We have further to notice a double form of injustice which is specifically different from the simple kind, be it never so great. This variety may be detected by the fact that the amount of indignation shown by disinterested witnesses, which is always proportional to the amount of wrong inflicted, never reaches the maximum except when it is present. We then see how the deed is loathed, as something revolting and heinous, as an ἄγος (i.e., abomination), before which, as it were, the gods veil their faces. Double injustice occurs when some one, after definitely undertaking the obligation of protecting his friend, master, client, etc., in a special way, not only is guilty of non-fulfilment of that duty (which of itself would be injurious to the other, and therefore a wrong); but when, in addition, he turns round, and attacks the man, and strikes at the very spot which he promised to guard. Instances are: the appointed watch, or guide, who becomes an assassin; the trusted caretaker, who becomes a thief; the guardian, who robs his ward of her property; the lawyer, who prevaricates; the judge, who is corruptible; the adviser, who deliberately gives some fatal counsel. All such conduct is known by the name of treachery, and is viewed with abhorrence by the whole world. Hence Dante puts traitors in the lowest circle of Hell, where Satan himself is found (Inferno: xi, 61-60).
As we have here had occasion to mention the word "obligation," this is the place to determine the conception of Duty, which is so often spoken of both in Ethics and in real life, but with too wide an extension of meaning. We have seen that wrong always signifies injury done to another, whether it be in his person, his freedom, his property, or his honour. The consequence appears to be that every wrong must imply a positive aggression, and so a definite act. Only there are actions, the simple omission of which constitutes a wrong; and these are Duties. This is the true philosophic definition of the conception "Duty,"—a term which loses its characteristic note, and hence becomes valueless, if it is used (as hitherto it has been in Moral Science) to designate all praiseworthy conduct. It is forgotten that "Duty"[7] necessarily means a debt which is owing, being thus an action, by the simple omission of which another suffers harm, that is, a wrong comes about. Clearly in this case the injury only takes place through the person, who neglects the duty, having distinctly pledged or bound himself to it. Consequently all duties depend on an obligation which has been entered into. This, as a rule, takes the form of a definite, if sometimes tacit, agreement between two parties: as for instance, between prince and people, government and its servants, master and man, lawyer and client, physician and patient; in a word, between any and every one who undertakes to perform some task, and his employer in the widest sense of the word. Hence every duty involves a right; since no one undertakes an obligation without a motive, which means, in this case, without seeing some advantage for himself. There is only one obligation that I know of which is not subject to an agreement, but arises directly and solely through an act; this is because one of the persons with whom it has to do was not in existence when it was contracted. I refer to the duty of parents towards their children. Whoever brings a child into the world, has incumbent on him the duty of supporting his offspring, until the latter is able to maintain himself; and should this time never come, owing to incapacity from blindness, deformity, cretinism, and the like, neither does the duty ever come to an end. It is clear that merely by failing to provide for the needs of his son, that is, by a simple omission, the father would injure him, indeed jeopardise his life. Children's duty towards their parents is not so direct and imperative. It rests on the fact that, as every duty involves a right, parents also must have some just claim on their issue. This is the foundation of the duty of filial obedience, which, however, in course of time ceases simultaneously with the right out of which it sprang. It is replaced by gratitude for that which was done by father and mother over and above their strict duty. Nevertheless, although ingratitude is a hateful, often indeed a revolting vice, gratitude cannot be called a duty; because its omission inflicts no injury on the other side, and is therefore no wrong. Otherwise we should have to suppose that in his heart of hearts the benefactor aims at making a good bargain. It should be noticed that reparation made for harm done may also be regarded as a duty arising directly through an action. This, however, is something purely negative, as it is nothing but an attempt to remove and blot out the consequences of an unjust deed, as a thing that ought never to have taken place. Be it also observed that equity[8] is the foe of justice, and often comes into harsh collision with it; so that the former ought only to be admitted within certain limits. The German is a friend of equity, while the Englishman holds to justice.
