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diff --git a/10714-0.txt b/10714-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..65dc9aa --- /dev/null +++ b/10714-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3648 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10714 *** + +THE ESSAYS + +OF + +ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER + +TRANSLATED BY + +T. BAILEY SAUNDERS, M.A. + + + + +THE ART OF LITERATURE. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + PREFACE + ON AUTHORSHIP + ON STYLE + ON THE STUDY OF LATIN + ON MEN OF LEARNING + ON THINKING FOR ONESELF + ON SOME FORMS OF LITERATURE + ON CRITICISM + ON REPUTATION + ON GENIUS + + + + +TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. + + +The contents of this, as of the other volumes in the series, have been +drawn from Schopenhauer's _Parerga_, and amongst the various subjects +dealt with in that famous collection of essays, Literature holds an +important place. Nor can Schopenhauer's opinions fail to be of special +value when he treats of literary form and method. For, quite apart +from his philosophical pretensions, he claims recognition as a great +writer; he is, indeed, one of the best of the few really excellent +prose-writers of whom Germany can boast. While he is thus particularly +qualified to speak of Literature as an Art, he has also something to +say upon those influences which, outside of his own merits, contribute +so much to an author's success, and are so often undervalued when he +obtains immediate popularity. Schopenhauer's own sore experiences in +the matter of reputation lend an interest to his remarks upon that +subject, although it is too much to ask of human nature that he should +approach it in any dispassionate spirit. + +In the following pages we have observations upon style by one who +was a stylist in the best sense of the word, not affected, nor yet a +phrasemonger; on thinking for oneself by a philosopher who never did +anything else; on criticism by a writer who suffered much from the +inability of others to understand him; on reputation by a candidate +who, during the greater part of his life, deserved without obtaining +it; and on genius by one who was incontestably of the privileged +order himself. And whatever may be thought of some of his opinions +on matters of detail--on anonymity, for instance, or on the question +whether good work is never done for money--there can be no doubt that +his general view of literature, and the conditions under which it +flourishes, is perfectly sound. + +It might be thought, perhaps, that remarks which were meant to apply +to the German language would have but little bearing upon one so +different from it as English. This would be a just objection if +Schopenhauer treated literature in a petty spirit, and confined +himself to pedantic inquiries into matters of grammar and etymology, +or mere niceties of phrase. But this is not so. He deals with his +subject broadly, and takes large and general views; nor can anyone +who knows anything of the philosopher suppose this to mean that he is +vague and feeble. It is true that now and again in the course of these +essays he makes remarks which are obviously meant to apply to the +failings of certain writers of his own age and country; but in such a +case I have generally given his sentences a turn, which, while keeping +them faithful to the spirit of the original, secures for them a less +restricted range, and makes Schopenhauer a critic of similar faults in +whatever age or country they may appear. This has been done in spite +of a sharp word on page seventeen of this volume, addressed to +translators who dare to revise their author; but the change is one +with which not even Schopenhauer could quarrel. + +It is thus a significant fact--a testimony to the depth of his +insight and, in the main, the justice of his opinions--that views of +literature which appealed to his own immediate contemporaries, should +be found to hold good elsewhere and at a distance of fifty years. +It means that what he had to say was worth saying; and since it is +adapted thus equally to diverse times and audiences, it is probably of +permanent interest. + +The intelligent reader will observe that much of the charm of +Schopenhauer's writing comes from its strongly personal character, and +that here he has to do, not with a mere maker of books, but with a +man who thinks for himself and has no false scruples in putting his +meaning plainly upon the page, or in unmasking sham wherever he finds +it. This is nowhere so true as when he deals with literature; and just +as in his treatment of life, he is no flatterer to men in general, so +here he is free and outspoken on the peculiar failings of authors. At +the same time he gives them good advice. He is particularly happy in +recommending restraint in regard to reading the works of others, and +the cultivation of independent thought; and herein he recalls a saying +attributed to Hobbes, who was not less distinguished as a writer than +as a philosopher, to the effect that "_if he had read as much as other +men, he should have been as ignorant as they_." + +Schopenhauer also utters a warning, which we shall do well to take to +heart in these days, against mingling the pursuit of literature with +vulgar aims. If we follow him here, we shall carefully distinguish +between literature as an object of life and literature as a means of +living, between the real love of truth and beauty, and that detestable +false love which looks to the price it will fetch in the market. I am +not referring to those who, while they follow a useful and honorable +calling in bringing literature before the public, are content to be +known as men of business. If, by the help of some second witch +of Endor, we could raise the ghost of Schopenhauer, it would be +interesting to hear his opinion of a certain kind of literary +enterprise which has come into vogue since his day, and now receives +an amount of attention very much beyond its due. We may hazard a guess +at the direction his opinion would take. He would doubtless show us +how this enterprise, which is carried on by self-styled _literary +men_, ends by making literature into a form of merchandise, and +treating it as though it were so much goods to be bought and sold at a +profit, and most likely to produce quick returns if the maker's name +is well known. Nor would it be the ghost of the real Schopenhauer +unless we heard a vigorous denunciation of men who claim a connection +with literature by a servile flattery of successful living +authors--the dead cannot be made to pay--in the hope of appearing to +advantage in their reflected light and turning that advantage into +money. + +In order to present the contents of this book in a convenient form, I +have not scrupled to make an arrangement with the chapters somewhat +different from that which exists in the original; so that two or more +subjects which are there dealt with successively in one and the same +chapter, here stand by themselves. In consequence of this, some of +the titles of the sections are not to be found in the original. I may +state, however, that the essays on _Authorship_ and _Style_ and the +latter part of that on _Criticism_ are taken direct from the chapter +headed _Ueber Schriftstellerei und Stil_; and that the remainder of +the essay on _Criticism_, with that of _Reputation_, is supplied by +the remarks _Ueber Urtheil, Kritik, Beifall und Ruhm_. The essays on +_The Study of Latin_, on _Men of Learning_, and on _Some Forms +of Literature_, are taken chiefly from the four sections _Ueber +Gelehrsamkeit und Gelehrte, Ueber Sprache und Worte, Ueber Lesen +und Bücher: Anhang_, and _Zur Metaphysik des Schönen_. The essay on +_Thinking for Oneself_ is a rendering of certain remarks under the +heading _Selbstdenken. Genius_ was a favorite subject of speculation +with Schopenhauer, and he often touches upon it in the course of his +works; always, however, to put forth the same theory in regard to it +as may be found in the concluding section of this volume. Though the +essay has little or nothing to do with literary method, the subject of +which it treats is the most needful element of success in literature; +and I have introduced it on that ground. It forms part of a chapter in +the _Parerga_ entitled _Den Intellekt überhaupt und in jeder Beziehung +betreffende Gedanken: Anhang verwandter Stellen._ + +It has also been part of my duty to invent a title for this volume; +and I am well aware that objection may be made to the one I have +chosen, on the ground that in common language it is unusual to speak +of literature as an art, and that to do so is unduly to narrow its +meaning and to leave out of sight its main function as the record of +thought. But there is no reason why the word _Literature_ should +not be employed in that double sense which is allowed to attach to +_Painting, Music, Sculpture_, as signifying either the objective +outcome of a certain mental activity, seeking to express itself in +outward form; or else the particular kind of mental activity in +question, and the methods it follows. And we do, in fact, use it in +this latter sense, when we say of a writer that he pursues literature +as a calling. If, then, literature can be taken to mean a process as +well as a result of mental activity, there can be no error in speaking +of it as Art. I use that term in its broad sense, as meaning skill in +the display of thought; or, more fully, a right use of the rules +of applying to the practical exhibition of thought, with whatever +material it may deal. In connection with literature, this is a +sense and an application of the term which have been sufficiently +established by the example of the great writers of antiquity. + +It may be asked, of course, whether the true thinker, who will always +form the soul of the true author, will not be so much occupied with +what he has to say, that it will appear to him a trivial thing to +spend great effort on embellishing the form in which he delivers it. +Literature, to be worthy of the name, must, it is true, deal with +noble matter--the riddle of our existence, the great facts of life, +the changing passions of the human heart, the discernment of some deep +moral truth. It is easy to lay too much stress upon the mere garment +of thought; to be too precise; to give to the arrangement of words an +attention that should rather be paid to the promotion of fresh ideas. +A writer who makes this mistake is like a fop who spends his little +mind in adorning his person. In short, it may be charged against the +view of literature which is taken in calling it an Art, that, instead +of making truth and insight the author's aim, it favors sciolism and a +fantastic and affected style. There is, no doubt, some justice in the +objection; nor have we in our own day, and especially amongst younger +men, any lack of writers who endeavor to win confidence, not by adding +to the stock of ideas in the world, but by despising the use of plain +language. Their faults are not new in the history of literature; and +it is a pleasing sign of Schopenhauer's insight that a merciless +exposure of them, as they existed half a century ago, is still quite +applicable to their modern form. + +And since these writers, who may, in the slang of the hour, be called +"impressionists" in literature, follow their own bad taste in the +manufacture of dainty phrases, devoid of all nerve, and generally +with some quite commonplace meaning, it is all the more necessary to +discriminate carefully between artifice and art. + +But although they may learn something from Schopenhauer's advice, it +is not chiefly to them that it is offered. It is to that great mass of +writers, whose business is to fill the columns of the newspapers and +the pages of the review, and to produce the ton of novels that appear +every year. Now that almost everyone who can hold a pen aspires to be +called an author, it is well to emphasize the fact that literature is +an art in some respects more important than any other. The problem of +this art is the discovery of those qualities of style and treatment +which entitled any work to be called good literature. + +It will be safe to warn the reader at the very outset that, if he +wishes to avoid being led astray, he should in his search for these +qualities turn to books that have stood the test of time. + +For such an amount of hasty writing is done in these days that it is +really difficult for anyone who reads much of it to avoid contracting +its faults, and thus gradually coming to terms of dangerous +familiarity with bad methods. This advice will be especially needful +if things that have little or no claim to be called literature at +all--the newspapers, the monthly magazine, and the last new tale of +intrigue or adventure--fill a large measure, if not the whole, of the +time given to reading. Nor are those who are sincerely anxious to have +the best thought in the best language quite free from danger if they +give too much attention to the contemporary authors, even though these +seem to think and write excellently. For one generation alone is +incompetent to decide upon the merits of any author whatever; and as +literature, like all art, is a thing of human invention, so it can be +pronounced good only if it obtains lasting admiration, by establishing +a permanent appeal to mankind's deepest feeling for truth and beauty. + +It is in this sense that Schopenhauer is perfectly right in holding +that neglect of the ancient classics, which are the best of all models +in the art of writing, will infallibly lead to a degeneration of +literature. + +And the method of discovering the best qualities of style, and of +forming a theory of writing, is not to follow some trick or mannerism +that happens to please for the moment, but to study the way in which +great authors have done their best work. + +It will be said that Schopenhauer tells us nothing we did not know +before. Perhaps so; as he himself says, the best things are seldom +new. But he puts the old truths in a fresh and forcible way; and no +one who knows anything of good literature will deny that these truths +are just now of very fit application. + +It was probably to meet a real want that, a year or two ago, an +ingenious person succeeded in drawing a great number of English and +American writers into a confession of their literary creed and the art +they adopted in authorship; and the interesting volume in which he +gave these confessions to the world contained some very good advice, +although most of it had been said before in different forms. More +recently a new departure, of very doubtful use, has taken place; and +two books have been issued, which aim, the one at being an author's +manual, the other at giving hints on essays and how to write them. + +A glance at these books will probably show that their authors have +still something to learn. + +Both of these ventures seem, unhappily, to be popular; and, although +they may claim a position next-door to that of the present volume I +beg to say that it has no connection with them whatever. Schopenhauer +does not attempt to teach the art of making bricks without straw. + +I wish to take this opportunity of tendering my thanks to a large +number of reviewers for the very gratifying reception given to +the earlier volumes of this series. And I have great pleasure in +expressing my obligations to my friend Mr. W.G. Collingwood, who has +looked over most of my proofs and often given me excellent advice in +my effort to turn Schopenhauer into readable English. + +T.B.S. + + + + +ON AUTHORSHIP. + + +There are, first of all, two kinds of authors: those who write for the +subject's sake, and those who write for writing's sake. While the +one have had thoughts or experiences which seem to them worth +communicating, the others want money; and so they write, for money. +Their thinking is part of the business of writing. They may be +recognized by the way in which they spin out their thoughts to the +greatest possible length; then, too, by the very nature of their +thoughts, which are only half-true, perverse, forced, vacillating; +again, by the aversion they generally show to saying anything straight +out, so that they may seem other than they are. Hence their writing +is deficient in clearness and definiteness, and it is not long before +they betray that their only object in writing at all is to cover +paper. This sometimes happens with the best authors; now and then, for +example, with Lessing in his _Dramaturgie_, and even in many of Jean +Paul's romances. As soon as the reader perceives this, let him throw +the book away; for time is precious. The truth is that when an author +begins to write for the sake of covering paper, he is cheating the +reader; because he writes under the pretext that he has something to +say. + +Writing for money and reservation of copyright are, at bottom, the +ruin of literature. No one writes anything that is worth writing, +unless he writes entirely for the sake of his subject. What an +inestimable boon it would be, if in every branch of literature there +were only a few books, but those excellent! This can never happen, as +long as money is to be made by writing. It seems as though the money +lay under a curse; for every author degenerates as soon as he begins +to put pen to paper in any way for the sake of gain. The best works +of the greatest men all come from the time when they had to write for +nothing or for very little. And here, too, that Spanish proverb holds +good, which declares that honor and money are not to be found in the +same purse--_honora y provecho no caben en un saco_. The reason why +Literature is in such a bad plight nowadays is simply and solely that +people write books to make money. A man who is in want sits down +and writes a book, and the public is stupid enough to buy it. The +secondary effect of this is the ruin of language. + +A great many bad writers make their whole living by that foolish +mania of the public for reading nothing but what has just been +printed,--journalists, I mean. Truly, a most appropriate name. In +plain language it is _journeymen, day-laborers_! + +Again, it may be said that there are three kinds of authors. First +come those who write without thinking. They write from a full memory, +from reminiscences; it may be, even straight out of other people's +books. This class is the most numerous. Then come those who do their +thinking whilst they are writing. They think in order to write; and +there is no lack of them. Last of all come those authors who think +before they begin to write. They are rare. + +Authors of the second class, who put off their thinking until they +come to write, are like a sportsman who goes forth at random and is +not likely to bring very much home. On the other hand, when an author +of the third or rare class writes, it is like a _battue_. Here the +game has been previously captured and shut up within a very small +space; from which it is afterwards let out, so many at a time, into +another space, also confined. The game cannot possibly escape the +sportsman; he has nothing to do but aim and fire--in other words, +write down his thoughts. This is a kind of sport from which a man has +something to show. + +But even though the number of those who really think seriously before +they begin to write is small, extremely few of them think about _the +subject itself_: the remainder think only about the books that have +been written on the subject, and what has been said by others. In +order to think at all, such writers need the more direct and powerful +stimulus of having other people's thoughts before them. These become +their immediate theme; and the result is that they are always under +their influence, and so never, in any real sense of the word, are +original. But the former are roused to thought by the subject itself, +to which their thinking is thus immediately directed. This is the only +class that produces writers of abiding fame. + +It must, of course, be understood that I am speaking here of writers +who treat of great subjects; not of writers on the art of making +brandy. + +Unless an author takes the material on which he writes out of his +own head, that is to say, from his own observation, he is not +worth reading. Book-manufacturers, compilers, the common run of +history-writers, and many others of the same class, take their +material immediately out of books; and the material goes straight +to their finger-tips without even paying freight or undergoing +examination as it passes through their heads, to say nothing of +elaboration or revision. How very learned many a man would be if he +knew everything that was in his own books! The consequence of this is +that these writers talk in such a loose and vague manner, that the +reader puzzles his brain in vain to understand what it is of which +they are really thinking. They are thinking of nothing. It may now and +then be the case that the book from which they copy has been composed +exactly in the same way: so that writing of this sort is like a +plaster cast of a cast; and in the end, the bare outline of the face, +and that, too, hardly recognizable, is all that is left to your +Antinous. Let compilations be read as seldom as possible. It is +difficult to avoid them altogether; since compilations also include +those text-books which contain in a small space the accumulated +knowledge of centuries. + +There is no greater mistake than to suppose that the last work is +always the more correct; that what is written later on is in every +case an improvement on what was written before; and that change always +means progress. Real thinkers, men of right judgment, people who are +in earnest with their subject,--these are all exceptions only. Vermin +is the rule everywhere in the world: it is always on the alert, taking +the mature opinions of the thinkers, and industriously seeking to +improve upon them (save the mark!) in its own peculiar way. + +If the reader wishes to study any subject, let him beware of rushing +to the newest books upon it, and confining his attention to them +alone, under the notion that science is always advancing, and that the +old books have been drawn upon in the writing of the new. They have +been drawn upon, it is true; but how? The writer of the new book often +does not understand the old books thoroughly, and yet he is unwilling +to take their exact words; so he bungles them, and says in his own bad +way that which has been said very much better and more clearly by the +old writers, who wrote from their own lively knowledge of the subject. +The new writer frequently omits the best things they say, their most +striking illustrations, their happiest remarks; because he does not +see their value or feel how pregnant they are. The only thing that +appeals to him is what is shallow and insipid. + +It often happens that an old and excellent book is ousted by new +and bad ones, which, written for money, appear with an air of great +pretension and much puffing on the part of friends. In science a man +tries to make his mark by bringing out something fresh. This often +means nothing more than that he attacks some received theory which +is quite correct, in order to make room for his own false notions. +Sometimes the effort is successful for a time; and then a return is +made to the old and true theory. These innovators are serious about +nothing but their own precious self: it is this that they want to put +forward, and the quick way of doing so, as they think, is to start a +paradox. Their sterile heads take naturally to the path of negation; +so they begin to deny truths that have long been admitted--the vital +power, for example, the sympathetic nervous system, _generatio +equivoca_, Bichat's distinction between the working of the passions +and the working of intelligence; or else they want us to return to +crass atomism, and the like. Hence it frequently happens that _the +course of science is retrogressive._ + +To this class of writers belong those translators who not only +translate their author but also correct and revise him; a proceeding +which always seems to me impertinent. To such writers I say: Write +books yourself which are worth translating, and leave other people's +works as they are! + +The reader should study, if he can, the real authors, the men who +have founded and discovered things; or, at any rate, those who are +recognized as the great masters in every branch of knowledge. Let him +buy second-hand books rather than read their contents in new ones. To +be sure, it is easy to add to any new discovery--_inventis aliquid +addere facile est_; and, therefore, the student, after well mastering +the rudiments of his subject, will have to make himself acquainted +with the more recent additions to the knowledge of it. And, in +general, the following rule may be laid down here as elsewhere: if a +thing is new, it is seldom good; because if it is good, it is only for +a short time new. + +What the address is to a letter, the title should be to a book; in +other words, its main object should be to bring the book to those +amongst the public who will take an interest in its contents. It +should, therefore, be expressive; and since by its very nature it must +be short, it should be concise, laconic, pregnant, and if possible +give the contents in one word. A prolix title is bad; and so is one +that says nothing, or is obscure and ambiguous, or even, it may be, +false and misleading; this last may possibly involve the book in the +same fate as overtakes a wrongly addressed letter. The worst titles +of all are those which have been stolen, those, I mean, which have +already been borne by other books; for they are in the first place a +plagiarism, and secondly the most convincing proof of a total lack of +originality in the author. A man who has not enough originality to +invent a new title for his book, will be still less able to give it +new contents. Akin to these stolen titles are those which have been +imitated, that is to say, stolen to the extent of one half; for +instance, long after I had produced my treatise _On Will in Nature_, +Oersted wrote a book entitled _On Mind in Nature_. + +A book can never be anything more than the impress of its author's +thoughts; and the value of these will lie either in _the matter about +which he has thought_, or in the _form_ which his thoughts take, in +other words, _what it is that he has thought about it._ + +The matter of books is most various; and various also are the several +excellences attaching to books on the score