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diff --git a/old/10741-h/10741-h.htm b/old/10741-h/10741-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8aa0dc3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10741-h/10741-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4452 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + The Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer: the Wisdom Of Life, by Arthur + Schopenhauer + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Essays Of Arthur Schopenhauer: +The Wisdom of Life, by Arthur Schopenhauer + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Essays Of Arthur Schopenhauer: The Wisdom of Life + +Author: Arthur Schopenhauer + +Release Date: January 18, 2004 [EBook #10741] +Last Updated: December 9, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ESSAYS OF SCHOPENHAUER *** + + + + +Etext produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE ESSAYS OF<br /> ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER:<br /><br /> THE WISDOM OF LIFE + </h1> + <h2> + By Arthur Schopenhauer + </h2> + <h3> + Translated By T. Bailey Saunders + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE WISDOM OF LIFE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. — DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. — PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN + IS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. — PROPERTY, OR WHAT A MAN HAS. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. — POSITION, OR A MAN'S PLACE IN + THE ESTIMATION OF OTHERS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> <i>Section 1.—Reputation</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> <i>Section 2.—Pride</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> <i>Section 3.—Rank</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> <i>Section 4.—Honor</i>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <i>Section 5.—Fame</i>. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION. + </h2> + <p> + In these pages I shall speak of <i>The Wisdom of Life</i> in the common + meaning of the term, as the art, namely, of ordering our lives so as to + obtain the greatest possible amount of pleasure and success; an art the + theory of which may be called <i>Eudaemonology</i>, for it teaches us how + to lead a happy existence. Such an existence might perhaps be defined as + one which, looked at from a purely objective point of view, or, rather, + after cool and mature reflection—for the question necessarily + involves subjective considerations,—would be decidedly preferable to + non-existence; implying that we should cling to it for its own sake, and + not merely from the fear of death; and further, that we should never like + it to come to an end. + </p> + <p> + Now whether human life corresponds, or could possibly correspond, to this + conception of existence, is a question to which, as is well-known, my + philosophical system returns a negative answer. On the eudaemonistic + hypothesis, however, the question must be answered in the affirmative; and + I have shown, in the second volume of my chief work (ch. 49), that this + hypothesis is based upon a fundamental mistake. Accordingly, in + elaborating the scheme of a happy existence, I have had to make a complete + surrender of the higher metaphysical and ethical standpoint to which my + own theories lead; and everything I shall say here will to some extent + rest upon a compromise; in so far, that is, as I take the common + standpoint of every day, and embrace the error which is at the bottom of + it. My remarks, therefore, will possess only a qualified value, for the + very word <i>eudaemonology</i> is a euphemism. Further, I make no claims + to completeness; partly because the subject is inexhaustible, and partly + because I should otherwise have to say over again what has been already + said by others. + </p> + <p> + The only book composed, as far as I remember, with a like purpose to that + which animates this collection of aphorisms, is Cardan's <i>De utilitate + ex adversis capienda</i>, which is well worth reading, and may be used to + supplement the present work. Aristotle, it is true, has a few words on + eudaemonology in the fifth chapter of the first book of his <i>Rhetoric</i>; + but what he says does not come to very much. As compilation is not my + business, I have made no use of these predecessors; more especially + because in the process of compiling, individuality of view is lost, and + individuality of view is the kernel of works of this kind. In general, + indeed, the wise in all ages have always said the same thing, and the + fools, who at all times form the immense majority, have in their way too + acted alike, and done just the opposite; and so it will continue. For, as + Voltaire says, <i>we shall leave this world as foolish and as wicked as we + found it on our arrival</i>. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WISDOM OF LIFE. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. — DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT. + </h2> + <p> + Aristotle{1} divides the blessings of life into three classes—those + which come to us from without, those of the soul, and those of the body. + Keeping nothing of this division but the number, I observe that the + fundamental differences in human lot may be reduced to three distinct + classes: + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Eth. Nichom</i>., I. 8.} + </p> + <p> + (1) What a man is: that is to say, personality, in the widest sense of the + word; under which are included health, strength, beauty, temperament, + moral character, intelligence, and education. + </p> + <p> + (2) What a man has: that is, property and possessions of every kind. + </p> + <p> + (3) How a man stands in the estimation of others: by which is to be + understood, as everybody knows, what a man is in the eyes of his + fellowmen, or, more strictly, the light in which they regard him. This is + shown by their opinion of him; and their opinion is in its turn manifested + by the honor in which he is held, and by his rank and reputation. + </p> + <p> + The differences which come under the first head are those which Nature + herself has set between man and man; and from this fact alone we may at + once infer that they influence the happiness or unhappiness of mankind in + a much more vital and radical way than those contained under the two + following heads, which are merely the effect of human arrangements. + Compared with <i>genuine personal advantages</i>, such as a great mind or + a great heart, all the privileges of rank or birth, even of royal birth, + are but as kings on the stage, to kings in real life. The same thing was + said long ago by Metrodorus, the earliest disciple of Epicurus, who wrote + as the title of one of his chapters, <i>The happiness we receive from + ourselves is greater than that which we obtain from our surroundings</i>{1} + And it is an obvious fact, which cannot be called in question, that the + principal element in a man's well-being,—indeed, in the whole tenor + of his existence,—is what he is made of, his inner constitution. For + this is the immediate source of that inward satisfaction or + dissatisfaction resulting from the sum total of his sensations, desires + and thoughts; whilst his surroundings, on the other hand, exert only a + mediate or indirect influence upon him. This is why the same external + events or circumstances affect no two people alike; even with perfectly + similar surroundings every one lives in a world of his own. For a man has + immediate apprehension only of his own ideas, feelings and volitions; the + outer world can influence him only in so far as it brings these to life. + The world in which a man lives shapes itself chiefly by the way in which + he looks at it, and so it proves different to different men; to one it is + barren, dull, and superficial; to another rich, interesting, and full of + meaning. On hearing of the interesting events which have happened in the + course of a man's experience, many people will wish that similar things + had happened in their lives too, completely forgetting that they should be + envious rather of the mental aptitude which lent those events the + significance they possess when he describes them; to a man of genius they + were interesting adventures; but to the dull perceptions of an ordinary + individual they would have been stale, everyday occurrences. This is in + the highest degree the case with many of Goethe's and Byron's poems, which + are obviously founded upon actual facts; where it is open to a foolish + reader to envy the poet because so many delightful things happened to him, + instead of envying that mighty power of phantasy which was capable of + turning a fairly common experience into something so great and beautiful. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Cf. Clemens Alex. Strom. II., 21.} + </p> + <p> + In the same way, a person of melancholy temperament will make a scene in a + tragedy out of what appears to the sanguine man only in the light of an + interesting conflict, and to a phlegmatic soul as something without any + meaning;—all of which rests upon the fact that every event, in order + to be realized and appreciated, requires the co-operation of two factors, + namely, a subject and an object, although these are as closely and + necessarily connected as oxygen and hydrogen in water. When therefore the + objective or external factor in an experience is actually the same, but + the subjective or personal appreciation of it varies, the event is just as + much a different one in the eyes of different persons as if the objective + factors had not been alike; for to a blunt intelligence the fairest and + best object in the world presents only a poor reality, and is therefore + only poorly appreciated,—like a fine landscape in dull weather, or + in the reflection of a bad <i>camera obscura</i>. In plain language, every + man is pent up within the limits of his own consciousness, and cannot + directly get beyond those limits any more than he can get beyond his own + skin; so external aid is not of much use to him. On the stage, one man is + a prince, another a minister, a third a servant or a soldier or a general, + and so on,—mere external differences: the inner reality, the kernel + of all these appearances is the same—a poor player, with all the + anxieties of his lot. In life it is just the same. Differences of rank and + wealth give every man his part to play, but this by no means implies a + difference of inward happiness and pleasure; here, too, there is the same + being in all—a poor mortal, with his hardships and troubles. Though + these may, indeed, in every case proceed from dissimilar causes, they are + in their essential nature