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diff --git a/old/10715.txt b/old/10715.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..afe7c6a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10715.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4901 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Counsels and Maxims, by Arthur Schopenhauer + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Counsels and Maxims + From The Essays Of Arthur Schopenhauer + +Author: Arthur Schopenhauer + +Release Date: January 14, 2004 [EBook #10715] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUNSELS AND MAXIMS *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +THE ESSAYS + +OF + +ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER + + +TRANSLATED BY + +T. BAILEY SAUNDERS, M.A. + + + + +COUNSELS AND MAXIMS. + + _Le bonheur n'est pas chose aisee: il est + tres difficile de le trouver en nous, et impossible + de le trouver ailleurs_. + +CHAMFORT. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +CHAPTER + + INTRODUCTION + I. GENERAL RULES + II. OUR RELATION TO OURSELVES + III. OUR RELATION TO OTHERS + IV. WORLDLY FORTUNE + V. THE AGES OF LIFE + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + +If my object in these pages were to present a complete scheme of +counsels and maxims for the guidance of life, I should have to repeat +the numerous rules--some of them excellent--which have been drawn +up by thinkers of all ages, from Theognis and Solomon[1] down to La +Rochefoucauld; and, in so doing, I should inevitably entail upon the +reader a vast amount of well-worn commonplace. But the fact is that in +this work I make still less claim to exhaust my subject than in any +other of my writings. + +[Footnote 1: I refer to the proverbs and maxims ascribed, in the Old +Testament, to the king of that name.] + +An author who makes no claims to completeness must also, in a great +measure, abandon any attempt at systematic arrangement. For his double +loss in this respect, the reader may console himself by reflecting +that a complete and systematic treatment of such a subject as the +guidance of life could hardly fail to be a very wearisome business. +I have simply put down those of my thoughts which appear to be worth +communicating--thoughts which, as far as I know, have not been +uttered, or, at any rate, not just in the same form, by any one else; +so that my remarks may be taken as a supplement to what has been +already achieved in the immense field. + +However, by way of introducing some sort of order into the great +variety of matters upon which advice will be given in the following +pages, I shall distribute what I have to say under the following +heads: (1) general rules; (2) our relation to ourselves; (3) our +relation to others; and finally, (4) rules which concern our manner of +life and our worldly circumstances. I shall conclude with some remarks +on the changes which the various periods of life produce in us. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +GENERAL RULES.--SECTION 1. + + +The first and foremost rule for the wise conduct of life seems to me +to be contained in a view to which Aristotle parenthetically refers in +the _Nichomachean Ethics_:[1] [Greek: o phronimoz to alupon dioke e ou +to aedu] or, as it may be rendered, _not pleasure, but freedom from +pain, is what the wise man will aim at_. + +[Footnote 1: vii. (12) 12.] + +The truth of this remark turns upon the negative character of +happiness,--the fact that pleasure is only the negation of pain, and +that pain is the positive element in life. Though I have given a +detailed proof of this proposition in my chief work,[1] I may supply +one more illustration of it here, drawn from a circumstance of daily +occurrence. Suppose that, with the exception of some sore or painful +spot, we are physically in a sound and healthy condition: the sore of +this one spot, will completely absorb our attention, causing us to +lose the sense of general well-being, and destroying all our comfort +in life. In the same way, when all our affairs but one turn out as +we wish, the single instance in which our aims are frustrated is a +constant trouble to us, even though it be something quite trivial. We +think a great deal about it, and very little about those other and +more important matters in which we have been successful. In both these +cases what has met with resistance is _the will_; in the one case, as +it is objectified in the organism, in the other, as it presents +itself in the struggle of life; and in both, it is plain that the +satisfaction of the will consists in nothing else than that it meets +with no resistance. It is, therefore, a satisfaction which is not +directly felt; at most, we can become conscious of it only when we +reflect upon our condition. But that which checks or arrests the will +is something positive; it proclaims its own presence. All pleasure +consists in merely removing this check--in other words, in freeing us +from its action; and hence pleasure is a state which can never last +very long. + +[Footnote 1: _Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_. Vol. I., p. 58.] + +This is the true basis of the above excellent rule quoted from +Aristotle, which bids us direct our aim, not toward securing what is +pleasurable and agreeable in life, but toward avoiding, as far as +possible, its innumerable evils. If this were not the right course to +take, that saying of Voltaire's, _Happiness is but a dream and sorrow +is real_, would be as false as it is, in fact, true. A man who desires +to make up the book of his life and determine where the balance of +happiness lies, must put down in his accounts, not the pleasures which +he has enjoyed, but the evils which he has escaped. That is the +true method of eudaemonology; for all eudaemonology must begin by +recognizing that its very name is a euphemism, and that _to live +happily_ only means _to live less unhappily_--to live a tolerable +life. There is no doubt that life is given us, not to be enjoyed, +but to be overcome--to be got over. There are numerous expressions +illustrating this--such as _degere vitam, vita defungi_; or +in Italian, _si scampa cosi_; or in German, _man muss suchen +durchzukommen; er wird schon durch die Welt kommen_, and so on. In old +age it is indeed a consolation to think that the work of life is over +and done with. The happiest lot is not to have experienced the keenest +delights or the greatest pleasures, but to have brought life to a +close without any very great pain, bodily or mental. To measure the +happiness of a life by its delights or pleasures, is to apply a false +standard. For pleasures are and remain something negative; that +they produce happiness is a delusion, cherished by envy to its own +punishment. Pain is felt to be something positive, and hence its +absence is the true standard of happiness. And if, over and above +freedom from pain, there is also an absence of boredom, the essential +conditions of earthly happiness are attained; for all else is +chimerical. + +It follows from this that a man should never try to purchase pleasure +at the cost of pain, or even at the risk of incurring it; to do so is +to pay what is positive and real, for what is negative and illusory; +while there is a net profit in sacrificing pleasure for the sake of +avoiding pain. In either case it is a matter of indifference whether +the pain follows the pleasure or precedes it. While it is a complete +inversion of the natural order to try and turn this scene of misery +into a garden of pleasure, to aim at joy and pleasure rather than +at the greatest possible freedom from pain--and yet how many do +it!--there is some wisdom in taking a gloomy view, in looking upon the +world as a kind of Hell, and in confining one's efforts to securing +a little room that shall not be exposed to the fire. The fool rushes +after the pleasures of life and finds himself their dupe; the wise man +avoids its evils; and even if, notwithstanding his precautions, he +falls into misfortunes, that is the fault of fate, not of his own +folly. As far as he is successful in his endeavors, he cannot be said +to have lived a life of illusion; for the evils which he shuns are +very real. Even if he goes too far out of his way to avoid evils, and +makes an unnecessary sacrifice of pleasure, he is, in reality, not the +worse off for that; for all pleasures are chimerical, and to mourn +for having lost any of them is a frivolous, and even ridiculous +proceeding. + +The failure to recognize this truth--a failure promoted by optimistic +ideas--is the source of much unhappiness. In moments free from pain, +our restless wishes present, as it were in a mirror, the image of a +happiness that has no counterpart in reality, seducing us to follow +it; in doing so we bring pain upon ourselves, and that is something +undeniably real. Afterwards, we come to look with regret upon that +lost state of painlessness; it is a paradise which we have gambled +away; it is no longer with us, and we long in vain to undo what has +been done. + +One might well fancy that these visions of wishes fulfilled were the +work of some evil spirit, conjured up in order to entice us away from +that painless state which forms our highest happiness. + +A careless youth may think that the world is meant to be enjoyed, as +though it were the abode of some real or positive happiness, which +only those fail to attain who are not clever enough to overcome the +difficulties that lie in the way. This false notion takes a stronger +hold on him when he comes to read poetry and romance, and to be +deceived by outward show--the hypocrisy that characterizes the +world from beginning to end; on which I shall have something to say +presently. The result is that his life is the more or less deliberate +pursuit of positive happiness; and happiness he takes to be equivalent +to a series of definite pleasures. In seeking for these pleasures he +encounters danger--a fact which should not be forgotten. He hunts for +game that does not exist; and so he ends by suffering some very +real and positive misfortune--pain, distress, sickness, loss, care, +poverty, shame, and all the thousand ills of life. Too late he +discovers the trick that has been played upon him. + +But if the rule I have mentioned is observed, and a plan of life is +adopted which proceeds by avoiding pain--in other words, by taking +measures of precaution against want, sickness, and distress in all its +forms, the aim is a real one, and something may be achieved which will +be great in proportion as the plan is not disturbed by striving after +the chimera of positive happiness. This agrees with the opinion +expressed by Goethe in the _Elective Affinities_, and there put into +the mouth of Mittler--the man who is always trying to make other +people happy: _To desire to get rid of an evil is a definite object, +but to desire a better fortune than one has is blind folly_. The same +truth is contained in that fine French proverb: _le mieux est l'ennemi +du bien_--leave well alone. And, as I have remarked in my chief +work,[1] this is the leading thought underlying the philosophical +system of the Cynics. For what was it led the Cynics to repudiate +pleasure in every form, if it was not the fact that pain is, in a +greater or less degree, always bound up with pleasure? To go out of +the way of pain seemed to them so much easier than to secure pleasure. +Deeply impressed as they were by the negative nature of pleasure and +the positive nature of pain, they consistently devoted all their +efforts to the avoidance of pain. The first step to that end was, in +their opinion, a complete and deliberate repudiation of pleasure, as +something which served only to entrap the victim in order that he +might be delivered over to pain. + +[Footnote 1: _Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, vol. ii., ch. 16.] + +We are all born, as Schiller says, in Arcadia. In other words, we +come into the world full of claims to happiness and pleasure, and we +cherish the fond hope of making them good. But, as a rule, Fate soon +teaches us, in a rough and ready way that we really possess nothing at +all, but that everything in the world is at its command, in virtue of +an unassailable right, not only to all we have or acquire, to wife or +child, but even to our very limbs, our arms, legs, _eyes_ and ears, +nay, even to the nose in the middle of our face. And in any case, +after some little time, we learn by experience that happiness and +pleasure are a _fata morgana_, which, visible from afar, vanish as we +approach; that, on the other hand, suffering and pain are a reality, +which makes its presence felt without any intermediary, and for its +effect, stands in no need of illusion or the play of false hope. + +If the teaching of experience bears fruit in us, we soon give up the +pursuit of pleasure and happiness, and think much more about making +ourselves secure against the attacks of pain and suffering. We see +that the best the world has to offer is an existence free from pain--a +quiet, tolerable life; and we confine our claims to this, as to +something we can more surely hope to achieve. For the safest way of +not being very miserable is not to expect to be very happy. Merck, the +friend of Goethe's youth, was conscious of this truth when he +wrote: _It is the wretched way people have of setting up a claim to +happiness_--_and, that to, in a measure corresponding with their +desires_--_that ruins everything in this world. A man will make +progress if he can get rid of this claim,[1] and desire nothing but +what he sees before him_. Accordingly it is advisable to put very +moderate limits upon our expectations of pleasure, possessions, rank, +honor and so on; because it is just this striving and struggling to +be happy, to dazzle the world, to lead a life full of pleasure, which +entail great misfortune. It is prudent and wise, I say, to reduce +one's claims, if only for the reason that it is extremely easy to be +very unhappy; while to be very happy is not indeed difficult, but +quite impossible. With justice sings the poet of life's wisdom: + + _Auream quisquis mediocritatem + Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti + Sordibus tecti, caret invidenda + Sobrius aula. + Savius ventis agitatur ingens + Pinus: et celsae graviori casu + Decidunt turres; feriuntque summos + Fulgura monies.[2]_ + +--the golden mean is best--to live free from the squalor of a mean +abode, and yet not be a mark for envy. It is the tall pine which is +cruelly shaken by the wind, the highest summits that are struck in the +storm, and the lofty towers that fall so heavily. + +[Footnote 1: Letters to and from Merck.] + +[Footnote 2: Horace. Odes II. x.] + +He who has taken to heart the teaching of my philosophy--who knows, +therefore, that our whole existence is something which had better +not have been, and that to disown and disclaim it is the highest +wisdom--he will have no great expectations from anything or any +condition in life: he will spend passion upon nothing in the world, +nor lament over-much if he fails in any of his undertakings. He +will feel the deep truth of what Plato[1] says: [Greek: oute ti ton +anthropinon haxion on megalaes spondaes]--nothing in human affairs is +worth any great anxiety; or, as the Persian poet has it, + + _Though from thy grasp all worldly things should flee, + Grieve not for them, for they are nothing worth: + And though a world in thy possession be, + Joy not, for worthless are the things of earth. + Since to that better world 'tis given to thee + To pass, speed on, for this is nothing worth._[2] + +[Footnote 1: _Republic_, x. 604.] + +[Footnote 2: _Translator's Note_. From the Anvar-i Suhaili--_The +Lights of Canopus_--being the Persian version of the _Table of +Bidpai_. Translated by E.B. Eastwick, ch. iii. Story vi., p. 289.] + +The chief obstacle to our arriving at these salutary views is that +hypocrisy of the world to which I have already alluded--an hypocrisy +which should be early revealed to the young. Most of the glories of +the world are mere outward show, like the scenes on a stage: there +is nothing real about them. Ships festooned and hung with pennants, +firing of cannon, illuminations, beating of drums and blowing of +trumpets, shouting and applauding--these are all the outward sign, the +pretence and suggestion,--as it were the hieroglyphic,--of _joy_: but +just there, joy is, as a rule, not to be found; it is the only guest +who has declined to be present at the festival. Where this guest may +really be found, he comes generally without invitation; he is not +formerly announced, but slips in quietly by himself _sans facon_; +often making his appearance under the most unimportant and trivial +circumstances, and in the commonest company--anywhere, in short, but +where the society is brilliant and distinguished. Joy is like the gold +in the Australian mines--found only now and then, as it were, by the +caprice of chance, and according to no rule or law; oftenest in very +little grains, and very seldom in heaps. All that outward show which I +have described, is only an attempt to make people believe that it +is really joy which has come to the festival; and to produce this +impression upon the spectators is, in fact, the whole object of it. + +With _mourning_ it is just the same. That long funeral procession, +moving up so slowly; how melancholy it looks! what an endless row of +carriages! But look into them--they are all empty; the coachmen of the +whole town are the sole escort the dead man has to his grave. Eloquent +picture of the friendship and esteem of the world! This is the +falsehood, the hollowness, the hypocrisy of human affairs! + +Take another example--a roomful of guests in full dress, being +received with great ceremony. You could almost believe that this is +a noble and distinguished company; but, as a matter of fact, it is +compulsion, pain and boredom who are the real guests. For where many +are invited, it is a rabble--even if they all wear stars. Really good +society is everywhere of necessity very small. In brilliant festivals +and noisy entertainments, there is always, at bottom, a sense of +emptiness prevalent. A false tone is there: such gatherings are in +strange contrast with the misery and barrenness of our existence. The +contrast brings the true condition into greater relief. Still, these +gatherings are effective from the outside; and that is just their +purpose. Chamfort[1] makes the excellent remark that _society_--_les +cercles, les salons, ce qu'on appelle le monde_--is like a miserable +play, or a bad opera, without any interest in itself, but supported +for a time by mechanical aid, costumes and scenery. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. Nicholas "Chamfort" (1741-94), a +French miscellaneous writer, whose brilliant conversation, power of +sarcasm, and epigrammic force, coupled with an extraordinary career, +render him one of the most interesting and remarkable men of his +time. Schopenhauer undoubtedly owed much to this writer, to whom he +constantly refers.] + +And so, too, with academies and chairs of philosophy. You have a kind +of sign-board hung out to show the apparent abode of _wisdom_: but +wisdom is another guest who declines the invitation; she is to be +found elsewhere. The chiming of bells, ecclesiastical millinery, +attitudes of devotion, insane antics--these are the pretence, the +false show of _piety_. And so on. Everything in the world is like a +hollow nut; there is little kernel anywhere, and when it does exist, +it is still more rare to find it in the shell. You may look for it +elsewhere, and find it, as a rule, only by chance. + +SECTION 2. To estimate a man's condition in regard to happiness, it is +necessary to ask, not what things please him, but what things trouble +him; and the more trivial these things are in themselves, the happier +the man will be. To be irritated by trifles, a man must be well off; +for in misfortunes trifles are unfelt. + +SECTION 3. Care should be taken not to build the happiness of life +upon a _broad foundation_--not to require a great many things in order +to be happy. For happiness on such a foundation is the most easily +undermined; it offers many more opportunities for accidents; and +accidents are always happening. The architecture of happiness follows +a plan in this respect just the opposite of that adopted in every +other case, where the broadest foundation offers the greatest +security. Accordingly, to reduce your claims to the lowest possible +degree, in comparison with your means,--of whatever kind these may +be--is the surest way of avoiding extreme misfortune. + +To make extensive preparations for life--no matter what form they +may take--is one of the greatest and commonest of follies. Such +preparations presuppose, in the first place, a long life, the full and +complete term of years appointed to man--and how few reach it! and +even if it be reached, it is still too short for all the plans that +have been made; for to carry them out requites more time than was +thought necessary at the beginning. And then how many mischances and +obstacles stand in the way! how seldom the goal is ever reached in +human affairs! + +And lastly, even though the goal should be reached, the changes which +Time works in us have been left out of the reckoning: we forget that +the capacity whether for achievement or for enjoyment does not last a +whole lifetime. So we often toil for things which are no longer suited +to us when we attain them; and again, the years we spend in preparing +for some work, unconsciously rob us of the power for carrying it out. + +How often it happens that a man is unable to enjoy the wealth which he +acquired at so much trouble and risk, and that the fruits of his +labor are reserved for others; or that he is incapable of filling the +position which he has won after so many years of toil and struggle. +Fortune has come too late for him; or, contrarily, he has come too +late for fortune,--when, for instance, he wants to achieve great +things, say, in art or literature: the popular taste has changed, it +may be; a new generation has grown up, which takes no interest in his +work; others have gone a shorter way and got the start of him. These +are the facts of life which Horace must have had in view, when he +lamented the uselessness of all advice:-- + + _quid eternis minorem + Consiliis animum fatigas?_[1] + +[Footnote 1: Odes II. xi.] + +The cause of this commonest of all follies is that optical illusion of +the mind from which everyone suffers, making life, at its beginning, +seem of long duration; and at its end, when one looks back over the +course of it, how short a time it seems! There is some advantage in +the illusion; but for it, no great work would ever be done. + +Our life is like a journey on which, as we advance, the landscape +takes a different view from that which it presented at first, +and changes again, as we come nearer. This is just what +happens--especially with our wishes. We often find something else, +nay, something better than what we are looking for; and what we look +for, we often find on a very different path from that on which we +began a vain search. Instead of finding, as we expected, pleasure, +happiness, joy, we get experience, insight, knowledge--a real and +permanent blessing, instead of a fleeting and illusory one. + +This is the thought that runs through _Wilkelm Meister_, like the bass +in a piece of music. In this work of Goethe's, we have a novel of the +_intellectual_ kind, and, therefore, superior to all others, even to +Sir Walter Scott's, which are, one and all, _ethical_; in other words, +they treat of human nature only from the side of the will. So, too, +in the _Zauberfloete_--that grotesque, but still significant, and even +hieroglyphic--the same thought is symbolized, but in great, coarse +lines, much in the way in which scenery is painted. Here the symbol +would be complete if Tamino were in the end to be cured of his desire +to possess Tainina, and received, in her stead, initiation into the +mysteries of the Temple of Wisdom. It is quite right for Papageno, his +necessary contrast, to succeed in getting his Papagena. + +Men of any worth or value soon come to see that they are in the hands +of Fate, and gratefully submit to be moulded by its teachings. They +recognize that the fruit of life is experience, and not happiness; +they become accustomed and content to exchange hope for insight; and, +in the end, they can say, with Petrarch, that all they care for is to +learn:-- + + _Altro diletto che 'mparar, non provo_. + +It may even be that they to some extent still follow their old wishes +and aims, trifling with them, as it were, for the sake of appearances; +all the while really and seriously looking for nothing but +instruction; a process which lends them an air of genius, a trait of +something contemplative and sublime. + +In their search for gold, the alchemists discovered other +things--gunpowder, china, medicines, the laws of nature. There is a +sense in which we are all alchemists. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +OUR RELATION TO OURSELVES.--SECTION 4. + + +The mason employed on the building of a house may be quite ignorant of +its general design; or at any rate, he may not keep it constantly in +mind. So it is with man: in working through the days and hours of his +life, he takes little thought of its character as a whole. + +If there is any merit or importance attaching to a man's career, if he +lays himself out carefully for some special work, it is all the more +necessary and advisable for him to turn his attention now and then +to its _plan_, that is to say, the miniature sketch of its general +outlines. Of course, to do that, he must have applied the maxim +[Greek: Gnothi seauton]; he must have made some little progress in the +art of understanding himself. He must know what is his real, chief, +and foremost object in life,--what it is that he most wants in order +to be happy; and then, after that, what occupies the second and third +place in his thoughts; he must find out what, on the whole, his +vocation really is--the part he has to play, his general relation to +the world. If he maps out important work for himself on great lines, +a glance at this miniature plan of his life will, more than anything +else stimulate, rouse and ennoble him, urge him on to action and keep +him from false paths. + +Again, just as the traveler, on reaching a height, gets a connected +view over the road he has taken, with its many turns and windings; so +it is only when we have completed a period in our life, or approach +the end of it altogether, that we recognize the true connection +between all our actions,--what it is we have achieved, what work we +have done. It is only then that we see the precise chain of cause and +effect, and the exact value of all our efforts. For as long as we are +actually engaged in the work of life, we always act in accordance with +the nature of our character, under the influence of motive, and within +the limits of our capacity,--in a word, from beginning to end, under +a law of _necessity_; at every moment we do just what appears to us +right and proper. It is only afterwards, when we come to look back at +the whole course of our life and its general result, that we see the +why and wherefore of it all. + +When we are actually doing some great deed, or creating some immortal +work, we are not conscious of it as such; we think only of satisfying +present aims, of fulfilling the intentions we happen to have at the +time, of doing the right thing at the moment. It is only when we +come to view our life as a connected whole that our character and +capacities show themselves in their true light; that we see how, in +particular instances, some happy inspiration, as it were, led us to +choose the only true path out of a thousand which might have brought +us to ruin. It was our genius that guided us, a force felt in the +affairs of the intellectual as in those of the world; and working by +its defect just in the same way in regard to evil and disaster. + +SECTION 5. Another important element in the wise conduct of life is to +preserve a proper proportion between our thought for the present and +our thought for the future; in order not to spoil the one by paying +over-great attention to the other. Many live too long in the +present--frivolous people, I mean; others, too much in the future, +ever anxious and full of care. It is seldom that a man holds the right +balance between the two extremes. Those who strive and hope and live +only in the future, always looking ahead and impatiently anticipating +what is coming, as something which will make them happy when they +get it, are, in spite of their very clever airs, exactly like those +donkeys one sees in Italy, whose pace may be hurried by fixing a stick +on their heads with a wisp of hay at the end of it; this is always +just in front of them, and they keep on trying to get it. Such people +are in a constant state of illusion as to their whole existence; they +go on living _ad interim_, until at last they die. + +Instead, therefore, of always thinking about our plans and anxiously +looking to the future, or of giving ourselves up to regret for the +past, we should never forget that the present is the only reality, the +only certainty; that the future almost always turns out contrary to +our expectations; that the past, too, was very different from what +we suppose it to have been. But the past and the future are, on the +whole, of less consequence than we think. Distance, which makes +objects look small to the outward eye, makes them look big to the eye +of thought. The present alone is true and actual; it is the only +time which possesses full reality, and our existence lies in it +exclusively. Therefore we should always be glad of it, and give it +the welcome it deserves, and enjoy every hour that is bearable by +its freedom from pain and annoyance with a full consciousness of its +value. We shall hardly be able to do this if we make a wry face over +the failure of our hopes in the past or over our anxiety for the +future. It is the height of folly to refuse the present hour of +happiness, or wantonly to spoil it by vexation at by-gones or +uneasiness about what is to come. There is a time, of course, for +forethought, nay, even for repentance; but when it is over let us +think of what is past as of something to which we have said farewell, +of necessity subduing our hearts-- + + [Greek: alla ta men protuchthai easomen achnumenoi per + tumhon eni staethessi philon damasntes hanankae],[1] + +and of the future as of that which lies beyond our power, in the lap +of the gods-- + +[Greek: all aetoi men tauta theon en gounasi keitai.][2] + +[Footnote 1: _Iliad_, xix, 65.] + +[Footnote 2: _Ibid_, xvii, 514] + +But in regard to the present let us remember Seneca's advice, and live +each day as if it were our whole life,--_singulas dies singulas vitas +puta_: let us make it as agreeable as possible, it is the only real +time we have. + +Only those evils which are sure to come at a definite date have +any right to disturb us; and how few there are which fulfill this +description. For evils are of two kinds; either they are possible +only, at most probable; or they are inevitable. Even in the case of +evils which are sure to happen, the time at which they will happen is +uncertain. A man who is always preparing for either class of evil will +not have a moment of peace left him. So, if we are not to lose all +comfort in life through the fear of evils, some of which are uncertain +in themselves, and others, in the time at which they will occur, we +should look upon the one kind as never likely to happen, and the other +as not likely to happen very soon. + +Now, the less our peace of mind is disturbed by fear, the more likely +it is to be agitated by desire and expectation. This is the true +meaning of that song of Goethe's which is such a favorite with +everyone: _Ich hab' mein' Sach' auf nichts gestellt_. It is only +after a man has got rid of all pretension, and taken refuge in mere +unembellished existence, that he is able to attain that peace of mind +which is the foundation of human happiness. Peace of mind! that is +something essential to any enjoyment of the present moment; and unless +its separate