of their matter. By matter +I mean everything that comes within the domain of actual experience; +that is to say, the facts of history and the facts of nature, taken in +and by themselves and in their widest sense. Here it is the _thing_ +treated of, which gives its peculiar character to the book; so that a +book can be important, whoever it was that wrote it. + +But in regard to the form, the peculiar character of a book depends +upon the _person_ who wrote it. It may treat of matters which are +accessible to everyone and well known; but it is the way in which they +are treated, what it is that is thought about them, that gives the +book its value; and this comes from its author. If, then, from this +point of view a book is excellent and beyond comparison, so is its +author. It follows that if a writer is worth reading, his merit rises +just in proportion as he owes little to his matter; therefore, the +better known and the more hackneyed this is, the greater he will be. +The three great tragedians of Greece, for example, all worked at the +same subject-matter. + +So when a book is celebrated, care should be taken to note whether it +is so on account of its matter or its form; and a distinction should +be made accordingly. + +Books of great importance on account of their matter may proceed from +very ordinary and shallow people, by the fact that they alone have had +access to this matter; books, for instance, which describe journeys in +distant lands, rare natural phenomena, or experiments; or historical +occurrences of which the writers were witnesses, or in connection +with which they have spent much time and trouble in the research and +special study of original documents. + +On the other hand, where the matter is accessible to everyone or very +well known, everything will depend upon the form; and what it is +that is thought about the matter will give the book all the value +it possesses. Here only a really distinguished man will be able to +produce anything worth reading; for the others will think nothing but +what anyone else can think. They will just produce an impress of +their own minds; but this is a print of which everyone possesses the +original. + +However, the public is very much more concerned to have matter than +form; and for this very reason it is deficient in any high degree of +culture. The public shows its preference in this respect in the most +laughable way when it comes to deal with poetry; for there it devotes +much trouble to the task of tracking out the actual events or personal +circumstances in the life of the poet which served as the occasion of +his various works; nay, these events and circumstances come in the end +to be of greater importance than the works themselves; and rather than +read Goethe himself, people prefer to read what has been written about +him, and to study the legend of Faust more industriously than the +drama of that name. And when Bürger declared that "people would write +learned disquisitions on the question, Who Leonora really was," we +find this literally fulfilled in Goethe's case; for we now possess a +great many learned disquisitions on Faust and the legend attaching to +him. Study of this kind is, and remains, devoted to the material of +the drama alone. To give such preference to the matter over the form, +is as though a man were to take a fine Etruscan vase, not to admire +its shape or coloring, but to make a chemical analysis of the clay and +paint of which it is composed. + +The attempt to produce an effect by means of the material employed--an +attempt which panders to this evil tendency of the public--is most to +be condemned in branches of literature where any merit there may be +lies expressly in the form; I mean, in poetical work. For all that, it +is not rare to find bad dramatists trying to fill the house by means +of the matter about which they write. For example, authors of this +kind do not shrink from putting on the stage any man who is in any way +celebrated, no matter whether his life may have been entirely devoid +of dramatic incident; and sometimes, even, they do not wait until the +persons immediately connected with him are dead. + +The distinction between matter and form to which I am here alluding +also holds good of conversation. The chief qualities which enable a +man to converse well are intelligence, discernment, wit and vivacity: +these supply the form of conversation. But it is not long before +attention has to be paid to the matter of which he speaks; in other +words, the subjects about which it is possible to converse with +him--his knowledge. If this is very small, his conversation will +not be worth anything, unless he possesses the above-named formal +qualities in a very exceptional degree; for he will have nothing to +talk about but those facts of life and nature which everybody knows. +It will be just the opposite, however, if a man is deficient in these +formal qualities, but has an amount of knowledge which lends value to +what he says. This value will then depend entirely upon the matter of +his conversation; for, as the Spanish proverb has it, _mas sabe el +necio en su casa, que el sabio en la agena_--a fool knows more of his +own business than a wise man does of others. + + + + +ON STYLE. + + +Style is the physiognomy of the mind, and a safer index to character +than the face. To imitate another man's style is like wearing a mask, +which, be it never so fine, is not long in arousing disgust and +abhorrence, because it is lifeless; so that even the ugliest living +face is better. Hence those who write in Latin and copy the manner of +ancient authors, may be said to speak through a mask; the reader, it +is true, hears what they say, but he cannot observe their physiognomy +too; he cannot see their _style_. With the Latin works of writers +who think for themselves, the case is different, and their style is +visible; writers, I mean, who have not condescended to any sort +of imitation, such as Scotus Erigena, Petrarch, Bacon, Descartes, +Spinoza, and many others. An affectation in style is like making +grimaces. Further, the language in which a man writes is the +physiognomy of the nation to which he belongs; and here there are many +hard and fast differences, beginning from the language of the Greeks, +down to that of the Caribbean islanders. + +To form a provincial estimate of the value of a writer's productions, +it is not directly necessary to know the subject on which he has +thought, or what it is that he has said about it; that would imply +a perusal of all his works. It will be enough, in the main, to know +_how_ he has thought. This, which means the essential temper or +general quality of his mind, may be precisely determined by his style. +A man's style shows the _formal_ nature of all his thoughts--the +formal nature which can never change, be the subject or the character +of his thoughts what it may: it is, as it were, the dough out of which +all the contents of his mind are kneaded. When Eulenspiegel was asked +how long it would take to walk to the next village, he gave the +seemingly incongruous answer: _Walk_. He wanted to find out by the +man's pace the distance he would cover in a given time. In the same +way, when I have read a few pages of an author, I know fairly well how +far he can bring me. + +Every mediocre writer tries to mask his own natural style, because in +his heart he knows the truth of what I am saying. He is thus forced, +at the outset, to give up any attempt at being frank or naïve--a +privilege which is thereby reserved for superior minds, conscious of +their own worth, and therefore sure of themselves. What I mean is that +these everyday writers are absolutely unable to resolve upon writing +just as they think; because they have a notion that, were they to do +so, their work might possibly look very childish and simple. For +all that, it would not be without its value. If they would only go +honestly to work, and say, quite simply, the things they have really +thought, and just as they have thought them, these writers would be +readable and, within their own proper sphere, even instructive. + +But instead of that, they try to make the reader believe that their +thoughts have gone much further and deeper than is really the case. +They say what they have to say in long sentences that wind about in a +forced and unnatural way; they coin new words and write prolix periods +which go round and round the thought and wrap it up in a sort of +disguise. They tremble between the two separate aims of communicating +what they want to say and of concealing it. Their object is to dress +it up so that it may look learned or deep, in order to give people +the impression that there is very much more in it than for the moment +meets the eye. They either jot down their thoughts bit by bit, in +short, ambiguous, and paradoxical sentences, which apparently mean +much more than they say,--of this kind of writing Schelling's +treatises on natural philosophy are a splendid instance; or else +they hold forth with a deluge of words and the most intolerable +diffusiveness, as though no end of fuss were necessary to make the +reader understand the deep meaning of their sentences, whereas it is +some quite simple if not actually trivial idea,--examples of which +may be found in plenty in the popular works of Fichte, and the +philosophical manuals of a hundred other miserable dunces not worth +mentioning; or, again, they try to write in some particular style +which they have been pleased to take up and think very grand, a style, +for example, _par excellence_ profound and scientific, where the +reader is tormented to death by the narcotic effect of longspun +periods without a single idea in them,--such as are furnished in +a special measure by those most impudent of all mortals, the +Hegelians[1]; or it may be that it is an intellectual style they have +striven after, where it seems as though their object were to go crazy +altogether; and so on in many other cases. All these endeavors to put +off the _nascetur ridiculus mus_--to avoid showing the funny little +creature that is born after such mighty throes--often make it +difficult to know what it is that they really mean. And then, too, +they write down words, nay, even whole sentences, without attaching +any meaning to them themselves, but in the hope that someone else will +get sense out of them. + +[Footnote 1: In their Hegel-gazette, commonly known as _Jahrbücher der +wissenschaftlichen Literatur_.] + +And what is at the bottom of all this? Nothing but the untiring effort +to sell words for thoughts; a mode of merchandise that is always +trying to make fresh openings for itself, and by means of odd +expressions, turns of phrase, and combinations of every sort, whether +new or used in a new sense, to produce the appearence of intellect in +order to make up for the very painfully felt lack of it. + +It is amusing to see how writers with this object in view will attempt +first one mannerism and then another, as though they were putting +on the mask of intellect! This mask may possibly deceive the +inexperienced for a while, until it is seen to be a dead thing, with +no life in it at all; it is then laughed at and exchanged for another. +Such an author will at one moment write in a dithyrambic vein, as +though he were tipsy; at another, nay, on the very next page, he will +be pompous, severe, profoundly learned and prolix, stumbling on in the +most cumbrous way and chopping up everything very small; like the late +Christian Wolf, only in a modern dress. Longest of all lasts the mask +of unintelligibility; but this is only in Germany, whither it was +introduced by Fichte, perfected by Schelling, and carried to its +highest pitch in Hegel--always with the best results. + +And yet nothing is easier than to write so that no one can understand; +just as contrarily, nothing is more difficult than to express deep +things in such a way that every one must necessarily grasp them. All +the arts and tricks I have been mentioning are rendered superfluous if +the author really has any brains; for that allows him to show himself +as he is, and confirms to all time Horace's maxim that good sense is +the source and origin of good style: + + _Scribendi recte sapere est et principium et fons_. + +But those authors I have named are like certain workers in metal, who +try a hundred different compounds to take the place of gold--the only +metal which can never have any substitute. Rather than do that, there +is nothing against which a writer should be more upon his guard than +the manifest endeavor to exhibit more intellect than he really has; +because this makes the reader suspect that he possesses very little; +since it is always the case that if a man affects anything, whatever +it may be, it is just there that he is deficient. + +That is why it is praise to an author to say that he is _naïve_; it +means that he need not shrink from showing himself as he is. Generally +speaking, to be _naïve_ is to be attractive; while lack of naturalness +is everywhere repulsive. As a matter of fact we find that every +really great writer tries to express his thoughts as purely, clearly, +definitely and shortly as possible. Simplicity has always been held to +be a mark of truth; it is also a mark of genius. Style receives its +beauty from the thought it expresses; but with sham-thinkers the +thoughts are supposed to be fine because of the style. Style is +nothing but the mere silhouette of thought; and an obscure or bad +style means a dull or confused brain. + +The first rule, then, for a good style is that _the author should +have something to say_; nay, this is in itself almost all that is +necessary. Ah, how much it means! The neglect of this rule is a +fundamental trait in the philosophical writing, and, in fact, in +all the reflective literature, of my country, more especially since +Fichte. These writers all let it be seen that they want to appear as +though they had something to say; whereas they have nothing to say. +Writing of this kind was brought in by the pseudo-philosophers at the +Universities, and now it is current everywhere, even among the first +literary notabilities of the age. It is the mother of that strained +and vague style, where there seem to be two or even more meanings in +the sentence; also of that prolix and cumbrous manner of expression, +called _le stile empesé_; again, of that mere waste of words which +consists in pouring them out like a flood; finally, of that trick +of concealing the direst poverty of thought under a farrago of +never-ending chatter, which clacks away like a windmill and quite +stupefies one--stuff which a man may read for hours together without +getting hold of a single clearly expressed and definite idea.[1] +However, people are easy-going, and they have formed the habit of +reading page upon page of all sorts of such verbiage, without having +any particular idea of what the author really means. They fancy it is +all as it should be, and fail to discover that he is writing simply +for writing's sake. + +[Footnote 1: Select examples of the art of writing in this style are +to be found almost _passim_ in the _Jahrbücher_ published at Halle, +afterwards called the _Deutschen Jahrbücher_.] + +On the other hand, a good author, fertile in ideas, soon wins his +reader's confidence that, when he writes, he has really and truly +_something to say_; and this gives the intelligent reader patience to +follow him with attention. Such an author, just because he really has +something to say, will never fail to express himself in the simplest +and most straightforward manner; because his object is to awake the +very same thought in the reader that he has in himself, and no other. +So he will be able to affirm with Boileau that his thoughts are +everywhere open to the light of the day, and that his verse always +says something, whether it says it well or ill: + + _Ma pensée au grand jour partout s'offre et s'expose, + Et mon vers, bien ou mal, dit toujours quelque chose_: + +while of the writers previously described it may be asserted, in the +words of the same poet, that they talk much and never say anything at +all--_quiparlant beaucoup ne disent jamais rien_. + +Another characteristic of such writers is that they always avoid a +positive assertion wherever they can possibly do so, in order to leave +a loophole for escape in case of need. Hence they never fail to choose +the more _abstract_ way of expressing themselves; whereas intelligent +people use the more _concrete_; because the latter brings things more +within the range of actual demonstration, which is the source of all +evidence. + +There are many examples proving this preference for abstract +expression; and a particularly ridiculous one is afforded by the use +of the verb _to condition_ in the sense of _to cause_ or _to produce_. +People say _to condition something_ instead of _to cause it_, because +being abstract and indefinite it says less; it affirms that _A_ cannot +happen without _B_, instead of that _A_ is caused by _B_. A back door +is always left open; and this suits people whose secret knowledge of +their own incapacity inspires them with a perpetual terror of all +positive assertion; while with other people it is merely the effect of +that tendency by which everything that is stupid in literature or bad +in life is immediately imitated--a fact proved in either case by the +rapid way in which it spreads. The Englishman uses his own judgment in +what he writes as well as in what he does; but there is no nation of +which this eulogy is less true than of the Germans. The consequence +of this state of things is that the word _cause_ has of late almost +disappeared from the language of literature, and people talk only +of _condition_. The fact is worth mentioning because it is so +characteristically ridiculous. + +The very fact that these commonplace authors are never more than +half-conscious when they write, would be enough to account for their +dullness of mind and the tedious things they produce. I say they are +only half-conscious, because they really do not themselves understand +the meaning of the words they use: they take words ready-made and +commit them to memory. Hence when they write, it is not so much words +as whole phrases that they put together--_phrases banales_. This is +the explanation of that palpable lack of clearly-expressed thought in +what they say. The fact is that they do not possess the die to give +this stamp to their writing; clear thought of their own is just +what they have not got. And what do we find in its place?--a vague, +enigmatical intermixture of words, current phrases, hackneyed terms, +and fashionable expressions. The result is that the foggy stuff they +write is like a page printed with very old type. + +On the other hand, an intelligent author really speaks to us when he +writes, and that is why he is able to rouse our interest and commune +with us. It is the intelligent author alone who puts individual words +together with a full consciousness of their meaning, and chooses them +with deliberate design. Consequently, his discourse stands to that of +the writer described above, much as a picture that has been really +painted, to one that has been produced by the use of a stencil. In the +one case, every word, every touch of the brush, has a special purpose; +in the other, all is done mechanically. The same distinction may be +observed in music. For just as Lichtenberg says that Garrick's soul +seemed to be in every muscle in his body, so it is the omnipresence of +intellect that always and everywhere characterizes the work of genius. + +I have alluded to the tediousness which marks the works of these +writers; and in this connection it is to be observed, generally, that +tediousness is of two kinds; objective and subjective. A work is +objectively tedious when it contains the defect in question; that is +to say, when its author has no perfectly clear thought or knowledge to +communicate. For if a man has any clear thought or knowledge in him, +his aim will be to communicate it, and he will direct his energies +to this end; so that the ideas he furnishes are everywhere clearly +expressed. The result is that he is neither diffuse, nor unmeaning, +nor confused, and consequently not tedious. In such a case, even +though the author is at bottom in error, the error is at any rate +clearly worked out and well thought over, so that it is at least +formally correct; and thus some value always attaches to the work. But +for the same reason a work that is objectively tedious is at all times +devoid of any value whatever. + +The other kind of tediousness is only relative: a reader may find a +work dull because he has no interest in the question treated of in it, +and this means that his intellect is restricted. The best work may, +therefore, be tedious subjectively, tedious, I mean, to this or +that particular person; just as, contrarity, the worst work may be +subjectively engrossing to this or that particular person who has an +interest in the question treated of, or in the writer of the book. + +It would generally serve writers in good stead if they would see that, +whilst a man should, if possible, think like a great genius, he should +talk the same language as everyone else. Authors should use common +words to say uncommon things. But they do just the opposite. We find +them trying to wrap up trivial ideas in grand words, and to clothe +their very ordinary thoughts in the most extraordinary phrases, the +most far-fetched, unnatural, and out-of-the-way expressions. Their +sentences perpetually stalk about on stilts. They take so much +pleasure in bombast, and write in such a high-flown, bloated, +affected, hyperbolical and acrobatic style that their prototype is +Ancient Pistol, whom his friend Falstaff once impatiently told to say +what he had to say _like a man of this world._[1] + +[Footnote 1: _King Henry IV_., Part II. Act v. Sc. 3.] + +There is no expression in any other language exactly answering to the +French _stile empesé_; but the thing itself exists all the more often. +When associated with affectation, it is in literature what assumption +of dignity, grand airs and primeness are in society; and equally +intolerable. Dullness of mind is fond of donning this dress; just as +an ordinary life it is stupid people who like being demure and formal. + +An author who writes in the prim style resembles a man who dresses +himself up in order to avoid being confounded or put on the same level +with a mob--a risk never run by the _gentleman_, even in his worst +clothes. The plebeian may be known by a certain showiness of attire +and a wish to have everything spick and span; and in the same way, the +commonplace person is betrayed by his style. + +Nevertheless, an author follows a false aim if he tries to write +exactly as he speaks. There is no style of writing but should have a +certain trace of kinship with the _epigraphic_ or _monumental_ style, +which is, indeed, the ancestor of all styles. For an author to write +as he speaks is just as reprehensible as the opposite fault, to speak +as he writes; for this gives a pedantic effect to what he says, and at +the same time makes him hardly intelligible. + +An obscure and vague manner of expression is always and everywhere a +very bad sign. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred it comes from +vagueness of thought; and this again almost always means that there is +something radically wrong and incongruous about the thought itself--in +a word, that it is incorrect. When a right thought springs up in the +mind, it strives after expression and is not long in reaching it; for +clear thought easily finds words to fit it. If a man is capable of +thinking anything at all, he is also always able to express it +in clear, intelligible, and unambiguous terms. Those writers who +construct difficult, obscure, involved, and equivocal sentences, most +certainly do not know aright what it is that they want to say: they +have only a dull consciousness of it, which is still in the stage of +struggle to shape itself as thought. Often, indeed, their desire is to +conceal from themselves and others that they really have nothing at +all to say. They wish to appear to know what they do not know, to +think what they do not think, to say what they do not say. If a +man has some real communication to make, which will he choose--an +indistinct or a clear way of expressing himself? Even Quintilian +remarks that things which are said by a highly educated man are often +easier to understand and much clearer; and that the less educated +a man is, the more obscurely he will write--_plerumque accidit ut +faciliora sint ad intelligendum et lucidiora multo que a doctissimo +quoque dicuntur_.... _Erit ergo etiam obscurior quo quisque deterior_. + +An author should avoid enigmatical phrases; he should know whether he +wants to say a thing or does not want to say it. It is this indecision +of style that makes so many writers insipid. The only case that offers +an exception to this rule arises when it is necessary to make a remark +that is in some way improper. + +As exaggeration generally produces an effect the opposite of +that aimed at; so words, it is true, serve to make thought +intelligible--but only up to a certain point. If words are heaped up +beyond it, the thought becomes more and more obscure again. To find +where the point lies is the problem of style, and the business of the +critical faculty; for a word too much always defeats its purpose. This +is what Voltaire means when he says that _the adjective is the enemy +of the substantive_. But, as we have seen, many people try to conceal +their poverty of thought under a flood of verbiage. + +Accordingly let all redundancy be avoided, all stringing together of +remarks which have no meaning and are not worth perusal. A writer must +make a sparing use of the reader's time, patience and attention; so as +to lead him to believe that his author writes what is worth careful +study, and will reward the time spent upon it. It is always better to +omit something good than to add that which is not worth saying at all. +This is the right application of Hesiod's maxim, [Greek: pleon aemisu +pantos][1]--the half is more than the whole. _Le secret pour +être ennuyeux, c'est de tout dire_. Therefore, if possible, the +quintessence only! mere leading thoughts! nothing that the reader +would think for himself. To use many words to communicate few thoughts +is everywhere the unmistakable sign of mediocrity. To gather much +thought into few words stamps the man of genius. + +[Footnote 1: _Works and Days_, 40.] + +Truth is most beautiful undraped; and the impression it makes is deep +in proportion as its expression has been simple. This is so, partly +because it then takes unobstructed possession of the hearer's whole +soul, and leaves him no by-thought to distract him; partly, also, +because he feels that here he is not being corrupted or cheated by the +arts of rhetoric, but that all the effect of what is said comes from +the thing itself. For instance, what declamation on the vanity of +human existence could ever be more telling than the words of Job? _Man +that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live and is full of +misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it +were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay_. + +For the same reason Goethe's naïve poetry is incomparably greater than +Schiller's rhetoric. It is this, again, that makes many popular songs +so affecting. As in architecture an excess of decoration is to be +avoided, so in the art of literature a writer must guard against all +rhetorical finery, all useless amplification, and all superfluity of +expression in general; in a word, he must strive after _chastity_ of +style. Every word that can be spared is hurtful if it remains. The law +of simplicity and naïveté holds good of all fine art; for it is quite +possible to be at once simple and sublime. + +True brevity of expression consists in everywhere saying only what +is worth saying, and in avoiding tedious detail about things which +everyone can supply for himself. This involves correct discrimination +between what it necessary and what is superfluous. A writer should +never be brief at the expense of being clear, to say nothing of being +grammatical. It shows lamentable want of judgment to weaken the +expression of a thought, or to stunt the meaning of a period for the +sake of using a few words less. But this is the precise endeavor +of that false brevity nowadays so much in vogue, which proceeds by +leaving out useful words and even by sacrificing grammar and logic. It +is not only that such writers spare a word by making a single verb or +adjective do duty for several different periods, so that the reader, +as it were, has to grope his way through them in the dark; they also +practice, in many other respects, an unseemingly economy of speech, +in the effort to effect what they foolishly take to be brevity of +expression and conciseness of style. By omitting something that might +have thrown a light over the whole sentence, they turn it into a +conundrum, which the reader tries to solve by going over it again and +again.