much the same in all their forms, with degrees + of intensity which vary, no doubt, but in no wise correspond to the part a + man has to play, to the presence or absence of position and wealth. Since + everything which exists or happens for a man exists only in his + consciousness and happens for it alone, the most essential thing for a man + is the constitution of this consciousness, which is in most cases far more + important than the circumstances which go to form its contents. All the + pride and pleasure of the world, mirrored in the dull consciousness of a + fool, are poor indeed compared with the imagination of Cervantes writing + his <i>Don Quixote</i> in a miserable prison. The objective half of life + and reality is in the hand of fate, and accordingly takes various forms in + different cases: the subjective half is ourself, and in essentials is + always remains the same. + </p> + <p> + Hence the life of every man is stamped with the same character throughout, + however much his external circumstances may alter; it is like a series of + variations on a single theme. No one can get beyond his own individuality. + An animal, under whatever circumstances it is placed, remains within the + narrow limits to which nature has irrevocably consigned it; so that our + endeavors to make a pet happy must always keep within the compass of its + nature, and be restricted to what it can feel. So it is with man; the + measure of the happiness he can attain is determined beforehand by his + individuality. More especially is this the case with the mental powers, + which fix once for all his capacity for the higher kinds of pleasure. If + these powers are small, no efforts from without, nothing that his + fellowmen or that fortune can do for him, will suffice to raise him above + the ordinary degree of human happiness and pleasure, half animal though it + be; his only resources are his sensual appetite,—a cozy and cheerful + family life at the most,—low company and vulgar pastime; even + education, on the whole, can avail little, if anything, for the + enlargement of his horizon. For the highest, most varied and lasting + pleasures are those of the mind, however much our youth may deceive us on + this point; and the pleasures of the mind turn chiefly on the powers of + the mind. It is clear, then, that our happiness depends in a great degree + upon what we <i>are</i>, upon our individuality, whilst lot or destiny is + generally taken to mean only what we <i>have</i>, or our <i>reputation</i>. + Our lot, in this sense, may improve; but we do not ask much of it if we + are inwardly rich: on the other hand, a fool remains a fool, a dull + blockhead, to his last hour, even though he were surrounded by houris in + paradise. This is why Goethe, in the <i>West-östliclien Divan</i>, says + that every man, whether he occupies a low position in life, or emerges as + its victor, testifies to personality as the greatest factor in happiness:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Volk und Knecht und Uberwinder + Sie gestehen, zu jeder Zeit, + Höchtes Glück der Erdenkinder + Sei nur die Persönlichkeit</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Everything confirms the fact that the subjective element in life is + incomparably more important for our happiness and pleasure than the + objective, from such sayings as <i>Hunger is the best sauce</i>, and <i>Youth + and Age cannot live together</i>, up to the life of the Genius and the + Saint. Health outweighs all other blessings so much that one may really + say that a healthy beggar is happier than an ailing king. A quiet and + cheerful temperament, happy in the enjoyment of a perfectly sound + physique, an intellect clear, lively, penetrating and seeing things as + they are, a moderate and gentle will, and therefore a good conscience—these + are privileges which no rank or wealth can make up for or replace. For + what a man is in himself, what accompanies him when he is alone, what no + one can give or take away, is obviously more essential to him than + everything he has in the way of possessions, or even what he may be in the + eyes of the world. An intellectual man in complete solitude has excellent + entertainment in his own thoughts and fancies, while no amount of + diversity or social pleasure, theatres, excursions and amusements, can + ward off boredom from a dullard. A good, temperate, gentle character can + be happy in needy circumstances, whilst a covetous, envious and malicious + man, even if he be the richest in the world, goes miserable. Nay more; to + one who has the constant delight of a special individuality, with a high + degree of intellect, most of the pleasures which are run after by mankind + are simply superfluous; they are even a trouble and a burden. And so + Horace says of himself, that, however many are deprived of the fancy-goods + of life, there is one at least who can live without them:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Gemmas, marmor, ebur, Tyrrhena sigilla, tabellas, + Argentum, vestes, Gaetulo murice tinctas + Sunt qui non habeant, est qui non curat habere</i>; +</pre> + <p> + and when Socrates saw various articles of luxury spread out for sale, he + exclaimed: <i>How much there is in the world I do not want</i>. + </p> + <p> + So the first and most essential element in our life's happiness is what we + are,—our personality, if for no other reason than that it is a + constant factor coming into play under all circumstances: besides, unlike + the blessings which are described under the other two heads, it is not the + sport of destiny and cannot be wrested from us;—and, so far, it is + endowed with an absolute value in contrast to the merely relative worth of + the other two. The consequence of this is that it is much more difficult + than people commonly suppose to get a hold on a man from without. But here + the all-powerful agent, Time, comes in and claims its rights, and before + its influence physical and mental advantages gradually waste away. Moral + character alone remains inaccessible to it. In view of the destructive + effect of time, it seems, indeed, as if the blessings named under the + other two heads, of which time cannot directly rob us, were superior to + those of the first. Another advantage might be claimed for them, namely, + that being in their very nature objective and external, they are + attainable, and every one is presented with the possibility, at least, of + coming into possession of them; whilst what is subjective is not open to + us to acquire, but making its entry by a kind of <i>divine right</i>, it + remains for life, immutable, inalienable, an inexorable doom. Let me quote + those lines in which Goethe describes how an unalterable destiny is + assigned to every man at the hour of his birth, so that he can develop + only in the lines laid down for him, as it were, by the conjunctions of + the stars: and how the Sybil and the prophets declare that <i>himself</i> + a man can never escape, nor any power of time avail to change the path on + which his life is cast:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Wie an dem Tag, der dich der Welt verliehen, + Dïe Sonne stand zum Grusse der Planeten, + Bist alsobald und fort und fort gediehen, + Nach dem Gesetz, wonach du angetreten. + So musst du sein, dir kannst du nicht entfliehen, + So tagten schon Sybillen und Propheten; + Und keine Zeit, und keine Macht zerstückelt + Geprägte Form, die lebend sich entwickelt</i>. +</pre> + <p> + The only thing that stands in our power to achieve, is to make the most + advantageous use possible of the personal qualities we possess, and + accordingly to follow such pursuits only as will call them into play, to + strive after the kind of perfection of which they admit and to avoid every + other; consequently, to choose the position, occupation and manner of life + which are most suitable for their development. + </p> + <p> + Imagine a man endowed with herculean strength who is compelled by + circumstances to follow a sedentary occupation, some minute exquisite work + of the hands, for example, or to engage in study and mental labor + demanding quite other powers, and just those which he has not got,—compelled, + that is, to leave unused the powers in which he is pre-eminently strong; a + man placed like this will never feel happy all his life through. Even more + miserable will be the lot of the man with intellectual powers of a very + high order, who has to leave them undeveloped and unemployed, in the + pursuit of a calling which does not require them, some bodily labor, + perhaps, for which his strength is insufficient. Still, in a case of this + kind, it should be our care, especially in youth, to avoid the precipice + of presumption, and not ascribe to ourselves a superfluity of power which + is not there. + </p> + <p> + Since the blessings described under the first head decidedly outweigh + those contained under the other two, it is manifestly a wiser course to + aim at the maintenance of our health and the cultivation of our faculties, + than at the amassing of wealth; but this must not be mistaken as meaning + that we should neglect to acquire an adequate supply of the necessaries of + life. Wealth, in the strict sense of the word, that is, great superfluity, + can do little for our happiness; and many rich people feel unhappy just + because they are without any true mental culture or knowledge, and + consequently have no objective interests which would qualify them for + intellectual occupations. For beyond the satisfaction of some real and + natural necessities, all that the possession of wealth can achieve has a + very small influence upon our happiness, in the proper sense of the word; + indeed, wealth rather disturbs it, because the preservation of property + entails a great many unavoidable anxieties. And still men are a thousand + times more intent on becoming rich than on acquiring culture, though it is + quite certain that what a man <i>is</i> contributes much more to his + happiness than what he <i>has</i>. So you may see many a man, as + industrious as an ant, ceaselessly occupied from morning to night in the + endeavor to increase his heap of gold. Beyond the narrow horizon of means + to this end, he knows nothing; his mind is a blank, and consequently + unsusceptible to any other influence. The highest pleasures, those of the + intellect, are to him inaccessible, and he tries in vain to replace them + by the fleeting pleasures of sense in which he indulges, lasting but a + brief hour and at tremendous cost. And if he is lucky, his struggles + result in his having a really great pile of gold, which he leaves to his + heir, either to make it still larger, or to squander it in extravagance. A + life like this, though pursued with a sense of earnestness and