make his own existence less happy, or might even bring him to the gallows. The happiness of the crew of the merchantman is therefore just now an object of concern for him, as perhaps furthering his own. So he may be willing to compromise the difficulty, even if it should cost him a large sum to persuade the belligerent captain of the armed merchantman to let him alone. Thus he might even add quite a fortune to what the merchantman’s captain and crew already have of good things, and this would surely be very marked altruism. Thus egoism and altruism may oppose each other, and thus, by careful calculation, their opposing claims may be balanced! Or yet again, suppose that a robber meets me in the highway, and egoistically demands my purse. If now I should manage to disarm him, to present a pistol to his head, and to ask him to accompany me to the nearest town, evidently the claims of altruism would for that man have a considerably stronger emphasis than they had the moment before. He would now be willing not merely to live and let live in peace for the present; he would not merely be delighted to recognize my rights of property and to leave me free to enjoy them; but he would undoubtedly be glad to increase my happiness by giving me anything of value that he might have about him, or any information of value to me that I might desire, if by such means he could get me to let him go free. A great altruist would my robber now be, however great his egoism just before.
Now do such discussions of the claims of egoism and altruism mean anything for the moralist? But