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note._--In the original, Schopenhauer here +enters upon a lengthy examination of certain common errors in the +writing and speaking of German. His remarks are addressed to his own +countrymen, and would lose all point, even if they were intelligible, +in an English translation. But for those who practice their German by +conversing or corresponding with Germans, let me recommend what he +there says as a useful corrective to a slipshod style, such as can +easily be contracted if it is assumed that the natives of a country +always know their own language perfectly.] + +It is wealth and weight of thought, and nothing else, that gives +brevity to style, and makes it concise and pregnant. If a writer's +ideas are important, luminous, and generally worth communicating, they +will necessarily furnish matter and substance enough to fill out the +periods which give them expression, and make these in all their parts +both grammatically and verbally complete; and so much will this be +the case that no one will ever find them hollow, empty or feeble. The +diction will everywhere be brief and pregnant, and allow the thought +to find intelligible and easy expression, and even unfold and move +about with grace. + +Therefore instead of contracting his words and forms of speech, let a +writer enlarge his thoughts. If a man has been thinned by illness and +finds his clothes too big, it is not by cutting them down, but by +recovering his usual bodily condition, that he ought to make them fit +him again. + +Let me here mention an error of style, very prevalent nowadays, +and, in the degraded state of literature and the neglect of ancient +languages, always on the increase; I mean _subjectivity_. A writer +commits this error when he thinks it enough if he himself knows what +he means and wants to say, and takes no thought for the reader, who is +left to get at the bottom of it as best he can. This is as though the +author were holding a monologue; whereas, it ought to be a dialogue; +and a dialogue, too, in which he must express himself all the more +clearly inasmuch as he cannot hear the questions of his interlocutor. + +Style should for this very reason never be subjective, but +_objective_; and it will not be objective unless the words are so set +down that they directly force the reader to think precisely the same +thing as the author thought when he wrote them. Nor will this result +be obtained unless the author has always been careful to remember that +thought so far follows the law of gravity that it travels from head to +paper much more easily than from paper to head; so that he must assist +the latter passage by every means in his power. If he does this, a +writer's words will have a purely objective effect, like that of a +finished picture in oils; whilst the subjective style is not much more +certain in its working than spots on the wall, which look like figures +only to one whose phantasy has been accidentally aroused by them; +other people see nothing but spots and blurs. The difference in +question applies to literary method as a whole; but it is often +established also in particular instances. For example, in a recently +published work I found the following sentence: _I have not written in +order to increase the number of existing books._ This means just the +opposite of what the writer wanted to say, and is nonsense as well. + +He who writes carelessly confesses thereby at the very outset that he +does not attach much importance to his own thoughts. For it is only +where a man is convinced of the truth and importance of his thoughts, +that he feels the enthusiasm necessary for an untiring and assiduous +effort to find the clearest, finest, and strongest expression for +them,--just as for sacred relics or priceless works of art there are +provided silvern or golden receptacles. It was this feeling that led +ancient authors, whose thoughts, expressed in their own words, have +lived thousands of years, and therefore bear the honored title of +_classics_, always to write with care. Plato, indeed, is said to +have written the introduction to his _Republic_ seven times over in +different ways.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note._--It is a fact worth mentioning that +the first twelve words of the _Republic_ are placed in the exact order +which would be natural in English.] + +As neglect of dress betrays want of respect for the company a man +meets, so a hasty, careless, bad style shows an outrageous lack of +regard for the reader, who then rightly punishes it by refusing to +read the book. It is especially amusing to see reviewers criticising +the works of others in their own most careless style--the style of +a hireling. It is as though a judge were to come into court in +dressing-gown and slippers! If I see a man badly and dirtily dressed, +I feel some hesitation, at first, in entering into conversation +with him: and when, on taking up a book, I am struck at once by the +negligence of its style, I put it away. + +Good writing should be governed by the rule that a man can think only +one thing clearly at a time; and, therefore, that he should not be +expected to think two or even more things in one and the same moment. +But this is what is done when a writer breaks up his principal +sentence into little pieces, for the purpose of pushing into the gaps +thus made two or three other thoughts by way of parenthesis; thereby +unnecessarily and wantonly confusing the reader. And here it is again +my own countrymen who are chiefly in fault. That German lends itself +to this way of writing, makes the thing possible, but does not justify +it. No prose reads more easily or pleasantly than French, because, as +a rule, it is free from the error in question. The Frenchman strings +his thoughts together, as far as he can, in the most logical and +natural order, and so lays them before his reader one after the other +for convenient deliberation, so that every one of them may receive +undivided attention. The German, on the other hand, weaves them +together into a sentence which he twists and crosses, and crosses and +twists again; because he wants to say six things all at once, instead +of advancing them one by one. His aim should be to attract and hold +the reader's attention; but, above and beyond neglect of this aim, he +demands from the reader that he shall set the above mentioned rule at +defiance, and think three or four different thoughts at one and the +same time; or since that is impossible, that his thoughts shall +succeed each other as quickly as the vibrations of a cord. In this way +an author lays the foundation of his _stile empesé_, which is then +carried to perfection by the use of high-flown, pompous expressions to +communicate the simplest things, and other artifices of the same kind. + +In those long sentences rich in involved parenthesis, like a box of +boxes one within another, and padded out like roast geese stuffed with +apples, it is really the _memory_ that is chiefly taxed; while it is +the understanding and the judgment which should be called into play, +instead of having their activity thereby actually hindered and +weakened.[1] This kind of sentence furnishes the reader with mere +half-phrases, which he is then called upon to collect carefully and +store up in his memory, as though they were the pieces of a torn +letter, afterwards to be completed and made sense of by the other +halves to which they respectively belong. He is expected to go on +reading for a little without exercising any thought, nay, exerting +only his memory, in the hope that, when he comes to the end of the +sentence, he may see its meaning and so receive something to think +about; and he is thus given a great deal to learn by heart before +obtaining anything to understand. This is manifestly wrong and an +abuse of the reader's patience. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note._--This sentence in the original is +obviously meant to illustrate the fault of which it speaks. It does +so by the use of a construction very common in German, but happily +unknown in English; where, however, the fault itself exists none the +less, though in different form.] + +The ordinary writer has an unmistakable preference for this +style, because it causes the reader to spend time and trouble in +understanding that which he would have understood in a moment without +it; and this makes it look as though the writer had more depth and +intelligence than the reader. This is, indeed, one of those artifices +referred to above, by means of which mediocre authors unconsciously, +and as it were by instinct, strive to conceal their poverty of thought +and give an appearance of the opposite. Their ingenuity in this +respect is really astounding. + +It is manifestly against all sound reason to put one thought obliquely +on top of another, as though both together formed a wooden cross. But +this is what is done where a writer interrupts what he has begun +to say, for the purpose of inserting some quite alien matter; thus +depositing with the reader a meaningless half-sentence, and bidding +him keep it until the completion comes. It is much as though a man +were to treat his guests by handing them an empty plate, in the hope +of something appearing upon it. And commas used for a similar purpose +belong to the same family as notes at the foot of the page and +parenthesis in the middle of the text; nay, all three differ only in +degree. If Demosthenes and Cicero occasionally inserted words by ways +of parenthesis, they would have done better to have refrained. + +But this style of writing becomes the height of absurdity when the +parenthesis are not even fitted into the frame of the sentence, but +wedged in so as directly to shatter it. If, for instance, it is an +impertinent thing to interrupt another person when he is speaking, it +is no less impertinent to interrupt oneself. But all bad, careless, +and hasty authors, who scribble with the bread actually before their +eyes, use this style of writing six times on a page, and rejoice in +it. It consists in--it is advisable to give rule and example together, +wherever it is possible--breaking up one phrase in order to glue in +another. Nor is it merely out of laziness that they write thus. They +do it out of stupidity; they think there is a charming _légèreté_ +about it; that it gives life to what they say. No doubt there are a +few rare cases where such a form of sentence may be pardonable. + +Few write in the way in which an architect builds; who, before he +sets to work, sketches out his plan, and thinks it over down to its +smallest details. Nay, most people write only as though they were +playing dominoes; and, as in this game, the pieces are arranged half +by design, half by chance, so it is with the sequence and connection +of their sentences. They only have an idea of what the general shape +of their work will be, and of the aim they set before themselves. +Many are ignorant even of this, and write as the coral-insects build; +period joins to period, and the Lord only knows what the author means. + +Life now-a-days goes at a gallop; and the way in which this affects +literature is to make it extremely superficial and slovenly. + + + + +ON THE STUDY OF LATIN. + + +The abolition of Latin as the universal language of learned men, +together with the rise of that provincialism which attaches to +national literatures, has been a real misfortune for the cause of +knowledge in Europe. For it was chiefly through the medium of the +Latin language that a learned public existed in Europe at all--a +public to which every book as it came out directly appealed. The +number of minds in the whole of Europe that are capable of thinking +and judging is small, as it is; but when the audience is broken up and +severed by differences of language, the good these minds can do is +very much weakened. This is a great disadvantage; but a second and +worse one will follow, namely, that the ancient languages will cease +to be taught at all. The neglect of them is rapidly gaining ground +both in France and Germany. + +If it should really come to this, then farewell, humanity! farewell, +noble taste and high thinking! The age of barbarism will return, in +spite of railways, telegraphs and balloons. We shall thus in the end +lose one more advantage possessed by all our ancestors. For Latin is +not only a key to the knowledge of Roman antiquity; its also directly +opens up to us the Middle Age in every country in Europe, and modern +times as well, down to about the year 1750. Erigena, for example, in +the ninth century, John of Salisbury in the twelfth, Raimond Lully in +the thirteenth, with a hundred others, speak straight to us in the +very language that they naturally adopted in thinking of learned +matters. + +They thus come quite close to us even at this distance of time: we are +in direct contact with them, and really come to know them. How would +it have been if every one of them spoke in the language that was +peculiar to his time and country? We should not understand even the +half of what they said. A real intellectual contact with them would be +impossible. We should see them like shadows on the farthest horizon, +or, may be, through the translator's telescope. + +It was with an eye to the advantage of writing in Latin that Bacon, as +he himself expressly states, proceeded to translate his _Essays_ into +that language, under the title _Sermones fideles_; at which work +Hobbes assisted him.[1] + +[Footnote 1: Cf. Thomae Hobbes vita: _Carolopoli apud Eleutherium +Anglicum_, 1681, p. 22.] + +Here let me observe, by way of parenthesis, that when patriotism tries +to urge its claims in the domain of knowledge, it commits an offence +which should not be tolerated. For in those purely human questions +which interest all men alike, where truth, insight, beauty, should be +of sole account, what can be more impertinent than to let preference +for the nation to which a man's precious self happens to belong, +affect the balance of judgment, and thus supply a reason for doing +violence to truth and being unjust to the great minds of a foreign +country in order to make much of the smaller minds of one's own! +Still, there are writers in every nation in Europe, who afford +examples of this vulgar feeling. It is this which led Yriarte to +caricature them in the thirty-third of his charming _Literary +Fables_.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note._--Tomas de Yriarte (1750-91), a +Spanish poet, and keeper of archives in the War Office at Madrid. His +two best known works are a didactic poem, entitled _La Musica_, and +the _Fables_ here quoted, which satirize the peculiar foibles of +literary men. They have been translated into many languages; into +English by Rockliffe (3rd edition, 1866). The fable in question +describes how, at a picnic of the animals, a discussion arose as to +which of them carried off the palm for superiority of talent. The +praises of the ant, the dog, the bee, and the parrot were sung in +turn; but at last the ostrich stood up and declared for the dromedary. +Whereupon the dromedary stood up and declared for the ostrich. No one +could discover the reason for this mutual compliment. Was it because +both were such uncouth beasts, or had such long necks, or were neither +of them particularly clever or beautiful? or was it because each had a +hump? _No_! said the fox, _you are all wrong. Don't you see they are +both foreigners_? Cannot the same be said of many men of learning?] + +In learning a language, the chief difficulty consists in making +acquaintance with every idea which it expresses, even though it should +use words for which there is no exact equivalent in the mother tongue; +and this often happens. In learning a new language a man has, as it +were, to mark out in his mind the boundaries of quite new spheres of +ideas, with the result that spheres of ideas arise where none were +before. Thus he not only learns words, he gains ideas too. + +This is nowhere so much the case as in learning ancient languages, for +the differences they present in their mode of expression as compared +with modern languages is greater than can be found amongst modern +languages as compared with one another. This is shown by the fact that +in translating into Latin, recourse must be had to quite other turns +of phrase than are used in the original. The thought that is to be +translated has to be melted down and recast; in other words, it must +be analyzed and then recomposed. It is just this process which makes +the study of the ancient languages contribute so much to the education +of the mind. + +It follows from this that a man's thought varies according to the +language in which he speaks. His ideas undergo a fresh modification, +a different shading, as it were, in the study of every new language. +Hence an acquaintance with many languages is not only of much indirect +advantage, but it is also a direct means of mental culture, in that it +corrects and matures ideas by giving prominence to their many-sided +nature and their different varieties of meaning, as also that it +increases dexterity of thought; for in the process of learning many +languages, ideas become more and more independent of words. The +ancient languages effect this to a greater degree than the modern, in +virtue of the difference to which I have alluded. + +From what I have said, it is obvious that to imitate the style of the +ancients in their own language, which is so very much superior to ours +in point of grammatical perfection, is the best way of preparing for a +skillful and finished expression of thought in the mother-tongue. Nay, +if a man wants to be a great writer, he must not omit to do this: just +as, in the case of sculpture or painting, the student must educate +himself by copying the great masterpieces of the past, before +proceeding to original work. It is only by learning to write Latin +that a man comes to treat diction as an art. The material in this art +is language, which must therefore be handled with the greatest care +and delicacy. + +The result of such study is that a writer will pay keen attention to +the meaning and value of words, their order and connection, their +grammatical forms. He will learn how to weigh them with precision, and +so become an expert in the use of that precious instrument which is +meant not only to express valuable thought, but to preserve it as +well. Further, he will learn to feel respect for the language in +which he writes and thus be saved from any attempt to remodel it by +arbitrary and capricious treatment. Without this schooling, a man's +writing may easily degenerate into mere chatter. + +To be entirely ignorant of the Latin language is like being in a fine +country on a misty day. The horizon is extremely limited. Nothing can +be seen clearly except that which is quite close; a few steps beyond, +everything is buried in obscurity. But the Latinist has a wide view, +embracing modern times, the Middle Age and Antiquity; and his mental +horizon is still further enlarged if he studies Greek or even +Sanscrit. + +If a man knows no Latin, he belongs to the vulgar, even though he be +a great virtuoso on the electrical machine and have the base of +hydrofluoric acid in his crucible. + +There is no better recreation for the mind than the study of the +ancient classics. Take any one of them into your hand, be it only +for half an hour, and you will feel yourself refreshed, relieved, +purified, ennobled, strengthened; just as though you had quenched your +thirst at some pure spring. Is this the effect of the old language +and its perfect expression, or is it the greatness of the minds whose +works remain unharmed and unweakened by the lapse of a thousand years? +Perhaps both together. But this I know. If the threatened calamity +should ever come, and the ancient languages cease to be taught, a new +literature will arise, of such barbarous, shallow and worthless stuff +as never was seen before. + + + + +ON MEN OF LEARNING. + + +When one sees the number and variety of institutions which exist +for the purposes of education, and the vast throng of scholars and +masters, one might fancy the human race to be very much concerned +about truth and wisdom. But here, too, appearances are deceptive. The +masters teach in order to gain money, and strive, not after wisdom, +but the outward show and reputation of it; and the scholars learn, not +for the sake of knowledge and insight, but to be able to chatter and +give themselves airs. Every thirty years a new race comes into the +world--a youngster that knows nothing about anything, and after +summarily devouring in all haste the results of human knowledge as +they have been accumulated for thousands of years, aspires to be +thought cleverer than the whole of the past. For this purpose he goes +to the University, and takes to reading books--new books, as being of +his own age and standing. Everything he reads must be briefly put, +must be new! he is new himself. Then he falls to and criticises. And +here I am not taking the slightest account of studies pursued for the +sole object of making a living. + +Students, and learned persons of all sorts and every age, aim as +a rule at acquiring _information_ rather than insight. They pique +themselves upon knowing about everything--stones, plants, battles, +experiments, and all the books in existence. It never occurs to them +that information is only a means of insight, and in itself of little +or no value; that it is his way of _thinking_ that makes a man a +philosopher. When I hear of these portents of learning and their +imposing erudition, I sometimes say to myself: Ah, how little they +must have had to think about, to have been able to read so much! +And when I actually find it reported of the elder Pliny that he was +continually reading or being read to, at table, on a journey, or in +his bath, the question forces itself upon my mind, whether the man +was so very lacking in thought of his own that he had to have +alien thought incessantly instilled into him; as though he were a +consumptive patient taking jellies to keep himself alive. And neither +his undiscerning credulity nor his inexpressibly repulsive and barely +intelligible style--which seems like of a man taking notes, and very +economical of paper--is of a kind to give me a high opinion of his +power of independent thought. + +We have seen that much reading and learning is prejudicial to thinking +for oneself; and, in the same way, through much writing and teaching, +a man loses the habit of being quite clear, and therefore thorough, in +regard to the things he knows and understands; simply because he has +left himself no time to acquire clearness or thoroughness. And so, +when clear knowledge fails him in his utterances, he is forced to fill +out the gaps with words and phrases. It is this, and not the dryness +of the subject-matter, that makes most books such tedious reading. +There is a saying that a good cook can make a palatable dish even +out of an old shoe; and a good writer can make the dryest things +interesting. + +With by far the largest number of learned men, knowledge is a means, +not an end. That is why they will never achieve any great work; +because, to do that, he who pursues knowledge must pursue it as an +end, and treat everything else, even existence itself, as only a +means. For everything which a man fails to pursue for its own sake is +but half-pursued; and true excellence, no matter in what sphere, can +be attained only where the work has been produced for its own sake +alone, and not as a means to further ends. + +And so, too, no one will ever succeed in doing anything really great +and original in the way of thought, who does not seek to acquire +knowledge for himself, and, making this the immediate object of his +studies, decline to trouble himself about the knowledge of others. But +the average man of learning studies for the purpose of being able to +teach and write. His head is like a stomach and intestines which let +the food pass through them undigested. That is just why his teaching +and writing is of so little use. For it is not upon undigested refuse +that people can be nourished, but solely upon the milk which secretes +from the very blood itself. + +The wig is the appropriate symbol of the man of learning, pure and +simple. It adorns the head with a copious quantity of false hair, in +lack of one's own: just as erudition means endowing it with a great +mass of alien thought. This, to be sure, does not clothe the head so +well and naturally, nor is it so generally useful, nor so suited for +all purposes, nor so firmly rooted; nor when alien thought is used up, +can it be immediately replaced by more from the same source, as is +the case with that which springs from soil of one's own. So we find +Sterne, in his _Tristram Shandy_, boldly asserting that _an ounce of a +man's own wit is worth a ton of other people's_. + +And in fact the most profound erudition is no more akin to genius than +a collection of dried plants in like Nature, with its constant flow +of new life, ever fresh, ever young, ever changing. There are no two +things more opposed than the childish naïveté of an ancient author and +the learning of his commentator. + +_Dilettanti, dilettanti!