CHAPTER V.

ON THE LEADING PRINCIPLE OF THE KANTIAN ETHICS.

After having tested in the preceding chapter the actual basis of Kant's Ethics, I now turn to that which rests on it—his leading principle of Morals. The latter is very closely connected with the former; indeed, in a certain sense, they both grew up together. We have seen that the formula expressing the principle reads as follows: "Act only in accordance with that precept which you can also wish should be a general law for all rational beings." It is a strange proceeding for a man, who ex hypothesi is seeking a law to determine what he should do, and what he should leave undone, to be instructed first to search for one fit to regulate the conduct of all possible rational beings; but we will pass over that. It is sufficient only to notice the fact that in the above guiding rule, as put forth by Kant, we have obviously not reached the moral law itself, but only a finger-post, or indication where it is to be looked for. The money, so to say, is not yet paid down, but we hold a safe draft for it. And who, then, is the cashier? To say the truth at once: a paymaster in this connection surely very unexpected, being neither more nor less than Egoism, as I shall now demonstrate.

The precept, it is said, which I can wish were the guide of all men's conduct, is itself the real moral principle. That which I can wish is the hinge on which the given direction turns. But what can I truly wish, and what not? Clearly, in order to determine what I can wish in the matter under discussion, I require yet another criterion; for without such I could never find the key to the instruction which comes to me like a sealed order. Where, then, is this criterion to be discovered? Certainly nowhere else but in my Egoism, which is the nearest, ever ready, original, and living standard of all volition, and which has at any rate the jus primi occupantis before every moral principle. The direction for finding the real moral law, which is contained in the Kantian rule, rests, as a matter of fact, on the tacit assumption that I can only wish for that which is most to my advantage. Now because, in framing a precept to be generally followed, I cannot regard myself as always active, but must contemplate my playing a passive part eventualiter and at times; therefore from this point of view my egoism decides for justice and loving-kindness; not from any wish to practise these virtues, but because it desires to experience them. We are reminded of the miser, who, after listening to a sermon on beneficence, exclaims:

"Wie gründlich ausgeführt, wie schön!—
Fast möcht' ich betteln gehn."
(How well thought out, how excellent!—
Almost I'd like to beg.)

This is the indispensable key to the direction in which Kant's leading principle of Ethics is embedded; nor can he help supplying it himself. Only he refrains from doing so at the moment of propounding his precept, lest we should feel shocked. It is found further on in the text, at a decent distance, so as to prevent the fact at once leaping to light, that here, after all, in spite of his grand a priori edifice, Egoism is sitting on the judge's seat, scales in hand. Moreover, it does not occur, till after he has decided, from the point of view of the eventualiter passive side, that this position holds good for the active rôle as well. Thus, on p. 19 (R., p. 24) we read: "That I could not wish for a general law to establish lying, because people would no longer believe me, or else pay me back in the same coin." Again on p. 55 (R., p. 49): "The universality of a law to the effect that every one could promise what he likes, without any intention of keeping his word, would make the promise itself, together with the object in view, whatever that might be, impossible; for no one would believe it." On p. 56 (R., p. 50), in connection with the maxim of hard-heartedness, we find the following: "A will, which should determine this, would contradict itself; for cases can occur, in which a man needs the love and sympathy of others, and in which he, by virtue of such a natural law, evolved from his own will, would deprive himself of all hope of the help, which he desires." Similarly in the Kritik der Praktischen Vernunft (Part I., vol. i., chap. 2, p. 123; R., p. 192): "If every one were to regard others' distress with total indifference, and you were to belong to such an order of things; would you be there with the concurrence of your will?" Quam temere in nosmet legem sancimus iniquam![1] one could reply. These passages sufficiently show in what sense the phrase, "to be able to wish," in Kant's formula is to be understood. But it is in the Metaphysische Anfangsgründe der Tugendlehre, that this real nature of his ethical principle is most clearly stated. In § 30 we read: "For every one wishes to be helped. If, however, a man were to give utterance to his rule of unwillingness to help others, all people would be justified in refusing him assistance. Thus this rule of selfishness contradicts itself." Would be justified, he says, would be justified! Here, then, it is declared, as explicitly as anything can be, that moral obligation rests solely and entirely on presupposed reciprocity; consequently it is utterly selfish, and only admits of being interpreted by egoism, which, under the condition of reciprocity, knows how to make a compromise cleverly enough. Such a course would be quite in place if it were a question of laying down the fundamentals of state-organisation, but not, when we come to construct those of ethics. In the Grundlegung, p. 81 (R., p. 67), the following sentence occurs: "The principle of always acting in accordance with that precept which you can also wish were universally established as law—this is the only condition under which a man's will can never be in antagonism with itself." From what has been said above, it will be apparent that the true meaning of the word "antagonism" may be thus explained: if a man should sanction the precept of injustice and hard-heartedness, he would subsequently, in the event of his playing a passive part, recall it, and so his will would contradict itself.