an air of + importance, is just as silly as many another which has a fool's cap for + its symbol. + </p> + <p> + <i>What a man has in himself</i> is, then, the chief element in his + happiness. Because this is, as a rule, so very little, most of those who + are placed beyond the struggle with penury feel at bottom quite as unhappy + as those who are still engaged in it. Their minds are vacant, their + imagination dull, their spirits poor, and so they are driven to the + company of those like them—for <i>similis simili gaudet</i>—where + they make common pursuit of pastime and entertainment, consisting for the + most part in sensual pleasure, amusement of every kind, and finally, in + excess and libertinism. A young man of rich family enters upon life with a + large patrimony, and often runs through it in an incredibly short space of + time, in vicious extravagance; and why? Simply because, here too, the mind + is empty and void, and so the man is bored with existence. He was sent + forth into the world outwardly rich but inwardly poor, and his vain + endeavor was to make his external wealth compensate for his inner poverty, + by trying to obtain everything <i>from without</i>, like an old man who + seeks to strengthen himself as King David or Maréchal de Rex tried to do. + And so in the end one who is inwardly poor comes to be also poor + outwardly. + </p> + <p> + I need not insist upon the importance of the other two kinds of blessings + which make up the happiness of human life; now-a-days the value of + possessing them is too well known to require advertisement. The third + class, it is true, may seem, compared with the second, of a very ethereal + character, as it consists only of other people's opinions. Still every one + has to strive for reputation, that is to say, a good name. Rank, on the + other hand, should be aspired to only by those who serve the state, and + fame by very few indeed. In any case, reputation is looked upon as a + priceless treasure, and fame as the most precious of all the blessings a + man can attain,—the Golden Fleece, as it were, of the elect: whilst + only fools will prefer rank to property. The second and third classes, + moreover, are reciprocally cause and effect; so far, that is, as + Petronius' maxim, <i>habes habeberis</i>, is true; and conversely, the + favor of others, in all its forms, often puts us in the way of getting + what we want. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. — PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS. + </h2> + <p> + We have already seen, in general, that what a man <i>is</i> contributes + much more to his happiness than what he <i>has</i>, or how he is regarded + by others. What a man is, and so what he has in his own person, is always + the chief thing to consider; for his individuality accompanies him always + and everywhere, and gives its color to all his experiences. In every kind + of enjoyment, for instance, the pleasure depends principally upon the man + himself. Every one admits this in regard to physical, and how much truer + it is of intellectual, pleasure. When we use that English expression, "to + enjoy one's self," we are employing a very striking and appropriate + phrase; for observe—one says, not "he enjoys Paris," but "he enjoys + himself in Paris." To a man possessed of an ill-conditioned individuality, + all pleasure is like delicate wine in a mouth made bitter with gall. + Therefore, in the blessings as well as in the ills of life, less depends + upon what befalls us than upon the way in which it is met, that is, upon + the kind and degree of our general susceptibility. What a man is and has + in himself,—in a word personality, with all it entails, is the only + immediate and direct factor in his happiness and welfare. All else is + mediate and indirect, and its influence can be neutralized and frustrated; + but the influence of personality never. This is why the envy which + personal qualities excite is the most implacable of all,—as it is + also the most carefully dissembled. + </p> + <p> + Further, the constitution of our consciousness is the ever present and + lasting element in all we do or suffer; our individuality is persistently + at work, more or less, at every moment of our life: all other influences + are temporal, incidental, fleeting, and subject to every kind of chance + and change. This is why Aristotle says: <i>It is not wealth but character + that lasts</i>.{1} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + {Greek: —hae gar phusis bebion ou ta chraemata} +</pre> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Eth. Eud., vii. 2. 37:} + </p> + <p> + And just for the same reason we can more easily bear a misfortune which + comes to us entirely from without, than one which we have drawn upon + ourselves; for fortune may always change, but not character. Therefore, + subjective blessings,—a noble nature, a capable head, a joyful + temperament, bright spirits, a well-constituted, perfectly sound physique, + in a word, <i>mens sana in corpore sano</i>, are the first and most + important elements in happiness; so that we should be more intent on + promoting and preserving such qualities than on the possession of external + wealth and external honor. + </p> + <p> + And of all these, the one which makes us the most directly happy is a + genial flow of good spirits; for this excellent quality is its own + immediate reward. The man who is cheerful and merry has always a good + reason for being so,—the fact, namely, that he is so. There is + nothing which, like this quality, can so completely replace the loss of + every other blessing. If you know anyone who is young, handsome, rich and + esteemed, and you want to know, further, if he is happy, ask, Is he + cheerful and genial?—and if he is, what does it matter whether he is + young or old, straight or humpbacked, poor or rich?—he is happy. In + my early days I once opened an old book and found these words: <i>If you + laugh a great deal, you are happy; if you cry a great deal, you are + unhappy</i>;—a very simple remark, no doubt; but just because it is + so simple I have never been able to forget it, even though it is in the + last degree a truism. So if cheerfulness knocks at our door, we should + throw it wide open, for it never comes inopportunely; instead of that, we + often make scruples about letting it in. We want to be quite sure that we + have every reason to be contented; then we are afraid that cheerfulness of + spirits may interfere with serious reflections or weighty cares. + Cheerfulness is a direct and immediate gain,—the very coin, as it + were, of happiness, and not, like all else, merely a cheque upon the bank; + for it alone makes us immediately happy in the present moment, and that is + the highest blessing for beings like us, whose existence is but an + infinitesimal moment between two eternities. To secure and promote this + feeling of cheerfulness should be the supreme aim of all our endeavors + after happiness. + </p> + <p> + Now it is certain that nothing contributes so little to cheerfulness as + riches, or so much, as health. Is it not in the lower classes, the + so-called working classes, more especially those of them who live in the + country, that we see cheerful and contented faces? and is it not amongst + the rich, the upper classes, that we find faces full of ill-humor and + vexation? Consequently we should try as much as possible to maintain a + high degree of health; for cheerfulness is the very flower of it. I need + hardly say what one must do to be healthy—avoid every kind of + excess, all violent and unpleasant emotion, all mental overstrain, take + daily exercise in the open air, cold baths and such like hygienic + measures. For without a proper amount of daily exercise no one can remain + healthy; all the processes of life demand exercise for the due performance + of their functions, exercise not only of the parts more immediately + concerned, but also of the whole body. For, as Aristotle rightly says, <i>Life + is movement</i>; it is its very essence. Ceaseless and rapid motion goes + on in every part of the organism. The heart, with its complicated double + systole and diastole, beats strongly and untiringly; with twenty-eight + beats it has to drive the whole of the blood through arteries, veins and + capillaries; the lungs pump like a steam-engine, without intermission; the + intestines are always in peristaltic action; the glands are all constantly + absorbing and secreting; even the brain has a double motion of its own, + with every beat of the pulse and every breath we draw. When people can get + no exercise at all, as is the case with the countless numbers who are + condemned to a sedentary life, there is a glaring and fatal disproportion + between outward inactivity and inner tumult. For this ceaseless internal + motion requires some external counterpart, and the want of it produces + effects like those of emotion which we are obliged to suppress. Even trees + must be shaken by the wind, if they are to thrive. The rule which finds + its application here may be most briefly expressed in Latin: <i>omnis + motus, quo celerior, eo magis motus</i>. + </p> + <p> + How much our happiness depends upon our spirits, and these again upon our + state of health, may be seen by comparing the influence which the same + external circumstances or events have upon us when we are well and strong + with the effects which they have when we are depressed and troubled with + ill-health. It is not what things are objectively and in themselves, but + what they are for us, in our way of looking at them, that makes us happy + or the reverse. As Epictetus says, <i>Men are not influenced by things, + but by their thoughts about things</i>. And, in general, nine-tenths of + our happiness depends upon health alone. With health, everything is a + source of pleasure; without it, nothing else, whatever it may be, is + enjoyable; even the other personal blessings,—a great mind, a happy + temperament—are degraded and dwarfed for want of it. So it is really + with good reason that, when two people meet, the first thing they do is to + inquire after each other's health, and to express the hope that it is + good; for good health is by far the most important element in human + happiness. It follows from all this that the greatest of follies is to + sacrifice health for any other kind of happiness, whatever it may be, for + gain, advancement, learning or fame, let alone, then, for fleeting sensual + pleasures. Everything else should rather be postponed to it. + </p> + <p> + But however much health may contribute to that flow of good spirits which + is so essential to our happiness, good spirits do not entirely depend upon + health; for a man may be perfectly sound in his physique and still possess + a melancholy temperament and be generally given up to sad thoughts. The + ultimate cause of this is undoubtedly to be found in innate, and therefore + unalterable, physical constitution, especially in the more or less normal + relation of a man's sensitiveness to his muscular and vital energy. + Abnormal sensitiveness produces inequality of spirits, a predominating + melancholy, with periodical fits of unrestrained liveliness. A genius is + one whose nervous power or sensitiveness is largely in excess; as + Aristotle{1} has very correctly observed, <i>Men distinguished in + philosophy, politics, poetry or art appear to be all of a melancholy + temperament</i>. This is doubtless the passage which Cicero has in his + mind when he says, as he often does, <i>Aristoteles ait omnes ingeniosos + melancholicos esse</i>.