Chapter 4

[24](p. 15). The discovery that every act of love is a “pleasing,” every act of hate a “displeasing,” was very near to Descartes when he wrote his valuable little work onThe Affections. In the second book,Des Passions, ii. art. 139, he says: “Lorsque les choses qu’elles (l’amour et la haine) nous portent à aimer sont véritablement bonnes, et celles qu’elles nous portent à haïr, sont véritablement mauvaises, l’amour est incomparablement meilleure que la haine; elle ne saurait être trop grande et elle ne manque jamais de produire la joie”; and this agrees with what he says a little later: “La haine, au contraire ne saurait être si petite qu’elle ne nuise, et elle n’est jamais sans tristesse.”In ordinary life, however, the expressions “joy” and “sadness,” “pleasure” and “pain” are only used when the pleasure and displeasure have attained a certain degree of liveliness. A sharp boundary in this unscientific division there is not; we may, however, be allowed to make use of it as it stands. It is enough that the expressions, “pleasure” and “displeasure” are not narrowed down by any such limit.

In ordinary life, however, the expressions “joy” and “sadness,” “pleasure” and “pain” are only used when the pleasure and displeasure have attained a certain degree of liveliness. A sharp boundary in this unscientific division there is not; we may, however, be allowed to make use of it as it stands. It is enough that the expressions, “pleasure” and “displeasure” are not narrowed down by any such limit.

[25](p. 16). The expressions “true” and “false” are employed in a manifold sense; in one sense we employ them in speaking of true and false judgments; again (somewhat modifying the meaning), of objects, as when we say, “a true friend,” “false money.” I need scarcely observe that where I use the expressions “true” and “false” in this lecture, I associate therewith not the first and proper meaning, but rather a metaphorical one having reference to objects. True, is, therefore, what is; false, what is not. Just as Aristotle spoke of “ὂν ὡς ἀληθές” so we might also say, “ἀληθές ὡς ὂν.”Of truth in its proper sense it has often been said that it is the agreement of the judgment with the object (adequatio rei et intellectus, as the scholastics said). This expression, true in a certain sense, is yet in the highest degree open to misunderstanding, and has led to serious errors. The agreement is regarded as a kind of identity between something contained in the judgment, or in the idea lying at the root of the judgmentand something situated without the mind. But this cannot be the meaning here; “to agree” means here rather as much as “to be appropriate,” “to be in harmony with,” “suit,” “correspond.” It is as though in the sphere of feeling one should say, the rightness of love and hate consists in the agreement of the feelings with the object. Properly understood this also would be unquestionably right; whoever loves and hates rightly, has his feelings adequately related to the object, i.e. the relation is appropriate, suitable, corresponds suitably, whereas it would be manifestly absurd were one to believe that in a rightly directed love or hate there was found to be an identity between these feelings or the ideas lying at their root on the one hand, and something lying outside the feelings on the other, an identity which is absent where the attitude of the feelings is unrightly directed. Among other circumstances this misunderstanding has also conduced towards bringing the doctrine of judgment into that sad confusion from which to-day psychology and logic seek with such painful efforts to set themselves free.The conceptions of existence and non-existence are the correlates of the conceptions of the truth of the (simple) affirmative and negative judgments. Just as to judgment belongs what is judged, to the affirmative judgment what is judged of affirmatively, to the negative judgment, what is judged of negatively, so to the rightness of the affirmative judgment belongs the existence of what is judged of affirmatively, to the rightness of the negative judgment the non-existence of what is judged of negatively; and whether I say an affirmative judgment is true, or, its object is existent; whether I say a negative judgment is true, or its object is non-existent; in both cases I am saying one and the same thing. In the same way, it is essentially one and the same logical principle whether I say, in each case either the (simple) affirmative or negative judgment is true, or, each is either existent or non-existent.Thus, for example, the assertion of the truth of the judgment, “a man is learned,” is the correlate of the assertion of the existence of the object, “a learned man”; and the assertion of the truth of the judgment, “no stone is alive,” is the correlateof the assertion of the non-existence of its object, “a living stone.” The correlative assertions are here, as everywhere, inseparable. The case is exactly the same as in the assertions A > B and that B < A; that A is the cause of B, and that B is produced by A.

Of truth in its proper sense it has often been said that it is the agreement of the judgment with the object (adequatio rei et intellectus, as the scholastics said). This expression, true in a certain sense, is yet in the highest degree open to misunderstanding, and has led to serious errors. The agreement is regarded as a kind of identity between something contained in the judgment, or in the idea lying at the root of the judgmentand something situated without the mind. But this cannot be the meaning here; “to agree” means here rather as much as “to be appropriate,” “to be in harmony with,” “suit,” “correspond.” It is as though in the sphere of feeling one should say, the rightness of love and hate consists in the agreement of the feelings with the object. Properly understood this also would be unquestionably right; whoever loves and hates rightly, has his feelings adequately related to the object, i.e. the relation is appropriate, suitable, corresponds suitably, whereas it would be manifestly absurd were one to believe that in a rightly directed love or hate there was found to be an identity between these feelings or the ideas lying at their root on the one hand, and something lying outside the feelings on the other, an identity which is absent where the attitude of the feelings is unrightly directed. Among other circumstances this misunderstanding has also conduced towards bringing the doctrine of judgment into that sad confusion from which to-day psychology and logic seek with such painful efforts to set themselves free.

The conceptions of existence and non-existence are the correlates of the conceptions of the truth of the (simple) affirmative and negative judgments. Just as to judgment belongs what is judged, to the affirmative judgment what is judged of affirmatively, to the negative judgment, what is judged of negatively, so to the rightness of the affirmative judgment belongs the existence of what is judged of affirmatively, to the rightness of the negative judgment the non-existence of what is judged of negatively; and whether I say an affirmative judgment is true, or, its object is existent; whether I say a negative judgment is true, or its object is non-existent; in both cases I am saying one and the same thing. In the same way, it is essentially one and the same logical principle whether I say, in each case either the (simple) affirmative or negative judgment is true, or, each is either existent or non-existent.

Thus, for example, the assertion of the truth of the judgment, “a man is learned,” is the correlate of the assertion of the existence of the object, “a learned man”; and the assertion of the truth of the judgment, “no stone is alive,” is the correlateof the assertion of the non-existence of its object, “a living stone.” The correlative assertions are here, as everywhere, inseparable. The case is exactly the same as in the assertions A > B and that B < A; that A is the cause of B, and that B is produced by A.

[26](p. 16). The notion of the good, in and for itself, is accordingly a unity in the strict sense, and not, as Aristotle teaches (in consequence of a confusion which we shall have to speak of later) a unity in a merely analogous sense. German philosophers also have failed to grasp the unity of the conception. This is the case with Kant, and, quite recently, with Windelband. There is a defect in our ordinary way of speaking which may prove very misleading to Germans inasmuch as for the opposite of the term “good” there is no common expression current, but this is designated now as “schlimm,” now as “übel,” now as “böse,” now as “arg,” now as “abscheulich,” now as “schlecht,” etc. It might very well, as in similar cases, come to be thought that not only the common name is wanting, but also the common notion. And if the notion is wanting on the one side of the antithesis, it would also be wanting on the other, and so the expression “good” would seem an equivocal term.Of all the expressions quoted, it seems to me (and philologists also, whose advice I have asked, are of the same opinion), that the expression “schlecht,” like the Latin “malum,” is most applicable as the opposite of the good in its full universality, and in this way I shall allow myself to use this expression in what follows.The fact that I adhere to the view of a certain common character regarding the intentional relation of love and hate does not debar my recognizing along with this view, special forms for particular cases. If, therefore, “bad” is a truly universal simple class conception, there may yet be distinguished special classes within its domain of which one may be suitably termed “böse,” another “übel,” etc.

