laede (injure all people as far as you can). As malicious joy is in fact theoretical cruelty, so, conversely, cruelty is nothing but malicious joy put into practice; and the latter is sure to show itself in the form of cruelty, directly an opportunity offers.
An examination of the special vices that spring from these two primary antimoral forces forms no part of the present treatise: its proper place would be found in a detailed system of Ethics. From Egoism we should probably derive greed, gluttony, lust, selfishness, avarice, covetousness, injustice, hardness of heart, pride, arrogance, etc.; while to spitefulness might be ascribed disaffection, envy, ill-will, malice, pleasure in seeing others suffer, prying curiosity, slander, insolence, petulance, hatred, anger, treachery, fraud, thirst for revenge, cruelty, etc. The first root is more bestial, the second more devilish; and according as either is the stronger; or according as the moral incentive, to be described below, predominates, so the salient points for the ethical classification of character are determined. No man is entirely free from some traces of all three.