From this analysis it is abundantly clear that Kant's famous leading principle is not—as he maintains with tireless repetition—a categorical, but in reality a hypothetical Imperative; because it tacitly presupposes the condition that the law to be established for what I do—inasmuch as I make it universal—shall also be a law for what is done to me; and because I, under this condition, as the eventualiter non-active party, cannot possibly wish for injustice and hard-heartedness. But if I strike out this proviso, and, trusting perhaps to my surpassing strength of mind and body, think of myself as always active, and never passive; then, in choosing the precept which is to be universally valid, if there exists no basis for ethics other than Kant's, I can perfectly well wish that injustice and hard-heartedness should be the general rule, and consequently order the world

Upon the simple plan,
That they should take, who have the power,
And they should keep, who can.
—(WORDSWORTH.)

In the foregoing chapter we showed that the Kantian leading principle of Ethics is devoid of all real foundation. It is now clear that to this singular defect must be added, notwithstanding Kant's express assertion to the contrary, its concealed hypothetical nature, whereby its basis turns out to be nothing else than Egoism, the latter being the secret interpreter of the direction which it contains. Furthermore, regarding it solely as a formula, we find that it is only a periphrasis, an obscure and disguised mode of expressing the well-known rule: Quod tibi fieri non vis, alteri ne feceris (do not to another what you are unwilling should be done to yourself); if, that is, by omitting the non and ne, we remove the limitation, and include the duties taught by love as well as those prescribed by law. For it is obvious that this is the only precept which I can wish should regulate the conduct of all men (speaking, of course, from the point of view of the possibly passive part I may play, where my Egoism is touched). This rule, Quod tibi fieri, etc., is, however, in its turn, merely a circumlocution for, or, if it be preferred, a premise of, the proposition which I have laid down as the simplest and purest definition of the conduct required by the common consent of all ethical systems; namely, Neminem laede, immo omnes, quantum potes, juva (do harm to no one; but rather help all people, as far as lies in your power). The true and real substance of Morals is this, and never can be anything else. But on what is it based? What is it that lends force to this command? This is the old and difficult problem with which man is still to-day confronted. For, on the other side, we hear Egoism crying with a loud voice: Neminem juva, immo omnes, si forte conducit, laede (help nobody, but rather injure all people, if it brings you any advantage); nay more, Malice gives us the variant: Immo omnes, quantum potes, laede (but rather injure all people as far as you can). To bring into the lists a combatant equal, or rather superior to Egoism and Malice combined—this is the task of all Ethics. Heic Rhodus, heic salta![2]