moments are enjoyed, there is an end of life's happiness +as a whole. We should always collect that _To-day_ comes only once, +and never returns. We fancy that it will come again to-morrow; but +_To-morrow_ is another day, which, in its turn, comes once only. +We are apt to forget that every day is an integral, and therefore +irreplaceable portion of life, and to look upon life as though it +were a collective idea or name which does not suffer if one of the +individuals it covers is destroyed. + +We should be more likely to appreciate and enjoy the present, if, +in those good days when we are well and strong, we did not fail to +reflect how, in sickness and sorrow, every past hour that was free +from pain and privation seemed in our memory so infinitely to be +envied--as it were, a lost paradise, or some one who was only then +seen to have acted as a friend. But we live through our days of +happiness without noticing them; it is only when evil comes upon us +that we wish them back. A thousand gay and pleasant hours are wasted +in ill-humor; we let them slip by unenjoyed, and sigh for them in vain +when the sky is overcast. Those present moments that are bearable, be +they never so trite and common,--passed by in indifference, or, it may +be, impatiently pushed away,--those are the moments we should honor; +never failing to remember that the ebbing tide is even how hurrying +them into the past, where memory will store them transfigured and +shining with an imperishable light,--in some after-time, and above +all, when our days are evil, to raise the veil and present them as the +object of our fondest regret. + +SECTION 6. _Limitations always make for happiness_. We are happy in +proportion as our range of vision, our sphere of work, our points of +contact with the world, are restricted and circumscribed. We are more +likely to feel worried and anxious if these limits are wide; for +it means that our cares, desires and terrors are increased and +intensified. That is why the blind are not so unhappy as we might be +inclined to suppose; otherwise there would not be that gentle and +almost serene expression of peace in their faces. + +Another reason why limitation makes for happiness is that the second +half of life proves even more dreary that the first. As the years wear +on, the horizon of our aims and our points of contact with the world +become more extended. In childhood our horizon is limited to +the narrowest sphere about us; in youth there is already a very +considerable widening of our view; in manhood it comprises the whole +range of our activity, often stretching out over a very distant +sphere,--the care, for instance, of a State or a nation; in old age it +embraces posterity. + +But even in the affairs of the intellect, limitation is necessary if +we are to be happy. For the less the will is excited, the less we +suffer. We have seen that suffering is something positive, and that +happiness is only a negative condition. To limit the sphere of outward +activity is to relieve the will of external stimulus: to limit the +sphere of our intellectual efforts is to relieve the will of internal +sources of excitement. This latter kind of limitation is attended by +the disadvantage that it opens the door to boredom, which is a direct +source of countless sufferings; for to banish boredom, a man will +have recourse to any means that may be handy--dissipation, society, +extravagance, gaming, and drinking, and the like, which in their turn +bring mischief, ruin and misery in their train. _Difficiles in otio +quies_--it is difficult to keep quiet if you have nothing to do. That +limitation in the sphere of outward activity is conducive, nay, even +necessary to human happiness, such as it is, may be seen in the fact +that the only kind of poetry which depicts men in a happy state of +life--Idyllic poetry, I mean,--always aims, as an intrinsic part of +its treatment, at representing them in very simple and restricted +circumstances. It is this feeling, too, which is at the bottom of the +pleasure we take in what are called _genre_ pictures. + +_Simplicity_, therefore, as far as it can be attained, and even +_monotony_, in our manner of life, if it does not mean that we +are bored, will contribute to happiness; just because, under such +circumstances, life, and consequently the burden which is the +essential concomitant of life, will be least felt. Our existence +will glide on peacefully like a stream which no waves or whirlpools +disturb. + +SECTION 7. Whether we are in a pleasant or a painful state depends, +ultimately, upon the kind of matter that pervades and engrosses our +consciousness. In this respect, purely intellectual occupation, for +the mind that is capable of it, will, as a rule, do much more in the +way of happiness than any form of practical life, with its constant +alternations of success and failure, and all the shocks and torments +it produces. But it must be confessed that for such occupation a +pre-eminent amount of intellectual capacity is necessary. And in this +connection it may be noted that, just as a life devoted to outward +activity will distract and divert a man from study, and also deprive +him of that quiet concentration of mind which is necessary for such +work; so, on the other hand, a long course of thought will make +him more or less unfit for the noisy pursuits of real life. It +is advisable, therefore, to suspend mental work for a while, if +circumstances happen which demand any degree of energy in affairs of a +practical nature. + +SECTION 8. To live a life that shall be entirely prudent and discreet, +and to draw from experience all the instruction it contains, it +is requisite to be constantly thinking back,--to make a kind +of recapitulation of what we have done, of our impressions and +sensations, to compare our former with our present judgments--what +we set before us and struggle to achieve, with the actual result and +satisfaction we have obtained. To do this is to get a repetition of +the private lessons of experience,--lessons which are given to every +one. + +Experience of the world may be looked upon as a kind of text, to which +reflection and knowledge form the commentary. Where there is great +deal of reflection and intellectual knowledge, and very little +experience, the result is like those books which have on each page two +lines of text to forty lines of commentary. A great deal of experience +with little reflection and scant knowledge, gives us books like those +of the _editio Bipontina_[1] where there are no notes and much that is +unintelligible. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. A series of Greek, Latin and French +classics published at Zweibraecken in the Palatinate, from and after +the year 1779. Cf. Butter, _Ueber die Bipontiner und die editiones +Bipontinae_.] + +The advice here given is on a par with a rule recommended by +Pythagoras,--to review, every night before going to sleep, what we +have done during the day. To live at random, in the hurly-burly of +business or pleasure, without ever reflecting upon the past,--to go +on, as it were, pulling cotton off the reel of life,--is to have no +clear idea of what we are about; and a man who lives in this state +will have chaos in his emotions and certain confusion in his thoughts; +as is soon manifest by the abrupt and fragmentary character of his +conversation, which becomes a kind of mincemeat. A man will be all the +more exposed to this fate in proportion as he lives a restless life +in the world, amid a crowd of various impressions and with a +correspondingly small amount of activity on the part of his own mind. + +And in this connection it will be in place to observe that, when +events and circumstances which have influenced us pass away in the +course of time, we are unable to bring back and renew the particular +mood or state of feeling which they aroused in us: but we can remember +what we were led to say and do in regard to them; and thus form, as it +were, the result, expression and measure of those events. We should, +therefore, be careful to preserve the memory of our thoughts at +important points in our life; and herein lies the great advantage of +keeping a journal. + +SECTION 9. To be self-sufficient, to be all in all to oneself, to +want for nothing, to be able to say _omnia mea mecum porto_--that is +assuredly the chief qualification for happiness. Hence Aristotle's +remark, [Greek: hae eudaimonia ton autarchon esti][1]--to be happy +means to be self-sufficient--cannot be too often repeated. It is, +at bottom, the same thought as is present in the very well-turned +sentence from Chamfort: + +_Le bonheur n'est pas chose aisee: il est tres difficile de le trouver +en nous, et impossible de le trouver ailleurs_. + +[Footnote 1: _Eudem. Eth_. VII. ii. 37.] + +For while a man cannot reckon with certainty upon anyone but himself, +the burdens and disadvantages, the dangers and annoyances, which arise +from having to do with others, are not only countless but unavoidable. + +There is no more mistaken path to happiness than worldliness, revelry, +_high life_: for the whole object of it is to transform our miserable +existence into a succession of joys, delights and pleasures,--a +process which cannot fail to result in disappointment and delusion; +on a par, in this respect, with its _obligato_ accompaniment, the +interchange of lies.[1] + +[Footnote 1: As our body is concealed by the clothes we wear, so our +mind is veiled in lies. The veil is always there, and it is only +through it that we can sometimes guess at what a man really thinks; +just as from his clothes we arrive at the general shape of his body.] + +All society necessarily involves, as the first condition of its +existence, mutual accommodation and restraint upon the part of its +members. This means that the larger it is, the more insipid will be +its tone. A man can be _himself_ only so long as he is alone; and if +he does not love solitude, he will not love freedom; for it is only +when he is alone that he is really free. Constraint is always present +in society, like a companion of whom there is no riddance; and in +proportion to the greatness of a man's individuality, it will be hard +for him to bear the sacrifices which all intercourse with others +demands, Solitude will be welcomed or endured or avoided, according as +a man's personal value is large or small,--the wretch feeling, when +he is alone, the whole burden of his misery; the great intellect +delighting in its greatness; and everyone, in short, being just what +he is. + +Further, if a man stands high in Nature's lists, it is natural and +inevitable that he should feel solitary. It will be an advantage to +him if his surroundings do not interfere with this feeling; for if he +has to see a great deal of other people who are not of like character +with himself, they will exercise a disturbing influence upon him, +adverse to his peace of mind; they will rob him, in fact, of himself, +and give him nothing to compensate for the loss. + +But while Nature sets very wide differences between man and man in +respect both of morality and of intellect, society disregards and +effaces them; or, rather, it sets up artificial differences in +their stead,--gradations of rank and position, which are very often +diametrically opposed to those which Nature establishes. The result of +this arrangement is to elevate those whom Nature has placed low, +and to depress the few who stand high. These latter, then, usually +withdraw from society, where, as soon as it is at all numerous, +vulgarity reigns supreme. + +What offends a great intellect in society is the equality of rights, +leading to equality of pretensions, which everyone enjoys; while at +the same time, inequality of capacity means a corresponding disparity +of social power. So-called _good society_ recognizes every kind of +claim but that of intellect, which is a contraband article; and people +are expected to exhibit an unlimited amount of patience towards every +form of folly and stupidity, perversity and dullness; whilst personal +merit has to beg pardon, as it were, for being present, or else +conceal itself altogether. Intellectual superiority offends by its +very existence, without any desire to do so. + +The worst of what is called good society is not only that it offers us +the companionship of people who are unable to win either our praise or +our affection, but that it does not allow of our being that which we +naturally are; it compels us, for the sake of harmony, to shrivel up, +or even alter our shape altogether. Intellectual conversation, whether +grave or humorous, is only fit for intellectual society; it is +downright abhorrent to ordinary people, to please whom it is +absolutely necessary to be commonplace and dull. This demands an act +of severe self-denial; we have to forfeit three-fourths of ourselves +in order to become like other people. No doubt their company may be +set down against our loss in this respect; but the more a man is +worth, the more he will find that what he gains does not cover what he +loses, and that the balance is on the debit side of the account; for +the people with whom he deals are generally bankrupt,--that is to say, +there is nothing to be got from their society which can compensate +either for its boredom, annoyance and disagreeableness, or for the +self-denial which it renders necessary. Accordingly, most society is +so constituted as to offer a good profit to anyone who will exchange +it for solitude. + +Nor is this all. By way of providing a substitute for real--I mean +intellectual--superiority, which is seldom to be met with, and +intolerable when it is found, society has capriciously adopted a false +kind of superiority, conventional in its character, and resting upon +arbitrary principles,--a tradition, as it were, handed down in the +higher circles, and, like a password, subject to alteration; I refer +to _bon-ton_ fashion. Whenever this kind of superiority comes into +collision with the real kind, its weakness is manifest. Moreover, the +presence of _good tone_ means the absence of _good sense_. + +No man can be in _perfect accord_ with any one but himself--not even +with a friend or the partner of his life; differences of individuality +and temperament are always bringing in some degree of discord, though +it may be a very slight one. That genuine, profound peace of mind, +that perfect tranquillity of soul, which, next to health, is the +highest blessing the earth can give, is to be attained only in +solitude, and, as a permanent mood, only in complete retirement; and +then, if there is anything great and rich in the man's own self, his +way of life is the happiest that may be found in this wretched world. + +Let me speak plainly. However close the bond of friendship, love, +marriage--a man, ultimately, looks to himself, to his own welfare +alone; at most, to his child's too. The less necessity there is for +you to come into contact with mankind in general, in the relations +whether of business or of personal intimacy, the better off you are. +Loneliness and solitude have their evils, it is true; but if you +cannot feel them all at once, you can at least see where they lie; on +the other hand, society is _insidious_ in this respect; as in offering +you what appears to be the pastime of pleasing social intercourse, it +works great and often irreparable mischief. The young should early be +trained to bear being left alone; for it is a source of happiness and +peace of mind. + +It follows from this that a man is best off if he be thrown upon his +own resources and can be all in all to himself; and Cicero goes so far +as to say that a man who is in this condition cannot fail to be very +happy--_nemo potest non beatissimus esse qui est totus aptus ex sese, +quique in se uno ponit omnia._[1] The more a man has in himself, the +less others can be to him. The feeling of self-sufficiency! it is that +which restrains those whose personal value is in itself great riches, +from such considerable sacrifices as are demanded by intercourse with +the world, let alone, then, from actually practicing self-denial by +going out of their way to seek it. Ordinary people are sociable and +complaisant just from the very opposite feeling;--to bear others' +company is easier for them than to bear their own. Moreover, respect +is not paid in this world to that which has real merit; it is reserved +for that which has none. So retirement is at once a proof and a result +of being distinguished by the possession of meritorious qualities. It +will therefore show real wisdom on the part of any one who is worth +anything in himself, to limit his requirements as may be necessary, in +order to preserve or extend his freedom, and,--since a man must come +into some relations with his fellow-men--to admit them to his intimacy +as little as possible. + +[Footnote 1: _Paradoxa Stoidorum_: II.] + +I have said that people are rendered sociable by their ability to +endure solitude, that is to say, their own society. They become +sick of themselves. It is this vacuity of soul which drives them to +intercourse with others,--to travels in foreign countries. Their mind +is wanting in elasticity; it has no movement of its own, and so they +try to give it some,--by drink, for instance. How much drunkenness +is due to this cause alone! They are always looking for some form of +excitement, of the strongest kind they can bear--the excitement of +being with people of like nature with themselves; and if they fail +in this, their mind sinks by its own weight, and they fall into a +grievous lethargy.[1] Such people, it may be said, possess only a +small fraction of humanity in themselves; and it requires a great many +of them put together to make up a fair amount of it,--to attain any +degree of consciousness as men. A man, in the full sense of the +word,--a man _par excellence_--does not represent a fraction, but a +whole number: he is complete in himself. + +[Footnote 1: It is a well-known fact, that we can more easily bear up +under evils which fall upon a great many people besides ourselves. +As boredom seems to be an evil of this kind, people band together to +offer it a common resistance. The love of life is at bottom only the +fear of death; and, in the same way, the social impulse does not rest +directly upon the love of society, but upon the fear of solitude; it +is not alone the charm of being in others' company that people seek, +it is the dreary oppression of being alone--the monotony of their own +consciousness--that they would avoid. They will do anything to escape +it,--even tolerate bad companions, and put up with the feeling of +constraint which all society involves, in this case a very burdensome +one. But if aversion to such society conquers the aversion to being +alone, they become accustomed to solitude and hardened to its +immediate effects. They no longer find solitude to be such a very bad +thing, and settle down comfortably to it without any hankering after +society;--and this, partly because it is only indirectly that they +need others' company, and partly because they have become accustomed +to the benefits of being alone.] + +Ordinary society is, in this respect, very like the kind of music to +be obtained from an orchestra composed of Russian horns. Each horn has +only one note; and the music is produced by each note coming in just +at the right moment. In the monotonous sound of a single horn, you +have a precise illustration of the effect of most people's minds. How +often there seems to be only one thought there! and no room for any +other. It is easy to see why people are so bored; and also why they +are sociable, why they like to go about in crowds--why mankind is so +_gregarious_. It is the monotony of his own nature that makes a man +find solitude intolerable. _Omnis stultitia laborat fastidio sui_: +folly is truly its own burden. Put a great many men together, and you +may get some result--some music from your horns! + +A man of intellect is like an artist who gives a concert without any +help from anyone else, playing on a single instrument--a piano, say, +which is a little orchestra in itself. Such a man is a little world in +himself; and the effect produced by various instruments together, he +produces single-handed, in the unity of his own consciousness. Like +the piano, he has no place in a symphony: he is a soloist and performs +by himself,--in solitude, it may be; or, if in company with other +instruments, only as principal; or for setting the tone, as in +singing. However, those who are fond of society from time to time +may profit by this simile, and lay it down as a general rule that +deficiency of quality in those we meet may be to some extent +compensated by an increase in quantity. One man's company may be quite +enough, if he is clever; but where you have only ordinary people to +deal with, it is advisable to have a great many of them, so that +some advantage may accrue by letting them all work together,--on the +analogy of the horns; and may Heaven grant you patience for your task! + +That mental vacuity and barrenness of soul to which I have alluded, is +responsible for another misfortune. When men of the better class form +a society for promoting some noble or ideal aim, the result almost +always is that the innumerable mob of humanity comes crowding in too, +as it always does everywhere, like vermin--their object being to try +and get rid of boredom, or some other defect of their nature; and +anything that will effect that, they seize upon at once, without the +slightest discrimination. Some of them will slip into that society, +or push themselves in, and then either soon destroy it altogether, or +alter it so much that in the end it comes to have a purpose the exact +opposite of that which it had at first. + +This is not the only point of view from which the social impulse may +be regarded. On cold days people manage to get some warmth by crowding +together; and you can warm your mind in the same way--by bringing +it into contact with others. But a man who has a great deal of +intellectual warmth in himself will stand in no need of such +resources. I have written a little fable illustrating this: it may be +found elsewhere.[1] As a general rule, it may be said that a man's +sociability stands very nearly in inverse ratio to his intellectual +value: to say that "so and so" is very unsociable, is almost +tantamount to saying that he is a man of great capacity. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. The passage to which Schopenhauer +refers is _Parerga_: vol. ii. Sec. 413 (4th edition). The fable is of +certain porcupines, who huddled together for warmth on a cold day; +but as they began to prick one another with their quills, they were +obliged to disperse. However the cold drove them together again, when +just the same thing happened. At last, after many turns of huddling +and dispersing, they discovered that they would be best off by +remaining at a little distance from one another. In the same way, +the need of society drives the human porcupines together--only to be +mutually repelled by the many prickly and disagreeable qualities of +their nature. The moderate distance which they at last discover to be +the only tolerable condition of intercourse, is the code of politeness +and fine manners; and those who transgress it are roughly told--in +the English phrase--_to keep their distance_. By this arrangement the +mutual need of warmth is only very moderately satisfied,--but then +people do not get pricked. A man who has some heat in himself prefers +to remain outside, where he will neither prick other people nor get +pricked himself.] + +Solitude is doubly advantageous to such a man. Firstly, it allows +him to be with himself, and, secondly, it prevents him being with +others--an advantage of great moment; for how much constraint, +annoyance, and even danger there is in all intercourse with the world. +_Tout notre mal_, says La Bruyere, _vient de ne pouvoir etre seul_. It +is really a very risky, nay, a fatal thing, to be sociable; because +it means contact with natures, the great majority of which are bad +morally, and dull or perverse, intellectually. To be unsociable is not +to care about such people; and to have enough in oneself to dispense +with the necessity of their company is a great piece of good fortune; +because almost all our sufferings spring from having to do with other +people; and that destroys the peace of mind, which, as I have said, +comes next after health in the elements of happiness. Peace of mind +is impossible without a considerable amount of solitude. The Cynics +renounced all private property in order to attain the bliss of having +nothing to trouble them; and to renounce society with the same object +is the wisest thing a man can do. Bernardin de Saint Pierre has the +very excellent and pertinent remark that to be sparing in regard +to food is a means of health; in regard to society, a means of +tranquillity--_la diete des ailmens nous rend la sante du corps, et +celle des hommes la tranquillite de l'ame._ To be soon on friendly, or +even affectionate, terms with solitude is like winning a gold mine; +but this is not something which everybody can do. The prime reason for +social intercourse is mutual need; and as soon as that is satisfied, +boredom drives people together once more. If it were not for these two +reasons, a man would probably elect to remain alone; if only because +solitude is the sole condition of life which gives full play to +that feeling of exclusive importance which every man has in his own +eyes,--as if he were the only person in the world! a feeling which, +in the throng and press of real life, soon shrivels up to nothing, +getting, at every step, a painful _dementi_. From this point of view +it may be said that solitude is the original and natural state of man, +where, like another Adam, he is as happy as his nature will allow. + +But still, had Adam no father or mother? There is another sense in +which solitude is not the natural state; for, at his entrance into the +world, a man finds himself with parents, brothers, sisters, that is to +say, in society, and not alone. Accordingly it cannot be said that the +love of solitude is an original characteristic of human nature; it is +rather the result of experience and reflection, and these in their +turn depend upon the development of intellectual power, and increase +with the years. + +Speaking generally, sociability stands in inverse ratio with age. A +little child raises a piteous cry of fright if it is left alone for +only a few minutes; and later on, to be shut up by itself is a great +punishment. Young people soon get on very friendly terms with one +another; it is only the few among them of any nobility of mind who are +glad now and then to be alone;--but to spend the whole day thus would +be disagreeable. A grown-up man can easily do it; it is little trouble +to him to be much alone, and it becomes less and less trouble as he +advances in years. An old man who has outlived all his friends, and is +either indifferent or dead to the pleasures of life, is in his proper +element in solitude; and in individual cases the special tendency +to retirement and seclusion will always be in direct proportion to +intellectual capacity. + +For this tendency is not, as I have said, a purely natural one; it +does not come into existence as a direct need of human nature; it is +rather the effect of the experience we go through, the product +of reflection upon what our needs really are; proceeding, more +especially, from the insight we attain into the wretched stuff of +which most people are made, whether you look at their morals or their +intellects. The worst of it all is that, in the individual, moral and +intellectual shortcomings are closely connected and play into each +other's hands, so that all manner of disagreeable results are +obtained, which make intercourse with most people not only unpleasant +but intolerable. Hence, though the world contains many things which +are thoroughly bad, the worst thing in it is society. Even Voltaire, +that sociable Frenchman, was obliged to admit that there are +everywhere crowds of people not worth talking to: _la terre est +couverte de gens qui ne meritent pas qu'on leur parle_. And Petrarch +gives a similar reason for wishing to be alone--that tender spirit! so +strong and constant in his love of seclusion. The streams, the plains +and woods know well, he says, how he has tried to escape the perverse +and stupid people who have missed the way to heaven:-- + + _Cercato ho sempre solitaria vita + (Le rive il sanno, e le campagne e i boschi) + Per fuggir quest' ingegni storti e loschi + Che la strada del ciel' hanno smarrita_. + +He pursues the same strain in that delightful book of his, _DeVita +Solitaria_, which seems to have given Zimmerman the idea of his +celebrated work on _Solitude_. It is the secondary and indirect +character of the love of seclusion to which Chamfort alludes in the +following passage, couched in his sarcastic vein: _On dit quelquefois +d'un homme qui vit seul, il n'aime pas la societe. C'est souvent +comme si on disait d'un homme qu'il n'aime pas la promenade, sous le +pretexte qu'il ne se promene pas volontiers le soir dans le foret de +Bondy_. + +You will find a similar sentiment expressed by the Persian poet Sadi, +in his _Garden of Roses. Since that time_, he says, _we have taken +leave of society, preferring the path of seclusion; for there is +safety in solitude_. Angelus Silesius,[1] a very gentle and Christian +writer, confesses to the same feeling, in his own mythical language. +Herod, he says, is the common enemy; and when, as with Joseph, God +warns us of danger, we fly from the world to solitude, from Bethlehem +to Egypt; or else suffering and death await us!-- + + _Herodes ist ein Feind; der Joseph der Verstand, + Dem machte Gott die Gefahr im Traum (in Geist) bekannt; + Die Welt ist Bethlehem, Aegypten Einsamkeit, + Fleuch, meine Seele! fleuch, sonst stirbest du vor Leid_. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. Angelus Silesius, pseudonym for +Johannes Scheffler, a physician and mystic poet of the seventeenth +century (1624-77).] + +Giordano Bruno also declares himself a friend of seclusion. _Tanti +uomini_, he says, _che in terra hanno voluto gustare vita +celeste, dissero con una voce, "ecce elongavi fugiens et mansi in +solitudine_"--those who in this world have desired a foretaste of the +divine life, have always proclaimed with one voice: + + _Lo! then would I wander far off; + I would lodge in the wilderness._[1] + +[Footnote 1: Psalms, lv. 7.] + +And in the work from which I have already quoted, Sadi says of +himself: _In disgust with my friends at Damascus, I withdrew into +the desert about Jerusalem, to seek the society of the beasts of the +field_. In short, the same thing has been said by all whom Prometheus +has formed out of better clay. What pleasure could they find in the +company of people with whom their only common ground is just what is +lowest and least noble in their own nature--the part of them that is +commonplace, trivial and vulgar? What do they want with people who +cannot rise to a higher level, and for whom nothing remains but to +drag others down to theirs? for this is what they aim at. It is an +aristocratic feeling that is at the bottom of this propensity to +seclusion and solitude. + +Rascals are always sociable--more's the pity! and the chief sign that +a man has any nobility in his character is the little pleasure he +takes in others' company. He prefers solitude more and more, and, in +course of time, comes to see that, with few exceptions, the world +offers no choice beyond solitude on one side and vulgarity on the +other. This may sound a hard thing to say; but even Angelus Silesius, +with all his Christian feelings of gentleness and love, was obliged to +admit the truth of it. However painful solitude may be, he says, be +careful not to be vulgar; for then you may find a desert everywhere:-- + + _Die Einsamkeit ist noth: doch sei nur nicht gemein, + So kannst du ueberall in einer Wueste sein_. + +It is natural for great minds--the true teachers of humanity--to care +little about the constant company of others; just as little as the +schoolmaster cares for joining in the gambols of the noisy crowd of +boys which surround him. The mission of these great minds is to guide +mankind over the sea of error to the haven of truth--to draw it forth +from the dark abysses of a barbarous vulgarity up into the light of +culture and refinement. Men of great intellect live in the world +without really belonging to it; and so, from their earliest years, +they feel that there is a perceptible difference between them and +other people. But it is only gradually, with the lapse of years, +that they come to a clear understanding of their position. Their +intellectual isolation is then reinforced by actual seclusion in their +manner of life; they let no one approach who is not in some degree +emancipated from the prevailing vulgarity. + +From what has been said it is obvious that the love of solitude is +not a direct, original impulse in human nature, but rather something +secondary and of gradual growth. It is the more distinguishing feature +of nobler minds, developed not without some conquest of natural +desires, and now and then in actual opposition to the promptings of +Mephistopheles--bidding you exchange a morose and soul-destroying +solitude for life amongst men, for society; even the worst, he says, +will give a sense of human fellowship:-- + + _Hoer' auf mit deinem Gram zu spielen, + Der, wie ein Geier, dir am Leben frisst: + Die schlechteste Gesellschaft laesst dich fuehlen + Dass du ein Mensch mit Menschen bist.