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diff --git a/10731-0.txt b/10731-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8ad317e --- /dev/null +++ b/10731-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3172 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10731 *** + +THE ESSAYS OF ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER: THE ART OF CONTROVERSY + +TRANSLATED BY + +T. BAILEY SAUNDERS, M.A. + + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + THE ART OF CONTROVERSY-- + 1. PRELIMINARY: LOGIC AND DIALECTIC + 2. THE BASIS OF ALL DIALECTIC + 3. STRATAGEMS + ON THE COMPARATIVE PLACE OF INTEREST AND BEAUTY IN WORKS OF ART + PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS + ON THE WISDOM OF LIFE: APHORISMS + GENIUS AND VIRTUE + + + + +TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Parerga_. + +A small part of the essay on _The Art of Controversy_ was published in +Schopenhauer's lifetime, in the chapter of the _Parerga_ headed _Zur +Logik und Dialektik_. 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. + +T.B.S. + +February, 1896 + + + + +THE ART OF CONTROVERSY. + + +PRELIMINARY: LOGIC AND DIALECTIC. + +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. + +The name Dialectic was, as we are informed by Diogenes Laertius, first +used by Plato; and in the _Phaedrus, Sophist, Republic_, 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] + +[Footnote 1: He speaks of [Greek: dyscherelai logicai], that is, +"difficult points," [Greek: protasis logicae aporia logicae]] + +[Footnote 2: Cic. _in Lucullo: Dialecticam inventam esse, veri et +falsi quasi disceptatricem. Topica_, c. 2: _Stoici enim judicandi vias +diligenter persecuti sunt, ea scientia, quam_ Dialecticen _appellant_. +Quint., lib. ii., 12: _Itaque haec pars dialecticae, sive illam +disputatricem dicere malimus_; 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.)] + +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. + +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 _Logic_ (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 _Dialectic_ (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 _à priori_ 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. + +Logic, therefore, as the science of thought, or the science of the +process of pure reason, should be capable of being constructed _à +priori_. Dialectic, for the most part, can be constructed only _à +posteriori_; 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. + +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--_per fas et nefas_.[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. + +[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) _Logic_, or Analytic, as the +theory or method of arriving at true or apodeictic conclusions; and +(2) _Dialectic_ as the method of arriving at conclusions that are +accepted or pass current as true, [Greek: endoxa] _probabilia_; +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. + +Aristotle divides all conclusions into logical and dialectical, in the +manner described, and then into eristical. (3) _Eristic_ 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) _Sophistic_ 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 _Sophistic Conclusions_ was edited apart from the +others, and at a later date. It was the last book of his _Dialectic_.] + +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. + +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 _pro aris et focis_. He sets to work _per +fas et nefas_; 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] + +[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.] + +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 _natural Dialectic_, just as he has his own _natural +Logic_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +[Footnote 1: _Topica_, bk. i., 2.] + +[Footnote 2: _Ib_., 12.] + +[Footnote 3: On the other hand, in his book _De Sophisticis Elenchis_, +he takes too much trouble to separate _Dialectic_ from _Sophistic_ +and _Eristic_, 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. + +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 +_Dialectic_, 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. + +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, _What is truth_? For truth +is in the depths, [Greek: en butho hae halaetheia] (a saying of +Democritus, _Diog. Laert_., 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.] + +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 _the art of getting the +best of it in a dispute_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Eristic_ would be more suitable, it is more correct to call it +controversial Dialectic, _Dialectica eristica_. + +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. + +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. + +[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.] + +What follows is to be regarded as a first attempt. + + +THE BASIS OF ALL DIALECTIC. + +First of all, we must consider the essential nature of every dispute: +what it is that really takes place in it. + +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. + +I. The modes are (1) _ad rem_, (2) _ad hominem_ or _ex concessis_. +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. + +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. + +The direct course admits of a twofold procedure. Either we may +show that the reasons for the statement are false (_nego majorem, +minorem_); or we may admit the reasons or premisses, but show that the +statement does not follow from them (_nego consequentiam)_; that is, +we attack the conclusion or form of the syllogism. + +The direct refutation makes use either of the _diversion_ or of the +_instance_. + +_(a)_ The _diversion_.--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 _ad rem_ or _ad hominem_.[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. + +[Footnote 1: If it is in direct contradiction with a perfectly +undoubted, truth, we have reduced our opponent's position _ad +absurdum_.] + +[Footnote 2: Socrates, in _Hippia Maj. et alias_.] + + +_(b) The instance_, 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. + +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. + +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: _Contra negantem principia non est disputandum_. + + +STRATAGEMS. + +I. + +The _Extension_.--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. + +Example 1.--I asserted that the English were supreme in drama. My +opponent attempted _to_ 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. + +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." + +This trick was mentioned by Aristotle in the _Topica_ (bk. viii., cc. +11, 12). + +Example 3.--Lamarck, in his _Philosophic Zoologique_ (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. + + +II. + +The _Homonymy_.--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. + +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, _Topica_, bk. i., c. 13.) "Deep," "cutting," +"high," used at one moment of bodies at another of tones, are +homonyms; "honourable" and "honest" are synonyms. + +This is a trick which may be regarded as identical with the sophism +_ex homonymia_; although, if the sophism is obvious, it will deceive +no one. + + _Every light can be extinguished. + The intellect is a light. + Therefore it can be extinguished_. + +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. + +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. + +I will give two examples of the homonymy. + +Example 1.--A.: "You are not yet initiated into the mysteries of the +Kantian philosophy." + +B.: "Oh, if it's mysteries you're talking of, I'll have nothing to do +with them." + +Example 2.--I condemned the principle involved in the word _honour_ +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. + +Here, by a homonymy, he was foisting _civic honour_, which is +otherwise called _good name_, and which may be outraged by libel and +slander, on to the conception of _knightly honour_, also called _point +d'honneur_, 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 _honour_, and a +consequent alteration of the point in dispute. + + +III. + +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: + +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. + +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 +_ad rem_, but contented himself by advancing the _argumentum ad +hominem_, and telling me that I had just been praising the Quietists, +and that they had written a good deal of nonsense too. + +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 _theory_, but only as +men, and for their conduct in mere matters of _practice_; and that in +Hegel's case we were talking of theories. In this way I parried the +attack. + +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 _ignoratio elenchi_ to allow +oneself to be disposed of in such a manner. + +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, _per negationem consequentiae_. 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. + + +IV. + +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 _Topica_, bk. +viii., c. 1. It is a trick which needs no illustration. + + +V. + +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, _ex concessis_. For a true conclusion may follow +from false premisses, but not _vice versâ_. 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] + +[Footnote 1: Aristotle, _Topica_ bk. viii., chap. 2.] + + +VI. + +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, _vice versâ_, 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] + +[Footnote 1: _Idem_, chap. 11. The last chapter of this work contains +some good rules for the practice of Dialectics.] + + +VII. + +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] + +[Footnote 1: They are all a free version of chap. 15 of Aristotle's +_De Sophistici Elenchis_.] + +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. + + +VIII. + +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. + + +IX. + +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. + + +X. + +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. + + +XL. + +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. + + +XII. + +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, _Serviles_ and _Liberates_, are obviously +chosen by the latter. The name _Protestants_ is chosen by themselves, +and also the name _Evangelicals_; but the Catholics call them +_heretics_. Similarly, in regard to the names of things which admit +of a more exact and definite meaning: for example, if your opponent +proposes an _alteration_, you can call it an _innovation_, 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 _petitio principii_. 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." + +Of all the tricks of controversy, this is the most frequent, and it is +used instinctively. You hear of "religious zeal," or "fanaticism"; a +"_faux pas_" 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." + + +XIII. + +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. + + +XIV. + +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 _non causae ut causae_. + + +XV. + +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. + + +XVI. + +Another trick is to use arguments _ad hominem_, or _ex concessis_[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. + +[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, _secundum veritatem_; 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, _ad kominem. 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 _ad hominem_. 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 _ad hominem_,] + + +XVII. + +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. + + +XVIII. + +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 _mutatio controversiae_. (See § xxix.) + + +XIX. + +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. + + +XX. + +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 _non causae ut causae_. + + +XXI. + +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 +_argumentum ad hominem_, it is sufficient to take the force out of it +by a counter _argumentum ad hominem_ or _argumentum ex concessis_; +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. + + +XXII. + +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 _petitio principii_ 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. + + +XXIII. + +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." + + +XXIV. + +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 _diversion_, and it is +another application of the fallacy _non causae ut causae_. + + +XXV. + +This is a case of the _diversion_ by means of an _instance to the +contrary_. 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 _diversion_ ([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 _instance_--_instantia_, [Greek: enstasis]. For example, "all +ruminants are horned" is a proposition which may be upset by the +single instance of the camel. The _instance_ 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. + + +XXVI. + +A brilliant move is the _retorsio argumenti_, 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." + + +XXVII. + +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. + + +XXVIII. + +This is chiefly practicable in a dispute between scholars in the +presence of the unlearned. If you have no argument _ad rem_, and none +either _ad hominem_, you can make one _ad auditores_; 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. + +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 _ad auditores_, 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. + + +XXIX.[1] + +[Footnote 1: See § xviii.] + +If you find that you are being worsted, you can make a +_diversion_--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. + +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. + +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 _argumentum +ad personam_, which will there be discussed, and the _argumentum ad +hominem_. + +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 _faute de mieux_. + + +XXX. + +This is the _argumentum ad verecundiam_. 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. + +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. + +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 +_curé_, 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: _paveant illi, ego non pavebo_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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: + +[Footnote 1: See Bayle's _Pensées sur les Comètes_, i., p. 10.] + + _Dico ego, tu dicis, sed denique dixit et ille; + Dictaque post toties, nil nisi dicta vides_. + +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, _ex hypoihesi_, 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 _vice versa_. + + +XXXI. + +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 +_Kritik_ 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. + +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. + +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 +_nolens volens_, 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. + + +XXXII. + +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. + + +XXXIII. + +"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 _must_ 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. + + +XXXIV. + +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. + + +XXXV. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In such cases every man feels how thoughtless it is to sanction a law +unjust to himself--_quam temere in nosmet legem sancimus iniquam_! 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 _siccum lumen_. This trick might be called "taking the tree by its +root"; its usual name is the _argumentum ab utili_. + + +XXXVI. + +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: + + _Gewöhnlich glaubt der Mensch, wenn er nur Worte hört, + Es müsse sich dabei doch auch was denken lassen_. + +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 _The Vicar of Wakefield_ for an old one. + + +XXXVII. + +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 _argumentum ad hominem_ is put forward as an +_argumentum ad rem_. 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. + + +XXXVIII. + +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 _argumentum ad personam_, +to distinguish it from the _argumentum ad hominem_, 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. + +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--_Strike, but +hear me_. But such demeanour is not given to every one. + +[Footnote 1: _Elementa philosophica de Cive_.] + +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. + +The only safe rule, therefore, is that which Aristotle mentions in the +last chapter of his _Topica_: 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--_desipere est jus gentium_. +Remember what Voltaire says: _La paix vaut encore mieux que la +vérité_. Remember also an Arabian proverb which tells us that _on the +tree of silence there hangs its fruit, which is peace_. + + + + +ON THE COMPARATIVE PLACE OF INTEREST AND BEAUTY IN WORKS OF ART. + + +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. + +The beauty of a work of art consists in the fact that it holds up a +clear mirror to certain _ideas_ 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. + +Thus we perceive that beauty is always an affair of _knowledge_, and +that it appeals to _the knowing subject_, and not to _the will_; +nay, it is a fact that the apprehension of beauty on the part of the +subject involves a complete suppression of the will. + +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. + +It is obvious that what is affected by poetry of this character is our +_will_, and not merely our intellectual powers pure and simple. The +word _interest_ means, therefore, that which arouses the concern of +the individual will, _quod nostrâ interest_; 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _idea_, +and give us that _ideal truth_ which is superior to nature. + +_Truth_, 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 _ideal truth_ +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. + +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 _waxwork_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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 _Hamlet_, all through the play; +or else it spreads out in breadth, as in _The Merchant of Venice_, +whereas length is the proper dimension of interest; or the scenes hang +loosely together, as in _Henry IV_. Thus it is that Shakespeare's +dramas produce no appreciable effect on the mob. + +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 _idea_, 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. + +What is true of Shakespeare's dramatic works is true also of Goethe's. +Even _Egmont_ makes little effect on the public, because it contains +scarcely any complication or development; and if _Egmont_ fails, what +are we to say of _Tasso_ or _Iphigenia_? 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. + +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: _Don Quixote, Tristram Shandy, +La Nouvelle Heloïse_, and _Wilhelm Meister_. To arouse our interest +is by no means the chief aim of these works; in _Tristram Shandy_ the +hero, even at the end of the book, is only eight years of age. + +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 _Oedipus Rex_ of Sophocles. Amongst +masterpieces of description, we find it in Ariosto's _Orlando +Furioso_; nay, an example of a high degree of interest, bound up with +the beautiful, is afforded in an excellent novel by Walter Scott--_The +Heart of Midlothian_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS. + + +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 _Tasso_, how easily it leaves us helpless and alone, +and continues its course like the sun and the moon and the other gods: + + _... die Welt, wie sie so leicht, + Uns hülflos, einsam lässt, und ihren Weg, + Wie Sonn' und Mond und andre Götter geht_. + +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. + +Our temperament is so _despotic_ 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. + +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 _say_ 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. + +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 +_naïve_, 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. + + * * * * * + +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] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--This observation is in +Schopenhauer's own English.] + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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." + +The pain that extends to life as a whole, and loosens our hold on +it, is the only pain that is really _tragic_. 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 _symbol_ of life as a +whole, and transfers it thither. + + * * * * * + +_Vexation_ 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +If education or warning were of any avail, how could Seneca's pupil be +a Nero? + + * * * * * + +The Pythagorean[1] principle that _like is known only by like_ 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. + +[Footnote 1: See Porphyry, _de Vita Pythagorae_.] + +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 _common_. +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: _Joke with a slave, and he'll show you his +heels_. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +Vague longing and boredom are close akin. + + * * * * * + +When a man is dead, we envy him no more; and we only half envy him +when he is old. + + * * * * * + +Misanthropy and love of solitude are convertible ideas. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + + + + +ON THE WISDOM OF LIFE: APHORISMS. + + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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: + + _Denn ein erbärmlicher Schuft, so wie der Mensch, ist der hund_. + +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. + +[Footnote 1: All this is very euphemistically expressed in the +Sophoclean verse: + +(Greek: _charis charin gar estin ha tiktous aei_)] + +This is really an _à priori_ justification of politeness; but I could +give a still deeper reason for it. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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: + + _Stulti dum vitant vitia in contraria currunt_. + +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. + +[Greek: Maeden agan] and _nil admirari_ are, therefore, excellent +rules of worldly wisdom. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +Women are very liable to subjectivity of this kind; but men are not +free from it either. + +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." + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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? + +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. + +[Footnote 1: _Audacter licet profitearis, summum bonum esse anímí +concordian_.--Seneca.] + +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 _men_ they have to be; +that is, luckless beings, fighters and gladiators in the arena of +life. + +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 _character_. 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. _Haec est vivendi conditio_. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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 _rôle_ by lying in wait for the man of intellect, and +drawing his secrets out of him. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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 _wills_. Therefore it is the greatest of all +inconsistencies to wish to be other than we are. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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, +_intellectus humanus luminis sicci non est_: the light of the human +intellect is coloured by interest and passion. + + * * * * * + +It is just because _all happiness is of a negative character_ 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Schopenhauer, for some reason that +is not apparent, wrote this remark in French.] + + * * * * * + +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. + +Yet, without this knowledge, our life is planless, like a captain +without a compass. + + * * * * * + +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. + +This is a fact which we learn from experience; and it is clear, _à +priori_, that one of these is a condition of illusion, and the other +of knowledge. + +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? + + * * * * * + +Marriage is a trap which nature sets for us. [1] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Also in French.] + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +"Personality is the element of the greatest happiness." Since _pain_ +and _boredom_ 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 +_cheerfulness_; and boredom by _intelligence_. 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. + +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 _vice versâ_. 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--This, again, is Schopenhauer's own +English.] + + * * * * * + +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. + +Similarly, every misfortune or defeat has, in the contrary sense, an +effect that is doubly depressing. + + * * * * * + +If we were not all of us exaggeratedly interested in ourselves, life +would be so uninteresting that no one could endure it. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +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] + +[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--In the original this also is in +French.] + + * * * * * + + _All the world's a stage, + And all the men and women merely players_. + +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 +_crude_ to confuse the actor with his part. + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +It is just because our real and inmost being is _will_ 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. + + * * * * * + +A man is _wise_ only on condition of living in a world full of fools. + + + + +GENIUS AND VIRTUE. + + +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. + +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 _ego_ was a simple and +consequently an indestructible entity. I have shown, however, that it +is composed of two heterogeneous parts, namely, the _Will_, which is +metaphysical in its character, a thing in itself, and the _knowing +subject_, which is physical and a mere phenomenon. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +Nothing provides so vivid an illustration of this identity as a +_dream_. 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. + +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. + +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! + +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 +_Republic_, and portrayed by Goethe in his _Tasso_; 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. + +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: _It is nothing to +me_, 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. + +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, _not of +the bondwoman, but of the free_. 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. + +The relation between _genius_ and _virtue_ 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. + +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. + +Since genius consists in the perception of ideas, and men of genius +_contemplate_ 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. + +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. + +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 _ideas_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + _Nulla est fama tuum par oequiparare laborem_. + +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 _sui generis_; 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The average man is wholly relegated to the sphere of _being_; the +genius, on the other hand, lives and moves chiefly in the sphere of +_knowledge_. This gives rise to a twofold distinction. In the first +place, a man can be one thing only, but he may _know_ countless +things, and thereby, to some extent, identify himself with them, by +participating in what Spinoza calls their _esse objectivum_. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10731 *** |