The division of human duty into two classes has long been recognised, and no doubt owes its origin to the nature of morality itself. We have. (1) the duties ordained by law (otherwise called the—perfect, obligatory, narrower duties), and (2) those prescribed by virtue (otherwise called imperfect, wider, meritorious, or, preferably, the duties taught by love). On p. 57 (R., p. 60) we find Kant desiring to give a further confirmation to the moral principle, which he propounded, by undertaking to derive this classification from it. But the attempt turns out to be so forced, and so obviously bad, that it only testifies in the strongest way against the soundness of his position. For, according to him, the duties laid down by statutes rest on a precept, the contrary of which, taken as a general natural law, is declared to be quite unthinkable without contradiction; while the duties inculcated by virtue are made to depend on a maxim, the opposite of which can (he says) be conceived as a general natural law, but cannot possibly be wished for. I beg the reader to reflect that the rule of injustice, the reign of might instead of right, which in the Kantian view is not even thinkable as a natural law, is in reality, and in point of fact, the dominant order of things not only in the animal kingdom, but among men as well. It is true that an attempt has been made among civilised peoples to obviate its injurious effects by means of all the machinery of state government; but as soon as this, wherever, or of whatever kind, it be, is suspended or eluded, the natural law immediately resumes its sway. Indeed between nation and nation it never ceases to prevail; the customary jargon about justice is well known to be nothing but diplomacy's official style; the real arbiter is brute force. On the other hand, genuine, i.e., voluntary, acts of justice, do occur beyond all doubt, but always only as exceptions to the rule. Furthermore: wishing to give instances by way of introducing the above-mentioned classification, Kant establishes the duties prescribed by law first (p. 53; R., p. 48) through the so-called duty towards oneself,—the duty of not ending one's life voluntarily, if the pain outweigh the pleasure. Accordingly, the rule of suicide is held to be not even thinkable as a general natural law. I, on the contrary, maintain that, since here there can be no intervention of state control, it is exactly this rule which is proved to be an actually existing, unchecked natural law. For it is absolutely certain (as daily experience attests) that men in the vast majority of cases turn to self-destruction directly the gigantic strength of the innate instinct of self-preservation is distinctly overpowered by great suffering. To suppose that there is any thought whatever that can have a deferring effect, after the fear of death, which is so strong and so closely bound up with the nature of every living thing, has shown itself powerless; in other words, to suppose that there is a thought still mightier than this fear—is a daring assumption, all the more so, when we see, that it is one which is so difficult to discover that the moralists are not yet able to determine it with precision. In any case, it is certain that arguments against suicide of the sort put forward by Kant in this connection (p. 53: R., p. 48, and p. 67; R., p. 57) have never hitherto restrained any one tired of life even for a moment. Thus a natural law, which incontestably exists, and is operative every day, is declared by Kant to be simply unthinkable without contradiction, and all for the sake of making his Moral Principle the basis of the classification of duties! At this point it is, I confess, not without satisfaction that I look forward to the groundwork which I shall give to Ethics in the sequel. From it the division of Duty into what is prescribed by law, and what is taught by love, or, better, into justice and loving-kindness, results quite naturally though a principle of separation which arises from the nature of the subject, and which entirely of itself draws a sharp line of demarkation; so that the foundation of Morals, which I shall present, has in fact ready to hand that confirmation, to which Kant, with a view to support his own position, lays a completely groundless claim.

CHAPTER VI.

ON THE DERIVED FORMS OF THE LEADING PRINCIPLE OF THE KANTIAN ETHICS.