[1]_ + +[Footnote 1: Goethe's _Faust_, Part I., 1281-5.] + +To be alone is the fate of all great minds--a fate deplored at times, +but still always chosen as the less grievous of two evils. As +the years increase, it always becomes easier to say, Dare to be +wise--_sapere aude_. And after sixty, the inclination to be alone +grows into a kind of real, natural instinct; for at that age +everything combines in favor of it. The strongest impulse--the love of +woman's society--has little or no effect; it is the sexless condition +of old age which lays the foundation of a certain self-sufficiency, +and that gradually absorbs all desire for others' company. A thousand +illusions and follies are overcome; the active years of life are +in most cases gone; a man has no more expectations or plans or +intentions. The generation to which he belonged has passed away, and a +new race has sprung up which looks upon him as essentially outside its +sphere of activity. And then the years pass more quickly as we become +older, and we want to devote our remaining time to the intellectual +rather than to the practical side of life. For, provided that the mind +retains its faculties, the amount of knowledge and experience we have +acquired, together with the facility we have gained in the use of our +powers, makes it then more than ever easy and interesting to us to +pursue the study of any subject. A thousand things become clear which +were formerly enveloped in obscurity, and results are obtained which +give a feeling of difficulties overcome. From long experience of men, +we cease to expect much from them; we find that, on the whole, people +do not gain by a nearer acquaintance; and that--apart from a few rare +and fortunate exceptions--we have come across none but defective +specimens of human nature which it is advisable to leave in peace. +We are no more subject to the ordinary illusions of life; and as, in +individual instances, we soon see what a man is made of, we seldom +feel any inclination to come into closer relations with him. Finally, +isolation--our own society--has become a habit, as it were a second +nature to us, more especially if we have been on friendly terms with +it from our youth up. The love of solitude which was formerly indulged +only at the expense of our desire for society, has now come to be the +simple quality of our natural disposition--the element proper to our +life, as water to a fish. This is why anyone who possesses a unique +individuality--unlike others and therefore necessarily isolated--feels +that, as he becomes older, his position is no longer so burdensome as +when he was young. + +For, as a matter of fact, this very genuine privilege of old age is +one which can be enjoyed only if a man is possessed of a certain +amount of intellect; it will be appreciated most of all where there is +real mental power; but in some degree by every one. It is only people +of very barren and vulgar nature who will be just as sociable in their +old age as they were in their youth. But then they become troublesome +to a society to which they are no longer suited, and, at most, manage +to be tolerated; whereas, they were formerly in great request. + +There is another aspect of this inverse proportion between age and +sociability--the way in which it conduces to education. The younger +that people are, the more in every respect they have to learn; and it +is just in youth that Nature provides a system of mutual education, +so that mere intercourse with others, at that time of life, carries +instruction with it. Human society, from this point of view, resembles +a huge academy of learning, on the Bell and Lancaster system, opposed +to the system of education by means of books and schools, as something +artificial and contrary to the institutions of Nature. It is therefore +a very suitable arrangement that, in his young days, a man should be +a very diligent student at the place of learning provided by Nature +herself. + +But there is nothing in life which has not some drawback--_nihil est +ab omni parte beatum_, as Horace says; or, in the words of an Indian +proverb, _no lotus without a stalk_. Seclusion, which has so many +advantages, has also its little annoyances and drawbacks, which are +small, however, in comparison with those of society; hence anyone who +is worth much in himself will get on better without other people than +with them. But amongst the disadvantages of seclusion there is one +which is not so easy to see as the rest. It is this: when people +remain indoors all day, they become physically very sensitive to +atmospheric changes, so that every little draught is enough to make +them ill; so with our temper; a long course of seclusion makes it so +sensitive that the most trivial incidents, words, or even looks, are +sufficient to disturb or to vex and offend us--little things which are +unnoticed by those who live in the turmoil of life. + +When you find human society disagreeable and feel yourself justified +in flying to solitude, you can be so constituted as to be unable to +bear the depression of it for any length of time, which will probably +be the case if you are young. Let me advise you, then, to form the +habit of taking some of your solitude with you into society, to learn +to be to some extent alone even though you are in company; not to say +at once what you think, and, on the other hand, not to attach too +precise a meaning to what others say; rather, not to expect much of +them, either morally or intellectually, and to strengthen yourself in +the feeling of indifference to their opinion, which is the surest way +of always practicing a praiseworthy toleration. If you do that, you +will not live so much with other people, though you may appear to move +amongst them: your relation to them will be of a purely objective +character. This precaution will keep you from too close contact with +society, and therefore secure you against being contaminated or even +outraged by it.[1] Society is in this respect like a fire--the wise +man warming himself at a proper distance from it; not coming too +close, like the fool, who, on getting scorched, runs away and shivers +in solitude, loud in his complaint that the fire burns. + +[Footnote 1: This restricted, or, as it were, entrenched kind of +sociability has been dramatically illustrated in a play--well worth +reading--of Moratin's, entitled _El Cafe o sea la Comedia Nuova_ (The +Cafe or the New Comedy), chiefly by one of the characters, Don Pedro +and especially in the second and third scenes of the first act.] + +SECTION 10. _Envy_ is natural to man; and still, it is at once a vice +and a source of misery.[1] We should treat it as the enemy of our +happiness, and stifle it like an evil thought. This is the advice +given by Seneca; as he well puts it, we shall be pleased with what we +have, if we avoid the self-torture of comparing our own lot with +some other and happier one--_nostra nos sine comparatione delectent; +nunquam erit felix quem torquebit felicior.[2]_ And again, _quum +adspexeris quot te antecedent, cogita quot sequantur_[3]--if a great +many people appear to be better off than yourself, think how many +there are in a worse position. It is a fact that if real calamity +comes upon us, the most effective consolation--though it springs from +the same source as envy--is just the thought of greater misfortunes +than ours; and the next best is the society of those who are in the +same luck as we--the partners of our sorrows. + +[Footnote 1: Envy shows how unhappy people are; and their constant +attention to what others do and leave undone, how much they are +bored.] + +[Footnote 2: _De Ira_: iii., 30.] + +[Footnote 3: Epist. xv.] + +So much for the envy which we may feel towards others. As regards the +envy which we may excite in them, it should always be remembered that +no form of hatred is so implacable as the hatred that comes from envy; +and therefore we should always carefully refrain from doing anything +to rouse it; nay, as with many another form of vice, it is better +altogether to renounce any pleasure there may be in it, because of the +serious nature of its consequences. + +Aristocracies are of three kinds: (1) of birth and rank; (2) +of wealth; and (3) of intellect. The last is really the most +distinguished of the three, and its claim to occupy the first position +comes to be recognized, if it is only allowed time to work. So eminent +a king as Frederick the Great admitted it--_les ames privilegiees +rangent a l'egal des souverains_, as he said to his chamberlain, when +the latter expressed his surprise that Voltaire should have a seat +at the table reserved for kings and princes, whilst ministers and +generals were relegated to the chamberlain's. + +Every one of these aristocracies is surrounded by a host of envious +persons. If you belong to one of them, they will be secretly +embittered against you; and unless they are restrained by fear, they +will always be anxious to let you understand that _you are no better +than they_. It is by their anxiety to let you know this, that they +betray how greatly they are conscious that the opposite is the truth. + +The line of conduct to be pursued if you are exposed to envy, is to +keep the envious persons at a distance, and, as far as possible, avoid +all contact with them, so that there may be a wide gulf fixed between +you and them; if this cannot be done, to bear their attacks with the +greatest composure. In the latter case, the very thing that provokes +the attack will also neutralize it. This is what appears to be +generally done. + +The members of one of these aristocracies usually get on very well +with those of another, and there is no call for envy between them, +because their several privileges effect an equipoise. + +SECTION 11. Give mature and repeated consideration to any plan before +you proceed to carry it out; and even after you have thoroughly turned +it over in your mind, make some concession to the incompetency of +human judgment; for it may always happen that circumstances which +cannot be investigated or foreseen, will come in and upset the whole +of your calculation. This is a reflection that will always influence +the negative side of the balance--a kind of warning to refrain from +unnecessary action in matters of importance--_quieta non movere._ But +having once made up your mind and begun your work, you must let it +run its course and abide the result--not worry yourself by fresh +reflections on what is already accomplished, or by a renewal of your +scruples on the score of possible danger: free your mind from the +subject altogether, and refuse to go into it again, secure in the +thought that you gave it mature attention at the proper time. This is +the same advice as is given by an Italian proverb--_legala bene e poi +lascia la andare_--which Goethe has translated thus: See well to your +girths, and then ride on boldly.[1] + +[Footnote 1: It may be observed, in passing, that a great many of +the maxims which Goethe puts under the head of _Proverbial_, are +translations from the Italian.] + +And if, notwithstanding that, you fail, it is because human affairs +are the sport of chance and error. Socrates, the wisest of men, needed +the warning voice of his good genius, or [Greek: daimonion], to enable +him to do what was right in regard to his own personal affairs, or at +any rate, to avoid mistakes; which argues that the human intellect is +incompetent for the purpose. There is a saying--which is reported to +have originated with one of the Popes--that when misfortune happens to +us, the blame of it, at least in some degree, attaches to ourselves. +If this is not true absolutely and in every instance, it is certainly +true in the great majority of cases. It even looks as if this truth +had a great deal to do with the effort people make as far as possible +to conceal their misfortunes, and to put the best face they can upon +them, for fear lest their misfortunes may show how much they are to +blame. + +SECTION 12. + +In the case of a misfortune which has already happened and therefore +cannot be altered, you should not allow yourself to think that it +might have been otherwise; still less, that it might have been avoided +by such and such means; for reflections of this kind will only add +to your distress and make it intolerable, so that you will become a +tormentor to yourself--[Greek: heautontimoroumeaeos]. It is better to +follow the example of King David; who, as long as his son lay on the +bed of sickness, assailed Jehovah with unceasing supplications and +entreaties for his recovery; but when he was dead, snapped his fingers +and thought no more of it. If you are not light-hearted enough for +that, you can take refuge in fatalism, and have the great truth +revealed to you that everything which happens is the result of +necessity, and therefore inevitable. + +However good this advice may be, it is one-sided and partial. In +relieving and quieting us for the moment, it is no doubt effective +enough; but when our misfortunes have resulted--as is usually the +case--from our own carelessness or folly, or, at any rate, partly by +our own fault, it is a good thing to consider how they might have +been avoided, and to consider it often in spite of its being a tender +subject--a salutary form of self-discipline, which will make us wiser +and better men for the future. If we have made obvious mistakes, we +should not try, as we generally do, to gloss them over, or to find +something to excuse or extenuate them; we should admit to ourselves +that we have committed faults, and open our eyes wide to all their +enormity, in order that we may firmly resolve to avoid them in time to +come. To be sure, that means a great deal of self-inflicted pain, in +the shape of discontent, but it should be remembered that to spare +the rod is to spoil the child--[Greek: ho mae dareis anthropos ou +paideuetai].[1] + +[Footnote 1: Menander. Monost: 422.] + +SECTION 13. In all matters affecting our weal or woe, we should be +careful not to let our imagination run away with us, and build no +castles in the air. In the first place, they are expensive to build, +because we have to pull them down again immediately, and that is +a source of grief. We should be still more on our guard against +distressing our hearts by depicting possible misfortunes. If these +were misfortunes of a purely imaginary kind, or very remote and +unlikely, we should at once see, on awaking from our dream, that the +whole thing was mere illusion; we should rejoice all the more in +a reality better than our dreams, or at most, be warned against +misfortunes which, though very remote, were still possible. These, +however, are not the sort of playthings in which imagination delights; +it is only in idle hours that we build castles in the air, and they +are always of a pleasing description. The matter which goes to form +gloomy dreams are mischances which to some extent really threaten us, +though it be from some distance; imagination makes us look larger and +nearer and more terrible than they are in reality. This is a kind of +dream which cannot be so readily shaken off on awaking as a pleasant +one; for a pleasant dream is soon dispelled by reality, leaving, at +most, a feeble hope lying in the lap of possibility. Once we have +abandoned ourselves to a fit of the blues, visions are conjured up +which do not so easily vanish again; for it is always just possible +that the visions may be realized. But we are not always able to +estimate the exact degree of possibility: possibility may easily +pass into probability; and thus we deliver ourselves up to torture. +Therefore we should be careful not to be over-anxious on any +matter affecting our weal or our woe, not to carry our anxiety to +unreasonable or injudicious limits; but coolly and dispassionately to +deliberate upon the matter, as though it were an abstract question +which did not touch us in particular. We should give no play to +imagination here; for imagination is not judgment--it only conjures up +visions, inducing an unprofitable and often very painful mood. + +The rule on which I am here insisting should be most carefully +observed towards evening. For as darkness makes us timid and apt to +see terrifying shapes everywhere, there is something similar in the +effect of indistinct thought; and uncertainty always brings with it a +sense of danger. Hence, towards evening, when our powers of thought +and judgment are relaxed,--at the hour, as it were, of subjective +darkness,--the intellect becomes tired, easily confused, and unable +to get at the bottom of things; and if, in that state, we meditate +on matters of personal interest to ourselves, they soon assume a +dangerous and terrifying aspect. This is mostly the case at night, +when we are in bed; for then the mind is fully relaxed, and the power +of judgment quite unequal to its duties; but imagination is still +awake. Night gives a black look to everything, whatever it may be. +This is why our thoughts, just before we go to sleep, or as we lie +awake through the hours of the night, are usually such confusions and +perversions of facts as dreams themselves; and when our thoughts at +that time are concentrated upon our own concerns, they are generally +as black and monstrous as possible. In the morning all such nightmares +vanish like dreams: as the Spanish proverb has it, _noche tinta, +bianco el dia_--the night is colored, the day is white. But even +towards nightfall, as soon as the candles are lit, the mind, like the +eye, no longer sees things so clearly as by day: it is a time unsuited +to serious meditation, especially on unpleasant subjects. The morning +is the proper time for that--as indeed for all efforts without +exception, whether mental or bodily. For the morning is the youth of +the day, when everything is bright, fresh, and easy of attainment; +we feel strong then, and all our faculties are completely at our +disposal. Do not shorten the morning by getting up late, or waste it +in unworthy occupations or in talk; look upon it as the quintessence +of life, as to a certain extent sacred. Evening is like old age: we +are languid, talkative, silly. Each day is a little life: every waking +and rising a little birth, every fresh morning a little youth, every +going to rest and sleep a little death. + +But condition of health, sleep, nourishment, temperature, weather, +surroundings, and much else that is purely external, have, in general, +an important influence upon our mood and therefore upon our thoughts. +Hence both our view of any matter and our capacity for any work are +very much subject to time and place. So it is best to profit by a good +mood--for how seldom it comes!-- + + _Nehmt die gute Stimmung wahr, + Denn sie kommt so selten_.[1] + +[Footnote 1: Goethe.] + +We are not always able to form new ideas about; our surroundings, or +to command original thoughts: they come if they will, and when they +will. And so, too, we cannot always succeed in completely considering +some personal matter at the precise time at which we have determined +beforehand to consider it, and just when we set ourselves to do +so. For the peculiar train of thought which is favorable to it may +suddenly become active without any special call being made upon +it, and we may then follow it up with keen interest. In this way +reflection, too, chooses its own time. + +This reining-in of the imagination which I am recommending, will also +forbid us to summon up the memory of the past misfortune, to paint +a dark picture of the injustice or harm that has been done us, the +losses we have sustained, the insults, slights and annoyances to which +we have been exposed: for to do that is to rouse into fresh life all +those hateful passions long laid asleep--the anger and resentment +which disturb and pollute our nature. In an excellent parable, +Proclus, the Neoplatonist, points out how in every town the mob dwells +side by side with those who are rich and distinguished: so, too, in +every man, be he never so noble and dignified, there is, in the depth +of his nature, a mob of low and vulgar desires which constitute him an +animal. It will not do to let this mob revolt or even so much as peep +forth from its hiding-place; it is hideous of mien, and its rebel +leaders are those flights of imagination which I have been describing. +The smallest annoyance, whether it comes from our fellow-men or from +the things around us, may swell up into a monster of dreadful aspect, +putting us at our wits' end--and all because we go on brooding over +our troubles and painting them in the most glaring colors and on the +largest scale. It is much better to take a very calm and prosaic view +of what is disagreeable; for that is the easiest way of bearing it. + +If you hold small objects close to your eyes, you limit your field of +vision and shut out the world. And, in the same way, the people or the +things which stand nearest, even though they are of the very smallest +consequence, are apt to claim an amount of attention much beyond +their due, occupying us disagreeably, and leaving no room for serious +thoughts and affairs of importance. We ought to work against this +tendency. + +SECTION 14. The sight of things which do not belong to us is very apt +to raise the thought: _Ah, if that were only mine_! making us sensible +of our privation. Instead of that we should do better by more +frequently putting to ourselves the opposite case: _Ah, if that were +not mine_. What I mean is that we should sometimes try to look upon +our possessions in the light in which they would appear if we had lost +them; whatever they may be, property, health, friends, a wife or child +or someone else we love, our horse or our dog--it is usually only when +we have lost them that we begin to find out their value. But if we +come to look at things in the way I recommend, we shall be doubly the +gainers; we shall at once get more pleasure out of them than we did +before, and we shall do everything in our power to prevent the loss +of them; for instance, by not risking our property, or angering our +friends, or exposing our wives to temptation, or being careless about +our children's health, and so on. + +We often try to banish the gloom and despondency of the present by +speculating upon our chances of success in the future; a process which +leads us to invent a great many chimerical hopes. Every one of them +contains the germ of illusion, and disappointment is inevitable when +our hopes are shattered by the hard facts of life. + +It is less hurtful to take the chances of misfortune as a theme for +speculation; because, in doing so, we provide ourselves at once with +measures of precaution against it, and a pleasant surprise when it +fails to make its appearance. Is it not a fact that we always feel a +marked improvement in our spirits when we begin to get over a period +of anxiety? I may go further and say that there is some use in +occasionally looking upon terrible misfortunes--such as might happen +to us--as though they had actually happened, for then the trivial +reverses which subsequently come in reality, are much easier to +bear. It is a source of consolation to look back upon those great +misfortunes which never happened. But in following out this rule, +care must be taken not to neglect what I have said in the preceding +section. + +SECTION 15. The things which engage our attention--whether they are +matters of business or ordinary events--are of such diverse kinds, +that, if taken quite separately and in no fixed order or relation, +they present a medley of the most glaring contrasts, with nothing in +common, except that they one and all affect us in particular. There +must be a corresponding abruptness in the thoughts and anxieties which +these various matters arouse in us, if our thoughts are to be in +keeping with their various subjects. Therefore, in setting about +anything, the first step is to withdraw our attention from everything +else: this will enable us to attend to each matter at its own time, +and to enjoy or put up with it, quite apart from any thought of our +remaining interests. Our thoughts must be arranged, as it were, in +little drawers, so that we may open one without disturbing any of the +others. + +In this way we can keep the heavy burden of anxiety from weighing upon +us so much as to spoil the little pleasures of the present, or from +robbing us of our rest; otherwise the consideration of one matter will +interfere with every other, and attention to some important business +may lead us to neglect many affairs which happen to be of less moment. +It is most important for everyone who is capable of higher and nobler +thoughts to keep their mind from being so completely engrossed with +private affairs and vulgar troubles as to let them take up all his +attention and crowd out worthier matter; for that is, in a very real +sense, to lose sight of the true end of life--_propter vitam vivendi +perdere causas_. + +Of course for this--as for so much else--self-control is necessary; +without it, we cannot manage ourselves in the way I have described. +And self-control may not appear so very difficult, if we consider that +every man has to submit to a great deal of very severe control on the +part of his surroundings, and that without it no form of existence +is possible. Further, a little self-control at the right moment may +prevent much subsequent compulsion at the hands of others; just as a +very small section of a circle close to the centre may correspond to +a part near the circumference a hundred times as large. Nothing +will protect us from external compulsion so much as the control of +ourselves; and, as Seneca says, to submit yourself to reason is +the way to make everything else submit to you--_si tibi vis omnia +subjicere, te subjice rationi_. Self-control, too, is something which +we have in our own power; and if the worst comes to the worst, and it +touches us in a very sensitive part, we can always relax its severity. +But other people will pay no regard to our feelings, if they have +to use compulsion, and we shall be treated without pity or mercy. +Therefore it will be prudent to anticipate compulsion by self-control. + +SECTION 16. We must set limits to our wishes, curb our desires, +moderate our anger, always remembering that an individual can attain +only an infinitesimal share in anything that is worth having; and +that, on the other hand, everyone must incur many of the ills of life; +in a word, we must bear and forbear--_abstinere et sustinere_; and +if we fail to observe this rule, no position of wealth or power will +prevent us from feeling wretched. This is what Horace means when he +recommends us to study carefully and inquire diligently what will +best promote a tranquil life--not to be always agitated by fruitless +desires and fears and hopes for things, which, after all, are not +worth very much:-- + + _Inter cuncta leges et percontabere doctos + Qua ratione queas traducere leniter aevum; + Ne te semper inops agitet vexetque cupido, + Ne pavor, et rerum mediocriter utilium spes.[1]_ + +[Footnote 1: Epist. I. xviii. 97.] + +SECTION 17. Life consists in movement, says Aristotle; and he is +obviously right. We exist, physically, because our organism is the +seat of constant motion; and if we are to exist intellectually, it can +only be by means of continual occupation--no matter with what so long +as it is some form of practical or mental activity. You may see that +this is so by the way in which people who have no work or nothing to +think about, immediately begin to beat the devil's tattoo with their +knuckles or a stick or anything that comes handy. The truth is, that +our nature is essentially _restless_ in its character: we very soon +get tired of having nothing to do; it is intolerable boredom. This +impulse to activity should be regulated, and some sort of method +introduced into it, which of itself will enhance the satisfaction we +obtain. Activity!