_ This is the slighting way in which those who +pursue any branch of art or learning for the love and enjoyment of the +thing,--_per il loro diletto_, are spoken of by those who have taken +it up for the sake of gain, attracted solely by the prospect of money. +This contempt of theirs comes from the base belief that no man will +seriously devote himself to a subject, unless he is spurred on to it +by want, hunger, or else some form of greed. The public is of the same +way of thinking; and hence its general respect for professionals and +its distrust of _dilettanti_. But the truth is that the _dilettante_ +treats his subject as an end, whereas the professional, pure and +simple, treats it merely as a means. He alone will be really in +earnest about a matter, who has a direct interest therein, takes to it +because he likes it, and pursues it _con amore_. It is these, and not +hirelings, that have always done the greatest work. + +In the republic of letters it is as in other republics; favor is shown +to the plain man--he who goes his way in silence and does not set up +to be cleverer than others. But the abnormal man is looked upon as +threatening danger; people band together against him, and have, oh! +such a majority on their side. + +The condition of this republic is much like that of a small State in +America, where every man is intent only upon his own advantage, and +seeks reputation and power for himself, quite heedless of the general +weal, which then goes to ruin. So it is in the republic of letters; +it is himself, and himself alone, that a man puts forward, because he +wants to gain fame. The only thing in which all agree is in trying to +keep down a really eminent man, if he should chance to show himself, +as one who would be a common peril. From this it is easy to see how it +fares with knowledge as a whole. + +Between professors and independent men of learning there has always +been from of old a certain antagonism, which may perhaps be likened +to that existing been dogs and wolves. In virtue of their position, +professors enjoy great facilities for becoming known to their +contemporaries. Contrarily, independent men of learning enjoy, by +their position, great facilities for becoming known to posterity; to +which it is necessary that, amongst other and much rarer gifts, a man +should have a certain leisure and freedom. As mankind takes a long +time in finding out on whom to bestow its attention, they may both +work together side by side. + +He who holds a professorship may be said to receive his food in the +stall; and this is the best way with ruminant animals. But he who +finds his food for himself at the hands of Nature is better off in the +open field. + +Of human knowledge as a whole and in every branch of it, by far the +largest part exists nowhere but on paper,--I mean, in books, that +paper memory of mankind. Only a small part of it is at any given +period really active in the minds of particular persons. This is due, +in the main, to the brevity and uncertainty of life; but it also comes +from the fact that men are lazy and bent on pleasure. Every generation +attains, on its hasty passage through existence, just so much of human +knowledge as it needs, and then soon disappears. Most men of learning +are very superficial. Then follows a new generation, full of hope, but +ignorant, and with everything to learn from the beginning. It seizes, +in its turn, just so much as it can grasp or find useful on its brief +journey and then too goes its way. How badly it would fare with human +knowledge if it were not for the art of writing and printing! This it +is that makes libraries the only sure and lasting memory of the human +race, for its individual members have all of them but a very limited +and imperfect one. Hence most men of learning as are loth to have +their knowledge examined as merchants to lay bare their books. + +Human knowledge extends on all sides farther than the eye can reach; +and of that which would be generally worth knowing, no one man can +possess even the thousandth part. + +All branches of learning have thus been so much enlarged that he +who would "do something" has to pursue no more than one subject and +disregard all others. In his own subject he will then, it is true, be +superior to the vulgar; but in all else he will belong to it. If we +add to this that neglect of the ancient languages, which is now-a-days +on the increase and is doing away with all general education in the +humanities--for a mere smattering of Latin and Greek is of no use--we +shall come to have men of learning who outside their own subject +display an ignorance truly bovine. + +An exclusive specialist of this kind stands on a par with a workman in +a factory, whose whole life is spent in making one particular kind of +screw, or catch, or handle, for some particular instrument or machine, +in which, indeed, he attains incredible dexterity. The specialist may +also be likened to a man who lives in his own house and never leaves +it. There he is perfectly familiar with everything, every little step, +corner, or board; much as Quasimodo in Victor Hugo's _Nôtre Dame_ +knows the cathedral; but outside it, all is strange and unknown. + +For true culture in the humanities it is absolutely necessary that +a man should be many-sided and take large views; and for a man of +learning in the higher sense of the word, an extensive acquaintance +with history is needful. He, however, who wishes to be a complete +philosopher, must gather into his head the remotest ends of human +knowledge: for where else could they ever come together? + +It is precisely minds of the first order that will never be +specialists. For their very nature is to make the whole of existence +their problem; and this is a subject upon which they will every one of +them in some form provide mankind with a new revelation. For he alone +can deserve the name of genius who takes the All, the Essential, the +Universal, for the theme of his achievements; not he who spends his +life in explaining some special relation of things one to another. + + + + +ON THINKING FOR ONESELF. + + +A library may be very large; but if it is in disorder, it is not so +useful as one that is small but well arranged. In the same way, a man +may have a great mass of knowledge, but if he has not worked it up +by thinking it over for himself, it has much less value than a far +smaller amount which he has thoroughly pondered. For it is only when a +man looks at his knowledge from all sides, and combines the things he +knows by comparing truth with truth, that he obtains a complete hold +over it and gets it into his power. A man cannot turn over anything in +his mind unless he knows it; he should, therefore, learn something; +but it is only when he has turned it over that he can be said to know +it. + +Reading and learning are things that anyone can do of his own free +will; but not so _thinking_. Thinking must be kindled, like a fire +by a draught; it must be sustained by some interest in the matter +in hand. This interest may be of purely objective kind, or merely +subjective. The latter comes into play only in things that concern +us personally. Objective interest is confined to heads that think by +nature; to whom thinking is as natural as breathing; and they are very +rare. This is why most men of learning show so little of it. + +It is incredible what a different effect is produced upon the mind +by thinking for oneself, as compared with reading. It carries on and +intensifies that original difference in the nature of two minds which +leads the one to think and the other to read. What I mean is that +reading forces alien thoughts upon the mind--thoughts which are as +foreign to the drift and temper in which it may be for the moment, as +the seal is to the wax on which it stamps its imprint. The mind is +thus entirely under compulsion from without; it is driven to think +this or that, though for the moment it may not have the slightest +impulse or inclination to do so. + +But when a man thinks for himself, he follows the impulse of his +own mind, which is determined for him at the time, either by his +environment or some particular recollection. The visible world of +a man's surroundings does not, as reading does, impress a _single_ +definite thought upon his mind, but merely gives the matter and +occasion which lead him to think what is appropriate to his nature and +present temper. So it is, that much reading deprives the mind of all +elasticity; it is like keeping a spring continually under pressure. +The safest way of having no thoughts of one's own is to take up a book +every moment one has nothing else to do. It is this practice which +explains why erudition makes most men more stupid and silly than they +are by nature, and prevents their writings obtaining any measure of +success. They remain, in Pope's words: + + _For ever reading, never to be read!_[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Dunciad_, iii, 194.] + +Men of learning are those who have done their reading in the pages of +a book. Thinkers and men of genius are those who have gone straight +to the book of Nature; it is they who have enlightened the world and +carried humanity further on its way. If a man's thoughts are to have +truth and life in them, they must, after all, be his own fundamental +thoughts; for these are the only ones that he can fully and wholly +understand. To read another's thoughts is like taking the leavings of +a meal to which we have not been invited, or putting on the clothes +which some unknown visitor has laid aside. The thought we read +is related to the thought which springs up in ourselves, as the +fossil-impress of some prehistoric plant to a plant as it buds forth +in spring-time. + +Reading is nothing more than a substitute for thought of one's own. It +means putting the mind into leading-strings. The multitude of books +serves only to show how many false paths there are, and how widely +astray a man may wander if he follows any of them. But he who +is guided by his genius, he who thinks for himself, who thinks +spontaneously and exactly, possesses the only compass by which he can +steer aright. A man should read only when his own thoughts stagnate +at their source, which will happen often enough even with the best of +minds. On the other hand, to take up a book for the purpose of scaring +away one's own original thoughts is sin against the Holy Spirit. It is +like running away from Nature to look at a museum of dried plants or +gaze at a landscape in copperplate. + +A man may have discovered some portion of truth or wisdom, after +spending a great deal of time and trouble in thinking it over for +himself and adding thought to thought; and it may sometimes happen +that he could have found it all ready to hand in a book and spared +himself the trouble. But even so, it is a hundred times more valuable +if he has acquired it by thinking it out for himself. For it is only +when we gain our knowledge in this way that it enters as an integral +part, a living member, into the whole system of our thought; that it +stands in complete and firm relation with what we know; that it is +understood with all that underlies it and follows from it; that it +wears the color, the precise shade, the distinguishing mark, of our +own way of thinking; that it comes exactly at the right time, just +as we felt the necessity for it; that it stands fast and cannot be +forgotten. This is the perfect application, nay, the interpretation, +of Goethe's advice to earn our inheritance for ourselves so that we +may really possess it: + + _Was due ererbt von deinen Välern hast, + Erwirb es, um es zu besitzen._[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Faust_, I. 329.] + +The man who thinks for himself, forms his own opinions and learns the +authorities for them only later on, when they serve but to strengthen +his belief in them and in himself. But the book-philosopher starts +from the authorities. He reads other people's books, collects their +opinions, and so forms a whole for himself, which resembles an +automaton made up of anything but flesh and blood. Contrarily, he who +thinks for himself creates a work like a living man as made by Nature. +For the work comes into being as a man does; the thinking mind is +impregnated from without, and it then forms and bears its child. + +Truth that has been merely learned is like an artificial limb, a false +tooth, a waxen nose; at best, like a nose made out of another's flesh; +it adheres to us only because it is put on. But truth acquired by +thinking of our own is like a natural limb; it alone really belongs +to us. This is the fundamental difference between the thinker and the +mere man of learning. The intellectual attainments of a man who thinks +for himself resemble a fine painting, where the light and shade are +correct, the tone sustained, the color perfectly harmonized; it is +true to life. On the other hand, the intellectual attainments of the +mere man of learning are like a large palette, full of all sorts of +colors, which at most are systematically arranged, but devoid of +harmony, connection and meaning. + +Reading is thinking with some one else's head instead of one's own. To +think with one's own head is always to aim at developing a coherent +whole--a system, even though it be not a strictly complete one; and +nothing hinders this so much as too strong a current of others' +thoughts, such as comes of continual reading. These thoughts, +springing every one of them from different minds, belonging to +different systems, and tinged with different colors, never of +themselves flow together into an intellectual whole; they never form a +unity of knowledge, or insight, or conviction; but, rather, fill +the head with a Babylonian confusion of tongues. The mind that is +over-loaded with alien thought is thus deprived of all clear insight, +and is well-nigh disorganized. This is a state of things observable +in many men of learning; and it makes them inferior in sound sense, +correct judgment and practical tact, to many illiterate persons, +who, after obtaining a little knowledge from without, by means of +experience, intercourse with others, and a small amount of reading, +have always subordinated it to, and embodied it with, their own +thought. + +The really scientific _thinker_ does the same thing as these +illiterate persons, but on a larger scale. Although he has need +of much knowledge, and so must read a great deal, his mind is +nevertheless strong enough to master it all, to assimilate and +incorporate it with the system of his thoughts, and so to make it +fit in with the organic unity of his insight, which, though vast, is +always growing. And in the process, his own thought, like the bass in +an organ, always dominates everything and is never drowned by other +tones, as happens with minds which are full of mere antiquarian lore; +where shreds of music, as it were, in every key, mingle confusedly, +and no fundamental note is heard at all. + +Those who have spent their lives in reading, and taken their wisdom +from books, are like people who have obtained precise information +about a country from the descriptions of many travellers. Such +people can tell a great deal about it; but, after all, they have no +connected, clear, and profound knowledge of its real condition. But +those who have spent their lives in thinking, resemble the travellers +themselves; they alone really know what they are talking about; they +are acquainted with the actual state of affairs, and are quite at home +in the subject. + +The thinker stands in the same relation to the ordinary +book-philosopher as an eye-witness does to the historian; he speaks +from direct knowledge of his own. That is why all those who think +for themselves come, at bottom, to much the same conclusion. The +differences they present are due to their different points of view; +and when these do not affect the matter, they all speak alike. They +merely express the result of their own objective perception of things. +There are many passages in my works which I have given to the public +only after some hesitation, because of their paradoxical nature; and +afterwards I have experienced a pleasant surprise in finding the same +opinion recorded in the works of great men who lived long ago. + +The book-philosopher merely reports what one person has said and +another meant, or the objections raised by a third, and so on. He +compares different opinions, ponders, criticises, and tries to get at +the truth of the matter; herein on a par with the critical historian. +For instance, he will set out to inquire whether Leibnitz was not for +some time a follower of Spinoza, and questions of a like nature. The +curious student of such matters may find conspicuous examples of what +I mean in Herbart's _Analytical Elucidation of Morality and Natural +Right_, and in the same author's _Letters on Freedom_. Surprise may +be felt that a man of the kind should put himself to so much trouble; +for, on the face of it, if he would only examine the matter for +himself, he would speedily attain his object by the exercise of a +little thought. But there is a small difficulty in the way. It does +not depend upon his own will. A man can always sit down and read, but +not--think. It is with thoughts as with men; they cannot always be +summoned at pleasure; we must wait for them to come. Thought about a +subject must appear of itself, by a happy and harmonious combination +of external stimulus with mental temper and attention; and it is just +that which never seems to come to these people. + +This truth may be illustrated by what happens in the case of matters +affecting our own personal interest. When it is necessary to come to +some resolution in a matter of that kind, we cannot well sit down at +any given moment and think over the merits of the case and make up our +mind; for, if we try to do so, we often find ourselves unable, at that +particular moment, to keep our mind fixed upon the subject; it wanders +off to other things. Aversion to the matter in question is sometimes +to blame for this. In such a case we should not use force, but wait +for the proper frame of mind to come of itself. It often comes +unexpectedly and returns again and again; and the variety of temper in +which we approach it at different moments puts the matter always in a +fresh light. It is this long process which is understood by the term +_a ripe resolution._ For the work of coming to a resolution must be +distributed; and in the process much that is overlooked at one moment +occurs to us at another; and the repugnance vanishes when we find, as +we usually do, on a closer inspection, that things are not so bad as +they seemed. + +This rule applies to the life of the intellect as well as to matters +of practice. A man must wait for the right moment. Not even the +greatest mind is capable of thinking for itself at all times. Hence a +great mind does well to spend its leisure in reading, which, as I have +said, is a substitute for thought; it brings stuff to the mind by +letting another person do the thinking; although that is always done +in a manner not our own. Therefore, a man should not read too much, in +order that his mind may not become accustomed to the substitute and +thereby forget the reality; that it may not form the habit of walking +in well-worn paths; nor by following an alien course of thought grow a +stranger to its own. Least of all should a man quite withdraw his gaze +from the real world for the mere sake of reading; as the impulse and +the temper which prompt to thought of one's own come far oftener from +the world of reality than from the world of books. The real life that +a man sees before him is the natural subject of thought; and in its +strength as the primary element of existence, it can more easily than +anything else rouse and influence the thinking mind. + +After these considerations, it will not be matter for surprise that +a man who thinks for himself can easily be distinguished from the +book-philosopher by the very way in which he talks, by his marked +earnestness, and the originality, directness, and personal conviction +that stamp all his thoughts and expressions. The book-philosopher, on +the other hand, lets it be seen that everything he has is second-hand; +that his ideas are like the number and trash of an old furniture-shop, +collected together from all quarters. Mentally, he is dull and +pointless--a copy of a copy. His literary style is made up of +conventional, nay, vulgar phrases, and terms that happen to be +current; in this respect much like a small State where all the money +that circulates is foreign, because it has no coinage of its own. + +Mere experience can as little as reading supply the place of thought. +It stands to thinking in the same relation in which eating stands +to digestion and assimilation. When experience boasts that to its +discoveries alone is due the advancement of the human race, it is as +though the mouth were to claim the whole credit of maintaining the +body in health. + +The works of all truly capable minds are distinguished by a character +of _decision_ and _definiteness_, which means they are clear and free +from obscurity. A truly capable mind always knows definitely and +clearly what it is that it wants to express, whether its medium is +prose, verse, or music. Other minds are not decisive and not definite; +and by this they may be known for what they are. + +The characteristic sign of a mind of the highest order is that it +always judges at first hand. Everything it advances is the result of +thinking for itself; and this is everywhere evident by the way in +which it gives its thoughts utterance. Such a mind is like a Prince. +In the realm of intellect its authority is imperial, whereas the +authority of minds of a lower order is delegated only; as may be seen +in their style, which has no independent stamp of its own. + +Every one who really thinks for himself is so far like a monarch. +His position is undelegated and supreme. His judgments, like royal +decrees, spring from his own sovereign power and proceed directly from +himself. He acknowledges authority as little as a monarch admits a +command; he subscribes to nothing but what he has himself authorized. +The multitude of common minds, laboring under all sorts of current +opinions, authorities, prejudices, is like the people, which silently +obeys the law and accepts orders from above. + +Those who are so zealous and eager to settle debated questions by +citing authorities, are really glad when they are able to put the +understanding and the insight of others into the field in place of +their own, which are wanting. Their number is legion. For, as +Seneca says, there is no man but prefers belief to the exercise +of judgment--_unusquisque mavult credere quam judicare_. In their +controversies such people make a promiscuous use of the weapon of +authority, and strike out at one another with it. If any one chances +to become involved in such a contest, he will do well not to try +reason and argument as a mode of defence; for against a weapon of that +kind these people are like Siegfrieds, with a skin of horn, and dipped +in the flood of incapacity for thinking and judging. They will meet +his attack by bringing up their authorities as a way of abashing +him--_argumentum ad verecundiam_, and then cry out that they have won +the battle. + +In the real world, be it never so fair, favorable and pleasant, +we always live subject to the law of gravity which we have to +be constantly overcoming. But in the world of intellect we are +disembodied spirits, held in bondage to no such law, and free from +penury and distress. Thus it is that there exists no happiness on +earth like that which, at the auspicious moment, a fine and fruitful +mind finds in itself. + +The presence of a thought is like the presence of a woman we love. We +fancy we shall never forget the thought nor become indifferent to the +dear one. But out of sight, out of mind! The finest thought runs the +risk of being irrevocably forgotten if we do not write it down, and +the darling of being deserted if we do not marry her. + +There are plenty of thoughts which are valuable to the man who thinks +them; but only few of them which have enough strength to produce +repercussive or reflect action--I mean, to win the reader's sympathy +after they have been put on paper. + +But still it must not be forgotten that a true value attaches only +to what a man has thought in the first instance _for his own case_. +Thinkers may be classed according as they think chiefly for their own +case or for that of others. The former are the genuine independent +thinkers; they really think and are really independent; they are the +true _philosophers_; they alone are in earnest. The pleasure and the +happiness of their existence consists in thinking. The others are the +_sophists_; they want to seem that which they are not, and seek their +happiness in what they hope to get from the world. They are in earnest +about nothing else. To which of these two classes a man belongs may be +seen by his whole style and manner. Lichtenberg is an example for the +former class; Herder, there can be no doubt, belongs to the second. + +When one considers how vast and how close to us is _the problem of +existence_--this equivocal, tortured, fleeting, dream-like existence +of ours--so vast and so close that a man no sooner discovers it than +it overshadows and obscures all other problems and aims; and when +one sees how all men, with few and rare exceptions, have no clear +consciousness of the problem, nay, seem to be quite unaware of its +presence, but busy themselves with everything rather than with this, +and live on, taking no thought but for the passing day and the hardly +longer span of their own personal future, either expressly discarding +the problem or else over-ready to come to terms with it by adopting +some system of popular metaphysics and letting it satisfy them; when, +I say, one takes all this to heart, one may come to the opinion that +man may be said to be _a thinking being_ only in a very remote +sense, and henceforth feel no special surprise at any trait of human +thoughtlessness or folly; but know, rather, that the normal man's +intellectual range of vision does indeed extend beyond that of the +brute, whose whole existence is, as it were, a continual present, +with no consciousness of the past or the future, but not such an +immeasurable distance as is generally supposed. + +This is, in fact, corroborated by the way in which most men converse; +where their thoughts are found to be chopped up fine, like chaff, so +that for them to spin out a discourse of any length is impossible. + +If this world were peopled by really thinking beings, it could not be +that noise of every kind would be allowed such generous limits, as is +the case with the most horrible and at the same time aimless form of +it.