{2} Shakespeare has very neatly expressed this + radical and innate diversity of temperament in those lines in <i>The + Merchant of Venice</i>: + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Probl. xxx., ep. 1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: Tusc. i., 33.} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Nature has framed strange fellows in her time; + Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, + And laugh, like parrots at a bag-piper; + And others of such vinegar aspect, + That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, + Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable</i>. +</pre> + <p> + This is the difference which Plato draws between {Greek: eukolos} and + {Greek: dyskolos}—the man of <i>easy</i>, and the man of <i>difficult</i> + disposition—in proof of which he refers to the varying degrees of + susceptibility which different people show to pleasurable and painful + impressions; so that one man will laugh at what makes another despair. As + a rule, the stronger the susceptibility to unpleasant impressions, the + weaker is the susceptibility to pleasant ones, and <i>vice versa</i>. If + it is equally possible for an event to turn out well or ill, the {Greek: + dyskolos} will be annoyed or grieved if the issue is unfavorable, and will + not rejoice, should it be happy. On the other hand, the {Greek: eukolos} + will neither worry nor fret over an unfavorable issue, but rejoice if it + turns out well. If the one is successful in nine out of ten undertakings, + he will not be pleased, but rather annoyed that one has miscarried; whilst + the other, if only a single one succeeds, will manage to find consolation + in the fact and remain cheerful. But here is another instance of the + truth, that hardly any evil is entirely without its compensation; for the + misfortunes and sufferings which the {Greek: auskoloi}, that is, people of + gloomy and anxious character, have to overcome, are, on the whole, more + imaginary and therefore less real than those which befall the gay and + careless; for a man who paints everything black, who constantly fears the + worst and takes measures accordingly, will not be disappointed so often in + this world, as one who always looks upon the bright side of things. And + when a morbid affection of the nerves, or a derangement of the digestive + organs, plays into the hands of an innate tendency to gloom, this tendency + may reach such a height that permanent discomfort produces a weariness of + life. So arises an inclination to suicide, which even the most trivial + unpleasantness may actually bring about; nay, when the tendency attains + its worst form, it may be occasioned by nothing in particular, but a man + may resolve to put an end to his existence, simply because he is + permanently unhappy, and then coolly and firmly carry out his + determination; as may be seen by the way in which the sufferer, when + placed under supervision, as he usually is, eagerly waits to seize the + first unguarded moment, when, without a shudder, without a struggle or + recoil, he may use the now natural and welcome means of effecting his + release.{1} Even the healthiest, perhaps even the most cheerful man, may + resolve upon death under certain circumstances; when, for instance, his + sufferings, or his fears of some inevitable misfortune, reach such a pitch + as to outweigh the terrors of death. The only difference lies in the + degree of suffering necessary to bring about the fatal act, a degree which + will be high in the case of a cheerful, and low in that of a gloomy man. + The greater the melancholy, the lower need the degree be; in the end, it + may even sink to zero. But if a man is cheerful, and his spirits are + supported by good health, it requires a high degree of suffering to make + him lay hands upon himself. There are countless steps in the scale between + the two extremes of suicide, the suicide which springs merely from a + morbid intensification of innate gloom, and the suicide of the healthy and + cheerful man, who has entirely objective grounds for putting an end to his + existence. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: For a detailed description of this condition of mind <i>Cf</i> + Esquirol, <i>Des maladies mentales</i>.} + </p> + <p> + Beauty is partly an affair of health. It may be reckoned as a personal + advantage; though it does not, properly speaking, contribute directly to + our happiness. It does so indirectly, by impressing other people; and it + is no unimportant advantage, even in man. Beauty is an open letter of + recommendation, predisposing the heart to favor the person who presents + it. As is well said in these lines of Homer, the gift of beauty is not + lightly to be thrown away, that glorious gift which none can bestow save + the gods alone— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + {Greek: outoi hapoblaet erti theon erikuoea dora, + ossa ken autoi dosin, ekon douk an tis eloito}.{1} +</pre> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Iliad</i> 3, 65.} + </p> + <p> + The most general survey shows us that the two foes of human happiness are + pain and boredom. We may go further, and say that in the degree in which + we are fortunate enough to get away from the one, we approach the other. + Life presents, in fact, a more or less violent oscillation between the + two. The reason of this is that each of these two poles stands in a double + antagonism to the other, external or objective, and inner or subjective. + Needy surroundings and poverty produce pain; while, if a man is more than + well off, he is bored. Accordingly, while the lower classes are engaged in + a ceaseless struggle with need, in other words, with pain, the upper carry + on a constant and often desperate battle with boredom.{1} The inner or + subjective antagonism arises from the fact that, in the individual, + susceptibility to pain varies inversely with susceptibility to boredom, + because susceptibility is directly proportionate to mental power. Let me + explain. A dull mind is, as a rule, associated with dull sensibilities, + nerves which no stimulus can affect, a temperament, in short, which does + not feel pain or anxiety very much, however great or terrible it may be. + Now, intellectual dullness is at the bottom of that <i>vacuity of soul</i> + which is stamped on so many faces, a state of mind which betrays itself by + a constant and lively attention to all the trivial circumstances in the + external world. This is the true source of boredom—a continual + panting after excitement, in order to have a pretext for giving the mind + and spirits something to occupy them. The kind of things people choose for + this purpose shows that they are not very particular, as witness the + miserable pastimes they have recourse to, and their ideas of social + pleasure and conversation: or again, the number of people who gossip on + the doorstep or gape out of the window. It is mainly because of this inner + vacuity of soul that people go in quest of society, diversion, amusement, + luxury of every sort, which lead many to extravagance and misery. Nothing + is so good a protection against such misery as inward wealth, the wealth + of the mind, because the greater it grows, the less room it leaves for + boredom. The inexhaustible activity of thought! Finding ever new material + to work upon in the multifarious phenomena of self and nature, and able + and ready to form new combinations of them,—there you have something + that invigorates the mind, and apart from moments of relaxation, sets it + far above the reach of boredom. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: And the extremes meet; for the lowest state of civilization, + a nomad or wandering life, finds its counterpart in the highest, where + everyone is at times a tourist. The earlier stage was a case of necessity; + the latter is a remedy for boredom.} + </p> + <p> + But, on the other hand, this high degree of intelligence is rooted in a + high degree of susceptibility, greater strength of will, greater + passionateness; and from the union of these qualities comes an increased + capacity for emotion, an enhanced sensibility to all mental and even + bodily pain, greater impatience of obstacles, greater resentment of + interruption;—all of which tendencies are augmented by the power of + the imagination, the vivid character of the whole range of thought, + including what is disagreeable. This applies, in various degrees, to every + step in the long scale of mental power, from the veriest dunce to the + greatest genius that ever lived. Therefore the nearer anyone is, either + from a subjective or from an objective point of view, to one of those + sources of suffering in human life, the farther he is from the other. And + so a man's natural bent will lead him to make his objective world conform + to his subjective as much as possible; that is to say, he will take the + greatest measures against that form of suffering to which he is most + liable. The wise man will, above all, strive after freedom from pain and + annoyance, quiet and leisure, consequently a tranquil, modest life, with + as few encounters as may be; and so, after a little experience of his + so-called fellowmen, he will elect to live in retirement, or even, if he + is a man of great intellect, in solitude. For the more a man has in + himself, the less he will want from other people,—the less, indeed, + other people can be to him. This is why a high degree of intellect tends + to make a man unsocial. True, if <i>quality</i> of intellect could be made + up for by quantity, it might be worth while to live even in the great + world; but unfortunately, a hundred fools together will not make one wise + man. + </p> + <p> + But the individual who stands at the other end of the scale is no sooner + free from the pangs of need than he endeavors to get pastime and society + at any cost, taking up with the first person he meets, and avoiding + nothing so much as himself. For in solitude, where every one is thrown + upon his own resources, what a man has in himself comes to light; the fool + in fine raiment groans under the burden of his miserable personality, a + burden which he can never throw off, whilst the man of talent peoples the + waste places with his animating thoughts. Seneca declares that folly is + its own burden,—<i>omnis stultitia laborat fastidio sui</i>,—a + very true saying, with which may be compared the words of Jesus, the son + of Sirach, <i>The life of a fool is worse than death</i>{1}. And, as a + rule, it will be found that a man is sociable just in the degree in which + he is intellectually poor and generally vulgar. For one's choice in this + world does not go much beyond solitude on one side and vulgarity on the + other. It is said that the most sociable of all people are the negroes; + and they are at the bottom of the scale in intellect. I remember reading + once in a French paper{2} that the blacks in North America, whether free + or enslaved, are fond of shutting themselves up in large numbers in the + smallest space, because they cannot have too much of one another's + snub-nosed company. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Ecclesiasticus, xxii. 11.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: <i>Le Commerce</i>, Oct. 19th, 1837.} + </p> + <p> + The brain may be regarded as a kind of parasite of the organism, a + pensioner, as it were, who dwells with the body: and leisure, that is, the + time one has for the free enjoyment of one's consciousness or + individuality, is the fruit or produce of the rest of existence, which is + in general only labor and effort. But what does most people's leisure + yield?—boredom and dullness; except, of course, when it is occupied + with sensual pleasure or folly. How little such leisure is worth may be + seen in the way in which it is spent: and, as Ariosto observes, how + miserable are the idle hours of ignorant men!—<i>ozio lungo d'uomini + ignoranti</i>. Ordinary people think merely how they shall <i>spend</i> + their time; a man of any talent tries to <i>use</i> it. The reason why + people of limited intellect are apt to be bored is that their intellect is + absolutely nothing more than the means by which the motive power of the + will is put into force: and whenever there is nothing particular to set + the will in motion, it rests, and their intellect takes a holiday, + because, equally with the will, it requires something external to bring it + into play. The result is an awful stagnation of whatever power a man has—in + a word, boredom. To counteract this miserable feeling, men run to + trivialities which please for the moment they are taken up, hoping thus to + engage the will in order to rouse it to action, and so set the intellect + in motion; for it is the latter which has to give effect to these motives + of the will. Compared with real and natural motives, these are but as + paper money to coin; for their value is only arbitrary—card games + and the like, which have been invented for this very purpose. And if there + is nothing else to be done, a man will twirl his thumbs or beat the + devil's tattoo; or a cigar may be a welcome substitute for exercising his + brains. Hence, in all countries the chief occupation of society is + card-playing,{1} and it is the gauge of its value, and an outward sign + that it is bankrupt in thought. Because people have no thoughts to deal + in, they deal cards, and try and win one another's money. Idiots! But I do + not wish to be unjust; so let me remark that it may certainly be said in + defence of card-playing that it is a preparation for the world and for + business life, because one learns thereby how to make a clever use of + fortuitous but unalterable circumstances (cards, in this case), and to get + as much out of them as one can: and to do this a man must learn a little + dissimulation, and how to put a good face upon a bad business. But, on the + other hand, it is exactly for this reason that card-playing is so + demoralizing, since the whole object of it is to employ every kind of + trick and machination in order to win what belongs to another. And a habit + of this sort, learnt at the card-table, strikes root and pushes its way + into practical life; and in the affairs of every day a man gradually comes + to regard <i>meum</i> and <i>tuum</i> in much the same light as cards, and + to consider that he may use to the utmost whatever advantages he + possesses, so long as he does not come within the arm of the law. Examples + of what I mean are of daily occurrence in mercantile life. Since, then, + leisure is the flower, or rather the fruit, of existence, as it puts a man + into possession of himself, those are happy indeed who possess something + real in themselves. But what do you get from most people's leisure?—only + a good-for-nothing fellow, who is terribly bored and a burden to himself. + Let us, therefore, rejoice, dear brethren, for <i>we are not children of + the bondwoman, but of the free</i>. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Translator's Note</i>.—Card-playing to this extent + is now, no doubt, a thing of the past, at any rate amongst the nations of + northern Europe. The present fashion is rather in favor of a dilettante + interest in art or literature.} + </p> + <p> + Further, as no land is so well off as that which requires few imports, or + none at all, so the happiest man is one who has enough in his own inner + wealth, and requires little or nothing from outside for his maintenance, + for imports are expensive things, reveal dependence, entail danger, + occasion trouble, and when all is said and done, are a poor substitute for + home produce. No man ought to expect much from others, or, in general, + from the external world. What one human being can be to another is not a + very great deal: in the end every one stands alone, and the important + thing is <i>who</i> it is that stands alone. Here, then, is another + application of the general truth which Goethe recognizes in <i>Dichtung + und Wahrheit</i> (Bk. III.), that in everything a man has ultimately to + appeal to himself; or, as Goldsmith puts it in <i>The Traveller</i>: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Still to ourselves in every place consign'd + Our own felicity we make or find</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Himself is the source of the best and most a man can be or achieve. The + more this is so—the more a man finds his sources of pleasure in + himself—the happier he will be. Therefore, it is with great truth + that Aristotle{1} says, <i>To be happy means to be self-sufficient</i>. + For all other sources of happiness are in their nature most uncertain, + precarious, fleeting, the sport of chance; and so even under the most + favorable circumstances they can easily be exhausted; nay, this is + unavoidable, because they are not always within reach. And in old age + these sources of happiness must necessarily dry up:—love leaves us + then, and wit, desire to travel, delight in horses, aptitude for social + intercourse; friends and relations, too, are taken from us by death. Then + more than ever, it depends upon what a man has in himself; for this will + stick to him longest; and at any period of life it is the only genuine and + lasting source of happiness. There is not much to be got anywhere in the + world. It is filled with misery and pain; and if a man escapes these, + boredom lies in wait for him at every corner. Nay more; it is evil which + generally has the upper hand, and folly makes the most noise. Fate is + cruel, and mankind is pitiable. In such a world as this, a man who is rich + in himself is like a bright, warm, happy room at Christmastide, while + without are the frost and snow of a December night. Therefore, without + doubt, the happiest destiny on earth is to have the rare gift of a rich + individuality, and, more especially to be possessed of a good endowment of + intellect; this is the happiest destiny, though it may not be, after all, + a very brilliant one. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Eth. Eud, vii 2} + </p> + <p> + There was a great wisdom in that remark which Queen Christina of Sweden + made, in her nineteenth year, about Descartes, who had then lived for + twenty years in the deepest solitude in Holland, and, apart from report, + was known to her only by a single essay: <i>M. Descartes</i>, she said, <i>is + the happiest of men, and his condition seems to me much to be envied.{1}</i> + Of course, as was the case with Descartes, external circumstances must be + favorable enough to allow a man to be master of his life and happiness; + or, as we read in <i>Ecclesiastes</i>{2}—<i>Wisdom is good together + with an inheritance, and profitable unto them that see the sun</i>. The + man to whom nature and fate have granted the blessing of wisdom, will be + most anxious and careful to keep open the fountains of happiness which he + has in himself; and for this, independence and leisure are necessary. To + obtain them, he will be willing to moderate his desires and harbor his + resources, all the more because he is not, like others, restricted to the + external world for his pleasures. So he will not be misled by expectations + of office, or money, or the favor and applause of his fellowmen, into + surrendering himself in order to conform to low desires and vulgar tastes; + nay, in such a case he will follow the advice that Horace gives in his + epistle to Maecenas.{3} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Vie de Descartes</i>, par Baillet. Liv. vii., ch. 10.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: vii. 12.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 3: Lib. 1., ep. 7.} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Nec somnum plebis laudo, satur altilium, nec + Otia divitiis Arabum liberrima muto</i>. +</pre> + <p> + It is a great piece of folly to sacrifice the inner for the outer man, to + give the whole or the greater part of one's quiet, leisure and + independence for splendor, rank, pomp, titles and honor. This is what + Goethe did. My good luck drew me quite in the other direction. + </p> + <p> + The truth which I am insisting upon here, the truth, namely, that the + chief source of human happiness is internal, is confirmed by that most + accurate observation of Aristotle in the <i>Nichomachean Ethics</i>{1} + that every pleasure presupposes some sort of activity, the application of + some sort of power, without which it cannot exist. The doctrine of + Aristotle's, that a man's happiness consists in the free exercise of his + highest faculties, is also enunciated by Stobaeus in his exposition of the + Peripatetic philosophy{2}: <i>happiness</i>, he says, <i>means vigorous + and successful activity in all your undertakings</i>; and he explains that + by <i>vigor {Greek: aretae}</i> he means <i>mastery</i> in any thing, + whatever it be. Now, the original purpose of those forces with which + nature has endowed man is to enable him to struggle against the + difficulties which beset him on all sides. But if this struggle comes to + an end, his unemployed forces become a burden to him; and he has to set to + work and play with them,—to use them, I mean, for no purpose at all, + beyond avoiding the other source of human suffering, boredom, to which he + is at once exposed. It is the upper classes, people of wealth, who are the + greatest victims of boredom. Lucretius long ago described their miserable + state, and the truth of his description may be still recognized to-day, in + the life of every great capital—where the rich man is seldom in his + own halls, because it bores him to be there, and still he returns thither, + because he is no better off outside;—or else he is away in + post-haste to his house in the country, as if it were on fire; and he is + no sooner arrived there, than he is bored again, and seeks to forget + everything in sleep, or else hurries back to town once more. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: i. 7 and vii. 13, 14.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: Ecl. eth. ii., ch 7.} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Exit saepe foras magnis ex aedibus ille, + Esse domi quem pertaesum est, subitoque reventat, + Quippe foris nihilo melius qui sentiat esse. + Currit, agens mannos, ad villam precipitanter, + Auxilium tectis quasi ferre ardentibus instans: + Oscitat extemplo, tetigit quum limina villae; + Aut abit in somnum gravis, atque oblivia quaerit; + Aut etiam properans urbem petit atque revisit</i>.{1} +</pre> + <p> + {Footnote 1: III 1073.} + </p> + <p> + In their youth, such people must have had a superfluity of muscular and + vital energy,—powers which, unlike those of the mind, cannot + maintain their full degree of vigor very long; and in later years they + either have no mental powers at all, or cannot develop any for want of + employment which would bring them into play; so that they are in a + wretched plight. <i>Will</i>, however, they still possess, for this is the + only power that is inexhaustible; and they try to stimulate their will by + passionate excitement, such as games of chance for high stakes—undoubtedly + a most degrading form of vice. And one may say generally that if a man + finds himself with nothing to do, he is sure to choose some amusement + suited to the kind of power in which he excels,—bowls, it may be, or + chess; hunting or painting; horse-racing or music; cards, or poetry, + heraldry, philosophy, or some other dilettante interest. We might classify + these interests methodically, by reducing them to expressions of the three + fundamental powers, the factors, that is to say, which go to make up the + physiological constitution of man; and further, by considering these + powers by themselves, and apart from any of the definite aims which they + may subserve, and simply as affording three sources of possible pleasure, + out of which every man will choose what suits him, according as he excels + in one direction or another. + </p> + <p> + First of all come the pleasures of <i>vital energy</i>, of food, drink, + digestion, rest and sleep; and there are parts of the world where it can + be said that these are characteristic and national pleasures. Secondly, + there are the pleasures of <i>muscular energy</i>, such as walking, + running, wrestling, dancing, fencing, riding and similar athletic + pursuits, which sometimes take the form of sport, and sometimes of a + military life and real warfare. Thirdly, there are the pleasures of + sensibility, such as observation, thought, feeling, or a taste for poetry + or culture, music, learning, reading, meditation, invention, philosophy + and the like. As regards the value, relative worth and duration of each of + these kinds of pleasure, a great deal might be said, which, however, I + leave the reader to supply. But every one will see that the nobler the + power which is brought into play, the greater will be the pleasure which + it gives; for pleasure always involves the use of one's own powers, and + happiness consists in a frequent repetition of pleasure. No one will deny + that in this respect the pleasures of sensibility occupy a higher place + than either of the other two fundamental kinds; which exist in an equal, + nay, in a greater degree in brutes; it is this preponderating amount of + sensibility which distinguishes man from other animals. Now, our mental + powers are forms of sensibility, and therefore a preponderating amount of + it makes us capable of that kind of pleasure which has to do with mind, + so-called intellectual pleasure; and the more sensibility predominates, + the greater the pleasure will be.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Nature exhibits a continual progress, starting from the + mechanical and chemical activity of the inorganic world, proceeding to the + vegetable, with its dull enjoyment of self, from that to the animal world, + where intelligence and consciousness begin, at first very weak, and only + after many intermediate stages attaining its last great development in + man, whose intellect is Nature's crowning point, the goal of all her + efforts, the most perfect and difficult of all her works. And even within + the range of the human intellect, there are a great many observable + differences of degree, and it is very seldom that intellect reaches its + highest point, intelligence properly so-called, which in this narrow and + strict sense of the word, is Nature's most consummate product, and so the + rarest and most precious thing of which the world can boast. The highest + product of Nature is the clearest degree of consciousness, in which the + world mirrors itself more plainly and completely than anywhere else. A man + endowed with this form of intelligence is in possession of what is noblest + and best on earth; and accordingly, he has a source of pleasure in + comparison with which all others are small. From his surroundings he asks + nothing but leisure for the free enjoyment of what he has got, time, as it + were, to polish his diamond. All other pleasures that are not of the + intellect are of a lower kind; for they are, one and all, movements of + will—desires, hopes, fears and ambitions, no matter to what + directed: they are always satisfied at the cost of pain, and in the case + of ambition, generally with more or less of illusion. With intellectual + pleasure, on the other hand, truth becomes clearer and clearer. In the + realm of intelligence pain has no power. Knowledge is all in all. Further, + intellectual pleasures are accessible entirely and only through the medium + of the intelligence, and are limited by its capacity. <i>For all the wit + there is in the world is useless to him who has none</i>. Still this + advantage is accompanied by a substantial disadvantage; for the whole of + Nature shows that with the growth of intelligence comes increased capacity + for pain, and it is only with the highest degree of intelligence that + suffering reaches its supreme point.} + </p> + <p> + The normal, ordinary man takes a vivid interest in anything only in so far + as it excites his will, that is to say, is a matter of personal interest + to him. But constant excitement of the will is never an unmixed good, to + say the least; in other words, it involves pain. Card-playing, that + universal occupation of "good society" everywhere, is a device for + providing this kind of excitement, and that, too, by means of interests so + small as to produce slight and momentary, instead of real and permanent, + pain. Card-playing is, in fact, a mere tickling of the will.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Vulgarity</i> is, at bottom, the kind of consciousness in + which the will completely predominates over the intellect, where the + latter does nothing more than perform the service of its master, the will. + Therefore, when the will makes no demands, supplies no motives, strong or + weak, the intellect entirely loses its power, and the result is complete + vacancy of mind. Now <i>will without intellect</i> is the most vulgar and + common thing in the world, possessed by every blockhead, who, in the + gratification of his passions, shows the stuff of which he is made. This + is the condition of mind called <i>vulgarity</i>, in which the only active + elements are the organs of sense, and that small amount of intellect which + is necessary for apprehending the data of sense. Accordingly, the vulgar + man is constantly open to all sorts of impressions, and immediately + perceives all the little trifling things that go on in his environment: + the lightest whisper, the most trivial circumstance, is sufficient to + rouse his attention; he is just like an animal. Such a man's mental + condition reveals itself in his face, in his whole exterior; and hence + that vulgar, repulsive appearance, which is all the more offensive, if, as + is usually the case, his will—the only factor in his consciousness—is + a base, selfish and altogether bad one.} + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, a man of powerful intellect is capable of taking a + vivid interest in things in the way of mere <i>knowledge</i>, with no + admixture of <i>will</i>; nay, such an interest is a necessity to him. It + places him in a sphere where pain is an alien,—a diviner air, where + the gods live serene. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>{Greek: phusis bebion ou ta chraematatheoi reia xoontes}{1}</i> +</pre> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Odyssey IV., 805.