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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:35:05 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:35:05 -0700 |
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diff --git a/10731-h/10731-h.htm b/10731-h/10731-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f6ad2f3 --- /dev/null +++ b/10731-h/10731-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3438 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + The Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer: the Art Of Controversy, by Arthur + Schopenhauer + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10731 ***</div> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE ESSAYS OF ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER:<br /><br /> THE ART OF CONTROVERSY + </h1> + <h2> + By Arthur Schopenhauer + </h2> + <h3> + Translated By T. Bailey Saunders + </h3> + <hr /> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE ART OF CONTROVERSY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> PRELIMINARY: LOGIC AND DIALECTIC. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> STRATAGEMS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ON THE COMPARATIVE PLACE OF INTEREST AND BEAUTY + IN WORKS OF ART. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> ON THE WISDOM OF LIFE: APHORISMS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> GENIUS AND VIRTUE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. + </h2> + <p> + The volume now before the reader is a tardy addition to a series in which + I have endeavoured to present Schopenhauer's minor writings in an adequate + form. + </p> + <p> + Its contents are drawn entirely from his posthumous papers. A selection of + them was given to the world some three of four years after his death by + his friend and literary executor, Julius Frauenstädt, who for this and + other offices of piety, has received less recognition than he deserves. + The papers then published have recently been issued afresh, with + considerable additions and corrections, by Dr. Eduard Grisebach, who is + also entitled to gratitude for the care with which he has followed the + text of the manuscripts, now in the Royal Library at Berlin, and for + having drawn attention—although in terms that are unnecessarily + severe—to a number of faults and failings on the part of the + previous editor. + </p> + <p> + The fact that all Schopenhauer's works, together with a volume of his + correspondence, may now be obtained in a certain cheap collection of the + best national and foreign literature displayed in almost every bookshop in + Germany, is sufficient evidence that in his own country the writer's + popularity is still very great; nor does the demand for translations + indicate that his fame has at all diminished abroad. The favour with which + the new edition of his posthumous papers has been received induces me, + therefore, to resume a task which I thought, five years ago, that I had + finally completed; and it is my intention to bring out one more volume, + selected partly from these papers and partly from his <i>Parerga</i>. + </p> + <p> + A small part of the essay on <i>The Art of Controversy</i> was published + in Schopenhauer's lifetime, in the chapter of the <i>Parerga</i> headed <i>Zur + Logik und Dialektik</i>. The intelligent reader will discover that a good + deal of its contents is of an ironical character. As regards the last + three essays I must observe that I have omitted such passages as appear to + be no longer of any general interest or otherwise unsuitable. I must also + confess to having taken one or two liberties with the titles, in order + that they may the more effectively fulfil the purpose for which titles + exist. In other respects I have adhered to the original with the kind of + fidelity which aims at producing an impression as nearly as possible + similar to that produced by the original. + </p> + <h3> + T.B.S. + </h3> + <p> + February, 1896 + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ART OF CONTROVERSY. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PRELIMINARY: LOGIC AND DIALECTIC. + </h2> + <p> + By the ancients, Logic and Dialectic were used as synonymous terms; + although {Greek: logizesthai}, "to think over, to consider, to calculate," + and {Greek: dialegesthai}, "to converse," are two very different things. + </p> + <p> + The name Dialectic was, as we are informed by Diogenes Laertius, first + used by Plato; and in the <i>Phaedrus, Sophist, Republic</i>, bk. vii., + and elsewhere, we find that by Dialectic he means the regular employment + of the reason, and skill in the practice of it. Aristotle also uses the + word in this sense; but, according to Laurentius Valla, he was the first + to use Logic too in a similar way.{1} Dialectic, therefore, seems to be an + older word than Logic. Cicero and Quintilian use the words in the same + general signification.{2} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: He speaks of {Greek: dyscherelai logicai}, that is, + "difficult points," {Greek: protasis logicae aporia logicae}} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: Cic. <i>in Lucullo: Dialecticam inventam esse, veri et falsi + quasi disceptatricem. Topica</i>, c. 2: <i>Stoici enim judicandi vias + diligenter persecuti sunt, ea scientia, quam</i> Dialecticen <i>appellant</i>. + Quint., lib. ii., 12: <i>Itaque haec pars dialecticae, sive illam + disputatricem dicere malimus</i>; and with him this latter word appears to + be the Latin equivalent for Dialectic. (So far according to "Petri Rami + dialectica, Audomari Talaei praelectionibus illustrata." 1569.)} + </p> + <p> + This use of the words and synonymous terms lasted through the Middle Ages + into modern times; in fact, until the present day. But more recently, and + in particular by Kant, Dialectic has often been employed in a bad sense, + as meaning "the art of sophistical controversy"; and hence Logic has been + preferred, as of the two the more innocent designation. Nevertheless, both + originally meant the same thing; and in the last few years they have again + been recognised as synonymous. + </p> + <p> + It is a pity that the words have thus been used from of old, and that I am + not quite at liberty to distinguish their meanings. Otherwise, I should + have preferred to define <i>Logic</i> (from {Greek: logos}, "word" and + "reason," which are inseparable) as "the science of the laws of thought, + that is, of the method of reason"; and <i>Dialectic</i> (from {Greek: + dialegesthai}, "to converse"—and every conversation communicates + either facts or opinions, that is to say, it is historical or + deliberative) as "the art of disputation," in the modern sense of the + word. It it clear, then, that Logic deals with a subject of a purely <i>à + priori</i> character, separable in definition from experience, namely, the + laws of thought, the process of reason or the {Greek: logos}, the laws, + that is, which reason follows when it is left to itself and not hindered, + as in the case of solitary thought on the part of a rational being who is + in no way misled. Dialectic, on the other hand, would treat of the + intercourse between two rational beings who, because they are rational, + ought to think in common, but who, as soon as they cease to agree like two + clocks keeping exactly the same time, create a disputation, or + intellectual contest. Regarded as purely rational beings, the individuals + would, I say, necessarily be in agreement, and their variation springs + from the difference essential to individuality; in other words, it is + drawn from experience. + </p> + <p> + Logic, therefore, as the science of thought, or the science of the process + of pure reason, should be capable of being constructed <i>à priori</i>. + Dialectic, for the most part, can be constructed only <i>à posteriori</i>; + that is to say, we may learn its rules by an experiential knowledge of the + disturbance which pure thought suffers through the difference of + individuality manifested in the intercourse between two rational beings, + and also by acquaintance with the means which disputants adopt in order to + make good against one another their own individual thought, and to show + that it is pure and objective. For human nature is such that if A. and B. + are engaged in thinking in common, and are communicating their opinions to + one another on any subject, so long as it is not a mere fact of history, + and A. perceives that B.'s thoughts on one and the same subject are not + the same as his own, he does not begin by revising his own process of + thinking, so as to discover any mistake which he may have made, but he + assumes that the mistake has occurred in B.'s. In other words, man is + naturally obstinate; and this quality in him is attended with certain + results, treated of in the branch of knowledge which I should like to call + Dialectic, but which, in order to avoid misunderstanding, I shall call + Controversial or Eristical Dialectic. Accordingly, it is the branch of + knowledge which treats of the obstinacy natural to man. Eristic is only a + harsher name for the same thing. + </p> + <p> + Controversial Dialectic is the art of disputing, and of disputing in such + a way as to hold one's own, whether one is in the right or the wrong—<i>per + fas et nefas</i>.{1} A man may be objectively in the right, and + nevertheless in the eyes of bystanders, and sometimes in his own, he may + come off worst. For example, I may advance a proof of some assertion, and + my adversary may refute the proof, and thus appear to have refuted the + assertion, for which there may, nevertheless, be other proofs. In this + case, of course, my adversary and I change places: he comes off best, + although, as a matter of fact, he is in the wrong. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: According to Diogenes Laertius, v., 28, Aristotle put + Rhetoric and Dialectic together, as aiming at persuasion, {Greek: to + pithanon}; and Analytic and Philosophy as aiming at truth. Aristotle does, + indeed, distinguish between (1) <i>Logic</i>, or Analytic, as the theory + or method of arriving at true or apodeictic conclusions; and (2) <i>Dialectic</i> + as the method of arriving at conclusions that are accepted or pass current + as true, {Greek: endoxa} <i>probabilia</i>; conclusions in regard to which + it is not taken for granted that they are false, and also not taken for + granted that they are true in themselves, since that is not the point. + What is this but the art of being in the right, whether one has any reason + for being so or not, in other words, the art of attaining the appearance + of truth, regardless of its substance? That is, then, as I put it above. + </p> + <p> + Aristotle divides all conclusions into logical and dialectical, in the + manner described, and then into eristical. (3) <i>Eristic</i> is the + method by which the form of the conclusion is correct, but the premisses, + the materials from which it is drawn, are not true, but only appear to be + true. Finally (4) <i>Sophistic</i> is the method in which the form of the + conclusion is false, although it seems correct. These three last properly + belong to the art of Controversial Dialectic, as they have no objective + truth in view, but only the appearance of it, and pay no regard to truth + itself; that is to say, they aim at victory. Aristotle's book on <i>Sophistic + Conclusions</i> was edited apart from the others, and at a later date. It + was the last book of his <i>Dialectic</i>.} + </p> + <p> + If the reader asks how this is, I reply that it is simply the natural + baseness of human nature. If human nature were not base, but thoroughly + honourable, we should in every debate have no other aim than the discovery + of truth; we should not in the least care whether the truth proved to be + in favour of the opinion which we had begun by expressing, or of the + opinion of our adversary. That we should regard as a matter of no moment, + or, at any rate, of very secondary consequence; but, as things are, it is + the main concern. Our innate vanity, which is particularly sensitive in + reference to our intellectual powers, will not suffer us to allow that our + first position was wrong and our adversary's right. The way out of this + difficulty would be simply to take the trouble always to form a correct + judgment. For this a man would have to think before he spoke. But, with + most men, innate vanity is accompanied by loquacity and innate dishonesty. + They speak before they think; and even though they may afterwards perceive + that they are wrong, and that what they assert is false, they want it to + seem the contrary. The interest in truth, which may be presumed to have + been their only motive when they stated the proposition alleged to be + true, now gives way to the interests of vanity: and so, for the sake of + vanity, what is true must seem false, and what is false must seem true. + </p> + <p> + However, this very dishonesty, this persistence in a proposition which + seems false even to ourselves, has something to be said for it. It often + happens that we begin with the firm conviction of the truth of our + statement; but our opponent's argument appears to refute it. Should we + abandon our position at once, we may discover later on that we were right + after all; the proof we offered was false, but nevertheless there was a + proof for our statement which was true. The argument which would have been + our salvation did not occur to us at the moment. Hence we make it a rule + to attack a counter-argument, even though to all appearances it is true + and forcible, in the belief that its truth is only superficial, and that + in the course of the dispute another argument will occur to us by which we + may upset it, or succeed in confirming the truth of our statement. In this + way we are almost compelled to become dishonest; or, at any rate, the + temptation to do so is very great. Thus it is that the weakness of our + intellect and the perversity of our will lend each other mutual support; + and that, generally, a disputant fights not for truth, but for his + proposition, as though it were a battle <i>pro aris et focis</i>. He sets + to work <i>per fas et nefas</i>; nay, as we have seen, he cannot easily do + otherwise. As a rule, then, every man will insist on maintaining whatever + he has said, even though for the moment he may consider it false or + doubtful.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Machiavelli recommends his Prince to make use of every moment + that his neighbour is weak, in order to attack him; as otherwise his + neighbour may do the same. If honour and fidelity prevailed in the world, + it would be a different matter; but as these are qualities not to be + expected, a man must not practise them himself, because he will meet with + a bad return. It is just the same in a dispute: if I allow that my + opponent is right as soon as he seems to be so, it is scarcely probable + that he will do the same when the position is reversed; and as he acts + wrongly, I am compelled to act wrongly too. It is easy to say that we must + yield to truth, without any prepossession in favour of our own statements; + but we cannot assume that our opponent will do it, and therefore we cannot + do it either. Nay, if I were to abandon the position on which I had + previously bestowed much thought, as soon as it appeared that he was + right, it might easily happen that I might be misled by a momentary + impression, and give up the truth in order to accept an error.} + </p> + <p> + To some extent every man is armed against such a procedure by his own + cunning and villainy. He learns by daily experience, and thus comes to + have his own <i>natural Dialectic</i>, just as he has his own <i>natural + Logic</i>. But his Dialectic is by no means as safe a guide as his Logic. + It is not so easy for any one to think or draw an inference contrary to + the laws of Logic; false judgments are frequent, false conclusions very + rare. A man cannot easily be deficient in natural Logic, but he may very + easily be deficient in natural Dialectic, which is a gift apportioned in + unequal measure. In so far natural Dialectic resembles the faculty of + judgment, which differs in degree with every man; while reason, strictly + speaking, is the same. For it often happens that in a matter in which a + man is really in the right, he is confounded or refuted by merely + superficial arguments; and if he emerges victorious from a contest, he + owes it very often not so much to the correctness of his judgment in + stating his proposition, as to the cunning and address with which he + defended it. + </p> + <p> + Here, as in all other cases, the best gifts are born with a man; + nevertheless, much may be done to make him a master of this art by + practice, and also by a consideration of the tactics which may be used to + defeat an opponent, or which he uses himself for a similar purpose. + Therefore, even though Logic may be of no very real, practical use, + Dialectic may certainly be so; and Aristotle, too, seems to me to have + drawn up his Logic proper, or Analytic, as a foundation and preparation + for his Dialectic, and to have made this his chief business. Logic is + concerned with the mere form of propositions; Dialectic, with their + contents or matter—in a word, with their substance. It was proper, + therefore, to consider the general form of all propositions before + proceeding to particulars. + </p> + <p> + Aristotle does not define the object of Dialectic as exactly as I have + done it here; for while he allows that its principal object is + disputation, he declares at the same time that it is also the discovery of + truth.{1} Again, he says, later on, that if, from the philosophical point + of view, propositions are dealt with according to their truth, Dialectic + regards them according to their plausibility, or the measure in which they + will win the approval and assent of others.{2} He is aware that the + objective truth of a proposition must be distinguished and separated from + the way in which it is pressed home, and approbation won for it; but he + fails to draw a sufficiently sharp distinction between these two aspects + of the matter, so as to reserve Dialectic for the latter alone.{3} The + rules which he often gives for Dialectic contain some of those which + properly belong to Logic; and hence it appears to me that he has not + provided a clear solution of the problem. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Topica</i>, bk. i., 2.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: <i>Ib</i>., 12.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 3: On the other hand, in his book <i>De Sophisticis Elenchis</i>, + he takes too much trouble to separate <i>Dialectic</i> from <i>Sophistic</i> + and <i>Eristic</i>, where the distinction is said to consist in this, that + dialectical conclusions are true in their form and their contents, while + sophistical and eristical conclusions are false. + </p> + <p> + Eristic so far differs from Sophistic that, while the master of Eristic + aims at mere victory, the Sophist looks to the reputation, and with it, + the monetary rewards which he will gain. But whether a proposition is true + in respect of its contents is far too uncertain a matter to form the + foundation of the distinction in question; and it is a matter on which the + disputant least of all can arrive at certainty; nor is it disclosed in any + very sure form even by the result of the disputation. Therefore, when + Aristotle speaks of <i>Dialectic</i>, we must include in it Sophistic, + Eristic, and Peirastic, and define it as "the art of getting the best of + it in a dispute," in which, unquestionably, the safest plan is to be in + the right to begin with; but this in itself is not enough in the existing + disposition of mankind, and, on the other hand, with the weakness of the + human intellect, it is not altogether necessary. Other expedients are + required, which, just because they are unnecessary to the attainment of + objective truth, may also be used when a man is objectively in the wrong; + and whether or not this is the case, is hardly ever a matter of complete + certainty. + </p> + <p> + I am of opinion, therefore, that a sharper distinction should be drawn + between Dialectic and Logic than Aristotle has given us; that to Logic we + should assign objective truth as far as it is merely formal, and that + Dialectic should be confined to the art of gaining one's point, and + contrarily, that Sophistic and Eristic should not be distinguished from + Dialectic in Aristotle's fashion, since the difference which he draws + rests on objective and material truth; and in regard to what this is, we + cannot attain any clear certainty before discussion; but we are compelled, + with Pilate, to ask, <i>What is truth</i>? For truth is in the depths, + {Greek: en butho hae halaetheia} (a saying of Democritus, <i>Diog. Laert</i>., + ix., 72). Two men often engage in a warm dispute, and then return to their + homes each of the other's opinion, which he has exchanged for his own. It + is easy to say that in every dispute we should have no other aim than the + advancement of truth; but before dispute no one knows where it is, and + through his opponent's arguments and his own a man is misled.} + </p> + <p> + We must always keep the subject of one branch of knowledge quite distinct + from that of any other. To form a clear idea of the province of Dialectic, + we must pay no attention to objective truth, which is an affair of Logic; + we must regard it simply as <i>the art of getting the best of it in a + dispute</i>, which, as we have seen, is all the easier if we are actually + in the right. In itself Dialectic has nothing to do but to show how a man + may defend himself against attacks of every kind, and especially against + dishonest attacks; and, in the same fashion, how he may attack another + man's statement without contradicting himself, or generally without being + defeated. The discovery of objective truth must be separated from the art + of winning acceptance for propositions; for objective truth is an entirely + different matter: it is the business of sound judgment, reflection and + experience, for which there is no special art. + </p> + <p> + Such, then, is the aim of Dialectic. It has been defined as the Logic of + appearance; but the definition is a wrong one, as in that case it could + only be used to repel false propositions. But even when a man has the + right on his side, he needs Dialectic in order to defend and maintain it; + he must know what the dishonest tricks are, in order to meet them; nay, he + must often make use of them himself, so as to beat the enemy with his own + weapons. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, in a dialectical contest we must put objective truth aside, + or, rather, we must regard it as an accidental circumstance, and look only + to the defence of our own position and the refutation of our opponent's. + </p> + <p> + In following out the rules to this end, no respect should be paid to + objective truth, because we usually do not know where the truth lies. As I + have said, a man often does not himself know whether he is in the right or + not; he often believes it, and is mistaken: both sides often believe it. + Truth is in the depths. At the beginning of a contest each man believes, + as a rule, that right is on his side; in the course of it, both become + doubtful, and the truth is not determined or confirmed until the close. + </p> + <p> + Dialectic, then, need have nothing to do with truth, as little as the + fencing master considers who is in the right when a dispute leads to a + duel. Thrust and parry is the whole business. Dialectic is the art of + intellectual fencing; and it is only when we so regard it that we can + erect it into a branch of knowledge. For if we take purely objective truth + as our aim, we are reduced to mere Logic; if we take the maintenance of + false propositions, it is mere Sophistic; and in either case it would have + to be assumed that we were aware of what was true and what was false; and + it is seldom that we have any clear idea of the truth beforehand. The true + conception of Dialectic is, then, that which we have formed: it is the art + of intellectual fencing used for the purpose of getting the best of it in + a dispute; and, although the name <i>Eristic</i> would be more suitable, + it is more correct to call it controversial Dialectic, <i>Dialectica + eristica</i>. + </p> + <p> + Dialectic in this sense of the word has no other aim but to reduce to a + regular system and collect and exhibit the arts which most men employ when + they observe, in a dispute, that truth is not on their side, and still + attempt to gain the day. Hence, it would be very inexpedient to pay any + regard to objective truth or its advancement in a science of Dialectic; + since this is not done in that original and natural Dialectic innate in + men, where they strive for nothing but victory. The science of Dialectic, + in one sense of the word, is mainly concerned to tabulate and analyse + dishonest stratagems, in order that in a real debate they may be at once + recognised and defeated. It is for this very reason that Dialectic must + admittedly take victory, and not objective truth, for its aim and purpose. + </p> + <p> + I am not aware that anything has been done in this direction, although I + have made inquiries far and wide.{1} It is, therefore, an uncultivated + soil. To accomplish our purpose, we must draw from our experience; we must + observe how in the debates which often arise in our intercourse with our + fellow-men this or that stratagem is employed by one side or the other. By + finding out the common elements in tricks repeated in different forms, we + shall be enabled to exhibit certain general stratagems which may be + advantageous, as well for our own use, as for frustrating others if they + use them. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Diogenes Laertes tells us that among the numerous writings on + Rhetoric by Theophrastus, all of which have been lost, there was one + entitled {Greek: Agonistikon taes peri tous eristikous gogous theorias.} + That would have been just what we want.} + </p> + <p> + What follows is to be regarded as a first attempt. + </p> + <h3> + THE BASIS OF ALL DIALECTIC. + </h3> + <p> + First of all, we must consider the essential nature of every dispute: what + it is that really takes place in it. + </p> + <p> + Our opponent has stated a thesis, or we ourselves,—it is all one. + There are two modes of refuting it, and two courses that we may pursue. + </p> + <p> + I. The modes are (1) <i>ad rem</i>, (2) <i>ad hominem</i> or <i>ex + concessis</i>. That is to say: We may show either that the proposition is + not in accordance with the nature of things, i.e., with absolute, + objective truth; or that it is inconsistent with other statements or + admissions of our opponent, i.e., with truth as it appears to him. The + latter mode of arguing a question produces only a relative conviction, and + makes no difference whatever to the objective truth of the matter. + </p> + <p> + II. The two courses that we may pursue are (1) the direct, and (2) the + indirect refutation. The direct attacks the reason for the thesis; the + indirect, its results. The direct refutation shows that the thesis is not + true; the indirect, that it cannot be true. + </p> + <p> + The direct course admits of a twofold procedure. Either we may show that + the reasons for the statement are false (<i>nego majorem, minorem</i>); or + we may admit the reasons or premisses, but show that the statement does + not follow from them (<i>nego consequentiam)</i>; that is, we attack the + conclusion or form of the syllogism. + </p> + <p> + The direct refutation makes use either of the <i>diversion</i> or of the + <i>instance</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>(a)</i> The <i>diversion</i>.—We accept our opponent's + proposition as true, and then show what follows from it when we bring it + into connection with some other proposition acknowledged to be true. We + use the two propositions as the premisses of a syllogism giving a + conclusion which is manifestly false, as contradicting either the nature + of things,{1} or other statements of our opponent himself; that is to say, + the conclusion is false either <i>ad rem</i> or <i>ad hominem</i>.{2} + Consequently, our opponent's proposition must have been false; for, while + true premisses can give only a true conclusion, false premisses need not + always give a false one. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: If it is in direct contradiction with a perfectly undoubted, + truth, we have reduced our opponent's position <i>ad absurdum</i>.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: Socrates, in <i>Hippia Maj. et alias</i>.} + </p> + <p> + <i>(b) The instance</i>, or the example to the contrary.—This + consists in refuting the general proposition by direct reference to + particular cases which are included in it in the way in which it is + stated, but to which it does not apply, and by which it is therefore shown + to be necessarily false. + </p> + <p> + Such is the framework or skeleton of all forms of disputation; for to this + every kind of controversy may be ultimately reduced. The whole of a + controversy may, however, actually proceed in the manner described, or + only appear to do so; and it may be supported by genuine or spurious + arguments. It is just because it is not easy to make out the truth in + regard to this matter, that debates are so long and so obstinate. + </p> + <p> + Nor can we, in ordering the argument, separate actual from apparent truth, + since even the disputants are not certain about it beforehand. Therefore I + shall describe the various tricks or stratagems without regard to + questions of objective truth or falsity; for that is a matter on which we + have no assurance, and which cannot be determined previously. Moreover, in + every disputation or argument on any subject we must agree about + something; and by this, as a principle, we must be willing to judge the + matter in question. We cannot argue with those who deny principles: <i>Contra + negantem principia non est disputandum</i>. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STRATAGEMS. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> + <p> + The <i>Extension</i>.—This consists in carrying your opponent's + proposition beyond its natural limits; in giving it as general a + signification and as wide a sense as possible, so as to exaggerate it; + and, on the other hand, in giving your own proposition as restricted a + sense and as narrow limits as you can, because the more general a + statement becomes, the more numerous are the objections to which it is + open. The defence consists in an accurate statement of the point or + essential question at issue. + </p> + <p> + Example 1.—I asserted that the English were supreme in drama. My + opponent attempted <i>to</i> give an instance to the contrary, and replied + that it was a well-known fact that in music, and consequently in opera, + they could do nothing at all. I repelled the attack by reminding him that + music was not included in dramatic art, which covered tragedy and comedy + alone. This he knew very well. What he had done was to try to generalise + my proposition, so that it would apply to all theatrical representations, + and, consequently, to opera and then to music, in order to make certain of + defeating me. Contrarily, we may save our proposition by reducing it + within narrower limits than we had first intended, if our way of + expressing it favours this expedient. + </p> + <p> + Example 2.—A. declares that the Peace of 1814 gave back their + independence to all the German towns of the Hanseatic League. B. gives an + instance to the contrary by reciting the fact that Dantzig, which received + its independence from Buonaparte, lost it by that Peace. A. saves himself + thus: "I said 'all German towns,' and Dantzig was in Poland." + </p> + <p> + This trick was mentioned by Aristotle in the <i>Topica</i> (bk. viii., cc. + 11, 12). + </p> + <p> + Example 3.—Lamarck, in his <i>Philosophic Zoologique</i> (vol. i., + p. 208), states that the polype has no feeling, because it has no nerves. + It is certain, however, that it has some sort of perception; for it + advances towards light by moving in an ingenious fashion from branch to + branch, and it seizes its prey. Hence it has been assumed that its nervous + system is spread over the whole of its body in equal measure, as though it + were blended with it; for it is obvious that the polype possesses some + faculty of perception without having any separate organs of sense. Since + this assumption refutes Lamarck's position, he argues thus: "In that case + all parts of its body must be capable of every kind of feeling, and also + of motion, of will, of thought. The polype would have all the organs of + the most perfect animal in every point of its body; every point could see, + smell, taste, hear, and so on; nay, it could think, judge, and draw + conclusions; every particle of its body would be a perfect animal and it + would stand higher than man, as every part of it would possess all the + faculties which man possesses only in the whole of him. Further, there + would be no reason for not extending what is true of the polype to all + monads, the most imperfect of all creatures, and ultimately to the plants, + which are also alive, etc., etc." By using dialectical tricks of this kind + a writer betrays that he is secretly conscious of being in the wrong. + Because it was said that the creature's whole body is sensitive to light, + and is therefore possessed of nerves, he makes out that its whole body is + capable of thought. + </p> + <h3> + II. + </h3> + <p> + The <i>Homonymy</i>.—This trick is to extend a proposition to + something which has little or nothing in common with the matter in + question but the similarity of the word; then to refute it triumphantly, + and so claim credit for having refuted the original statement. + </p> + <p> + It may be noted here that synonyms are two words for the same conception; + homonyms, two conceptions which are covered by the same word. (See + Aristotle, <i>Topica</i>, bk. i., c. 13.) "Deep," "cutting," "high," used + at one moment of bodies at another of tones, are homonyms; "honourable" + and "honest" are synonyms. + </p> + <p> + This is a trick which may be regarded as identical with the sophism <i>ex + homonymia</i>; although, if the sophism is obvious, it will deceive no + one. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Every light can be extinguished. + The intellect is a light. + Therefore it can be extinguished</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Here it is at once clear that there are four terms in the syllogism, + "light" being used both in a real and in a metaphorical sense. But if the + sophism takes a subtle form, it is, of course, apt to mislead, especially + where the conceptions which are covered by the same word are related, and + inclined to be interchangeable. It is never subtle enough to deceive, if + it is used intentionally; and therefore cases of it must be collected from + actual and individual experience. + </p> + <p> + It would be a very good thing if every trick could receive some short and + obviously appropriate name, so that when a man used this or that + particular trick, he could be at once reproached for it. + </p> + <p> + I will give two examples of the homonymy. + </p> + <p> + Example 1.—A.: "You are not yet initiated into the mysteries of the + Kantian philosophy." + </p> + <p> + B.: "Oh, if it's mysteries you're talking of, I'll have nothing to do with + them." + </p> + <p> + Example 2.—I condemned the principle involved in the word <i>honour</i> + as a foolish one; for, according to it, a man loses his honour by + receiving an insult, which he cannot wipe out unless he replies with a + still greater insult, or by shedding his adversary's blood or his own. I + contended that a man's true honour cannot be outraged by what he suffers, + but only and alone by what he does; for there is no saying what may befall + any one of us. My opponent immediately attacked the reason I had given, + and triumphantly proved to me that when a tradesman was falsely accused of + misrepresentation, dishonesty, or neglect in his business, it was an + attack upon his honour, which in this case was outraged solely by what he + suffered, and that he could only retrieve it by punishing his aggressor + and making him retract. + </p> + <p> + Here, by a homonymy, he was foisting <i>civic honour</i>, which is + otherwise called <i>good name</i>, and which may be outraged by libel and + slander, on to the conception of <i>knightly honour</i>, also called <i>point + d'honneur</i>, which may be outraged by insult. And since an attack on the + former cannot be disregarded, but must be repelled by public disproof, so, + with the same justification, an attack on the latter must not be + disregarded either, but it must be defeated by still greater insult and a + duel. Here we have a confusion of two essentially different things through + the homonymy in the word <i>honour</i>, and a consequent alteration of the + point in dispute. + </p> + <h3> + III. + </h3> + <p> + Another trick is to take a proposition which is laid down relatively, and + in reference to some particular matter, as though it were uttered with a + general or absolute application; or, at least, to take it in some quite + different sense, and then refute it. Aristotle's example is as follows: + </p> + <p> + A Moor is black; but in regard to his teeth he is white; therefore, he is + black and not black at the same moment. This is an obvious sophism, which + will deceive no one. Let us contrast it with one drawn from actual + experience. + </p> + <p> + In talking of philosophy, I admitted that my system upheld the Quietists, + and commended them. Shortly afterwards the conversation turned upon Hegel, + and I maintained that his writings were mostly nonsense; or, at any rate, + that there were many passages in them where the author wrote the words, + and it was left to the reader to find a meaning for them. My opponent did + not attempt to refute this assertion <i>ad rem</i>, but contented himself + by advancing the <i>argumentum ad hominem</i>, and telling me that I had + just been praising the Quietists, and that they had written a good deal of + nonsense too. + </p> + <p> + This I admitted; but, by way of correcting him, I said that I had praised + the Quietists, not as philosophers and writers, that is to say, for their + achievements in the sphere of <i>theory</i>, but only as men, and for + their conduct in mere matters of <i>practice</i>; and that in Hegel's case + we were talking of theories. In this way I parried the attack. + </p> + <p> + The first three tricks are of a kindred character. They have this in + common, that something different is attacked from that which was asserted. + It would therefore be an <i>ignoratio elenchi</i> to allow oneself to be + disposed of in such a manner. + </p> + <p> + For in all the examples that I have given, what the opponent says is true, + but it stands in apparent and not in real contradiction with the thesis. + All that the man whom he is attacking has to do is to deny the validity of + his syllogism; to deny, namely, the conclusion which he draws, that + because his proposition is true, ours is false. In this way his refutation + is itself directly refuted by a denial of his conclusion, <i>per + negationem consequentiae</i>. Another trick is to refuse to admit true + premisses because of a foreseen conclusion. There are two ways of + defeating it, incorporated in the next two sections. + </p> + <h3> + IV. + </h3> + <p> + If you want to draw a conclusion, you must not let it be foreseen, but you + must get the premisses admitted one by one, unobserved, mingling them here + and there in your talk; otherwise, your opponent will attempt all sorts of + chicanery. Or, if it is doubtful whether your opponent will admit them, + you must advance the premisses of these premisses; that is to say, you + must draw up pro-syllogisms, and get the premisses of several of them + admitted in no definite order. In this way you conceal your game until you + have obtained all the admissions that are necessary, and so reach your + goal by making a circuit. These rules are given by Aristotle in his <i>Topica</i>, + bk. viii., c. 1. It is a trick which needs no illustration. + </p> + <h3> + V. + </h3> + <p> + To prove the truth of a proposition, you may also employ previous + propositions that are not true, should your opponent refuse to admit the + true ones, either because he fails to perceive their truth, or because he + sees that the thesis immediately follows from them. In that case the plan + is to take propositions which are false in themselves but true for your + opponent, and argue from the way in which he thinks, that is to say, <i>ex + concessis</i>. For a true conclusion may follow from false premisses, but + not <i>vice versâ</i>. In the same fashion your opponent's false + propositions may be refuted by other false propositions, which he, + however, takes to be true; for it is with him that you have to do, and you + must use the thoughts that he uses. For instance, if he is a member of + some sect to which you do not belong, you may employ the declared, + opinions of this sect against him, as principles.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Aristotle, <i>Topica</i> bk. viii., chap. 2.} + </p> + <h3> + VI. + </h3> + <p> + Another plan is to beg the question in disguise by postulating what has to + be proved, either (1) under another name; for instance, "good repute" + instead of "honour"; "virtue" instead of "virginity," etc.; or by using + such convertible terms as "red-blooded animals" and "vertebrates"; or (2) + by making a general assumption covering the particular point in dispute; + for instance, maintaining the uncertainty of medicine by postulating the + uncertainty of all human knowledge. (3) If, <i>vice versâ</i>, two things + follow one from the other, and one is to be proved, you may postulate the + other. (4) If a general proposition is to be proved, you may get your + opponent to admit every one of the particulars. This is the converse of + the second.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Idem</i>, chap. 11. The last chapter of this work contains + some good rules for the practice of Dialectics.} + </p> + <h3> + VII. + </h3> + <p> + Should the disputation be conducted on somewhat strict and formal lines, + and there be a desire to arrive at a very clear understanding, he who + states the proposition and wants to prove it may proceed against his + opponent by question, in order to show the truth of the statement from his + admissions. The erotematic, or Socratic, method was especially in use + among the ancients; and this and some of the tricks following later on are + akin to it.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: They are all a free version of chap. 15 of Aristotle's <i>De + Sophistici Elenchis</i>.