Section 18
Original German
Die Tugend der Menschenliebe.
Die Gerechtigkeit ist also die erste und grundwesentliche Kardinaltugend. Als solche haben auch die Philosophen des Alterthums sie anerkannt, jedoch ihr drei andere unpassend gewählte koordinirt. Hingegen haben sie die Menschenliebe, caritas, ἀγαπη, noch nicht als Tugend aufgestellt: selbst der in der Moral sich am höchsten erhebende Plato gelangt doch nur bis zur freiwilligen, uneigennützigen Gerechtigkeit. Praktisch und faktisch ist zwar zu jeder Zeit Menschenliebe dagewesen: aber theoretisch zur Sprache gebracht und förmlich als Tugend, und zwar als die größte von allen, aufgestellt, sogar auch auf die Feinde ausgedehnt, wurde sie zuerst vom Christenthum, dessen allergrößtes Verdienst eben hierin besteht; wiewohl nur hinsichtlich auf Europa; da in Asien schon tausend Jahre früher die unbegränzte Liebe des Nächsten eben sowohl Gegenstand der Lehre und Vorschrift, wie der Ausübung gewesen war, indem Veda und Dharma-Sastra, Itihasa und Purana, wie auch die Lehre des Buddha’s Schakia Muni, nicht müde werden, sie zu predigen. — Und wenn wir es streng nehmen wollen, so lassen sich auch bei den Alten Spuren der Anempfehlung der Menschenliebe finden, z. B. beim Cicero, De finib., V, 23; sogar schon beim Pythagoras, nach Jamblichus, De vita Pythagorae, c. 33. Mir liegt jetzt die philosophische Ableitung dieser Tugend aus meinem Princip ob.
Der zweite Grad, in welchem, mittelst des oben thatsächlich nachgewiesenen, wiewohl seinem Ursprung nach geheimnißvollen Vorgangs des Mitleids, das fremde Leiden an sich selbst und als solches unmittelbar mein Motiv wird, sondert sich von dem ersten deutlich ab, durch den positiven Charakter der daraus hervorgehenden Handlungen; indem alsdann das Mitleid nicht bloß mich abhält, den Andern zu verletzen, sondern sogar mich antreibt, ihm zu helfen. Je nachdem nun theils jene unmittelbare Theilnahme lebhaft und tiefgefühlt, theils die fremde Noth groß und dringend ist, werde ich durch jenes rein moralische Motiv bewogen werden, ein größeres oder geringeres Opfer dem Bedürfniß oder der Noth des Andern zu bringen, welches in der Anstrengung meiner leiblichen oder geistigen Kräfte für ihn, in meinem Eigenthum, in meiner Gesundheit, Freiheit, sogar in meinem Leben bestehen kann. Hier also, in der unmittelbaren, auf keine Argumentation gestützten, noch deren bedürfenden Theilnahme, liegt der allein lautere Ursprung der Menschenliebe, der caritas, ἀγαπη, also derjenigen Tugend, deren Maxime ist, omnes, quantum potes, juva, und aus welcher alles Das fließt, was die Ethik unter dem Namen Tugendpflichten, Liebespflichten, unvollkommene Pflichten vorschreibt. Diese ganz unmittelbare, ja, instinktartige Theilnahme am fremden Leiden, also das Mitleid, ist die alleinige Quelle solcher Handlungen, wenn sie moralischen Werth haben, d. h. von allen egoistischen Motiven rein seyn, und eben deshalb in uns selbst diejenige innere Zufriedenheit erwecken sollen, welche man das gute, befriedigte, lobende Gewissen nennt; wie auch bei dem Zuschauer die eigenthümliche Beistimmung, Hochachtung, Bewunderung und sogar demüthigenden Rückblick auf sich selbst hervorrufen sollen, welcher eine nicht abzuleugnende Thatsache ist. Hat hingegen eine wohlthätige Handlung irgend ein anderes Motiv; so kann sie nicht anders, als egoistisch seyn, wenn sie nicht gar boshaft ist. Denn, entsprechend den oben aufgestellten Urtriebfedern aller Handlungen, nämlich Egoismus, Bosheit, Mitleid, lassen sich die Motive, welche