It is well known that Kant put the leading principle of his Ethics into another quite different shape, in which it is expressed directly; the first being indirect, indeed nothing more than an indication as to how the principle is to be sought for. Beginning at p. 63 (R., p. 55), he prepares the way for his second formula by means of very strange, ambiguous, not to say distorted,[1] definitions of the conceptions End and Means, which may be much more simply and correctly denoted thus: an End is the direct motive of an act of the Will, a Means the indirect: simplex sigillum veri (simplicity is the seal of truth). Kant, however, slips through his wonderful enunciations to the statement: "Man, indeed every rational being, exists as an end in himself." On this I must remark that "to exist as an end in oneself" is an unthinkable expression, a contradictio in adjecto.[2] To be an end means to be an object of volition. Every end can only exist in relation to a will, whose end, i.e., (as above stated), whose direct motive it is. Only thus can the idea, "end" have any sense, which is lost as soon as such connection is broken. But this relation, which is essential to the thing, necessarily excludes every "in itself." "End in oneself" is exactly like saying: "Friend in oneself;—enemy in oneself;—uncle in oneself;—north or east in itself;—above or below in itself;" and so on. At bottom the "end in itself" is in the same case as the "absolute ought"; the same thought—the theological—secretly, indeed, unconsciously lies at the root of each as its condition. Nor is the "absolute worth," which is supposed to be attached to this alleged, though unthinkable, "end in itself," at all better circumstanced. It also must be characterised, without pity, as a contradictio in adjecto. Every "worth" is a valuation by comparison, and its bearing is necessarily twofold. First, it is relative, since it exists for some one; and secondly, it is comparative, as being compared with something else, and estimated accordingly. Severed from these two conditions, the conception, "worth," loses all sense and meaning, and so obviously, that further demonstration is needless. But more: just as the phrases "end in itself" and "absolute worth" outrage logic, so true morality is outraged by the statement on p. 65 (R., p. 56), that irrational beings (that is, animals) are things, and should therefore be treated simply as means, which are not at the same time ends. In harmony with this, it is expressly declared in the Metaphysische Anfanggründe der Tugendlehre, § 16: "A man can have no duties towards any being, except towards his fellow-men;" and then, § 17, we read: "To treat animals cruelly runs counter to the duty of man towards himself; because it deadens the feeling of sympathy for them in their sufferings, and thus weakens a natural tendency which is very serviceable to morality in relation to other men." So one is only to have compassion on animals for the sake of practice, and they are as it were the pathological phantom on which to train one's sympathy with men! In common with the whole of Asia that is not tainted by Islâm (which is tantamount to Judaism), I regard such tenets as odious and revolting. Here, once again, we see withal how entirely this philosophical morality, which is, as explained above, only a theological one in disguise, depends in reality on the biblical Ethics. Thus, because Christian morals leave animals out of consideration (of which more later on); therefore in philosophical morals they are of course at once outlawed; they are merely "things," simply means to ends of any sort; and so they are good for vivisection, for deer-stalking, bull-fights, horse-races, etc., and they may be whipped to death as they struggle along with heavy quarry carts. Shame on such a morality which is worthy of Pariahs, Chandalas and Mlechchas[3]; which fails to recognise the Eternal Reality immanent in everything that has life, and shining forth with inscrutable significance from all eyes that see the sun! This is a morality which knows and values only the precious species that gave it birth; whose characteristic—reason—it makes the condition under which a being may be an object of moral regard.

By this rough path, then,—indeed, per fas et nefas (by fair means and by foul), Kant reaches the second form in which he expresses the fundamental principle of his Ethics: "Act in such a way that you at all times treat mankind, as much in your own person, as in the person of every one else, not only as a Means, but also as an End." Such a statement is a very artificial and roundabout way of saying: "Do not consider yourself alone, but others also;" this in turn is a paraphrase for: Quod tibi fieri non vis, alteri ne feceris (do not to another what you are unwilling should be done to yourself); and the latter, as I have said, contains nothing but the premises to the conclusion, which is the true and final goal of all morals and of all moralising; Neminem laede, immo omnes, quantum potes juva (do harm to no one; but rather help all people as far as lies in your power). Like all beautiful things, this proposition looks best unveiled. Be it only observed that the alleged duties towards oneself are dragged into this second Kantian edict intentionally and not without difficulty. Some place of course had to be found for them.[4]

Another objection that could be raised against the formula is that the malefactor condemned to be executed is treated merely as an instrument, and not as an end, and this with perfectly good reason; for he is the indispensable means of upholding the terror of the law by its fulfilment, and of thus accomplishing the law's end—the repression of crime.