--doing something, if possible creating something, at +any rate learning something--how fortunate it is that men cannot exist +without that! A man wants to use his strength, to see, if he can, what +effect it will produce; and he will get the most complete satisfaction +of this desire if he can make or construct something--be it a book or +a basket. There is a direct pleasure in seeing work grow under one's +hands day by day, until at last it is finished. This is the pleasure +attaching to a work of art or a manuscript, or even mere manual labor; +and, of course, the higher the work, the greater pleasure it will +give. + +From this point of view, those are happiest of all who are conscious +of the power to produce great works animated by some significant +purpose: it gives a higher kind of interest--a sort of rare flavor--to +the whole of their life, which, by its absence from the life of the +ordinary man, makes it, in comparison, something very insipid. For +richly endowed natures, life and the world have a special interest +beyond the mere everyday personal interest which so many others share; +and something higher than that--a formal interest. It is from life and +the world that they get the material for their works; and as soon +as they are freed from the pressure of personal needs, it is to +the diligent collection of material that they devote their whole +existence. So with their intellect: it is to some extent of a two-fold +character, and devoted partly to the ordinary affairs of every +day--those matters of will which are common to them and the rest of +mankind, and partly to their peculiar work--the pure and objective +contemplation of existence. And while, on the stage of the world, most +men play their little part and then pass away, the genius lives a +double life, at once an actor and a spectator. + +Let everyone, then, do something, according to the measure of his +capacities. To have no regular work, no set sphere of activity--what a +miserable thing it is! How often long travels undertaken for pleasure +make a man downright unhappy; because the absence of anything that can +be called occupation forces him, as it were, out of his right element. +Effort, struggles with difficulties! that is as natural to a man as +grubbing in the ground is to a mole. To have all his wants satisfied +is something intolerable--the feeling of stagnation which comes +from pleasures that last too long. To overcome difficulties is +to experience the full delight of existence, no matter where the +obstacles are encountered; whether in the affairs of life, in commerce +or business; or in mental effort--the spirit of inquiry that tries +to master its subject. There is always something pleasurable in the +struggle and the victory. And if a man has no opportunity to excite +himself, he will do what he can to create one, and according to his +individual bent, he will hunt or play Cup and Ball: or led on by this +unsuspected element in his nature, he will pick a quarrel with some +one, or hatch a plot or intrigue, or take to swindling and rascally +courses generally--all to put an end to a state of repose which is +intolerable. As I have remarked, _difficilis in otio quies_--it is +difficult to keep quiet if you have nothing to do. + +SECTION 18. A man should avoid being led on by the phantoms of his +imagination. This is not the same thing as to submit to the guidance +of ideas clearly thought out: and yet these are rules of life which +most people pervert. If you examine closely into the circumstances +which, in any deliberation, ultimately turn the scale in favor of +some particular course, you will generally find that the decision is +influenced, not by any clear arrangement of ideas leading to a formal +judgment, but by some fanciful picture which seems to stand for one of +the alternatives in question. + +In one of Voltaire's or Diderot's romances,--I forget the precise +reference,--the hero, standing like a young Hercules at the parting +of ways, can see no other representation of Virtue than his old tutor +holding a snuff-box in his left hand, from which he takes a pinch +and moralizes; whilst Vice appears in the shape of his mother's +chambermaid. It is in youth, more especially, that the goal of our +efforts comes to be a fanciful picture of happiness, which continues +to hover before our eyes sometimes for half and even for the whole of +our life--a sort of mocking spirit; for when we think our dream is to +be realized, the picture fades away, leaving us the knowledge that +nothing of what it promised is actually accomplished. How often this +is so with the visions of domesticity--the detailed picture of what +our home will be like; or, of life among our fellow-citizens or in +society; or, again, of living in the country--the kind of house we +shall have, its surroundings, the marks of honor and respect that will +be paid to us, and so on,--whatever our hobby may be; _chaque fou a +sa marotte_. It is often the same, too, with our dreams about one we +love. And this is all quite natural; for the visions we conjure up +affect us directly, as though they were real objects; and so they +exercise a more immediate influence upon our will than an abstract +idea, which gives merely a vague, general outline, devoid of details; +and the details are just the real part of it. We can be only +indirectly affected by an abstract idea, and yet it is the abstract +idea alone which will do as much as it promises; and it is the +function of education to teach us to put our trust in it. Of course +the abstract idea must be occasionally explained--paraphrased, as it +were--by the aid of pictures; but discreetly, _cum grano salis_. + +SECTION 19. The preceding rule may be taken as a special case of the +more general maxim, that a man should never let himself be mastered +by the impressions of the moment, or indeed by outward appearances at +all, which are incomparably more powerful in their effects than the +mere play of thought or a train of ideas; not because these momentary +impressions are rich in virtue of the data they supply,--it is often +just the contrary,--but because they are something palpable to the +senses and direct in their working; they forcibly invade our mind, +disturbing our repose and shattering our resolutions. + +It is easy to understand that the thing which lies before our very +eyes will produce the whole of its effect at once, but that time and +leisure are necessary for the working of thought and the appreciation +of argument, as it is impossible to think of everything at one and the +same moment. This is why we are so allured by pleasure, in spite of +all our determination to resist it; or so much annoyed by a criticism, +even though we know that its author it totally incompetent to +judge; or so irritated by an insult, though it comes from some very +contemptible quarter. In the same way, to mention no other instances, +ten reasons for thinking that there is no danger may be outweighed by +one mistaken notion that it is actually at hand. All this shows the +radical unreason of human nature. Women frequently succumb altogether +to this predominating influence of present impressions, and there are +few men so overweighted with reason as to escape suffering from a +similar cause. + +If it is impossible to resist the effects of some external influence +by the mere play of thought, the best thing to do is to neutralize it +by some contrary influence; for example, the effect of an insult may +be overcome by seeking the society of those who have a good opinion of +us; and the unpleasant sensation of imminent danger may be avoided by +fixing our attention on the means of warding it off. + +Leibnitz[1] tells of an Italian who managed to bear up under the +tortures of the rack by never for a moment ceasing to think of the +gallows which would have awaited him, had he revealed his secret; he +kept on crying out: _I see it! I see it_!--afterwards explaining that +this was part of his plan. + +[Footnote 1: _Nouveaux Essais_. Liv. I. ch. 2. Sec. 11.] + +It is from some such reason as this, that we find it so difficult to +stand alone in a matter of opinion,--not to be made irresolute by the +fact that everyone else disagrees with us and acts accordingly, even +though we are quite sure that they are in the wrong. Take the case of +a fugitive king who is trying to avoid capture; how much consolation +he must find in the ceremonious and submissive attitude of a faithful +follower, exhibited secretly so as not to betray his master's strict +_incognito_; it must be almost necessary to prevent him doubting his +own existence. + +SECTION 20. In the first part of this work I have insisted upon the +great value of _health_ as the chief and most important element in +happiness. Let me emphasize and confirm what I have there said by +giving a few general rules as to its preservation. + +The way to harden the body is to impose a great deal of labor and +effort upon it in the days of good health,--to exercise it, both as a +whole and in its several parts, and to habituate it to withstand all +kinds of noxious influences. But on the appearance of an illness or +disorder, either in the body as a whole or in many of its parts, a +contrary course should be taken, and every means used to nurse the +body, or the part of it which is affected, and to spare it any effort; +for what is ailing and debilitated cannot be hardened. + +The muscles may be strengthened by a vigorous use of them; but not so +the nerves; they are weakened by it. Therefore, while exercising the +muscles in every way that is suitable, care should be taken to spare +the nerves as much as possible. The eyes, for instance, should be +protected from too strong a light,--especially when it is reflected +light,--from any straining of them in the dark, or from the +long-continued examination of minute objects; and the ears from too +loud sounds. Above all, the brain should never be forced, or used too +much, or at the wrong time; let it have a rest during digestion; for +then the same vital energy which forms thoughts in the brain has a +great deal of work to do elsewhere,--I mean in the digestive organs, +where it prepares chyme and chyle. For similar reasons, the brain +should never be used during, or immediately after, violent muscular +exercise. For the motor nerves are in this respect on a par with the +sensory nerves; the pain felt when a limb is wounded has its seat in +the brain; and, in the same way, it is not really our legs and arms +which work and move,--it is the brain, or, more strictly, that part of +it which, through the medium of the spine, excites the nerves in the +limbs and sets them in motion. Accordingly, when our arms and legs +feel tired, the true seat of this feeling is in the brain. This is why +it is only in connection with those muscles which are set in motion +consciously and voluntarily,--in other words, depend for their action +upon the brain,--that any feeling of fatigue can arise; this is not +the case with those muscles which work involuntarily, like the heart. +It is obvious, then, that injury is done to the brain if violent +muscular exercise and intellectual exertion are forced upon it at the +same moment, or at very short intervals. + +What I say stands in no contradiction with the fact that at the +beginning of a walk, or at any period of a short stroll, there often +comes a feeling of enhanced intellectual vigor. The parts of the brain +that come into play have had no time to become tired; and besides, +slight muscular exercise conduces to activity of the respiratory +organs, and causes a purer and more oxydated supply of arterial blood +to mount to the brain. + +It is most important to allow the brain the full measure of sleep +which is required to restore it; for sleep is to a man's whole nature +what winding up is to a clock.[1] This measure will vary directly with +the development and activity of the brain; to overstep the measure is +mere waste of time, because if that is done, sleep gains only so much +in length as it loses in depth.[2] + +[Footnote 1: _Of. Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, 4th Edition. Bk. +II. pp. 236-40.] + +[Footnote: 2: _Cf. loc: cit_: p. 275. Sleep is a morsel of death +borrowed to keep up and renew the part of life which is exhausted by +the day--_le sommeil est un emprunt fait a la mort_. Or it might be +said that sleep is the interest we have to pay on the capital which is +called in at death; and the higher the rate of interest and the +more regularly it is paid, the further the date of redemption is +postponed.] + +It should be clearly understood that thought is nothing but the +organic function of the brain; and it has to obey the same laws in +regard to exertion and repose as any other organic function. The brain +can be ruined by overstrain, just like the eyes. As the function of +the stomach is to digest, so it is that of the brain to think. The +notion of a _soul_,--as something elementary and immaterial, merely +lodging in the brain and needing nothing at all for the performance +of its essential function, which consists in always and unweariedly +_thinking_--has undoubtedly driven many people to foolish practices, +leading to a deadening of the intellectual powers; Frederick the +Great, even, once tried to form the habit of doing without sleep +altogether. It would be well if professors of philosophy refrained +from giving currency to a notion which is attended by practical +results of a pernicious character; but then this is just what +professorial philosophy does, in its old-womanish endeavor to keep on +good terms with the catechism. A man should accustom himself to +view his intellectual capacities in no other light than that of +physiological functions, and to manage them accordingly--nursing or +exercising them as the case may be; remembering that every kind of +physical suffering, malady or disorder, in whatever part of the body +it occurs, has its effect upon the mind. The best advice that I know +on this subject is given by Cabanis in his _Rapports du physique et du +moral de l'homme_.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. The work to which Schopenhauer +here refers is a series of essays by Cabanis, a French philosopher +(1757-1808), treating of mental and moral phenomena on a physiological +basis. In his later days, Cabanis completely abandoned his +materialistic standpoint.] + +Through neglect of this rule, many men of genius and great scholars +have become weak-minded and childish, or even gone quite mad, as they +grew old. To take no other instances, there can be no doubt that the +celebrated English poets of the early part of this century, Scott, +Wordsworth, Southey, became intellectually dull and incapable towards +the end of their days, nay, soon after passing their sixtieth year; +and that their imbecility can be traced to the fact that, at that +period of life, they were all led on? by the promise of high pay, to +treat literature as a trade and to write for money. This seduced them +into an unnatural abuse of their intellectual powers; and a man who +puts his Pegasus into harness, and urges on his Muse with the whip, +will have to pay a penalty similar to that which is exacted by the +abuse of other kinds of power. + +And even in the case of Kant, I suspect that the second childhood of +his last four years was due to overwork in later life, and after he +had succeeded in becoming a famous man. + +Every month of the year has its own peculiar and direct influence upon +health and bodily condition generally; nay, even upon the state of the +mind. It is an influence dependent upon the weather. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +OUR RELATION TO OTHERS.--SECTION 21. + + +In making his way through life, a man will find it useful to be ready +and able to do two things: to look ahead and to overlook: the one +will protect him from loss and injury, the other from disputes and +squabbles. + +No one who has to live amongst men should absolutely discard any +person who has his due place in the order of nature, even though he is +very wicked or contemptible or ridiculous. He must accept him as an +unalterable fact--unalterable, because the necessary outcome of an +eternal, fundamental principle; and in bad cases he should +remember the words of Mephistopheles: _es muss auch solche Kaeuze +geben[1]_--there must be fools and rogues in the world. If he acts +otherwise, he will be committing an injustice, and giving a challenge +of life and death to the man he discards. No one can alter his +own peculiar individuality, his moral character, his intellectual +capacity, his temperament or physique; and if we go so far as to +condemn a man from every point of view, there will be nothing left him +but to engage us in deadly conflict; for we are practically allowing +him the right to exist only on condition that he becomes another +man--which is impossible; his nature forbids it. + +[Footnote 1: Goethe's _Faust_, Part I.] + +So if you have to live amongst men, you must allow everyone the right +to exist in accordance with the character he has, whatever it turns +out to be: and all you should strive to do is to make use of this +character in such a way as its kind and nature permit, rather than to +hope for any alteration in it, or to condemn it off-hand for what it +is. This is the true sense of the maxim--Live and let live. That, +however, is a task which is difficult in proportion as it is right; +and he is a happy man who can once for all avoid having to do with a +great many of his fellow creatures. + +The art of putting up with people may be learned by practicing +patience on inanimate objects, which, in virtue of some mechanical +or general physical necessity, oppose a stubborn resistance to our +freedom of action--a form of patience which is required every day. +The patience thus gained may be applied to our dealings with men, +by accustoming ourselves to regard their opposition, wherever we +encounter it, as the inevitable outcome of their nature, which sets +itself up against us in virtue of the same rigid law of necessity as +governs the resistance of inanimate objects. To become indignant at +their conduct is as foolish as to be angry with a stone because it +rolls into your path. And with many people the wisest thing you can +do, is to resolve to make use of those whom you cannot alter. + +SECTION 22. It is astonishing how easily and how quickly similarity, +or difference of mind and disposition, makes itself felt between one +man and another as soon as they begin to talk: every little trifle +shows it. When two people of totally different natures are conversing, +almost everything said by the one will, in a greater or less degree, +displease the other, and in many cases produce positive annoyance; +even though the conversation turn upon the most out-of-the-way +subject, or one in which neither of the parties has any real interest. +People of similar nature, on the other hand, immediately come to feel +a kind of general agreement; and if they are cast very much in the +same mould, complete harmony or even unison will flow from their +intercourse. + +This explain two circumstances. First of all, it shows why it is that +common, ordinary people are so sociable and find good company wherever +they go. Ah! those good, dear, brave people. It is just the contrary +with those who are not of the common run; and the less they are so, +the more unsociable they become; so that if, in their isolation, they +chance to come across some one in whose nature they can find even +a single sympathetic chord, be it never so minute, they show +extraordinary pleasure in his society. For one man can be to another +only so much as the other is to him. Great minds are like eagles, and +build their nest in some lofty solitude. + +Secondly, we are enabled to understand how it is that people of like +disposition so quickly get on with one another, as though they were +drawn together by magnetic force--kindred souls greeting each other +from afar. Of course the most frequent opportunity of observing this +is afforded by people of vulgar tastes and inferior intellect, but +only because their name is legion; while those who are better off in +this respect and of a rarer nature, are not often to be met with: they +are called rare because you can seldom find them. + +Take the case of a large number of people who have formed themselves +into a league for the purpose of carrying out some practical object; +if there be two rascals among them, they will recognize each other as +readily as if they bore a similar badge, and will at once conspire +for some misfeasance or treachery. In the same way, if you can +imagine--_per impossible_--a large company of very intelligent and +clever people, amongst whom there are only two blockheads, these two +will be sure to be drawn together by a feeling of sympathy, and each +of them will very soon secretly rejoice at having found at least one +intelligent person in the whole company. It is really quite curious +to see how two such men, especially if they are morally and +intellectually of an inferior type, will recognize each other at first +sight; with what zeal they will strive to become intimate; how affably +and cheerily they will run to greet each other, just as though they +were old friends;--it is all so striking that one is tempted to +embrace the Buddhist doctrine of metempsychosis and presume that they +were on familiar terms in some former state of existence. + +Still, in spite of all this general agreement, men are kept apart who +might come together; or, in some cases, a passing discord springs up +between them. This is due to diversity of mood. You will hardly +ever see two people exactly in the same frame of mind; for that is +something which varies with their condition of life, occupation, +surroundings, health, the train of thought they are in at the moment, +and so on. These differences give rise to discord between persons of +the most harmonious disposition. To correct the balance properly, so +as to remove the disturbance--to introduce, as it were, a uniform +temperature,--is a work demanding a very high degree of culture. The +extent to which uniformity of mood is productive of good-fellowship +may be measured by its effects upon a large company. When, for +instance, a great many people are gathered together and presented with +some objective interest which works upon all alike and influences them +in a similar way, no matter what it be--a common danger or hope, some +great news, a spectacle, a play, a piece of music, or anything of that +kind--you will find them roused to a mutual expression of thought, +and a display of sincere interest. There will be a general feeling +of pleasure amongst them; for that which attracts their attention +produces a unity of mood by overpowering all private and personal +interests. + +And in default of some objective interest of the kind I have +mentioned, recourse is usually had to something subjective. A bottle +of wine is not an uncommon means of introducing a mutual feeling of +fellowship; and even tea and coffee are used for a like end. + +The discord which so easily finds its way into all society as an +effect of the different moods in which people happen to be for the +moment, also in part explains why it is that memory always idealizes, +and sometimes almost transfigures, the attitude we have taken up at +any period of the past--a change due to our inability to remember all +the fleeting influences which disturbed us on any given occasion. +Memory is in this respect like the lens of a _camera obscura_: it +contracts everything within its range, and so produces a much finer +picture than the actual landscape affords. And, in the case of a man, +absence always goes some way towards securing this advantageous light; +for though the idealizing tendency of the memory requires times to +complete its work, it begins it at once. Hence it is a prudent thing +to see your friends and acquaintances only at considerable intervals +of time; and on meeting them again, you will observe that memory has +been at work. + +SECTION 23. No man can see _over his own height._ Let me explain what +I mean. + +You cannot see in another man any more than you have in yourself; and +your own intelligence strictly determines the extent to which he comes +within its grasp. If your intelligence is of a very low order, mental +qualities in another, even though they be of the highest kind, +will have no effect at all upon you; you will see nothing in their +possessor except the meanest side of his individuality--in other +words, just those parts of his character and disposition which are +weak and defective. Your whole estimate of the man will be confined to +his defects, and his higher mental qualities will no more exist for +you than colors exist for those who cannot see. + +Intellect is invisible to the man who has none. In any attempt to +criticise another's work, the range of knowledge possessed by the +critic is as essential a part of his verdict as the claims of the work +itself. + +Hence intercourse with others involves a process of leveling down. The +qualities which are present in one man, and absent in another, cannot +come into play when they meet; and the self-sacrifice which this +entails upon one of the parties, calls forth no recognition from the +other. + +Consider how sordid, how stupid, in a word, how _vulgar_ most men +are, and you will see that it is impossible to talk to them without +becoming vulgar yourself for the time being. Vulgarity is in this +respect like electricity; it is easily distributed. You will then +fully appreciate the truth and propriety of the expression, _to make +yourself cheap_; and you will be glad to avoid the society of people +whose only possible point of contact with you is just that part of +your nature of which you have least reason to be proud. So you will +see that, in dealing with fools and blockheads, there is only one way +of showing your intelligence--by having nothing to do with them. That +means, of course, that when you go into society, you may now and then +feel like a good dancer who gets an invitation to a ball, and on +arriving, finds that everyone is lame:--with whom is he to dance? + +SECTION 24. I feel respect for the man--and he is one in a +hundred--who, when he is waiting or sitting unoccupied, refrains from +rattling or beating time with anything that happens to be handy,--his +stick, or knife and fork, or whatever else it may be. The probability +is that he is thinking of something. + +With a large number of people, it is quite evident that their power of +sight completely dominates over their power of thought; they seem to +be conscious of existence only when they are making a noise; unless +indeed they happen to be smoking, for this serves a similar end. It is +for the same reason that they never fail to be all eyes and ears for +what is going on around them. + +SECTION 25. La Rochefoucauld makes the striking remark that it is +difficult to feel deep veneration and great affection for one and the +same person. If this is so, we shall have to choose whether it is +veneration or love that we want from our fellow-men. + +Their love is always selfish, though in very different ways; and the +means used to gain it are not always of a kind to make us proud. A +man is loved by others mainly in the degree in which he moderates +his claim on their good feeling and intelligence: but he must act +genuinely in the matter and without dissimulation--not merely out of +forbearance, which is at bottom a kind of contempt. This calls to mind +a very true observation of Helvetius[1]: _the amount of intellect +necessary to please us, is a most accurate measure of the amount of +intellect we have ourselves_. With these remarks as premises, it is +easy to draw the conclusion. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. Helvetius, Claude-Adrien (1715-71), +a French philosophical writer much esteemed by Schopenhauer. His chief +work, _De l'Esprit_, excited great interest and opposition at the +time of its publication, on account of the author's pronounced +materialism.] + +Now with veneration the case is just the opposite; it is wrung from +men reluctantly, and for that very reason mostly concealed. Hence, as +compared with love, veneration gives more real satisfaction; for it is +connected with personal value, and the same is not directly true +of love, which is subjective in its nature, whilst veneration is +objective. To be sure, it is more useful to be loved than to be +venerated. + +SECTION 26. Most men are so thoroughly subjective that nothing really +interests them but themselves. They always think of their own case +as soon as ever any remark is made, and their whole attention is +engrossed and absorbed by the merest chance reference to anything +which affects them personally, be it never so remote: with the result +that they have no power left for forming an objective view of things, +should the conversation take that turn; neither can they admit any +validity in arguments which tell against their interest or their +vanity. Hence their attention is easily distracted. They are so +readily offended, insulted or annoyed, that in discussing any +impersonal matter with them, no care is too great to avoid letting +your remarks bear the slightest possible reference to the very worthy +and sensitive individuals whom you have before you; for anything you +may say will perhaps hurt their feelings. People really care about +nothing that does not affect them personally. True and striking +observations, fine, subtle and witty things are lost upon them: they +cannot understand or feel them. But anything that disturbs their petty +vanity in the most remote and indirect way, or reflects prejudicially +upon their exceedingly precious selves--to that, they are most +tenderly sensitive. In this respect they are like the little dog whose +toes you are so apt to tread upon inadvertently--you know it by the +shrill bark it sets up: or, again, they resemble a sick man covered +with sores and boils, with whom the greatest care must be taken to +avoid unnecessary handling. And in some people this feeling reaches +such a pass that, if they are talking with anyone, and he exhibits, or +does not sufficiently conceal, his intelligence and discernment, they +look upon it as a downright insult; although for the moment they hide +their ill will, and the unsuspecting author of it afterwards ruminates +in vain upon their conduct, and racks his brain to discover what he +could possibly have done to excite their malice and hatred. + +But it is just as easy to flatter and win them over; and this is why +their judgment is usually corrupt, and why their opinions are swayed, +not by what is really true and right, but by the favor of the party or +class to which they belong. And the ultimate reason of it all is, that +in such people force of will greatly predominates over knowledge; and +hence their meagre intellect is wholly given up to the service of the +will, and can never free itself from that service for a moment. + +Astrology furnishes a magnificent proof of this miserable subjective +tendency in men, which leads them to see everything only as bearing +upon themselves, and to think of nothing that is not straightway made +into a personal matter. The aim of astrology is to bring the motions +of the celestial bodies into relation with the wretched _Ego_ and to +establish a connection between a comet in the sky and squabbles and +rascalities on earth.[1] + +[Footnote 1: See, for instance, Stobasus, _Eclog. I_. xxii. 9.] + +SECTION 27. When any wrong statement is made, whether in public or +in society, or in books, and well received--or, at any rate, not +refuted--that that is no reason why you should despair or think there +the matter will rest. You should comfort yourself with the reflection +that the question will be afterwards gradually subjected to +examination; light will be thrown upon it; it will be thought over, +considered, discussed, and generally in the end the correct view will +be reached; so that, after a time--the length of which will depend +upon the difficulty of the subject--everyone will come to understand +that which a clear head saw at once. + +In the meantime, of course, you must have patience. He who can see +truly in the midst of general infatuation is like a man whose watch +keeps good time, when all clocks in the town in which he lives are +wrong. He alone knows the right time; but what use is that to him? +for everyone goes by the clocks which speak false, not even excepting +those who know that his watch is the only one that is right. + +SECTION 28. Men are like children, in that, if you spoil them, they +become naughty. + +Therefore it is well not to be too indulgent or charitable with +anyone. You may take it as a general rule that you will not lose a +friend by refusing him a loan, but that you are very likely to do +so by granting it; and, for similar reasons, you will not readily +alienate people by being somewhat proud and careless in your +behaviour; but if you are very kind and complaisant towards them, you +will often make them arrogant and intolerable, and so a breach will +ensue. + +There is one thing that, more than any other, throws people absolutely +off their balance--the thought that you are dependent upon them. This +is sure to produce an insolent and domineering manner towards you. +There are some people, indeed, who become rude if you enter into any +kind of relation with them; for instance, if you have occasion to +converse with them frequently upon confidential matters, they soon +come to fancy that they can take liberties with you, and so they try +and transgress the laws of politeness. This is why there are so few +with whom you care to become more intimate, and why you should avoid +familiarity with vulgar people. If a man comes to think that I am more +dependent upon him than he is upon me, he at once feels as though I +had stolen something from him; and his endeavor will be to have his +vengeance and get it back. The only way to attain superiority in +dealing with men, is to let it be seen that you are independent of +them. + +And in this view it is advisable to let everyone of your +acquaintance--whether man or woman--feel now and then that you +could very well dispense with their company. This will consolidate +friendship. Nay, with most people there will be no harm in +occasionally mixing a grain of disdain with your treatment of them; +that will make them value your friendship all the more. _Chi non +istima vien stimato_, as a subtle Italian proverb has it--to disregard +is to win regard. But if we really think very highly of a person, we +should conceal it from him like a crime. This is not a very gratifying +thing to do, but it is right. Why, a dog will not bear being treated +too kindly, let alone a man! + +SECTION 29. It is often the case that people of noble character and +great mental gifts betray a strange lack of worldly wisdom and a +deficiency in the knowledge of men, more especially when they are +young; with the result that it is easy to deceive or mislead them; and +that, on the other hand, natures of the commoner sort are more ready +and successful in making their way in the world. + +The reason of this is that, when a man has little or no experience, +he must judge by his own antecedent notions; and in matters demanding +judgment, an antecedent notion is never on the same level as +experience. For, with the commoner sort of people, an antecedent +notion means just their own selfish point of view. This is not the +case with those whose mind and character are above the ordinary; for +it is precisely in this respect--their unselfishness--that they differ +from the rest of mankind; and as they judge other people's thoughts +and actions by their own high standard, the result does not always +tally with their calculation. + +But if, in the end, a man of noble character comes to see, as the +effect of his own experience, or by the lessons he learns from others, +what it is that may be expected of men in general,--namely, that +five-sixths of them are morally and intellectually so constituted +that, if circumstances do not place you in relation with them, you had +better get out of their way and keep as far as possible from having +anything to do with them,--still, he will scarcely ever attain an +adequate notion of their wretchedly mean and shabby nature: all his +life long he will have to be extending and adding to the inferior +estimate he forms of them; and in the meantime he will commit a great +many mistakes and do himself harm. + +Then, again, after he has really taken to heart the lessons that have +been taught him, it will occasionally happen that, when he is in the +society of people whom he does not know, he will be surprised to +find how thoroughly reasonable they all appear to be, both in their +conversation and in their demeanor--in fact, quite honest, sincere, +virtuous and trustworthy people, and at the same time shrewd and +clever. + +But that ought not to perplex him. Nature is not like those bad +poets, who, in setting a fool or a knave before us, do their work so +clumsily, and with such evident design, that you might almost +fancy you saw the poet standing behind each of his characters, and +continually disavowing their sentiments, and telling you in a tone of +warning: _This is a knave; that is a fool; do not mind what he says_. +But Nature goes to work like Shakespeare and Goethe, poets who +make every one of their characters--even if it is the devil +himself!