Of all the expressions quoted, it seems to me (and philologists also, whose advice I have asked, are of the same opinion), that the expression “schlecht,” like the Latin “malum,” is most applicable as the opposite of the good in its full universality, and in this way I shall allow myself to use this expression in what follows.

The fact that I adhere to the view of a certain common character regarding the intentional relation of love and hate does not debar my recognizing along with this view, special forms for particular cases. If, therefore, “bad” is a truly universal simple class conception, there may yet be distinguished special classes within its domain of which one may be suitably termed “böse,” another “übel,” etc.

[27](p. 18). The distinction between “self-evident” and “blind” judgments is something too striking to have altogether escaped notice. Even the sceptical Hume is very far from denying the distinction.Self-evidence, according to him (Enq.concerning Hum. Underst.iv.) may be ascribed, on the one hand, to analytic judgments (to which class belong also the axioms of mathematics and the mathematical demonstrations), and, on the other hand, to certain impressions, but not to the so-called truths of experience. Reason does not lead us here, but rather habit, after a manner entirely irrational; belief, in this case isinstinctiveandmechanical(ib.v.).But to observe a fact does not mean to set forth its nature clearly and distinctly. As the nature of the judgment has, until recent times, been almost universally misunderstood, how could it be possible rightly to understand its self-evidence? It is just here that even Descartes’ discernment fails him. How very closely the phenomenon occupied him a passage in the Meditations bears witness: “Cum hic dico me ita doctum esse a natura (he is speaking of the so-called external impressions) intelligo tantumspontaneo quodam impetume ferri ad hoc credendumnon lumine aliquo naturalimihi ostendi esse verum, quae duo multum discrepant. Nam quaecunquelumine naturalimihi ostenduntur (ut quod ex eo quo dubitem sequatur me esse et similia) nullo modo dubia esse possunt quia nulla alia facultas esse potest, cui aeque fidam ac lumini isti, quaeque illa non vera esse possit docere; sed quantum ad impetus naturales jam saepe olim judicavi me ab illis in deteriorem partem fuisse impulsum cum de bono eligendo ageretur, nec video cur iisdem in ulla alia re magis fidam.”—(Medit. iii.).That Descartes did not mark the fact of self-evidence, that he did not observe the distinction between intuition and blind judgment certainly cannot be affirmed from the above. But, while separating the judgment as a class from the idea, he still leaves behind in the class of ideas the character of self-evidence which distinguishes the judgments of intuition. It consists, according to him, in a special mark of the perception, that is, of the idea lying at the root of the judgment. Descartes even goes so far as actually to call this act of perception a “cognoscere,” a “knowing.” A “knowing,” that is, and still not an act of judgment! These are rudimentary organs which after the progress made, owing to Descartes, in the doctrine of judgment, remind us of a stage of life in Psychology which has beensurmounted; but with this distinction, in opposition to similar phenomena in the history of the development of the species, that these organs, in no way adapted, become in the highest degree troublesome, and render all Descartes’ further efforts for the theory of knowledge ineffective. He remains, to use Leibnitz’ phrase, “in the antechamber of truth” (cf. here note 28, towards the end). Only in this way does Descartes’ clara et distincta perceptio—concerning which term itself it is so difficult to gain a clear and distinct idea—in its curious dual nature become perfectly intelligible. The only means of overcoming this confusion is to seek that which distinguishes insight in opposition to other judgments as an inner quality belonging to the act of insight itself.It is true that some who have sought here have yet failed to find. We saw (cf. note 23) how Sigwart conceives the nature of the judgment. To this, he teaches, there belongs a relation of ideas to one another, and along with this a feeling of obligation respecting this connexion. (Cf. sections 14 and 31, espec. 4 and 5.) Such a feeling therefore, always exists even in the case of the blindest prejudice. It is then abnormal, but is held (as Sigwart expressly explains) to be normal and of universal validity. And what now in contrast to this case, is given in the case of insight? Sigwart replies that its evidence consists in the same feeling (cf. e.g. section 3) which now, however, is not merely held to be normal and universally valid, but is really normal and universally valid.It seems to me that the weakness of this theory is at once apparent; and it is on many grounds to be rejected.1. The peculiar nature of insight, the clearness and evidence of certain judgments from which their truth is inseparable has little or nothing to do with any feeling of compulsion. It may well happen that at a given moment I cannot refrain from so judging, yet none the less the essence of its clearness does not consist in the feeling of compulsion, and no consciousness of an obligation so to judge could, as such, afford security as to its truth. He who disbelieves in every form of indeterminism in respect of judging, regards all judgments under the circumstances in which they were passed as necessary, but he does not—and with indisputable right—regard all of them as on that account true.2. Sigwart, in seeking the consciousness of insight in a feeling of necessity so to think, asserts that the consciousness of one’s being compelled is, at the same time, a consciousness of a necessity for all thinking beings whenever the same grounds are present. If he means, however, that the one conviction is doubtless connected with the other, this is an error. Why, when a person feels bound to pass a judgment upon certain data, should the same compulsion hold good in respect of every other thinking being to whom the same data are also given? It is obvious that only an appeal to the law of causality which, under like conditions demands like results, could be the ground of the logical connexion. Its application, however, to the present case would be entirely erroneous, since this would involve the ignoring of the special psychical dispositions, which, although they do not directly enter into consciousness at all, must yet be regarded, along with the conscious data, as pre-determining conditions, and these are very different in the case of different persons. Hegel and his school, misled by paralogisms, have denied the principle of contradiction; Trendelenburg, who opposed Hegel, has at least restricted its validity (cf. hisAbhandlungen über Herbarts Metaphysik). The universal impossibility of inwardly denying the principle which Aristotle asserted cannot therefore, to-day, be any longer defended; Aristotle himself, however, for whom the principle was self-evident, assuredly found its denial impossible.Whatever is evident to any one is of course certain not only for him, but also for every one else who, in the same way, sees its evidence. The judgment, moreover, which is seen to be evident by any one has also universal validity, i.e. the contradictory of what is seen to be evident by one person, cannot be seen to be evident by another person, and every one who believes in its contradictory is in error. Further, since what is here said belongs to the essence of truth, whoever has evidence of the truth of anything may perceive that he is justified in regarding it as true for all. But he would be guilty of a flagrant confusion of ideas who should regard such a consciousness that atruth is true for all, as equivalent to a consciousness of a universal necessity of thinking.3. Sigwart involves himself in a multitude of contradictions. He asserts and must assert—if he is not to yield to the sceptics and relinquish his entire logical system—that evident judgments are not merely different from non-evident judgments, but that they are also distinguishable in consciousness. The one class must therefore appear as normal and of universal validity, the other class as not so. But if evident and non-evident judgments alike carry with them the consciousness of universal validity, then the two classes would at first sight exactly agree in the manner in which they present themselves, and only as it were, afterwards (or at the same time, though as a mere concomitant), and by reflection upon some sort of criterion which is applied to them as a standard could the distinction be discovered. And passages are actually to be found in Sigwart where he speaks of a consciousness of agreement with the universal rules which accompany the fully evident judgment. (Cf. e.g.Logic, 2nd ed., 39, p. 311.) But apart from the fact that this contradicts experience—for long before the discovery of the syllogism, conclusions were reached syllogistically and with complete evidence—it is also to be rejected inasmuch as, seeing that the rule itself must be assured, it would lead either to an infinite regress, or to acirculus vitiosus.4. Another contradiction with which I have to charge Sigwart (though in my opinion it might have been avoided even after his erroneous view as to the nature of the judgment and as to the nature of self-evidence), we meet with in his doctrine of self-consciousness. The knowledge that I am containsonlyself-evidence, and this exists independent of any consciousness of an obligation so to think and of a necessity which is common to all alike. (At least I am not able otherwise to understand the passage,Logic, 2nd ed., p. 310: “The certainty that I am and think is the absolutely last and fundamental one—the condition of all thinking and certainty at all; here, only immediate evidence can be given; one cannot even say that this thought is necessary, since it is previous to all necessity, and just as immediate and evident is the conscious certainty that I thinkthis or that; it is inextricably interwoven with my self-consciousness; the one is given with the other.”) After Sigwart’s doctrine already examined, this would appear to be acontradictio in adjectoand, as such, quite indefensible.5. Further contradictions appear in Sigwart’s very peculiar and doubtful doctrine concerning the postulates, which he opposes to the axioms. The latter are to be regarded as certain on the ground of their real intellectual necessity; the former, not on the ground of purely intellectual motives, but on psychological motives of another kind, on the ground of practical needs. (Logic, 2nd ed. p. 412 seq.) The law of causality: e.g. is, according to him, not an axiom, but a mere postulate; we regard it as certain, since we find that without affirming it we should not be able to investigate nature. Sigwart, by this mode of accepting the law of causality, that is, affirming, out of mere good-will, that in nature under like conditions, the same results would constantly be forthcoming, manifestly takes it for granted without being conscious of its intellectual necessity. But, if all “taking-as-true” (Fürwahrhalten) is an act of judgment, this is quite incompatible with his views as to the nature of the judgment. Sigwart has here, as far as I can see, but one way of escape, i.e. to confess that he does not believe in what, as a postulate, he accepts as certain (as e.g. the law of causality); then, however, he will be hardly serious in hoping for it.6. This point becomes still more doubtful on reflection upon what (2) has been previously discussed. The consciousness of a universal necessity of thought does not, according to Sigwart, belong to the postulates, but rather to the axioms. (Cf. 5.) But Sigwart could only with any plausibility exhibit the consciousness of this universal necessity of thinking as operating in the consciousness of one’s personal necessity of thinking by making use of the universal law of causation. But this causal law is itself merely a postulate; it is destitute of self-evidence. It is therefore obvious that the universal thought-necessity in the case of the axioms is also a postulate, and consequently they lose what, according to Sigwart, is their most essential distinction from the postulates. It may perhaps be in accordance with this that Sigwart calls the belief in the trustworthiness of“self-evidence” a postulate. But how the statement so interpreted, can be brought into harmony with the remaining parts of his doctrine I am at a loss to conceive.7. Sigwart denies (31) the distinction between assertorical and apodictic judgments, since in every judgment the sense of necessity in respect of its function is essential. Consequently this assertion likewise hangs together with his erroneous fundamental view of the judgment; he would appear to identify the feeling which he sometimes calls the feeling of evidence with the apodictic character of a judgment. But it would be quite unjustifiable to overlook the modal peculiarity of certain judgments, as for example, the law of contradiction in distinction from other forms of judgment like that of the consciousness that I am. In the first instance, we have to do with what is “necessarily true or false,” in the second instance only with what is “true or false as a matter of fact,” though both are in the same sense evident and do not differ in respect of their certainty. Only in the case of judgments like the former, not, however, from such as the latter do we draw the notions of impossibility and necessity.That Sigwart, in opposing the view which regards the apodictic judgment as a special class, also occasionally bears witness against himself is clear from what has been already said (4). The knowledge that I am, he calls, in opposition to the knowledge of an axiom, the knowledge of a simple actual truth (p. 312). Here he speaks more soundly than his general statements would really allow.Sigwart’s theory of self-evidence is, therefore, essentially false. As in the case of Descartes, so here it cannot be said that Sigwart was not conscious of the phenomenon; indeed, we must rather say in his praise, that with the greatest zeal he has sought to analyze it, but as is the case with many in psychological analysis, it would seem that in the eagerness of analyzing he did not stop at the right point, and has sought to resolve into one another phenomena very distinct in nature.It is obvious that an error respecting the nature of evidence is fraught with the gravest consequence for the logician. It might well be said that we have here touched upon the deep-seated organic disease in Sigwart’s logic, if this may not rather be saidto consist in a misunderstanding of the nature of the judgment in general. Again and again its evil results become manifest, as for example, in Sigwart’s inability to understand the most essential causes of our errors, Cf.Logic, vol. i. 2nd ed. p. 103, note, where, with strange partiality he assigns the chief blame to the defective development of our language.For the rest, many another celebrated logician in recent times can claim no superiority over Sigwart here. As a further example we need only observe how the doctrine of evidence fares at the hands of the admirable J. S. Mill. Cf. note 69, p. 99.Owing to the great unclearness as to the nature of evidence, almost universal, it becomes conceivable why, as often happens, we meet with the expression “more or less self-evident.” Even Descartes and Pascal use such expressions, although it is clearly quite unsuitable. Whatever is self-evident is certain, and certainty in the real sense knows no distinctions of degree. Even quite recently we find the opinion expressed in theVierteljahrsschrift für wissenschaftliche Philosophie(and the writer is manifestly quite serious), that there existself-evident suppositionswhich, in spite of their self-evidence, may quite well be false. It is unnecessary to add that I hold this to be opposed to reason. I may here, however, express regret that lectures delivered by me at a time when I still regarded degrees of conviction as intensities of judgment, seem to have given an occasion for such confusions.