But if this second definition helps nothing towards laying a foundation for Ethics, if it cannot even pass muster as its leading principle, that is, as an adequate and direct summary of ethical precepts; it has nevertheless the merit of containing a fine aperçu of moral psychology, for it marks egoism by an exceedingly characteristic token, which is quite worth while being here more closely considered. This egoism, then, of which each of us is full, and to conceal which, as our partie honteuse, we have invented politeness, is perpetually peering through every veil cast over it, and may especially be detected in the fact that our dealings with all those, who come across our path, are directed by the one object of trying to find, before everything else, and as if by instinct, a possible means to any of the numerous ends with which we are always engrossed. When we make a new acquaintance, our first thought, as a rule, is whether the man can be useful to us in some way. If he can do nothing for our benefit, then as soon as we are convinced of this, he himself generally becomes nothing to us. To seek in all other people a possible means to our ends, in other words, to make them our instruments, is almost part of the very nature of human eyes; and whether the instrument will have to suffer more or less in the using, is a thought which comes much later, sometimes not at all. That we assume others to be similarly disposed is shown in many ways; e.g., by the fact that, when we ask any one for information or advice, we lose all confidence in his words directly we discover that he may have some interest in the matter, however small or remote. For then we immediately take for granted that he will make us a means to his ends, and hence give his advice not in accordance with his discernment, but with his desire, and this, no matter how exact the former may be, or how little the latter seem involved; since we know only too well that a cubic inch of desire weighs much more than a cubic yard of discernment. Conversely, when we ask in such cases: "What ought I to do?" as a rule, nothing else will occur to our counsellor, but how we should shape our action to suit his own ends; and to this effect he will give his reply immediately, and as it were mechanically, without so much as bestowing a thought on our ends; because it is his Will that directly dictates the answer, or ever the question can come before the bar of his real judgment. Hence he tries to mould our conduct to his own benefit, without even being conscious of it, and while he supposes that he is speaking out of the abundance of his discernment, in reality he is nothing but the mouth-piece of his own desire; indeed, such self-deception may lead him so far as to utter lies, without being aware of it. So greatly does the influence of the Will preponderate that of the Intelligence. Consequently, it is not the testimony of our own consciousness, but rather, for the most part, that of our interest, which avails to determine whether our language be in accordance with what we discern, or what we desire. To take another case. Let us suppose that a man pursued by enemies and in danger of life, meets a pedlar and inquires for some by-way of escape; it may happen that the latter will answer him by the question: "Do you need any of my wares?" It is not of course meant that matters are always like this. On the contrary, many a man is found to show a direct and real participation in another's weal and woe, or (in Kant's language) to regard him as an end and not as a means. How far it seems natural, or the reverse, to each one to treat his neighbour for once in the way as an end, instead of (as usual) a means,—this is the criterion of the great ethical difference existing between character and character; and that on which the mental attitude of sympathy rests in the last resort will be the true basis of Ethics, and will form the subject of the third part of this Essay.

Thus, in his second formula, Kant distinguishes Egoism and its opposite by a very characteristic trait; and this point of merit I have all the more gladly brought out into strong light and illustrated, because in other respects there is little in the groundwork of his Ethics that I can admit.

