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 HARALD HÖFFDING
"Ethics" ("Ethik," 1887)

Ethical judgments contain an estimate of the worth of human

actions. Every such estimate presupposes the existence of a need, a
feeling which spurs us on to the judgment of the action, as also the
existence of a standard, an ideal, according to which we judge. The
motive to the ethical judgment may be called the basis of Ethics.
The standard involved in the ethical judgment determines the
content of Ethics, in that it decides which actions, which directions
and modes of life, are to be called good in the ethical sense. The
ethical basis is the subjective, the standard the objective, principle in
Ethics; the character of an ethical conception depends upon this
presupposed basis, the applied standard, and the relation between
the two.
The feelings and impulses of the individual are not only influenced
by his own experience, but bear also a character derived from the
experience of the whole species; hence the ethical judgments
delivered by the individual are the result of the whole experience of
his kind. It is by virtue of this circumstance that the ethical system
of the individual gains its power; as ethics of the species, it is a
condition of the health and vitality of human life.
This actual working Ethics of the species and of life has been named
Positive Morality. Such Positive Morality manifests itself in the every-
day judgments and principles of men, often in the form of proverbs,
and may express either the enduring worldly wisdom of a nation, a
tribe, or a religious society, or the less enduring "public opinion" of a
century or an epoch.
Is it well to treat such Positive Morality to a criticism, which,
arousing, as it must, doubts and questions, will interfere with the
certainty and energy of action that characterize unreflecting instinct?
Is it well to examine the principles of such a system from a scientific
standpoint? We may answer: Life itself leads naturally to such
questionings; only where the view is narrow and the problems
simple is there full security from doubt. With the growth of
experience begins a comparison of the different laws and ideals, the
differing institutions of different epochs and peoples of which one
learns; or new experience presents problems which cannot be solved
by means of the system handed down; or the individual seeks some
orderly arrangement of the great multiplicity of ethical judgments
which he himself pronounces or hears others pronounce, for the
purpose of distinguishing between the more and the less important
ones. It is certainly a serious point in an individual's or a nation's
development when reflection and criticism begin; but where life
leads naturally to such questionings, we must either find some
answer to them or else some reason why they shall not be
answered. Moreover, it is to be noticed that certainty and force of
action are not absolute Goods. The greatest energy may take a most
disastrous direction, and must then be checked. To a new and better
insight, when attained, one must endeavor to secure all the energy
possible. All evolution consists in the diversion of energy from lower
to higher ends.
A scientific system of Ethics does not, and cannot, take the place of
Positive Morality; it only supplies the latter with a basis of reason,
broadens, and develops it. Such a scientific system only endeavors
to discover in accordance with what principles we direct our life, and
to secure for these, when ascertained, greater clearness and inner
harmony. In the mental life of the human being, a continuous action
and reaction of the conscious and the unconscious takes place, as
well as of perception, feeling, and will. What is won in the one
province may profit the others also.
Two tasks of Scientific Ethics, as Historical Ethics and as
Philosophical Ethics, are to be distinguished. Historical Ethics has to
do with the description and explanation of the development of
Positive Morality. Philosophical Ethics has to decide upon the worth
of the various forms assumed by the latter. Philosophical Ethics is a
practical science, and is based upon the supposition that we set
ourselves ends which may be reached through human action. Every
ethical judgment presupposes such an end, for feeling is set in
motion by the sight or the thought of an act only when the latter
promotes, or stands in the way of something, the existence and
success of which are desired by us. Not all that is developed as
practical morality can be pronounced good. On the other hand,
customs which were at first assumed from motives which must be
condemned by Philosophical Ethics, may yet prove themselves good,
and may be practised, later, from higher motives; and such customs
cannot then be condemned on account of their origin. Hence,
Philosophical Ethics is both conservative and radical; it respects
nothing simply because it exists; but since it endeavors to furnish
guidance beyond present standards, it attempts to show how that
which has been developed historically may be given new forms and
thus used for further progress. It is difficult, from a broader view, to
distinguish perfectly between Historical and Philosophical Ethics; the
historian has an ideal which he applies more or less in his
researches; and the philosopher in Ethics is more or less ruled by
the prevailing opinions of his time. This necessitates a continual re-
discussion of problems. Yet it does not prevent the existence, in any
system, of lasting principles among the less enduring ones.
Theological Ethics is directly opposed to Historical Ethics as well as
to Philosophical Ethics. It builds upon tradition, upon truth as
something historically revealed. So far, it might appear as if
Theological Ethics were related to Historical Ethics. But the system
of the former does not recognize the method of scientific research,
since the revelation on which it is based is due, according to its
doctrine, to an interposition of supernatural forces not to be
explained by the physical, psychological, and social laws that serve
as the foundation of historical science. It demands a unique position
for its historical basis, and asserts that this must be looked at in an
entirely different light from that in which the rest of the history of
the world is regarded. It appears to approach Philosophical Ethics in
instituting an examination of the worth of historic acts and modes of
life. But it undertakes this examination, not according to any
principle that can be found in nature, but from the point of view of a
supernatural revelation of an ideal. Its foundation is an absolute
principle of Authority; its good is that which is God's will. But how is
the individual to be sure as to what, in the single case, is God's will?
By the inward testimony? How is he to distinguish certainly between
such and his own natural thoughts and feelings; what means of
distinction can be applied? In passing thus to the province of
Psychology, we assume a human means of distinction, and the
principle of Authority loses its force. Or if it be said that we should
receive this principle of Authority because it answers to a need of
our nature, we may ask how we know that the need is one that
should be satisfied? Its mere existence cannot guarantee that. Or
how, then, are we to distinguish which of other wishes and needs of
our nature should, and which should not, be gratified? Is the
principle of Authority to decide this? Then we argue in a circle.
A similar circle is adopted by such theologians as attempt to combine
the two assertions: "The good is good because God wills it"; and
"God wills it because it is good." If the good is identical with God's
will, this means that he wills it because it is his will; if he, however,
first recognizes something as good, and therefore wills it, then his
will bows to a law and rule, and is not, in itself, the cause whereby
the Good is good.
Have we not, as a fact, already broken with the absolute principle of
Authority as soon as we begin to reflect, to endeavor to bring the
various commandments of Authority into harmony with each other,
thus applying the measure of our own reason to them?
But it is not these inner contradictions alone which hinder
Philosophical Ethics from making use of theological assumptions;
that which has called Philosophical Ethics into existence and lends it
interest, is the conviction that the ultimate reason of the ethical
must lie in man himself. However lofty may be the ideal, it can
become man's ideal only through his own recognition of it as ideal.
For this reason Socrates was the founder of Ethics by the command:
"Know thyself!" In this command is expressed the principle of free
investigation, the opposite to that of blind obedience. The desire to
make Ethics as far as possible independent of assailable assumptions
is likewise active in the establishment of a system of Philosophical
Ethics.
In the great, sometimes too great, regard paid to the distinction
between the subjective and the objective worth of actions, and the
contest as to the relative importance of the two factors, the fact is
often overlooked, that the standard by which ethical judgment is
pronounced is itself of subjective nature. The question arises as to
wherefore we seek a general and objective standard.
It is a fact that human beings reflect upon their own acts,
pronouncing them, according to the result of this reflection, good or
bad. How are such judgments as these possible?
We will suppose, first, the simplest conceivable case, namely, that
the acting subject pronounces judgment on his own act without
consideration of the existence of other beings. Such a judgment
must presuppose memory; but it presupposes something more,
namely pain or pleasure through memory; an end is aimed at only
because the thought of a result causes pleasure. In the simple case
supposed, the feeling which determines the end can be only that of
the individual himself, and the latter will judge the act as good or
bad according as it has affected his own life. The character and
significance of the judgment will depend on whether the feeling of
pain or pleasure is determined only by the single moment or has
reference to the life of the individual as a whole. The lower the life
of consciousness, the more isolated and independent are the single
moments of time in relation to each other, and the less is the
significance of the memory and the thought of the ego as a whole
embracing the single moments with their content. Only a half-
unconscious instinct hinders the individual from losing himself in the
moment; the instinct of self-preservation leads him to consider the
future and to make use of the experience of the past. The more he
loses himself in the moment, the less is the power of judgment,
since comparison and action and reaction of the different states
cannot take place. The single moment bears to all others the relation
of an absolute egoist, who does not wish to relinquish any part of its
satisfaction for their advantage.
And here we may perceive the possibility of a standpoint upon which
all judgment is dispensed with. Such a standpoint is represented by
Aristippus of Cyrene, who asserts the sovereignty of the moment. It
is not without its justification. Ethics itself must show cause for the
relinquishment of the satisfaction of the moment in favor of other
moments.
If the principle of the sovereignty of the moment could be practically
carried out, no reasoning could overthrow it. However, there can
scarcely be a conscious individual in whom there are not instincts
and impulses which reach beyond the moment. When a momentary
state of feeling, as the effect of an act of the subject, comes
together in consciousness with the feeling determined by the
conception of the life as totality (the result of memory and
comparison), a new feeling arises which is either one of harmony or
one of discord. The standard by which judgment is pronounced is
determined by this feeling. The capacity for such feelings is
conscience, as this may manifest itself in entirely isolated individuals.
Conscience, in the broadest sense of the word, is a feeling of
relations, and requires only a relation between central and peripheral
feelings,—feelings of wider, and feelings of narrower thought-
connection. The single moment and the single act are judged
according to their worth as parts of the individual life as totality.
And here the individual is confronted by the necessity of bringing the
single parts of his life into harmony. The problem is certainly never
solved by any individual involuntarily. The estimation of earlier acts
according to the assistance they give in this task is, therefore, at this
point, of great importance to the individual. The judgment
pronounced is thus not only made possible through the central
feeling which corresponds to the life as totality, but is determined by
it. An acute sense for that which benefits the individual life whose
single members are the moments, is a condition of the continuance
and development of the life; it is a higher sort of instinct of self-
preservation, and need not be confined to the continuance of
physical life, but may also refer to the ideal needs.
And here we come upon the standpoint of Individualistic Ethics.
From such a standpoint, the problem is to determine, not only how
much energy may be used in the single moments of time, but also in
what manner it should be used in order to secure as great variety
and many-sidedness as may be consistent with the interests of the
life as totality. Nor are the interests of the life to be summed up in
physical self-preservation; the individual acquires, in the natural
course of things, interests of increased ideality and complexity,
through which the life gains in content.
The ethical law, from the standpoint of Individualism, is expressed
by a formula which requires harmonious relation between the
interest of the life as totality and the impulse of the moment; it
consists of two chief mandates: (1) The single instant should have
no greater independence than corresponds to its significance in the
life as totality; (2) but, on the other hand, the single moments
should be as richly and intensely lived as is consistent with the
preservation of the life's totality.
Of Individualism, or the principle of the Sovereignty of the
Individual, the same is true as of the sovereignty of the moment,
that no reasoning can overthrow it; if the individual recognizes no
end but his own life, there is no logical way of transition to another
standpoint. A change of aim can take place only through such a
change in the central feelings which determine the standard of the
individual that a wider circle of conceptions enter into his reflections.
Until this takes place, there is no use in appealing to conscience.
The science of Ethics has often claimed to be a science of pure
reason. This claim is opposed to its character as a practical science,
since action can be judged only according to the ends it had in view,
and ends presuppose feelings of pain and pleasure. On the other
hand, there is, in the mere capacity for pain and pleasure, no
limitation of the extent of the circle of conceptions with which the
feelings of pain and pleasure are connected.
Individualism can be carried out in practice only approximately; the
individual has his origin in the species, and lives his whole life as a
part of the life of his kind, with an organization in which the results
of the action and passion of earlier generations are inherited, and in
a mental atmosphere which has induced the development of his
species. And just as the instinct of self-preservation did away with
the isolation of the single moments of the individual life, becoming,
thus, the basis of feelings determined by the interests of the life as
totality, so the sympathetic instincts do away with the isolation of
the single individuals and determine the conditions of the life of the
species in the minds of its individuals. The most primitive form of the
sympathetic instincts is exhibited in the family. Here, however loose
and variable the relation of man and wife may be, that of mother
and child cannot, by its nature, be done away with or essentially
changed. In this case, the sympathetic feeling springs immediately
from the natural instinct, and the relation is the nucleus which
makes possible the higher forms of family life. In the family circle,
the sympathetic feelings are cultivated, and arrive at such strength
that they come to include ever wider and wider circles of human
beings. Indeed, the mother-love remains forever the image and
criterion of all sympathy, as well in respect to strength as to purity.
When sympathy has reached full purity, it is a feeling of pain or
pleasure determined by the fact that other beings feel pain or
pleasure. The most important point of its development was when it
so broadened as to include all mankind. The Peripatetic and the
Stoic schools of Greek philosophy led to this idea of love to all
humanity and the natural union of all men in one great society. But
this idea acquired greater historic importance when it became a
chief commandment of a great religion,—of Christianity. To this
sympathetic feeling the criterion of good and evil is no longer to be
found in the individual life, but is dependent on the life of the whole
society of which the individual is a member.
Yet sympathy is not, from this standpoint, identical with the ethical
feeling, conscience. Conscience is here, too, a feeling of relations
determined by the relation between the ruling or central feeling of
the individual and the results of action. When the individual feels his
own interests subordinate to the good of the whole of which,
through sympathy, he regards himself as a part, the ethical feeling
appears as the feeling of duty. A feeling of duty may be spoken of,
likewise, from the standpoint of pure Individualism, for the concept
of duty expresses only the relation of a lower, narrower
consideration to a higher; and this is represented, in Individualism,
by the relation of the single moments to the life as a whole.
From another point of view, the ethical feeling appears, in its higher
development, as the feeling of justice, which, while regarding the
good of the whole as the chief end, considers also the peculiarities
of individuals. Sympathy in its active form is impulse to share. This
sharing must be carried out according to fixed principles; where
sympathy is universal, differences of division can be justified only by
the fact that the Goods divided, if otherwise divided, would not be in
so high a degree Goods to those to whom they reverted, or would
not conduce to so great progress of the society as a whole. The
ethical law upon this standpoint, the standpoint of Humane Ethics,
can be no other as to content, than that action shall conduce to the
greatest possible welfare and the greatest possible progress of the
greatest possible number of conscious beings; and this law includes
two chief mandates, a negative and a positive mandate: (1) The
individual may not receive more than befits the position which, in
consequence of his peculiar qualities, he occupies among his kind;
(2) but, on the other hand, the capacities and impulses of every
individual shall be as fully and richly developed and satisfied as is
consistent with the demands of the life of the species as a whole.
These two mandates follow with logical necessity from the concept
of society as a multiplicity of conscious beings united into one whole.
It is contrary to the unity of society, that an individual, or that
individuals, should be wilfully preferred to others; every exceptional
position must be justified by the demands of the general conditions
of life; on the other hand, a society is the more perfect the more
freely and more independently the single members move, and the
larger the number of different possibilities it realizes, if, at the same
time, unity is preserved and attains an ever higher character and
ever increasing validity.
When the ethical feeling develops, upon the basis of sympathy, to
the feeling of duty and justice, the principle included in the above
law becomes the standard according to which the individual judges
his own actions as well as those of others, and pronounces them
good or bad. The good is that which preserves and develops the
welfare of conscious beings.
The ethical principle now arrived at applies to the deeds of conscious
beings, presupposing an end in view. Unconscious nature affects
man's life, but its workings have no ethical character. The ethical
judgment is itself determined by the principle on which it is
pronounced, and hence it serves to produce greater welfare. This is
especially to be seen where the judging and the acting individual are
one and the same person; in other cases, it becomes a special
problem to bring the acting individual to the recognition of the
principle; this is a problem of psychologic-pedagogical nature.
The word "welfare" is used in preference to utility or happiness in
order to prevent misunderstanding, and may be defined as including
all that serves to satisfy the needs of man's nature. Ethics must take
into consideration all the gradations of life, and cannot, therefore,
distinguish in the beginning between outer and inner, higher and
lower, welfare. Such a distinction is already an ethical judgment, and
can be made only after determination of the ethical criterion.
Another mistake is the stress often laid upon momentary feelings of
pain and pleasure. Pain signifies, it is true, the beginning of the
disintegration of life, and pleasure its normal and harmonious
development; yet each must be considered in its relation to the
whole consciousness, the whole character, and the whole social
state. So-called utilitarianism has injured its own cause by resolving
consciousness into a sum of feelings, and society into a collection of
individuals. The significance of single feelings of pain and pleasure
for the welfare of society cannot be determined as if the problem
were a simple arithmetical one.
The reasoning of Philosophical Ethics must not be confused with
practical reflection. In the last we are led by instincts and impulses,
by motives of which we are, for the most part, wholly unconscious,
by thoughts and feelings the first origin of which we cannot
designate. We follow the "positive morality" to which we have
accustomed ourselves and which is, in part, an inheritance of our
species. Ethics as an art precedes Ethics as a science; the aim of the
latter is partly to show by what principles the former is guided, and
partly to correct these principles.
The ethical principle broadens out, thus, from the single moment of
the individual life until it embraces the whole of mankind; but there
are many points in the course of the development at which we can
make a stand, and there may, therefore, be as many philosophical
systems as there are larger or smaller totalities. The position of the
man who holds fast consistently to a principle that determines the
criterion by the family, the caste, the nation, a sect, as highest
totality, is as unassailable as we have seen that of the individualist to
be. The psychologic-historical evolution alone can bring us, through
the changes which it produces in the feelings, beyond these
criterions. In other words, every criterion has a psychologic-historical
basis. He who is to recognize and carry out practically the principle
of the greatest possible welfare, must be no egoist or individualist,
no fanatical patriot or sectarian; this is the subjective condition
necessary to the objective principle. The conscience which is to be
regulated by the objective principle is always itself the condition of
the recognition of this principle. A system which leaves this fact out
of consideration takes on a dogmatic character. The basis of all
ethical judgments is feeling. By this is not meant, however, that the
standpoint of an individual cannot be influenced by argument; the
feelings are always connected with concepts, and discussion of these
concepts is both possible and must react upon them even if only
very gradually.
Conscience is not infallible in its application of the objective
principle; a wider experience may show it to have erred. Conscience
is highest authority, but still an authority which may continually
perfect itself. The objective principle makes possible the mutual
correction of different consciences and the self-correction of the
conscience of the individual through self-judgment.
The difference between Subjective Ethics and Objective Ethics, as
here explained, does not coincide with the difference between
Individual Ethics and Social Ethics. Objective Ethics includes both the
latter, since it recognizes individual peculiarities. It has yet to be
decided whether, within the bounds of Objective Ethics, Individual
Ethics and Social Ethics are dependent upon each other, or whether
one, and if one then which one, determines the other. It has to be
decided whether, according to the principle of welfare, the free self-
development of the individual is to be limited by the conditions of
social life, or vice versa. Within the limits of Objective Ethics, there
may arise an Individualism of another sort than that before
mentioned, founded, not upon the sovereignty of the individual, but
upon the principle of welfare, which demands as many independent
and peculiar points of departure for action as possible. The like is
true, also, of the question of smaller organizations within larger
ones.
The history of Ethics shows us that the ethical judgment of actions
at first regarded the outer act itself and its results, but was gradually
extended to include the motive, the disposition, the character of the
acting subject. It is perfectly natural that regard should first be
attracted to that which is the object of sense-perception. Moreover,
action at an earlier stage of development is essentially reflex action,
and the expression of instinct; the motives are simple and
transparent, and interest does not linger long with them. The great
revolutions in Ethics appear as essentially progress with regard to
the importance accorded, in ethical judgment, to the inner factors of
action. This greater inwardness is combined with a generalization;
for the rejection of a motive is the rejection of all action occasioned
by it, and the ethical acceptance of a motive the acceptance of all
action springing from it. Hence the transference of regard to inner
conditions represents a great simplification of the ethical law.
Examples of such a transference may be found in the rupture
between Christianity and Judaism, and between Protestantism and
Catholicism.
In this way, too, Objective Ethics leads to Subjective Ethics. The
objective judgment not only presupposes a subjective basis, but also
finds some of its best objects in actions which spring from the same
mental constitution which is the basis of the judgment. Here, the
basis of mental constitution and the motive coincide; the ethical law
demands the existence of the moral disposition by which it itself
exists in the species. This Kant expresses in the assertion that it is a
duty to possess conscience. Since the recognition of duties
presupposes the existence of conscience, it might seem as if here
were an argument in a circle. But that this is an illusion may be seen
from the fact that the basis of ethical judgment and the motive do
not necessarily coincide and that it is not necessarily an imperfection
when they do not coincide. It may be necessary in some cases, in
accordance with the principle of welfare, that other motives than the
sense of duty shall guide the action; it may be necessary and
healthful, for example, that in some cases man should be led by the
instinct of self-preservation, or by an immediate sympathy, to labor
for the welfare of others, and that conscience should not be aroused
in every single act. It may even be a sign of perfection when actions
that demand exertion and sacrifice are carried out without the
intervention of a sense of duty. Indeed, mental drill in the end
renders that which at first took place by means of a long
psychological process of reflection and will, direct and without
special consciousness of its reason.
All Ethics is practical Idealism. All systems assume an end, and an
end is not anything at present existing, but something which ought
to be. All systems assume, therefore, strong feeling, impulse, and
endeavor, combined with the image of that which is the object of the
endeavor. But the ideal must have points of contact with actuality, so
that at least an approach to it is practicable; it must be physically,
psychologically, and historically possible.
Ethical ideals deviate from the actual in three ways. In the first
place, there is often in actual willing and doing something directly
opposed to the principle of welfare. In this case, the office of Ethics
is to restrain and forbid. To this function corresponds, in the practical
life of the will, the hemming by which involuntary, original, or
acquired impulses and inclinations are repressed. Again, actual
willing and doing often exhibit only a weak and imperfect realization
of that which Ethics demands. Here there must be an increase in the
degree as well as in the extent of the realization. To this
corresponds, in the practical life of the will, effort and attention, the
power of the will, through its influence upon conceptions and
feelings, to react upon itself. And finally, there may be, in willing and
doing, a lack of unity and harmony; various opposed tendencies and
impulses may make themselves felt. Here a process of harmonizing
and concentration is necessary. And to this corresponds, in the
practical life of the will, a drilling in connected action and trains of
thought, and in the power to make an end of reflection by decision.
In all three cases, the principle of welfare is to be followed; and the
three processes are to be applied not only in the development of the
individual but also in that of societies, and of the species.
That which manifests itself in conscience is a species-instinct. In the
feeling of judgment, the relation between central and peripheral
factors finds expression, neither of which, and least of all the central
factors, are developed by individual experience, but both of which
are, on the contrary, the product of the experience of the species.
What Kant called the Categorical Imperative is, in fact, an instinct;
and every instinct speaks unconditionally, categorically, gives no
reasons and admits of no excuse.
No instinct finds expression without the existence of conditions
which call it forth; but all manner of individual and social
circumstances may furnish such conditions.
When conscience begins to be conscious of its office, it manifests
itself as an Impulse.[77] The thought of actions which the instinctive
judgment has recognized, or to the performance of which it has
perhaps incited, is combined with pleasure, the conception of actions
of the opposite nature with pain. The tendency arises to linger with
the former and to repeat them, and to turn from the latter, if no
stronger impulses of another sort make themselves felt.
Conscience may develop, without losing entirely its instinctive or
impulsive character, to practical reason. This takes place through the
development of the conceptions which determine the conscience as
impulse, to greater clearness and distinctness. When conscience acts
as instinct, the individual does not know what he does. If it acts as
impulse, he has a dawning consciousness of his acts. And when it
becomes practical reason, there arises a clear consciousness of
ethical laws and ethical ideals. In different individuals, conscience
may appear in very different forms and degrees, as instinct, impulse,
practical reason, sense of duty, sense of justice. Sometimes it
appears as mainly negative and restraining, sometimes again as
chiefly positive, partly harmonizing and partly increasing. Here it
appears as enthusiastic devotion, there as quiet and continuous
tendency. It would be impossible to name even the principal forms in
which it may manifest itself, but it is of great importance to call
attention to the fact of these individual differences, since we suffer
at present from a dogmatism that has but one measure for all these
different manifestations.
We must go a step farther still. There may be men who possess no
strictly ethical feeling and who do not need it. Such men do what
they can with their whole heart without applying any reflective
standard to their own or others' acts. They entirely absorb
themselves with unflagging zeal in a work that perfectly corresponds
to their capabilities and impulses, without any doubt of its
rightfulness and import. They may devote themselves to art and
science, to the service of society, or to their family. Or they belong to
the class of happy natures who spread light and joy by their mere
existence. They act in accordance with the law, without being in
possession of the law, and what objection can Ethics have to offer to
this? Ethics is for the sake of life, not life for the sake of Ethics.
Since all ethical judgments have conscience for their psychological
basis, conscience is highest authority, highest law-giver, in
comparison with which every other authority is subordinate and
derived. To wish to go beyond one's conscience is to wish to go
beyond oneself. When I yield to another human being whose
judgment I trust more than my own, this can be justified only as it
takes place through my conscience. Conscience is infallible, if one
understands by infallibility that it is, at every instant, the highest
judge; this infallibility does not mean, however, that it does not err.
Every earnest conviction takes the form of conscience; the truth is
not, however, secured by the mere form. Was it not from conviction
that Aristotle asserted the right of slavery, and Calvin, with
Melancthon's approval, sent Servetus to the stake?
Not less dogmatic than Fichte's assertion that conscience never
deceives us, is the view which regards a system of Ethics as merely
the science of the forms of society and of outward acts, and thus
declares conscience to be without authority in comparison with outer
circumstances and their demands. The law which we obey must
always express itself in the form of conscience. The light which
illumines for us all other things must be within ourselves.
Here we perceive the possibility of a conflict between Subjective
Ethics and Objective Ethics, between the two principles upon which
Ethics is founded. There can be no other solution to the problem
than that we shall follow the command of conscience, provided it
speaks clearly and after sufficient deliberation. It may be added that
conscience can correct and control itself, the later and more
experienced conscience criticising the earlier. As long as the
individual acts according to his best conviction, he is morally healthy;
hence, from an ethical point of view, a pernicious action carried out
under the conviction that it is good is to be preferred to a good
action performed with the conviction that it is bad. In the former
case, the spring is pure; in the latter it is corrupt. Only he who has
courage to make mistakes can accomplish anything great. It is not
the cold and narrow, but those who are zealous for the true and
good, who thus err.
The power of self-correction can be developed only when some
definite principle or criterion may be found. Such a principle is that
of welfare. The problem of the application of this principle to action
is, however, like that of the application of the principle of causality to
actual phenomena, an endless one.
In close relation to the concept of Authority stands that of Sanction.
The Authority commands or forbids, the Sanction enables the
command or prohibition to remain in force. The sanction consists in
the pain or pleasure connected with the observation or transgression
of the command, in the reward or punishment which one brings on
oneself through one's action, in the heaven or hell which one
approaches by the action. It is only, however, when the authority
itself is an outward one that the sanction holds this outward relation
to the action. In this outward form it has no immediate ethical
significance. The ethical character of an action is dependent, in
subjective regard, on its origin in the intention of the performer, in
objective regard, on its harmony with the principle of welfare. What
ethical significance could it have that here a feeling of pain or
pleasure not arising from the action itself, is added to it? The outer
sanction of reward and punishment is thus but an educating
sanction. The inner sanction consists in a feeling of harmony and
unity with one's own highest convictions, of consistency between
one's ideas and one's actual willing. Thus arises an inner peace that
may be stronger than all contradiction and opposition from without.
Such an inner sanction is not only an effect of the action, but a
feeling already present before the action. It was the preservation
and full development of this feeling that led to the decision and
made it possible. Blessedness, says Spinoza, is not the reward of
virtue, but virtue itself.
The manner in which the ethical is so often made dependent upon
certain fixed religious or speculative assumptions must be, from an
ethical point of view, matter for great solicitude. In the first place, it
is easy to suppose that the man who no longer respects these
dogmas may have emancipated himself also from the ethical maxims
dependent upon them, and would be most consistent if he acted in
accordance with the principle: "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow
we die." In the second place, action is reft of its ethical character
when the attention is directed to things outside its essence and
origin, and considerations of reward and punishment are declared to
be a necessary motive. Not even a belief in progress within the
world of experience can have any absolute worth for Ethics. It may
be theoretically difficult to maintain such a belief; and even if the
victorious direction of evolution were shown to be unfavorable to
Ethics, ethical principles would not be destroyed. Simply the
problems would be different; pity and resignation would acquire
greater importance. Wherever the ethical disposition were present, it
would take the side of the conquered and remain upon that side
though the gods themselves were with the conquerors. Ethical worth
does not depend upon mere might.
The birth-hour of conscience is the time when, through the
difference between ideal and actuality, a certain feeling arises. Its
death-hour would be the instant in which the difference forever
disappeared. Such a disappearance might occur in two ways, either
through the conquest of the ideal by actuality or through that of
actuality by the ideal. The objection has been made to the theory of
evolution that it fulfilled the first of these possibilities, and so left no
room for Ethics. But the very fact of the existence of ethical impulses
as the actual result of evolution would seem to belie this theory. And
indeed, we see that evolution is not physical growth alone, but
mental as well; and that the important feature of man's development
consists in his aspiration through desires and impulses, which act as
moving forces in his life. Aspiration is necessary to his evolution, and
indifference and lack of sensibility an obstacle to it. The theory of
evolution leads directly to Ethics, in that it shows that the struggle
for existence becomes, in its higher forms, a common struggle for
the continuance and development of human life. The theory of
evolution takes us, indeed, not only to, but beyond, Ethics; for,
according to Spencer, the ethical sense is but an intermediate
condition in a development toward a state of "organic morality,"
where right-doing will be involuntary and natural, and a special
ethical sense no longer existent or necessary. Such a state would
constitute the realization of the second alternative mentioned above,
with which Ethics would come to an end. This state is conceivable,
and Ethics could have no objection to offer to it. Yet we are still far
from such a condition, and though we may strengthen our courage
and hope with the thought of a continual progress of human nature,
yet the assumption of such an end to evolution cannot have an
essential influence upon the method of Ethics.
We must, in fact, suppose that progress will bring us new problems
and new ideals, that, as the Ethics of the civilized man includes
whole provinces unknown to the savage, so many relations will
certainly present themselves in the future whose ethical significance
our present thick-skinned condition, our ignorance and egoism,
prevent us from comprehending.
Can one do more than one's duty? From the standpoint of ethical
systems which are founded on authority or any outward principle,
this question may be answered in the affirmative. The Roman
Catholic Church distinguishes, for instance, between that which is
commanded and that which, beyond the command, is merely
advised. But he who follows an inward sanction cannot but feel that
he has done no more than his duty when he has done all that lies in
his power for the welfare of mankind. It may be right, from a
pedagogical standpoint, to give especial praise to actions that tower
above the usual; he who performs them, however, only then
possesses the right spirit when he feels that he has done no more
than his duty, and could not have done otherwise. Even from a
pedagogical standpoint, the difference between duty and merely
counselled action, beyond the duty commanded, can be only a
relative one; that which is, upon a lower plane of development,
merely advised, becomes, upon a higher plane, one of the most
elementary duties; mercy to the conquered may be a high virtue in a
savage, but to the civilized man it is a primary rule of morals.
It is of the highest importance to keep in mind the fact that
conscience itself is a cause, and that ethical judgment, arising as a
feeling, takes part, by its influence upon the will, in the ethical
evolution towards highest welfare. Keeping this in mind, it is easy to
see that Ethics not only calls for no limitation of the law of Causality,
but that such a limitation would be pernicious, even destructive, to
Ethics.
There are at least six different significations in which the expression
"freedom of the will" may be used.
It may be used to denote absence of outward constraint; but this
might rather be called a freedom of action than a freedom of the
will.
It may be used to denote absence of inner constraint; the will which
springs from pain or fear is often called unfree in distinction from the
will which springs from pleasure or hope.
It may refer to energy and vitality of the will. Here the stress is laid
upon the amount which the will can accomplish, not, however, upon
its independence of causes. One can be a determinist and yet
concede that the will plays an important part in the world; or one
can be an indeterminist and yet assume that free will plays but a
small part in the world.
By freedom of the will is often meant the power of choice. This
freedom is not opposed, however, to causality, but to blindness of
action, subjection to momentary impulses. "Free will" denotes, in
this case, self-conscious will.
Or the word "freedom" may refer to the will as ruled by ethical
motives. In this sense, only the good man is free. This significance
of the word is the oldest, comes down to us from Socrates, and is
used by Augustine, Spinoza, and many others.