--appear to be quite in the right for the moment that they +come before us in their several parts; the characters are described so +objectively that they excite our interest and compel us to sympathize +with their point of view; for, like the works of Nature, every one +of these characters is evolved as the result of some hidden law +or principle, which makes all they say and do appear natural and +therefore necessary. And you will always be the prey or the plaything +of the devils and fools in this world, if you expect to see them going +about with horns or jangling their bells. + +And it should be borne in mind that, in their intercourse with others, +people are like the moon, or like hunchbacks; they show you only one +of their sides. Every man has an innate talent for mimicry,--for +making a mask out of his physiognomy, so that he can always look as +if he really were what he pretends to be; and since he makes his +calculations always within the lines of his individual nature, the +appearance he puts on suits him to a nicety, and its effect is +extremely deceptive. He dons his mask whenever his object is to +flatter himself into some one's good opinion; and you may pay just as +much attention to it as if it were made of wax or cardboard, never +forgetting that excellent Italian proverb: _non e si tristo cane che +non meni la coda_,--there is no dog so bad but that he will wag his +tail. + +In any case it is well to take care not to form a highly favorable +opinion of a person whose acquaintance you have only recently made, +for otherwise you are very likely to be disappointed; and then you +will be ashamed of yourself and perhaps even suffer some injury. +And while I am on the subject, there is another fact that deserves +mention. It is this. A man shows his character just in the way in +which he deals with trifles,--for then he is off his guard. This will +often afford a good opportunity of observing the boundless egoism of +man's nature, and his total lack of consideration for others; and +if these defects show themselves in small things, or merely in his +general demeanor, you will find that they also underlie his action in +matters of importance, although he may disguise the fact. This is an +opportunity which should not be missed. If in the little affairs of +every day,--the trifles of life, those matters to which the rule _de +minimis non_ applies,--a man is inconsiderate and seeks only what is +advantageous or convenient to himself, to the prejudice of others' +rights; if he appropriates to himself that which belongs to all alike, +you may be sure there is no justice in his heart, and that he would be +a scoundrel on a wholesale scale, only that law and compulsion bind +his hands. Do not trust him beyond your door. He who is not afraid +to break the laws of his own private circle, will break those of the +State when he can do so with impunity. + +If the average man were so constituted that the good in him outweighed +the bad, it would be more advisable to rely upon his sense of justice, +fairness, gratitude, fidelity, love or compassion, than to work upon +his fears; but as the contrary is the case, and it is the bad that +outweighs the good, the opposite course is the more prudent one. + +If any person with whom we are associated or have to do, exhibits +unpleasant or annoying qualities, we have only to ask ourselves +whether or not this person is of so much value to us that we can put +up with frequent and repeated exhibitions of the same qualities in a +somewhat aggravated form.[1] In case of an affirmative answer to this +question, there will not be much to be said, because talking is very +little use. We must let the matter pass, with or without some notice; +but we should nevertheless remember that we are thereby exposing +ourselves to a repetition of the offence. If the answer is in the +negative, we must break with our worthy friend at once and forever; or +in the case of a servant, dismiss him. For he will inevitably repeat +the offence, or do something tantamount to it, should the occasion +return, even though for the moment he is deep and sincere in his +assurances of the contrary. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, +that a man cannot forget,--but not _himself, his own character_. For +character is incorrigible; because all a man's actions emanate from an +inward principle, in virtue of which he must always do the same thing +under like circumstances; and he cannot do otherwise. Let me refer to +my prize essay on the so-called _Freedom of the Will_, the perusal +of which will dissipate any delusions the reader may have on this +subject. + +[Footnote 1: To _forgive and forget_ means to throw away dearly bought +experience.] + +To become reconciled to a friend with whom you have broken, is a form +of weakness; and you pay the penalty of it when he takes the first +opportunity of doing precisely the very thing which brought about +the breach; nay, he does it the more boldly, because he is secretly +conscious that you cannot get on without him. This is also applicable +to servants whom you have dismissed, and then taken into your service +again. + +For the same reason, you should just as little expect people to +continue to act in a similar way under altered circumstances. The +truth is that men alter their demeanor and sentiments just as fast as +their interest changes; and their resign in this respect is a bill +drawn for short payment that the man must be still more short-sighted +who accepts the bill without protesting it. Accordingly, suppose you +want to know how a man will behave in an office into which you think +of putting him; you should not build upon expectations, on his +promises or assurances. For, even allowing that he is quite sincere, +he is speaking about a matter of which he has no knowledge. The only +way to calculate how he will behave, is to consider the circumstances +in which he will be placed, and the extent to which they will conflict +with his character. + +If you wish to get a clear and profound insight--and it is very +needful--into the true but melancholy elements of which most men are +made, you will find in a very instructive thing to take the way they +behave in the pages of literature as a commentary to their doings in +practical life, and _vice versa._ The experience thus gained will be +very useful in avoiding wrong ideas, whether about yourself or about +others. But if you come across any special trait of meanness or +stupidity--in life or in literature,--you must be careful not to let +it annoy or distress you, but to look upon it merely as an addition to +your knowledge--a new fact to be considered in studying the character +of humanity. Your attitude towards it will be that of the mineralogist +who stumbles upon a very characteristic specimen of a mineral. + +Of course there are some facts which are very exceptional, and it is +difficult to understand how they arise, and how it is that there come +to be such enormous differences between man and man; but, in general, +what was said long ago is quite true, and the world is in a very bad +way. In savage countries they eat one another, in civilized they +deceive one another; and that is what people call the way of the +world! What are States and all the elaborate systems of political +machinery, and the rule of force, whether in home or in foreign +affairs,--what are they but barriers against the boundless iniquity +of mankind? Does not all history show that whenever a king is firmly +planted on a throne, and his people reach some degree of prosperity, +he uses it to lead his army, like a band of robbers, against adjoining +countries? Are not almost all wars ultimately undertaken for purposes +of plunder? In the most remote antiquity, and to some extent also in +the Middle Ages, the conquered became slaves,--in other words, they +had to work for those who conquered them; and where is the difference +between that and paying war-taxes, which represent the product of our +previous work? + +All war, says Voltaire, is a matter of robbery; and the Germans should +take that as a warning. + +SECTION 30. No man is so formed that he can be left entirely to +himself, to go his own ways; everyone needs to be guided by a +preconceived plan, and to follow certain general rules. But if this is +carried too far, and a man tries to take on a character which is not +natural or innate in him, but it artificially acquired and evolved +merely by a process of reasoning, he will very soon discover that +Nature cannot be forced, and that if you drive it out, it will return +despite your efforts:-- + +_Naturam expelles furca, tamen usque recurret_. + +To understand a rule governing conduct towards others, even to +discover it for oneself and to express it neatly, is easy enough; and +still, very soon afterwards, the rule may be broken in practice. But +that is no reason for despair; and you need not fancy that as it is +impossible to regulate your life in accordance with abstract ideas +and maxims, it is better to live just as you please. Here, as in all +theoretical instruction that aims at a practical result, the first +thing to do is to understand the rule; the second thing is to learn +the practice of it. The theory may be understand at once by an effort +of reason, and yet the practice of it acquired only in course of time. + +A pupil may lean the various notes on an instrument of music, or the +different position in fencing; and when he makes a mistake, as he +is sure to do, however hard he tries, he is apt to think it will be +impossible to observe the rules, when he is set to read music at sight +or challenged to a furious duel. But for all that, gradual practice +makes him perfect, through a long series of slips, blunders and fresh +efforts. It is just the same in other things; in learning to write and +speak Latin, a man will forget the grammatical rules; it is only +by long practice that a blockhead turns into a courtier, that a +passionate man becomes shrewd and worldly-wise, or a frank person +reserved, or a noble person ironical. But though self-discipline of +this kind is the result of long habit, it always works by a sort of +external compulsion, which Nature never ceases to resist and sometimes +unexpectedly overcomes. The difference between action in accordance +with abstract principles, and action as the result of original, +innate tendency, is the same as that between a work of art, say a +watch--where form and movement are impressed upon shapeless and inert +matter--and a living organism, where form and matter are one, and each +is inseparable from the other. + +There is a maxim attributed to the Emperor Napoleon, which expresses +this relation between acquired and innate character, and confirms what +I have said: _everything that is unnatural is imperfect_;--a rule of +universal application, whether in the physical or in the moral sphere. +The only exception I can think of to this rule is aventurine,[1] a +substance known to mineralogists, which in its natural state cannot +compare with the artificial preparation of it. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. Aventurine is a rare kind of quartz; +and the same name is given to a brownish-colored glass much resembling +it, which is manufactured at Murano. It is so called from the fact +that the glass was discovered by chance _(arventura)_.] + +And in this connection let me utter a word of protest against any and +every form of _affectation_. It always arouses contempt; in the first +place, because it argues deception, and the deception is cowardly, +for it is based on fear; and, secondly, it argues self-condemnation, +because it means that a man is trying to appear what he is not, and +therefore something which he things better than he actually is. To +affect a quality, and to plume yourself upon it, is just to confess +that you have not got it. Whether it is courage, or learning, or +intellect, or wit, or success with women, or riches, or social +position, or whatever else it may be that a man boasts of, you may +conclude by his boasting about it that that is precisely the direction +in which he is rather weak; for if a man really possesses any faculty +to the full, it will not occur to him to make a great show of +affecting it; he is quite content to know that he has it. That is the +application of the Spanish proverb: _herradura que chacolotea clavo le +falta_--a clattering hoof means a nail gone. To be sure, as I said at +first, no man ought to let the reins go quite loose, and show himself +just as he is; for there are many evil and bestial sides to our nature +which require to be hidden away out of sight; and this justifies the +negative attitude of dissimulation, but it does not justify a +positive feigning of qualities which are not there. It should also be +remembered that affectation is recognized at once, even before it is +clear what it is that is being affected. And, finally, affectation +cannot last very long, and one day the mask will fall off. _Nemo +potest personam diu ferre fictam_, says Seneca;[1] _ficta cito in +naturam suam recidunt_--no one can persevere long in a fictitious +character; for nature will soon reassert itself. + +[Footnote 1: _De Clementia, I_. 1.] + +SECTION 31. A man bears the weight of his own body without knowing it, +but he soon feels the weight of any other, if he tries to move it; in +the same way, a man can see other people's shortcoming's and vices, +but he is blind to his own. This arrangement has one advantage: it +turns other people into a kind of mirror, in which a man can see +clearly everything that is vicious, faulty, ill-bred and loathsome in +his own nature; only, it is generally the old story of the dog barking +at is own image; it is himself that he sees and not another dog, as he +fancies. + +He who criticises others, works at the reformation of himself. Those +who form the secret habit of scrutinizing other people's general +behavior, and passing severe judgment upon what they do and leave +undone, thereby improve themselves, and work out their own perfection: +for they will have sufficient sense of justice, or at any rate enough +pride and vanity, to avoid in their own case that which they condemn +so harshly elsewhere. But tolerant people are just the opposite, +and claim for themselves the same indulgence that they extend to +others--_hanc veniam damus petimusque vicissim_. It is all very well +for the Bible to talk about the mote in another's eye and the beam in +one's own. The nature of the eye is to look not at itself but at other +things; and therefore to observe and blame faults in another is a +very suitable way of becoming conscious of one's own. We require a +looking-glass for the due dressing of our morals. + +The same rule applies in the case of style and fine writing. If, +instead of condemning, you applaud some new folly in these matters, +you will imitate it. That is just why literary follies have such vogue +in Germany. The Germans are a very tolerant people--everybody can see +that! Their maxim is--_Hanc veniam damns petimusque vicissim._ + +SECTION 32. When he is young, a man of noble character fancies that +the relations prevailing amongst mankind, and the alliances to which +these relations lead, are at bottom and essentially, _ideal_ in their +nature; that is to say, that they rest upon similarity of disposition +or sentiment, or taste, or intellectual power, and so on. + +But, later on, he finds out that it is a _real_ foundation which +underlies these alliances; that they are based upon some _material_ +interest. This is the true foundation of almost all alliances: nay, +most men have no notion of an alliance resting upon any other basis. +Accordingly we find that a man is always measured by the office he +holds, or by his occupation, nationality, or family relations--in a +word, by the position and character which have been assigned him +in the conventional arrangements of life, where he is ticketed and +treated as so much goods. Reference to what he is in himself, as a +man--to the measure of his own personal qualities--is never made +unless for convenience' sake: and so that view of a man is something +exceptional, to be set aside and ignored, the moment that anyone finds +it disagreeable; and this is what usually happens. But the more of +personal worth a man has, the less pleasure he will take in these +conventional arrangements; and he will try to withdraw from the sphere +in which they apply. The reason why these arrangements exist at all, +is simply that in this world of ours misery and need are the chief +features: therefore it is everywhere the essential and paramount +business of life to devise the means of alleviating them. + +SECTION 33. As paper-money circulates in the world instead of real +coin, so, is the place of true esteem and genuine friendship, you have +the outward appearance of it--a mimic show made to look as much like +the real thing as possible. + +On the other hand, it may be asked whether there are any people who +really deserve the true coin. For my own part, I should certainly pay +more respect to an honest dog wagging his tail than to a hundred such +demonstrations of human regard. + +True and genuine friendship presupposes a strong sympathy with the +weal and woe of another--purely objective in its character and quite +disinterested; and this in its turn means an absolute identification +of self with the object of friendship. The egoism of human nature is +so strongly antagonistic to any such sympathy, that true friendship +belongs to that class of things--the sea-serpent, for instance,--with +regard to which no one knows whether they are fabulous or really exist +somewhere or other. + +Still, in many cases, there is a grain of true and genuine friendship +in the relation of man to man, though generally, of course, some +secret personal interest is at the bottom of them--some one among the +many forms that selfishness can take. But in a world where all is +imperfect, this grain of true feeling is such an ennobling influence +that it gives some warrant for calling those relations by the name of +friendship, for they stand far above the ordinary friendships that +prevail amongst mankind. The latter are so constituted that, were you +to hear how your dear friends speak of you behind your back, you would +never say another word to them. + +Apart from the case where it would be a real help to you if your +friend were to make some great sacrifice to serve you, there is no +better means of testing the genuineness of his feelings than the way +in which he receives the news of a misfortune that has just happened +to you. At that moment the expression of his features will either show +that his one thought is that of true and sincere sympathy for you; or +else the absolute composure of his countenance, or the passing trace +of something other than sympathy, will confirm the well-known maxim +of La Rochefoucauld: _Dans l'adversite de nos meilleurs amis, nous +trouvons toujours quelque chose qui ne nous deplait pas_. Indeed, at +such a moment, the ordinary so-called friend will find it hard to +suppress the signs of a slight smile of pleasure. There are few ways +by which you can make more certain of putting people into a good humor +than by telling them of some trouble that has recently befallen you, +or by unreservedly disclosing some personal weakness of yours. How +characteristic this is of humanity! + +Distance and long absence are always prejudicial to friendship, +however disinclined a man may be to admit. Our regard for people whom +we do not see--even though they be our dearest friends--gradually +dries up in the course of years, and they become abstract notions; +so that our interest in them grows to be more and more +intellectual,--nay, it is kept up only as a kind of tradition; whilst +we retain a lively and deep interest in those who are constantly +before our eyes, even if they be only pet animals. This shows how +much men are limited by their senses, and how true is the remark that +Goethe makes in _Tasso_ about the dominant influence of the present +moment:-- + + _Die Gegenwart ist eine maechtige Goettin_[1] + +[Footnote 1: Act iv., se. 4.] + +_Friends of the house_ are very rightly so called; because they are +friends of the house rather than of its master; in other words, they +are more like cats than dogs. + +Your friends will tell you that they are sincere; your enemies are +really so. Let your enemies' censure be like a bitter medicine, to be +used as a means of self-knowledge. + +A friend in need, as the saying goes, is rare. Nay, it is just the +contrary; no sooner have you made a friend than he is in need, and +asks for a loan. + +SECTION 34. A man must be still a greenhorn in the ways of the +world, if he imagines that he can make himself popular in society by +exhibiting intelligence and discernment. With the immense majority +of people, such qualities excite hatred and resentment, which are +rendered all the harder to bear by the fact that people are obliged to +suppress--even from themselves--the real reason of their anger. + +What actually takes place is this. A man feels and perceives that the +person with whom he is conversing is intellectually very much his +superior.[1] + +[Footnote 1: Cf. _Welt als Wills und Vorstellung_, Bk. II. p. 256 (4th +Edit.), where I quote from Dr. Johnson, and from Merck, the friend +of Goethe's youth. The former says: _There is nothing by which a man +exasperates most people more, than by displaying a superior ability of +brilliancy in conversation. They seem pleased at the time, but their +envy makes them curse him at their hearts._ (Boswells _Life of +Johnson_ aetat: 74).] + +He thereupon secretly and half unconsciously concludes that his +interlocutor must form a proportionately low and limited estimate of +his abilities. That is a method of reasoning--an enthymeme--which +rouses the bitterest feelings of sullen and rancorous hatred. And so +Gracian is quite right in saying that the only way to win affection +from people is to show the most animal-like simplicity of +demeanor--_para ser bien quisto, el unico medio vestirse la piel del +mas simple de los brutos_.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Balthazar Graeian, _Oraculo manual, +y arte de prudencia_, 240. Gracian (1584-1658) was a Spanish prose +writer and Jesuit, whose works deal chiefly with the observation +of character in the various phenomena of life. Schopenhauer, among +others, had a great admiration for his worldly philosophy, and +translated his _Oraculo manual_--a system of rules for the conduct of +life--into German. The same book was translated into English towards +the close of the seventeenth century.] + +To show your intelligence and discernment is only an indirect way of +reproaching other people for being dull and incapable. And besides, it +is natural for a vulgar man to be violently agitated by the sight of +opposition in any form; and in this case envy comes in as the secret +cause of his hostility. For it is a matter of daily observation that +people take the greatest pleasure in that which satisfies their +vanity; and vanity cannot be satisfied without comparison with others. +Now, there is nothing of which a man is prouder than of intellectual +ability, for it is this that gives him his commanding place in the +animal world. It is an exceedingly rash thing to let any one see that +you are decidedly superior to him in this respect, and to let other +people see it too; because he will then thirst for vengeance, and +generally look about for an opportunity of taking it by means of +insult, because this is to pass from the sphere of _intellect_ to +that of _will_--and there, all are on an equal footing as regards the +feeling of hostility. Hence, while rank and riches may always reckon +upon deferential treatment in society, that is something which +intellectual ability can never expect; to be ignored is the greatest +favor shown to it; and if people notice it at all, it is because they +regard it as a piece of impertinence, or else as something to which +its possessor has no legitimate right, and upon which he dares to +pride himself; and in retaliation and revenge for his conduct, people +secretly try and humiliate him in some other way; and if they wait to +do this, it is only for a fitting opportunity. A man may be as humble +as possible in his demeanor, and yet hardly ever get people to +overlook his crime in standing intellectually above them. In the +_Garden of Roses_, Sadi makes the remark:--_You should know that +foolish people are a hundredfold more averse to meeting the wise than +the wise are indisposed for the company of the foolish_. + +On the other hand, it is a real recommendation to be stupid. For just +as warmth is agreeable to the body, so it does the mind good to feel +its superiority; and a man will seek company likely to give him this +feeling, as instinctively as he will approach the fireplace or walk +in the sun if he wants to get warm. But this means that he will be +disliked on account of his superiority; and if a man is to be liked, +he must really be inferior in point of intellect; and the same thing +holds good of a woman in point of beauty. To give proof of real and +unfeigned inferiority to some of the people you meet--that is a very +difficult business indeed! + +Consider how kindly and heartily a girl who is passably pretty will +welcome one who is downright ugly. Physical advantages are not thought +so much of in the case of man, though I suppose you would rather a +little man sat next to you than one who was bigger than yourself. This +is why, amongst men, it is the dull and ignorant, and amongst women, +the ugly, who are always popular and in request.[1] It is likely to +be said of such people that they are extremely good-natured, because +every one wants to find a pretext for caring about them--a pretext +which will blind both himself and other people to the real reason why +he likes them. This is also why mental superiority of any sort always +tends to isolate its possessor; people run away from him out of +pure hatred, and say all manner of bad things about him by way of +justifying their action. Beauty, in the case of women, has a similar +effect: very pretty girls have no friends of their own sex, and they +even find it hard to get another girl to keep them company. A handsome +woman should always avoid applying for a position as companion, +because the moment she enters the room, her prospective mistress will +scowl at her beauty, as a piece of folly with which, both for her own +and for her daughter's sake, she can very well dispense. But if the +girl has advantages of rank, the case is very different; because rank, +unlike personal qualities which work by the force of mere contrast, +produces its effect by a process of reflection; much in the same +way as the particular hue of a person's complexion depends upon the +prevailing tone of his immediate surroundings. + +[Footnote 1: If you desire to get on in the world, friends and +acquaintances are by far the best passport to fortune. The possession +of a great deal of ability makes a man proud, and therefore not apt to +flatter those who have very little, and from whom, on that account, +the possession of great ability should be carefully concealed. The +consciousness of small intellectual power has just the opposite +effect, and is very compatible with a humble, affable and +companionable nature, and with respect for what is mean and wretched. +This is why an inferior sort of man has so many friends to befriend +and encourage him. + +These remarks are applicable not only to advancement in political +life, but to all competition for places of honor and dignity, nay, +even for reputation in the world of science, literature and art. In +learned societies, for example, mediocrity--that very acceptable +quality--is always to the fore, whilst merit meets with tardy +recognition, or with none at all. So it is in everything.] + +SECTION 35. Our trust in other people often consists in great measure +of pure laziness, selfishness and vanity on our own part: I say +_laziness_, because, instead of making inquiries ourselves, and +exercising an active care, we prefer to trust others; _selfishness_, +because we are led to confide in people by the pressure of our own +affairs; and _vanity_, when we ask confidence for a matter on which we +rather pride ourselves. And yet, for all that, we expect people to be +true to the trust we repose in them. + +But we ought not to become angry if people put no trust in us: because +that really means that they pay honesty the sincere compliment of +regarding it as a very rare thing,--so rare, indeed, as to leave us in +doubt whether its existence is not merely fabulous. + +SECTION 36. _Politeness_,--which the Chinese hold to be a cardinal +virtue,--is based upon two considerations of policy. I have explained +one of these considerations in my _Ethics_; the other is as +follows:--Politeness is a tacit agreement that people's miserable +defects, whether moral or intellectual, shall on either side be +ignored and not made the subject of reproach; and since these defects +are thus rendered somewhat less obtrusive, the result is mutually +advantageous.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--In the passage referred to +_(Grundlage der Moral_, collected works, Vol. IV., pp. 187 and 198), +Schopenhauer explains politeness as a conventional and systematic +attempt to mask the egoism of human nature in the small affairs of +life,--an egoism so repulsive that some such device is necessary for +the purpose of concealing its ugliness. The relation which politeness +bears to the true love of one's neighbor is analogous to that existing +between justice as an affair of legality, and justice as the real +integrity of the heart.] + +It is a wise thing to be polite; consequently, it is a stupid thing +to be rude. To make enemies by unnecessary and willful incivility, +is just as insane a proceeding as to set your house on fire. For +politeness is like a counter--an avowedly false coin, with which it is +foolish to be stingy. A sensible man will be generous in the use +of it. It is customary in every country to end a letter with +the words:--_your most obedient servant_--_votre tres-humble +serviteur_--_suo devotissimo servo_. (The Germans are the only people +who suppress the word _servant_--_Diener_--because, of course, it is +not true!) However, to carry politeness to such an extent as to damage +your prospects, is like giving money where only counters are expected. + +Wax, a substance naturally hard and brittle, can be made soft by the +application of a little warmth, so that it will take any shape you +please. In the same way, by being polite and friendly, you can make +people pliable and obliging, even though they are apt to be crabbed +and malevolent. Hence politeness is to human nature what warmth is to +wax. + +Of course, it is no easy matter to be polite; in so far, I mean, as it +requires us to show great respect for everybody, whereas most people +deserve none at all; and again in so far as it demands that we should +feign the most lively interest in people, when we must be very glad +that we have nothing to do with them. To combine politeness with pride +is a masterpiece of wisdom. + +We should be much less ready to lose our temper over an +insult,--which, in the strict sense of the word, means that we have +not been treated with respect,--if, on the one hand, we have not such +an exaggerated estimate of our value and dignity--that is to say, if +we were not so immensely proud of ourselves; and, on the other hand, +if we had arrived at any clear notion of the judgment which, in his +heart, one man generally passes upon another. If most people resent +the slightest hint that any blame attaches to them, you may imagine +their feelings if they were to overhear what their acquaintance say +about them. You should never lose sight of the fact that ordinary +politeness is only a grinning mask: if it shifts its place a little, +or is removed for a moment, there is no use raising a hue and cry. +When a man is downright rude, it is as though he had taken off all his +clothes, and stood before you in _puris naturalibus_. Like most men in +this condition, he does not present a very attractive appearance. + +SECTION 37. You ought never to take any man as a model for what you +should do or leave undone; because position and circumstances are in +no two cases alike, and difference of character gives a peculiar, +individual tone to what a man does. Hence _duo cum faciunt idem, non +est idem_--two persons may do the same thing with a different result. +A man should act in accordance with his own character, as soon as he +has carefully deliberated on what he is about to do. + +The outcome of this is that _originality_ cannot be dispensed with in +practical matters: otherwise, what a man does will not accord with +what he is. + +SECTION 38. Never combat any man's opinion; for though you reached the +age of Methuselah, you would never have done setting him right upon +all the absurd things that he believes. + +It is also well to avoid correcting people's mistakes in conversation, +however good your intentions may be; for it is easy to offend people, +and difficult, if not impossible, to mend them. + +If you feel irritated by the absurd remarks of two people whose +conversation you happen to overhear, you should imagine that you are +listening to a dialogue of two fools in a comedy. _Probatum est._ + +The man who comes into the world with the notion that he is really +going to instruct in matters of the highest importance, may thank his +stars if he escapes with a whole skin. + +SECTION 39. If you want your judgment to be accepted, express it +coolly and without passion. All violence has its seat in the _will_; +and so, if your judgment is expressed with vehemence, people will +consider it an effort of will, and not the outcome of knowledge, which +is in its nature cold and unimpassioned. Since the will is the primary +and radical element in human nature, and _intellect_ merely supervenes +as something secondary, people are more likely to believe that the +opinion you express with so much vehemence is due to the excited state +of your will, rather than that the excitement of the will comes only +from the ardent nature of your opinion. + +SECTION 40. Even when you are fully justified in praising yourself, +you should never be seduced into doing so. For vanity is so very +common, and merit so very uncommon, that even if a man appears to be +praising himself, though very indirectly, people will be ready to lay +a hundred to one that he is talking out of pure vanity, and that he +has not sense enough to see what a fool he is making of himself. + +Still, for all that, there may be some truth in Bacon's remark that, +as in the case of calumny, if you throw enough dirt, some of it will +stick, so it it also in regard to self-praise; with the conclusion +that self-praise, in small doses, is to be recommended.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Schopenhauer alludes to the +following passage in Bacon's _De Augmentis Scientiarum_, Bk. viii., +ch. 2: _Sicut enim dici solet de calumnia_, audacter calumniare, +semper aliquid haeret; _sic dici potest de jactantia, (nisi plane +deformis fuerit et ridicula_), audacter te vendita, semper aliquid +haeret. _Haerebit certe apud populum, licet prudentiores subrideant. +Itaque existimatio parta apud plurimos paucorum fastidium abunde +compensabit._] + +SECTION 41. If you have reason to suspect that a person is telling you +a lie, look as though you believed every word he said. This will give +him courage to go on; he will become more vehement in his assertions, +and in the end betray himself. + +Again, if you perceive that a person is trying to conceal something +from you, but with only partial success, look as though you did not +believe him, This opposition on your part will provoke him into +leading out his reserve of truth and bringing the whole force of it to +bear upon your incredulity. + +SECTION 42. You should regard all your private affairs as secrets, +and, in respect of them, treat your acquaintances, even though you +are on good terms with them, as perfect strangers, letting them know +nothing more than they can see for themselves. For in course of time, +and under altered circumstances, you may find it a disadvantage that +they know even the most harmless things about you. + +And, as a general rule, it is more advisable to show your intelligence +by saying nothing than by speaking out; for silence is a matter +of prudence, whilst speech has something in it of vanity. The +opportunities for displaying the one or the other quality occur +equally often; but the fleeting satisfaction afforded by speech is +often preferred to the permanent advantage secured by silence. + +The feeling of relief which lively people experience in speaking aloud +when no one is listening, should not be indulged, lest it grow into a +habit; for in this way thought establishes such very friendly terms +with speech, that conversation is apt to become a process of thinking +aloud. Prudence exacts that a wide gulf should be fixed between what +we think and what we say. + +At times we fancy that people are utterly unable to believe in the +truth of some statement affecting us personally, whereas it never +occurs to them to doubt it; but if we give them the slightest +opportunity of doubting it, they find it absolutely impossible +to believe it any more. We often betray ourselves into revealing +something, simply because we suppose that people cannot help noticing +it,--just as a man will throw himself down from a great height because +he loses his head, in other words, because he fancies that he cannot +retain a firm footing any longer; the torment of his position is so +great, that he thinks it better to put an end to it at once. This is +the kind of insanity which is called _acrophobia_. + +But it should not be forgotten how clever people are in regard +to affairs which do not concern them, even though they show no +particularly sign of acuteness in other matters. This is a kind of +algebra in which people are very proficient: give them a single fact +to go upon, and they will solve the most complicated problems. So, +if you wish to relate some event that happened long ago, without +mentioning any names, or otherwise indicating the persons to whom you +refer, you should be very careful not to introduce into your narrative +anything that might point, however distantly, to some definite fact, +whether it is a particular locality, or a date, or the name of some +one who was only to a small extent implicated, or anything else that +was even remotely connected with the event; for that at once gives +people something positive to go upon, and by the aid of their talent +for this sort of algebra, they will discover all the rest. Their +curiosity in these matters becomes a kind of enthusiasm: their will +spurs on their intellect, and drives it forward to the attainment +of the most remote results. For however unsusceptible and different +people may be to general and universal truths, they are very ardent in +the matter of particular details. + +In keeping with what I have said, it will be found that all those +who profess to give instructions in the wisdom of life are specially +urgent in commending the practice of silence, and assign manifold +reasons why it should be observed; so it is not necessary for me to +enlarge upon the subject any further. However, I may just add one or +two little known Arabian proverbs, which occur to me as peculiarly +appropriate:-- + +_Do not tell a friend anything that you would conceal from an enemy_. + +_A secret is in my custody, if I keep it; but should it escape me, it +is I who am the prisoner_. + +_The tree of silence bears the fruit of peace_. + +SECTION 43. Money is never spent to so much advantage as when you have +been cheated out of it; for at one stroke you have purchased prudence. + +SECTION 44. If possible, no animosity should be felt for anyone. But +carefully observe and remember the manner in which a man conducts +himself, so that you may take the measure of his value,--at any +rate in regard to yourself,--and regulate your bearing towards +him accordingly; never losing sight of the fact that character +is unalterable, and that to forget the bad features in a man's +disposition is like throwing away hard-won money. Thus you will +protect yourself against the results of unwise intimacy and foolish +friendship. + +_Give way neither to love nor to hate_, is one-half of worldly wisdom: +_say nothing and believe nothing_, the other half. Truly, a world +where there is need of such rules as this and the following, is one +upon which a man may well turn his back. + +SECTION 45. To speak angrily to a person, to show your hatred by +what you say or by the way you look, is an unnecessary +proceeding--dangerous, foolish, ridiculous, and vulgar. + +Anger and hatred should never be shown otherwise than in what you do; +and feelings will be all the more effective in action, in so far +as you avoid the exhibition of them in any other way. It is only +cold-blooded animals whose bite is poisonous. + +SECTION 46. To speak without emphasizing your words--_parler sans +accent_--is an old rule with those who are wise in the world's ways. +It means that you should leave other people to discover what it is +that you have said; and as their minds are slow, you can make your +escape in time. On the other hand, to emphasize your meaning--_parler +avec accent_--is to address their feelings; and the result is always +the opposite of what you expect. If you are polite enough in your +manner and courteous in your tone there are many people whom you may +abuse outright, and yet run no immediate risk of offending them. + + + + +CHAPTER IV, + +WORLDLY FORTUNE.--SECTION 47. + + +However varied the forms that human destiny may take, the same +elements are always present; and so life is everywhere much of a +piece, whether it passed in the cottage or in the palace, in the +barrack or in the cloister. Alter the circumstance as much as you +please! point to strange adventures, successes, failures! life is like +a sweet-shop, where there is a great variety of things, odd in shape +and diverse in color--one and all made from the same paste. And when +men speak of some one's success, the lot of the man who has failed is +not so very different as it seems. The inequalities in the world are +like the combinations in a kaleidoscope; at every turn a fresh picture +strikes the eye; and yet, in reality, you see only the same bits of +glass as you saw before. + +SECTION 48. An ancient writer says, very truly, that there are three +great powers in the world; _Sagacity, Strength_, and _Luck_,--[Greek: +sunetos, kratos, tuchu.] I think the last is the most efficacious. + +A man's life is like the voyage of a ship, where luck--_secunda aut +adversa fortuna_--acts the part of the wind, and speeds the vessel on +its way or drives it far out of its course. All that the man can do +for himself is of little avail; like the rudder, which, if worked hard +and continuously, may help in the navigation of the ship; and yet all +may be lost again by a sudden squall. But if the wind is only in the +right quarter, the ship will sail on so as not to need any steering. +The power of luck is nowhere better expressed than in a certain +Spanish proverb: _Da Ventura a tu hijo, y echa lo en el mar_--give +your son luck and throw him into the sea. + +Still, chance, it may be said, is a malignant power, and as little +as possible should be left to its agency. And yet where is there any +giver who, in dispensing gifts, tells us quite clearly that we have no +right to them, and that we owe them not to any merit on our part, +but wholly to the goodness and grace of the giver--at the same time +allowing us to cherish the joyful hope of receiving, in all humility, +further undeserved gifts from the same hands--where is there any giver +like that, unless it be _Chance_? who understands the kingly art of +showing the recipient that all merit is powerless and unavailing +against the royal grace and favor. + +On looking back over the course of his life,--that _labyrinthine way +of error_,--a man must see many points where luck failed him and +misfortune came; and then it is easy to carry self-reproach to an +unjust excess. For the course of a man's life is in no wise entirely +of his own making; it is the product of two factors--the series of +things that happened, and his own resolves in regard to them, and +these two are constantly interacting upon and modifying each other. +And besides these, another influence is at work in the very limited +extent of a man's horizon, whether it is that he cannot see very far +ahead in respect of the plans he will adopt, or that he is still less +able to predict the course of future events: his knowledge is strictly +confined to present plans and present events. Hence, as long as a +man's goal is far off, he cannot steer straight for it; he must be +content to make a course that is approximately right; and in following +the direction in which he thinks he ought to go, he will often have +occasion to tack. + +All that a man can do is to form such resolves as from time to time +accord with the circumstances in which he is placed, in the hope of +thus managing to advance a step nearer towards the final goal. It is +usually the case that the position in which we stand, and the object +at which we aim, resemble two tendencies working with dissimilar +strength in different directions; and the course of our life is +represented by their diagonal, or resultant force. + +Terence makes the remark that life is like a game at dice, where if +the number that turns up is not precisely the one you want, you can +still contrive to use it equally:--_in vita est hominum quasi cum +ludas tesseris; si illud quod maxime opus est jactu non cadit, illud +quod cecidit forte, id arte ut corrigas_.[1] Or, to put the matter +more shortly, life is a game of cards, when the cards are shuffled and +dealt by fate. But for my present purpose, the most suitable simile +would be that of a game of chess, where the plan we determined to +follow is conditioned by the play of our rival,--in life, by the +caprice of fate. We are compelled to modify our tactics, often to such +an extent that, as we carry them out, hardly a single feature of the +original plan can be recognized. + +[Footnote 1: He seems to have been referring to a game something like +backgammon.] + +But above and beyond all this, there is another influence that makes +itself felt in our lives. It is a trite saying--only too frequently +true--that we are often more foolish than we think. On the other hand, +we are often wiser than we fancy ourselves to be. This, however, is a +discovery which only those can make, of whom it is really true; and it +takes them a long time to make it. Our brains are not the wisest +part of us. In the great moments of life, when a man decides upon +an important step, his action is directed not so much by any clear +knowledge of the right thing to do, as by an inner impulse--you may +almost call it an instinct--proceeding from the deepest foundations of +his being. If, later on, he attempts to criticise his action by the +light of hard and fast ideas of what is right in the abstract--those +unprofitable ideas which are learnt by rote, or, it may be, borrowed +from other people; if he begins to apply general rules, the principles +which have guided others, to his own case, without sufficiently +weighing the maxim that one man's meat is another's poison, then he +will run great risk of doing himself an injustice. The result will +show where the right course lay. It is only when a man has reached +the happy age of wisdom that he is capable of just judgment in regard +either to his own actions or to those of others. + +It may be that this impulse or instinct is the unconscious effect of a +kind of prophetic dream which is forgotten when we awake--lending +our life a uniformity of tone, a dramatic unity, such as could never +result from the unstable moments of consciousness, when we are so +easily led into error, so liable to strike a false note. It is in +virtue of some such prophetic dream that a man feels himself called to +great achievements in a special sphere, and works in that direction +from his youth up out of an inner and secret feeling that that is his +true path, just as by a similar instinct the bee is led to build up +its cells in the comb. This is the impulse which Balthazar Gracian +calls _la gran sinderesis_[1]--the great power of moral discernment: +it is something that a man instinctively feels to be his salvation +without which he were lost. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--This obscure word appears to be +derived from the Greek _sugtaereo_ (N.T. and Polyb.) meaning "to +observe strictly." It occurs in _The Doctor and Student_, a series of +dialogues between a doctor of divinity and a student on the laws of +England, first published in 1518; and is there (Dialog. I. ch. 13) +explained as "a natural power of the soule, set in the highest part +thereof, moving and stirring it to good, and abhoring evil." This +passage is copied into Milton's Commonplace Book, edit. _Horwood_, Sec. +79. The word is also found in the Dictionary of the Spanish Academy +(vol. vi. of the year 1739) in the sense of an innate discernment +of moral principles, where a quotation is given from Madre Maria de +Jesus, abbess of the convent of the Conception at Agreda, a mystical +writer of the seventeenth century, frequently consulted by Philip +IV.,--and again in the Bolognese Dictionary of 1824, with a similar +meaning, illustrated from the writings of Salvini (1653-1729). For +these references I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. Norman Maccoll.] + +To act in accordance with abstract principles is a difficult matter, +and a great deal of practice will be required before you can be even +occasionally successful; it of tens happens that the principles do not +fit in with your particular case. But every man has certain innate +_concrete principles_--a part, as it were, of the very blood that +flows in his veins, the sum or result, in fact, of all his thoughts, +feelings and volitions. Usually he has no knowledge of them in any +abstract form; it is only when he looks back upon the course his life +has taken, that he becomes aware of having been always led on by +them--as though they formed an invisible clue which he had followed +unawares. + +SECTION 49. That Time works great changes, and that all things are +in their nature fleeting--these are truths that should never be +forgotten. Hence, in whatever case you may be, it is well to picture +to yourself the opposite: in prosperity, to be mindful of misfortune; +in friendship, of enmity; in good weather, of days when the sky is +overcast; in love, of hatred; in moments of trust, to imagine the +betrayal that will make you regret your confidence; and so, too, when +you are in evil plight, to have a lively sense of happier times--what +a lasting source of true worldly wisdom were there! We should then +always reflect, and not be so very easily deceived; because, in +general, we should anticipate the very changes that the years will +bring. + +Perhaps in no form of knowledge is personal experience so +indispensable as in learning to see that all things are unstable and +transitory in this world. There is nothing that, in its own place and +for the time it lasts, is not a product of necessity, and therefore +capable of being fully justified; and it is this fact that makes +circumstances of every year, every month, even of every day, seem as +though they might maintain their right to last to all eternity. But we +know that this can never be the case, and that in a world where all is +fleeting, change alone endures. He is a prudent man who is not only +undeceived by apparent stability, but is able to forecast the lines +upon which movement will take place.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Chance_ plays so great a part in all human affairs that +when a man tries to ward off a remote danger by present sacrifice, the +danger often vanishes under some new and unforeseen development of +events; and then the sacrifice, in addition to being a complete loss, +brings about such an altered state of things as to be in itself a +source of positive danger in the face of this new development. In +taking measures of precaution, then, it is well not to look too far +ahead, but to reckon with chance; and often to oppose a courageous +front to a danger, in the hope that, like many a dark thunder-cloud, +it may pass away without breaking.] + +But people generally think that present circumstances will last, and +that matters will go on in the future as they have clone in the past. +Their mistakes arises from the fact that they do not understand the +cause of the things they see--causes which, unlike the effects they +produce, contain in themselves the germ of future change. The +effects are all that people know, and they hold fast to them on the +supposition that those unknown causes, which were sufficient to bring +them about, will also be able to maintain them as they are. This is a +very common error; and the fact that it is common is not without its +advantage, for it means that people always err in unison; and hence +the calamity which results from the error affects all alike, and is +therefore easy to bear; whereas, if a philosopher makes a mistake, he +is alone in his error, and so at a double disadvantage.[1] + +[Footnote 1: I may remark, parenthetically, that all this is a +confirmation of the principle laid down in _Die Welt als Wille und +Vorstellung_ (Bk. I. p. 94: 4th edit.), that error always consists in +making _a wrong inference_, that is, in ascribing a given effect to +something that did not cause it.] + +But in saying that we should anticipate the effects of time, I mean +that we should mentally forecast what they are likely to be; I do +not mean that we should practically forestall them, by demanding the +immediate performance of promises which time alone can fulfill. The +man who makes his demand will find out that there is no worse or more +exacting usurer than Time; and that, if you compel Time to give money +in advance, you will have to pay a rate of interest more ruinous than +any Jew would require. It is possible, for instance, to make a tree +burst forth into leaf, blossom, or even bear fruit within a few days, +by the application of unslaked lime and artificial heat; but after +that the tree will wither away. So a young man may abuse his +strength--it may be only for a few weeks--by trying to do at nineteen +what he could easily manage at thirty, and Time may give him the loan +for which he asks; but the interest he will have to pay comes out of +the strength of his later years; nay, it is part of his very life +itself. + +There are some kinds of illness in which entire restoration to health +is possible only by letting the complaint run its natural course; +after which it disappears without leaving any trace of its existence. +But if the sufferer is very impatient, and, while he is still +affected, insists that he is completely well, in this case, too, +Time will grant the loan, and the complaint may be shaken off; but +life-long weakness and chronic mischief will be the interest paid upon +it. + +Again, in time of war or general disturbance, a man may require ready +money at once, and have to sell out his investments in land or consols +for a third or even a still smaller fraction of the sum he would have +received from them, if he could have waited for the market to right +itself, which would have happened in due course; but he compels Time +to grant him a loan, and his loss is the interest he has to pay. Or +perhaps he wants to go on a long journey and requires the money: in +one or two years he could lay by a sufficient sum out of his income, +but he cannot afford to wait; and so he either borrows it or deducts +it from his capital; in other words, he gets Time to lend him the +money in advance. The interest he pays is a disordered state of his +accounts, and permanent and increasing deficits, which he can never +make good. + +Such is Time's usury; and all who cannot wait are its victims. There +is no more thriftless proceeding than to try and mend the measured +pace of Time. Be careful, then, not to become its debtor. + +SECTION 50. In the daily affairs of life, you will have very many +opportunities of recognizing a characteristic difference between +ordinary people of prudence and discretion. In estimating the +possibility of danger in connection with any undertaking, an ordinary +man will confine his inquiries to the kind of risk that has already +attended such undertakings in the past; whereas a prudent person will +look ahead, and consider everything that might possibly happen in the +future, having regard to a certain Spanish maxim: _lo que no acaece en +un ano, acaece en un rato_--a thing may not happen in a year, and yet +may happen within two minutes. + +The difference in question is, of course, quite natural; for it +requires some amount of discernment to calculate possibilities; but +a man need only have his senses about him to see what has already +happened. + +Do not omit to sacrifice to evil spirits. What I mean is, that a man +should not hesitate about spending time, trouble, and money, or giving +up his comfort, or restricting his aims and denying himself, if he +can thereby shut the door on the possibility of misfortune. The most +terrible misfortunes are also the most improbable and remote--the +least likely to occur. The rule I am giving is best exemplified in +the practice of insurance,--a public sacrifice made on the altar of +anxiety. Therefore take out your policy of insurance! + +SECTION 51. Whatever fate befalls you, do not give way to great +rejoicings or great lamentations; partly because all things are full +of change, and your fortune may turn at any moment; partly because men +are so apt to be deceived in their judgment as to what is good or bad +for them. + +Almost every one in his turn has lamented over something which +afterwards turned out to be the very best thing for him that could +have happened--or rejoiced at an event which became the source of his +greatest sufferings. The right state of mind has been finely portrayed +by Shakespeare: + +_I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief That the first face of +neither, on the start, Can woman me unto't_.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _All's Well that Ends Well, Act. ii. Sc. 2_.] + +And, in general, it may be said that, if a man takes misfortunes +quietly, it is because he knows that very many dreadful things may +happen in the course of life; and so he looks upon the trouble of the +moment as only a very small part of that which might come. This is +the Stoic temper--never to be unmindful of the sad fate of +humanity--_condicionis humanoe oblitus_; but always to remember that +our existence is full of woe and misery: and that the ills to which we +are exposed are innumerable. Wherever he be, a man need only cast a +look around, to revive the sense of human misery: there before his +eyes he can see mankind struggling and floundering in torment,--all +for the sake of a wretched existence, barren and unprofitable! + +If he remembers this, a man will not expect very much from life, but +learn to accommodate himself to a world where all is relative and no +perfect state exists;--always looking misfortune in the face, and if +he cannot avoid it, meeting it with courage. + +It should never be forgotten that misfortune, be it great or small, is +the element in which we live. But that is no reason why a man should +indulge in fretful complaints, and, like Beresford,[1] pull a long +face over the _Miseries of Human Life_,--and not a single hour is free +from them; or still less, call upon the Deity at every flea-bite--_in +pulicis morsu Deum invocare_. Our aim should be to look well about us, +to ward off misfortune by going to meet it, to attain such perfection +and refinement in averting the disagreeable things of life,--whether +they come from our fellow-men or from the physical world,--that, like +a clever fox, we may slip out of the way of every mishap, great or +small; remembering that a mishap is generally only our own awkwardness +in disguise. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Rev. James Beresford (1764-1840), +miscellaneous writer. The full title of this, his chief work, is "The +Miseries of Human Life; or the last groans of Timothy Testy and Samuel +Sensitive, with a few supplementary sighs from Mrs. Testy."] + +The main reason why misfortune falls less heavily upon us, if we have +looked upon its occurrence as not impossible, and, as the saying is, +prepared ourselves for it, may be this: if, before this misfortune +comes, we have quietly thought over it as something which may or may +not happen, the whole of its extent and range is known to us, and we +can, at least, determine how far it will affect us; so that, if it +really arrives, it does not depress us unduly--its weight is not felt +to be greater than it actually is. But if no preparation has been +made to meet it, and it comes unexpectedly, the mind is in a state of +terror for the moment and unable to measure the full extent of the +calamity; it seems so far-reaching in its effects that the victim +might well think there was no limit to them; in any case, its range is +exaggerated. In the same way, darkness and uncertainty always increase +the sense of danger. And, of course, if we have thought over the +possibility of misfortune, we have also at the same time considered +the sources to which we shall look for help and consolation; or, at +any rate, we have accustomed ourselves to the idea of it. + +There is nothing that better fits us to endure the misfortunes of +life with composure, than to know for certain that _everything +that happens--from the smallest up to the greatest facts of +existence--happens of necessity._[1] A man soon accommodates himself +to the inevitable--to something that must be; and if he knows that +nothing can happen except of necessity, he will see that things cannot +be other that they are, and that even the strangest chances in the +world are just as much a product of necessity as phenomena which obey +well-known rules and turn out exactly in accordance with expectation. +Let me here refer to what I have said elsewhere on the soothing effect +of the knowledge that all things are inevitable and a product of +necessity.[2] + +[Footnote 1: This is a truth which I have firmly established in my +prize-essay on the _Freedom of the Will_, where the reader will find a +detailed explanation of the grounds on which it rests. Cf. especially +p. 60. [Schopenhauer's Works, 4th Edit., vol. iv.--_Tr_.]] + +[Footnote 2: Cf. _Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, Bk. I. p. 361 (4th +edit.).] + +If a man is steeped in the knowledge of this truth, he will, first of +all, do what he can, and then readily endure what he must. + +We may regard the petty vexations of life that are constantly +happening, as designed to keep us in practice for bearing great +misfortunes, so that we may not become completely enervated by a +career of prosperity. A man should be as Siegfried, armed _cap-a-pie_, +towards the small troubles of every day--those little differences we +have with our fellow-men, insignificant disputes, unbecoming conduct +in other people, petty gossip, and many other similar annoyances of +life; he should not feel them at all, much less take them to heart and +brood over them, but hold them at arm's length and push them out of +his way, like stones that lie in the road, and upon no account think +about them and give them a place in his reflections. + +SECTION 52. What people commonly call _Fate_ is, as a general rule, +nothing but their own stupid and foolish conduct. There is a fine +passage in Homer,[1] illustrating the truth of this remark, where +the poet praises [GREEK: maetis]--shrewd council; and his advice +is worthy of all attention. For if wickedness is atoned for only in +another world, stupidity gets its reward here--although, now and then, +mercy may be shown to the offender. + +[Footnote 1: _Iliad_, xxiii. 313, sqq.] + +It is not ferocity but cunning that strikes fear into the heart +and forebodes danger; so true it is that the human brain is a more +terrible weapon than the lion's paw. + +The most finished man of the world would be one who was never +irresolute and never in a hurry. + +SECTION 53. _Courage_ comes next to prudence as a quality of mind very +essential to happiness. It is quite true that no one can endow himself +with either, since a man inherits prudence from his mother and courage +from his father; still, if he has these qualities, he can do much to +develop them by means of resolute exercise. + +In this world, _where the game is played with loaded dice_, a man must +have a temper of iron, with armor proof to the blows of fate, and +weapons to make his way against men. Life is one long battle; we have +to fight at every step; and Voltaire very rightly says that if we +succeed, it is at the point of the sword, and that we die with the +weapon in our hand--on _ne reussit dans ce monde qua la pointe de +l'epee, et on meurt les armes a la main_. It is a cowardly soul that +shrinks or grows faint and despondent as soon as the storm begins to +gather, or even when the first cloud appears on the horizon. Our motto +should be _No Surrender_; and far from yielding to the ills of life, +let us take fresh courage from misfortune:-- + +_Tu ne cede malis sed contra audentior ito_.[1] + +[Footnote 1: Virgil, _Aeneid_, vi. 95.] + +As long as the issue of any matter fraught with peril is still in +doubt, and there is yet some possibility left that all may come right, +no one should ever tremble or think of anything but resistance,--just +as a man should not despair of the weather if he can see a bit of blue +sky anywhere. Let our attitude be such that we should not quake even +if the world fell in ruins about us:-- + + _Si fractus illabatur orbis + Impavidum ferient ruinae_.[1] + +[Footnote 1: Horace, Odes iii. 3.] + +Our whole life itself--let alone its blessings--would not be worth +such a cowardly trembling and shrinking of the heart. Therefore, let +us face life courageously and show a firm front to every ill:-- + +_Quocirca vivite fortes Fortiaque adversis opponite pectora rebus_. + +Still, it is possible for courage to be carried to an excess and to +degenerate into rashness. It may even be said that some amount of fear +is necessary, if we are to exist at all in the world, and cowardice +is only the exaggerated form of it. This truth has been very well +expressed by Bacon, in his account of _Terror Panicus_; and the +etymological account which he gives of its meaning, is very superior +to the ancient explanation preserved for us by Plutarch.[1] He +connects the expression with _Pan_ the personification of Nature;[2] +and observes that fear is innate in every living thing, and, in fact, +tends to its preservation, but that it is apt to come into play +without due cause, and that man is especially exposed to it. The chief +feature of this _Panie Terror_ is that there is no clear notion of any +definite danger bound up with it; that it presumes rather than knows +that danger exists; and that, in case of need, it pleads fright itself +as the reason for being afraid. + +[Footnote 1: _De Iside et Osiride_ ch. 14.] + +[Footnote 2: _De Sapientia Veterum_, C. 6. _Natura enim rerum omnibus +viventibus indidit mentum ac formidinem, vitae atque essentiae suae +conservatricem, ac mala ingruentia vitantem et depellentem. Verumtamen +eaden natura modum tenere nescia est: sed timoribus salutaribus semper +vanos et innanes admiscet; adeo ut omnia (si intus conspici darentur) +Panicis terroribus plenissima sint praesertim humana_.] + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE AGES OF LIFE. + + +There is a very fine saying of Voltaire's to the effect that every age +of life has its own peculiar mental character, and that a man will +feel completely unhappy if his mind is not in accordance with his +years:-- + + _Qui n'a pas l'esprit de son age, + De son age atout le malheur_. + +It will, therefore, be a fitting close to our speculations upon the +nature of happiness, if we glance at the chances which the various +periods of life produce in us. + +Our whole life long it is _the present_, and the present alone, that +we actually possess: the only difference is that at the beginning of +life we look forward to a long future, and that towards the end we +look back upon a long past; also that our temperament, but not our +character, undergoes certain well-known changes, which make _the +present_ wear a different color at each period of life. + +I have elsewhere stated that in childhood we are more given to using +our _intellect_ than our _will_; and I have explained why this is +so.[1] It is just for this reason that the first quarter of life is so +happy: as we look back upon it in after years, it seems a sort of lost +paradise. In childhood our relations with others are limited, our +wants are few,--in a word, there is little stimulus for the will; +and so our chief concern is the extension of our knowledge. The +intellect--like the brain, which attains its full size in the seventh +year,[2] is developed early, though it takes time to mature; and it +explores the whole world of its surroundings in its constant search +for nutriment: it is then that existence is in itself an ever fresh +delight, and all things sparkle with the charm of novelty. + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Schopenhauer refers to _Die Welt +als Wille und Vorstellung_, Bk. II. c, 31, p. 451 (4th edit.), where +he explains that this is due to the fact that at that period of life +the brain and nervous system are much more developed than any other +part of the organism.] + +[Footnote 2: _Translator's Note_.--This statement is not quite +correct. The weight of the brain increases rapidly up to the seventh +year, more slowly between the sixteenth and the twentieth year, still +more slowly till between thirty and forty years of age, when it +attains its maximum. At each decennial period after this, it is +supposed to decrease in weight on the average, an ounce for every ten +years.] + +This is why the years of childhood are like a long poem. For the +function of poetry, as of all art, is to grasp the _Idea_--in the +Platonic sense; in other words, to apprehend a particular object in +such a way as to perceive its essential nature, the characteristics +it has in common with all other objects of the same kind; so that +a single object appears as the representative of a class, and the +results of one experience hold good for a thousand. + +It may be thought that my remarks are opposed to fact, and that the +child is never occupied with anything beyond the individual objects or +events which are presented to it from time to time, and then only in +so far as they interest and excite its will for the moment; but this +is not really the case. In those early years, life--in the full +meaning of the word, is something so new and fresh, and its sensations +are so keen and unblunted by repetition, that, in the midst of all its +pursuits and without any clear consciousness of what it is doing, +the child is always silently occupied in grasping the nature of life +itself,--in arriving at its fundamental character and general outline +by means of separate scenes and experiences; or, to use Spinoza's +phraseology, the child is learning to see the things and persons +about it _sub specie aeternitatis_,--as particular manifestations of +universal law. + +The younger we are, then, the more does every individual object +represent for us the whole class to which it belongs; but as the years +increase, this becomes less and less the case. That is the reason why +youthful impressions are so different from those of old age. And that +it also why the slight knowledge and experience gained in childhood +and youth afterwards come to stand as the permanent rubric, or +heading, for all the knowledge acquired in later life,--those early +forms of knowledge passing into categories, as it were, under which +the results of subsequent experience are classified; though a clear +consciousness of what is being done, does not always attend upon the +process. + +In this way the earliest years of a man's life lay the foundation of +his view of the world, whether it be shallow or deep; and although +this view may be extended and perfected later on, it is not materially +altered. It is an effect of this purely objective and therefore +poetical view of the world,--essential to the period of childhood +and promoted by the as yet undeveloped state of the volitional +energy--that, as children, we are concerned much more with the +acquisition of pure knowledge than with exercising the power of will. +Hence that grave, fixed look observable in so many children, of which +Raphael makes such a happy use in his depiction of cherubs, especially +in the picture of the _Sistine Madonna_. The years of childhood are +thus rendered so full of bliss that the memory of them is always +coupled with longing and regret. + +While we thus eagerly apply ourselves to learning the outward aspect +of things, as the primitive method of understanding the objects about +us, education aims at instilling into us _ideas_. But ideas furnish no +information as to the real and essential nature of objects, which, as +the foundation and true content of all knowledge, can be reached only +by the process called _intuition_. This is a kind of knowledge which +can in no wise be instilled into us from without; we must arrive at it +by and for ourselves. + +Hence a man's intellectual as well as his moral qualities proceed +from the depths of his own nature, and are not the result of external +influences; and no educational scheme--of Pestalozzi, or of any one +else--can turn a born simpleton into a man of sense. The thing is +impossible! He was born a simpleton, and a simpleton he will die. + +It is the depth and intensity of this early intuitive knowledge of the +external world that explain why the experiences of childhood take such +a firm hold on the memory. When we were young, we were completely +absorbed in our immediate surroundings; there was nothing to distract +our attention from them; we looked upon the objects about us as though +they were the only ones of their kind, as though, indeed, nothing else +existed at all. Later on, when we come to find out how many things +there are in the world, this primitive state of mind vanishes, and +with it our patience. + +I have said elsewhere[1] that the world, considered as _object_,--in +other words, as it is _presented_ to us objectively,--wears in +general a pleasing aspect; but that in the world, considered as +_subject_,--that is, in regard to its inner nature, which is +_will_,--pain and trouble predominate. I may be allowed to express the +matter, briefly, thus: _the world is glorious to look at, but dreadful +in reality_. + +[Footnote 1: _Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, Bk. II. c. 31, p. +426-7 (4th Edit.), to which the reader is referred for a detailed +explanation of my meaning.] + +Accordingly, we find that, in the years of childhood, the world is +much better known to us on its outer or objective side, namely, as the +presentation of will, than on the side of its inner nature, namely, as +the will itself. Since the objective side wears a pleasing aspect, and +the inner or subjective side, with its tale of horror, remains as yet +unknown, the youth, as his intelligence develops, takes all the forms +of beauty that he sees, in nature and in art, for so many objects of +blissful existence; they are so beautiful to the outward eye that, on +their inner side, they must, he thinks, be much more beautiful still. +So the world lies before him like another Eden; and this is the +Arcadia in which we are all born. + +A little later, this state of mind gives birth to a thirst for real +life--the impulse to do and suffer--which drives a man forth into +the hurly-burly of the world. There he learns the other side of +existence--the inner side, the will, which is thwarted at every step. +Then comes the great period of disillusion, a period of very gradual +growth; but once it has fairly begun, a man will tell you that he has +got over all his false notions--_l'age des illusions est passe_; and +yet the process is only beginning, and it goes on extending its sway +and applying more and more to the whole of life. + +So it may be said that in childhood, life looks like the scenery in +a theatre, as you view it from a distance; and that in old age it is +like the same scenery when you come up quite close to it. + +And, lastly, there is another circumstance that contributes to the +happiness of childhood. As spring commences, the young leaves on the +trees are similar in color and much the same in shape; and in the +first years of life we all resemble one another and harmonize very +well. But with puberty divergence begins; and, like the radii of a +circle, we go further and further apart. + +The period of youth, which forms the remainder of this earlier half of +our existence--and how many advantages it has over the later half!--is +troubled and made miserable by the pursuit of happiness, as though +there were no doubt that it can be met with somewhere in life,--a hope +that always ends in failure and leads to discontent. An illusory +image of some vague future bliss--born of a dream and shaped by +fancy--floats before our eyes; and we search for the reality in +vain. So it is that the young man is generally dissatisfied with the +position in which he finds himself, whatever it may be; he ascribes +his disappointment solely to the state of things that meets him on +his first introduction to life, when he had expected something very +different; whereas it is only the vanity and wretchedness of human +life everywhere that he is now for the first time experiencing. + +It would be a great advantage to a young man if his early training +could eradicate the idea that the world has a great deal to offer him. +But the usual result of education is to strengthen this delusion; and +our first ideas of life are generally taken from fiction rather than +from fact. + +In the bright dawn of our youthful days, the poetry of life spreads +out a gorgeous vision before us, and we torture ourselves by longing +to see it realized. We might as well wish to grasp the rainbow! The +youth expects his career to be like an interesting romance; and there +lies the germ of that disappointment which I have been describing.[1] +What lends a charm to all these visions is just the fact that they are +visionary and not real, and that in contemplating them we are in the +sphere of pure knowledge, which is sufficient in itself and free from +the noise and struggle of life. To try and realize those visions is +to make them an object of _will_--a process which always involves +pain.[2] + +[Footnote 1: Cf. loc. cit., p. 428.] + +[Footnote 2: Let me refer the reader, if he is interested in the +subject, to the volume already cited, chapter 37.] + +If the chief feature of the earlier half of life is a never-satisfied +longing after happiness, the later half is characterized by the dread +of misfortune. For, as we advance in years, it becomes in a greater or +less degree clear that all happiness is chimerical in its nature, +and that pain alone is real. Accordingly, in later years, we, or, at +least, the more prudent amongst us, are more intent upon eliminating +what is painful from our lives and making our position secure, than on +the pursuit of positive pleasure. I may observe, by the way, that in +old age, we are better able to prevent misfortunes from coming, and in +youth better able to bear them when they come. + +In my young days, I was always pleased to hear a ring at my door: ah! +thought I, now for something pleasant. But in later life my feelings +on such occasions were rather akin to dismay than to pleasure: heaven +help me! thought I, what am I to do? A similar revulsion of feeling in +regard to the world of men takes place in all persons of any talent +or distinction. For that very reason they cannot be said properly to +belong to the world; in a greater or less degree, according to the +extent of their superiority, they stand alone. In their youth they +have a sense of being abandoned by the world; but later on, they feel +as though they had escaped it. The earlier feeling is an unpleasant +one, and rests upon ignorance; the second is pleasurable--for in the +meantime they have come to know what the world is. + +The consequence of this is that, as compared with the earlier, the +later half of life, like the second part of a musical period, has less +of passionate longing and more restfulness about it. And why is this +the case Simply because, in youth, a man fancies that there is a +prodigious amount of happiness and pleasure to be had in the world, +only that it is difficult to come by it; whereas, when he becomes +old, he knows that there is nothing of the kind; he makes his mind +completely at ease on the matter, enjoys the present hour as well as +he can, and even takes a pleasure in trifles. + +The chief result gained by experience of life is _clearness of view_. +This is what distinguishes the man of mature age, and makes the world +wear such a different aspect from that which it presented in his youth +or boyhood. It is only then that he sees things quite plain, and takes +them for that which they really are: while in earlier years he saw a +phantom-world, put together out of the whims and crotchets of his own +mind, inherited prejudice and strange delusion: the real world was +hidden from him, or the vision of it distorted. The first thing +that experience finds to do is to free us from the phantoms of the +brain--those false notions that have been put into us in youth. + +To prevent their entrance at all would, of course, be the best form of +education, even though it were only negative in aim: but it would be a +task full of difficulty. At first the child's horizon would have to be +limited as much as possible, and yet within that limited sphere none +but clear and correct notions would have to be given; only after the +child had properly appreciated everything within it, might the sphere +be gradually enlarged; care being always taken that nothing was left +obscure, or half or wrongly understood. The consequence of this +training would be that the child's notions of men and things would +always be limited and simple in their character; but, on the other +hand, they would be clear and correct, and only need to be extended, +not to be rectified. The same line might be pursued on into the period +of youth. This method of education would lay special stress upon the +prohibition of novel reading; and the place of novels would be taken +by suitable biographical literature--the life of Franklin, for +instance, or Moritz' _Anton Reiser_.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Moritz was a miscellaneous writer +of the last century (1757-93). His _Anton Reiser_, composed in the +form of a novel, is practically an autobiography.] + +In our early days we fancy that the leading events in our life, and +the persons who are going to play an important part in it, will make +their entrance to the sound of drums and trumpets; but when, in old +age, we look back, we find that they all came in quite quietly, +slipped in, as it were, by the side-door, almost unnoticed. + +From the point of view we have been taking up until now, life may be +compared to a piece of embroidery, of which, during the first half of +his time, a man gets a sight of the right side, and during the second +half, of the wrong. The wrong side is not so pretty as the right, but +it is more instructive; it shows the way in which the threads have +been worked together. + +Intellectual superiority, even if it is of the highest kind, will not +secure for a man a preponderating place in conversation until after he +is forty years of age. For age and experience, though they can never +be a substitute for intellectual talent, may far outweigh it; and even +in a person of the meanest capacity, they give a certain counterpoise +to the power of an extremely intellectual man, so long as the latter +is young. Of course I allude here to personal superiority, not to the +place a man may gain by his works. + +And on passing his fortieth year, any man of the slightest power of +mind--any man, that is, who has more than the sorry share of intellect +with which Nature has endowed five-sixths of mankind--will hardly fail +to show some trace of misanthropy. For, as is natural, he has by that +time inferred other people's character from an examination of his own; +with the result that he has been gradually disappointed to find that +in the qualities of the head or in those of the heart--and usually in +both--he reaches a level to which they do not attain; so he gladly +avoids having anything more to do with them. For it may be said, in +general, that every man will love or hate solitude--in other Words, +his own society--just in proportion as he is worth anything in +himself. Kant has some remarks upon this kind of misanthropy in his +_Critique of the Faculty of Judgment_.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Kritik der Urtheilskraft_, Part I, Sec.29, Note ad fin.] + +In a young man, it is a bad sign, as well from an intellectual as from +a moral point of view, if he is precocious in understanding the ways +of the world, and in adapting himself to its pursuits; if he at once +knows how to deal with men, and enters upon life, as it were, fully +prepared. It argues a vulgar nature. On the other hand, to be +surprised and astonished at the way people act, and to be clumsy and +cross-grained in having to do with them, indicates a character of the +nobler sort. + +The cheerfulness and vivacity of youth are partly due to the fact +that, when we are ascending the hill of life, death is not visible: it +lies down at the bottom of the other side. But once we have crossed +the top of the hill, death comes in view--death--which, until then, +was known to us only by hearsay. This makes our spirits droop, for at +the same time we begin to feel that our vital powers are on the ebb. +A grave seriousness now takes the place of that early extravagance of +spirit; and the change is noticeable even in the expression of a man's +face. As long as we are young, people may tell us what they please! we +look upon life as endless and use our time recklessly; but the older +we become, the more we practice economy. For towards the close of +life, every day we live gives us the same kind of sensation as the +criminal experiences at every step on his way to be tried. + +From the standpoint of youth, life seems to stretch away into an +endless future; from the standpoint of old age, to go back but a +little way into the past; so that, at the beginning, life presents us +with a picture in which the objects appear a great way off, as though +we had reversed our telescope; while in the end everything seems so +close. To see how short life is, a man must have grown old, that is to +say, he must have lived long. + +On the other hand, as the years increase, things look smaller, one and +all; and Life, which had so firm and stable a base in the days of our +youth, now seems nothing but a rapid flight of moments, every one of +them illusory: we have come to see that the whole world is vanity! + +Time itself seems to go at a much slower pace when we are young; so +that not only is the first quarter of life the happiest, it is also +the longest of all; it leaves more memories behind it. If a man were +put to it, he could tell you more out of the first quarter of his life +than out of two of the remaining periods. Nay, in the spring of +life, as in the spring of the year, the days reach a length that is +positively tiresome; but in the autumn, whether of the year or of +life, though they are short, they are more genial and uniform. + +But why is it that to an old man his past life appears so short? For +this reason: his memory is short; and so he fancies that his life has +been short too. He no longer remembers the insignificant parts of it, +and much that was unpleasant is now forgotten; how little, then, +there is left! For, in general, a man's memory is as imperfect as his +intellect; and he must make a practice of reflecting upon the lessons +he has learned and the events he has experienced, if he does not want +them both to sink gradually into the gulf of oblivion. Now, we are +unaccustomed to reflect upon matters of no importance, or, as a rule, +upon things that we have found disagreeable, and yet that is necessary +if the memory of them is to be preserved. But the class of things that +may be called insignificant is continually receiving fresh additions: +much that wears an air of importance at first, gradually becomes of no +consequence at all from the fact of its frequent repetition; so that +in the end we actually lose count of the number of times it happens. +Hence we are better able to remember the events of our early than of +our later years. The longer we live, the fewer are the things that +we can call important or significant enough to deserve further +consideration, and by this alone can they be fixed in the memory; in +other words, they are forgotten as soon as they are past. Thus it is +that time runs on, leaving always fewer traces of its passage. + +Further, if disagreeable things have happened to us, we do not care +to ruminate upon them, least of all when they touch our vanity, as is +usually the case; for few misfortunes fall upon us for which we can +be held entirely blameless. So people are very ready to forget many +things that are disagreeable, as well as many that are unimportant. + +It is from this double cause that our memory is so short; and a man's +recollection of what has happened always becomes proportionately +shorter, the more things that have occupied him in life. The things +we did in years gone by, the events that happened long ago, are like +those objects on the coast which, to the seafarer on his outward +voyage, become smaller every minute, more unrecognizable and harder to +distinguish. + +Again, it sometimes happens that memory and imagination will call up +some long past scene as vividly as if it had occurred only yesterday; +so that the event in question seems to stand very near to the present +time. The reason of this is that it is impossible to call up all the +intervening period in the same vivid way, as there is no one figure +pervading it which can be taken in at a glance; and besides, most of +the things that happened in that period are forgotten, and all that +remains of it is the general knowledge that we have lived through +it--a mere notion of abstract existence, not a direct vision of some +particular experience. It is this that causes some single event +of long ago to appear as though it took place but yesterday: the +intervening time vanishes, and the whole of life looks incredibly +short. Nay, there are occasional moments in old age when we can +scarcely believe that we are so advanced in years, or that the long +past lying behind us has had any real existence--a feeling which is +mainly due to the circumstance that the present always seems fixed and +immovable as we look at it. These and similar mental phenomena are +ultimately to be traced to the fact that it is not our nature in +itself, but only the outward presentation of it, that lies in time, +and that the present is the point of contact between the world as +subject and the world as object.[1] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--By this remark Schopenhauer means +that _will_, which, as he argues, forms the inner reality underlying +all the phenomena of life and nature, is not in itself affected +by time; but that, on the other hand, time is necessary for the +objectification of the will, for the will as presented in the passing +phenomena of the world. Time is thus definable as the condition of +change, and the present time as the only point of contact between +reality and appearance.] + +Again, why is it that in youth we can see no end to the years that +seem to lie before us? Because we are obliged to find room for all +the things we hope to attain in life. We cram the years so full of +projects that if we were to try and carry them all out, death would +come prematurely though we reached the age of Methuselah. + +Another reason why life looks so long when we are young, is that we +are apt to measure its length by the few years we have already +lived. In those early years things are new to us, and so they appear +important; we dwell upon them after they have happened and often call +them to mind; and thus in youth life seems replete with incident, and +therefore of long duration. + +Sometimes we credit ourselves with a longing to be in some distant +spot, whereas, in truth, we are only longing to have the time back +again which we spent there--days when we were younger and fresher than +we are now. In those moments Time mocks us by wearing the mask of +space; and if we travel to the spot, we can see how much we have been +deceived. + +There are two ways of reaching a great age, both of which presuppose +a sound constitution as a _conditio sine qua non_. They may be +illustrated by two lamps, one of which burns a long time with very +little oil, because it has a very thin wick; and the other just as +long, though it has a very thick one, because there is plenty of oil +to feed it. Here, the oil is the vital energy, and the difference in +the wick is the manifold way in which the vital energy is used. + +Up to our thirty-sixth year, we may be compared, in respect of the way +in which we use our vital energy, to people who live on the interest +of their money: what they spend to-day, they have again to-morrow. But +from the age of thirty-six onwards, our position is like that of the +investor who begins to entrench upon his capital. At first he hardly +notices any difference at all, as the greater part of his expenses is +covered by the interest of his securities; and if the deficit is +but slight, he pays no attention to it. But the deficit goes on +increasing, until he awakes to the fact that it is becoming more +serious every day: his position becomes less and less secure, and he +feels himself growing poorer and poorer, while he has no expectation +of this drain upon his resources coming to an end. His fall from +wealth to poverty becomes faster every moment--like the fall of a +solid body in space, until at last he has absolutely nothing left. +A man is truly in a woeful plight if both the terms of this +comparison--his vital energy and his wealth--really begin to melt away +at one and the same time. It is the dread of this calamity that makes +love of possession increase with age. + +On the other hand, at the beginning of life, in the years before we +attain majority, and for some little time afterwards--the state of our +vital energy puts us on a level with those who each year lay by a part +of their interest and add it to their capital: in other words, not +only does their interest come in regularly, but the capital is +constantly receiving additions. This happy condition of affairs is +sometimes brought about--with health as with money--under the watchful +care of some honest guardian. O happy youth, and sad old age! + +Nevertheless, a man should economize his strength even when he is +young. Aristotle[1] observes that amongst those who were victors at +Olympia only two or three gained a prize at two different periods, +once in boyhood and then again when they came to be men; and the +reason of this was that the premature efforts which the training +involved, so completely exhausted their powers that they failed to +last on into manhood. As this is true of muscular, so it is still more +true of nervous energy, of which all intellectual achievements are the +manifestation. Hence, those infant prodigies--_ingenia praecoda_--the +fruit of a hot-house education, who surprise us by their cleverness as +children, afterwards turn out very ordinary folk. Nay, the manner in +which boys are forced into an early acquaintance with the ancient +tongues may, perhaps, be to blame for the dullness and lack of +judgment which distinguish so many learned persons. + +[Footnote 1: _Politics_.] + +I have said that almost every man's character seems to be specially +suited to some one period of life, so that on reaching it the man is +at his best. Some people are charming so long as they are young, and +afterwards there is nothing attractive about them; others are vigorous +and active in manhood, and then lose all the value they possess as +they advance in years; many appear to best advantage in old age, when +their character assumes a gentler tone, as becomes men who have seen +the world and take life easily. This is often the case with the +French. + +This peculiarity must be due to the fact that the man's character +has something in it akin to the qualities of youth or manhood or old +age--something which accords with one or another of these periods of +life, or perhaps acts as a corrective to its special failings. + +The mariner observes the progress he makes only by the way in which +objects on the coast fade away into the distance and apparently +decrease in size. In the same way a man becomes conscious that he is +advancing in years when he finds that people older than himself begin +to seem young to him. + +It has already been remarked that the older a man becomes, the +fewer are the traces left in his mind by all that he sees, does or +experiences, and the cause of this has been explained. There is thus +a sense in which it may be said that it is only in youth that a man +lives with a full degree of consciousness, and that he is only half +alive when he is old. As the years advance, his consciousness of what +goes on about him dwindles, and the things of life hurry by without +making any impression upon him, just as none is made by a work of art +seen for the thousandth time. A man does what his hand finds to do, +and afterwards he does not know whether he has done it or not. + +As life becomes more and more unconscious, the nearer it approaches +the point at which all consciousness ceases, the course of time +itself seems to increase in rapidity. In childhood all the things and +circumstances of life are novel; and that is sufficient to awake us to +the full consciousness of existence: hence, at that age, the day seems +of such immense length. The same thing happens when we are traveling: +one month seems longer then than four spent at home. Still, though +time seems to last longer when we are young or on a journey, the sense +of novelty does not prevent it from now and then in reality hanging +heavily upon our hands under both these circumstances, at any rate +more than is the case when we are old or staying at home. But the +intellect gradually becomes so rubbed down and blunted by long +habituation to such impressions that things have a constant tendency +to produce less and less impression upon us as they pass by; and this +makes time seem increasingly less important, and therefore shorter in +duration: the hours of the boy are longer than the days of the old +man. Accordingly, time goes faster and faster the longer we live, +like a ball rolling down a hill. Or, to take another example: as in +a revolving disc, the further a point lies from the centre, the more +rapid is its rate of progression, so it is in the wheel of life; the +further you stand from the beginning, the faster time moves for you. +Hence it may be said that as far as concerns the immediate sensation +that time makes upon our minds, the length of any given year is in +direct proportion to the number of times it will divide our whole +life: for instance, at the age of fifty the year appears to us only +one-tenth as long as it did at the age of five. + +This variation in the rate at which time appears to move, exercises a +most decided influence upon the whole nature of our existence at +every period of it. First of all, it causes childhood--even though it +embrace only a span of fifteen years--to seem the longest period of +life, and therefore the richest in reminiscences. Next, it brings it +about that a man is apt to be bored just in proportion as he is young. +Consider, for instance, that constant need of occupation--whether it +is work or play--that is shown by children: if they come to an end +of both work and play, a terrible feeling of boredom ensues. Even in +youth people are by no means free from this tendency, and dread the +hours when they have nothing to do. As manhood approaches, boredom +disappears; and old men find the time too short when their days fly +past them like arrows from a bow. Of course, I must be understood to +speak of _men_, not of decrepit _brutes_. With this increased rapidity +of time, boredom mostly passes away as we advance in life; and as +the passions with all their attendant pain are then laid asleep, the +burden of life is, on the whole, appreciably lighter in later years +than in youth, provided, of course, that health remains. So it is that +the period immediately preceding the weakness and troubles of old age, +receives the name of a man's _best years_. + +That may be a true appellation, in view of the comfortable feeling +which those years bring; but for all that the years of youth, when our +consciousness is lively and open to every sort of impression, have +this privilege--that then the seeds are sown and the buds come forth; +it is the springtime of the mind. Deep truths may be perceived, but +can never be excogitated--that is to say, the first knowledge of +them is immediate, called forth by some momentary impression. This +knowledge is of such a kind as to be attainable only when the +impressions are strong, lively and deep; and if we are to be +acquainted with deep truths, everything depends upon a proper use of +our early years. In later life, we may be better able to work upon +other people,--upon the world, because our natures are then finished +and rounded off, and no more a prey to fresh views; but then the +world is less able to work upon us. These are the years of action +and achievement; while youth is the time for forming fundamental +conceptions, and laying down the ground-work of thought. + +In youth it is the outward aspect of things that most engages us; +while in age, thought or reflection is the predominating quality +of the mind. Hence, youth is the time for poetry, and age is more +inclined to philosophy. In practical affairs it is the same: a man +shapes his resolutions in youth more by the impression that the +outward world makes upon him; whereas, when he is old, it is thought +that determines his actions. This is partly to be explained by the +fact that it is only when a man is old that the results of outward +observation are present in sufficient numbers to allow of their being +classified according to the ideas they represent,--a process which in +its turn causes those ideas to be more fully understood in all their +bearings, and the exact value and amount of trust to be placed in +them, fixed and determined; while at the same time he has grown +accustomed to the impressions produced by the various phenomena +of life, and their effects on him are no longer what they were. +Contrarily, in youth, the impressions that things make, that is to +say, the outward aspects of life, are so overpoweringly strong, +especially in the case of people of lively and imaginative +disposition, that they view the world like a picture; and their chief +concern is the figure they cut in it, the appearance they present; +nay, they are unaware of the extent to which this is the case. It is +a quality of mind that shows itself--if in no other way--in that +personal vanity, and that love of fine clothes, which distinguish +young people. + +There can be no doubt that the intellectual powers are most capable +of enduring great and sustained efforts in youth, up to the age of +thirty-five at latest; from which period their strength begins to +decline, though very gradually. Still, the later years of life, and +even old age itself, are not without their intellectual compensation. +It is only then that a man can be said to be really rich in experience +or in learning; he has then had time and opportunity enough to enable +him to see and think over life from all its sides; he has been able to +compare one thing with another, and to discover points of contact and +connecting links, so that only then are the true relations of things +rightly understood. Further, in old age there comes an increased depth +in the knowledge that was acquired in youth; a man has now many more +illustrations of any ideas he may have attained; things which he +thought he knew when he was young, he now knows in reality. And +besides, his range of knowledge is wider; and in whatever direction it +extends, it is thorough, and therefore formed into a consistent and +connected whole; whereas in youth knowledge is always defective and +fragmentary. + +A complete and adequate notion of life can never be attained by any +one who does not reach old age; for it is only the old man who +sees life whole and knows its natural course; it is only he who is +acquainted--and this is most important--not only with its entrance, +like the rest of mankind, but with its exit too; so that he alone has +a full sense of its utter vanity; whilst the others never cease to +labor under the false notion that everything will come right in the +end. + +On the other hand, there is more conceptive power in youth, and at +that time of life a man can make more out of the little that he knows. +In age, judgment, penetration and thoroughness predominate. Youth is +the time for amassing the material for a knowledge of the world that +shall be distinctive and peculiar,--for an original view of life, in +other words, the legacy that a man of genius leaves to his fellow-men; +it is, however, only in later years that he becomes master of his +material. Accordingly it will be found that, as a rule, a great writer +gives his best work to the world when he is about fifty years of age. +But though the tree of knowledge must reach its full height before it +can bear fruit, the roots of it lie in youth. + +Every generation, no matter how paltry its character, thinks itself +much wiser than the one immediately preceding it, let alone those that +are more remote. It is just the same with the different periods in a +man's life; and yet often, in the one case no less than in the other, +it is a mistaken opinion. In the years of physical growth, when +our powers of mind and our stores of knowledge are receiving daily +additions, it becomes a habit for to-day to look down with contempt +upon yesterday. The habit strikes root, and remains even after the +intellectual powers have begun to decline,--when to-day should rather +look up with respect to yesterday. So it is that we often unduly +depreciate the achievements as well as the judgments of our youth. +This seems the place for making the general observation, that, +although in its main qualities a man's _intellect_ or _head_, as well +as his _character_ or _heart_, is innate, yet the former is by no +means so unalterable in its nature as the latter. The fact is that the +intellect is subject to very many transformations, which, as a rule, +do not fail to make their actual appearance; and this is so, partly +because the intellect has a deep foundation in the physique, +and partly because the material with which it deals is given in +experience. And so, from a physical point of view, we find that if a +man has any peculiar power, it first gradually increases in strength +until it reaches its acme, after which it enters upon a path of slow +decadence, until it ends in imbecility. But, on the other hand, +we must not lose sight of the fact that the material which gives +employment to a man's powers and keeps them in activity,--the +subject-matter of thought and knowledge, experience, intellectual +attainments, the practice of seeing to the bottom of things, and so a +perfect mental vision, form in themselves a mass which continues to +increase in size, until the time comes when weakness shows itself, +and the man's powers suddenly fail. The way in which these two +distinguishable elements combine in the same nature,--the one +absolutely unalterable, and the other subject to change in two +directions opposed to each other--explains the variety of mental +attitude and the dissimilarity of value which attach to a man at +different periods of life. + +The same truth may be more broadly expressed by saying that the first +forty years of life furnish the text, while the remaining thirty +supply the commentary; and that without the commentary we are unable +to understand aright the true sense and coherence of the text, +together with the moral it contains and all the subtle application of +which it admits. + +Towards the close of life, much the same thing happens as at the end +of a _bal masque_--the masks are taken off. Then you can see who +the people really are, with whom you have come into contact in your +passage through the world. For by the end of life characters have come +out in their true light, actions have borne fruit, achievements have +been rightly appreciated, and all shams have fallen to pieces. For +this, Time was in every case requisite. + +But the most curious fact is that it is also only towards the close +of life than a man really recognizes and understands his own true +self,--the aims and objects he has followed in life, more especially +the kind of relation in which he has stood to other people and to the +world. It will often happen that as a result of this knowledge, a man +will have to assign himself a lower place than he formerly thought +was his due. But there are exceptions to this rule; and it will +occasionally be the case that he will take a higher position than he +had before. This will be owing to the fact that he had no adequate +notion of the _baseness_ of the world, and that he set up a higher aim +for himself than was followed by the rest of mankind. + +The progress of life shows a man the stuff of which he is made. + +It is customary to call youth the happy, and age the sad part of life. +This would be true if it were the passions that made a man happy. +Youth is swayed to and fro by them; and they give a great deal of pain +and little pleasure. In age the passions cool and leave a man at rest, +and then forthwith his mind takes a contemplative tone; the intellect +is set free and attains the upper hand. And since, in itself, +intellect is beyond the range of pain, and man feels happy just in so +far as his intellect is the predominating part of him. + +It need only be remembered that all pleasure is negative, and that +pain is positive in its nature, in order to see that the passions can +never be a source of happiness, and that age is not the less to be +envied on the ground that many pleasures are denied it. For every sort +of pleasure is never anything more than the quietive of some need or +longing; and that pleasure should come to an end as soon as the need +ceases, is no more a subject of complaint than that a man cannot go on +eating after he has had his dinner, or fall asleep again after a good +night's rest. + +So far from youth being the happiest period of life, there is much +more truth in the remark made by Plato, at the beginning of the +_Republic_, that the prize should rather be given to old age, because +then at last a man is freed from the animal passion which has hitherto +never ceased to disquiet him. Nay, it may even be said that the +countless and manifold humors which have their source in this passion, +and the emotions that spring from it, produce a mild state of madness; +and this lasts as long as the man is subject to the spell of +the impulse--this evil spirit, as it were, of which there is no +riddance--so that he never really becomes a reasonable being until the +passion is extinguished. + +There is no doubt that, in general, and apart from individual +circumstances and particular dispositions, youth is marked by a +certain melancholy and sadness, while genial sentiments attach to old +age; and the reason for this is nothing but the fact that the young +man is still under the service, nay, the forced labor, imposed by that +evil spirit, which scarcely ever leaves him a moment to himself. To +this source may be traced, directly or indirectly, almost all and +every ill that befalls or menaces mankind. The old man is genial and +cheerful because, after long lying in the bonds of passion, he can now +move about in freedom. + +Still, it should not be forgotten that, when this passion is +extinguished, the true kernel of life is gone, and nothing remains but +the hollow shell; or, from another point of view, life then becomes +like a comedy, which, begun by real actors, is continued and brought +to an end by automata dressed in their clothes. + +However that may be, youth is the period of unrest, and age of repose; +and from that very circumstance, the relative degree of pleasure +belonging to each may be inferred. The child stretches out its little +hands in the eager desire to seize all the pretty things that meet its +sight, charmed by the world because all its senses are still so young +and fresh. Much the same thing happens with the youth, and he displays +greater energy in his quest. He, too, is charmed by all the pretty +things and the many pleasing shapes that surround him; and forthwith +his imagination conjures up pleasures which the world can never +realize. So he is filled with an ardent desire for he knows not what +delights--robbing him of all rest and making happiness impossible. +But when old age is reached, all this is over and done with, partly +because the blood runs cooler and the senses are no longer so easily +allured; partly because experience has shown the true value of things +and the futility of pleasure, whereby illusion has been gradually +dispelled, and the strange fancies and prejudices which previously +concealed or distorted a free and true view of the world, have been +dissipated and put to flight; with the result that a man can now get +a juster and clearer view, and see things as they are, and also in a +measure attain more or less insight into the nullity of all things on +this earth. + +It is this that gives almost every old man, no matter how ordinary his +faculties may be, a certain tincture of wisdom, which distinguishes +him from the young. But the chief result of all this change is the +peace of mind that ensues--a great element in happiness, and, in fact, +the condition and essence of it. While the young man fancies that +there is a vast amount of good things in the world, if he could only +come at them, the old man is steeped in the truth of the Preacher's +words, that _all things are vanity_--knowing that, however gilded the +shell, the nut is hollow. + +In these later years, and not before, a man comes to a true +appreciation of Horace's maxim: _Nil admirari._ He is directly and +sincerely convinced of the vanity of everything and that all the +glories of the world are as nothing: his illusions are gone. He is +no more beset with the idea that there is any particular amount of +happiness anywhere, in the palace or in the cottage, any more than he +himself enjoys when he is free from bodily or mental pain. The worldly +distinctions of great and small, high and low, exist for him no +longer; and in this blissful state of mind the old man may look down +with a smile upon all false notions. He is completely undeceived, and +knows that whatever may be done to adorn human life and deck it out in +finery, its paltry character will soon show through the glitter of its +surroundings; and that, paint and be jewel it as one may, it remains +everywhere much the same,--an existence which has no true value except +in freedom from pain, and is never to be estimated by the presence of +pleasure, let alone, then, of display.[1] + +[Footnote 1: Cf. Horace, _Epist_. I. 12, I-4.] + +Disillusion is the chief characteristic of old age; for by that time +the fictions are gone which gave life its charm and spurred on the +mind to activity; the splendors of the world have been proved null and +vain; its pomp, grandeur and magnificence are faded. A man has then +found out that behind most of the things he wants, and most of the +pleasures he longs for, there is very little after all; and so he +comes by degrees to see that our existence is all empty and void. It +is only when he is seventy years old that he quite understands the +first words of the Preacher; and this again explains why it is that +old men are sometimes fretful and morose. + +It is often said that the common lot of old age is disease and +weariness of life. Disease is by no means essential to old age; +especially where a really long span of years is to be attained; for +as life goes on, the conditions of health and disorder tend to +increase--_crescente vita, crescit sanitas et morbus_. And as far as +weariness or boredom is concerned, I have stated above why old age is +even less exposed to that form of evil than youth. Nor is boredom by +any means to be taken as a necessary accompaniment of that solitude, +which, for reasons that do not require to be explained, old age +certainly cannot escape; it is rather the fate that awaits those who +have never known any other pleasures but the gratification of the +senses and the delights of society--who have left their minds +unenlightened and their faculties unused. It is quite true that the +intellectual faculties decline with the approach of old age; but where +they were originally strong, there will always be enough left to +combat the onslaught of boredom. And then again, as I have said, +experience, knowledge, reflection, and skill in dealing with men, +combine to give an old man an increasingly accurate insight into the +ways of the world; his judgment becomes keen and he attains a coherent +view of life: his mental vision embraces a wider range. Constantly +finding new uses for his stores of knowledge and adding to them at +every opportunity, he maintains uninterrupted that inward process of +self-education, which gives employment and satisfaction to the mind, +and thus forms the due reward of all its efforts. + +All this serves in some measure as a compensation for decreased +intellectual power. And besides, Time, as I have remarked, seems to go +much more quickly when we are advanced in years; and this is in itself +a preventive of boredom. There is no great harm in the fact that +a man's bodily strength decreases in old age, unless, indeed, he +requires it to make a living. To be poor when one is old, is a great +misfortune. If a man is secure from that, and retains his health, old +age may be a very passable time of life. Its chief necessity is to be +comfortable and well off; and, in consequence, money is then prized +more than ever, because it is a substitute for failing strength. +Deserted by Venus, the old man likes to turn to Bacchus to make him +merry. In the place of wanting to see things, to travel and learn, +comes the desire to speak and teach. It is a piece of good fortune if +the old man retains some of his love of study or of music or of the +theatre,--if, in general, he is still somewhat susceptible to the +things about him; as is, indeed, the case with some people to a very +late age. At that time of life, _what a man has in himself_ is of +greater advantage to him that ever it was before. + +There can be no doubt that most people who have never been anything +but dull and stupid, become more and more of automata as they grow +old. They have always thought, said and done the same things as their +neighbors; and nothing that happens now can change their disposition, +or make them act otherwise. To talk to old people of this kind is like +writing on the sand; if you produce any impression at all, it is gone +almost immediately; old age is here nothing but the _caput mortuum_ +of life--all that is essential to manhood is gone. There are cases +in which nature supplies a third set of teeth in old age, thereby +apparently demonstrating the fact that that period of life is a second +childhood. + +It is certainly a very melancholy thing that all a man's faculties +tend to waste away as he grows old, and at a rate that increases +in rapidity: but still, this is a necessary, nay, a beneficial +arrangement, as otherwise death, for which it is a preparation, would +be too hard to bear. So the greatest boon that follows the attainment +of extreme old age is _euthanasia_,--an easy death, not ushered in by +disease, and free from all pain and struggle.[1] For let a man live as +long as he may, he is never conscious of any moment but the present, +one and indivisible; and in those late years the mind loses more every +day by sheer forgetfulness than ever it gains anew. + +[Footnote 1: See _Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, Bk. II. ch. 41, +for a further description of this happy end to life.] + +The main difference between youth and age will always be that youth +looks forward to life, and old age to death; and that while the one +has a short past and a long future before it, the case is just the +opposite with the other. It is quite true that when a man is old, to +die is the only thing that awaits him; while if he is young, he may +expect to live; and the question arises which of the two fates is the +more hazardous, and if life is not a matter which, on the whole, it is +better to have behind one than before? Does not the Preacher say: +_the day of death [is better] than the day of one's birth_.[1] It is +certainly a rash thing to wish for long life;[2] for as the Spanish +proverb has it, it means to see much evil,--_Quien larga vida vive +mucho mal vide_. + +[Footnote 1: Ecclesiastes vii. 1.] + +[Footnote 2: The life of man cannot, strictly speaking, be called +either _long_ or _short_, since it is the ultimate standard by which +duration of time in regard to all other things is measured. + +In one of the Vedic _Upanishads (Oupnekhat_, II.) _the natural length_ +of human life is put down at one hundred years. And I believe this to +be right. I have observed, as a matter of fact, that it is only people +who exceed the age of ninety who attain _euthanasia_,--who die, that +is to say, of no disease, apoplexy or convulsion, and pass away +without agony of any sort; nay, who sometimes even show no pallor, but +expire generally in a sitting attitude, and often after a meal,--or, +I may say, simply cease to live rather than die. To come to one's end +before the age of ninety, means to die of disease, in other words, +prematurely. + +Now the Old Testament (Psalms xc. 10) puts the limit of human life at +seventy, and if it is very long, at eighty years; and what is more +noticeable still, Herodotus (i. 32 and iii. 22) says the same thing. +But this is wrong; and the error is due simply to a rough and +superficial estimate of the results of daily experience. For if the +natural length of life were from seventy to eighty years, people would +die, about that time, of mere old age. Now this is certainly not the +case. If they die then, they die, like younger people, _of disease_; +and disease is something abnormal. Therefore it is not natural to die +at that age. It is only when they are between ninety and a hundred +that people die of old age; die, I mean, without suffering from any +disease, or showing any special signs of their condition, such as a +struggle, death-rattle, convulsion, pallor,--the absence of all which +constitutes _euthanasia_. The natural length of human life is a +hundred years; and in assigning that limit the Upanishads are right +once more.] + +A man's individual career is not, as Astrology wishes to make out, to +be predicted from observation of the planets; but the course of human +life in general, as far as the various periods of it are concerned, +may be likened to the succession of the planets: so that we may be +said to pass under the influence of each one of them in turn. + +At ten, _Mercury_ is in the ascendant; and at that age, a youth, like +this planet, is characterized by extreme mobility within a narrow +sphere, where trifles have a great effect upon him; but under the +guidance of so crafty and eloquent a god, he easily makes great +progress. _Venus_ begins her sway during his twentieth year, and then +a man is wholly given up to the love of women. At thirty, _Mars_ +comes to the front, and he is now all energy and strength,--daring, +pugnacious and arrogant. + +When a man reaches the age of forty, he is under the rule of the +four _Asteroids_; that is to say, his life has gained something in +extension. He is frugal; in other words, by the help of _Ceres_, he +favors what is useful; he has his own hearth, by the influence of +_Vesta_; _Pallas_ has taught him that which is necessary for him to +know; and his wife--his _Juno_--rules as the mistress of his house. + +But at the age of fifty, _Jupiter_ is the dominant influence. At that +period a man has outlived most of his contemporaries, and he can feel +himself superior to the generation about him. He is still in the full +enjoyment of his strength, and rich in experience and knowledge; +and if he has any power and position of his own, he is endowed with +authority over all who stand in his immediate surroundings. He is no +more inclined to receive orders from others; he wants to take command +himself. The work most suitable to him now is to guide and rule within +his own sphere. This is the point where Jupiter culminates, and where +the man of fifty years is at his best. + +Then comes _Saturn_, at about the age of sixty, a weight as of _lead_, +dull and slow:-- + + _But old folks, many feign as they were dead; + Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead_. +Last of all, _Uranus_; or, as the saying is, a man goes to heaven. + +I cannot find a place for _Neptune_, as this planet has been very +thoughtlessly named; because I may not call it as it should be +called--_Eros_. Otherwise I should point out how Beginning and End +meet together, and how closely and intimately Eros is connected with +Death: how Orcus, or Amenthes, as the Egyptians called him, is not +only the receiver but the giver of all things--[Greek: lambanon kai +didous]. Death is the great reservoir of Life. Everything comes from +Orcus; everything that is alive now was once there. Could we but +understand the great trick by which that is done, all would be clear! + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Counsels and Maxims, by Arthur Schopenhauer + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUNSELS AND MAXIMS *** + +***** This file should be named 10715.txt or 10715.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/7/1/10715/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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