The law of motivation is just as strict as that of physical causality, and hence involves the same irresistible necessity. Consequently wrong may be compassed not only by violence, but also by cunning. If by violence I am able to kill or rob another, or compel him to obey me, I can equally use cunning to accomplish the same ends; that is, I can place false motives before his intellect, by reason of which he must do what otherwise he would not. These false motives are effected by lies. In reality lies are unjustifiable solely in so far as they are instruments of cunning, in other words, of compulsion, by means of motivation.[9] And this is precisely their function, as a rule. For, in the first place, I cannot tell a falsehood without a motive, and this motive will certainly be, with the rarest exceptions, an unjust one; namely, the intention of holding others, over whom I have no power, under my will, that is, of coercing them through the agency of motivation. Also in mere exaggerations and untruthful bombast there is the same purpose at work; for, by employing such language, a man tries to place himself higher in the sight of others than is his due. The binding force of a promise or a compact is contained in the fact that, if it be not observed, it is a deliberate lie, pronounced in the most solemn manner,—a lie, whose intention (that of putting others under moral compulsion) is, in this case, all the clearer, because its motive, the desired performance of something on the other side, is expressly declared. The contemptible part of the fraud is that hypocrisy is used to disarm the victim before he is attacked. The highest point of villainy is reached in treachery, which, as we have seen, is a double injustice, and is always, regarded with loathing.
It is, then, obvious that, just as I am not wrong, that is, right in resisting violence by violence, so where violence is not feasible, or it appears more convenient, I am at liberty to resort to cunning; accordingly, whenever I am entitled to use force, I may, if I please, employ falsehood; for instance, against robbers and miscreants of every sort, whom in this way I entice into a trap. Hence a promise which is extorted by violence is not binding. But, as a matter of fact, the right to avail myself of lies extends further. It occurs whenever an unjustifiable question is asked, which has to do with my private, or business affairs, and is hence prompted by curiosity; for to answer it, or even to put it off by the suspicion-awakening words, "I can't tell you," would expose me to danger. Here an untruth is the indispensable weapon against unwarranted inquisitiveness, whose motive is hardly ever a well-meaning one. For, just as I have the right to oppose the apparent bad will of another, and to anticipate with physical resistance, to the danger of my would-be aggressor, the physical violence presumably thence resulting; so that, for instance, as a precaution, I can protect my garden wall with sharp spikes, let loose savage dogs in my court at night, and even, if circumstances require it, set man-traps and spring-guns, for the evil consequences of which the burglar has only himself to thank:—if I have the right to do this, then I am equally authorised in keeping secret, at any price, that which, if known, would lay me bare to the attack of others. And I have good reason for acting thus, because, in moral, no less than in physical, relations, I am driven to assume that the bad will of others is very possible, and must therefore take all necessary preventive measures beforehand. Whence Ariosto says:—
Quantunque il similar sia le più volte
Ripreso, e dia di mala mente indict,
Si trova pure in molte cose e molte
Avere fatti evidenti benefici,
E danni e biasmi e morti avere tolte:
Che non conversiam' sempre con gli amici,
In questa assai più oscura che serena
Vita mortal, tutta d'invidia piena[10]
—Orl. Fur., IV., 1.
I may, then, without any injustice match cunning with cunning, and anticipate all crafty encroachments on me, even if they be only probable; and I need neither render an account to him who unwarrantably pries into my personal circumstances, nor by replying: "I cannot answer this," show him the spot where I have a secret, which perilous to me, and perhaps advantageous to him, in any case puts me in his power, if divulged: Scire volunt secreta domus, atque inde timeri. (They wish to know family secrets, and thus become feared.) On the contrary, I am justified in putting him off with a lie, involving danger to himself, in case he is thereby led into a mistake that works him harm. Indeed, a falsehood is the only means of opposing inquisitive and suspicious curiosity; to meet which it is the one weapon of necessary self-defence. "Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies" is here the right maxim. For among the English, who regard the reproach of being a liar as the deepest insult, and who on that account are really more truthful than other nations, all unjustifiable questions, having to do with another's affairs, are looked upon as a piece of ill-breeding, which is denoted by the expression, "to ask questions." Certainly every sensible person, even when he is of the strictest rectitude, follows the principle above set forth. Suppose, for instance, such a one is returning from a remote spot, where he has raised a sum of money; and suppose an unknown traveller joins him, and after the customary "whither" and "whence" gradually proceeds to inquire what may have taken him to that place; the former will undoubtedly give a false answer in order to avoid the danger of robbery. Again: if a man be found in the house of another, whose daughter he is wooing; and he is asked the cause of his unexpected presence; unless he has entirely lost his head, he will not give the true reason, but unhesitatingly invent a pretext. And the cases are numberless in which every reasonable being tells an untruth, without the least scruple of conscience. It is this view of the matter alone that removes the crying contradiction between the morality which is taught, and that which is daily practised, even by the best and most upright of men. At the same time, the restriction of a falsehood to the single purpose of self-defence must be rigidly observed; for otherwise this doctrine would admit of terrible abuse, a lie being in itself a very dangerous instrument. But just as, even in time of public peace, the law allows every one to carry weapons and to use them, when required for self-defence, so Ethics permits lies to be employed for the same purpose, and—be it observed—for this one purpose only. Every mendacious word is a wrong, excepting only when the occasion arises of defending oneself against violence or cunning. Hence justice requires truthfulness towards all men. But the entirely unconditional and unreserved condemnation of lies, as properly involved in their nature, is sufficiently refuted by well known facts. Thus, there are cases where a falsehood is a duty, especially for doctors; and there are magnanimous lies, as, for instance, that of the Marquis Posa in Don Carlos[11] or that in the Gerusalemme Liberata, II., 22;[12] they occur, indeed, whenever a man wills to take on himself the guilt of another; and lastly, Jesus Christ himself is reported (John vii. 8; cf. ver. 10) on one occasion to have intentionally told an untruth. The reader will remember that Campanella, in his Poesie Filosofiche (Delia Bellezza: Madr. 9), does not hesitate to say: "Bello è il mentir, se a fare gran ben' si trova."[13] On the other hand, the current teaching as regards necessary falsehoods is a wretched patch on the dress of a poverty-stricken morality. Kant is responsible for the theory found in many text-books, which derives the unjustifiableness of lies from man's faculty of speech; but the arguments are so tame, childish and absurd that one might well be tempted, if only to pour contempt on them, to join sides with the devil, and say with Talleyrand: l'homme a reçu la parole pour pouvoir cacher sa pensée[14]. The unqualified and boundless horror shown by Kant for falsehoods, whenever he has the opportunity, is due either to affectation, or to prejudice. In the chapter of his "Tugendlehre," dealing with lies, he loads them with every kind of defamatory epithet, but does not adduce a single adequate reason for their condemnation; which would have been more to the point. Declamation is easier than demonstration, and to moralise less difficult than to be sincere. Kant would have done better to open the vials of his wrath on that vice which takes pleasure in seeing others suffer; it is the latter, and not a falsehood, which is truly fiendish. For malignant joy is the exact opposite of Compassion, and nothing else but powerless cruelty, which, unable itself to bring about the misery it so gladly beholds others enduring, is thankful to Τύχη for having done so instead. According to the code of knightly honour, the reproach of being a liar is of extreme gravity, and only to be washed out with the accuser's blood. Now this obtains, not because the lie is wrong in itself, since, were such the reason, to accuse a man of an injury done by violence would certainly be regarded as equally outrageous,—which is not the case, as every one knows; but it is due to that principle of chivalry, which in reality bases right on might; so that whoever, when trying to work mischief, has recourse to falsehood, proves that he lacks either power, or the requisite courage. Every untruth bears witness of his fear; and this is why a fatal verdict is passed on him.
[1] Thus, when the first gleam of Mitleid stole into her heart, Brünhilde could no longer remain a Walküre; and Wotan's end comes, when by the same solvent he is at length set free from the delusion of the principium individuationis.—(Translator.)
[2] There is here an allusion to the πάνδημος Ἓρως and Oὐρανία in Plato's Symposium. V. Chap. 8, sq. Edit. Schmelzer: Weidmann, Berlin, 1882.—(Translator.)
[3] V. Hesiod, Opera et Dies, 174-201.—(Translator.)