[1] If Nature had meant man to think, she would not have given him +ears; or, at any rate, she would have furnished them with airtight +flaps, such as are the enviable possession of the bat. But, in truth, +man is a poor animal like the rest, and his powers are meant only to +maintain him in the struggle for existence; so he must need keep his +ears always open, to announce of themselves, by night as by day, the +approach of the pursuer. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Schopenhauer refers to the cracking +of whips. See the Essay _On Noise_ in _Studies in Pessimism_.] + +In the drama, which is the most perfect reflection of human existence, +there are three stages in the presentation of the subject, with a +corresponding variety in the design and scope of the piece. + +At the first, which is also the most common, stage, the drama is +never anything more than merely _interesting_. The persons gain our +attention by following their own aims, which resemble ours; the action +advances by means of intrigue and the play of character and incident; +while wit and raillery season the whole. + +At the second stage, the drama becomes _sentimental_. Sympathy is +roused with the hero and, indirectly, with ourselves. The action takes +a pathetic turn; but the end is peaceful and satisfactory. + +The climax is reached with the third stage, which is the most +difficult. There the drama aims at being _tragic_. We are brought face +to face with great suffering and the storm and stress of existence; +and the outcome of it is to show the vanity of all human effort. +Deeply moved, we are either directly prompted to disengage our will +from the struggle of life, or else a chord is struck in us which +echoes a similar feeling. + +The beginning, it is said, is always difficult. In the drama it is +just the contrary; for these the difficulty always lies in the end. +This is proved by countless plays which promise very well for +the first act or two, and then become muddled, stick or +falter--notoriously so in the fourth act--and finally conclude in a +way that is either forced or unsatisfactory or else long foreseen by +every one. Sometimes, too, the end is positively revolting, as in +Lessing's _Emilia Galotti_, which sends the spectators home in a +temper. + +This difficulty in regard to the end of a play arises partly because +it is everywhere easier to get things into a tangle than to get them +out again; partly also because at the beginning we give the author +_carte blanche_ to do as he likes, but, at the end, make certain +definite demands upon him. Thus we ask for a conclusion that shall be +either quite happy or else quite tragic; whereas human affairs do not +easily take so decided a turn; and then we expect that it shall be +natural, fit and proper, unlabored, and at the same time foreseen by +no one. + +These remarks are also applicable to an epic and to a novel; but the +more compact nature of the drama makes the difficulty plainer by +increasing it. + +_E nihilo nihil fit_. That nothing can come from nothing is a maxim +true in fine art as elsewhere. In composing an historical picture, a +good artist will use living men as a model, and take the groundwork +of the faces from life; and then proceed to idealize them in point of +beauty or expression. A similar method, I fancy, is adopted by good +novelists. In drawing a character they take a general outline of it +from some real person of their acquaintance, and then idealize and +complete it to suit their purpose. + +A novel will be of a high and noble order, the more it represents +of inner, and the less it represents of outer, life; and the ratio +between the two will supply a means of judging any novel, of whatever +kind, from _Tristram Shandy_ down to the crudest and most sensational +tale of knight or robber. _Tristram Shandy_ has, indeed, as good as +no action at all; and there is not much in _La Nouvelle Heloïse_ and +_Wilhelm Meister_. Even _Don Quixote_ has relatively little; and what +there is, very unimportant, and introduced merely for the sake of fun. +And these four are the best of all existing novels. + +Consider, further, the wonderful romances of Jean Paul, and how much +inner life is shown on the narrowest basis of actual event. Even in +Walter Scott's novels there is a great preponderance of inner over +outer life, and incident is never brought in except for the purpose of +giving play to thought and emotion; whereas, in bad novels, incident +is there on its own account. Skill consists in setting the inner life +in motion with the smallest possible array of circumstance; for it is +this inner life that really excites our interest. + +The business of the novelist is not to relate great events, but to +make small ones interesting. + +History, which I like to think of as the contrary of poetry [Greek: +istoroumenon--pepoiaemenon], is for time what geography is for space; +and it is no more to be called a science, in any strict sense of the +word, than is geography, because it does not deal with universal +truths, but only with particular details. History has always been the +favorite study of those who wish to learn something, without having to +face the effort demanded by any branch of real knowledge, which taxes +the intelligence. In our time history is a favorite pursuit; as +witness the numerous books upon the subject which appear every year. + +If the reader cannot help thinking, with me, that history is merely +the constant recurrence of similar things, just as in a kaleidoscope +the same bits of glass are represented, but in different combinations, +he will not be able to share all this lively interest; nor, however, +will he censure it. But there is a ridiculous and absurd claim, made +by many people, to regard history as a part of philosophy, nay, as +philosophy itself; they imagine that history can take its place. + +The preference shown for history by the greater public in all ages may +be illustrated by the kind of conversation which is so much in vogue +everywhere in society. It generally consists in one person relating +something and then another person relating something else; so that in +this way everyone is sure of receiving attention. Both here and in the +case of history it is plain that the mind is occupied with particular +details. But as in science, so also in every worthy conversation, the +mind rises to the consideration of some general truth. + +This objection does not, however, deprive history of its value. Human +life is short and fleeting, and many millions of individuals share in +it, who are swallowed by that monster of oblivion which is waiting for +them with ever-open jaws. It is thus a very thankworthy task to try to +rescue something--the memory of interesting and important events, or +the leading features and personages of some epoch--from the general +shipwreck of the world. + +From another point of view, we might look upon history as the sequel +to zoology; for while with all other animals it is enough to observe +the species, with man individuals, and therefore individual events +have to be studied; because every man possesses a character as an +individual. And since individuals and events are without number or +end, an essential imperfection attaches to history. In the study of +it, all that a man learns never contributes to lessen that which he +has still to learn. With any real science, a perfection of knowledge +is, at any rate, conceivable. + +When we gain access to the histories of China and of India, the +endlessness of the subject-matter will reveal to us the defects in the +study, and force our historians to see that the object of science is +to recognize the many in the one, to perceive the rules in any given +example, and to apply to the life of nations a knowledge of mankind; +not to go on counting up facts _ad infinitum_. + +There are two kinds of history; the history of politics and the +history of literature and art. The one is the history of the will; +the other, that of the intellect. The first is a tale of woe, even of +terror: it is a record of agony, struggle, fraud, and horrible murder +_en masse_. The second is everywhere pleasing and serene, like the +intellect when left to itself, even though its path be one of error. +Its chief branch is the history of philosophy. This is, in fact, its +fundamental bass, and the notes of it are heard even in the other +kind of history. These deep tones guide the formation of opinion, and +opinion rules the world. Hence philosophy, rightly understood, is a +material force of the most powerful kind, though very slow in its +working. The philosophy of a period is thus the fundamental bass of +its history. + +The NEWSPAPER, is the second-hand in the clock of history; and it is +not only made of baser metal than those which point to the minute and +the hour, but it seldom goes right. + +The so-called leading article is the chorus to the drama of passing +events. + +Exaggeration of every kind is as essential to journalism as it is to +the dramatic art; for the object of journalism is to make events go +as far as possible. Thus it is that all journalists are, in the very +nature of their calling, alarmists; and this is their way of giving +interest to what they write. Herein they are like little dogs; if +anything stirs, they immediately set up a shrill bark. + +Therefore, let us carefully regulate the attention to be paid to this +trumpet of danger, so that it may not disturb our digestion. Let us +recognize that a newspaper is at best but a magnifying-glass, and very +often merely a shadow on the wall. + +The _pen_ is to thought what the stick is to walking; but you walk +most easily when you have no stick, and you think with the greatest +perfection when you have no pen in your hand. It is only when a man +begins to be old that he likes to use a stick and is glad to take up +his pen. + +When an _hypothesis_ has once come to birth in the mind, or gained a +footing there, it leads a life so far comparable with the life of an +organism, as that it assimilates matter from the outer world only when +it is like in kind with it and beneficial; and when, contrarily, such +matter is not like in kind but hurtful, the hypothesis, equally with +the organism, throws it off, or, if forced to take it, gets rid of it +again entire. + +To gain _immortality_ an author must possess so many excellences that +while it will not be easy to find anyone to understand and appreciate +them all, there will be men in every age who are able to recognize +and value some of them. In this way the credit of his book will be +maintained throughout the long course of centuries, in spite of the +fact that human interests are always changing. + +An author like this, who has a claim to the continuance of his life +even with posterity, can only be a man who, over the wide earth, will +seek his like in vain, and offer a palpable contrast with everyone +else in virtue of his unmistakable distinction. Nay, more: were he, +like the wandering Jew, to live through several generations, he would +still remain in the same superior position. If this were not so, it +would be difficult to see why his thoughts should not perish like +those of other men. + +_Metaphors_ and _similes_ are of great value, in so far as they +explain an unknown relation by a known one. Even the more detailed +simile which grows into a parable or an allegory, is nothing more than +the exhibition of some relation in its simplest, most visible and +palpable form. The growth of ideas rests, at bottom, upon similes; +because ideas arise by a process of combining the similarities and +neglecting the differences between things. Further, intelligence, in +the strict sense of the word, ultimately consists in a seizing of +relations; and a clear and pure grasp of relations is all the more +often attained when the comparison is made between cases that lie wide +apart from one another, and between things of quite different nature. +As long as a relation is known to me as existing only in a single +case, I have but an _individual_ idea of it--in other words, only an +intuitive knowledge of it; but as soon as I see the same relation in +two different cases, I have a _general_ idea of its whole nature, and +this is a deeper and more perfect knowledge. + +Since, then, similes and metaphors are such a powerful engine of +knowledge, it is a sign of great intelligence in a writer if his +similes are unusual and, at the same time, to the point. Aristotle +also observes that by far the most important thing to a writer is +to have this power of metaphor; for it is a gift which cannot be +acquired, and it is a mark of genius. + +As regards _reading_, to require that a man shall retain everything he +has ever read, is like asking him to carry about with him all he has +ever eaten. The one kind of food has given him bodily, and the other +mental, nourishment; and it is through these two means that he has +grown to be what he is. The body assimilates only that which is like +it; and so a man retains in his mind only that which interests him, in +other words, that which suits his system of thought or his purposes in +life. + +If a man wants to read good books, he must make a point of avoiding +bad ones; for life is short, and time and energy limited. + +_Repetitio est mater studiorum_. Any book that is at all important +ought to be at once read through twice; partly because, on a second +reading, the connection of the different portions of the book will be +better understood, and the beginning comprehended only when the end +is known; and partly because we are not in the same temper and +disposition on both readings. On the second perusal we get a new view +of every passage and a different impression of the whole book, which +then appears in another light. + +A man's works are the quintessence of his mind, and even though he may +possess very great capacity, they will always be incomparably more +valuable than his conversation. Nay, in all essential matters his +works will not only make up for the lack of personal intercourse with +him, but they will far surpass it in solid advantages. The writings +even of a man of moderate genius may be edifying, worth reading and +instructive, because they are his quintessence--the result and fruit +of all his thought and study; whilst conversation with him may be +unsatisfactory. + +So it is that we can read books by men in whose company we find +nothing to please, and that a high degree of culture leads us to seek +entertainment almost wholly from books and not from men. + + + + +ON CRITICISM. + + +The following brief remarks on the critical faculty are chiefly +intended to show that, for the most part, there is no such thing. +It is a _rara avis_; almost as rare, indeed, as the phoenix, which +appears only once in five hundred years. + +When we speak of _taste_--an expression not chosen with any regard for +it--we mean the discovery, or, it may be only the recognition, of what +is _right aesthetically_, apart from the guidance of any rule; and +this, either because no rule has as yet been extended to the matter in +question, or else because, if existing, it is unknown to the artist, +or the critic, as the case may be. Instead of _taste_, we might use +the expression _aesthetic sense_, if this were not tautological. + +The perceptive critical taste is, so to speak, the female analogue +to the male quality of productive talent or genius. Not capable +of _begetting_ great work itself, it consists in a capacity of +_reception_, that is to say, of recognizing as such what is right, +fit, beautiful, or the reverse; in other words, of discriminating +the good from the bad, of discovering and appreciating the one and +condemning the other. + +In appreciating a genius, criticism should not deal with the errors in +his productions or with the poorer of his works, and then proceed to +rate him low; it should attend only to the qualities in which he most +excels. For in the sphere of intellect, as in other spheres, weakness +and perversity cleave so firmly to human nature that even the most +brilliant mind is not wholly and at all times free from them. Hence +the great errors to be found even in the works of the greatest men; or +as Horace puts it, _quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus_. + +That which distinguishes genius, and should be the standard for +judging it, is the height to which it is able to soar when it is in +the proper mood and finds a fitting occasion--a height always out +of the reach of ordinary talent. And, in like manner, it is a very +dangerous thing to compare two great men of the same class; for +instance, two great poets, or musicians, or philosophers, or artists; +because injustice to the one or the other, at least for the moment, +can hardly be avoided. For in making a comparison of the kind the +critic looks to some particular merit of the one and at once discovers +that it is absent in the other, who is thereby disparaged. And then +if the process is reversed, and the critic begins with the latter and +discovers his peculiar merit, which is quite of a different order from +that presented by the former, with whom it may be looked for in vain, +the result is that both of them suffer undue depreciation. + +There are critics who severally think that it rests with each one of +them what shall be accounted good, and what bad. They all mistake +their own toy-trumpets for the trombones of fame. + +A drug does not effect its purpose if the dose is too large; and it +is the same with censure and adverse criticism when it exceeds the +measure of justice. + +The disastrous thing for intellectual merit is that it must wait for +those to praise the good who have themselves produced nothing but what +is bad; nay, it is a primary misfortune that it has to receive its +crown at the hands of the critical power of mankind--a quality of +which most men possess only the weak and impotent semblance, so that +the reality may be numbered amongst the rarest gifts of nature. Hence +La Bruyère's remark is, unhappily, as true as it is neat. _Après +l'esprit de discernement_, he says, _ce qu'il y a au monde de plus +rare, ce sont les diamans et les perles_. The spirit of discernment! +the critical faculty! it is these that are lacking. Men do not know +how to distinguish the genuine from the false, the corn from the +chaff, gold from copper; or to perceive the wide gulf that separates +a genius from an ordinary man. Thus we have that bad state of things +described in an old-fashioned verse, which gives it as the lot of the +great ones here on earth to be recognized only when they are gone: + + _Es ist nun das Geschick der Grossen fiier auf Erden, + Erst wann sie nicht mehr sind; von uns erkannt zu werden._ + +When any genuine and excellent work makes its appearance, the chief +difficulty in its way is the amount of bad work it finds already in +possession of the field, and accepted as though it were good. And +then if, after a long time, the new comer really succeeds, by a hard +struggle, in vindicating his place for himself and winning reputation, +he will soon encounter fresh difficulty from some affected, dull, +awkward imitator, whom people drag in, with the object of calmly +setting him up on the altar beside the genius; not seeing the +difference and really thinking that here they have to do with another +great man. This is what Yriarte means by the first lines of his +twenty-eighth Fable, where he declares that the ignorant rabble always +sets equal value on the good and the bad: + + _Siempre acostumbra hacer el vulgo necio + De lo bueno y lo malo igual aprecio_. + +So even Shakespeare's dramas had, immediately after his death, to give +place to those of Ben Jonson, Massinger, Beaumont and Fletcher, and to +yield the supremacy for a hundred years. So Kant's serious philosophy +was crowded out by the nonsense of Fichte, Schelling, Jacobi, Hegel. +And even in a sphere accessible to all, we have seen unworthy +imitators quickly diverting public attention from the incomparable +Walter Scott. For, say what you will, the public has no sense for +excellence, and therefore no notion how very rare it is to find men +really capable of doing anything great in poetry, philosophy, or art, +or that their works are alone worthy of exclusive attention. The +dabblers, whether in verse or in any other high sphere, should be +every day unsparingly reminded that neither gods, nor men, nor +booksellers have pardoned their mediocrity: + + _mediocribus esse poetis + Non homines, non Dî, non concessere columnae_.[1] + +[Footnote 1: Horace, _Ars Poetica_, 372.] + +Are they not the weeds that prevent the corn coming up, so that they +may cover all the ground themselves? And then there happens that which +has been well and freshly described by the lamented Feuchtersleben,[1] +who died so young: how people cry out in their haste that nothing +is being done, while all the while great work is quietly growing to +maturity; and then, when it appears, it is not seen or heard in the +clamor, but goes its way silently, in modest grief: + + "_Ist doch"--rufen sie vermessen-- + Nichts im Werke, nichts gethan!" + Und das Grosse, reift indessen + Still heran_. + + _Es ersheint nun: niemand sieht es, + Niemand hört es im Geschrei + Mit bescheid'ner Trauer zieht es + Still vorbei_. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Ernst Freiherr von Feuchtersleben +(1806-49), an Austrian physician, philosopher, and poet, and a +specialist in medical psychology. The best known of his songs is that +beginning "_Es ist bestimmt in Gottes Rath_" to which Mendelssohn +composed one of his finest melodies.] + +This lamentable death of the critical faculty is not less obvious in +the case of science, as is shown by the tenacious life of false and +disproved theories. If they are once accepted, they may go on bidding +defiance to truth for fifty or even a hundred years and more, as +stable as an iron pier in the midst of the waves. The Ptolemaic system +was still held a century after Copernicus had promulgated his theory. +Bacon, Descartes and Locke made their way extremely slowly and only +after a long time; as the reader may see by d'Alembert's celebrated +Preface to the _Encyclopedia_. Newton was not more successful; and +this is sufficiently proved by the bitterness and contempt with which +Leibnitz attacked his theory of gravitation in the controversy with +Clarke.[1] Although Newton lived for almost forty years after the +appearance of the _Principia_, his teaching was, when he died, only +to some extent accepted in his own country, whilst outside England he +counted scarcely twenty adherents; if we may believe the introductory +note to Voltaire's exposition of his theory. It was, indeed, chiefly +owing to this treatise of Voltaire's that the system became known in +France nearly twenty years after Newton's death. Until then a firm, +resolute, and patriotic stand was made by the Cartesian _Vortices_; +whilst only forty years previously, this same Cartesian philosophy had +been forbidden in the French schools; and now in turn d'Agnesseau, the +Chancellor, refused Voltaire the _Imprimatur_ for his treatise on the +Newtonian doctrine. On the other hand, in our day Newton's absurd +theory of color still completely holds the field, forty years after +the publication of Goethe's. Hume, too, was disregarded up to his +fiftieth year, though he began very early and wrote in a thoroughly +popular style. And Kant, in spite of having written and talked all his +life long, did not become a famous man until he was sixty. + +[Footnote 1: See especially §§ 35, 113, 118, 120, 122, 128.] + +Artists and poets have, to be sure, more chance than thinkers, because +their public is at least a hundred times as large. Still, what was +thought of Beethoven and Mozart during their lives? what of Dante? +what even of Shakespeare? If the latter's contemporaries had in any +way recognized his worth, at least one good and accredited portrait of +him would have come down to us from an age when the art of painting +flourished; whereas we possess only some very doubtful pictures, a +bad copperplate, and a still worse bust on his tomb.