But to observe a fact does not mean to set forth its nature clearly and distinctly. As the nature of the judgment has, until recent times, been almost universally misunderstood, how could it be possible rightly to understand its self-evidence? It is just here that even Descartes’ discernment fails him. How very closely the phenomenon occupied him a passage in the Meditations bears witness: “Cum hic dico me ita doctum esse a natura (he is speaking of the so-called external impressions) intelligo tantumspontaneo quodam impetume ferri ad hoc credendumnon lumine aliquo naturalimihi ostendi esse verum, quae duo multum discrepant. Nam quaecunquelumine naturalimihi ostenduntur (ut quod ex eo quo dubitem sequatur me esse et similia) nullo modo dubia esse possunt quia nulla alia facultas esse potest, cui aeque fidam ac lumini isti, quaeque illa non vera esse possit docere; sed quantum ad impetus naturales jam saepe olim judicavi me ab illis in deteriorem partem fuisse impulsum cum de bono eligendo ageretur, nec video cur iisdem in ulla alia re magis fidam.”—(Medit. iii.).

That Descartes did not mark the fact of self-evidence, that he did not observe the distinction between intuition and blind judgment certainly cannot be affirmed from the above. But, while separating the judgment as a class from the idea, he still leaves behind in the class of ideas the character of self-evidence which distinguishes the judgments of intuition. It consists, according to him, in a special mark of the perception, that is, of the idea lying at the root of the judgment. Descartes even goes so far as actually to call this act of perception a “cognoscere,” a “knowing.” A “knowing,” that is, and still not an act of judgment! These are rudimentary organs which after the progress made, owing to Descartes, in the doctrine of judgment, remind us of a stage of life in Psychology which has beensurmounted; but with this distinction, in opposition to similar phenomena in the history of the development of the species, that these organs, in no way adapted, become in the highest degree troublesome, and render all Descartes’ further efforts for the theory of knowledge ineffective. He remains, to use Leibnitz’ phrase, “in the antechamber of truth” (cf. here note 28, towards the end). Only in this way does Descartes’ clara et distincta perceptio—concerning which term itself it is so difficult to gain a clear and distinct idea—in its curious dual nature become perfectly intelligible. The only means of overcoming this confusion is to seek that which distinguishes insight in opposition to other judgments as an inner quality belonging to the act of insight itself.