The third and last form in which Kant put forward his Moral Principle is the Autonomy of the Will: "The Will of every rational being is universally legislative for all rational beings." This of course follows from the first form. As a consequence of the third, however, we are asked to believe (see p. 71; R., p. 60) that the specific characteristic of the Categorical Imperative lies in the renunciation of all interest by the Will when acting from a sense of duty. All previous moral principles had thus (he says) broken down, "because the latter invariably attributed to human actions at bottom a certain interest, whether originating in compulsion, or in pleasurable attraction—an interest which might be one's own, or another's" (p. 73; R., p. 62). (Another's: let this be particularly noticed.) "Whereas a universally legislative Will must prescribe actions which are not based on any interest at all, but solely on a feeling of duty." I beg the reader to think what this really means. As a matter of fact, nothing less than volition without motive, in other words, effect without cause. Interest and Motive are interchangeable ideas; what is interest but quod mea interest, that which is of importance to me? And is not this, in one word, whatever stirs and sets in motion my Will? Consequently, what is an interest other than the working of a motive upon the Will? Therefore where a motive moves the Will, there the latter has an interest; but where the Will is affected by no motive, there in truth it can be as little active, as a stone is able to leave its place without being pushed or pulled. No educated person will require any demonstration of this. It follows that every action, inasmuch as it necessarily must have a motive, necessarily also presupposes an interest. Kant, however, propounds a second entirely new class of actions which are performed without any interest, i.e., without motive. And these actions are—all deeds of justice and loving-kindness! It will be seen that this monstrous assumption, to be refuted, needed only to be reduced to its real meaning, which was concealed through the word "interest" being trifled with. Meanwhile Kant celebrates (p. 74 sqq.; R., p. 62) the triumph of his Autonomy of the Will by setting up a moral Utopia called the Kingdom of Ends, which is peopled with nothing but rational beings in abstracto. These, one and all, are always willing, without willing any actual thing (i.e., without interest): the only thing that they will is that they may all perpetually will in accordance with one maxim (i.e., Autonomy). Difficile est satiram non scribere[5] (it is difficult to refrain from writing a satire).

But there is something else to which Kant is led by his autonomy of the will; and it involves more serious consequences than the little innocent Kingdom of Ends, which is perfectly harmless and may be left in peace. I mean the conception of human dignity. Now this "dignity" is made to rest solely on man's autonomy, and to lie in the fact that the law which he ought to obey is his own work, his relation to it thus being the same as that of the subjects of a constitutional government to their statutes. As an ornamental finish to the Kantian system of morals such a theory might after all be passed over. Only this expression "Human Dignity," once it was uttered by Kant, became the shibboleth of all perplexed and empty-headed moralists. For behind that imposing formula they concealed their lack, not to say, of a real ethical basis, but of any basis at all which was possessed of an intelligible meaning; supposing cleverly enough that their readers would be so pleased to see themselves invested with such a "dignity" that they would be quite satisfied.[6] Let us, however, look at this conception a little more carefully, and submit it to the test of reality. Kant (p. 79; R., p. 66) defines dignity as "an unconditioned, incomparable value." This is an explanation which makes such an effect by its magnificent sound that one does not readily summon up courage to examine it at close quarters; else we should find that it too is nothing but a hollow hyperbole, within which there lurks like a gnawing worm, the contradictio in adjecto. Every value is the estimation of one thing compared with another; it is thus a conception of comparison, and consequently relative; and this relativity is precisely that which forms the essence of the idea. According to Diogenes Laertius (Book VII., chap. 106),[7] this was already correctly taught by the Stoics. He says: τὴn δὲ ἀξίαν εἶναι ἀμοιβὴν δοκιμάστου, ἢν ἂν ὁ ἔμπειρος τῶν Πραγμάτων τάξῃ ὅμοιον εἐπεῑν, ἀμείβεσθαι πυροὺς πρὸς τὰς σὺν ἡμιονô κριθάς.[8] An incomparable, unconditioned, absolute value, such as "dignity" is declared by Kant to be, is thus, like so much else in Philosophy, the statement in words of a thought which is really unthinkable; just as much as "the highest number," or "the greatest space."

"Doch eben wo Begriffe fehlen,
Da stellt ein WORT zu rechter Zeit sich ein."
(But where conceptions fail,
Just there a WORD comes in to fill the blank.)

So it was with this expression, "Human Dignity." A most acceptable phrase was brought into currency. Thereon every system of Morals, that was spun out through all classes of duty, and all forms of casuistry, found a broad basis; from which serene elevation it could comfortably go on preaching.

