Itself as an apotheosis of unreason or of popular

Ethics. And, baffled by its failure to find its dogmas

realized in the universe, this way of thinking at last

may threaten us with total scepticism. But here, once

more, it is but speaking of that of which it knows

really nothing; for an honest scepticism is a thing

outside its comprehension. An honest and truth-seeking

scepticism pushes questions to the end, and

knows that the end lies hid in that which is assumed at

the beginning. But the scepticism (so-called) of Common

Sense from first to last is dogmatic. It takes for

granted, first, without examination that certain

doctrines are true; it then demands that this collection

of dogmas should come to an agreement; and, when its

demand is rejected by the universe, it none the less

persists in reiterating its old assumptions. And this

dogmatism, simply because it is baffled and perplexed,

gets the name of scepticism. But a sincere scepticism,

attacking without fear each particular prejudice, finds

that every finite view, when taken by itself, becomes

inconsistent. And borne on this inconsistency, which in

each case means a self-transcendence, such a scepticism

is lifted to see a whole in which all finites blend and

are resolved. But when each fact and end has foregone

its claim, as such, to be ultimate or reasonable, then

reason and harmony in the highest sense have begun to

appear. And scepticism in the end survives as a mere

aspect of constructive metaphysics. With this we may

leave the irrational dogmas of popular Ethics.

The discussion of these has been wearisome, but

perhaps not uninstructive. It should have confirmed us

in our general conclusion as to the nature of the good.

Goodness is not absolute or ultimate; it is but one

side, one partial aspect, of the nature of things. And

it manifests its relativity by inconsistency, by a self-

contradiction in principle, and by a tendency shown

towards separation in that principle's working, an

attempted division, which again is inconsistent and

cannot rest in itself. Goodness, as such, is but

appearance which is transcended in the Absolute. But,

upon the other hand, since in that Absolute no

appearance is lost, the good is a main and essential

factor in the universe. By accepting its

transmutation it both realizes its own destiny and

survives in the result.

We might reach the same conclusion, briefly perhaps,

by considering the collision of ends. In the Whole every

idea must be realized; but, on the other hand, the

conflict of ends is such that to combine them

mechanically is quite impossible. It will follow then

that, in their attainment, their characters must be

transmuted. We may say at once that none of them, and

yet that each of them, is good. And among these ends

must be included what we rightly condemn as Evil

(Chapter xvii.). That positive object which is followed

in opposition to the good, will unite with, and will

conduce to, the ultimate goal. And the conduct which

seems merely bad, which appears to pursue no positive

content and to exhibit no system, will in the same way

become good. Both by its assertion and its negation it

will subserve an over-ruling end. Good and evil

reproduce that main result which we found in our

examination of truth and error. The opposition in the

end is unreal, but it is, for all that, emphatically

actual and valid. Error and evil are facts, and most

assuredly there are degrees of each; and whether

anything is better or worse, does without any doubt make

a difference to the Absolute. And certainly the better

anything is, the less totally in the end is its being

over-ruled. But nothing, however good, can in the end be

real precisely as it appears. Evil and good, in short,

are not ultimate; they are relative factors which cannot

retain their special characters in the Whole. And we may

perhaps now venture to consider this position

established.

But, bearing in mind the unsatisfactory state of

current thought on these topics, I think it well to

follow the enquiry into further detail. There is a more

refined sense in which we have not yet dealt

with goodness. The good, we may be informed, is

morality, and morality is inward. It does not consist in

the attainment of a mere result, either outside the self

or even within it. For a result must depend on, and be

conditioned by, what is naturally given, and for natural

defects or advantages a man is not responsible. And

therefore, so far as regards true morality, any realized

product is chance; for it must be infected and modified,

less or more, by non-moral conditions. It is, in short,

only that which comes out of the man himself which can

justify or condemn him, and his disposition and

circumstances do not come from himself. Morality is the

identification of the individual's will with his own

idea of perfection. The moral man is the man who tries

to do the best which he knows. If the best he knows is

not the best, that is, speaking morally, beside

the question. If he fails to accomplish it, and ends in

an attempt, that is once more morally irrelevant. And

hence (we may add) it will be hard to find a proper

sense in which different epochs can be morally compared,

or in which the morality of one time or person stands

above that of others. For the intensity of a volitional

identification with whatever seems best appears to

contain and to exhaust the strict essence of goodness.

On this alone are based moral responsibility and desert,

and on this, perhaps, we are enabled to build our one

hope of immortality.

This is a view towards which morality seems driven

irresistibly. That a man is to be judged solely by his

inner will seems in the end undeniable. And, if such a

doctrine contradicts itself and is inconsistent with the

very notion of goodness, that will be another indication

that the good is but appearance. We may even say that

the present view takes a pride in its own discrepancies.

It might, we must allow, contradict itself more openly.

For it might make morality consist in the direct denial

of that very element of existence, without which it

actually is nothing.