It is true that some who have sought here have yet failed to find. We saw (cf. note 23) how Sigwart conceives the nature of the judgment. To this, he teaches, there belongs a relation of ideas to one another, and along with this a feeling of obligation respecting this connexion. (Cf. sections 14 and 31, espec. 4 and 5.) Such a feeling therefore, always exists even in the case of the blindest prejudice. It is then abnormal, but is held (as Sigwart expressly explains) to be normal and of universal validity. And what now in contrast to this case, is given in the case of insight? Sigwart replies that its evidence consists in the same feeling (cf. e.g. section 3) which now, however, is not merely held to be normal and universally valid, but is really normal and universally valid.

It seems to me that the weakness of this theory is at once apparent; and it is on many grounds to be rejected.

1. The peculiar nature of insight, the clearness and evidence of certain judgments from which their truth is inseparable has little or nothing to do with any feeling of compulsion. It may well happen that at a given moment I cannot refrain from so judging, yet none the less the essence of its clearness does not consist in the feeling of compulsion, and no consciousness of an obligation so to judge could, as such, afford security as to its truth. He who disbelieves in every form of indeterminism in respect of judging, regards all judgments under the circumstances in which they were passed as necessary, but he does not—and with indisputable right—regard all of them as on that account true.

2. Sigwart, in seeking the consciousness of insight in a feeling of necessity so to think, asserts that the consciousness of one’s being compelled is, at the same time, a consciousness of a necessity for all thinking beings whenever the same grounds are present. If he means, however, that the one conviction is doubtless connected with the other, this is an error. Why, when a person feels bound to pass a judgment upon certain data, should the same compulsion hold good in respect of every other thinking being to whom the same data are also given? It is obvious that only an appeal to the law of causality which, under like conditions demands like results, could be the ground of the logical connexion. Its application, however, to the present case would be entirely erroneous, since this would involve the ignoring of the special psychical dispositions, which, although they do not directly enter into consciousness at all, must yet be regarded, along with the conscious data, as pre-determining conditions, and these are very different in the case of different persons. Hegel and his school, misled by paralogisms, have denied the principle of contradiction; Trendelenburg, who opposed Hegel, has at least restricted its validity (cf. hisAbhandlungen über Herbarts Metaphysik). The universal impossibility of inwardly denying the principle which Aristotle asserted cannot therefore, to-day, be any longer defended; Aristotle himself, however, for whom the principle was self-evident, assuredly found its denial impossible.

Whatever is evident to any one is of course certain not only for him, but also for every one else who, in the same way, sees its evidence. The judgment, moreover, which is seen to be evident by any one has also universal validity, i.e. the contradictory of what is seen to be evident by one person, cannot be seen to be evident by another person, and every one who believes in its contradictory is in error. Further, since what is here said belongs to the essence of truth, whoever has evidence of the truth of anything may perceive that he is justified in regarding it as true for all. But he would be guilty of a flagrant confusion of ideas who should regard such a consciousness that atruth is true for all, as equivalent to a consciousness of a universal necessity of thinking.

3. Sigwart involves himself in a multitude of contradictions. He asserts and must assert—if he is not to yield to the sceptics and relinquish his entire logical system—that evident judgments are not merely different from non-evident judgments, but that they are also distinguishable in consciousness. The one class must therefore appear as normal and of universal validity, the other class as not so. But if evident and non-evident judgments alike carry with them the consciousness of universal validity, then the two classes would at first sight exactly agree in the manner in which they present themselves, and only as it were, afterwards (or at the same time, though as a mere concomitant), and by reflection upon some sort of criterion which is applied to them as a standard could the distinction be discovered. And passages are actually to be found in Sigwart where he speaks of a consciousness of agreement with the universal rules which accompany the fully evident judgment. (Cf. e.g.Logic, 2nd ed., 39, p. 311.) But apart from the fact that this contradicts experience—for long before the discovery of the syllogism, conclusions were reached syllogistically and with complete evidence—it is also to be rejected inasmuch as, seeing that the rule itself must be assured, it would lead either to an infinite regress, or to acirculus vitiosus.

4. Another contradiction with which I have to charge Sigwart (though in my opinion it might have been avoided even after his erroneous view as to the nature of the judgment and as to the nature of self-evidence), we meet with in his doctrine of self-consciousness. The knowledge that I am containsonlyself-evidence, and this exists independent of any consciousness of an obligation so to think and of a necessity which is common to all alike. (At least I am not able otherwise to understand the passage,Logic, 2nd ed., p. 310: “The certainty that I am and think is the absolutely last and fundamental one—the condition of all thinking and certainty at all; here, only immediate evidence can be given; one cannot even say that this thought is necessary, since it is previous to all necessity, and just as immediate and evident is the conscious certainty that I thinkthis or that; it is inextricably interwoven with my self-consciousness; the one is given with the other.”) After Sigwart’s doctrine already examined, this would appear to be acontradictio in adjectoand, as such, quite indefensible.

5. Further contradictions appear in Sigwart’s very peculiar and doubtful doctrine concerning the postulates, which he opposes to the axioms. The latter are to be regarded as certain on the ground of their real intellectual necessity; the former, not on the ground of purely intellectual motives, but on psychological motives of another kind, on the ground of practical needs. (Logic, 2nd ed. p. 412 seq.) The law of causality: e.g. is, according to him, not an axiom, but a mere postulate; we regard it as certain, since we find that without affirming it we should not be able to investigate nature. Sigwart, by this mode of accepting the law of causality, that is, affirming, out of mere good-will, that in nature under like conditions, the same results would constantly be forthcoming, manifestly takes it for granted without being conscious of its intellectual necessity. But, if all “taking-as-true” (Fürwahrhalten) is an act of judgment, this is quite incompatible with his views as to the nature of the judgment. Sigwart has here, as far as I can see, but one way of escape, i.e. to confess that he does not believe in what, as a postulate, he accepts as certain (as e.g. the law of causality); then, however, he will be hardly serious in hoping for it.

6. This point becomes still more doubtful on reflection upon what (2) has been previously discussed. The consciousness of a universal necessity of thought does not, according to Sigwart, belong to the postulates, but rather to the axioms. (Cf. 5.) But Sigwart could only with any plausibility exhibit the consciousness of this universal necessity of thinking as operating in the consciousness of one’s personal necessity of thinking by making use of the universal law of causation. But this causal law is itself merely a postulate; it is destitute of self-evidence. It is therefore obvious that the universal thought-necessity in the case of the axioms is also a postulate, and consequently they lose what, according to Sigwart, is their most essential distinction from the postulates. It may perhaps be in accordance with this that Sigwart calls the belief in the trustworthiness of“self-evidence” a postulate. But how the statement so interpreted, can be brought into harmony with the remaining parts of his doctrine I am at a loss to conceive.

7. Sigwart denies (31) the distinction between assertorical and apodictic judgments, since in every judgment the sense of necessity in respect of its function is essential. Consequently this assertion likewise hangs together with his erroneous fundamental view of the judgment; he would appear to identify the feeling which he sometimes calls the feeling of evidence with the apodictic character of a judgment. But it would be quite unjustifiable to overlook the modal peculiarity of certain judgments, as for example, the law of contradiction in distinction from other forms of judgment like that of the consciousness that I am. In the first instance, we have to do with what is “necessarily true or false,” in the second instance only with what is “true or false as a matter of fact,” though both are in the same sense evident and do not differ in respect of their certainty. Only in the case of judgments like the former, not, however, from such as the latter do we draw the notions of impossibility and necessity.