} + </p> + <p> + The plan is to ask a great many wide-reaching questions at once, so as to + hide what you want to get admitted, and, on the other hand, quickly + propound the argument resulting from the admissions; for those who are + slow of understanding cannot follow accurately, and do not notice any + mistakes or gaps there may be in the demonstration. + </p> + <h3> + VIII. + </h3> + <p> + This trick consists in making your opponent angry; for when he is angry he + is incapable of judging aright, and perceiving where his advantage lies. + You can make him angry by doing him repeated injustice, or practising some + kind of chicanery, and being generally insolent. + </p> + <h3> + IX. + </h3> + <p> + Or you may put questions in an order different from that which the + conclusion to be drawn from them requires, and transpose them, so as not + to let him know at what you are aiming. He can then take no precautions. + You may also use his answers for different or even opposite conclusions, + according to their character. This is akin to the trick of masking your + procedure. + </p> + <h3> + X. + </h3> + <p> + If you observe that your opponent designedly returns a negative answer to + the questions which, for the sake of your proposition, you want him to + answer in the affirmative, you must ask the converse of the proposition, + as though it were that which you were anxious to see affirmed; or, at any + rate, you may give him his choice of both, so that he may not perceive + which of them you are asking him to affirm. + </p> + <h3> + XL. + </h3> + <p> + If you make an induction, and your opponent grants you the particular + cases by which it is to be supported, you must refrain from asking him if + he also admits the general truth which issues from the particulars, but + introduce it afterwards as a settled and admitted fact; for, in the + meanwhile, he will himself come to believe that he has admitted it, and + the same impression will be received by the audience, because they will + remember the many questions as to the particulars, and suppose that they + must, of course, have attained their end. + </p> + <h3> + XII. + </h3> + <p> + If the conversation turns upon some general conception which has no + particular name, but requires some figurative or metaphorical designation, + you must begin by choosing a metaphor that is favourable to your + proposition. For instance, the names used to denote the two political + parties in Spain, <i>Serviles</i> and <i>Liberates</i>, are obviously + chosen by the latter. The name <i>Protestants</i> is chosen by themselves, + and also the name <i>Evangelicals</i>; but the Catholics call them <i>heretics</i>. + Similarly, in regard to the names of things which admit of a more exact + and definite meaning: for example, if your opponent proposes an <i>alteration</i>, + you can call it an <i>innovation</i>, as this is an invidious word. If you + yourself make the proposal, it will be the converse. In the first case, + you can call the antagonistic principle "the existing order," in the + second, "antiquated prejudice." What an impartial man with no further + purpose to serve would call "public worship" or a "system of religion," is + described by an adherent as "piety," "godliness": and by an opponent as + "bigotry," "superstition." This is, at bottom, a subtle <i>petitio + principii</i>. What is sought to be proved is, first of all, inserted in + the definition, whence it is then taken by mere analysis. What one man + calls "placing in safe custody," another calls "throwing into prison." A + speaker often betrays his purpose beforehand by the names which he gives + to things. One man talks of "the clergy"; another, of "the priests." + </p> + <p> + Of all the tricks of controversy, this is the most frequent, and it is + used instinctively. You hear of "religious zeal," or "fanaticism"; a "<i>faux + pas</i>" a "piece of gallantry," or "adultery"; an "equivocal," or a + "bawdy" story; "embarrassment," or "bankruptcy"; "through influence and + connection," or by "bribery and nepotism"; "sincere gratitude," or "good + pay." + </p> + <h3> + XIII. + </h3> + <p> + To make your opponent accept a proposition, you must give him the + counter-proposition as well, leaving him his choice of the two; and you + must render the contrast as glaring as you can, so that to avoid being + paradoxical he will accept the proposition, which is thus made to look + quite probable. For instance, if you want to make him admit that a boy + must do everything that his father tells him to do, ask him "whether in + all things we must obey or disobey our parents." Or, if a thing is said to + occur "often," ask whether by "often" you are to understand few or many + cases; and he will say "many." It is as though you were to put grey next + black, and call it white; or next white, and call it black. + </p> + <h3> + XIV. + </h3> + <p> + This, which is an impudent trick, is played as follows: When your opponent + has answered several of your questions without the answers turning out + favourable to the conclusion at which you are aiming, advance the desired + conclusion,—although it does not in the least follow,—as + though it had been proved, and proclaim it in a tone of triumph. If your + opponent is shy or stupid, and you yourself possess a great deal of + impudence and a good voice, the trick may easily succeed. It is akin to + the fallacy <i>non causae ut causae</i>. + </p> + <h3> + XV. + </h3> + <p> + If you have advanced a paradoxical proposition and find a difficulty in + proving it, you may submit for your opponent's acceptance or rejection + some true proposition, the truth of which, however, is not quite palpable, + as though you wished to draw your proof from it. Should he reject it + because he suspects a trick, you can obtain your triumph by showing how + absurd he is; should he accept it> you have got reason on your side for + the moment, and must now look about you; or else you can employ the + previous trick as well, and maintain that your paradox is proved by the + proposition which he has accepted. For this an extreme degree of impudence + is required; but experience shows cases of it, and there are people who + practise it by instinct. + </p> + <h3> + XVI. + </h3> + <p> + Another trick is to use arguments <i>ad hominem</i>, or <i>ex concessis</i>{1} + When your opponent makes a proposition, you must try to see whether it is + not in some way—if needs be, only apparently—inconsistent with + some other proposition which he has made or admitted, or with the + principles of a school or sect which he has commended and approved, or + with the actions of those who support the sect, or else of those who give + it only an apparent and spurious support, or with his own actions or want + of action. For example, should he defend suicide, you may at once exclaim, + "Why don't you hang yourself?" Should he maintain that Berlin is an + unpleasant place to live in, you may say, "Why don't you leave by the + first train?" Some such claptrap is always possible. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: The truth from which I draw my proof may he either (1) of an + objective and universally valid character; in that case my proof is + veracious, <i>secundum veritatem</i>; and it is such proof alone that has + any genuine validity. Or (2) it may be valid only for the person to whom I + wish to prove my proposition, and with whom I am disputing. He has, that + is to say, either taken up some position once for all as a prejudice, or + hastily admitted it in the course of the dispute; and on this I ground my + proof. In that case, it is a proof valid only for this particular man, <i>ad + kominem. I</i> compel my opponent to grant my proposition, but I fail to + establish it as a truth of universal validity. My proof avails for my + opponent alone, but for no one else. For example, if my opponent is a + devotee of Kant's, and I ground my proof on some utterance of that + philosopher, it is a proof which in itself is only <i>ad hominem</i>. If + he is a Mohammedan, I may prove my point by reference to a passage in the + Koran, and that is sufficient for him; but here it is only a proof <i>ad + hominem</i>,} + </p> + <h3> + XVII. + </h3> + <p> + If your opponent presses you with a counter-proof, you will often be able + to save yourself by advancing some subtle distinction, which, it is true, + had not previously occurred to you; that is, if the matter admits of a + double application, or of being taken in any ambiguous sense. + </p> + <h3> + XVIII. + </h3> + <p> + If you observe that your opponent has taken up a line of argument which + will end in your defeat, you must not allow him to carry it to its + conclusion, but interrupt the course of the dispute in time, or break it + off altogether, or lead him away from the subject, and bring him to + others. In short, you must effect the trick which will be noticed later + on, the <i>mutatio controversiae</i>. (See § xxix.) + </p> + <h3> + XIX. + </h3> + <p> + Should your opponent expressly challenge you to produce any objection to + some definite point in his argument, and you have nothing much to say, you + must try to give the matter a general turn, and then talk against that. If + you are called upon to say why a particular physical hypothesis cannot be + accepted, you may speak of the fallibility of human knowledge, and give + various illustrations of it. + </p> + <h3> + XX. + </h3> + <p> + When you have elicited all your premisses, and your opponent has admitted + them, you must refrain from asking him for the conclusion, but draw it at + once for yourself; nay, even though one or other of the premisses should + be lacking, you may take it as though it too had been admitted, and draw + the conclusion. This trick is an application of the fallacy <i>non causae + ut causae</i>. + </p> + <h3> + XXI. + </h3> + <p> + When your opponent uses a merely superficial or sophistical argument and + you see through it, you can, it is true, refute it by setting forth its + captious and superficial character; but it is better to meet him with a + counter-argument which is just as superficial and sophistical, and so + dispose of him; for it is with victory that you are concerned, and not + with truth. If, for example, he adopts an <i>argumentum ad hominem</i>, it + is sufficient to take the force out of it by a counter <i>argumentum ad + hominem</i> or <i>argumentum ex concessis</i>; and, in general, instead of + setting forth the true state of the case at equal length, it is shorter to + take this course if it lies open to you. + </p> + <h3> + XXII. + </h3> + <p> + If your opponent requires you to admit something from which the point in + dispute will immediately follow, you must refuse to do so, declaring that + it is a <i>petitio principii</i> For he and the audience will regard a + proposition which is near akin to the point in dispute as identical with + it, and in this way you deprive him of his best argument. + </p> + <h3> + XXIII. + </h3> + <p> + Contradiction and contention irritate a man into exaggerating his + statement. By contradicting your opponent you may drive him into extending + beyond its proper limits a statement which, at all events within those + limits and in itself, is true; and when you refute this exaggerated form + of it, you look as though you had also refuted his original statement. + Contrarily, you must take care not to allow yourself to be misled by + contradictions into exaggerating or extending a statement of your own. It + will often happen that your opponent will himself directly try to extend + your statement further than you meant it; here you must at once stop him, + and bring him back to the limits which you set up; "That's what I said, + and no more." + </p> + <h3> + XXIV. + </h3> + <p> + This trick consists in stating a false syllogism. Your opponent makes a + proposition, and by false inference and distortion of his ideas you force + from it other propositions which it does not contain and he does not in + the least mean; nay, which are absurd or dangerous. It then looks as if + his proposition gave rise to others which are inconsistent either with + themselves or with some acknowledged truth, and so it appears to be + indirectly refuted. This is the <i>diversion</i>, and it is another + application of the fallacy <i>non causae ut causae</i>. + </p> + <h3> + XXV. + </h3> + <p> + This is a case of the <i>diversion</i> by means of an <i>instance to the + contrary</i>. With an induction ({Greek: epagogae}), a great number of + particular instances are required in order to establish it as a universal + proposition; but with the <i>diversion</i> ({Greek: apagogae}) a single + instance, to which the proposition does not apply, is all that is + necessary to overthrow it. This is a controversial method known as the <i>instance</i>—<i>instantia</i>, + {Greek: enstasis}. For example, "all ruminants are horned" is a + proposition which may be upset by the single instance of the camel. The <i>instance</i> + is a case in which a universal truth is sought to be applied, and + something is inserted in the fundamental definition of it which is not + universally true, and by which it is upset. But there is room for mistake; + and when this trick is employed by your opponent, you must observe (1) + whether the example which he gives is really true; for there are problems + of which the only true solution is that the case in point is not true—for + example, many miracles, ghost stories, and so on; and (2) whether it + really comes under the conception of the truth thus stated; for it may + only appear to do so, and the matter is one to be settled by precise + distinctions; and (3) whether it is really inconsistent with this + conception; for this again may be only an apparent inconsistency. + </p> + <h3> + XXVI. + </h3> + <p> + A brilliant move is the <i>retorsio argumenti</i>, or turning of the + tables, by which your opponent's argument is turned against himself. He + declares, for instance, "So-and-so is a child, you must make allowance for + him." You retort, "Just because he is a child, I must correct him; + otherwise he will persist in his bad habits." + </p> + <h3> + XXVII. + </h3> + <p> + Should your opponent surprise you by becoming particularly angry at an + argument, you must urge it with all the more zeal; not only because it is + a good thing to make him angry, but because it may be presumed that you + have here put your finger on the weak side of his case, and that just here + he is more open to attack than even for the moment you perceive. + </p> + <h3> + XXVIII. + </h3> + <p> + This is chiefly practicable in a dispute between scholars in the presence + of the unlearned. If you have no argument <i>ad rem</i>, and none either + <i>ad hominem</i>, you can make one <i>ad auditores</i>; that is to say, + you can start some invalid objection, which, however, only an expert sees + to be invalid. Now your opponent is an expert, but those who form your + audience are not, and accordingly in their eyes he is defeated; + particularly if the objection which you make places him in any ridiculous + light. People are ready to laugh, and you have the laughers on your side. + To show that your objection is an idle one, would require a long + explanation on the part of your opponent, and a reference to the + principles of the branch of knowledge in question, or to the elements of + the matter which you are discussing; and people are not disposed to listen + to it. + </p> + <p> + For example, your opponent states that in the original formation of a + mountain-range the granite and other elements in its composition were, by + reason of their high temperature, in a fluid or molten state; that the + temperature must have amounted to some 480° Fahrenheit; and that when the + mass took shape it was covered by the sea. You reply, by an argument <i>ad + auditores</i>, that at that temperature—nay, indeed, long before it + had been reached, namely, at 212° Fahrenheit—the sea would have been + boiled away, and spread through the air in the form of steam. At this the + audience laughs. To refute the objection, your opponent would have to show + that the boiling-point depends not only on the degree of warmth, but also + on the atmospheric pressure; and that as soon as about half the sea-water + had gone off in the shape of steam, this pressure would be so greatly + increased that the rest of it would fail to boil even at a temperature of + 480°. He is debarred from giving this explanation, as it would require a + treatise to demonstrate the matter to those who had no acquaintance with + physics. + </p> + <h3> + XXIX.{1} + </h3> + <p> + {Footnote 1: See § xviii.} + </p> + <p> + If you find that you are being worsted, you can make a <i>diversion</i>—that + is, you can suddenly begin to talk of something else, as though it had a + bearing on the matter in dispute, and afforded an argument against your + opponent. This may be done without presumption if the diversion has, in + fact, some general bearing on the matter; but it is a piece of impudence + if it has nothing to do with the case, and is only brought in by way of + attacking your opponent. + </p> + <p> + For example, I praised the system prevailing in China, where there is no + such thing as hereditary nobility, and offices are bestowed only on those + who succeed in competitive examinations. My opponent maintained that + learning, as little as the privilege of birth (of which he had a high + opinion) fits a man for office. We argued, and he got the worst of it. + Then he made a diversion, and declared that in China all ranks were + punished with the bastinado, which he connected with the immoderate + indulgence in tea, and proceeded to make both of them a subject of + reproach to the Chinese. To follow him into all this would have been to + allow oneself to be drawn into a surrender of the victory which had + already been won. + </p> + <p> + The diversion is mere impudence if it completely abandons the point in + dispute, and raises, for instance, some such objection as "Yes, and you + also said just now," and so on. For then the argument becomes to some + extent personal; of the kind which will be treated of in the last section. + Strictly speaking, it is half-way between the <i>argumentum ad personam</i>, + which will there be discussed, and the <i>argumentum ad hominem</i>. + </p> + <p> + How very innate this trick is, may be seen in every quarrel between common + people. If one of the parties makes some personal reproach against the + other, the latter, instead of answering it by refuting it, allows it to + stand,—as it were, admits it; and replies by reproaching his + antagonist on some other ground. This is a stratagem like that pursued by + Scipio when he attacked the Carthaginians, not in Italy, but in Africa. In + war, diversions of this kind may be profitable; but in a quarrel they are + poor expedients, because the reproaches remain, and those who look on hear + the worst that can be said of both parties. It is a trick that should be + used only <i>faute de mieux</i>. + </p> + <h3> + XXX. + </h3> + <p> + This is the <i>argumentum ad verecundiam</i>. It consists in making an + appeal to authority rather than reason, and in using such an authority as + may suit the degree of knowledge possessed by your opponent. + </p> + <p> + Every man prefers belief to the exercise of judgment, says Seneca; and it + is therefore an easy matter if you have an authority on your side which + your opponent respects. The more limited his capacity and knowledge, the + greater is the number of the authorities who weigh with him. But if his + capacity and knowledge are of a high order, there are very few; indeed, + hardly any at all. He may, perhaps, admit the authority of professional + men versed in a science or an art or a handicraft of which he knows little + or nothing; but even so he will regard it with suspicion. Contrarily, + ordinary folk have a deep respect for professional men of every kind. They + are unaware that a man who makes a profession of a thing loves it not for + the thing itself, but for the money he makes by it; or that it is rare for + a man who teaches to know his subject thoroughly; for if he studies it as + he ought, he has in most cases no time left in which to teach it. + </p> + <p> + But there are very many authorities who find respect with the mob, and if + you have none that is quite suitable, you can take one that appears to be + so; you may quote what some said in another sense or in other + circumstances. Authorities which your opponent fails to understand are + those of which he generally thinks the most. The unlearned entertain a + peculiar respect for a Greek or a Latin flourish. You may also, should it + be necessary, not only twist your authorities, but actually falsify them, + or quote something which you have invented entirely yourself. As a rule, + your opponent has no books at hand, and could not use them if he had. The + finest illustration of this is furnished by the French <i>curé</i>, who, + to avoid being compelled, like other citizens, to pave the street in front + of his house, quoted a saying which he described as biblical: <i>paveant + illi, ego non pavebo</i>. That was quite enough for the municipal + officers. A universal prejudice may also be used as an authority; for most + people think with Aristotle that that may be said to exist which many + believe. There is no opinion, however absurd, which men will not readily + embrace as soon as they can be brought to the conviction that it is + generally adopted. Example affects their thought just as it affects their + action. They are like sheep following the bell-wether just as he leads + them. They would sooner die than think. It is very curious that the + universality of an opinion should have so much weight with people, as + their own experience might tell them that its acceptance is an entirely + thoughtless and merely imitative process. But it tells them nothing of the + kind, because they possess no self-knowledge whatever. It is only the + elect Who Say with Plato: {Greek: tois pollois polla dokei} which means + that the public has a good many bees in its bonnet, and that it would be a + long business to get at them. + </p> + <p> + But to speak seriously, the universality of an opinion is no proof, nay, + it is not even a probability, that the opinion is right. Those who + maintain that it is so must assume (1) that length of time deprives a + universal opinion of its demonstrative force, as otherwise all the old + errors which were once universally held to be true would have to be + recalled; for instance, the Ptolemaic system would have to be restored, or + Catholicism re-established in all Protestant countries. They must assume + (2) that distance of space has the same effect; otherwise the respective + universality of opinion among the adherents of Buddhism, Christianity, and + Islam will put them in a difficulty. + </p> + <p> + When we come to look into the matter, so-called universal opinion is the + opinion of two or three persons; and we should be persuaded of this if we + could see the way in which it really arises. + </p> + <p> + We should find that it is two or three persons who, in the first instance, + accepted it, or advanced and maintained it; and of whom people were so + good as to believe that they had thoroughly tested it. Then a few other + persons, persuaded beforehand that the first were men of the requisite + capacity, also accepted the opinion. These, again, were trusted by many + others, whose laziness suggested to them that it was better to believe at + once, than to go through the troublesome task of testing the matter for + themselves. Thus the number of these lazy and credulous adherents grew + from day to day; for the opinion had no sooner obtained a fair measure of + support than its further supporters attributed this to the fact that the + opinion could only have obtained it by the cogency of its arguments. The + remainder were then compelled to grant what was universally granted, so as + not to pass for unruly persons who resisted opinions which every one + accepted, or pert fellows who thought themselves cleverer than any one + else. + </p> + <p> + When opinion reaches this stage, adhesion becomes a duty; and henceforward + the few who are capable of forming a judgment hold their peace. Those who + venture to speak are such as are entirely incapable of forming any + opinions or any judgment of their own, being merely the echo of others' + opinions; and, nevertheless, they defend them with all the greater zeal + and intolerance. For what they hate in people who think differently is not + so much the different opinions which they profess, as the presumption of + wanting to form their own judgment; a presumption of which they themselves + are never guilty, as they are very well aware. In short, there are very + few who can think, but every man wants to have an opinion; and what + remains but to take it ready-made from others, instead of forming opinions + for himself? + </p> + <p> + Since this is what happens, where is the value of the opinion even of a + hundred millions? It is no more established than an historical fact + reported by a hundred chroniclers who can be proved to have plagiarised it + from one another; the opinion in the end being traceable to a single + individual.