} + </p> + <p> + Look on these two pictures—the life of the masses, one long, dull + record of struggle and effort entirely devoted to the petty interests of + personal welfare, to misery in all its forms, a life beset by intolerable + boredom as soon as ever those aims are satisfied and the man is thrown + back upon himself, whence he can be roused again to some sort of movement + only by the wild fire of passion. On the other side you have a man endowed + with a high degree of mental power, leading an existence rich in thought + and full of life and meaning, occupied by worthy and interesting objects + as soon as ever he is free to give himself to them, bearing in himself a + source of the noblest pleasure. What external promptings he wants come + from the works of nature, and from the contemplation of human affairs and + the achievements of the great of all ages and countries, which are + thoroughly appreciated by a man of this type alone, as being the only one + who can quite understand and feel with them. And so it is for him alone + that those great ones have really lived; it is to him that they make their + appeal; the rest are but casual hearers who only half understand either + them or their followers. Of course, this characteristic of the + intellectual man implies that he has one more need than the others, the + need of reading, observing, studying, meditating, practising, the need, in + short, of undisturbed leisure. For, as Voltaire has very rightly said, <i>there + are no real pleasures without real needs</i>; and the need of them is why + to such a man pleasures are accessible which are denied to others,—the + varied beauties of nature and art and literature. To heap these pleasures + round people who do not want them and cannot appreciate them, is like + expecting gray hairs to fall in love. A man who is privileged in this + respect leads two lives, a personal and an intellectual life; and the + latter gradually comes to be looked upon as the true one, and the former + as merely a means to it. Other people make this shallow, empty and + troubled existence an end in itself. To the life of the intellect such a + man will give the preference over all his other occupations: by the + constant growth of insight and knowledge, this intellectual life, like a + slowly-forming work of art, will acquire a consistency, a permanent + intensity, a unity which becomes ever more and more complete; compared + with which, a life devoted to the attainment of personal comfort, a life + that may broaden indeed, but can never be deepened, makes but a poor show: + and yet, as I have said, people make this baser sort of existence an end + in itself. + </p> + <p> + The ordinary life of every day, so far as it is not moved by passion, is + tedious and insipid; and if it is so moved, it soon becomes painful. Those + alone are happy whom nature has favored with some superfluity of + intellect, something beyond what is just necessary to carry out the + behests of their will; for it enables them to lead an intellectual life as + well, a life unattended by pain and full of vivid interests. Mere leisure, + that is to say, intellect unoccupied in the service of the will, is not of + itself sufficient: there must be a real superfluity of power, set free + from the service of the will and devoted to that of the intellect; for, as + Seneca says, <i>otium sine litteris mors est et vivi hominis sepultura</i>—illiterate + leisure is a form of death, a living tomb. Varying with the amount of the + superfluity, there will be countless developments in this second life, the + life of the mind; it may be the mere collection and labelling of insects, + birds, minerals, coins, or the highest achievements of poetry and + philosophy. The life of the mind is not only a protection against boredom; + it also wards off the pernicious effects of boredom; it keeps us from bad + company, from the many dangers, misfortunes, losses and extravagances + which the man who places his happiness entirely in the objective world is + sure to encounter, My philosophy, for instance, has never brought me in a + six-pence; but it has spared me many an expense. + </p> + <p> + The ordinary man places his life's happiness in things external to him, in + property, rank, wife and children, friends, society, and the like, so that + when he loses them or finds them disappointing, the foundation of his + happiness is destroyed. In other words, his centre of gravity is not in + himself; it is constantly changing its place, with every wish and whim. If + he is a man of means, one day it will be his house in the country, another + buying horses, or entertaining friends, or traveling,—a life, in + short, of general luxury, the reason being that he seeks his pleasure in + things outside him. Like one whose health and strength are gone, he tries + to regain by the use of jellies and drugs, instead of by developing his + own vital power, the true source of what he has lost. Before proceeding to + the opposite, let us compare with this common type the man who comes + midway between the two, endowed, it may be, not exactly with distinguished + powers of mind, but with somewhat more than the ordinary amount of + intellect. He will take a dilettante interest in art, or devote his + attention to some branch of science—botany, for example, or physics, + astronomy, history, and find a great deal of pleasure in such studies, and + amuse himself with them when external forces of happiness are exhausted or + fail to satisfy him any more. Of a man like this it may be said that his + centre of gravity is partly in himself. But a dilettante interest in art + is a very different thing from creative activity; and an amateur pursuit + of science is apt to be superficial and not to penetrate to the heart of + the matter. A man cannot entirely identify himself with such pursuits, or + have his whole existence so completely filled and permeated with them that + he loses all interest in everything else. It is only the highest + intellectual power, what we call <i>genius</i>, that attains to this + degree of intensity, making all time and existence its theme, and striving + to express its peculiar conception of the world, whether it contemplates + life as the subject of poetry or of philosophy. Hence, undisturbed + occupation with himself, his own thoughts and works, is a matter of urgent + necessity to such a man; solitude is welcome, leisure is the highest good, + and everything else is unnecessary, nay, even burdensome. + </p> + <p> + This is the only type of man of whom it can be said that his centre of + gravity is entirely in himself; which explains why it is that people of + this sort—and they are very rare—no matter how excellent their + character may be, do not show that warm and unlimited interest in friends, + family, and the community in general, of which others are so often + capable; for if they have only themselves they are not inconsolable for + the loss of everything else. This gives an isolation to their character, + which is all the more effective since other people never really quite + satisfy them, as being, on the whole, of a different nature: nay more, + since this difference is constantly forcing itself upon their notice they + get accustomed to move about amongst mankind as alien beings, and in + thinking of humanity in general, to say <i>they</i> instead of <i>we</i>. + </p> + <p> + So the conclusion we come to is that the man whom nature has endowed with + intellectual wealth is the happiest; so true it is that the subjective + concerns us more than the objective; for whatever the latter may be, it + can work only indirectly, secondly, and through the medium of the former—a + truth finely expressed by Lucian:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + {Greek: <i>Aeloutos ho taes psychaes ploutus monos estin alaethaes + Talla dechei ataen pleiona ton kteanon</i>—}{1} +</pre> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Epigrammata, 12.} + </p> + <p> + the wealth of the soul is the only true wealth, for with all other riches + comes a bane even greater than they. The man of inner wealth wants nothing + from outside but the negative gift of undisturbed leisure, to develop and + mature his intellectual faculties, that is, to enjoy his wealth; in short, + he wants permission to be himself, his whole life long, every day and + every hour. If he is destined to impress the character of his mind upon a + whole race, he has only one measure of happiness or unhappiness—to + succeed or fail in perfecting his powers and completing his work. All else + is of small consequence. Accordingly, the greatest minds of all ages have + set the highest value upon undisturbed leisure, as worth exactly as much + as the man himself. <i>Happiness appears to consist in leisure</i>, says + Aristotle;{1} and Diogenes Laertius reports that <i>Socrates praised + leisure as the fairest of all possessions</i>. So, in the <i>Nichomachean + Ethics</i>, Aristotle concludes that a life devoted to philosophy is the + happiest; or, as he says in the <i>Politics,{2} the free exercise of any + power, whatever it may be, is happiness</i>. This again, tallies with what + Goethe says in <i>Wilhelm Meister: The man who is born with a talent which + he is meant to use, finds his greatest happiness in using it</i>. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Eth. Nichom. x. 7.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: iv. 11.} + </p> + <p> + But to be in possession of undisturbed leisure, is far from being the + common lot; nay, it is something alien to human nature, for the ordinary + man's destiny is to spend life in procuring what is necessary for the + subsistence of himself and his family; he is a son of struggle and need, + not a free intelligence. So people as a rule soon get tired of undisturbed + leisure, and it becomes burdensome if there are no fictitious and forced + aims to occupy it, play, pastime and hobbies of every kind. For this very + reason it is full of possible danger, and <i>difficilis in otio quies</i> + is a true saying,—it is difficult to keep quiet if you have nothing + to do. On the other hand, a measure of intellect far surpassing the + ordinary, is as unnatural as it is abnormal. But if it exists, and the man + endowed with it is to be happy, he will want precisely that undisturbed + leisure which the others find burdensome or pernicious; for without it he + is a Pegasus in harness, and consequently unhappy. If these two unnatural + circumstances, external, and internal, undisturbed leisure and great + intellect, happen to coincide in the same person, it is a great piece of + fortune; and if the fate is so far favorable, a man can lead the higher + life, the life protected from the two opposite sources of human suffering, + pain and boredom, from the painful struggle for existence, and the + incapacity for enduring leisure (which is free existence itself)—evils + which may be escaped only by being mutually neutralized. + </p> + <p> + But there is something to be said in opposition to this view. Great + intellectual gifts mean an activity pre-eminently nervous in its + character, and consequently a very high degree of susceptibility to pain + in every form. Further, such gifts imply an intense temperament, larger + and more vivid ideas, which, as the inseparable accompaniment of great + intellectual power, entail on its possessor a corresponding intensity of + the emotions, making them incomparably more violent than those to which + the ordinary man is a prey. Now, there are more things in the world + productive of pain than of pleasure. Again, a large endowment of intellect + tends to estrange the man who has it from other people and their doings; + for the more a man has in himself, the less he will be able to find in + them; and the hundred things in which they take delight, he will think + shallow and insipid. Here, then, perhaps, is another instance of that law + of compensation which makes itself felt everywhere. How often one hears it + said, and said, too, with some plausibility, that the narrow-minded man is + at bottom the happiest, even though his fortune is unenviable. I shall + make no attempt to forestall the reader's own judgment on this point; more + especially as Sophocles himself has given utterance to two diametrically + opposite opinions:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + {Greek: Pollo to phronein eudaimonias + proton uparchei.