That Sigwart, in opposing the view which regards the apodictic judgment as a special class, also occasionally bears witness against himself is clear from what has been already said (4). The knowledge that I am, he calls, in opposition to the knowledge of an axiom, the knowledge of a simple actual truth (p. 312). Here he speaks more soundly than his general statements would really allow.

Sigwart’s theory of self-evidence is, therefore, essentially false. As in the case of Descartes, so here it cannot be said that Sigwart was not conscious of the phenomenon; indeed, we must rather say in his praise, that with the greatest zeal he has sought to analyze it, but as is the case with many in psychological analysis, it would seem that in the eagerness of analyzing he did not stop at the right point, and has sought to resolve into one another phenomena very distinct in nature.

It is obvious that an error respecting the nature of evidence is fraught with the gravest consequence for the logician. It might well be said that we have here touched upon the deep-seated organic disease in Sigwart’s logic, if this may not rather be saidto consist in a misunderstanding of the nature of the judgment in general. Again and again its evil results become manifest, as for example, in Sigwart’s inability to understand the most essential causes of our errors, Cf.Logic, vol. i. 2nd ed. p. 103, note, where, with strange partiality he assigns the chief blame to the defective development of our language.

For the rest, many another celebrated logician in recent times can claim no superiority over Sigwart here. As a further example we need only observe how the doctrine of evidence fares at the hands of the admirable J. S. Mill. Cf. note 69, p. 99.

Owing to the great unclearness as to the nature of evidence, almost universal, it becomes conceivable why, as often happens, we meet with the expression “more or less self-evident.” Even Descartes and Pascal use such expressions, although it is clearly quite unsuitable. Whatever is self-evident is certain, and certainty in the real sense knows no distinctions of degree. Even quite recently we find the opinion expressed in theVierteljahrsschrift für wissenschaftliche Philosophie(and the writer is manifestly quite serious), that there existself-evident suppositionswhich, in spite of their self-evidence, may quite well be false. It is unnecessary to add that I hold this to be opposed to reason. I may here, however, express regret that lectures delivered by me at a time when I still regarded degrees of conviction as intensities of judgment, seem to have given an occasion for such confusions.

[28](p. 19). Cf. Hume’s Essay, already cited:An Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals.Other philosophers, who have placed the foundation of ethics in the feelings, as e.g. Beneke and Uberweg (who follows him) have seen further than Hume here. (Cf. the presentation of Beneke’s ethics in hisGrundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie, iii.) Herbart comes still nearer to the truth when he speaks of self-evident judgments of taste (these, however, are really not judgments at all, but feelings, and as such are not self-evident, but can only be said to have something analogous to self-evident judgments) and when he further opposes to the merely pleasurable the beautiful, ascribing to the latter as distinct from the former, universal validityand undeniable worth. Unfortunately, there is always something false mixed up with his view, and Herbart loses at once and for ever the right path, so that his ethics in its course diverges much further from the truth than the doctrine of Hume.Those thinkers who have completely overlooked the distinction between pleasure with the character of rightness and pleasure which is not so qualified, are in danger of falling into opposite errors. The one class view the matter as thoughallpleasure had the character of rightness, the other class as thoughnopleasure were so qualified. By the one class the notion of the good as that which rightly pleases, is entirely given up; “worthy of desire” (begehrenswert) in distinction from “desirable” (begehrbar), is an unmeaning expression. For the other class, “worthy of desire” (begehrenswert) remains as a separate notion, so that there is no tautology in their saying nothing is in itself desirable except in so far as it is in itself worthy of desire, is good in itself. Manifestly they must, to be consistent, assert this, and this they have really taught. The extreme hedonists all belong to this class; but, along with them, many others; in the Middle Ages, for example, the teaching is found in Thomas Aquinas, whose greatness receives fresh appreciation from Ihering (cf. Summ. theol. I.a. qu. 80, qu. 82, art. 2 ad. 1, etc.).But even then such a view cannot be maintained in the light of the facts without exposing the nature of good and bad to a falsification which involves a form of subjectivism similar to that formerly committed by Protagoras respecting the notions of truth and falsehood. Just as, according to this subjectivist in the sphere of the judgment, man is the measure of all things, and often what is true for one, may at the same time be false for another—so the advocates of the view that only the good can be loved, only the bad hated, are really compelled to assume that, in this sphere, each is himself the measure of all things; for the good, in that it is good; for the bad, that it is bad; so that often something is, in itself and at the same time, both good and bad: good in itself, in the case of all who love it for its own sake; bad in itself, in the case of all who hate it for its own sake. This is absurd, and the subjectivistic falsificationof the notion of the good is to be rejected equally with the subjectivistic falsification of the notions of truth and existence by Protagoras, but with this difference: that the subjectivistic error in the sphere of what is rightly pleasing and displeasing takes root more easily and infects most ethical systems even to-day. Some, as recently, Sigwart (Vorfragen der Ethik, p. 6), confess it openly; others fall into this error without themselves becoming clearly conscious of the subjectivistic character of their view.[A]

Those thinkers who have completely overlooked the distinction between pleasure with the character of rightness and pleasure which is not so qualified, are in danger of falling into opposite errors. The one class view the matter as thoughallpleasure had the character of rightness, the other class as thoughnopleasure were so qualified. By the one class the notion of the good as that which rightly pleases, is entirely given up; “worthy of desire” (begehrenswert) in distinction from “desirable” (begehrbar), is an unmeaning expression. For the other class, “worthy of desire” (begehrenswert) remains as a separate notion, so that there is no tautology in their saying nothing is in itself desirable except in so far as it is in itself worthy of desire, is good in itself. Manifestly they must, to be consistent, assert this, and this they have really taught. The extreme hedonists all belong to this class; but, along with them, many others; in the Middle Ages, for example, the teaching is found in Thomas Aquinas, whose greatness receives fresh appreciation from Ihering (cf. Summ. theol. I.a. qu. 80, qu. 82, art. 2 ad. 1, etc.).

But even then such a view cannot be maintained in the light of the facts without exposing the nature of good and bad to a falsification which involves a form of subjectivism similar to that formerly committed by Protagoras respecting the notions of truth and falsehood. Just as, according to this subjectivist in the sphere of the judgment, man is the measure of all things, and often what is true for one, may at the same time be false for another—so the advocates of the view that only the good can be loved, only the bad hated, are really compelled to assume that, in this sphere, each is himself the measure of all things; for the good, in that it is good; for the bad, that it is bad; so that often something is, in itself and at the same time, both good and bad: good in itself, in the case of all who love it for its own sake; bad in itself, in the case of all who hate it for its own sake. This is absurd, and the subjectivistic falsificationof the notion of the good is to be rejected equally with the subjectivistic falsification of the notions of truth and existence by Protagoras, but with this difference: that the subjectivistic error in the sphere of what is rightly pleasing and displeasing takes root more easily and infects most ethical systems even to-day. Some, as recently, Sigwart (Vorfragen der Ethik, p. 6), confess it openly; others fall into this error without themselves becoming clearly conscious of the subjectivistic character of their view.[A]