{1} It is all what I say, what you say, and, finally, what he + says; and the whole of it is nothing but a series of assertions: + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: See Bayle's <i>Pensées sur les Comètes</i>, i., p. 10.} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Dico ego, tu dicis, sed denique dixit et ille; + Dictaque post toties, nil nisi dicta vides</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Nevertheless, in a dispute with ordinary people, we may employ universal + opinion as an authority. For it will generally be found that when two of + them are fighting, that is the weapon which both of them choose as a means + of attack. If a man of the better sort has to deal with them, it is most + advisable for him to condescend to the use of this weapon too, and to + select such authorities as will make an impression on his opponent's weak + side. For, <i>ex hypoihesi</i>, he is as insensible to all rational + argument as a horny-hided Siegfried, dipped in the flood of incapacity, + and unable to think or judge. Before a tribunal the dispute is one between + authorities alone,—such authoritative statements, I mean, as are + laid down by legal experts; and here the exercise of judgment consists in + discovering what law or authority applies to the case in question. There + is, however, plenty of room for Dialectic; for should the case in question + and the law not really fit each other, they can, if necessary, be twisted + until they appear to do so, or <i>vice versa</i>. + </p> + <h3> + XXXI. + </h3> + <p> + If you know that you have no reply to the arguments which your opponent + advances, you may, by a fine stroke of irony, declare yourself to be an + incompetent judge: "What you now say passes my poor powers of + comprehension; it may be all very true, but I can't understand it, and I + refrain from any expression of opinion on it." In this way you insinuate + to the bystanders, with whom you are in good repute, that what your + opponent says is nonsense. Thus, when Kant's <i>Kritik</i> appeared, or, + rather, when it began to make a noise in the world, many professors of the + old ecclectic school declared that they failed to understand it, in the + belief that their failure settled the business. But when the adherents of + the new school proved to them that they were quite right, and had really + failed to understand it, they were in a very bad humour. + </p> + <p> + This is a trick which may be used only when you are quite sure that the + audience thinks much better of you that of your opponent. A professor, for + instance may try it on a student. + </p> + <p> + Strictly, it is a case of the preceding trick: it is a particularly + malicious assertion of one's own authority, instead of giving reasons. The + counter-trick is to say: "I beg your pardon; but, with your penetrating + intellect, it must be very easy for you to understand anything; and it can + only be my poor statement of the matter that is at fault"; and then go on + to rub it into him until he understands it <i>nolens volens</i>, and sees + for himself that it was really his own fault alone. In this way you parry + his attack. With the greatest politeness he wanted to insinuate that you + were talking nonsense; and you, with equal courtesy, prove to him that he + is a fool. + </p> + <h3> + XXXII. + </h3> + <p> + If you are confronted with an assertion, there is a short way of getting + rid of it, or, at any rate, of throwing suspicion on it, by putting it + into some odious category; even though the connection is only apparent, or + else of a loose character. You can say, for instance, "That is + Manichasism," or "It is Arianism," or "Pelagianism," or "Idealism," or + "Spinozism," or "Pantheism," or "Brownianism," or "Naturalism," or + "Atheism," or "Rationalism," "Spiritualism," "Mysticism," and so on. In + making an objection of this kind, you take it for granted (1) that the + assertion in question is identical with, or is at least contained in, the + category cited—that is to say, you cry out, "Oh, I have heard that + before"; and (2) that the system referred to has been entirely refuted, + and does not contain a word of truth. + </p> + <h3> + XXXIII. + </h3> + <p> + "That's all very well in theory, but it won't do in practice." In this + sophism you admit the premisses but deny the conclusion, in contradiction + with a well-known rule of logic. The assertion is based upon an + impossibility: what is right in theory <i>must</i> work in practice; and + if it does not, there is a mistake in the theory; something has been + overlooked and not allowed for; and, consequently, what is wrong in + practice is wrong in theory too. + </p> + <h3> + XXXIV. + </h3> + <p> + When you state a question or an argument, and your opponent gives you no + direct answer or reply, but evades it by a counter-question or an indirect + answer, or some assertion which has no bearing on the matter, and, + generally, tries to turn the subject, it is a sure sign that you have + touched a weak spot, sometimes without knowing it. You have, as it were, + reduced him to silence. You must, therefore, urge the point all the more, + and not let your opponent evade it, even when you do not know where the + weakness which you have hit upon really lies. + </p> + <h3> + XXXV. + </h3> + <p> + There is another trick which, as soon as it is practicable, makes all + others unnecessary. Instead of working on your opponent's intellect by + argument, work on his will by motive; and he, and also the audience if + they have similar interests, will at once be won over to your opinion, + even though you got it out of a lunatic asylum; for, as a general rule, + half an ounce of will is more effective than a hundredweight of insight + and intelligence. This, it is true, can be done only under peculiar + circumstances. If you succeed in making your opponent feel that his + opinion, should it prove true, will be distinctly prejudicial to his + interest, he will let it drop like a hot potato, and feel that it was very + imprudent to take it up. + </p> + <p> + A clergyman, for instance, is defending some philosophical dogma; you make + him sensible of the fact that it is in immediate contradiction with one of + the fundamental doctrines of his Church, and he abandons it. + </p> + <p> + A landed proprietor maintains that the use of machinery in agricultural + operations, as practised in England, is an excellent institution, since an + engine does the work of many men. You give him to understand that it will + not be very long before carriages are also worked by steam, and that the + value of his large stud will be greatly depreciated; and you will see what + he will say. + </p> + <p> + In such cases every man feels how thoughtless it is to sanction a law + unjust to himself—<i>quam temere in nosmet legem sancimus iniquam</i>! + Nor is it otherwise if the bystanders, but not your opponent, belong to + the same sect, guild, industry, club, etc., as yourself. Let his thesis be + never so true, as soon as you hint that it is prejudicial to the common + interests of the said society, all the bystanders will find that your + opponent's arguments, however excellent they be, are weak and + contemptible; and that yours, on the other hand, though they were random + conjecture, are correct and to the point; you will have a chorus of loud + approval on your side, and your opponent will be driven out of the field + with ignominy. Nay, the bystanders will believe, as a rule, that they have + agreed with you out of pure conviction. For what is not to our interest + mostly seems absurd to us; our intellect being no <i>siccum lumen</i>. + This trick might be called "taking the tree by its root"; its usual name + is the <i>argumentum ab utili</i>. + </p> + <h3> + XXXVI. + </h3> + <p> + You may also puzzle and bewilder your opponent by mere bombast; and the + trick is possible, because a man generally supposes that there must be + some meaning in words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Gewöhnlich glaubt der Mensch, wenn er nur Worte hört, + Es müsse sich dabei doch auch was denken lassen</i>. +</pre> + <p> + If he is secretly conscious of his own weakness, and accustomed to hear + much that he does not understand, and to make as though he did, you can + easily impose upon him by some serious fooling that sounds very deep or + learned, and deprives him of hearing, sight, and thought; and by giving + out that it is the most indisputable proof of what you assert. It is a + well-known fact that in recent times some philosophers have practised this + trick on the whole of the public with the most brilliant success. But + since present examples are odious, we may refer to <i>The Vicar of + Wakefield</i> for an old one. + </p> + <h3> + XXXVII. + </h3> + <p> + Should your opponent be in the right, but, luckily for your contention, + choose a faulty proof, you can easily manage to refute it, and then claim + that you have thus refuted his whole position. This is a trick which ought + to be one of the first; it is, at bottom, an expedient by which an <i>argumentum + ad hominem</i> is put forward as an <i>argumentum ad rem</i>. If no + accurate proof occurs to him or to the bystanders, you have won the day. + For example, if a man advances the ontological argument by way of proving + God's existence, you can get the best of him, for the ontological argument + may easily be refuted. This is the way in which bad advocates lose a good + case, by trying to justify it by an authority which does not fit it, when + no fitting one occurs to them. + </p> + <h3> + XXXVIII. + </h3> + <p> + A last trick is to become personal, insulting, rude, as soon as you + perceive that your opponent has the upper hand, and that you are going to + come off worst. It consists in passing from the subject of dispute, as + from a lost game, to the disputant himself, and in some way attacking his + person. It may be called the <i>argumentum ad personam</i>, to distinguish + it from the <i>argumentum ad hominem</i>, which passes from the objective + discussion of the subject pure and simple to the statements or admissions + which your opponent has made in regard to it. But in becoming personal you + leave the subject altogether, and turn your attack to his person, by + remarks of an offensive and spiteful character. It is an appeal from the + virtues of the intellect to the virtues of the body, or to mere animalism. + This is a very popular trick, because every one is able to carry it into + effect; and so it is of frequent application. Now the question is, What + counter-trick avails for the other party? for if he has recourse to the + same rule, there will be blows, or a duel, or an action for slander. + </p> + <p> + It would be a great mistake to suppose that it is sufficient not to become + personal yourself. For by showing a man quite quietly that he is wrong, + and that what he says and thinks is incorrect—a process which occurs + in every dialectical victory—you embitter him more than if you used + some rude or insulting expression. Why is this? Because, as Hobbes + observes,{1} all mental pleasure consists in being able to compare oneself + with others to one's own advantage. Nothing is of greater moment to a man + than the gratification of his vanity, and no wound is more painful than + that which is inflicted on it. Hence such phrases as "Death before + dishonour," and so on. The gratification of vanity arises mainly by + comparison of oneself with others, in every respect, but chiefly in + respect of one's intellectual powers; and so the most effective and the + strongest gratification of it is to be found in controversy. Hence the + embitterment of defeat, apart from any question of injustice; and hence + recourse to that last weapon, that last trick, which you cannot evade by + mere politeness. A cool demeanour may, however, help you here, if, as soon + as your opponent becomes personal, you quietly reply, "That has no bearing + on the point in dispute," and immediately bring the conversation back to + it, and continue to show him that he is wrong, without taking any notice + of his insults. Say, as Themistocles said to Eurybiades—<i>Strike, + but hear me</i>. But such demeanour is not given to every one. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Elementa philosophica de Cive</i>.} + </p> + <p> + As a sharpening of wits, controversy is often, indeed, of mutual + advantage, in order to correct one's thoughts and awaken new views. But in + learning and in mental power both disputants must be tolerably equal. If + one of them lacks learning, he will fail to understand the other, as he is + not on the same level with his antagonist. If he lacks mental power, he + will be embittered, and led into dishonest tricks, and end by being rude. + </p> + <p> + The only safe rule, therefore, is that which Aristotle mentions in the + last chapter of his <i>Topica</i>: not to dispute with the first person + you meet, but only with those of your acquaintance of whom you know that + they possess sufficient intelligence and self-respect not to advance + absurdities; to appeal to reason and not to authority, and to listen to + reason and yield to it; and, finally, to cherish truth, to be willing to + accept reason even from an opponent, and to be just enough to bear being + proved to be in the wrong, should truth lie with him. From this it follows + that scarcely one man in a hundred is worth your disputing with him. You + may let the remainder say what they please, for every one is at liberty to + be a fool—<i>desipere est jus gentium</i>. Remember what Voltaire + says: <i>La paix vaut encore mieux que la vérité</i>. Remember also an + Arabian proverb which tells us that <i>on the tree of silence there hangs + its fruit, which is peace</i>. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE COMPARATIVE PLACE OF INTEREST AND BEAUTY IN WORKS OF ART. + </h2> + <p> + In the productions of poetic genius, especially of the epic and dramatic + kind, there is, apart from Beauty, another quality which is attractive: I + mean Interest. + </p> + <p> + The beauty of a work of art consists in the fact that it holds up a clear + mirror to certain <i>ideas</i> inherent in the world in general; the + beauty of a work of poetic art in particular is that it renders the ideas + inherent in mankind, and thereby leads it to a knowledge of these ideas. + The means which poetry uses for this end are the exhibition of significant + characters and the invention of circumstances which will bring about + significant situations, giving occasion to the characters to unfold their + peculiarities and show what is in them; so that by some such + representation a clearer and fuller knowledge of the many-sided idea of + humanity may be attained. Beauty, however, in its general aspect, is the + inseparable characteristic of the idea when it has become known. In other + words, everything is beautiful in which an idea is revealed; for to be + beautiful means no more than clearly to express an idea. + </p> + <p> + Thus we perceive that beauty is always an affair of <i>knowledge</i>, and + that it appeals to <i>the knowing subject</i>, and not to <i>the will</i>; + nay, it is a fact that the apprehension of beauty on the part of the + subject involves a complete suppression of the will. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, we call drama or descriptive poetry interesting when it + represents events and actions of a kind which necessarily arouse concern + or sympathy, like that which we feel in real events involving our own + person. The fate of the person represented in them is felt in just the + same fashion as our own: we await the development of events with anxiety; + we eagerly follow their course; our hearts quicken when the hero is + threatened; our pulse falters as the danger reaches its acme, and throbs + again when he is suddenly rescued. Until we reach the end of the story we + cannot put the book aside; we lie away far into the night sympathising + with our hero's troubles as though they were our own. Nay, instead of + finding pleasure and recreation in such representations, we should feel + all the pain which real life often inflicts upon us, or at least the kind + which pursues us in our uneasy dreams, if in the act of reading or looking + at the stage we had not the firm ground of reality always beneath our + feet. As it is, in the stress of a too violent feeling, we can find relief + from the illusion of the moment, and then give way to it again at will. + Moreover, we can gain this relief without any such violent transition as + occurs in a dream, when we rid ourselves of its terrors only by the act of + awaking. + </p> + <p> + It is obvious that what is affected by poetry of this character is our <i>will</i>, + and not merely our intellectual powers pure and simple. The word <i>interest</i> + means, therefore, that which arouses the concern of the individual will, + <i>quod nostrâ interest</i>; and here it is that beauty is clearly + distinguished from interest. The one is an affair of the intellect, and + that, too, of the purest and simplest kind. The other works upon the will. + Beauty, then, consists in an apprehension of ideas; and knowledge of this + character is beyond the range of the principle that nothing happens + without a cause. Interest, on the other hand, has its origin nowhere but + in the course of events; that is to say, in the complexities which are + possible only through the action of this principle in its different forms. + </p> + <p> + We have now obtained a clear conception of the essential difference + between the beauty and the interest of a work of art. We have recognised + that beauty is the true end of every art, and therefore, also, of the + poetic art. It now remains to raise the question whether the interest of a + work of art is a second end, or a means to the exhibition of its beauty; + or whether the interest of it is produced by its beauty as an essential + concomitant, and comes of itself as soon as it is beautiful; or whether + interest is at any rate compatible with the main end of art; or, finally, + whether it is a hindrance to it. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, it is to be observed that the interest of a work of + art is confined to works of poetic art. It does not exist in the case of + fine art, or of music or architecture. Nay, with these forms of art it is + not even conceivable, unless, indeed, the interest be of an entirely + personal character, and confined to one or two spectators; as, for + example, where a picture is a portrait of some one whom we love or hate; + the building, my house or my prison; the music, my wedding dance, or the + tune to which I marched to the war. Interest of this kind is clearly quite + foreign to the essence and purpose of art; it disturbs our judgment in so + far as it makes the purely artistic attitude impossible. It may be, + indeed, that to a smaller extent this is true of all interest. + </p> + <p> + Now, since the interest of a work of art lies in the fact that we have the + same kind of sympathy with a poetic representation as with reality, it is + obvious that the representation must deceive us for the moment; and this + it can do only by its truth. But truth is an element in perfect art. A + picture, a poem, should be as true as nature itself; but at the same time + it should lay stress on whatever forms the unique character of its subject + by drawing out all its essential manifestations, and by rejecting + everything that is unessential and accidental. The picture or the poem + will thus emphasize its <i>idea</i>, and give us that <i>ideal truth</i> + which is superior to nature. + </p> + <p> + <i>Truth</i>, then, forms the point that is common both to interest and + beauty in a work of art, as it is its truth which produces the illusion. + The fact that the truth of which I speak is <i>ideal truth</i> might, + indeed, be detrimental to the illusion, since it is just here that we have + the general difference between poetry and reality, art and nature. But + since it is possible for reality to coincide with the ideal, it is not + actually necessary that this difference should destroy the illusion. In + the case of fine arts there is, in the range of the means which art + adopts, a certain limit, and beyond it illusion is impossible. Sculpture, + that is to say, gives us mere colourless form; its figures are without + eyes and without movement; and painting provides us with no more than a + single view, enclosed within strict limits, which separate the picture + from the adjacent reality. Here, then, there is no room for illusion, and + consequently none for that interest or sympathy which resembles the + interest we have in reality; the will is at once excluded, and the object + alone is presented to us in a manner that frees it from any personal + concern. + </p> + <p> + It is a highly remarkable fact that a spurious kind of fine art oversteps + these limits, produces an illusion of reality, and arouses our interest; + but at the same time it destroys the effect which fine art produces, and + serves as nothing but a mere means of exhibiting the beautiful, that is, + of communicating a knowledge of the ideas which it embodies. I refer to <i>waxwork</i>. + Here, we might say, is the dividing line which separates it from the + province of fine art. When waxwork is properly executed, it produces a + perfect illusion; but for that very reason we approach a wax figure as we + approach a real man, who, as such, is for the moment an object presented + to our will. That is to say, he is an object of interest; he arouses the + will, and consequently stills the intellect. We come up to a wax figure + with the same reserve and caution as a real man would inspire in us: our + will is excited; it waits to see whether he is going to be friendly to us, + or the reverse, fly from us, or attack us; in a word, it expects some + action of him. But as the figure, nevertheless, shows no sign of life, it + produces the impression which is so very disagreeable, namely, of a + corpse. This is a case where the interest is of the most complete kind, + and yet where there is no work of art at all. In other words, interest is + not in itself a real end of art. + </p> + <p> + The same truth is illustrated by the fact that even in poetry it is only + the dramatic and descriptive kind to which interest attaches; for if + interest were, with beauty, the aim of art, poetry of the lyrical kind + would, for that very reason, not take half so great a position as the + other two. + </p> + <p> + In the second place, if interest were a means in the production of beauty, + every interesting work would also be beautiful. That, however, is by no + means the case. A drama or a novel may often attract us by its interest, + and yet be so utterly deficient in any kind of beauty that we are + afterwards ashamed of having wasted our time on it. This applies to many a + drama which gives no true picture of the real life of man; which contains + characters very superficially drawn, or so distorted as to be actual + monstrosities, such as are not to be found in nature; but the course of + events and the play of the action are so intricate, and we feel so much + for the hero in the situation in which he is placed, that we are not + content until we see the knot untangled and the hero rescued. The action + is so cleverly governed and guided in its course that we remain in a state + of constant curiosity as to what is going to happen, and we are utterly + unable to form a guess; so that between eagerness and surprise our + interest is kept active; and as we are pleasantly entertained, we do not + notice the lapse of time. Most of Kotzebue's plays are of this character. + For the mob this is the right thing: it looks for amusement, something to + pass the time, not for intellectual perception. Beauty is an affair of + such perception; hence sensibility to beauty varies as much as the + intellectual faculties themselves. For the inner truth of a + representation, and its correspondence with the real nature of humanity, + the mob has no sense at all. What is flat and superficial it can grasp, + but the depths of human nature are opened to it in vain. + </p> + <p> + It is also to be observed that dramatic representations which depend for + their value on their interest lose by repetition, because they are no + longer able to arouse curiosity as to their course, since it is already + known. To see them often, makes them stale and tedious. On the other hand, + works of which the value lies in their beauty gain by repetition, as they + are then more and more understood. + </p> + <p> + Most novels are on the same footing as dramatic representations of this + character. They are creatures of the same sort of imagination as we see in + the story-teller of Venice and Naples, who lays a hat on the ground and + waits until an audience is assembled. Then he spins a tale which so + captivates his hearers that, when he gets to the catastrophe, he makes a + round of the crowd, hat in hand, for contributions, without the least fear + that his hearers will slip away. Similar story-tellers ply their trade in + this country, though in a less direct fashion. They do it through the + agency of publishers and circulating libraries. Thus they can avoid going + about in rags, like their colleagues elsewhere; they can offer the + children of their imagination to the public under the title of novels, + short stories, romantic poems, fairy tales, and so on; and the public, in + a dressing-gown by the fireside, sits down more at its ease, but also with + a greater amount of patience, to the enjoyment of the interest which they + provide. + </p> + <p> + How very little aesthetic value there generally is in productions of this + sort is well known; and yet it cannot be denied that many of them are + interesting; or else how could they be so popular? + </p> + <p> + We see, then, in reply to our second question, that interest does not + necessarily involve beauty; and, conversely, it is true that beauty does + not necessarily involve interest. Significant characters may be + represented, that open up the depths of human nature, and it may all be + expressed in actions and sufferings of an exceptional kind, so that the + real nature of humanity and the world may stand forth in the picture in + the clearest and most forcible lines; and yet no high degree of interest + may be excited in the course of events by the continued progress of the + action, or by the complexity and unexpected solution of the plot. The + immortal masterpieces of Shakespeare contain little that excites interest; + the action does not go forward in one straight line, but falters, as in <i>Hamlet</i>, + all through the play; or else it spreads out in breadth, as in <i>The + Merchant of Venice</i>, whereas length is the proper dimension of + interest; or the scenes hang loosely together, as in <i>Henry IV</i>. Thus + it is that Shakespeare's dramas produce no appreciable effect on the mob. + </p> + <p> + The dramatic requirement stated by Aristotle, and more particularly the + unity of action, have in view the interest of the piece rather than its + artistic beauty. It may be said, generally, that these requirements are + drawn up in accordance with the principle of sufficient reason to which I + have referred above. We know, however, that the <i>idea</i>, and, + consequently, the beauty of a work of art, exist only for the perceptive + intelligence which has freed itself from the domination of that principle. + It is just here that we find the distinction between interest and beauty; + as it is obvious that interest is part and parcel of the mental attitude + which is governed by the principle, whereas beauty is always beyond its + range. The best and most striking refutation of the Aristotelian unities + is Manzoni's. It may be found in the preface to his dramas. + </p> + <p> + What is true of Shakespeare's dramatic works is true also of Goethe's. + Even <i>Egmont</i> makes little effect on the public, because it contains + scarcely any complication or development; and if <i>Egmont</i> fails, what + are we to say of <i>Tasso</i> or <i>Iphigenia</i>? That the Greek + tragedians did not look to interest as a means of working upon the public, + is clear from the fact that the material of their masterpieces was almost + always known to every one: they selected events which had often been + treated dramatically before. This shows us how sensitive was the Greek + public to the beautiful, as it did not require the interest of unexpected + events and new stories to season its enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + Neither does the quality of interest often attach to masterpieces of + descriptive poetry. Father Homer lays the world and humanity before us in + its true nature, but he takes no trouble to attract our sympathy by a + complexity of circumstance, or to surprise us by unexpected entanglements. + His pace is lingering; he stops at every scene; he puts one picture after + another tranquilly before us, elaborating it with care. We experience no + passionate emotion in reading him; our demeanour is one of pure perceptive + intelligence; he does not arouse our will, but sings it to rest; and it + costs us no effort to break off in our reading, for we are not in + condition of eager curiosity. This is all still more true of Dante, whose + work is not, in the proper sense of the word, an epic, but a descriptive + poem. The same thing may be said of the four immortal romances: <i>Don + Quixote, Tristram Shandy, La Nouvelle Heloïse</i>, and <i>Wilhelm Meister</i>. + To arouse our interest is by no means the chief aim of these works; in <i>Tristram + Shandy</i> the hero, even at the end of the book, is only eight years of + age. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, we must not venture to assert that the quality of + interest is not to be found in masterpieces of literature. We have it in + Schiller's dramas in an appreciable degree, and consequently they are + popular; also in the <i>Oedipus Rex</i> of Sophocles. Amongst masterpieces + of description, we find it in Ariosto's <i>Orlando Furioso</i>; nay, an + example of a high degree of interest, bound up with the beautiful, is + afforded in an excellent novel by Walter Scott—<i>The Heart of + Midlothian</i>. This is the most interesting work of fiction that I know, + where all the effects due to interest, as I have given them generally in + the preceding remarks, may be most clearly observed. At the same time it + is a very beautiful romance throughout; it shows the most varied pictures + of life, drawn with striking truth; and it exhibits highly different + characters with great justice and fidelity. + </p> + <p> + Interest, then, is certainly compatible with beauty. That was our third + question. Nevertheless, a comparatively small admixture of the element of + interest may well be found to be most advantageous as far as beauty is + concerned; for beauty is and remains the end of art. Beauty is in twofold + opposition with interest; firstly, because it lies in the perception of + the idea, and such perception takes its object entirely out of the range + of the forms enunciated by the principle of sufficient reason; whereas + interest has its sphere mainly in circumstance, and it is out of this + principle that the complexity of circumstance arises. Secondly, interest + works by exciting the will; whereas beauty exists only for the pure + perceptive intelligence, which has no will. However, with dramatic and + descriptive literature an admixture of interest is necessary, just as a + volatile and gaseous substance requires a material basis if it is to be + preserved and transferred. The admixture is necessary, partly, indeed, + because interest is itself created by the events which have to be devised + in order to set the characters in motion; partly because our minds would + be weary of watching scene after scene if they had no concern for us, or + of passing from one significant picture to another if we were not drawn on + by some secret thread. It is this that we call interest; it is the + sympathy which the event in itself forces us to feel, and which, by + riveting our attention, makes the mind obedient to the poet, and able to + follow him into all the parts of his story. + </p> + <p> + If the interest of a work of art is sufficient to achieve this result, it + does all that can be required of it; for its only service is to connect + the pictures by which the poet desires to communicate a knowledge of the + idea, as if they were pearls, and interest were the thread that holds them + together, and makes an ornament out of the whole. But interest is + prejudicial to beauty as soon as it oversteps this limit; and this is the + case if we are so led away by the interest of a work that whenever we come + to any detailed description in a novel, or any lengthy reflection on the + part of a character in a drama, we grow impatient and want to put spurs to + our author, so that we may follow the development of events with greater + speed. Epic and dramatic writings, where beauty and interest are both + present in a high degree, may be compared to the working of a watch, where + interest is the spring which keeps all the wheels in motion. If it worked + unhindered, the watch would run down in a few minutes. Beauty, holding us + in the spell of description and reflection, is like the barrel which + checks its movement. + </p> + <p> + Or we may say that interest is the body of a poetic work, and beauty the + soul. In the epic and the drama, interest, as a necessary quality of the + action, is the matter; and beauty, the form that requires the matter in + order to be visible. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS. + </h2> + <p> + In the moment when a great affliction overtakes us, we are hurt to find + that the world about us is unconcerned and goes its own way. As Goethe + says in <i>Tasso</i>, how easily it leaves us helpless and alone, and + continues its course like the sun and the moon and the other gods: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>... die Welt, wie sie so leicht, + Uns hülflos, einsam lässt, und ihren Weg, + Wie Sonn' und Mond und andre Götter geht</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Nay more! it is something intolerable that even we ourselves have to go on + with the mechanical round of our daily business, and that thousands of our + own actions are and must be unaffected by the pain that throbs within us. + And so, to restore the harmony between our outward doings and our inward + feelings, we storm and shout, and tear our hair, and stamp with pain or + rage. + </p> + <p> + Our temperament is so <i>despotic</i> that we are not satisfied unless we + draw everything into our own life, and force all the world to sympathise + with us. The only way of achieving this would be to win the love of + others, so that the afflictions which oppress our own hearts might oppress + theirs as well. Since that is attended with some difficulty, we often + choose the shorter way, and blab out our burden of woe to people who do + not care, and listen with curiosity, but without sympathy, and much + oftener with satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + Speech and the communication of thought, which, in their mutual relations, + are always attended by a slight impulse on the part of the will, are + almost a physical necessity. Sometimes, however, the lower animals + entertain me much more than the average man. For, in the first place, what + can such a man say? It is only conceptions, that is, the driest of ideas, + that can be communicated by means of words; and what sort of conceptions + has the average man to communicate, if he does not merely tell a story or + give a report, neither of which makes conversation? The greatest charm of + conversation is the mimetic part of it,—the character that is + manifested, be it never so little. Take the best of men; how little he can + <i>say</i> of what goes on within him, since it is only conceptions that + are communicable; and yet a conversation with a clever man is one of the + greatest of pleasures. + </p> + <p> + It is not only that ordinary men have little to say, but what intellect + they have puts them in the way of concealing and distorting it; and it is + the necessity of practising this concealment that gives them such a + pitiable character; so that what they exhibit is not even the little that + they have, but a mask and disguise. The lower animals, which have no + reason, can conceal nothing; they are altogether <i>naïve</i>, and + therefore very entertaining, if we have only an eye for the kind of + communications which they make. They speak not with words, but with shape + and structure, and manner of life, and the things they set about; they + express themselves, to an intelligent observer, in a very pleasing and + entertaining fashion. It is a varied life that is presented to him, and + one that in its manifestation is very different from his own; and yet + essentially it is the same. He sees it in its simple form, when reflection + is excluded; for with the lower animals life is lived wholly in and for + the present moment: it is the present that the animal grasps; it has no + care, or at least no conscious care, for the morrow, and no fear of death; + and so it is wholly taken up with life and living. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The conversation among ordinary people, when it does not relate to any + special matter of fact, but takes a more general character, mostly + consists in hackneyed commonplaces, which they alternately repeat to each + other with the utmost complacency.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Translator's Note</i>.—This observation is in + Schopenhauer's own English.} + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Some men can despise any blessing as soon as they cease to possess it; + others only when they have obtained it. The latter are the more unhappy, + and the nobler, of the two. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + When the aching heart grieves no more over any particular object, but is + oppressed by life as a whole, it withdraws, as it were, into itself. There + is here a retreat and gradual extinction of the will, whereby the body, + which is the manifestation of the will, is slowly but surely undermined; + and the individual experiences a steady dissolution of his bonds,—a + quiet presentiment of death. Hence the heart which aches has a secret joy + of its own; and it is this, I fancy, which the English call "the joy of + grief." + </p> + <p> + The pain that extends to life as a whole, and loosens our hold on it, is + the only pain that is really <i>tragic</i>. That which attaches to + particular objects is a will that is broken, but not resigned; it exhibits + the struggle and inner contradiction of the will and of life itself; and + it is comic, be it never so violent. It is like the pain of the miser at + the loss of his hoard. Even though pain of the tragic kind proceeds from a + single definite object, it does not remain there; it takes the separate + affliction only as a <i>symbol</i> of life as a whole, and transfers it + thither. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <i>Vexation</i> is the attitude of the individual as intelligence towards + the check imposed upon a strong manifestation of the individual as will. + There are two ways of avoiding it: either by repressing the violence of + the will—in other words, by virtue; or by keeping the intelligence + from dwelling upon the check—in other words, by Stoicism. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + To win the favour of a very beautiful woman by one's personality alone is + perhaps a greater satisfaction to one's vanity than to anything else; for + it is an assurance that one's personality is an equivalent for the person + that is treasured and desired and defied above all others. Hence it is + that despised love is so great a pang, especially when it is associated + with well-founded jealousy. + </p> + <p> + With this joy and this pain, it is probable that vanity is more largely + concerned than the senses, because it is only the things of the mind, and + not mere sensuality, that produce such violent convulsions. The lower + animals are familiar with lust, but not with the passionate pleasures and + pains of love. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + To be suddenly placed in a strange town or country where the manner of + life, possibly even the language, is very different from our own, is, at + the first moment, like stepping into cold water. We are brought into + sudden contact with a new temperature, and we feel a powerful and superior + influence from without which affects us uncomfortably. We find ourselves + in a strange element, where we cannot move with ease; and, over and above + that, we have the feeling that while everything strikes us as strange, we + ourselves strike others in the same way. But as soon as we are a little + composed and reconciled to our surroundings, as soon as we have + appropriated some of its temperature, we feel an extraordinary sense of + satisfaction, as in bathing in cool water; we assimilate ourselves to the + new element, and cease to have any necessary pre-occupation with our + person. We devote our attention undisturbed to our environment, to which + we now feel ourselves superior by being able to view it in an objective + and disinterested fashion, instead of being oppressed by it, as before. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + When we are on a journey, and all kinds of remarkable objects press + themselves on our attention, the intellectual food which we receive is + often so large in amount that we have no time for digestion; and we regret + that the impressions which succeed one another so quickly leave no + permanent trace. But at bottom it is the same with travelling as with + reading. How often do we complain that we cannot remember one thousandth + part of what we read! In both cases, however, we may console ourselves + with the reflection that the things we see and read make an impression on + the mind before they are forgotten, and so contribute to its formation and + nurture; while that which we only remember does no more than stuff it and + puff it out, filling up its hollows with matter that will always be + strange to it, and leaving it in itself a blank. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It is the very many and varied forms in which human life is presented to + us on our travels that make them entertaining. But we never see more than + its outside, such as is everywhere open to public view and accessible to + strangers. On the other hand, human life on its inside, the heart and + centre, where it lives and moves and shows its character, and in + particular that part of the inner side which could be seen at home amongst + our relatives, is not seen; we have exchanged it for the outer side. This + is why on our travels we see the world like a painted landscape, with a + very wide horizon, but no foreground; and why, in time, we get tired of + it. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + One man is more concerned with the impression which he makes upon the rest + of mankind; another, with the impression which the rest of mankind makes + upon him. The disposition of the one is subjective; of the other, + objective; the one is, in the whole of his existence, more in the nature + of an idea which is merely presented; the other, more of the being who + presents it. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A woman (with certain exceptions which need not be mentioned) will not + take the first step with a man; for in spite of all the beauty she may + have, she risks a refusal. A man may be ill in mind or body, or busy, or + gloomy, and so not care for advances; and a refusal would be a blow to her + vanity. But as soon as he takes the first step, and helps her over this + danger, he stands on a footing of equality with her, and will generally + find her quite tractable. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The praise with which many men speak of their wives is really given to + their own judgment in selecting them. This arises, perhaps, from a feeling + of the truth of the saying, that a man shows what he is by the way in + which he dies, and by the choice of his wife. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + If education or warning were of any avail, how could Seneca's pupil be a + Nero? + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The Pythagorean{1} principle that <i>like is known only by like</i> is in + many respects a true one. It explains how it is that every man understands + his fellow only in so far as he resembles him, or, at least, is of a + similar character. What one man is quite sure of perceiving in another is + that which is common to all, namely, the vulgar, petty or mean elements of + our nature; here every man has a perfect understanding of his fellows; but + the advantage which one man has over another does not exist for the other, + who, be the talents in question as extraordinary as they may, will never + see anything beyond what he possesses himself, for the very good reason + that this is all he wants to see. If there is anything on which he is in + doubt, it will give him a vague sense of fear, mixed with pique; because + it passes his comprehension, and therefore is uncongenial to him. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: See Porphyry, <i>de Vita Pythagorae</i>.} + </p> + <p> + This is why it is mind alone that understands mind; why works of genius + are wholly understood and valued only by a man of genius, and why it must + necessarily be a long time before they indirectly attract attention at the + hands of the crowd, for whom they will never, in any true sense, exist. + This, too, is why one man will look another in the face, with the impudent + assurance that he will never see anything but a miserable resemblance of + himself; and this is just what he will see, as he cannot grasp anything + beyond it. Hence the bold way in which one man will contradict another. + Finally, it is for the same reason that great superiority of mind isolates + a man, and that those of high gifts keep themselves aloof from the vulgar + (and that means every one); for if they mingle with the crowd, they can + communicate only such parts of them as they share with the crowd, and so + make themselves <i>common</i>. Nay, even though they possess some + well-founded and authoritative reputation amongst the crowd, they are not + long in losing it, together with any personal weight it may give them, + since all are blind to the qualities on which it is based, but have their + eyes open to anything that is vulgar and common to themselves. They soon + discover the truth of the Arabian proverb: <i>Joke with a slave, and he'll + show you his heels</i>. + </p> + <p> + It also follows that a man of high gifts, in his intercourse with others, + must always reflect that the best part of him is out of sight in the + clouds; so that if he desires to know accurately how much he can be to any + one else, he has only to consider how much the man in question is to him. + This, as a rule, is precious little; and therefore he is as uncongenial to + the other, as the other to him. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Goethe says somewhere that man is not without a vein of veneration. To + satisfy this impulse to venerate, even in those who have no sense for what + is really worthy, substitutes are provided in the shape of princes and + princely families, nobles, titles, orders, and money-bags. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Vague longing and boredom are close akin. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + When a man is dead, we envy him no more; and we only half envy him when he + is old. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Misanthropy and love of solitude are convertible ideas. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + In chess, the object of the game, namely, to checkmate one's opponent, is + of arbitrary adoption; of the possible means of attaining it, there is a + great number; and according as we make a prudent use of them, we arrive at + our goal. We enter on the game of our own choice. + </p> + <p> + Nor is it otherwise with human life, only that here the entrance is not of + our choosing, but is forced on us; and the object, which is to live and + exist, seems, indeed, at times as though it were of arbitrary adoption, + and that we could, if necessary, relinquish it. Nevertheless it is, in the + strict sense of the word, a natural object; that is to say, we cannot + relinquish it without giving up existence itself. If we regard our + existence as the work of some arbitrary power outside us, we must, indeed, + admire the cunning by which that creative mind has succeeded in making us + place so much value on an object which is only momentary and must of + necessity be laid aside very soon, and which we see, moreover, on + reflection, to be altogether vanity—in making, I say, this object so + dear to us that we eagerly exert all our strength in working at it; + although we knew that as soon as the game is over, the object will exist + for us no longer, and that, on the whole, we cannot say what it is that + makes it so attractive. Nay, it seems to be an object as arbitrarily + adopted as that of checkmating our opponent's king; and, nevertheless, we + are always intent on the means of attaining it, and think and brood over + nothing else. It is clear that the reason of it is that our intellect is + only capable of looking outside, and has no power at all of looking + within; and, since this is so, we have come to the conclusion that we must + make the best of it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE WISDOM OF LIFE: APHORISMS. + </h2> + <p> + The simple Philistine believes that life is something infinite and + unconditioned, and tries to look upon it and live it as though it left + nothing to be desired. By method and principle the learned Philistine does + the same: he believes that his methods and his principles are + unconditionally perfect and objectively valid; so that as soon as he has + found them, he has nothing to do but apply them to circumstances, and then + approve or condemn. But happiness and truth are not to be seized in this + fashion. It is phantoms of them alone that are sent to us here, to stir us + to action; the average man pursues the shadow of happiness with unwearied + labour; and the thinker, the shadow of truth; and both, though phantoms + are all they have, possess in them as much as they can grasp. Life is a + language in which certain truths are conveyed to us; could we learn them + in some other way, we should not live. Thus it is that wise sayings and + prudential maxims will never make up for the lack of experience, or be a + substitute for life itself. Still they are not to be despised; for they, + too, are a part of life; nay, they should be highly esteemed and regarded + as the loose pages which others have copied from the book of truth as it + is imparted by the spirit of the world. But they are pages which must + needs be imperfect, and can never replace the real living voice. Still + less can this be so when we reflect that life, or the book of truth, + speaks differently to us all; like the apostles who preached at Pentecost, + and instructed the multitude, appearing to each man to speak in his own + tongue. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Recognise the truth in yourself, recognise yourself in the truth; and in + the same moment you will find, to your astonishment, that the home which + you have long been looking for in vain, which has filled your most ardent + dreams, is there in its entirety, with every detail of it true, in the + very place where you stand. It is there that your heaven touches your + earth. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + What makes us almost inevitably ridiculous is our serious way of treating + the passing moment, as though it necessarily had all the importance which + it seems to have. It is only a few great minds that are above this + weakness, and, instead of being laughed at, have come to laugh themselves. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The bright and good moments of our life ought to teach us how to act + aright when we are melancholy and dull and stupid, by preserving the + memory of their results; and the melancholy, dull, and stupid moments + should teach us to be modest when we are bright. For we generally value + ourselves according to our best and brightest moments; and those in which + we are weak and dull and miserable, we regard as no proper part of us. To + remember them will teach us to be modest, humble, and tolerant. + </p> + <p> + Mark my words once for all, my dear friend, and be clever. Men are + entirely self-centred, and incapable of looking at things objectively. If + you had a dog and wanted to make him fond of you, and fancied that of your + hundred rare and excellent characteristics the mongrel would be sure to + perceive one, and that that would be sufficient to make him devoted to you + body and soul—if, I say, you fancied that, you would be a fool. Pat + him, give him something to eat; and for the rest, be what you please: he + will not in the least care, but will be your faithful and devoted dog. + Now, believe me, it is just the same with men—exactly the same. As + Goethe says, man or dog, it is a miserable wretch: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Denn ein erbärmlicher Schuft, so wie der Mensch, ist der hund</i>. +</pre> + <p> + If you ask why these contemptible fellows are so lucky, it is just + because, in themselves and for themselves and to themselves, they are + nothing at all. The value which they possess is merely comparative; they + exist only for others; they are never more than means; they are never an + end and object in themselves; they are mere bait, set to catch others.{1} + I do not admit that this rule is susceptible of any exception, that is to + say, complete exceptions. There are, it is true, men—though they are + sufficiently rare—who enjoy some subjective moments; nay, there are + perhaps some who for every hundred subjective moments enjoy a few that are + objective; but a higher state of perfection scarcely ever occurs. But do + not take yourself for an exception: examine your love, your friendship, + and consider if your objective judgments are not mostly subjective + judgments in disguise; consider if you duly recognise the good qualities + of a man who is not fond of you. Then be tolerant: confound it! it's your + duty. As you are all so self-centred, recognise your own weakness. You + know that you cannot like a man who does not show himself friendly to you; + you know that he cannot do so for any length of time unless he likes you, + and that he cannot like you unless you show that you are friendly to him; + then do it: your false friendliness will gradually become a true one. Your + own weakness and subjectivity must have some illusion. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: All this is very euphemistically expressed in the Sophoclean + verse: + </p> + <p> + (Greek: <i>charis charin gar estin ha tiktous aei</i>)} + </p> + <p> + This is really an <i>à priori</i> justification of politeness; but I could + give a still deeper reason for it. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Consider that chance, which, with error, its brother, and folly, its aunt, + and malice, its grandmother, rules in this world; which every year and + every day, by blows great and small, embitters the life of every son of + earth, and yours too; consider, I say, that it is to this wicked power + that you owe your prosperity and independence; for it gave you what it + refused to many thousands, just to be able to give it to individuals like + you. Remembering all this, you will not behave as though you had a right + to the possession of its gifts; but you will perceive what a capricious + mistress it is that gives you her favours; and therefore when she takes it + into her head to deprive you of some or all of them, you will not make a + great fuss about her injustice; but you will recognise that what chance + gave, chance has taken away; if needs be, you will observe that this power + is not quite so favourable to you as she seemed to be hitherto. Why, she + might have disposed not only of what she gave you, but also of your honest + and hard-earned gains. + </p> + <p> + But if chance still remains so favourable to you as to give you more than + almost all others whose path in life you may care to examine, oh! be + happy; do not struggle for the possession of her presents; employ them + properly; look upon them as property held from a capricious lord; use them + wisely and well. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The Aristotelian principle of keeping the mean in all things is ill suited + to the moral law for which it was intended; but it may easily be the best + general rule of worldly wisdom, the best precept for a happy life. For + life is so full of uncertainty; there are on all sides so many + discomforts, burdens, sufferings, dangers, that a safe and happy voyage + can be accomplished only by steering carefully through the rocks. As a + rule, the fear of the ills we know drive us into the contrary ills; the + pain of solitude, for example, drives us into society, and the first + society that comes; the discomforts of society drive us into solitude; we + exchange a forbidding demeanour for incautious confidence and so on. It is + ever the mark of folly to avoid one vice by rushing into its contrary: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Stulti dum vitant vitia in contraria currunt</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Or else we think that we shall find satisfaction in something, and spend + all our efforts on it; and thereby we omit to provide for the satisfaction + of a hundred other wishes which make themselves felt at their own time. + One loss and omission follows another, and there is no end to the misery. + </p> + <p> + {Greek: Maeden agan} and <i>nil admirari</i> are, therefore, excellent + rules of worldly wisdom. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + We often find that people of great experience are the most frank and + cordial in their intercourse with complete strangers, in whom they have no + interest whatever. The reason of this is that men of experience know that + it is almost impossible for people who stand in any sort of mutual + relation to be sincere and open with one another; but that there is always + more or less of a strain between them, due to the fact that they are + looking after their own interests, whether immediate or remote. They + regret the fact, but they know that it is so; hence they leave their own + people, rush into the arms of a complete stranger, and in happy confidence + open their hearts to him. Thus it is that monks and the like, who have + given up the world and are strangers to it, are such good people to turn + to for advice. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It is only by practising mutual restraint and self-denial that we can act + and talk with other people; and, therefore, if we have to converse at all, + it can only be with a feeling of resignation. For if we seek society, it + is because we want fresh impressions: these come from without, and are + therefore foreign to ourselves. If a man fails to perceive this, and, when + he seeks the society of others, is unwilling to practise resignation, and + absolutely refuses to deny himself, nay, demands that others, who are + altogether different from himself, shall nevertheless be just what he + wants them to be for the moment, according to the degree of education + which he has reached, or according to his intellectual powers or his mood—the + man, I say, who does this, is in contradiction with himself. For while he + wants some one who shall be different from himself, and wants him just + because he is different, for the sake of society and fresh influence, he + nevertheless demands that this other individual shall precisely resemble + the imaginary creature who accords with his mood, and have no thoughts but + those which he has himself. + </p> + <p> + Women are very liable to subjectivity of this kind; but men are not free + from it either. + </p> + <p> + I observed once to Goethe, in complaining of the illusion and vanity of + life, that when a friend is with us we do not think the same of him as + when he is away. He replied: "Yes! because the absent friend is yourself, + and he exists only in your head; whereas the friend who is present has an + individuality of his own, and moves according to laws of his own, which + cannot always be in accordance with those which you form for yourself." + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A good supply of resignation is of the first importance in providing for + the journey of life. It is a supply which we shall have to extract from + disappointed hopes; and the sooner we do it, the better for the rest of + the journey. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + How should a man be content so long as he fails to obtain complete unity + in his inmost being? For as long as two voices alternately speak in him, + what is right for one must be wrong for the other. Thus he is always + complaining. But has any man ever been completely at one with himself? + Nay, is not the very thought a contradiction? + </p> + <p> + That a man shall attain this inner unity is the impossible and + inconsistent pretension put forward by almost all philosophers.{1} For as + a man it is natural to him to be at war with himself as long as he lives. + While he can be only one thing thoroughly, he has the disposition to be + everything else, and the inalienable possibility of being it. If he has + made his choice of one thing, all the other possibilities are always open + to him, and are constantly claiming to be realised; and he has therefore + to be continuously keeping them back, and to be overpowering and killing + them as long as he wants to be that one thing. For example, if he wants to + think only, and not act and do business, the disposition to the latter is + not thereby destroyed all at once; but as long as the thinker lives, he + has every hour to keep on killing the acting and pushing man that is + within him; always battling with himself, as though he were a monster + whose head is no sooner struck off than it grows again. In the same way, + if he is resolved to be a saint, he must kill himself so far as he is a + being that enjoys and is given over to pleasure; for such he remains as + long as he lives. It is not once for all that he must kill himself: he + must keep on doing it all his life. If he has resolved upon pleasure, + whatever be the way in which it is to be obtained, his lifelong struggle + is with a being that desires to be pure and free and holy; for the + disposition remains, and he has to kill it every hour. And so on in + everything, with infinite modifications; it is now one side of him, and + now the other, that conquers; he himself is the battlefield. If one side + of him is continually conquering, the other is continually struggling; for + its life is bound up with his own, and, as a man, he is the possibility of + many contradictions. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Audacter licet profitearis, summum bonum esse anímí + concordian</i>.—Seneca.} + </p> + <p> + How is inner unity even possible under such circumstances? It exists + neither in the saint nor in the sinner; or rather, the truth is that no + man is wholly one or the other. For it is <i>men</i> they have to be; that + is, luckless beings, fighters and gladiators in the arena of life. + </p> + <p> + To be sure, the best thing he can do is to recognise which part of him + smarts the most under defeat, and let it always gain the victory. This he + will always be able to do by the use of his reason, which is an + ever-present fund of ideas. Let him resolve of his own free will to + undergo the pain which the defeat of the other part involves. This is <i>character</i>. + For the battle of life cannot be waged free from all pain; it cannot come + to an end without bloodshed; and in any case a man must suffer pain, for + he is the conquered as well as the conqueror. <i>Haec est vivendi conditio</i>. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The clever man, when he converses, will think less of what he is saying + that of the person with whom he is speaking; for then he is sure to say + nothing which he will afterwards regret; he is sure not to lay himself + open, nor to commit an indiscretion. But his conversation will never be + particularly interesting. + </p> + <p> + An intellectual man readily does the opposite, and with him the person + with whom he converses is often no more than the mere occasion of a + monologue; and it often happens that the other then makes up for his + subordinate <i>rôle</i> by lying in wait for the man of intellect, and + drawing his secrets out of him. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Nothing betrays less knowledge of humanity than to suppose that, if a man + has a great many friends, it is a proof of merit and intrinsic value: as + though men gave their friendship according to value and merit! as though + they were not, rather, just like dogs, which love the person that pats + them and gives them bits of meat, and never trouble themselves about + anything else! The man who understands how to pat his fellows best, though + they be the nastiest brutes,—that's the man who has many friends. + </p> + <p> + It is the converse that is true. Men of great intellectual worth, or, + still more, men of genius, can have only very few friends; for their clear + eye soon discovers all defects, and their sense of rectitude is always + being outraged afresh by the extent and the horror of them. It is only + extreme necessity that can compel such men not to betray their feelings, + or even to stroke the defects as if they were beautiful additions. + Personal love (for we are not speaking of the reverence which is gained by + authority) cannot be won by a man of genius, unless the gods have endowed + him with an indestructible cheerfulness of temper, a glance that makes the + world look beautiful, or unless he has succeeded by degrees in taking men + exactly as they are; that is to say, in making a fool of the fools, as is + right and proper. On the heights we must expect to be solitary. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Our constant discontent is for the most part rooted in the impulse of + self-preservation. This passes into a kind of selfishness, and makes a + duty out of the maxim that we should always fix our minds upon what we + lack, so that we may endeavour to procure it. Thus it is that we are + always intent on finding out what we want, and on thinking of it; but that + maxim allows us to overlook undisturbed the things which we already + possess; and so, as soon as we have obtained anything, we give it much + less attention than before. We seldom think of what we have, but always of + what we lack. + </p> + <p> + This maxim of egoism, which has, indeed, its advantages in procuring the + means to the end in view, itself concurrently destroys the ultimate end, + namely, contentment; like the bear in the fable that throws a stone at the + hermit to kill the fly on his nose. We ought to wait until need and + privation announce themselves, instead of looking for them. Minds that are + naturally content do this, while hypochondrists do the reverse. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A man's nature is in harmony with itself when he desires to be nothing but + what he is; that is to say, when he has attained by experience a knowledge + of his strength and of his weakness, and makes use of the one and conceals + the other, instead of playing with false coin, and trying to show a + strength which he does not possess. It is a harmony which produces an + agreeable and rational character; and for the simple reason that + everything which makes the man and gives him his mental and physical + qualities is nothing but the manifestation of his will; is, in fact, what + he <i>wills</i>. Therefore it is the greatest of all inconsistencies to + wish to be other than we are. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + People of a strange and curious temperament can be happy only under + strange circumstances, such as suit their nature, in the same way as + ordinary circumstances suit the ordinary man; and such circumstances can + arise only if, in some extraordinary way, they happen to meet with strange + people of a character different indeed, but still exactly suited to their + own. That is why men of rare or strange qualities are seldom happy. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + All this pleasure is derived from the use and consciousness of power; and + the greatest of pains that a man can feel is to perceive that his powers + fail just when he wants to use them. Therefore it will be advantageous for + every man to discover what powers he possesses, and what powers he lacks. + Let him, then, develop the powers in which he is pre-eminent, and make a + strong use of them; let him pursue the path where they will avail him; and + even though he has to conquer his inclinations, let him avoid the path + where such powers are requisite as he possesses only in a low degree. In + this way he will often have a pleasant consciousness of strength, and + seldom a painful consciousness of weakness; and it will go well with him. + But if he lets himself be drawn into efforts demanding a kind of strength + quite different from that in which he is pre-eminent, he will experience + humiliation; and this is perhaps the most painful feeling with which a man + can be afflicted. + </p> + <p> + Yet there are two sides to everything. The man who has insufficient + self-confidence in a sphere where he has little power, and is never ready + to make a venture, will on the one hand not even learn how to use the + little power that he has; and on the other, in a sphere in which he would + at least be able to achieve something, there will be a complete absence of + effort, and consequently of pleasure. This is always hard to bear; for a + man can never draw a complete blank in any department of human welfare + without feeling some pain. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + As a child, one has no conception of the inexorable character of the laws + of nature, and of the stubborn way in which everything persists in + remaining what it is. The child believes that even lifeless things are + disposed to yield to it; perhaps because it feels itself one with nature, + or, from mere unacquaintance with the world, believes that nature is + disposed to be friendly. Thus it was that when I was a child, and had + thrown my shoe into a large vessel full of milk, I was discovered + entreating the shoe to jump out. Nor is a child on its guard against + animals until it learns that they are ill-natured and spiteful. But not + before we have gained mature experience do we recognise that human + character is unalterable; that no entreaty, or representation, or example, + or benefit, will bring a man to give up his ways; but that, on the + contrary, every man is compelled to follow his own mode of acting and + thinking, with the necessity of a law of nature; and that, however we take + him, he always remains the same. It is only after we have obtained a clear + and profound knowledge of this fact that we give up trying to persuade + people, or to alter them and bring them round to our way of thinking. We + try to accommodate ourselves to theirs instead, so far as they are + indispensable to us, and to keep away from them so far as we cannot + possibly agree. + </p> + <p> + Ultimately we come to perceive that even in matters of mere intellect—although + its laws are the same for all, and the subject as opposed to the object of + thought does not really enter into individuality—there is, + nevertheless, no certainty that the whole truth of any matter can be + communicated to any one, or that any one can be persuaded or compelled to + assent to it; because, as Bacon says, <i>intellectus humanus luminis sicci + non est</i>: the light of the human intellect is coloured by interest and + passion. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It is just because <i>all happiness is of a negative character</i> that, + when we succeed in being perfectly at our ease, we are not properly + conscious of it. Everything seems to pass us softly and gently, and hardly + to touch us until the moment is over; and then it is the positive feeling + of something lacking that tells us of the happiness which has vanished; it + is then that we observe that we have failed to hold it fast, and we suffer + the pangs of self-reproach as well as of privation. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Every happiness that a man enjoys, and almost every friendship that he + cherishes, rest upon illusion; for, as a rule, with increase of knowledge + they are bound to vanish. Nevertheless, here as elsewhere, a man should + courageously pursue truth, and never weary of striving to settle accounts + with himself and the world. No matter what happens to the right or to the + left of him,—be it a chimaera or fancy that makes him happy, let him + take heart and go on, with no fear of the desert which widens to his view. + Of one thing only must he be quite certain: that under no circumstances + will he discover any lack of worth in himself when the veil is raised; the + sight of it would be the Gorgon that would kill him. Therefore, if he + wants to remain undeceived, let him in his inmost being feel his own + worth. For to feel the lack of it is not merely the greatest, but also the + only true affliction; all other sufferings of the mind may not only be + healed, but may be immediately relieved, by the secure consciousness of + worth. The man who is assured of it can sit down quietly under sufferings + that would otherwise bring him to despair; and though he has no pleasures, + no joys and no friends, he can rest in and on himself; so powerful is the + comfort to be derived from a vivid consciousness of this advantage; a + comfort to be preferred to every other earthly blessing. Contrarily, + nothing in the world can relieve a man who knows his own worthlessness; + all that he can do is to conceal it by deceiving people or deafening them + with his noise; but neither expedient will serve him very long. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + We must always try to preserve large views. If we are arrested by details + we shall get confused, and see things awry. The success or the failure of + the moment, and the impression that they make, should count for + nothing.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Translator's Note</i>.—Schopenhauer, for some reason + that is not apparent, wrote this remark in French.} + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + How difficult it is to learn to understand oneself, and clearly to + recognise what it is that one wants before anything else; what it is, + therefore, that is most immediately necessary to our happiness; then what + comes next; and what takes the third and the fourth place, and so on. + </p> + <p> + Yet, without this knowledge, our life is planless, like a captain without + a compass. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The sublime melancholy which leads us to cherish a lively conviction of + the worthlessness of everything of all pleasures and of all mankind, and + therefore to long for nothing, but to feel that life is merely a burden + which must be borne to an end that cannot be very distant, is a much + happier state of mind than any condition of desire, which, be it never so + cheerful, would have us place a value on the illusions of the world, and + strive to attain them. + </p> + <p> + This is a fact which we learn from experience; and it is clear, <i>à + priori</i>, that one of these is a condition of illusion, and the other of + knowledge. + </p> + <p> + Whether it is better to marry or not to marry is a question which in very + many cases amounts to this: Are the cares of love more endurable than the + anxieties of a livelihood? + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Marriage is a trap which nature sets for us. {1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Translator's Note</i>.—Also in French.} + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Poets and philosophers who are married men incur by that very fact the + suspicion that they are looking to their own welfare, and not to the + interests of science and art. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Habit is everything. Hence to be calm and unruffled is merely to + anticipate a habit; and it is a great advantage not to need to form it. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + "Personality is the element of the greatest happiness." Since <i>pain</i> + and <i>boredom</i> are the two chief enemies of human happiness, nature + has provided our personality with a protection against both. We can ward + off pain, which is more often of the mind than of the body, by <i>cheerfulness</i>; + and boredom by <i>intelligence</i>. But neither of these is akin to the + other; nay, in any high degree they are perhaps incompatible. As Aristotle + remarks, genius is allied to melancholy; and people of very cheerful + disposition are only intelligent on the surface. The better, therefore, + anyone is by nature armed against one of these evils, the worse, as a + rule, is he armed against the other. + </p> + <p> + There is no human life that is free from pain and boredom; and it is a + special favour on the part of fate if a man is chiefly exposed to the evil + against which nature has armed him the better; if fate, that is, sends a + great deal of pain where there is a very cheerful temper in which to bear + it, and much leisure where there is much intelligence, but not <i>vice + versâ</i>. For if a man is intelligent, he feels pain doubly or trebly; + and a cheerful but unintellectual temper finds solitude and unoccupied + leisure altogether unendurable. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + In the sphere of thought, absurdity and perversity remain the masters of + this world, and their dominion is suspended only for brief periods. Nor is + it otherwise in art; for there genuine work, seldom found and still more + seldom appreciated, is again and again driven out by dullness, insipidity, + and affectation. + </p> + <p> + It is just the same in the sphere of action. Most men, says Bias, are bad. + Virtue is a stranger in this world; and boundless egoism, cunning and + malice, are always the order of the day. It is wrong to deceive the young + on this point, for it will only make them feel later on that their + teachers were the first to deceive them. If the object is to render the + pupil a better man by telling him that others are excellent, it fails; and + it would be more to the purpose to say: Most men are bad, it is for you to + be better. In this way he would, at least, be sent out into the world + armed with a shrewd foresight, instead of having to be convinced by bitter + experience that his teachers were wrong. + </p> + <p> + All ignorance is dangerous, and most errors must be dearly paid. And good + luck must he have that carries unchastised an error in his head unto his + death.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Translator's Note</i>.—This, again, is + Schopenhauer's own English.} + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Every piece of success has a doubly beneficial effect upon us when, apart + from the special and material advantage which it brings it is accompanied + by the enlivening assurance that the world, fate, or the daemon within, + does not mean so badly with us, nor is so opposed to our prosperity as we + had fancied; when, in fine, it restores our courage to live. + </p> + <p> + Similarly, every misfortune or defeat has, in the contrary sense, an + effect that is doubly depressing. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + If we were not all of us exaggeratedly interested in ourselves, life would + be so uninteresting that no one could endure it. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Everywhere in the world, and under all circumstances, it is only by force + that anything can be done; but power is mostly in bad hands, because + baseness is everywhere in a fearful majority. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Why should it be folly to be always intent on getting the greatest + possible enjoyment out of the moment, which is our only sure possession? + Our whole life is no more than a magnified present, and in itself as + fleeting. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + As a consequence of his individuality and the position in which he is + placed, everyone without exception lives in a certain state of limitation, + both as regards his ideas and the opinions which he forms. Another man is + also limited, though not in the same way; but should he succeed in + comprehending the other's limitation he can confuse and abash him, and put + him to shame, by making him feel what his limitation is, even though the + other be far and away his superior. Shrewd people often employ this + circumstance to obtain a false and momentary advantage. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The only genuine superiority is that of the mind and character; all other + kinds are fictitious, affected, false; and it is good to make them feel + that it is so when they try to show off before the superiority that is + true.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Translator's Note</i>.—In the original this also is + in French.} + </p> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>All the world's a stage, + And all the men and women merely players</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Exactly! Independently of what a man really is in himself, he has a part + to play, which fate has imposed upon him from without, by determining his + rank, education, and circumstances. The most immediate application of this + truth appears to me to be that in life, as on the stage, we must + distinguish between the actor and his part; distinguish, that is, the man + in himself from his position and reputation—- from the part which + rank and circumstances have imposed upon him. How often it is that the + worst actor plays the king, and the best the beggar! This may happen in + life, too; and a man must be very <i>crude</i> to confuse the actor with + his part. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Our life is so poor that none of the treasures of the world can make it + rich; for the sources of enjoyment are soon found to be all very scanty, + and it is in vain that we look for one that will always flow. Therefore, + as regards our own welfare, there are only two ways in which we can use + wealth. We can either spend it in ostentatious pomp, and feed on the cheap + respect which our imaginary glory will bring us from the infatuated crowd; + or, by avoiding all expenditure that will do us no good, we can let our + wealth grow, so that we may have a bulwark against misfortune and want + that shall be stronger and better every day; in view of the fact that + life, though it has few delights, is rich in evils. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It is just because our real and inmost being is <i>will</i> that it is + only by its exercise that we can attain a vivid consciousness of + existence, although this is almost always attended by pain. Hence it is + that existence is essentially painful, and that many persons for whose + wants full provision is made arrange their day in accordance with + extremely regular, monotonous, and definite habits. By this means they + avoid all the pain which the movement of the will produces; but, on the + other hand, their whole existence becomes a series of scenes and pictures + that mean nothing. They are hardly aware that they exist. Nevertheless, it + is the best way of settling accounts with life, so long as there is + sufficient change to prevent an excessive feeling of boredom. It is much + better still if the Muses give a man some worthy occupation, so that the + pictures which fill his consciousness have some meaning, and yet not a + meaning that can be brought into any relation with his will. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A man is <i>wise</i> only on condition of living in a world full of fools. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GENIUS AND VIRTUE. + </h2> + <p> + When I think, it is the spirit of the world which is striving to express + its thought; it is nature which is trying to know and fathom itself. It is + not the thoughts of some other mind, which I am endeavouring to trace; but + it is I who transform that which exists into something which is known and + thought, and would otherwise neither come into being nor continue in it. + </p> + <p> + In the realm of physics it was held for thousands of years to be a fact + beyond question that water was a simple and consequently an original + element. In the same way in the realm of metaphysics it was held for a + still longer period that the <i>ego</i> was a simple and consequently an + indestructible entity. I have shown, however, that it is composed of two + heterogeneous parts, namely, the <i>Will</i>, which is metaphysical in its + character, a thing in itself, and the <i>knowing subject</i>, which is + physical and a mere phenomenon. + </p> + <p> + Let me illustrate what I mean. Take any large, massive, heavy building: + this hard, ponderous body that fills so much space exists, I tell you, + only in the soft pulp of the brain. There alone, in the human brain, has + it any being. Unless you understand this, you can go no further. + </p> + <p> + Truly it is the world itself that is a miracle; the world of material + bodies. I looked at two of them. Both were heavy, symmetrical, and + beautiful. One was a jasper vase with golden rim and golden handles; the + other was an organism, an animal, a man. When I had sufficiently admired + their exterior, I asked my attendant genius to allow me to examine the + inside of them; and I did so. In the vase I found nothing but the force of + gravity and a certain obscure desire, which took the form of chemical + affinity. But when I entered into the other—how shall I express my + astonishment at what I saw? It is more incredible than all the fairy tales + and fables that were ever conceived. Nevertheless, I shall try to describe + it, even at the risk of finding no credence for my tale. + </p> + <p> + In this second thing, or rather in the upper end of it, called the head, + which on its exterior side looks like anything else—a body in space, + heavy, and so on—I found no less an object than the whole world + itself, together with the whole of the space in which all of it exists, + and the whole of the time in which all of it moves, and finally everything + that fills both time and space in all its variegated and infinite + character; nay, strangest sight of all, I found myself walking about in + it! It was no picture that I saw; it was no peep-show, but reality itself. + This it is that is really and truly to be found in a thing which is no + bigger than a cabbage, and which, on occasion, an executioner might strike + off at a blow, and suddenly smother that world in darkness and night. The + world, I say, would vanish, did not heads grow like mushrooms, and were + there not always plenty of them ready to snatch it up as it is sinking + down into nothing, and keep it going like a ball. This world is an idea + which they all have in common, and they express the community of their + thought by the word "objectivity." + </p> + <p> + In the face of this vision I felt as if I were Ardschuna when Krishna + appeared to him in his true majesty, with his hundred thousand arms and + eyes and mouths. + </p> + <p> + When I see a wide landscape, and realise that it arises by the operation + of the functions of my brain, that is to say, of time, space, and + casuality, on certain spots which have gathered on my retina, I feel that + I carry it within me. I have an extraordinarily clear consciousness of the + identity of my own being with that of the external world. + </p> + <p> + Nothing provides so vivid an illustration of this identity as a <i>dream</i>. + For in a dream other people appear to be totally distinct from us, and to + possess the most perfect objectivity, and a nature which is quite + different from ours, and which often