At the end of his exposition (p. 124; E., p. 97), Kant says: "But how it is that Pure Reason without other motives, that may have their derivation elsewhere, can by itself be practical; that is, how, without there being any object for the Will to take an antecedent interest in, the simple principle of the universal validity of all the precepts of Pure Reason, as laws, can of itself provide a motive and bring about an interest which may be called purely moral; or, in other words, how it is that Pure Reason can be practical;—to explain this problem, all human reason is inadequate, and all trouble and work spent on it are vain." Now it should be remembered that, if any one asserts the existence of a thing which cannot even be conceived as possible, it is incumbent on him to prove that it is an actual reality; whereas the Categorical Imperative of Practical Reason is expressly not put forward as a fact of consciousness, nor otherwise founded on experience. Rather are we frequently cautioned not to attempt to explain it by having recourse to empirical anthropology. (Cf. e.g., p. vi. of the preface; R., p. 5; and pp. 59, 60; R., p. 52). Moreover, we are repeatedly (e.g., p. 48; R., p. 44) assured "that no instance can show, and consequently there can be no empirical proof, that an Imperative of this sort exists everywhere." And further, on p. 49 (R., p. 45), we read, "that the reality of the Categorical Imperative is not a fact of experience." Now if we put all this together, we can hardly avoid the suspicion that Kant is jesting at his readers' expense. But although this practice may be allowed by the present philosophical public of Germany, and seem good in their eyes, yet in Kant's time it was not so much in vogue; and besides, Ethics, then, as always, was precisely the subject that least of all could lend itself to jokes. Hence we must continue to hold the conviction that what can neither be conceived as possible, nor proved as actual, is destitute of all credentials to attest its existence. And if, by a strong effort of the imagination, we try to picture to ourselves a man, possessed, as it were, by a daemon, in the form of an absolute Ought, that speaks only in Categorical Imperatives, and, confronting his wishes and inclinations, claims to be the perpetual controller of his actions; in this figure we see no true portrait of human nature, or of our inner life; what we do discern is an artificial substitute for theological Morals, to which it stands in the same relation as a wooden leg to a living one.

Our conclusion, therefore, is, that the Kantian Ethics, like all anterior systems, is devoid of any sure foundation. As I showed at the outset, in my examination of its imperative Form, the structure is at bottom nothing but an inversion of theological Morals, cloaked in very abstract formulae of an apparently a priori origin. That this disguise was most artificial and unrecognisable is the more certain, from the fact that Kant, in all good faith, was actually himself deceived by it, and really believed that he could establish, independently of all theology, and on the basis of pure intelligence a priori, those conceptions of the Law and of the hests of Duty, which obviously have no meaning except in theological Ethics; whereas I have sufficiently proved that with him they are destitute of all real foundation, and float loosely in mid air. However, the mask at length falls away in his own workshop, and theological Ethics stands forth unveiled, as witness his doctrine of the Highest Good, the Postulates of Practical Reason; and lastly, his Moral Theology. But this revelation freed neither Kant nor the public from their illusion as to the real state of things; on the contrary, both he and they rejoiced to see all those precepts, which hitherto had been sanctioned by Faith, now ratified and established by Ethics (although only idealiter, and for practical purposes). The truth is that they, in all sincerity, put the effect for the cause, and the cause for the effect, inasmuch as they failed to perceive that at the root of this system of Morals there lay, as absolutely necessary assumptions, however tacit and concealed, all the alleged consequences that had been drawn from it.

At the end of this severe investigation, which must also have been tiring to my readers, perhaps I may be allowed, by way of diversion, to make a jesting, indeed frivolous comparison. I would liken Kant, in his self-mystification, to a man who at a ball has been flirting the whole evening with a masked beauty, in hopes of making a conquest; till at last, throwing off her disguise, she reveals herself—as his wife.