But the same inconsistency, if more veiled, is still

inherent in our doctrine. For a will, after all, must do

something and must be characterized by what it does;

while, on the other hand, this very character of what it

does must depend on that which is "given" to it. And we

shall have to choose between two fatal results; for

either it will not matter what one does, or else

something beyond and beside the bare "will" must be

admitted to be good.

I will begin by saying a few words on what is called

"moral desert." If this phrase implies that for either

good or bad there is any reward beyond themselves, it is

at once inconsistent. For, if between virtue

and happiness there is an essential connection, then

virtue must be re-defined so as to take in all its

essence. But if, on the other hand, the connection is

but external, then in what proper sense are we to call

it moral? We must either give up or alter the idea of

desert, or else must seriously modify our extreme

conception of moral goodness. And with this I will

proceed to show how in its working that conception

breaks down.

It is, first, in flat contradiction with ordinary

morality. I am not referring to the fact that in common

life we approve of all human qualities which to us seem

desirable. Beauty, riches, strength, health and fortune

--everything, and, perhaps, more than everything, which

could be called a human excellence--we find admirable

and approve of. But such approbations, together with

their counterpart disapprovals, we should probably find

ourselves unwilling to justify morally. And, passing

this point by for the present, let us attend solely to

those excellencies which would by all be called moral.

These, the common virtues of life by which individuals

are estimated, obviously depend to a large extent on

disposition and bringing up. And to discard them

utterly, because, or in so far as, you cannot attribute

them to the individual's will, is a violent paradox.

Even if that is correct, it is at least opposed to

every-day morality.

And this doctrine, when we examine it further, is

found to end in nothing. Its idea is to credit a man

merely with what comes out of his will, and that in fine

is not anything. For in the result from the will there

is no material which is not derived from a "natural"

source; and the whole result, whether in its origin, its

actual happening, or its end, is throughout conditioned

and qualified by "natural" factors. The moral man is

allowed not to be omnipotent or omniscient He is morally

perfect, if only he will but do what he knows. But how

can he do it when weakness and disease, either

bodily or mental, opposes his effort? And how can he

even make the effort, except on the strength of some

"natural" gift? Such an idea is psychologically absurd.

And, if we take two different individuals, one dowered

with advantages external and inward, and the other

loaded with corresponding drawbacks, and if, in judging

these, we refuse to make the very smallest allowance--in

what have we ended? But to make an allowance would be to

give up the essence of our doctrine, for the moral man

no longer would be barely the man who wills what he

knows. The result then is that we are unable to judge

morally at all, for, otherwise, we shall be crediting

morality with a foreign gift or allowance. Nor, again,

do we find a less difficulty, when we turn to consider

moral knowledge. For one man by education or nature will

know better than another, and certainly no one can

possibly know always the best. But, once more, we cannot allow for this, and

must insist that it is morally irrelevant. In short, it

matters nothing what any one knows, and we have just

seen that it matters as little what any one does. The

distinction between evil and good has in fact

disappeared. And to fall back on the intensity of the

moral struggle will not help us. For that intensity is determined,

in the first place, by natural conditions, and, in the

next place, goodness would be taken to consist in a

struggle with itself. To make a man better you would in

some cases have to add to his badness, in order to

increase the division and the morality within him.

Goodness, in short, meant at the beginning that

one does what one can, and it has come now to mean

merely that one does what one does. Or rather, whatever

one does and whatever one wills, it is all alike

infected by nature and morally indifferent. There is, in

plain words, no difference left between goodness and

badness.

But such a conclusion, we may possibly yet be told,

is quite mistaken. For, though all the matter of

goodness must be drawn from outside, yet the self, or

the will, has a power of appropriation. By its formal

act it works up and transforms that given matter, and it

so makes its own, and makes moral, the crude natural

stuff. Still, on the other side, we must insist that

every act is a resultant from psychical

conditions.

A formal act which is not determined by its matter, is

nonsense, whether you consider that act in its origin or

in its outcome. And, again, if the act is not morally

characterized and judged by its matter, will there in

the end be a difference between the good and the bad?

Whether you look at its psychical genesis or at its

essential character, the act, if it is to be possible,

cannot be merely formal, and it will therefore vitally

depend on that which has been called non-moral.

A form independent of matter is certainly nothing,

and, as certainly therefore, it cannot be morality. It

can at most be offered as such, and asserted to be so by

a chance content which fills it and professes to be

moral. Morality has degenerated into self-

approbation which only is formal, and which therefore is

false. It has become the hollow conscience for which

acts are good because they happen to be its own, or

merely because somehow it happens to like them. Between

the assertion and the fact there is here no genuine

connection. it is empty self-will and self-assurance,

which, swollen with private sentiment or chance desire,

wears the mask of goodness. And hence that which

professes itself moral would be the same as mere

badness, if it did not differ, even for the worse, by

the addition of hypocrisy. For the bad, which admits not only

that others but that itself is not good, has, in

principle at least, condemned vain self-sufficiency and

self-will. The common confession that the self in itself