überhaupt den Menschen bewegen können, unter drei, ganz allgemeine und oberste Klassen bringen: 1) eigenes Wohl, 2) fremdes Wehe, 3) fremdes Wohl. Ist nun das Motiv einer wohlthätigen Handlung nicht aus der dritten Klasse; so muß es schlechterdings der ersten oder zweiten angehören. Letzteres ist wirklich bisweilen der Fall: z. B. wenn ich Einem wohlthue, um einen Andern, dem ich nicht wohlthue, zu kränken, oder ihm sein Leiden noch fühlbarer zu machen; oder auch um einen Dritten, der demselben nicht wohlthat, zu beschämen; oder endlich um den, dem ich wohlthue, dadurch zu demüthigen. Ersteres aber ist viel öfter der Fall, nämlich sobald ich, bei einer guten That, sei es auch noch so entfernt und auf weitestem Umwege, mein eigenes Wohl im Auge habe, also wenn mich Rücksicht auf Belohnung, in dieser oder einer andern Welt, oder die zu erlangende Hochschätzung und der Ruf eines edeln Herzens, oder die Ueberlegung, daß der, dem heute ich helfe, mir ein Mal wieder helfen, oder sonst nützen und dienen könne, endlich auch, wenn mich der Gedanke treibt, die Maxime des Edelmuths oder der Wohlthätigkeit müsse aufrecht erhalten werden, da sie mir doch auch ein Mal zu gute kommen könne, kurz, sobald mein Zweck irgend ein anderer ist, als ganz allein der rein objektive, daß ich dem Andern geholfen, ihn aus seiner Noth und Bedrängniß gerissen, ihn von seinem Leiden befreiet wissen will: und nichts darüber und nichts daneben! Nur dann, und ganz allein dann, habe ich wirklich jene Menschenliebe, caritas, ἀγαπη, bewiesen, welche gepredigt zu haben, das große, auszeichnende Verdienst des Christenthums ist. Aber gerade die Vorschriften, welche das Evangelium seinem Geheiß der Liebe hinzufügt, wie: μη γνώτω ἡ ἀριστερά σου, τί ποιεῖ ἡ δεξία σου (sinistra tua manus haud cognoscat, quae dextra facit) und ähnliche, sind auf das Gefühl dessen gegründet, was ich hier deducirt habe, daß nämlich ganz allein die fremde Noth und keine andre Rücksicht mein Motiv seyn muß, wenn meine Handlung moralischen Werth haben soll. Ganz richtig wird ebendaselbst (Matth. 6, 2) gesagt, daß Die, welche mit Ostentation geben, ihren Lohn dahin haben. Aber die Veden ertheilen auch hier uns gleichsam die höhere Weihe, indem sie wiederholentlich versichern, daß wer irgend einen Lohn seiner Werke begehrt, noch auf dem Wege der Finsterniß begriffen und zur Erlösung nicht reif sei. — Wenn Einer, indem er ein Almosen giebt, mich früge, was er davon hat; so wäre meine gewissenhafte Antwort: „Dieses, daß jenem Armen sein Schicksal um so viel erleichtert wird; außerdem aber schlechterdings nichts. Ist dir nun damit nicht gedient, und daran eigentlich nichts gelegen; so hast du eigentlich nicht ein Almosen geben, sondern einen Kauf thun wollen: da bist du um dein Geld betrogen. Ist dir aber daran gelegen, daß Jener, den der Mangel drückt, weniger leide; so hast du eben deinen Zweck erreicht, hast dies davon, daß er weniger leidet, und siehst genau, wie weit deine Gabe sich belohnt.“
Wie ist es nun aber möglich, daß ein Leiden, welches nicht meines ist, nicht mich trifft, doch eben so unmittelbar, wie sonst nur mein eigenes, Motiv für mich werden, mich zum Handeln bewegen soll? Wie gesagt, nur dadurch, daß ich es, obgleich mir nur als ein Aeußeres, bloß vermittelst der äußern Anschauung oder Kunde gegeben, dennoch mitempfinde, es als meines fühle, und doch nicht in mir, sondern in einem Andern, und also eintritt was schon Calderon ausdrückt:
que entre el verPadecer y el padecerNinguna distancia habia.