[1] And in like +manner, if he had been duly honored, specimens of his handwriting +would have been preserved to us by the hundred, instead of being +confined, as is the case, to the signatures to a few legal documents. +The Portuguese are still proud of their only poet Camoëns. He lived, +however, on alms collected every evening in the street by a black +slave whom he had brought with him from the Indies. In time, no doubt, +justice will be done everyone; _tempo è galant uomo_; but it is +as late and slow in arriving as in a court of law, and the secret +condition of it is that the recipient shall be no longer alive. The +precept of Jesus the son of Sirach is faithfully followed: _Judge none +blessed before his death._[2] He, then, who has produced immortal +works, must find comfort by applying to them the words of the Indian +myth, that the minutes of life amongst the immortals seem like years +of earthly existence; and so, too, that years upon earth are only as +the minutes of the immortals. + +[Footnote 1: A. Wivell: _An Inquiry into the History, Authenticity, +and Characteristics of Shakespeare's Portraits_; with 21 engravings. +London, 1836.] + +[Footnote 2: _Ecclesiasticus_, xi. 28.] + +This lack of critical insight is also shown by the fact that, while +in every century the excellent work of earlier time is held in honor, +that of its own is misunderstood, and the attention which is its due +is given to bad work, such as every decade carries with it only to be +the sport of the next. That men are slow to recognize genuine merit +when it appears in their own age, also proves that they do not +understand or enjoy or really value the long-acknowledged works of +genius, which they honor only on the score of authority. The crucial +test is the fact that bad work--Fichte's philosophy, for example--if +it wins any reputation, also maintains it for one or two generations; +and only when its public is very large does its fall follow sooner. + +Now, just as the sun cannot shed its light but to the eye that sees +it, nor music sound but to the hearing ear, so the value of all +masterly work in art and science is conditioned by the kinship and +capacity of the mind to which it speaks. It is only such a mind as +this that possesses the magic word to stir and call forth the spirits +that lie hidden in great work. To the ordinary mind a masterpiece is +a sealed cabinet of mystery,--an unfamiliar musical instrument from +which the player, however much he may flatter himself, can draw none +but confused tones. How different a painting looks when seen in a good +light, as compared with some dark corner! Just in the same way, the +impression made by a masterpiece varies with the capacity of the mind +to understand it. + +A fine work, then, requires a mind sensitive to its beauty; a +thoughtful work, a mind that can really think, if it is to exist and +live at all. But alas! it may happen only too often that he who gives +a fine work to the world afterwards feels like a maker of fireworks, +who displays with enthusiasm the wonders that have taken him so much +time and trouble to prepare, and then learns that he has come to the +wrong place, and that the fancied spectators were one and all inmates +of an asylum for the blind. Still even that is better than if his +public had consisted entirely of men who made fireworks themselves; as +in this case, if his display had been extraordinarily good, it might +possibly have cost him his head. + +The source of all pleasure and delight is the feeling of kinship. Even +with the sense of beauty it is unquestionably our own species in the +animal world, and then again our own race, that appears to us the +fairest. So, too, in intercourse with others, every man shows a +decided preference for those who resemble him; and a blockhead will +find the society of another blockhead incomparably more pleasant +than that of any number of great minds put together. Every man must +necessarily take his chief pleasure in his own work, because it is the +mirror of his own mind, the echo of his own thought; and next in order +will come the work of people like him; that is to say, a dull, shallow +and perverse man, a dealer in mere words, will give his sincere and +hearty applause only to that which is dull, shallow, perverse or +merely verbose. On the other hand, he will allow merit to the work of +great minds only on the score of authority, in other words, because +he is ashamed to speak his opinion; for in reality they give him no +pleasure at all. They do not appeal to him; nay, they repel him; and +he will not confess this even to himself. The works of genius cannot +be fully enjoyed except by those who are themselves of the privileged +order. The first recognition of them, however, when they exist without +authority to support them, demands considerable superiority of mind. + +When the reader takes all this into consideration, he should be +surprised, not that great work is so late in winning reputation, but +that it wins it at all. And as a matter of fact, fame comes only by a +slow and complex process. The stupid person is by degrees forced, and +as it were, tamed, into recognizing the superiority of one who stands +immediately above him; this one in his turn bows before some one else; +and so it goes on until the weight of the votes gradually prevail over +their number; and this is just the condition of all genuine, in other +words, deserved fame. But until then, the greatest genius, even after +he has passed his time of trial, stands like a king amidst a crowd of +his own subjects, who do not know him by sight and therefore will not +do his behests; unless, indeed, his chief ministers of state are in +his train. For no subordinate official can be the direct recipient of +the royal commands, as he knows only the signature of his immediate +superior; and this is repeated all the way up into the highest ranks, +where the under-secretary attests the minister's signature, and the +minister that of the king. There are analogous stages to be passed +before a genius can attain widespread fame. This is why his reputation +most easily comes to a standstill at the very outset; because the +highest authorities, of whom there can be but few, are most frequently +not to be found; but the further down he goes in the scale the more +numerous are those who take the word from above, so that his fame is +no more arrested. + +We must console ourselves for this state of things by reflecting that +it is really fortunate that the greater number of men do not form a +judgment on their own responsibility, but merely take it on authority. +For what sort of criticism should we have on Plato and Kant, Homer, +Shakespeare and Goethe, if every man were to form his opinion by what +he really has and enjoys of these writers, instead of being forced by +authority to speak of them in a fit and proper way, however little +he may really feel what he says. Unless something of this kind took +place, it would be impossible for true merit, in any high sphere, to +attain fame at all. At the same time it is also fortunate that every +man has just so much critical power of his own as is necessary for +recognizing the superiority of those who are placed immediately over +him, and for following their lead. This means that the many come in +the end to submit to the authority of the few; and there results that +hierarchy of critical judgments on which is based the possibility of a +steady, and eventually wide-reaching, fame. + +The lowest class in the community is quite impervious to the merits +of a great genius; and for these people there is nothing left but the +monument raised to him, which, by the impression it produces on their +senses, awakes in them a dim idea of the man's greatness. + +Literary journals should be a dam against the unconscionable +scribbling of the age, and the ever-increasing deluge of bad and +useless books. Their judgments should be uncorrupted, just and +rigorous; and every piece of bad work done by an incapable person; +every device by which the empty head tries to come to the assistance +of the empty purse, that is to say, about nine-tenths of all existing +books, should be mercilessly scourged. Literary journals would then +perform their duty, which is to keep down the craving for writing and +put a check upon the deception of the public, instead of furthering +these evils by a miserable toleration, which plays into the hands of +author and publisher, and robs the reader of his time and his money. + +If there were such a paper as I mean, every bad writer, every +brainless compiler, every plagiarist from other's books, every hollow +and incapable place-hunter, every sham-philosopher, every vain and +languishing poetaster, would shudder at the prospect of the pillory +in which his bad work would inevitably have to stand soon after +publication. This would paralyze his twitching fingers, to the true +welfare of literature, in which what is bad is not only useless but +positively pernicious. Now, most books are bad and ought to have +remained unwritten. Consequently praise should be as rare as is now +the case with blame, which is withheld under the influence of personal +considerations, coupled with the maxim _accedas socius, laudes +lauderis ut absens_. + +It is quite wrong to try to introduce into literature the same +toleration as must necessarily prevail in society towards those +stupid, brainless people who everywhere swarm in it. In literature +such people are impudent intruders; and to disparage the bad is here +duty towards the good; for he who thinks nothing bad will think +nothing good either. Politeness, which has its source in social +relations, is in literature an alien, and often injurious, element; +because it exacts that bad work shall be called good. In this way the +very aim of science and art is directly frustrated. + +The ideal journal could, to be sure, be written only by people who +joined incorruptible honesty with rare knowledge and still rarer power +of judgment; so that perhaps there could, at the very most, be one, +and even hardly one, in the whole country; but there it would stand, +like a just Aeropagus, every member of which would have to be elected +by all the others. Under the system that prevails at present, literary +journals are carried on by a clique, and secretly perhaps also by +booksellers for the good of the trade; and they are often nothing but +coalitions of bad heads to prevent the good ones succeeding. As +Goethe once remarked to me, nowhere is there so much dishonesty as in +literature. + +But, above all, anonymity, that shield of all literary rascality, +would have to disappear. It was introduced under the pretext of +protecting the honest critic, who warned the public, against the +resentment of the author and his friends. But where there is one case +of this sort, there will be a hundred where it merely serves to take +all responsibility from the man who cannot stand by what he has said, +or possibly to conceal the shame of one who has been cowardly and base +enough to recommend a book to the public for the purpose of putting +money into his own pocket. Often enough it is only a cloak for +covering the obscurity, incompetence and insignificance of the critic. +It is incredible what impudence these fellows will show, and what +literary trickery they will venture to commit, as soon as they know +they are safe under the shadow of anonymity. Let me recommend a +general _Anti-criticism_, a universal medicine or panacea, to put a +stop to all anonymous reviewing, whether it praises the bad or blames +the good: _Rascal! your name_! For a man to wrap himself up and draw +his hat over his face, and then fall upon people who are walking about +without any disguise--this is not the part of a gentleman, it is the +part of a scoundrel and a knave. + +An anonymous review has no more authority than an anonymous letter; +and one should be received with the same mistrust as the other. Or +shall we take the name of the man who consents to preside over what +is, in the strict sense of the word, _une société anonyme_ as a +guarantee for the veracity of his colleagues? + +Even Rousseau, in the preface to the _Nouvelle Heloïse_, declares +_tout honnête homme doit avouer les livres qu'il public_; which in +plain language means that every honorable man ought to sign his +articles, and that no one is honorable who does not do so. How much +truer this is of polemical writing, which is the general character +of reviews! Riemer was quite right in the opinion he gives in his +_Reminiscences of Goethe:[1] An overt enemy_, he says, _an enemy +who meets you face to face, is an honorable man, who will treat you +fairly, and with whom you can come to terms and be reconciled: but an +enemy who conceals himself_ is a base, cowardly scoundrel, _who has +not courage enough to avow his own judgment; it is not his opinion +that he cares about, but only the secret pleasures of wreaking his +anger without being found out or punished._ This will also have been +Goethe's opinion, as he was generally the source from which Riemer +drew his observations. And, indeed, Rousseau's maxim applies to +every line that is printed. Would a man in a mask ever be allowed to +harangue a mob, or speak in any assembly; and that, too, when he was +going to attack others and overwhelm them with abuse? + +[Footnote 1: Preface, p. xxix.] + +Anonymity is the refuge for all literary and journalistic rascality. +It is a practice which must be completely stopped. Every article, even +in a newspaper, should be accompanied by the name of its author; and +the editor should be made strictly responsible for the accuracy of the +signature. The freedom of the press should be thus far restricted; so +that when a man publicly proclaims through the far-sounding trumpet of +the newspaper, he should be answerable for it, at any rate with his +honor, if he has any; and if he has none, let his name neutralize the +effect of his words. And since even the most insignificant person is +known in his own circle, the result of such a measure would be to +put an end to two-thirds of the newspaper lies, and to restrain the +audacity of many a poisonous tongue. + + + + +ON REPUTATION. + + +Writers may be classified as meteors, planets and fixed stars. A +meteor makes a striking effect for a moment. You look up and cry +_There!_ and it is gone for ever. Planets and wandering stars last +a much longer time. They often outshine the fixed stars and are +confounded with them by the inexperienced; but this only because they +are near. It is not long before they must yield their place; nay, the +light they give is reflected only, and the sphere of their influence +is confined to their own orbit--their contemporaries. Their path is +one of change and movement, and with the circuit of a few years their +tale is told. Fixed stars are the only ones that are constant; their +position in the firmament is secure; they shine with a light of their +own; their effect to-day is the same as it was yesterday, because, +having no parallax, their appearance does not alter with a difference +in our standpoint. They belong not to _one_ system, _one_ nation only, +but to the universe. And just because they are so very far away, it is +usually many years before their light is visible to the inhabitants of +this earth. + +We have seen in the previous chapter that where a man's merits are of +a high order, it is difficult for him to win reputation, because the +public is uncritical and lacks discernment. But another and no less +serious hindrance to fame comes from the envy it has to encounter. For +even in the lowest kinds of work, envy balks even the beginnings of a +reputation, and never ceases to cleave to it up to the last. How great +a part is played by envy in the wicked ways of the world! Ariosto is +right in saying that the dark side of our mortal life predominates, so +full it is of this evil: + + _questa assai più oscura che serena + Vita mortal, tutta d'invidia piena_. + +For envy is the moving spirit of that secret and informal, though +flourishing, alliance everywhere made by mediocrity against individual +eminence, no matter of what kind. In his own sphere of work no one +will allow another to be distinguished: he is an intruder who cannot +be tolerated. _Si quelq'un excelle parmi nous, qu'il aille exceller +ailleurs_! this is the universal password of the second-rate. In +addition, then, to the rarity of true merit and the difficulty it has +in being understood and recognized, there is the envy of thousands to +be reckoned with, all of them bent on suppressing, nay, on smothering +it altogether. No one is taken for what he is, but for what others +make of him; and this is the handle used by mediocrity to keep down +distinction, by not letting it come up as long as that can possibly be +prevented. + +There are two ways of behaving in regard to merit: either to have some +of one's own, or to refuse any to others. The latter method is more +convenient, and so it is generally adopted. As envy is a mere sign +of deficiency, so to envy merit argues the lack of it. My excellent +Balthazar Gracian has given a very fine account of this relation +between envy and merit in a lengthy fable, which may be found in his +_Discreto_ under the heading _Hombre de ostentacion_. He describes +all the birds as meeting together and conspiring against the peacock, +because of his magnificent feathers. _If_, said the magpie, _we could +only manage to put a stop to the cursed parading of his tail, there +would soon be an end of his beauty; for what is not seen is as good as +what does not exist_. + +This explains how modesty came to be a virtue. It was invented only as +a protection against envy. That there have always been rascals to urge +this virtue, and to rejoice heartily over the bashfulness of a man of +merit, has been shown at length in my chief work.[1] In Lichtenberg's +_Miscellaneous Writings_ I find this sentence quoted: _Modesty should +be the virtue of those who possess no other_. Goethe has a well-known +saying, which offends many people: _It is only knaves who are +modest_!--_Nur die Lumpen sind bescheiden_! but it has its prototype +in Cervantes, who includes in his _Journey up Parnassus_ certain rules +of conduct for poets, and amongst them the following: _Everyone whose +verse shows him to be a poet should have a high opinion of himself, +relying on the proverb that he is a knave who thinks himself one_. +And Shakespeare, in many of his Sonnets, which gave him the only +opportunity he had of speaking of himself, declares, with a confidence +equal to his ingenuousness, that what he writes is immortal.[2] + +[Footnote 1: _Welt als Wille_, Vol. II. c. 37.] + +[Footnote 2: Collier, one of his critical editors, in his Introduction +to the Sonettes, remarks upon this point: "In many of them are to be +found most remarkable indications of self-confidence and of assurance +in the immortality of his verses, and in this respect the author's +opinion was constant and uniform. He never scruples to express it,... +and perhaps there is no writer of ancient or modern times who, for the +quantity of such writings left behind him, has so frequently or so +strongly declared that what he had produced in this department of +poetry 'the world would not willingly let die.'"] + +A method of underrating good work often used by envy--in reality, +however, only the obverse side of it--consists in the dishonorable and +unscrupulous laudation of the bad; for no sooner does bad work gain +currency than it draws attention from the good. But however effective +this method may be for a while, especially if it is applied on a large +scale, the day of reckoning comes at last, and the fleeting credit +given to bad work is paid off by the lasting discredit which overtakes +those who abjectly praised it. Hence these critics prefer to remain +anonymous. + +A like fate threatens, though more remotely, those who depreciate and +censure good work; and consequently many are too prudent to attempt +it. But there is another way; and when a man of eminent merit appears, +the first effect he produces is often only to pique all his rivals, +just as the peacock's tail offended the birds. This reduces them to +a deep silence; and their silence is so unanimous that it savors of +preconcertion. Their tongues are all paralyzed. It is the _silentium +livoris_ described by Seneca. This malicious silence, which is +technically known as _ignoring_, may for a long time interfere with +the growth of reputation; if, as happens in the higher walks of +learning, where a man's immediate audience is wholly composed of rival +workers and professed students, who then form the channel of his fame, +the greater public is obliged to use its suffrage without being able +to examine the matter for itself. And if, in the end, that malicious +silence is broken in upon by the voice of praise, it will be but +seldom that this happens entirely apart from some ulterior aim, +pursued by those who thus manipulate justice. For, as Goethe says in +the _West-östlicher Divan_, a man can get no recognition, either from +many persons or from only one, unless it is to publish abroad the +critic's own discernment: + + _Denn es ist kein Anerkenen, + Weder Vieler, noch des Einen, + Wenn es nicht am Tage fördert, + Wo man selbst was möchte scheinen_. + +The credit you allow to another man engaged in work similar to your +own or akin to it, must at bottom be withdrawn from yourself; and you +can praise him only at the expense of your own claims. + +Accordingly, mankind is in itself not at all inclined to award praise +and reputation; it is more disposed to blame and find fault, whereby +it indirectly praises itself. If, notwithstanding this, praise is +won from mankind, some extraneous motive must prevail. I am not here +referring to the disgraceful way in which mutual friends will puff one +another into a reputation; outside of that, an effectual motive is +supplied by the feeling that next to the merit of doing something +oneself, comes that of correctly appreciating and recognizing what +others have done. This accords with the threefold division of heads +drawn up by Hesiod[1] and afterwards by Machiavelli[2] _There are_, +says the latter, _in the capacities of mankind, three varieties: +one man will understand a thing by himself; another so far as it is +explained to him; a third, neither of himself nor when it is put +clearly before him_. He, then, who abandons hope of making good his +claims to the first class, will be glad to seize the opportunity of +taking a place in the second. It is almost wholly owing to this state +of things that merit may always rest assured of ultimately meeting +with recognition. + +[Footnote 1: _Works and Days_, 293.] + +[Footnote 2: _The Prince_, ch. 22.] + +To this also is due the fact that when the value of a work has once +been recognized and may no longer be concealed or denied, all men vie +in praising and honoring it; simply because they are conscious +of thereby doing themselves an honor. They act in the spirit of +Xenophon's remark: _he must be a wise man who knows what is wise_. +So when they see that the prize of original merit is for ever out of +their reach, they hasten to possess themselves of that which comes +second best--the correct appreciation of it. Here it happens as with +an army which has been forced to yield; when, just as previously every +man wanted to be foremost in the fight, so now every man tries to +be foremost in running away. They all hurry forward to offer their +applause to one who is now recognized to be worthy of praise, in +virtue of a recognition, as a rule unconscious, of that law of +homogeneity which I mentioned in the last chapter; so that it may seem +as though their way of thinking and looking at things were homogeneous +with that of the celebrated man, and that they may at least save the +honor of their literary taste, since nothing else is left them. + +From this it is plain that, whereas it is very difficult to win +fame, it is not hard to keep it when once attained; and also that a +reputation which comes quickly does not last very long; for here +too, _quod cito fit, cito perit_. It is obvious that if the ordinary +average man can easily recognize, and the rival workers willingly +acknowledge, the value of any performance, it will not stand very much +above the capacity of either of them to achieve it for themselves. +_Tantum quisque laudat, quantum se posse sperat imitari_--a man will +praise a thing only so far as he hopes to be able to imitate it +himself. Further, it is a suspicious sign if a reputation comes +quickly; for an application of the laws of homogeneity will show that +such a reputation is nothing but the direct applause of the multitude. +What this means may be seen by a remark once made by Phocion, when he +was interrupted in a speech by the loud cheers of the mob. Turning +to his friends who were standing close by, he asked: _Have I made a +mistake and said something stupid?_[1] + +[Footnote 1: Plutarch, _Apophthegms_.] + +Contrarily, a reputation that is to last a long time must be slow +in maturing, and the centuries of its duration have generally to be +bought at the cost of contemporary praise. For that which is to keep +its position so long, must be of a perfection difficult to attain; and +even to recognize this perfection requires men who are not always to +be found, and never in numbers sufficiently great to make themselves +heard; whereas envy is always on the watch and doing its best to +smother their voice. But with moderate talent, which soon meets with +recognition, there is the danger that those who possess it will +outlive both it and themselves; so that a youth of fame may be +followed by an old age of obscurity. In the case of great merit, on +the other hand, a man may remain unknown for many years, but make up +for it later on by attaining a brilliant reputation. And if it should +be that this comes only after he is no more, well! he is to be +reckoned amongst those of whom Jean Paul says that extreme unction is +their baptism. He may console himself by thinking of the Saints, who +also are canonized only after they are dead. + +Thus what Mahlmann[1] has said so well in _Herodes_ holds good; in +this world truly great work never pleases at once, and the god set up +by the multitude keeps his place on the altar but a short time: + + _Ich denke, das wahre Grosse in der Welt + Ist immer nur Das was nicht gleich gefällt + Und wen der Pöbel zum Gotte weiht, + Der steht auf dem Altar nur kurze Zeit_. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--August Mahlmann (1771-1826), +journalist, poet and story-writer. His _Herodes vor Bethlehem_ is a +parody of Kotzebue's _Hussiten vor Naumburg_.] + +It is worth mention that this rule is most directly confirmed in the +case of pictures, where, as connoisseurs well know, the greatest +masterpieces are not the first to attract attention. If they make +a deep impression, it is not after one, but only after repeated, +inspection; but then they excite more and more admiration every time +they are seen. + +Moreover, the chances that any given work will be quickly and rightly +appreciated, depend upon two conditions: firstly, the character of +the work, whether high or low, in other words, easy or difficult to +understand; and, secondly, the kind of public it attracts, whether +large or small. This latter condition is, no doubt, in most instances +a, corollary of the former; but it also partly depends upon whether +the work in question admits, like books and musical compositions, of +being produced in great numbers. By the compound action of these two +conditions, achievements which serve no materially useful end--and +these alone are under consideration here--will vary in regard to +the chances they have of meeting with timely recognition and due +appreciation; and the order of precedence, beginning with those who +have the greatest chance, will be somewhat as follows: acrobats, +circus riders, ballet-dancers, jugglers, actors, singers, musicians, +composers, poets (both the last on account of the multiplication of +their works), architects, painters, sculptors, philosophers. + +The last place of all is unquestionably taken by philosophers because +their works are meant not for entertainment, but for instruction, and +because they presume some knowledge on the part of the reader, and +require him to make an effort of his own to understand them. This +makes their public extremely small, and causes their fame to be more +remarkable for its length than for its breadth. And, in general, it +may be said that the possibility of a man's fame lasting a long time, +stands in almost inverse ratio with the chance that it will be early +in making its appearance; so that, as regards length of fame, the +above order of precedence may be reversed. But, then, the poet and +the composer will come in the end to stand on the same level as the +philosopher; since, when once a work is committed to writing, it is +possible to preserve it to all time. However, the first place still +belongs by right to the philosopher, because of the much greater +scarcity of good work in this sphere, and the high importance of it; +and also because of the possibility it offers of an almost perfect +translation into any language. Sometimes, indeed, it happens that a +philosopher's fame outlives even his works themselves; as has happened +with Thales, Empedocles, Heraclitus, Democritus, Parmenides, Epicurus +and many others. + +My remarks are, as I have said, confined to achievements that are not +of any material use. Work that serves some practical end, or ministers +directly to some pleasure of the senses, will never have any +difficulty in being duly appreciated. No first-rate pastry-cook could +long remain obscure in any town, to say nothing of having to appeal to +posterity. + +Under fame of rapid growth is also to be reckoned fame of a false +and artificial kind; where, for instance, a book is worked into a +reputation by means of unjust praise, the help of friends, corrupt +criticism, prompting from above and collusion from below. All this +tells upon the multitude, which is rightly presumed to have no power +of judging for itself. This sort of fame is like a swimming bladder, +by its aid a heavy body may keep afloat. It bears up for a certain +time, long or short according as the bladder is well sewed up and +blown; but still the air comes out gradually, and the body sinks. This +is the inevitable fate of all works which are famous by reason of +something outside of themselves. False praise dies away; collusion +comes to an end; critics declare the reputation ungrounded; it +vanishes, and is replaced by so much the greater contempt. Contrarily, +a genuine work, which, having the source of its fame in itself, +can kindle admiration afresh in every age, resembles a body of low +specific gravity, which always keeps up of its own accord, and so goes +floating down the stream of time. + +Men of great genius, whether their work be in poetry, philosophy or +art, stand in all ages like isolated heroes, keeping up single-handed +a desperate struggling against the onslaught of an army of +opponents.[1] Is not this characteristic of the miserable nature of +mankind? The dullness, grossness, perversity, silliness and brutality +of by far the greater part of the race, are always an obstacle to the +efforts of the genius, whatever be the method of his art; they so form +that hostile army to which at last he has to succumb. Let the isolated +champion achieve what he may: it is slow to be acknowledged; it is +late in being appreciated, and then only on the score of authority; +it may easily fall into neglect again, at any rate for a while. Ever +afresh it finds itself opposed by false, shallow, and insipid ideas, +which are better suited to that large majority, that so generally hold +the field. Though the critic may step forth and say, like Hamlet when +he held up the two portraits to his wretched mother, _Have you eyes? +Have you eyes_? alas! they have none. When I watch the behavior of a +crowd of people in the presence of some great master's work, and mark +the manner of their applause, they often remind me of trained monkeys +in a show. The monkey's gestures are, no doubt, much like those of +men; but now and again they betray that the real inward spirit of +these gestures is not in them. Their irrational nature peeps out. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--At this point Schopenhauer +interrupts the thread of his discourse to speak at length upon an +example of false fame. Those who are at all acquainted with the +philosopher's views will not be surprised to find that the writer thus +held up to scorn is Hegel; and readers of the other volumes in this +series will, with the translator, have had by now quite enough of the +subject. The passage is therefore omitted.] + +It is often said of a man that _he is in advance of his age_; and it +follows from the above remarks that this must be taken to mean that +he is in advance of humanity in general. Just because of this fact, +a genius makes no direct appeal except to those who are too rare to +allow of their ever forming a numerous body at any one period. If he +is in this respect not particularly favored by fortune, he will +be _misunderstood by his own age_; in other words, he will remain +unaccepted until time gradually brings together the voices of those +few persons who are capable of judging a work of such high character. +Then posterity will say: _This man was in advance of his age_, instead +of _in advance of humanity_; because humanity will be glad to lay the +burden of its own faults upon a single epoch. + +Hence, if a man has been superior to his own age, he would also have +been superior to any other; provided that, in that age, by some rare +and happy chance, a few just men, capable of judging in the sphere of +his achievements, had been born at the same time with him; just as +when, according to a beautiful Indian myth, Vischnu becomes incarnate +as a hero, so, too, Brahma at the same time appears as the singer of +his deeds; and hence Valmiki, Vyasa and Kalidasa are incarnations of +Brahma. + +In this sense, then, it may be said that every immortal work puts its +age to the proof, whether or no it will be able to recognize the merit +of it. As a rule, the men of any age stand such a test no better than +the neighbors of Philemon and Baucis, who expelled the deities they +failed to recognize. Accordingly, the right standard for judging the +intellectual worth of any generation is supplied, not by the great +minds that make their appearance in it--for their capacities are the +work of Nature, and the possibility of cultivating them a matter of +chance circumstance--but by the way in which contemporaries receive +their works; whether, I mean, they give their applause soon and with +a will, or late and in niggardly fashion, or leave it to be bestowed +altogether by posterity. + +This last fate will be especially reserved for works of a high +character. For the happy chance mentioned above will be all the more +certain not to come, in proportion as there are few to appreciate +the kind of work done by great minds. Herein lies the immeasurable +advantage possessed by poets in respect of reputation; because their +work is accessible to almost everyone. If it had been possible for Sir +Walter Scott to be read and criticised by only some hundred persons, +perhaps in his life-time any common scribbler would have been +preferred to him; and afterwards, when he had taken his proper place, +it would also have been said in his honor that he was _in advance of +his age_. But if envy, dishonesty and the pursuit of personal aims are +added to the incapacity of those hundred persons who, in the name of +their generation, are called upon to pass judgment on a work, then +indeed it meets with the same sad fate as attends a suitor who pleads +before a tribunal of judges one and all corrupt. + +In corroboration of this, we find that the history of literature +generally shows all those who made knowledge and insight their goal +to have remained unrecognized and neglected, whilst those who +paraded with the vain show of it received the admiration of their +contemporaries, together with the emoluments. + +The effectiveness of an author turns chiefly upon his getting the +reputation that he should be read. But by practicing various arts, +by the operation of chance, and by certain natural affinities, this +reputation is quickly won by a hundred worthless people: while a +worthy writer may come by it very slowly and tardily. The former +possess friends to help them; for the rabble is always a numerous body +which holds well together. The latter has nothing but enemies; because +intellectual superiority is everywhere and under all circumstances the +most hateful thing in the world, and especially to bunglers in the +same line of work, who want to pass for something themselves.[1] + +[Footnote 1: If the professors of philosophy should chance to think +that I am here hinting at them and the tactics they have for more than +thirty years pursued toward my works, they have hit the nail upon the +head.] + +This being so, it is a prime condition for doing any great work--any +work which is to outlive its own age, that a man pay no heed to his +contemporaries, their views and opinions, and the praise or blame +which they bestow. This condition is, however, fulfilled of itself +when a man really does anything great, and it is fortunate that it is +so. For if, in producing such a work, he were to look to the general +opinion or the judgment of his colleagues, they would lead him astray +at every step. Hence, if a man wants to go down to posterity, he must +withdraw from the influence of his own age. This will, of course, +generally mean that he must also renounce any influence upon it, and +be ready to buy centuries of fame by foregoing the applause of his +contemporaries. + +For when any new and wide-reaching truth comes into the world--and if +it is new, it must be paradoxical--an obstinate stand will be made +against it as long as possible; nay, people will continue to deny it +even after they slacken their opposition and are almost convinced of +its truth. Meanwhile it goes on quietly working its way, and, like an +acid, undermining everything around it. From time to time a crash is +heard; the old error comes tottering to the ground, and suddenly the +new fabric of thought stands revealed, as though it were a monument +just uncovered. Everyone recognizes and admires it. To be sure, this +all comes to pass for the most part very slowly. As a rule, people +discover a man to be worth listening to only after he is gone; their +_hear, hear_, resounds when the orator has left the platform. + +Works of the ordinary type meet with a better fate. Arising as they +do in the course of, and in connection with, the general advance in +contemporary culture, they are in close alliance with the spirit of +their age--in other words, just those opinions which happen to be +prevalent at the time. They aim at suiting the needs of the moment. If +they have any merit, it is soon recognized; and they gain currency as +books which reflect the latest ideas. Justice, nay, more than justice, +is done to them. They afford little scope for envy; since, as was said +above, a man will praise a thing only so far as he hopes to be able to +imitate it himself. + +But those rare works which are destined to become the property of all +mankind and to live for centuries, are, at their origin, too far in +advance of the point at which culture happens to stand, and on that +very account foreign to it and the spirit of their own time. They +neither belong to it nor are they in any connection with it, and hence +they excite no interest in those who are dominated by it. They belong +to another, a higher stage of culture, and a time that is still far +off. Their course is related to that of ordinary works as the orbit +of Uranus to the orbit of Mercury. For the moment they get no justice +done to them. People are at a loss how to treat them; so they leave +them alone, and go their own snail's pace for themselves. Does the +worm see the eagle as it soars aloft? + +Of the number of books written in any language about one in 100,000 +forms a part of its real and permanent literature. What a fate this +one book has to endure before it outstrips those 100,000 and gains its +due place of honor! Such a book is the work of an extraordinary and +eminent mind, and therefore it is specifically different from the +others; a fact which sooner or later becomes manifest. + +Let no one fancy that things will ever improve in this respect. No! +the miserable constitution of humanity never changes, though it may, +to be sure, take somewhat varying forms with every generation. A +distinguished mind seldom has its full effect in the life-time of +its possessor; because, at bottom, it is completely and properly +understood only by minds already akin to it. + +As it is a rare thing for even one man out of many millions to tread +the path that leads to immortality, he must of necessity be very +lonely. The journey to posterity lies through a horribly dreary +region, like the Lybian desert, of which, as is well known, no one has +any idea who has not seen it for himself. Meanwhile let me before +all things recommend the traveler to take light baggage with him; +otherwise he will have to throw away too much on the road. Let him +never forget the words of Balthazar Gracian: _lo bueno si breve, dos +vezes bueno_--good work is doubly good if it is short. This advice is +specially applicable to my own countrymen. + +Compared with the short span of time they live, men of great intellect +are like huge buildings, standing on a small plot of ground. The size +of the building cannot be seen by anyone, just in front of it; nor, +for an analogous reason, can the greatness of a genius be estimated +while he lives. But when a century has passed, the world recognizes it +and wishes him back again. + +If the perishable son of time has produced an imperishable work, how +short his own life seems compared with that of his child! He is like +Semela or Maia--a mortal mother who gave birth to an immortal son; or, +contrarily, he is like Achilles in regard to Thetis. What a contrast +there is between what is fleeting and what is permanent! The short +span of a man's life, his necessitous, afflicted, unstable existence, +will seldom allow of his seeing even the beginning of his immortal +child's brilliant career; nor will the father himself be taken for +that which he really is. It may be said, indeed, that a man whose fame +comes after him is the reverse of a nobleman, who is preceded by it. + +However, the only difference that it ultimately makes to a man to +receive his fame at the hands of contemporaries rather than from +posterity is that, in the former case, his admirers are separated +from him by space, and in the latter by time. For even in the case +of contemporary fame, a man does not, as a rule, see his admirers +actually before him. Reverence cannot endure close proximity; it +almost always dwells at some distance from its object; and in the +presence of the person revered it melts like butter in the sun. +Accordingly, if a man is celebrated with his contemporaries, +nine-tenths of those amongst whom he lives will let their esteem be +guided by his rank and fortune; and the remaining tenth may perhaps +have a dull consciousness of his high qualities, because they have +heard about him from remote quarters. There is a fine Latin letter of +Petrarch's on this incompatibility between reverence and the presence +of the person, and between fame and life. It comes second in his +_Epistolae familiares?_[1] and it is addressed to Thomas Messanensis. +He there observes, amongst other things, that the learned men of his +age all made it a rule to think little of a man's writings if they had +even once seen him. + +[Footnote 1: In the Venetian edition of 1492.] + +Since distance, then, is essential if a famous man is to be recognized +and revered, it does not matter whether it is distance of space or of +time. It is true that he may sometimes hear of his fame in the one +case, but never in the other; but still, genuine and great merit may +make up for this by confidently anticipating its posthumous fame. +Nay, he who produces some really great thought is conscious of his +connection with coming generations at the very moment he conceives it; +so that he feels the extension of his existence through centuries +and thus lives _with_ posterity as well as _for_ it. And when, after +enjoying a great man's work, we are seized with admiration for him, +and wish him back, so that we might see and speak with him, and have +him in our possession, this desire of ours is not unrequited; for +he, too, has had his longing for that posterity which will grant +the recognition, honor, gratitude and love denied by envious +contemporaries. + +If intellectual works of the highest order are not allowed their due +until they come before the tribunal of posterity, a contrary fate +is prepared for certain brilliant errors which proceed from men of +talent, and appear with an air of being well grounded. These errors +are defended with so much acumen and learning that they actually +become famous with their own age, and maintain their position at least +during their author's lifetime. Of this sort are many false theories +and wrong criticisms; also poems and works of art, which exhibit some +false taste or mannerism favored by contemporary prejudice. They gain +reputation and currency simply because no one is yet forthcoming who +knows how to refute them or otherwise prove their falsity; and when +he appears, as he usually does, in the next generation, the glory of +these works is brought to an end. Posthumous judges, be their decision +favorable to the appellant or not, form the proper court for quashing +the verdict of contemporaries. That is why it is so difficult and so +rare to be victorious alike in both tribunals. + +The unfailing tendency of time to correct knowledge and judgment +should always be kept in view as a means of allaying anxiety, whenever +any grievous error appears, whether in art, or science, or practical +life, and gains ground; or when some false and thoroughly perverse +policy of movement is undertaken and receives applause at the hands of +men. No one should be angry, or, still less, despondent; but simply +imagine that the world has already abandoned the error in question, +and now only requires time and experience to recognize of its own +accord that which a clear vision detected at the first glance. + +When the facts themselves are eloquent of a truth, there is no need to +rush to its aid with words: for time will give it a thousand tongues. +How long it may be before they speak, will of course depend upon the +difficulty of the subject and the plausibility of the error; but come +they will, and often it would be of no avail to try to anticipate +them. In the worst cases it will happen with theories as it happens +with affairs in practical life; where sham and deception, emboldened +by success, advance to greater and greater lengths, until discovery is +made almost inevitable. It is just so with theories; through the blind +confidence of the blockheads who broach them, their absurdity reaches +such a pitch that at last it is obvious even to the dullest eye. We +may thus say to such people: _the wilder your statements, the better_. + +There is also some comfort to be found in reflecting upon all the +whims and crotchets which had their day and have now utterly vanished. +In style, in grammar, in spelling, there are false notions of this +sort which last only three or four years. But when the errors are on +a large scale, while we lament the brevity of human life, we shall +in any case, do well to lag behind our own age when we see it on a +downward path. For there are two ways of not keeping on a level with +the times. A man may be below it; or he may be above it. + + + + +ON GENIUS. + + +No difference of rank, position, or birth, is so great as the gulf +that separates the countless millions who use their head only in the +service of their belly, in other words, look upon it as an instrument +of the will, and those very few and rare persons who have the courage +to say: No! it is too good for that; my head shall be active only in +its own service; it shall try to comprehend the wondrous and varied +spectacle of this world, and then reproduce it in some form, whether +as art or as literature, that may answer to my character as an +individual. These are the truly noble, the real _noblesse_ of the +world. The others are serfs and go with the soil--_glebae adscripti_. +Of course, I am here referring to those who have not only the courage, +but also the call, and therefore the right, to order the head to quit +the service of the will; with a result that proves the sacrifice to +have been worth the making. In the case of those to whom all this can +only partially apply, the gulf is not so wide; but even though their +talent be small, so long as it is real, there will always be a sharp +line of demarcation between them and the millions.[1] + +[Footnote 1: The correct scale for adjusting the hierarchy of +intelligences is furnished by the degree in which the mind takes +merely individual or approaches universal views of things. The brute +recognizes only the individual as such: its comprehension does not +extend beyond the limits of the individual. But man reduces the +individual to the general; herein lies the exercise of his reason; and +the higher his intelligence reaches, the nearer do his general ideas +approach the point at which they become universal.] + +The works of fine art, poetry and philosophy produced by a nation are +the outcome of the superfluous intellect existing in it. + +For him who can understand aright--_cum grano salis_--the relation +between the genius and the normal man may, perhaps, be best expressed +as follows: A genius has a double intellect, one for himself and the +service of his will; the other for the world, of which he becomes the +mirror, in virtue of his purely objective attitude towards it. The +work of art or poetry or philosophy produced by the genius is +simply the result, or quintessence, of this contemplative attitude, +elaborated according to certain technical rules. + +The normal man, on the other hand, has only a single intellect, which +may be called _subjective_ by contrast with the _objective_ intellect +of genius. However acute this subjective intellect may be--and it +exists in very various degrees of perfection--it is never on the same +level with the double intellect of genius; just as the open chest +notes of the human voice, however high, are essentially different from +the falsetto notes. These, like the two upper octaves of the flute +and the harmonics of the violin, are produced by the column of air +dividing itself into two vibrating halves, with a node between them; +while the open chest notes of the human voice and the lower octave of +the flute are produced by the undivided column of air vibrating as +a whole. This illustration may help the reader to understand that +specific peculiarity of genius which is unmistakably stamped on the +works, and even on the physiognomy, of him who is gifted with it. At +the same time it is obvious that a double intellect like this must, as +a rule, obstruct the service of the will; and this explains the poor +capacity often shown by genius in the conduct of life. And what +specially characterizes genius is that it has none of that sobriety of +temper which is always to be found in the ordinary simple intellect, +be it acute or dull. + +The brain may be likened to a parasite which is nourished as a part of +the human frame without contributing directly to its inner economy; +it is securely housed in the topmost story, and there leads a +self-sufficient and independent life. In the same way it may be said +that a man endowed with great mental gifts leads, apart from the +individual life common to all, a second life, purely of the intellect. +He devotes himself to the constant increase, rectification and +extension, not of mere learning, but of real systematic knowledge +and insight; and remains untouched by the fate that overtakes him +personally, so long as it does not disturb him in his work. It is thus +a life which raises a man and sets him above fate and its changes. +Always thinking, learning, experimenting, practicing his knowledge, +the man soon comes to look upon this second life as the chief mode +of existence, and his merely personal life as something subordinate, +serving only to advance ends higher than itself. + +An example of this independent, separate existence is furnished by +Goethe. During the war in the Champagne, and amid all the bustle of +the camp, he made observations for his theory of color; and as soon as +the numberless calamities of that war allowed of his retiring for a +short time to the fortress of Luxembourg, he took up the manuscript of +his _Farbenlehre_. This is an example which we, the salt of the earth, +should endeavor to follow, by never letting anything disturb us in the +pursuit of our intellectual life, however much the storm of the world +may invade and agitate our personal environment; always remembering +that we are the sons, not of the bondwoman, but of the free. As our +emblem and coat of arms, I propose a tree mightily shaken by the wind, +but still bearing its ruddy fruit on every branch; with the motto _Dum +convellor mitescunt_, or _Conquassata sed ferax._ + +That purely intellectual life of the individual has its counterpart in +humanity as a whole. For there, too, the real life is the life of the +_will_, both in the empirical and in the transcendental meaning of the +word. The purely intellectual life of humanity lies in its effort to +increase knowledge by means of the sciences, and its desire to perfect +the arts. Both science and art thus advance slowly from one generation +to another, and grow with the centuries, every race as it hurries by +furnishing its contribution. This intellectual life, like some gift +from heaven, hovers over the stir and movement of the world; or it +is, as it were, a sweet-scented air developed out of the ferment +itself--the real life of mankind, dominated by will; and side by side +with the history of nations, the history of philosophy, science and +art takes its innocent and bloodless way. + +The difference between the genius and the ordinary man is, no doubt, a +_quantitative_ one, in so far as it is a difference of degree; but I +am tempted to regard it also as _qualitative_, in view of the fact +that ordinary minds, notwithstanding individual variation, have a +certain tendency to think alike. Thus on similar occasions their +thoughts at once all take a similar direction, and run on the same +lines; and this explains why their judgments constantly agree--not, +however, because they are based on truth. To such lengths does this go +that certain fundamental views obtain amongst mankind at all times, +and are always being repeated and brought forward anew, whilst the +great minds of all ages are in open or secret opposition to them. + +A genius is a man in whose mind the world is presented as an object +is presented in a mirror, but with a degree more of clearness and a +greater distinction of outline than is attained by ordinary people. +It is from him that humanity may look for most instruction; for the +deepest insight into the most important matters is to be acquired, not +by an observant attention to detail, but by a close study of things as +a whole. And if his mind reaches maturity, the instruction he gives +will be conveyed now in one form, now in another. Thus genius may be +defined as an eminently clear consciousness of things in general, and +therefore, also of that which is opposed to them, namely, one's own +self. + +The world looks up to a man thus endowed, and expects to learn +something about life and its real nature. But several highly favorable +circumstances must combine to produce genius, and this is a very rare +event. It happens only now and then, let us say once in a century, +that a man is born whose intellect so perceptibly surpasses the +normal measure as to amount to that second faculty which seems to be +accidental, as it is out of all relation to the will. He may remain +a long time without being recognized or appreciated, stupidity +preventing the one and envy the other. But should this once come to +pass, mankind will crowd round him and his works, in the hope that he +may be able to enlighten some of the darkness of their existence or +inform them about it. His message is, to some extent, a revelation, +and he himself a higher being, even though he may be but little above +the ordinary standard. + +Like the ordinary man, the genius is what he is chiefly for himself. +This is essential to his nature: a fact which can neither be avoided +nor altered, he may be for others remains a matter of chance and of +secondary importance. In no case can people receive from his mind +more than a reflection, and then only when he joins with them in the +attempt to get his thought into their heads; where, however, it is +never anything but an exotic plant, stunted and frail. + +In order to have original, uncommon, and perhaps even immortal +thoughts, it is enough to estrange oneself so fully from the world of +things for a few moments, that the most ordinary objects and events +appear quite new and unfamiliar. In this way their true nature is +disclosed. What is here demanded cannot, perhaps, be said to be +difficult; it is not in our power at all, but is just the province of +genius. + +By itself, genius can produce original thoughts just as little as a +woman by herself can bear children. Outward circumstances must come to +fructify genius, and be, as it were, a father to its progeny. + +The mind of genius is among other minds what the carbuncle is among +precious stones: it sends forth light of its own, while the others +reflect only that which they have received. The relation of the +genius to the ordinary mind may also be described as that of +an idio-electrical body to one which merely is a conductor of +electricity. + +The mere man of learning, who spends his life in teaching what he +has learned, is not strictly to be called a man of genius; just as +idio-electrical bodies are not conductors. Nay, genius stands to mere +learning as the words to the music in a song. A man of learning is a +man who has learned a great deal; a man of genius, one from whom we +learn something which the genius has learned from nobody. Great minds, +of which there is scarcely one in a hundred millions, are thus the +lighthouses of humanity; and without them mankind would lose itself in +the boundless sea of monstrous error and bewilderment. + +And so the simple man of learning, in the strict sense of the +word--the ordinary professor, for instance--looks upon the genius much +as we look upon a hare, which is good to eat after it has been killed +and dressed up. So long as it is alive, it is only good to shoot at. + +He who wishes to experience gratitude from his contemporaries, must +adjust his pace to theirs. But great things are never produced in +this way. And he who wants to do great things must direct his gaze +to posterity, and in firm confidence elaborate his work for coming +generations. No doubt, the result may be that he will remain quite +unknown to his contemporaries, and comparable to a man who, compelled +to spend his life upon a lonely island, with great effort sets up a +monument there, to transmit to future sea-farers the knowledge of his +existence. If he thinks it a hard fate, let him console himself with +the reflection that the ordinary man who lives for practical aims +only, often suffers a like fate, without having any compensation to +hope for; inasmuch as he may, under favorable conditions, spend a life +of material production, earning, buying, building, fertilizing, +laying out, founding, establishing, beautifying with daily effort +and unflagging zeal, and all the time think that he is working for +himself; and yet in the end it is his descendants who reap the benefit +of it all, and sometimes not even his descendants. It is the same with +the man of genius; he, too, hopes for his reward and for honor at +least; and at last finds that he has worked for posterity alone. Both, +to be sure, have inherited a great deal from their ancestors. + +The compensation I have mentioned as the privilege of genius lies, not +in what it is to others, but in what it is to itself. What man has in +any real sense lived more than he whose moments of thought make their +echoes heard through the tumult of centuries? Perhaps, after all, it +would be the best thing for a genius to attain undisturbed possession +of himself, by spending his life in enjoying the pleasure of his own +thoughts, his own works, and by admitting the world only as the heir +of his ample existence. Then the world would find the mark of his +existence only after his death, as it finds that of the Ichnolith.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note._--For an illustration of this feeling +in poetry, Schopenhauer refers the reader to Byron's _Prophecy of +Dante_: introd. to C. 4.] + +It is not only in the activity of his highest powers that the genius +surpasses ordinary people. A man who is unusually well-knit, supple +and agile, will perform all his movements with exceptional ease, even +with comfort, because he takes a direct pleasure in an activity for +which he is particularly well-equipped, and therefore often exercises +it without any object. Further, if he is an acrobat or a dancer, not +only does he take leaps which other people cannot execute, but he also +betrays rare elasticity and agility in those easier steps which others +can also perform, and even in ordinary walking. In the same way a man +of superior mind will not only produce thoughts and works which could +never have come from another; it will not be here alone that he will +show his greatness; but as knowledge and thought form a mode of +activity natural and easy to him, he will also delight himself in them +at all times, and so apprehend small matters which are within the +range of other minds, more easily, quickly and correctly than they. +Thus he will take a direct and lively pleasure in every increase of +Knowledge, every problem solved, every witty thought, whether of his +own or another's; and so his mind will have no further aim than to be +constantly active. This will be an inexhaustible spring of delight; +and boredom, that spectre which haunts the ordinary man, can never +come near him. + +Then, too, the masterpieces of past and contemporary men of genius +exist in their fullness for him alone. If a great product of genius +is recommended to the ordinary, simple mind, it will take as much +pleasure in it as the victim of gout receives in being invited to a +ball. The one goes for the sake of formality, and the other reads the +book so as not to be in arrear. For La Bruyère was quite right when he +said: _All the wit in the world is lost upon him who has none_. The +whole range of thought of a man of talent, or of a genius, compared +with the thoughts of the common man, is, even when directed to objects +essentially the same, like a brilliant oil-painting, full of life, +compared with a mere outline or a weak sketch in water-color. + +All this is part of the reward of genius, and compensates him for a +lonely existence in a world with which he has nothing in common and +no sympathies. But since size is relative, it comes to the same thing +whether I say, Caius was a great man, or Caius has to live amongst +wretchedly small people: for Brobdingnack and Lilliput vary only +in the point from which they start. However great, then, however +admirable or instructive, a long posterity may think the author +of immortal works, during his lifetime he will appear to his +contemporaries small, wretched, and insipid in proportion. This is +what I mean by saying that as there are three hundred degrees from the +base of a tower to the summit, so there are exactly three hundred +from the summit to the base. Great minds thus owe little ones some +indulgence; for it is only in virtue of these little minds that they +themselves are great. + +Let us, then, not be surprised if we find men of genius generally +unsociable and repellent. It is not their want of sociability that is +to blame. Their path through the world is like that of a man who goes +for a walk on a bright summer morning. He gazes with delight on the +beauty and freshness of nature, but he has to rely wholly on that for +entertainment; for he can find no society but the peasants as they +bend over the earth and cultivate the soil. It is often the case that +a great mind prefers soliloquy to the dialogue he may have in this +world. If he condescends to it now and then, the hollowness of it may +possibly drive him back to his soliloquy; for in forgetfulness of his +interlocutor, or caring little whether he understands or not, he talks +to him as a child talks to a doll. + +Modesty in a great mind would, no doubt, be pleasing to the world; +but, unluckily, it is a _contradictio in adjecto_. It would compel a +genius to give the thoughts and opinions, nay, even the method and +style, of the million preference over his own; to set a higher value +upon them; and, wide apart as they are, to bring his views into +harmony with theirs, or even suppress them altogether, so as to let +the others hold the field. In that case, however, he would either +produce nothing at all, or else his achievements would be just upon a +level with theirs. Great, genuine and extraordinary work can be done +only in so far as its author disregards the method, the thoughts, the +opinions of his contemporaries, and quietly works on, in spite of +their criticism, on his side despising what they praise. No one +becomes great without arrogance of this sort. Should his life and work +fall upon a time which cannot recognize and appreciate him, he is at +any rate true to himself; like some noble traveler forced to pass the +night in a miserable inn; when morning comes, he contentedly goes his +way. + +A poet or philosopher should have no fault to find with his age if it +only permits him to do his work undisturbed in his own corner; nor +with his fate if the corner granted him allows of his following his +vocation without having to think about other people. + +For the brain to be a mere laborer in the service of the belly, is +indeed the common lot of almost all those who do not live on the work +of their hands; and they are far from being discontented with +their lot. But it strikes despair into a man of great mind, whose +brain-power goes beyond the measure necessary for the service of +the will; and he prefers, if need be, to live in the narrowest +circumstances, so long as they afford him the free use of his time for +the development and application of his faculties; in other words, if +they give him the leisure which is invaluable to him. + +It is otherwise with ordinary people: for them leisure has no value in +itself, nor is it, indeed, without its dangers, as these people +seem to know. The technical work of our time, which is done to an +unprecedented perfection, has, by increasing and multiplying objects +of luxury, given the favorites of fortune a choice between more +leisure and culture upon the one side, and additional luxury and good +living, but with increased activity, upon the other; and, true to +their character, they choose the latter, and prefer champagne to +freedom. And they are consistent in their choice; for, to them, every +exertion of the mind which does not serve the aims of the will is +folly. Intellectual effort for its own sake, they call eccentricity. +Therefore, persistence in the aims of the will and the belly will be +concentricity; and, to be sure, the will is the centre, the kernel of +the world. + +But in general it is very seldom that any such alternative is +presented. For as with money, most men have no superfluity, but only +just enough for their needs, so with intelligence; they possess just +what will suffice for the service of the will, that is, for the +carrying on of their business. Having made their fortune, they are +content to gape or to indulge in sensual pleasures or childish +amusements, cards or dice; or they will talk in the dullest way, or +dress up and make obeisance to one another. And how few are those who +have even a little superfluity of intellectual power! Like the others +they too make themselves a pleasure; but it is a pleasure of the +intellect. Either they will pursue some liberal study which brings +them in nothing, or they will practice some art; and in general, they +will be capable of taking an objective interest in things, so that +it will be possible to converse with them. But with the others it is +better not to enter into any relations at all; for, except when they +tell the results of their own experience or give an account of their +special vocation, or at any rate impart what they have learned from +some one else, their conversation will not be worth listening to; and +if anything is said to them, they will rarely grasp or understand it +aright, and it will in most cases be opposed to their own opinions. +Balthazar Gracian describes them very strikingly as men who are not +men--_hombres che non lo son_. And Giordano Bruno _says_ the same +thing: _What a difference there is in having to do with men compared +with those who are only made in their image and likeness_![1] And how +wonderfully this passage agrees with that remark in the Kurral: _The +common people look like men but I have never seen anything quite like +them_. If the reader will consider the extent to which these ideas +agree in thought and even in expression, and in the wide difference +between them in point of date and nationality, he cannot doubt but +that they are at one with the facts of life. It was certainly not +under the influence of those passages that, about twenty years ago, I +tried to get a snuff-box made, the lid of which should have two fine +chestnuts represented upon it, if possible in mosaic; together with a +leaf which was to show that they were horse-chestnuts. This symbol was +meant to keep the thought constantly before my mind. If anyone wishes +for entertainment, such as will prevent him feeling solitary even when +he is alone, let me recommend the company of dogs, whose moral and +intellectual qualities may almost afford delight and gratification. + +[Footnote 1: Opera: ed. Wagner, 1. 224.] + +Still, we should always be careful to avoid being unjust. I am often +surprised by the cleverness, and now and again by the stupidity of my +dog; and I have similar experiences with mankind. Countless times, +in indignation at their incapacity, their total lack of discernment, +their bestiality, I have been forced to echo the old complaint that +folly is the mother and the nurse of the human race: + + _Humani generis mater nutrixque profecto + Stultitia est_. + +But at other times I have been astounded that from such a race there +could have gone forth so many arts and sciences, abounding in so much +use and beauty, even though it has always been the few that produce +them. Yet these arts and sciences have struck root, established and +perfected themselves: and the race has with persistent fidelity +preserved Homer, Plato, Horace and others for thousands of years, by +copying and treasuring their writings, thus saving them from oblivion, +in spite of all the evils and atrocities that have happened in the +world. Thus the race has proved that it appreciates the value of these +things, and at the same time it can form a correct view of special +achievements or estimate signs of judgment and intelligence. When this +takes place amongst those who belong to the great multitude, it is by +a kind of inspiration. Sometimes a correct opinion will be formed by +the multitude itself; but this is only when the chorus of praise +has grown full and complete. It is then like the sound of untrained +voices; where there are enough of them, it is always harmonious. + +Those who emerge from the multitude, those who are called men of +genius, are merely the _lucida intervalla_ of the whole human race. +They achieve that which others could not possibly achieve. Their +originality is so great that not only is their divergence from others +obvious, but their individuality is expressed with such force, that +all the men of genius who have ever existed show, every one of them, +peculiarities of character and mind; so that the gift of his works is +one which he alone of all men could ever have presented to the world. +This is what makes that simile of Ariosto's so true and so justly +celebrated: _Natura lo fece e poi ruppe lo stampo._ After Nature +stamps a man of genius, she breaks the die. + +But there is always a limit to human capacity; and no one can be a +great genius without having some decidedly weak side, it may even be, +some intellectual narrowness. In other words, there will foe some +faculty in which he is now and then inferior to men of moderate +endowments. It will be a faculty which, if strong, might have been an +obstacle to the exercise of the qualities in which he excels. What +this weak point is, it will always be hard to define with any accuracy +even in a given case. It may be better expressed indirectly; thus +Plato's weak point is exactly that in which Aristotle is strong, and +_vice versa_; and so, too, Kant is deficient just where Goethe is +great. + +Now, mankind is fond of venerating something; but its veneration is +generally directed to the wrong object, and it remains so directed +until posterity comes to set it right. But the educated public is +no sooner set right in this, than the honor which is due to genius +degenerates; just as the honor which the faithful pay to their saints +easily passes into a frivolous worship of relics. Thousands of +Christians adore the relics of a saint whose life and doctrine are +unknown to them; and the religion of thousands of Buddhists lies more +in veneration of the Holy Tooth or some such object, or the vessel +that contains it, or the Holy Bowl, or the fossil footstep, or the +Holy Tree which Buddha planted, than in the thorough knowledge and +faithful practice of his high teaching. Petrarch's house in Arqua; +Tasso's supposed prison in Ferrara; Shakespeare's house in Stratford, +with his chair; Goethe's house in Weimar, with its furniture; Kant's +old hat; the autographs of great men; these things are gaped at with +interest and awe by many who have never read their works. They cannot +do anything more than just gape. + +The intelligent amongst them are moved by the wish to see the objects +which the great man habitually had before his eyes; and by a strange +illusion, these produce the mistaken notion that with the objects they +are bringing back the man himself, or that something of him must +cling to them. Akin to such people are those who earnestly strive to +acquaint themselves with the subject-matter of a poet's works, or to +unravel the personal circumstances and events in his life which have +suggested particular passages. This is as though the audience in a +theatre were to admire a fine scene and then rush upon the stage to +look at the scaffolding that supports it. There are in our day enough +instances of these critical investigators, and they prove the truth of +the saying that mankind is interested, not in the _form_ of a work, +that is, in its manner of treatment, but in its actual matter. All it +cares for is the theme. To read a philosopher's biography, instead of +studying his thoughts, is like neglecting a picture and attending only +to the style of its frame, debating whether it is carved well or ill, +and how much it cost to gild it. + +This is all very well. However, there is another class of +persons whose interest is also directed to material and personal +considerations, but they go much further and carry it to a point where +it becomes absolutely futile. Because a great man has opened up to +them the treasures of his inmost being, and, by a supreme effort +of his faculties, produced works which not only redound to their +elevation and enlightenment, but will also benefit their posterity to +the tenth and twentieth generation; because he has presented mankind +with a matchless gift, these varlets think themselves justified in +sitting in judgment upon his personal morality, and trying if they +cannot discover here or there some spot in him which will soothe the +pain they feel at the sight of so great a mind, compared with the +overwhelming feeling of their own nothingness. + +This is the real source of all those prolix discussions, carried on in +countless books and reviews, on the moral aspect of Goethe's life, and +whether he ought not to have married one or other of the girls with +whom he fell in love in his young days; whether, again, instead of +honestly devoting himself to the service of his master, he should not +have been a man of the people, a German patriot, worthy of a seat in +the _Paulskirche_, and so on. Such crying ingratitude and malicious +detraction prove that these self-constituted judges are as great +knaves morally as they are intellectually, which is saying a great +deal. + +A man of talent will strive for money and reputation; but the spring +that moves genius to the production of its works is not as easy to +name. Wealth is seldom its reward. Nor is it reputation or glory; only +a Frenchman could mean that. Glory is such an uncertain thing, and, +if you look at it closely, of so little value. Besides it never +corresponds to the effort you have made: + + _Responsura tuo nunquam est par fama labori._ + +Nor, again, is it exactly the pleasure it gives you; for this is +almost outweighed by the greatness of the effort. It is rather a +peculiar kind of instinct, which drives the man of genius to give +permanent form to what he sees and feels, without being conscious of +any further motive. It works, in the main, by a necessity similar to +that which makes a tree bear its fruit; and no external condition is +needed but the ground upon which it is to thrive. + +On a closer examination, it seems as though, in the case of a genius, +the will to live, which is the spirit of the human species, were +conscious of having, by some rare chance, and for a brief period, +attained a greater clearness of vision, and were now trying to secure +it, or at least the outcome of it, for the whole species, to which the +individual genius in his inmost being belongs; so that the light which +he sheds about him may pierce the darkness and dullness of ordinary +human consciousness and there produce some good effect. + +Arising in some such way, this instinct drives the genius to carry +his work to completion, without thinking of reward or applause or +sympathy; to leave all care for his own personal welfare; to make his +life one of industrious solitude, and to strain his faculties to +the utmost. He thus comes to think more about posterity than about +contemporaries; because, while the latter can only lead him astray, +posterity forms the majority of the species, and time will gradually +bring the discerning few who can appreciate him. Meanwhile it is with +him as with the artist described by Goethe; he has no princely patron +to prize his talents, no friend to rejoice with him: + + _Ein Fürst der die Talente schätzt, + Ein Freund, der sich mit mir ergötzt, + Die haben leider mir gefehlt_. + +His work is, as it were, a sacred object and the true fruit of his +life, and his aim in storing it away for a more discerning posterity +will be to make it the property of mankind. An aim like this far +surpasses all others, and for it he wears the crown of thorns which +is one day to bloom into a wreath of laurel. All his powers are +concentrated in the effort to complete and secure his work; just as +the insect, in the last stage of its development, uses its whole +strength on behalf of a brood it will never live to see; it puts its +eggs in some place of safety, where, as it well knows, the young will +one day find life and nourishment, and then dies in confidence. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Art of Literature, by Arthur Schopenhauer + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10714 *** |