[A]Those especially who teach that generally speaking the knowledge, pleasure, and perfection of each individual is, for him, good, their opposites bad, and that all else is in itself indifferent, will perhaps protest against my classing them among the subjectivists. It might even seem on a superficial survey, that they have set up a doctrine of the good equally valid for all. But on a more careful examination we find that this teaching does not even in a single instance, hold one and the same object to be good universally. For example, my own knowledge is, according to this view, for me worthy of love; for every one else indifferent in itself, while the knowledge of another individual is in itself for me indifferent. It is curious to observe theistic thinkers, as often happens, setting up a subjectivistic view respecting the good, valid of all mortal loving and willing, while, at the same time assuming that God, without respect of person, estimates every perfection by a kind of objective standard. This exception with regard to the loving and willing of God and the notion of Him as eternal Judge is then meant to render harmless in respect of its practical consequences, the egoism which such a principle implies.Of the celebrated controversy between Bossuet and Fenelon it may be said that the great bishop of Meaux advocated a kind of subjectivism. Fenelon’s theses, though he advocated a system of morality neither ignoble nor unchristian, were finally condemned by the Church of Rome, though it did not go so far as to reject his teaching as heretical. Otherwise one would really be compelled to condemn also those fine glowing lines attributed by many to St. Theresa, that in a very imperfect Latin translation have found their way into many Catholic prayer-books which is much more than their escaping the ecclesiastical censor. I give them translated directly from the Spanish:Nicht Hoffnung auf des Himmels sel’ge FreudenHat Dir, mein Gott, zum Dienste mich verbunden.Nicht Furcht, die ich vor ew’gem Graus empfunden,Hat mich bewegt der Sünder Pfad zu meiden.Du Herr bewegst mich, mich bewegt Dein Leiden.Dein Anblick in den letzten, bangen Stunden.Der Geisseln Wuth. Dein Haupt von Dorn umwunden.Dein schweres Kreuz und—ach!—Dein bittres Scheiden.Herr, Du bewegest mich mit solchem Triebe,Das ich Dich liebte, wär’ kein Himmel offen.Dich fürchtete, wenn auch kein Abgrund schreckte;Nichts kannst Du geben, was mir Liebe weckte;Denn würd’ ich auch nicht, wie ich hoffe, hoffen,Ich würde dennoch lieben, wie ich liebe.”The teaching of Thomas Aquinas has often been so represented as though it were pure subjectivism. It is true that much of his teaching sounds quite subjectivistic (cf. e.g. Summ. theol. 1a. q. 80, art. 1, especially the objections and replies as well as the passages in which he declares that the happiness of each is the highest and final end, asserting even of the saints in heaven that each rightly desires more his own blessedness than the blessedness of all others). Along with these, however, are to be found statements in which he soars above this subjectivistic view as, for example, when he declares (as Plato and Aristotle before him and Descartes and Leibnitz after) that everything which exists is good as such, not good merely as a means but also—a point which pure subjectivists (as recently Sigwart,Vorfr. d. Ethik, p. 6) expressly deny—good in itself, and again, when he affirms that in case any one—an impossible case—had at any time to choose between his own eternal ruin and an injury to the Divine love, the right course would be to prefer his own eternal unhappiness.There the moral feeling of western Christendom touches the feeling of the heathen Hindu, as is shown in a somewhat strange story of a maiden who renounces her own everlasting blessedness for the salvation of the rest of the world; as also that of a positivist thinker like Mill when he declares sooner than bow in prayer before a being not truly good, “to hell he will go.” I knew a Catholic priest who, on account of this utterance of Mill’s, voted for him at the parliamentary election.

Of the celebrated controversy between Bossuet and Fenelon it may be said that the great bishop of Meaux advocated a kind of subjectivism. Fenelon’s theses, though he advocated a system of morality neither ignoble nor unchristian, were finally condemned by the Church of Rome, though it did not go so far as to reject his teaching as heretical. Otherwise one would really be compelled to condemn also those fine glowing lines attributed by many to St. Theresa, that in a very imperfect Latin translation have found their way into many Catholic prayer-books which is much more than their escaping the ecclesiastical censor. I give them translated directly from the Spanish:

Nicht Hoffnung auf des Himmels sel’ge FreudenHat Dir, mein Gott, zum Dienste mich verbunden.Nicht Furcht, die ich vor ew’gem Graus empfunden,Hat mich bewegt der Sünder Pfad zu meiden.Du Herr bewegst mich, mich bewegt Dein Leiden.Dein Anblick in den letzten, bangen Stunden.Der Geisseln Wuth. Dein Haupt von Dorn umwunden.Dein schweres Kreuz und—ach!—Dein bittres Scheiden.Herr, Du bewegest mich mit solchem Triebe,Das ich Dich liebte, wär’ kein Himmel offen.Dich fürchtete, wenn auch kein Abgrund schreckte;Nichts kannst Du geben, was mir Liebe weckte;Denn würd’ ich auch nicht, wie ich hoffe, hoffen,Ich würde dennoch lieben, wie ich liebe.”

Nicht Hoffnung auf des Himmels sel’ge FreudenHat Dir, mein Gott, zum Dienste mich verbunden.Nicht Furcht, die ich vor ew’gem Graus empfunden,Hat mich bewegt der Sünder Pfad zu meiden.

Du Herr bewegst mich, mich bewegt Dein Leiden.Dein Anblick in den letzten, bangen Stunden.Der Geisseln Wuth. Dein Haupt von Dorn umwunden.Dein schweres Kreuz und—ach!—Dein bittres Scheiden.

Herr, Du bewegest mich mit solchem Triebe,Das ich Dich liebte, wär’ kein Himmel offen.Dich fürchtete, wenn auch kein Abgrund schreckte;Nichts kannst Du geben, was mir Liebe weckte;Denn würd’ ich auch nicht, wie ich hoffe, hoffen,Ich würde dennoch lieben, wie ich liebe.”

The teaching of Thomas Aquinas has often been so represented as though it were pure subjectivism. It is true that much of his teaching sounds quite subjectivistic (cf. e.g. Summ. theol. 1a. q. 80, art. 1, especially the objections and replies as well as the passages in which he declares that the happiness of each is the highest and final end, asserting even of the saints in heaven that each rightly desires more his own blessedness than the blessedness of all others). Along with these, however, are to be found statements in which he soars above this subjectivistic view as, for example, when he declares (as Plato and Aristotle before him and Descartes and Leibnitz after) that everything which exists is good as such, not good merely as a means but also—a point which pure subjectivists (as recently Sigwart,Vorfr. d. Ethik, p. 6) expressly deny—good in itself, and again, when he affirms that in case any one—an impossible case—had at any time to choose between his own eternal ruin and an injury to the Divine love, the right course would be to prefer his own eternal unhappiness.

There the moral feeling of western Christendom touches the feeling of the heathen Hindu, as is shown in a somewhat strange story of a maiden who renounces her own everlasting blessedness for the salvation of the rest of the world; as also that of a positivist thinker like Mill when he declares sooner than bow in prayer before a being not truly good, “to hell he will go.” I knew a Catholic priest who, on account of this utterance of Mill’s, voted for him at the parliamentary election.

Whoever, as I have said, has once accepted the view that nothing can please except in so far as it is really good, nothing displease, except in so far as it is really bad, is on a way which, if consistently followed, must lead him to subjectivism. This is evident as soon as it is admitted (and at first sight, it is true, it may be denied) that opposite tastes, here desire, there dislike, may be associated with the same sense phenomenon. One might, in defence, argue that here, in spite of the similarity of the external stimulus the corresponding subjective idea may have an essentially different content. But such a view refutes itself in those cases where we ourselves repeatedly experience the same phenomenon, and, in consequence of a further development in age or by reason of a changed habit (cf. text 25, p. 16) thereby experience a different feeling, dislike for desire, or desire for dislike. There remains, then, no doubt, that as a fact the feelings may take an opposed attitude towards the same phenomenon: and again, in the case where ideas instinctively repel us, while at the same time arousing within us a pleasureof a higher kind (cf. note 32, p. 92), what has been said is also clearly evident.Finally, we should expect from one who thinks that every act of simple pleasure is right, and that one act never contradicts another, a similar doctrine in respect of the act of choosing. But the reverse is here so obvious that the advocates of this view have in striking contrast always asserted in the most definite manner that different individuals have preferences opposite in character, and that one is right, the other wrong.Glancing back from the disciples of Aristotle in the Middle Ages to the master himself, we find his teaching appears to be a different one. Aristotle recognizes a right and a wrong kind of desire (Ὄρεξις ὀρθᾐ καἰ οὐκ οὐκ ὀρθή) and that what is desired (ὀρεκτόν) is not always the good. (De Anima, iii. 10.) In the same way he affirms in respect of pleasure (ἡδονή) in theNicomachian Ethicsthat not every pleasure is good; there is a pleasure in the bad, which is itself bad (Nic. Eth.x. 2). In hisMetaphysicshe distinguishes between a lower and a higher kind of desire (ἐπιθμία and βούλησις); whatever is desired by the higher kind for its own sake is truly good (Metaph.Δ 7, p. 1072 a. 28). A certain approach to the right view seems already to have been reached here. It is of special interest (a point I have only discovered later) that Aristotle has suggested an analogy between ethical subjectivism and the logical subjectivism of Protagoras, and equally repudiates both (Metaph.Κ 6, p. 1062 b. 16, and 1063 a. 5). On the other hand it would appear from the lines immediately following as though Aristotle had fallen into the very obvious temptation of believing that we can know the good as good, independent of the excitation of the emotions. (Metaph.29; cf.De Anima, iii. 9 and 10.)In close connection with this appears to be the passage (Nic. Eth.i. 4) where he denies that there is any uniform notion of the good (understanding, of course, the good in itself, cf. respecting this, note 26, p. 77), thinking rather that only by way of analogy does there exist a unity in the case of the good of rational thinking and seeing, joy, etc., and when, in another passage (Metaph.Ε 4, p. 1027 b. 25), he says that the true and the falseare not in the things, where the good and the bad are, i.e. the former predicates (e.g. true God, false friend) are ascribed to the things only in respect of certain mental acts, the true and false judgments, while the latter, on the other hand, are not in a similar way ascribed to them merely in respect of a certain class of mental activities:—all of which, incorrect as it is, is still connected as a necessary result with the aforesaid error. He is more in agreement with the true doctrine of the origin of our notion and knowledge of the good, when (Nic. Ethics, x. 2) he adduces as an argument against the assumption that joy does not belong to the good, the fact that all desire it, and adds: “For if only irrational beings desired it, the opposition to this argument would still contain a certain justification; but if every rational being also does so, how can anything be said against it?” Yet even this utterance is reconcilable with his erroneous view.Considered in this aspect, the moralist of sentiment (Gefühls-moralist), Hume, has here the advantage of him, for Hume rightly urges, how is any one to recognize that anything is to be loved without experiencing the love?I have said that the temptation into which Aristotle has fallen appears quite conceivable. It arises from the fact that, along with the experience of an emotion qualified as right there is given at the same time the knowledge that the object itself is good. Thus it may easily happen that the relation is then perverted and the love is thought to follow as a consequence of the knowledge, and recognized as right by reason of its agreement with this its rule.It is not without interest to compare the error here made by Aristotle in respect of emotion qualified as right with that which we have seen was committed by Descartes in respect of the similarly qualified judgment (cf. note 27, p. 78). The cases are essentially analogous; in both cases the distinguishing mark is sought in the special character of the idea which forms the basis of the act rather than in the act itself qualified as right. In fact it seems to me evident from various passages in his treatiseDes Passions, that Descartes himself has treated the matter in a way quite similar to that of Aristotle, and in amanner essentially analogous to his doctrine of the self-evident judgment.At the present time many approach very near to Descartes’ error in respect of the marks of self-evidence (if we are not rather to say that the error is really implicitly contained in their statements) when they regard the matter as though in the case of every self-evident judgment a criterion were referred to. In this case it must have been previously given somewhere, either as recognized—and this would lead to infinity—or (and this is the only alternative), it is given in the idea. It may be said that here also the temptation to such a misconception lies ready to hand and this may well have exercised a misleading influence upon Descartes. Aristotle’s error is less general, though only because the phenomenon of the emotion qualified as right has, generally speaking, come less frequently under consideration than that of the similarly qualified judgment.If the nature of the former has been misunderstood, the latter has often been so overlooked as not even to admit of its essential nature being misinterpreted.

Finally, we should expect from one who thinks that every act of simple pleasure is right, and that one act never contradicts another, a similar doctrine in respect of the act of choosing. But the reverse is here so obvious that the advocates of this view have in striking contrast always asserted in the most definite manner that different individuals have preferences opposite in character, and that one is right, the other wrong.

Glancing back from the disciples of Aristotle in the Middle Ages to the master himself, we find his teaching appears to be a different one. Aristotle recognizes a right and a wrong kind of desire (Ὄρεξις ὀρθᾐ καἰ οὐκ οὐκ ὀρθή) and that what is desired (ὀρεκτόν) is not always the good. (De Anima, iii. 10.) In the same way he affirms in respect of pleasure (ἡδονή) in theNicomachian Ethicsthat not every pleasure is good; there is a pleasure in the bad, which is itself bad (Nic. Eth.x. 2). In hisMetaphysicshe distinguishes between a lower and a higher kind of desire (ἐπιθμία and βούλησις); whatever is desired by the higher kind for its own sake is truly good (Metaph.Δ 7, p. 1072 a. 28). A certain approach to the right view seems already to have been reached here. It is of special interest (a point I have only discovered later) that Aristotle has suggested an analogy between ethical subjectivism and the logical subjectivism of Protagoras, and equally repudiates both (Metaph.Κ 6, p. 1062 b. 16, and 1063 a. 5). On the other hand it would appear from the lines immediately following as though Aristotle had fallen into the very obvious temptation of believing that we can know the good as good, independent of the excitation of the emotions. (Metaph.29; cf.De Anima, iii. 9 and 10.)

In close connection with this appears to be the passage (Nic. Eth.i. 4) where he denies that there is any uniform notion of the good (understanding, of course, the good in itself, cf. respecting this, note 26, p. 77), thinking rather that only by way of analogy does there exist a unity in the case of the good of rational thinking and seeing, joy, etc., and when, in another passage (Metaph.Ε 4, p. 1027 b. 25), he says that the true and the falseare not in the things, where the good and the bad are, i.e. the former predicates (e.g. true God, false friend) are ascribed to the things only in respect of certain mental acts, the true and false judgments, while the latter, on the other hand, are not in a similar way ascribed to them merely in respect of a certain class of mental activities:—all of which, incorrect as it is, is still connected as a necessary result with the aforesaid error. He is more in agreement with the true doctrine of the origin of our notion and knowledge of the good, when (Nic. Ethics, x. 2) he adduces as an argument against the assumption that joy does not belong to the good, the fact that all desire it, and adds: “For if only irrational beings desired it, the opposition to this argument would still contain a certain justification; but if every rational being also does so, how can anything be said against it?” Yet even this utterance is reconcilable with his erroneous view.

Considered in this aspect, the moralist of sentiment (Gefühls-moralist), Hume, has here the advantage of him, for Hume rightly urges, how is any one to recognize that anything is to be loved without experiencing the love?

I have said that the temptation into which Aristotle has fallen appears quite conceivable. It arises from the fact that, along with the experience of an emotion qualified as right there is given at the same time the knowledge that the object itself is good. Thus it may easily happen that the relation is then perverted and the love is thought to follow as a consequence of the knowledge, and recognized as right by reason of its agreement with this its rule.

It is not without interest to compare the error here made by Aristotle in respect of emotion qualified as right with that which we have seen was committed by Descartes in respect of the similarly qualified judgment (cf. note 27, p. 78). The cases are essentially analogous; in both cases the distinguishing mark is sought in the special character of the idea which forms the basis of the act rather than in the act itself qualified as right. In fact it seems to me evident from various passages in his treatiseDes Passions, that Descartes himself has treated the matter in a way quite similar to that of Aristotle, and in amanner essentially analogous to his doctrine of the self-evident judgment.

At the present time many approach very near to Descartes’ error in respect of the marks of self-evidence (if we are not rather to say that the error is really implicitly contained in their statements) when they regard the matter as though in the case of every self-evident judgment a criterion were referred to. In this case it must have been previously given somewhere, either as recognized—and this would lead to infinity—or (and this is the only alternative), it is given in the idea. It may be said that here also the temptation to such a misconception lies ready to hand and this may well have exercised a misleading influence upon Descartes. Aristotle’s error is less general, though only because the phenomenon of the emotion qualified as right has, generally speaking, come less frequently under consideration than that of the similarly qualified judgment.

If the nature of the former has been misunderstood, the latter has often been so overlooked as not even to admit of its essential nature being misinterpreted.

[29](p. 19). When I affirmed that the language of common life offers no suitable terms for activities of feeling qualified as right, I did not mean thereby to deny that certain expressions are, in themselves, well suited, indeed they would seem to have been created for this purpose, particularly, for example, the expressions “to be well pleasing,” and “to be ill pleasing” (gut gefallen and schlecht gefallen), as distinct from the simple “to be pleasing” and “to be mis-pleasing.” Though, however, it might seem advisable to limit these terms in this way and so to make them serve as scientific terms, scarcely any trace of such a limitation is to be found in ordinary language. One does not, of course, care to say: “the good pleases him ill,” “the bad pleases him well,” though one still says that to one this tastes good, to another that, and so on, i.e. the expression “to be well pleasing” is applied unhesitatingly even in the case where pleasure is given in the lowest instinctive form. Indeed the term-“impression” (Wahrnehmung) has degenerated in an almost similar way. Only really appropriate in respect of knowledge,it came to be applied in the case of the so-called external impression (äussere Wahrnehmung), i.e. in cases of a belief, blind, and in its essential relations, erroneous, and consequently would require, in order, as a terminus technicus to have scientific application, an important reform of the usual terminology and one which would essentially narrow the range of the term.

[30](p. 19).Metaph., Α 1, p. 980 a. 22.

[31](p. 20) i.e., “Als richtig characterisiert.” This phrase, which occurs frequently, I have translated sometimes as above, sometimes by “qualified as right.” By this phrase and its equivalents is meant that the act (sc. of loving, hating, or preferring,) is at once perceived by us to be a right one, bears the mark or character of rightness.

[32](p. 20). In order to exclude a misunderstanding and the doubts necessarily connected therewith, I add the following remark to what has been suggested shortly in the text. In order that an act of feeling may be called purely good in itself it is requisite: (1) that it be right; (2) that it be an act of pleasing and not an act of displeasing. If either condition be absent, it is already, in a certain respect, bad in itself; pleasure at the misfortunes of others (Schadenfreude) is bad on the first ground; pain at the sight of injustice, on the second ground. If both conditions are lacking, the act is still worse, in accordance with the principle of summation of which we shall speak later in the lecture. According to this same principle, where a feeling is good, its increase increases also the goodness of the act, while, similarly, where an act is purely bad, or at least participates in any respect in the bad, with the intensity of the feeling increases the badness of the act. When the act is a mixed one, good and bad manifestly increase, or diminish, in simple proportion to one another. The “plus” belonging to the one or the other side, must therefore, with the increase in intensity of the act become ever greater, with its decrease ever smaller. And so the surplus of good in the act may, under certain circumstances in spite of its impurity, be described as a very great good, while conversely, the surplus of the bad may, despite the admixture of the good, be described as something very bad (cf. note 36).

[33](p. 20). It may happen that, at the same time, one andthe same thing is both pleasing and displeasing. First, something in itself displeasing may yet be pleasing as a means to something else, and vice versa; then a case may arise where something instinctively repels us, while at the same time it is loved by us with a higher love. We may thus have an instinctive repugnance to a sensation, which is yet at the same time (and every idea, qua idea, is good), a welcome enrichment of our world of ideas. Aristotle has said: “It happens that desires enter into conflict with each other. This happens when the reason (λὁγος) and the lower desires (ἐπιθυμα) are in opposition (De Animaiii. 10). And again: “Now the lower desires (ἐπιθυμία) gain a victory over the higher, now the higher over the lower, and as” (according to the ancient astronomy) “one celestial sphere the other, so one desire draws off the other with it when the individual has lost the firm rule over himself” (De Animaii.).

[34](p. 21). Just as love and hate may be directed towards single individuals, so also they may be directed to whole classes. This Aristotle has already observed. We are, he thinks, “not only angry with the individual thief who has robbed us, and with the individual sycophant who deceives our confiding nature, but we hate thieves and sycophants in general” (Rhet.ii. 4). Acts of loving and hating, where in this way there is an underlying general conception, also possess frequently the character of rightness. And so quite naturally along with the experience of this given act of love or hate, the goodness or badness of the entire class becomes manifest at one stroke, and apart from every induction from special cases. In this way, for example, we attain to the general knowledge that insight as such is good. It is easy to understand how near the temptation lies, in the case of such knowledge of a general truth without any induction from single cases otherwise demanded in truths of experience, entirely to overlook the preparatory experience of a feeling having the character of rightness, and to regard the universal judgment as an immediate syntheticà prioriform of knowledge. Herbart’s very remarkable doctrine of a sudden elevation to general ethical principles seems to me to point to the fact thathe had observed something of this peculiar process without at the same time becoming quite clear about it.

[35](p. 21). It is easy to see how important this proposition may become for a theodicy. As regards ethics it might be feared that its security becomes thereby seriously endangered, perhaps, indeed, completely destroyed. To see how unfounded such a fear is, cf. note 43, p. 99.

[36](p. 22). It seems to me evident even from analysis of the notion of choice (1) that everything which is good is to be preferred, i.e. that in an act of choice it shall fall as a reasonable moment into the balance; (2) that everything bad forms a reasonable anti-moment, and therefore also that (3) in such cases—partly by direct means, partly by an addition in which the good and the bad are to be taken into account as quantities with opposite signs—the preponderance in which right choice is to be grounded may become evident, i.e. the preferability or superiority of the one as opposed to the other. According to this view, it does not, closely examined, require the special experience of an act of preference having the character of rightness, but only the experience of simple similarly qualified acts of pleasing and displeasing, in order to attain in the above-mentioned cases to the knowledge of the better. And therefore I have said that we derived our knowledge of preferability, not from the fact that our experience has the character of rightness, but that the said preferences possess the character of rightness because the knowledge of preferability has here been made the determining standard. I do not, however, mean to say that the same distinguishing character which was previously insisted upon in the case of certain simple acts of pleasing is not also here really present.

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