„No siempre el peor es cierto“, Jorn. II, p. 229.
(daß zwischen leiden sehen und leiden kein Unterschied sei.)
Dies aber setzt voraus, daß ich mich mit dem Andern gewissermaaßen identificirt habe, und folglich die Schranke zwischen Ich und Nicht-Ich, für den Augenblick, aufgehoben sei: nur dann wird die Angelegenheit des Andern, sein Bedürfniß, seine Noth, sein Leiden, unmittelbar zum meinigen: dann erblicke ich ihn nicht mehr, wie ihn doch die empirische Anschauung giebt, als ein mir Fremdes, mir Gleichgültiges, von mir gänzlich Verschiedenes; sondern in ihm leide ich mit, trotz dem, daß seine Haut meine Nerven nicht einschließt. Nur dadurch kann sein Wehe, seine Noth, Motiv für mich werden: außerdem kann es durchaus nur meine eigene. Dieser Vorgang ist, ich wiederhole es, mysteriös: denn er ist etwas, wovon die Vernunft keine unmittelbare Rechenschaft geben kann, und dessen Gründe auf dem Wege der Erfahrung nicht auszumitteln sind. Und doch ist er alltäglich. Jeder hat ihn oft an sich selbst erlebt, sogar dem Hartherzigsten und Selbstsüchtigsten ist er nicht fremd geblieben. Er tritt täglich ein, vor unsern Augen, im Einzelnen, im Kleinen, überall wo, auf unmittelbaren Antrieb, ohne viel Ueberlegung, ein Mensch dem Andern hilft und beispringt, ja, bisweilen selbst sein Leben für Einen, den er zum ersten Male sieht, in die augenscheinlichste Gefahr setzt, ohne mehr dabei zu denken, als eben daß er die große Noth und Gefahr des Andern sieht. Er tritt im Großen ein, wenn, nach langer Ueberlegung und schwerer Debatte, die hochherzige Brittische Nation 20 Millionen Pfund Sterling hingiebt, um den Negersklaven in ihren Kolonien die Freiheit zu erkaufen; unter dem Beifallsjubel einer ganzen Welt. Wer diese schöne Handlung im großen Stil, dem Mitleid als Triebfeder absprechen wollte, um sie dem Christenthum zuzuschreiben, bedenke, daß im ganzen Neuen Testament kein Wort gegen die Sklaverei gesagt ist; so allgemein auch damals die Sache war; und daß vielmehr, noch 1860, in Nord-Amerika, bei Debatten über die Sklaverei, Einer sich darauf berufen hat, daß Abraham und Jakob auch Sklaven gehalten haben.
Was nun in jedem einzelnen Fall die praktischen Ergebnisse jenes mysteriösen innern Vorganges seyn werden, mag die Ethik in Kapiteln und Paragraphen über Tugendpflichten, oder Liebespflichten, oder unvollkommene Pflichten, oder wie sonst, auseinandersetzen. Die Wurzel, die Grundlage von dem Allen ist die hier dargelegte, aus welcher der Grundsatz entspringt: omnes, quantum potes, juva; und aus diesem ist hier alles Uebrige gar leicht abzuleiten, wie aus der ersten Hälfte meines Princips, also aus dem Neminem laede, alle Pflichten der Gerechtigkeit. Die Ethik ist in Wahrheit die leichteste aller Wissenschaften; wie es auch nicht anders zu erwarten steht, da Jeder die Obliegenheit hat, sie selbst zu konstruiren, selbst aus dem obersten Grundsatz, der in seinem Herzen wurzelt, die Regel für jeden vorkommenden Fall abzuleiten: denn Wenige haben die Muße und Geduld, eine fertig konstruirte Ethik zu erlernen. Aus der Gerechtigkeit und Menschenliebe fließen sämmtliche Tugenden, daher sind jene die Kardinaltugenden, mit deren Ableitung der Grundstein der Ethik gelegt ist. — Gerechtigkeit ist der ganze ethische Inhalt des Alten Testaments, und Menschenliebe der des Neuen: diese ist die καινη ἐντολη (Joh. 13, 34), in welcher, nach Paulus (Röm. 13, 8—10) alle Christlichen Tugenden enthalten sind.