puzzles, surprises, astonishes, or + terrifies us; and yet it is all our own self. It is even so with the will, + which sustains the whole of the external world and gives it life; it is + the same will that is in ourselves, and it is there alone that we are + immediately conscious of it. But it is the intellect, in ourselves and in + others, which makes all these miracles possible; for it is the intellect + which everywhere divides actual being into subject and object; it is a + hall of phantasmagorical mystery, inexpressibly marvellous, incomparably + magical. + </p> + <p> + The difference in degree of mental power which sets so wide a gulf between + the genius and the ordinary mortal rests, it is true, upon nothing else + than a more or less perfect development of the cerebral system. But it is + this very difference which is so important, because the whole of the real + world in which we live and move possesses an existence only in relation to + this cerebral system. Accordingly, the difference between a genius and an + ordinary man is a total diversity of world and existence. The difference + between man and the lower animals may be similarly explained. + </p> + <p> + When Momus was said to ask for a window in the breast, it was an + allegorical joke, and we cannot even imagine such a contrivance to be a + possibility; but it would be quite possible to imagine that the skull and + its integuments were transparent, and then, good heavens! what differences + should we see in the size, the form, the quality, the movement of the + brain! what degrees of value! A great mind would inspire as much respect + at first sight as three stars on a man's breast, and what a miserable + figure would be cut by many a one who wore them! + </p> + <p> + Men of genius and intellect, and all those whose mental and theoretical + qualities are far more developed than their moral and practical qualities—men, + in a word, who have more mind than character—are often not only + awkward and ridiculous in matters of daily life, as has been observed by + Plato in the seventh book of the <i>Republic</i>, and portrayed by Goethe + in his <i>Tasso</i>; but they are often, from a moral point of view, weak + and contemptible creatures as well; nay, they might almost be called bad + men. Of this Rousseau has given us genuine examples. Nevertheless, that + better consciousness which is the source of all virtue is often stronger + in them than in many of those whose actions are nobler than their + thoughts; nay, it may be said that those who think nobly have a better + acquaintance with virtue, while the others make a better practice of it. + Full of zeal for the good and for the beautiful, they would fain fly up to + heaven in a straight line; but the grosser elements of this earth oppose + their flight, and they sink back again. They are like born artists, who + have no knowledge of technique, or find that the marble is too hard for + their fingers. Many a man who has much less enthusiasm for the good, and a + far shallower acquaintance with its depths, makes a better thing of it in + practice; he looks down upon the noble thinkers with contempt, and he has + a right to do it; nevertheless, he does not understand them, and they + despise him in their turn, and not unjustly. They are to blame; for every + living man has, by the fact of his living, signed the conditions of life; + but they are still more to be pitied. They achieve their redemption, not + on the way of virtue, but on a path of their own; and they are saved, not + by works, but by faith. + </p> + <p> + Men of no genius whatever cannot bear solitude: they take no pleasure in + the contemplation of nature and the world. This arises from the fact that + they never lose sight of their own will, and therefore they see nothing of + the objects of the world but the bearing of such objects upon their will + and person. With objects which have no such bearing there sounds within + them a constant note: <i>It is nothing to me</i>, which is the fundamental + base in all their music. Thus all things seem to them to wear a bleak, + gloomy, strange, hostile aspect. It is only for their will that they seem + to have any perceptive faculties at all; and it is, in fact, only a moral + and not a theoretical tendency, only a moral and not an intellectual + value, that their life possesses. The lower animals bend their heads to + the ground, because all that they want to see is what touches their + welfare, and they can never come to contemplate things from a really + objective point of view. It is very seldom that unintellectual men make a + true use of their erect position, and then it is only when they are moved + by some intellectual influence outside them. + </p> + <p> + The man of intellect or genius, on the other hand, has more of the + character of the eternal subject that knows, than of the finite subject + that wills; his knowledge is not quite engrossed and captivated by his + will, but passes beyond it; he is the son, <i>not of the bondwoman, but of + the free</i>. It is not only a moral but also a theoretical tendency that + is evinced in his life; nay, it might perhaps be said that to a certain + extent he is beyond morality. Of great villainy he is totally incapable; + and his conscience is less oppressed by ordinary sin than the conscience + of the ordinary man, because life, as it were, is a game, and he sees + through it. + </p> + <p> + The relation between <i>genius</i> and <i>virtue</i> is determined by the + following considerations. Vice is an impulse of the will so violent in its + demands that it affirms its own life by denying the life of others. The + only kind of knowledge that is useful to the will is the knowledge that a + given effect is produced by a certain cause. Genius itself is a kind of + knowledge, namely, of ideas; and it is a knowledge which is unconcerned + with any principle of causation. The man who is devoted to knowledge of + this character is not employed in the business of the will. Nay, every man + who is devoted to the purely objective contemplation of the world (and it + is this that is meant by the knowledge of ideas) completely loses sight of + his will and its objects, and pays no further regard to the interests of + his own person, but becomes a pure intelligence free of any admixture of + will. + </p> + <p> + Where, then, devotion to the intellect predominates over concern for the + will and its objects, it shows that the man's will is not the principal + element in his being, but that in proportion to his intelligence it is + weak. Violent desire, which is the root of all vice, never allows a man to + arrive at the pure and disinterested contemplation of the world, free from + any relation to the will, such as constitutes the quality of genius; but + here the intelligence remains the constant slave of the will. + </p> + <p> + Since genius consists in the perception of ideas, and men of genius <i>contemplate</i> + their object, it may be said that it is only the eye which is any real + evidence of genius. For the contemplative gaze has something steady and + vivid about it; and with the eye of genius it is often the case, as with + Goethe, that the white membrane over the pupil is visible. With violent, + passionate men the same thing may also happen, but it arises from a + different cause, and may be easily distinguished by the fact that the eyes + roll. Men of no genius at all have no interest in the idea expressed by an + object, but only in the relations in which that object stands to others, + and finally to their own person. Thus it is that they never indulge in + contemplation, or are soon done with it, and rarely fix their eyes long + upon any object; and so their eyes do not wear the mark of genius which I + have described. Nay, the regular Philistine does the direct opposite of + contemplating—he spies. If he looks at anything it is to pry into + it; as may be specially observed when he screws up his eyes, which he + frequently does, in order to see the clearer. Certainly, no real man of + genius ever does this, at least habitually, even though he is + short-sighted. + </p> + <p> + What I have said will sufficiently illustrate the conflict between genius + and vice. It may be, however, nay, it is often the case, that genius is + attended by a strong will; and as little as men of genius were ever + consummate rascals, were they ever perhaps perfect saints either. + </p> + <p> + Let me explain. Virtue is not exactly a positive weakness of the will; it + is, rather, an intentional restraint imposed upon its violence through a + knowledge of it in its inmost being as manifested in the world. This + knowledge of the world, the inmost being of which is communicable only in + <i>ideas</i>, is common both to the genius and to the saint. The + distinction between the two is that the genius reveals his knowledge by + rendering it in some form of his own choice, and the product is Art. For + this the saint, as such, possesses no direct faculty; he makes an + immediate application of his knowledge to his own will, which is thus led + into a denial of the world. With the saint knowledge is only a means to an + end, whereas the genius remains at the stage of knowledge, and has his + pleasure in it, and reveals it by rendering what he knows in his art. + </p> + <p> + In the hierarchy of physical organisation, strength of will is attended by + a corresponding growth in the intelligent faculties. A high degree of + knowledge, such as exists in the genius, presupposes a powerful will, + though, at the same time, a will that is subordinate to the intellect. In + other words, both the intellect and the will are strong, but the intellect + is the stronger of the two. Unless, as happens in the case of the saint, + the intellect is at once applied to the will, or, as in the case of the + artist, it finds its pleasures in a reproduction of itself, the will + remains untamed. Any strength that it may lose is due to the predominance + of pure objective intelligence which is concerned with the contemplation + of ideas, and is not, as in the case of the common or the bad man, wholly + occupied with the objects of the will. In the interval, when the genius is + no longer engaged in the contemplation of ideas, and his intelligence is + again applied to the will and its objects, the will is re-awakened in all + its strength. Thus it is that men of genius often have very violent + desires, and are addicted to sensual pleasure and to anger. Great crimes, + however, they do not commit; because, when the opportunity of them offers, + they recognise their idea, and see it very vividly and clearly. Their + intelligence is thus directed to the idea, and so gains the predominance + over the will, and turns its course, as with the saint; and the crime is + uncommitted. + </p> + <p> + The genius, then, always participates to some degree in the + characteristics of the saint, as he is a man of the same qualification; + and, contrarily, the saint always participates to some degree in the + characteristics of the genius. + </p> + <p> + The good-natured character, which is common, is to be distinguished from + the saintly by the fact that it consists in a weakness of will, with a + somewhat less marked weakness of intellect. A lower degree of the + knowledge of the world as revealed in ideas here suffices to check and + control a will that is weak in itself. Genius and sanctity are far removed + from good-nature, which is essentially weak in all its manifestations. + </p> + <p> + Apart from all that I have said, so much at least is clear. What appears + under the forms of time, space, and casuality, and vanishes again, and in + reality is nothing, and reveals its nothingness by death—this + vicious and fatal appearance is the will. But what does not appear, and is + no phenomenon, but rather the noumenon; what makes appearance possible; + what is not subject to the principle of causation, and therefore has no + vain or vanishing existence, but abides for ever unchanged in the midst of + a world full of suffering, like a ray of light in a storm,—free, + therefore, from all pain and fatality,—this, I say, is the + intelligence. The man who is more intelligence than will, is thereby + delivered, in respect of the greatest part of him, from nothingness and + death; and such a man is in his nature a genius. + </p> + <p> + By the very fact that he lives and works, the man who is endowed with + genius makes an entire sacrifice of himself in the interests of everyone. + Accordingly, he is free from the obligation to make a particular sacrifice + for individuals; and thus he can refuse many demands which others are + rightly required to meet. He suffers and achieves more than all the + others. + </p> + <p> + The spring which moves the genius to elaborate his works is not fame, for + that is too uncertain a quality, and when it is seen at close quarters, of + little worth. No amount of fame will make up for the labour of attaining + it: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Nulla est fama tuum par oequiparare laborem</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Nor is it the delight that a man has in his work; for that too is + outweighed by the effort which he has to make. It is, rather, an instinct + <i>sui generis</i>; in virtue of which the genius is driven to express + what he sees and feels in some permanent shape, without being conscious of + any further motive. + </p> + <p> + It is manifest that in so far as it leads an individual to sacrifice + himself for his species, and to live more in the species than in himself, + this impulse is possessed of a certain resemblance with such modifications + of the sexual impulse as are peculiar to man. The modifications to which I + refer are those that confine this impulse to certain individuals of the + other sex, whereby the interests of the species are attained. The + individuals who are actively affected by this impulse may be said to + sacrifice themselves for the species, by their passion for each other, and + the disadvantageous conditions thereby imposed upon them,—in a word, + by the institution of marriage. They may be said to be serving the + interests of the species rather than the interests of the individual. + </p> + <p> + The instinct of the genius does, in a higher fashion, for the idea, what + passionate love does for the will. In both cases there are peculiar + pleasures and peculiar pains reserved for the individuals who in this way + serve the interests of the species; and they live in a state of enhanced + power. + </p> + <p> + The genius who decides once for all to live for the interests of the + species in the way which he chooses is neither fitted nor called upon to + do it in the other. It is a curious fact that the perpetuation of a man's + name is effected in both ways. + </p> + <p> + In music the finest compositions are the most difficult to understand. + They are only for the trained intelligence. They consist of long + movements, where it is only after a labyrinthine maze that the fundamental + note is recovered. It is just so with genius; it is only after a course of + struggle, and doubt, and error, and much reflection and vacillation, that + great minds attain their equilibrium. It is the longest pendulum that + makes the greatest swing. Little minds soon come to terms with themselves + and the world, and then fossilise; but the others flourish, and are always + alive and in motion. + </p> + <p> + The essence of genius is a measure of intellectual power far beyond that + which is required to serve the individual's will. But it is a measure of a + merely relative character, and it may be reached by lowering the degree of + the will, as well as by raising that of the intellect. There are men whose + intellect predominates over their will, and are yet not possessed of + genius in any proper sense. Their intellectual powers do, indeed, exceed + the ordinary, though not to any great extent, but their will is weak. They + have no violent desires; and therefore they are more concerned with mere + knowledge than with the satisfaction of any aims. Such men possess talent; + they are intelligent, and at the same time very contented and cheerful. + </p> + <p> + A clear, cheerful and reasonable mind, such as brings a man happiness, is + dependent on the relation established between his intellect and his will—a + relation in which the intellect is predominant. But genius and a great + mind depend on the relation between a man's intellect and that of other + people—a relation in which his intellect must exceed theirs, and at + the same time his will may also be proportionately stronger. That is the + reason why genius and happiness need not necessarily exist together. + </p> + <p> + When the individual is distraught by cares or pleasantry, or tortured by + the violence of his wishes and desires, the genius in him is enchained and + cannot move. It is only when care and desire are silent that the air is + free enough for genius to live in it. It is then that the bonds of matter + are cast aside, and the pure spirit—the pure, knowing subject—remains. + Hence, if a man has any genius, let him guard himself from pain, keep care + at a distance, and limit his desires; but those of them which he cannot + suppress let him satisfy to the full. This is the only way in which he + will make the best use of his rare existence, to his own pleasure and the + world's profit. + </p> + <p> + To fight with need and care or desires, the satisfaction of which is + refused and forbidden, is good enough work for those who, were they free + of would have to fight with boredom, and so take to bad practices; but not + for the man whose time, if well used, will bear fruit for centuries to + come. As Diderot says, he is not merely a moral being. + </p> + <p> + Mechanical laws do not apply in the sphere of chemistry, nor do chemical + laws in the sphere in which organic life is kindled. In the same way, the + rules which avail for ordinary men will not do for the exceptions, nor + will their pleasures either. + </p> + <p> + It is a persistent, uninterrupted activity that constitutes the superior + mind. The object to which this activity is directed is a matter of + subordinate importance; it has no essential bearing on the superiority in + question, but only on the individual who possesses it. All that education + can do is to determine the direction which this activity shall take; and + that is the reason why a man's nature is so much more important than his + education. For education is to natural faculty what a wax nose is to a + real one; or what the moon and the planets are to the sun. In virtue of + his education a man says, not what he thinks himself, but what others have + thought and he has learned as a matter of training; and what he does is + not what he wants, but what he has been accustomed to do. + </p> + <p> + The lower animals perform many intelligent functions much better than man; + for instance, the finding of their way back to the place from which they + came, the recognition of individuals, and so on. In the same way, there + are many occasions in real life to which the genius is incomparably less + equal and fitted than the ordinary man. Nay more: just as animals never + commit a folly in the strict sense of the word, so the average man is not + exposed to folly in the same degree as the genius. + </p> + <p> + The average man is wholly relegated to the sphere of <i>being</i>; the + genius, on the other hand, lives and moves chiefly in the sphere of <i>knowledge</i>. + This gives rise to a twofold distinction. In the first place, a man can be + one thing only, but he may <i>know</i> countless things, and thereby, to + some extent, identify himself with them, by participating in what Spinoza + calls their <i>esse objectivum</i>. In the second place, the world, as I + have elsewhere observed, is fine enough in appearance, but in reality + dreadful; for torment is the condition of all life. + </p> + <p> + It follows from the first of these distinctions that the life of the + average man is essentially one of the greatest boredom; and thus we see + the rich warring against boredom with as much effort and as little respite + as fall to the poor in their struggle with need and adversity. And from + the second of them it follows that the life of the average man is + overspread with a dull, turbid, uniform gravity; whilst the brow of genius + glows with mirth of a unique character, which, although he has sorrows of + his own more poignant than those of the average man, nevertheless breaks + out afresh, like the sun through clouds. It is when the genius is + overtaken by an affliction which affects others as well as himself, that + this quality in him is most in evidence; for then he is seen to be like + man, who alone can laugh, in comparison with the beast of the field, which + lives out its life grave and dull. + </p> + <p> + It is the curse of the genius that in the same measure in which others + think him great and worthy of admiration, he thinks them small and + miserable creatures. His whole life long he has to suppress this opinion; + and, as a rule, they suppress theirs as well. Meanwhile, he is condemned + to live in a bleak world, where he meets no equal, as it were an island + where there are no inhabitants but monkeys and parrots. Moreover, he is + always troubled by the illusion that from a distance a monkey looks like a + man. + </p> + <p> + Vulgar people take a huge delight in the faults and follies of great men; + and great men are equally annoyed at being thus reminded of their kinship + with them. + </p> + <p> + The real dignity of a man of genius or great intellect, the trait which + raises him over others and makes him worthy of respect, is at bottom the + fact, that the only unsullied and innocent part of human nature, namely, + the intellect, has the upper hand in him? and prevails; whereas, in the + other there is nothing but sinful will, and just as much intellect as is + requisite for guiding his steps,—- rarely any more, very often + somewhat less,—and of what use is it? + </p> + <p> + It seems to me that genius might have its root in a certain perfection and + vividness of the memory as it stretches back over the events of past life. + For it is only by dint of memory, which makes our life in the strict sense + a complete whole, that we attain a more profound and comprehensive + understanding of it. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10731 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |