[CHAPTER II.]
THE METAPHYSICAL GROUNDWORK.
So far all our steps have been supported by the firm rock of experience. But at this point it fails us, and the solid earth sinks from under our feet, as we press forward in our search after a final theoretical satisfaction, there, where no experience can ever by any possibility penetrate; and happy shall we be, if perchance we gain one hint, one transient gleam, that may bring us a certain measure of content. What, however, shall not desert us is the honesty that has hitherto attended our procedure. We shall not make shift with dreams, and serve up fairy tales, after the fashion of the so-called post-Kantian philosophers; nor shall we, like them, seek, by a wordy exuberance, to impose upon the reader, and cast dust in his eyes. A little is all we promise; but that little will be presented in perfect sincerity.
The principle, which we discovered to be the final explanation of Ethics, now in turn itself requires explaining; so that our present problem has to deal with that natural Compassion, which in every man is innate and indestructible, and which has been shown to be the sole source of non-egoistic conduct, this kind alone being of real moral worth. Now many modern thinkers treat the conceptions of Good and Bad as simple, that is, as neither needing, nor admitting any elucidation, and then they go on, for the most part, to talk very mysteriously and devoutly of an "Idea of the Good," out of which they make a pedestal for their moral system, or at least a cloak for their poverty.[1] Hence I am obliged in this connection to point out parenthetically, that these conceptions are anything but simple, much less a priori; that they in fact express a relation, and are derived from the commonest daily experience. Whatever is in conformity with the desires of any individual will, is, relatively to it, termed good; for instance, good food, good roads, a good omen; the contrary is called bad, and, in the case of living beings, malicious. And so one, who by virtue of his character, has no wish to oppose what others strive after, but rather, as far as he reasonably may, shows himself favourable and helpful to them; one, who, instead of injuring, assists his neighbours, and promotes their interests, when he can; is named by the latter, in respect to themselves, a good man; the term good being applied to him in the sense of the above definition, and from their own point of view, which is thus relative, empirical, and centred in the passive subject. Now, if we examine the nature of such a man, not only as it affects others, but as it is in itself, we are enabled by the foregoing exposition to perceive that the virtues of justice and loving-kindness, which he practises, are due to a direct participation in weal and woe external to himself; and we have learnt that the source of such participation is Compassion. If, further, we pause to consider what is the essential part in this type of character, we shall certainly find it to lie in the fact that such a person draws less distinction between himself and others than is usually done.
In the eyes of the malicious individual this difference is so great that he takes direct delight in the spectacle of suffering,—a delight, which he accordingly seeks without thought of any other benefit to himself, nay, sometimes, even to his own hurt. From the egoist's point of view the same difference is still large enough to make him bring much trouble on his neighbours, in order to obtain a small personal advantage. Hence for both of these, between the ego, which is limited to their own persons, and the non-ego, which includes all the rest of the world, there is fixed a great gulf, a mighty abyss: Pereat mundus, dum ego salvus sim (the world may perish, provided I be safe), is their maxim. For the good man, on the contrary, this distinction is by no means so pronounced; indeed, in the case of magnanimous deeds, it appears to become a vanishing quantity, because then the weal of another is advanced at the cost of the benefactor, the self of another placed on an equality with his own. And when it is a question of saving a number of fellow-beings, total self-obliteration may be developed, the one giving his life for many.
The inquiry now presents itself, whether the latter way of looking at the relation subsisting between the ego and the non-ego, which forms the mainspring of a good man's conduct, is mistaken and due to an illusion; or whether the error does not rather attach to the opposite view, on which Egoism and Malice are based.
No doubt the theory lying at the root of Egoism is, from the empirical standpoint, perfectly justified. From the testimony of experience, the distinction between one's own person and that of another appears to be absolute. I do not occupy the same space as my neighbour, and this difference, which separates me from him physically, separates me also from his weal and woe. But in the first place, it should be observed that the knowledge we have Of our own selves is by no means exhaustive and transparent to its depths. By means of the intuition, which the brain constructs out of the data supplied by the senses, that is to say, in an indirect manner, we recognise our body as an object in space; through an inward perception, we are aware of the continuous series of our desires, of our volitions, which arise through the agency of external motives; and finally, we come to discern the manifold movements, now stronger, now weaker, of our will itself, to which all feelings from within are ultimately traceable. And that is all: for the perceiving faculty is not in its turn perceived. On the contrary, the real substratum of our whole phaenomenal nature, our inmost essence in itself, that which wills and perceives, is not accessible to us. We see only the outward side of the ego; its inward part is veiled in darkness. Consequently, the knowledge we possess of ourselves is in no sort radical and complete, but rather very superficial. The larger and more important part of our being remains unknown, and forms a riddle to speculate about; or, as Kant puts it: "The ego knows itself only as a phaenomenon; of its real essence, whatever that may be, it has no knowledge." Now, as regards that side of the self which falls within our ken, we are, undoubtedly, sharply distinguished, each from the other; but it does not follow therefrom that the same is true of the remainder, which, shrouded in impenetrable obscurity, is yet, in fact, the very substance of which we consist. There remains at least the possibility that the latter is in all men uniform and identical.
What is the explanation of all plurality, of all numerical diversity of existence? Time and Space. Indeed it is only through the latter that the former is possible: because the concept "many" inevitably connotes the idea either of succession (time), or of relative position (space). Now, since a homogeneous plurality is composed of Individuals, I call Space and Time, as being the conditions of multiplicity, the principium individuationis (the principle of individuation); and I do not here pause to consider whether this expression was exactly so employed by the Schoolmen.