Musean translation
Machine-assisted Musean translation made directly from the complete 1860 German edition, including its quotations, author’s notes, prize question and judgment. Source-language reviewed.
The Virtue of Loving-Kindness.
Justice, then, is the first and fundamentally essential cardinal virtue. The philosophers of antiquity recognized it as such, though they placed beside it three others ill-chosen for that rank. Loving-kindness—charity, love—they had not yet established as a virtue. Even Plato, who reaches the greatest moral heights, goes no further than voluntary, unselfish justice. In practice and in fact, loving-kindness has certainly existed at every time. But it was Christianity that first brought it into theoretical discussion and formally established it as a virtue, indeed the greatest of all, extending it even to enemies. Here lies Christianity's very greatest merit, though only with respect to Europe: in Asia, a thousand years earlier, boundless love of one's neighbor had already been as much a subject of teaching and precept as of practice. The Vedas and the Dharma-Shastra, the Itihasas and the Puranas, as well as the teaching of the Buddha Shakyamuni, never tire of preaching it.—And if we wish to be exact, traces of the recommendation of loving-kindness can also be found among the ancients, for example in Cicero, De finib., V, 23, and even as early as Pythagoras, according to Iamblichus, On the Life of Pythagoras, c. 33. My task now is to derive this virtue philosophically from my principle.
The second degree in which another's suffering, in itself and as such, becomes my immediate motive through the process of compassion established above as a fact, though mysterious in its origin, is clearly distinguished from the first by the positive character of the actions that arise from it. Compassion then not only keeps me from injuring another but even impels me to help him. According both to the vividness and depth of this immediate sympathy and to the magnitude and urgency of the other's distress, this purely moral motive will move me to make a greater or lesser sacrifice to his need or hardship. It may consist in exerting my bodily or mental powers on his behalf, or in sacrificing my property, health, freedom, even my life. Here, then, in this immediate sympathy, supported by no argument and requiring none, lies the sole pure origin of loving-kindness—charity, love: the virtue whose maxim is “Help everyone as much as you can,” and from which flows everything ethics prescribes under the names duties of virtue, duties of love, and imperfect duties. This wholly immediate, indeed instinctive sympathy with another's suffering—compassion, then—is the sole source of such actions if they are to have moral worth: that is, to be free of every selfish motive and, for that very reason, awaken in us the inner satisfaction called a good, satisfied, approving conscience. It is likewise the sole source if these actions are to evoke in the spectator that distinctive assent, esteem, admiration, and even humbling reflection on himself that is an undeniable fact. If, on the other hand, a beneficent action has any other motive, it can only be selfish, unless it is actually malicious. For, corresponding to the primal incentives of all actions established above—selfishness, malice, compassion—the motives capable of moving human beings at all can be brought under three wholly general and highest classes: 1) one's own well-being, 2) another's suffering, 3) another's well-being. If the motive of a beneficent action is not from the third class, it must necessarily belong to the first or the second. The latter does sometimes occur: for example, when I benefit one person in order to wound another, whom I do not benefit, or make his suffering more keenly felt; or to shame a third person who did not help the person I am helping; or, finally, to humiliate the very person I benefit. The former case, however, is far more frequent. It occurs whenever, in doing a good deed, I have my own well-being in view, however remotely and by however circuitous a route: when I am moved by the prospect of a reward in this world or another, by the esteem I may gain and the reputation of having a noble heart, or by the thought that the person I help today may one day help me in return, or otherwise be useful and render me service. It also occurs when I am moved by the thought that the maxim of generosity or beneficence must be upheld because it may someday benefit me too. In short, it occurs whenever my purpose is anything other than the purely objective one alone: that I want to know the other person has been helped, rescued from his need and hardship, freed from his suffering—and nothing beyond this, and nothing beside it! Only then, and then alone, have I truly shown that loving-kindness—charity, love—whose preaching is Christianity's great and distinguishing merit. Yet the very precepts the Gospel adds to its commandment of love, such as “Do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing” (“Let your left hand not know what the right does”), and others like it, rest on a sense of what I have derived here: that another's need alone, and no other consideration, must be my motive if my action is to have moral worth. The same passage quite rightly says (Matth. 6, 2) that those who give ostentatiously have already received their reward. But here too the Vedas confer, as it were, a higher consecration upon us, repeatedly declaring that whoever desires any reward for his works is still on the path of darkness and is not ripe for deliverance.—If someone giving alms were to ask me what he gets out of it, my conscientious answer would be: “This: that the poor man's lot is lightened by that much; beyond this, absolutely nothing. If that does not serve your purpose, and you really care nothing about it, then you did not really want to give alms, but to make a purchase: in that case, you have been cheated of your money. But if you care that this man, oppressed by want, should suffer less, then you have achieved your very purpose. What you get out of it is that he suffers less, and you see exactly how far your gift has rewarded you.”
But how is it possible that a suffering which is not mine, which does not befall me, should nevertheless become my motive just as immediately as otherwise only my own does, and move me to act? As I have said, only because, though it is given to me merely as something external, solely through outward perception or report, I nevertheless share the feeling of it, feel it as mine, and yet not in myself but in someone else. Thus what Calderón already expressed comes to pass:
that between seeingSomeone suffer and sufferingThere was no distance.
“The Worst Is Not Always Certain,” Jorn. II, p. 229.
(that there is no difference between seeing suffering and suffering.)
But this presupposes that I have to some degree identified myself with the other person, and that consequently the barrier between I and not-I has been suspended for the moment. Only then do the other's concerns, his need, his distress, his suffering become immediately my own. I no longer see him as empirical perception presents him: as something alien to me, indifferent to me, utterly different from me. Instead, I share his suffering in him, even though his skin does not enclose my nerves. Only in this way can his pain, his distress, become a motive for me; otherwise only my own can do so. This process, I repeat, is mysterious: it is something of which reason can give no immediate account, and whose grounds cannot be discovered by way of experience. And yet it is an everyday occurrence. Everyone has often experienced it in himself; even the hardest-hearted and most selfish have not remained strangers to it. It happens daily before our eyes, in individual cases, in small things, wherever one person, on an immediate impulse and without much reflection, helps and comes to the aid of another—indeed, sometimes puts his own life in the most obvious danger for someone he sees for the first time, with no further thought than that he sees the other's great distress and peril. It happens on a grand scale when, after long deliberation and strenuous debate, the noble-hearted British nation gives 20 million pounds sterling to purchase freedom for the Black slaves in its colonies, to the cheers of a whole world. Anyone who would deny compassion as the incentive of this beautiful action on the grand scale, in order to ascribe it to Christianity, should consider that not a word against slavery is said in the entire New Testament, however widespread it was at that time; and that, on the contrary, even in 1860, in North America, someone debating slavery appealed to the fact that Abraham and Jacob had also kept slaves.
What the practical results of this mysterious inner process will be in each particular case, ethics may set out in chapters and sections on duties of virtue, duties of love, imperfect duties, or whatever else it calls them. The root, the foundation of it all, is the one set forth here, from which springs the principle “Help everyone as much as you can.” Everything else is very easily derived from this, just as all duties of justice are derived from the first half of my principle, “Harm no one.” Ethics is in truth the easiest of all sciences, as indeed one would expect, since everyone has the responsibility to construct it himself: to derive for himself, from the highest principle rooted in his heart, the rule for every case that arises. For few have the leisure and patience to learn an ethics already constructed. All virtues flow from justice and loving-kindness; these, then, are the cardinal virtues, and their derivation lays the foundation stone of ethics.—Justice is the whole ethical content of the Old Testament, and loving-kindness that of the New. This is the “new commandment” (Joh. 13, 34), in which, according to Paul (Röm. 13, 8–10), all Christian virtues are contained.
Plain English translation
Independent, machine-assisted Plain English translation made directly from the complete 1860 German edition and its embedded passages. Source-language reviewed.
The Virtue of Loving Kindness.
Justice, then, is the first and most fundamental cardinal virtue. The ancient philosophers recognized it as such, though they placed three other, poorly chosen virtues alongside it. But they did not yet identify loving kindness—charity, love—as a virtue. Even Plato, who reaches the greatest heights in morality, gets no further than voluntary, unselfish justice. Loving kindness has, of course, always existed in practice and in fact. But Christianity was the first to discuss it in theory and formally establish it as a virtue, indeed the greatest of all, and even extend it to enemies. This is Christianity's greatest achievement, though only in relation to Europe. In Asia, a thousand years earlier, unlimited love of one's neighbor had already been both taught and prescribed, as well as practiced. The Veda and Dharma-Shastra, the Itihasa and Purana, and the teaching of the Buddha Shakyamuni never tire of preaching it. Strictly speaking, traces of recommendations of loving kindness can also be found among the ancients: for example, in Cicero, De finib., V, 23, and even as early as Pythagoras, according to Iamblichus, On the Life of Pythagoras, c. 33. My task now is to derive this virtue philosophically from my principle.
Through compassion—the process whose reality was established above, though its origin remains mysterious—another person's suffering in itself and as such directly becomes my motive. The second degree at which this happens is clearly distinct from the first because of the positive character of the actions it produces. Compassion then does not merely stop me from hurting the other person; it actually drives me to help him. The livelier and more deeply felt this direct concern is, and the greater and more urgent the other person's distress, the greater the sacrifice this purely moral motive will lead me to make to meet his need or relieve his distress. This can mean using my physical or mental powers on his behalf, or sacrificing my property, health, freedom, or even life. Here, then, in direct concern that neither rests on an argument nor needs one, lies the only pure origin of loving kindness—charity, love. This is the virtue whose rule is "help everyone as much as you can." From it comes everything that ethics prescribes under the names duties of virtue, duties of love, or imperfect duties. This entirely direct, indeed instinctive concern for another person's suffering—in other words, compassion—is the only source of such actions if they are to have moral worth. That means they must be free of all selfish motives. Precisely for that reason, they must awaken in us the inner satisfaction called a good, satisfied, approving conscience. They must also produce in an observer that distinctive approval, respect, admiration, and even humbling reflection on himself, whose existence is an undeniable fact. If a charitable act has any other motive, however, it can only be selfish, unless it is actually malicious. The basic incentives of all actions identified above are selfishness, malice, and compassion. Correspondingly, the motives that can move human beings at all fall under three completely general and highest classes: 1) one's own well-being, 2) another's suffering, 3) another's well-being. If the motive of a charitable act does not belong to the third class, it must necessarily belong to the first or the second. The second really does occur sometimes. I might, for example, help someone in order to hurt someone else whom I do not help, or make that person's suffering more keenly felt. Or I might want to shame a third person who did not help the recipient, or, finally, humiliate the recipient himself by helping him. But the first occurs much more often. This happens whenever, in doing a good deed, I have my own well-being in view, however remotely and indirectly. I may be thinking of a reward in this world or another, or of the respect I will gain and the reputation for having a noble heart. I may calculate that the person I help today could one day help me in return, or benefit and serve me in some other way. I may even be driven by the thought that the rule of generosity or charity must be upheld because it could someday benefit me too. In short, it happens whenever my purpose is anything other than the purely objective one: wanting to know that I have helped the other person, rescued him from his distress and difficulties, and freed him from suffering. Nothing beyond that, and nothing alongside it! Only then, and then alone, have I really shown the loving kindness—charity, love—whose preaching is Christianity's great and distinctive achievement. The very instructions the Gospel adds to its command to love, such as "Do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing" ("Your left hand should not know what the right does"), and similar sayings, rest on a sense of what I have derived here: only another person's distress, and no other consideration, must be my motive if my action is to have moral worth. The same passage rightly says (Matth. 6, 2) that people who give to show off have already received their reward. But here too the Vedas give us, so to speak, a higher initiation. They repeatedly assure us that anyone who desires any reward for his deeds is still on the path of darkness and not yet ready for liberation. If someone giving alms asked me what he got out of it, my honest answer would be: "This: that the poor person's lot is made that much easier. Beyond that, absolutely nothing. If that does not satisfy you, and you really do not care about it, then you did not really want to give alms. You wanted to make a purchase, and you have been cheated out of your money. But if you do care that the person burdened by poverty suffers less, then you have achieved your aim. What you get out of it is that he suffers less, and you see exactly how far your gift is rewarded."
But how is it possible for suffering that is not mine, that does not affect me, to become my motive just as directly as only my own suffering usually does, and move me to act? As I have said, this can happen only if, although it is given to me merely as something outside me, through external perception or information, I nevertheless share the feeling of it, feel it as mine, yet not in me but in someone else. Then what Calderón expressed has happened:
that between seeingSuffering and sufferingThere was no distance.
"The Worst Isn't Always Certain," Jorn. II, p. 229.
(that there is no difference between seeing suffering and suffering.)
This presupposes that I have to some extent identified myself with the other person, and that the barrier between self and not-self has therefore been removed for the moment. Only then do the other person's concerns, needs, distress, and suffering directly become my own. I no longer see him as empirical perception presents him: someone alien to me, of no concern to me, entirely different from me. Instead, I suffer with him in him, even though his skin does not enclose my nerves. Only in this way can his pain and his distress become a motive for me. Otherwise only my own can do so. This process, I repeat, is mysterious. Reason cannot give a direct account of it, and its grounds cannot be discovered through experience. Yet it happens every day. Everyone has often experienced it in himself. Even the most hard-hearted and selfish person has not remained a stranger to it. It happens before our eyes every day, in individual, small-scale cases, wherever one person, on a direct impulse and without much reflection, helps and supports another. Sometimes someone even puts his own life in the most obvious danger for a person he is seeing for the first time, with no thought beyond the great distress and danger he sees the other person in. It happens on a large scale when, after long reflection and difficult debate, the generous British nation gives 20 million pounds sterling to buy freedom for the Black slaves in its colonies, to the cheers of a whole world. Anyone who would deny compassion as the motive of this fine, large-scale act and attribute it to Christianity should consider that not a word in the entire New Testament is said against slavery, however common it was at that time. Indeed, as late as 1860, in North America, someone in a debate about slavery appealed to the fact that Abraham and Jacob had also kept slaves.
Ethics may explain what practical results this mysterious inner process will have in each individual case, in chapters and sections about duties of virtue, duties of love, imperfect duties, or whatever else they are called. The root and foundation of it all is what I have presented here. From it comes the principle "help everyone as much as you can." Everything else here follows very easily from this, just as all the duties of justice follow from the first half of my principle, "hurt no one." Ethics is really the easiest of all the sciences. We should expect no less, since everyone has the responsibility to construct it for himself: to derive the rule for each case that arises from the highest principle rooted in his heart. Few people have the leisure and patience to learn a fully constructed system of ethics. All virtues flow from justice and loving kindness. These are therefore the cardinal virtues, and deriving them lays the foundation of ethics. Justice makes up the entire ethical content of the Old Testament, and loving kindness that of the New. The latter is the "new commandment" (Joh. 13, 34), which, according to Paul (Röm. 13, 8–10), contains all the Christian virtues.
About this section
Section 18 is part of On the Basis of Morality by Arthur Schopenhauer. This page sets the German original beside 2 direct-source translations, so any line can be checked against the source. It is section 19 of 24 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
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