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 fin_. Aurelianae: Petrus et Jacobus Chouët, 1621. _V_. also: Sexti Empirici _Opera_, edit. Jo. Albertus Fabricius: Lipsiae, 1718, Lib.
XI., 140, p. 716.
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 _x_^2 or 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.
Here I bring to an end my review of these terrible powers of evil; it is an array reminding one of the Princes of Darkness in Milton's Pandemonium. But my plan, which in this respect of course differs from that of all other moralists, required me to consider at the outset this gloomy side of human nature, and, like Dante, to descend first to Tartarus.
It will now be fully apparent how difficult our problem is. We have to find a motive capable of making a man take up a line of conduct directly opposed to all those propensities which lie deeply ingrained in his nature; or, given such conduct as a fact of experience, we must search for a motive capable of supplying an adequate and non-artificial explanation of it. The difficulty, in fact, is so great that, in order to solve it, for the vast majority of mankind, it has been everywhere necessary to have recourse to machinery from another world. Gods have been pointed to, whose will and command the required mode of behaviour was said to be, and who were represented as emphasising this command by penalties and rewards either in this, or in another world, to which death would be the gate. Now let us assume that belief in a doctrine of this sort took general root (a thing which is certainly possible through strenuous inculcation at a very early age); and let us also assume that it brought about the intended effect,--though this is a much harder matter to admit, and not nearly so well confirmed by experience; we should then no doubt succeed in obtaining strict legality of action, even beyond the limits that justice and the police can reach; but every one feels that this would not in the least imply what we mean by morality of the heart. For obviously, every act arising from motives like those just mentioned is after all derived simply from pure Egoism. How can I talk of unselfishness when I am enticed by a promised guerdon, or deterred by a threatened punishment? A recompense in another world, thoroughly believed in, must be regarded as a bill of exchange, which is perfectly safe, though only payable at a very distant date. It is thus quite possible that the profuse assurances, which beggars so constantly make, that those, who relieve them, will receive a thousandfold more for their gifts in the next world, may lead many a miser to generous alms-giving; for such a one complacently views the matter as a good investment of money, being perfectly convinced that he will rise again as a Croesus. For the mass of mankind, it will perhaps be always necessary to continue the appeal to incentives of this nature, and we know that such is the teaching promulgated by the different religions, which are in fact the =metaphysics of the people=. Be it, however, observed in this connection that a man is sometimes just as much in error as to the true motives that govern his own acts, as he is with regard to those of others. Hence it is certain that many persons, while they can only account to themselves for their noblest actions by attributing them to motives of the kind above described, are, nevertheless, really guided in their conduct by far higher and purer incentives, though the latter may be much more difficult to discover. They are doing, no doubt, out of direct love of their neighbour, that which they can but explain as the command of their God. On the other hand, Philosophy, in dealing with this, as with all other problems, endeavours to extract the true and ultimate cause of the given phaenomena from the disclosures which the nature itself of man yields, and which, freed as they must be from all mythical interpretation, from all religious dogmas, and transcendent hypostases, she requires to see confirmed by external or internal experience. Now, as our present task is a philosophical one, we must entirely disregard all solutions conditioned by any religion; and I have here touched on them merely in order to throw a stronger light on the magnitude of the difficulty.
[1] I venture to use this word although irregularly formed, because "antiethical" would not here give an adequate meaning. _Sittlich_ (in accordance with good manners) and _unsittlich_ (contrary to good manners), which have lately come into vogue, are bad substitutes for _moralisch_ (moral) and _unmoralisch_ (immoral): first, because _moralisch_ is a scientific conception, which, as such, requires to be denoted by a Greek or Latin term, for reasons which may be found in _Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, vol. ii., chap. 12, p. 134 sqq.; and secondly, because _sittlich_ is a weaker and tamer expression, difficult to distinguish from _sittsam_ (modest) which in popular acceptation means _zimperlich_ (simpering). No concessions must be made to this extravagant love of germanising!
seek) there is an apparent confusion between the two bases SUK (_seuka_) to be ill, and SÔKYAN, to seek. _V_. Skeat's _Etymological [3] It should be noticed that while from the _subjective_ side a man's self assumes these gigantic proportions, _objectively_ it shrinks to almost nothing--namely, to about the one-thousand-millionth part of the human race.
[4] The war of all against all. Hobbes uses this expression.
--(_Translator._) [5] This man is black; of him shalt thou, O Roman, beware. _V_. Horace, CHAPTER IV.
CRITERION OF ACTIONS OF MORAL WORTH.
There is first the empirical question to be settled, whether actions of voluntary justice and unselfish loving-kindness, which are capable of rising to nobleness and magnanimity, actually occur in experience.
Unfortunately, this inquiry cannot be decided altogether empirically, because it is invariably only the act that experience gives, the =incentives= not being apparent. Hence the possibility always remains that an egoistic motive may have had weight in determining a just or good deed. In a theoretical investigation like the present, I shall not avail myself of the inexcusable trick of shifting the matter on to the reader's conscience. But I believe there are few people who have any doubt about the matter, and who are not convinced from their own experience that just acts are often performed simply and solely to prevent a man suffering from injustice. Most of as, I do not hesitate to say, are persuaded that there are persons in whom the principle of giving others their due seems to be innate, who neither intentionally injure any one, nor unconditionally seek their own advantage, but in considering themselves show regard also for the rights of their neighbours; persons who, when they undertake matters involving reciprocal obligations, not only see that the other party does his duty, but also that he gets his own, because it is really against their will that any one, with whom they have to do, should be shabbily treated. These are the men of true probity, the few _aequi_ (just) among the countless number of the _iniqui_ (unjust). Such people exist. Similarly, it will be admitted, I think, that many help and give, perform services, and deny themselves, without having any further intention in their hearts than that of assisting another, whose distress they see. When Arnold von Winkelried exclaimed: "_Trüwen, lieben Eidgenossen, wullt's minem Wip und Kinde gedenken_,"[1] and then clasped in his arms as many hostile spears as he could grasp; can any one believe that he had some selfish purpose? I cannot. To cases of voluntary justice, which cannot be denied without deliberate and wilful trifling with facts, I have already drawn attention in Chapter II. of this Part. Should any one, however, persist in refusing to believe that such actions ever happen, then, according to his view, Ethics would be a science without any real object, like Astrology and Alchemy, and it would be waste of time to discuss its basis any further. With him, therefore, I have nothing to do, and address myself to those who allow that we are dealing with something more than an imaginary citation.
It is, then, only to conduct of the above kind that genuine moral worth can be ascribed. Its special mark is that it rejects and excludes the whole class of motives by which otherwise all human action is prompted: I mean the =self-interested= motives, using the word in its widest sense. Consequently the moral value of an act is lowered by the disclosure of an accessory selfish incentive; while it is entirely destroyed, if that incentive stood alone. The absence of all egoistic motives is thus the =Criterion= of an action of moral value. It may, no doubt, be objected that also acts of pure malice and cruelty are not selfish.[2] But it is manifest that the latter cannot be meant, since they are, in kind, the exact opposite of those now being considered. If, however, the definition be insisted on in its strict sense, then we may expressly except such actions, because of their essential token--the compassing of others' suffering.
There is also another characteristic of conduct having real moral worth, which is entirely internal and therefore less obvious. I allude to the fact that it leaves behind a certain self-satisfaction which is called the approval of conscience: just as, on the other hand, injustice and unkindness, and still more malice and cruelty, involve a secret self-condemnation. Lastly, there is an external, secondary, and accidental sign that draws a clear line between the two classes.
Acts of the former kind win the approval and respect of disinterested witnesses: those of the latter incur their disapproval and contempt.
Those actions that bear the stamp of moral value, so determined, and admitted to be realities, constitute the phaenomenon that lies before us, and which we have to explain. We must accordingly search out what it is that moves men to such conduct. If we succeed in our investigation, we shall necessarily bring to light the true moral incentive; and, as it is upon this that all ethical science must depend, our problem will then be solved.
[1] Comrades, true and loyal to our oath, care for my wife and child in remembrance of this.
[2] Acts of malice and cruelty are so many gratifications of the ego, and are therefore, in a certain sense, selfish. _V_. Introduction, pp.
xvi. and xvii.--(_Translator._) CHAPTER V.
STATEMENT AND PROOF OF THE ONLY TRUE MORAL INCENTIVE.
The preceding considerations, which were unavoidably necessary in order to clear the ground, now enable me to indicate the true incentive which underlies all acts of real moral worth. The seriousness, and indisputable genuineness, with which we shall find it is distinguished, removes it far indeed from the hair-splittings, subtleties, sophisms, assertions formulated out of airy nothings, and _a priori_ soap-bubbles, which all systems up to the present have tried to make at once the source of moral conduct and the basis of Ethics. This incentive I shall not put forward as an hypothesis to be accepted or rejected, as one pleases; I shall actually =prove= that it is the only possible one. But as this demonstration requires several fundamental truths to be borne in mind, the reader's attention is first called to certain propositions which we must presuppose, and which may properly be considered as axioms; except the last two, which result from the analysis contained in the preceding chapter, and in Part II., Chapter III.
(1) No action can take place without a sufficient motive; as little as a stone can move without a sufficient push or pull.
(2) Similarly, no action can be left undone, when, given the character of the doer, a sufficient motive is present; unless a stronger counter-motive necessarily prevents it.
(3) Whatever moves the Will,--this, and this alone, implies the sense of weal and woe, in the widest sense of the term; and conversely, weal and woe signify "that which is in conformity with, or which is contrary to, a Will." Hence every motive must have a connection with weal and woe.
(4) Consequently every action stands in relation to, and has as its ultimate object, a being susceptible of weal and woe.
(5) This being is either the doer himself; or another, whose position as regards the action is therefore =passive=; since it is done either to his harm, or to his benefit and advantage.
(6) Every action, which has to do, as its ultimate object, with the weal and woe of the agent himself, is =egoistic=.
(7) The foregoing propositions with regard to what is done apply equally to what is left undone, in all cases where motive and counter-motive play their parts.
(8) From the analysis in the foregoing chapter, it results that =Egoism= and the =moral worth= of an action absolutely exclude each other. If an act have an =egoistic= object as its motive, then no moral value can be attached to it; if an act is to have moral value, then no egoistic object, direct or indirect, near or remote, may be its motive.
(9) In consequence of my elimination in Part II., Chapter III., of alleged duties towards ourselves, the moral significance of our conduct can only lie in the effect produced upon others; its relation to the latter is alone that which lends it moral worth, or worthlessness, and constitutes it an act of justice, loving-kindness, etc., or the reverse.
From these propositions the following conclusion is obvious: The =weal and woe=, which (according to our third axiom) must, as its ultimate object, lie at the root of everything done, or left undone, is either that of the doer himself, or that of some other person, whose _rôle_ with reference to the action is passive. Conduct in the first case is necessarily =egoistic=, as it is impelled by an interested motive. And this is not only true when men--as they nearly always do--plainly shape their acts for their own profit and advantage; it is equally true when from anything done we expect some benefit to ourselves, no matter how remote, whether in this or in another world.
Nor is it less the fact when our honour, our good name, or the wish to win the respect of some one, the sympathy of the lookers on, etc., is the object we have in view; or when our intention is to uphold a rule of conduct, which, if generally followed, would occasionally be useful to ourselves, for instance, the principle of justice, of mutual succour and aid, and so forth. Similarly, the proceeding is at bottom egoistic, when a man considers it a prudent step to obey some absolute command issued by an unknown, but evidently supreme power; for in such a case nothing can be the motive but =fear= of the disastrous consequences of disobedience, however generally and indistinctly these may be conceived. Nor is it a whit the less Egoism that prompts us when we endeavour to emphasise, by something done or left undone, the high opinion (whether distinctly realised or not) which we have of ourselves, and of our value or dignity; for the diminution of self-satisfaction, which might otherwise occur, would involve the wounding of our pride. Lastly, it is still Egoism that is operative, when a man, following Wolff's principles, seeks by his conduct to work out his own perfection. In short, one may make the ultimate incentive to an action what one pleases; it will always turn out, no matter by how circuitous a path, that in the last resort what affects the actual weal and woe of the agent himself is the real motive; consequently what he does is =egoistic=, and therefore =without moral worth=.
There is only a single case in which this fails to happen: namely, when the ultimate incentive for doing something, or leaving it undone, is precisely and exclusively centred in the weal and woe of some one else, who plays a passive part; that is to say, when the person on the active side, by what he does, or omits to do, simply and solely regards the weal and woe of another, and has absolutely no other object than to benefit him, by keeping harm from his door, or, it may be, even by affording help, assistance, and relief. It is this aim alone that gives to what is done, or left undone, the stamp of moral worth; which is thus seen to depend exclusively on the circumstance that the act is carried out, or omitted, purely for the benefit and advantage of another. If and when this is not so, then the question of weal and woe which incites to, or deters from, every action contemplated, can only relate to the agent himself; whence its performance, or non-performance is entirely egoistic, and without moral value.
But if what I do is to take place solely on account of some one else; then it follows that =his= weal and woe must directly constitute =my= motive; just is, ordinarily, =my own= weal and woe form it. This narrows the limits of our problem, which may now be stated as follows: How is it possible that another's weal and woe should influence my will directly, that is, exactly in the same way as otherwise my own move it? How can that which affects another for good or bad become my immediate motive, and actually sometimes assume such importance that it more or less supplants my own interests, which are, as a rule, the single source of the incentives that appeal to me?
Obviously, only because that other person becomes the ultimate object of my will, precisely as usually I myself am that object; in other words, because I directly desire weal, and not woe, for him, just as habitually I do for myself. This, however, necessarily implies that I suffer with him, and feel his woe, exactly as in most cases I feel only mine, and therefore desire his weal as immediately as at other times I desire only my own. But, for this to be possible, I must in some way or other be =identified= with him; that is, the =difference= between myself and him, which is the precise _raison d'être_ of my Egoism, must be =removed=, at least to a certain extent. Now, since I do not live in his skin, there remains only the knowledge, that is, the mental picture, I have of him, as the possible means whereby I can so far identify myself with him, that my action declares the difference to be practically effaced. The process here analysed is not a dream, a fancy floating in the air; it is perfectly real, and by no means infrequent. It is, what we see every day,--the phaenomenon of =Compassion=; in other words, the direct participation, independent of all ulterior considerations, in the sufferings of another, leading to sympathetic assistance in the effort to prevent or remove them; whereon in the last resort all satisfaction and all well-being and happiness depend. It is this Compassion alone which is the real basis of all =voluntary= justice and all =genuine= loving-kindness. Only so far as an action springs therefrom, has it moral value; and all conduct that proceeds from any other motive whatever has none. When once compassion is stirred within me, by another's pain, then his weal and woe go straight to my heart, exactly in the same way, if not always to the same degree, as otherwise I feel only my own. Consequently the difference between myself and him is no longer an absolute one.
No doubt this operation is astonishing, indeed hardly comprehensible.
It is, in fact, the great mystery of Ethics, its original phaenomenon, and the boundary stone, past which only transcendental speculation may dare to take a step. Herein we see the wall of partition, which, according to the light of nature (as reason is called by old theologians), entirely separates being from being, broken down, and the non-ego to a certain extent identified with the ego. I wish for the moment to leave the metaphysical explanation of this enigma untouched, and first to inquire whether all acts of voluntary justice