}{1} +</pre> + <p> + he says in one place—wisdom is the greatest part of happiness; and + again, in another passage, he declares that the life of the thoughtless is + the most pleasant of all— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + {Greek: En ta phronein gar maeden aedistos bios.}{2} +</pre> + <p> + The philosophers of the <i>Old Testament</i> find themselves in a like + contradiction. + </p> + <p> + <i>The life of a fool is worse than death</i>{3} + </p> + <p> + and— + </p> + <p> + <i>In much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth knowledge + increaseth sorrow</i>.{4} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Antigone, 1347-8.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: Ajax, 554.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 3: Ecclesiasticus, xxii. 11.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 4: Ecclesiastes, i. 18.} + </p> + <p> + I may remark, however, that a man who has no mental needs, because his + intellect is of the narrow and normal amount, is, in the strict sense of + the word, what is called a <i>philistine</i>—an expression at first + peculiar to the German language, a kind of slang term at the Universities, + afterwards used, by analogy, in a higher sense, though still in its + original meaning, as denoting one who is not <i>a Son of the Muses</i>. A + philistine is and remains {Greek: amousos anaer}. I should prefer to take + a higher point of view, and apply the term <i>philistine</i> to people who + are always seriously occupied with realities which are no realities; but + as such a definition would be a transcendental one, and therefore not + generally intelligible, it would hardly be in place in the present + treatise, which aims at being popular. The other definition can be more + easily elucidated, indicating, as it does, satisfactorily enough, the + essential nature of all those qualities which distinguish the philistine. + He is defined to be <i>a man without mental needs</i>. From this is + follows, firstly, <i>in relation to himself</i>, that he has <i>no + intellectual pleasures</i>; for, as was remarked before, there are no real + pleasures without real needs. The philistine's life is animated by no + desire to gain knowledge and insight for their own sake, or to experience + that true aeesthetic pleasure which is so nearly akin to them. If + pleasures of this kind are fashionable, and the philistine finds himself + compelled to pay attention to them, he will force himself to do so, but he + will take as little interest in them as possible. His only real pleasures + are of a sensual kind, and he thinks that these indemnify him for the loss + of the others. To him oysters and champagne are the height of existence; + the aim of his life is to procure what will contribute to his bodily + welfare, and he is indeed in a happy way if this causes him some trouble. + If the luxuries of life are heaped upon him, he will inevitably be bored, + and against boredom he has a great many fancied remedies, balls, theatres, + parties, cards, gambling, horses, women, drinking, traveling and so on; + all of which can not protect a man from being bored, for where there are + no intellectual needs, no intellectual pleasures are possible. The + peculiar characteristic of the philistine is a dull, dry kind of gravity, + akin to that of animals. Nothing really pleases, or excites, or interests + him, for sensual pleasure is quickly exhausted, and the society of + philistines soon becomes burdensome, and one may even get tired of playing + cards. True, the pleasures of vanity are left, pleasures which he enjoys + in his own way, either by feeling himself superior in point of wealth, or + rank, or influence and power to other people, who thereupon pay him honor; + or, at any rate, by going about with those who have a superfluity of these + blessings, sunning himself in the reflection of their splendor—what + the English call a <i>snob</i>. + </p> + <p> + From the essential nature of the philistine it follows, secondly, <i>in + regard to others</i>, that, as he possesses no intellectual, but only + physical need, he will seek the society of those who can satisfy the + latter, but not the former. The last thing he will expect from his friends + is the possession of any sort of intellectual capacity; nay, if he chances + to meet with it, it will rouse his antipathy and even hatred; simply + because in addition to an unpleasant sense of inferiority, he experiences, + in his heart, a dull kind of envy, which has to be carefully concealed + even from himself. Nevertheless, it sometimes grows into a secret feeling + of rancor. But for all that, it will never occur to him to make his own + ideas of worth or value conform to the standard of such qualities; he will + continue to give the preference to rank and riches, power and influence, + which in his eyes seem to be the only genuine advantages in the world; and + his wish will be to excel in them himself. All this is the consequence of + his being a man <i>without intellectual needs</i>. The great affliction of + all philistines is that they have no interest in <i>ideas</i>, and that, + to escape being bored, they are in constant need of <i>realities</i>. But + realities are either unsatisfactory or dangerous; when they lose their + interest, they become fatiguing. But the ideal world is illimitable and + calm, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>something afar + From the sphere of our sorrow</i>. +</pre> + <p> + NOTE.—In these remarks on the personal qualities which go to make + happiness, I have been mainly concerned with the physical and intellectual + nature of man. For an account of the direct and immediate influence of <i>morality</i> + upon happiness, let me refer to my prize essay on <i>The Foundation of + Morals</i> (Sec. 22.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. — PROPERTY, OR WHAT A MAN HAS. + </h2> + <p> + Epicurus divides the needs of mankind into three classes, and the division + made by this great professor of happiness is a true and a fine one. First + come natural and necessary needs, such as, when not satisfied, produce + pain,—food and clothing, <i>victus et amictus</i>, needs which can + easily be satisfied. Secondly, there are those needs which, though + natural, are not necessary, such as the gratification of certain of the + senses. I may add, however, that in the report given by Diogenes Laertius, + Epicurus does not mention which of the senses he means; so that on this + point my account of his doctrine is somewhat more definite and exact than + the original. These are needs rather more difficult to satisfy. The third + class consists of needs which are neither natural nor necessary, the need + of luxury and prodigality, show and splendor, which never come to an end, + and are very hard to satisfy.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Cf. Diogenes Laertius, Bk. x., ch. xxvii., pp. 127 and 149; + also Cicero <i>de finibus</i>, i., 13.} + </p> + <p> + It is difficult, if not impossible, to define the limits which reason + should impose on the desire for wealth; for there is no absolute or + definite amount of wealth which will satisfy a man. The amount is always + relative, that is to say, just so much as will maintain the proportion + between what he wants and what he gets; for to measure a man's happiness + only by what he gets, and not also by what he expects to get, is as futile + as to try and express a fraction which shall have a numerator but no + denominator. A man never feels the loss of things which it never occurs to + him to ask for; he is just as happy without them; whilst another, who may + have a hundred times as much, feels miserable because he has not got the + one thing he wants. In fact, here too, every man has an horizon of his + own, and he will expect as much as he thinks it is possible for him to + get. If an object within his horizon looks as though he could confidently + reckon on getting it, he is happy; but if difficulties come in the way, he + is miserable. What lies beyond his horizon has no effect at all upon him. + So it is that the vast possessions of the rich do not agitate the poor, + and conversely, that a wealthy man is not consoled by all his wealth for + the failure of his hopes. Riches, one may say, are like sea-water; the + more you drink the thirstier you become; and the same is true of fame. The + loss of wealth and prosperity leaves a man, as soon as the first pangs of + grief are over, in very much the same habitual temper as before; and the + reason of this is, that as soon as fate diminishes the amount of his + possessions, he himself immediately reduces the amount of his claims. But + when misfortune comes upon us, to reduce the amount of our claims is just + what is most painful; once that we have done so, the pain becomes less and + less, and is felt no more; like an old wound which has healed. Conversely, + when a piece of good fortune befalls us, our claims mount higher and + higher, as there is nothing to regulate them; it is in this feeling of + expansion that the delight of it lies. But it lasts no longer than the + process itself, and when the expansion is complete, the delight ceases; we + have become accustomed to the increase in our claims, and consequently + indifferent to the amount of wealth which satisfies them. There is a + passage in the <i>Odyssey</i>{1} illustrating this truth, of which I may + quote the last two lines: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + {Greek: Toios gar noos estin epichthonion anthropon + Oion eth aemar agei pataer andron te theou te} +</pre> + <p> + —the thoughts of man that dwells on the earth are as the day granted + him by the father of gods and men. Discontent springs from a constant + endeavor to increase the amount of our claims, when we are powerless to + increase the amount which will satisfy them. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: xviii., 130-7.} + </p> + <p> + When we consider how full of needs the human race is, how its whole + existence is based upon them, it is not a matter for surprise that <i>wealth</i> + is held in more sincere esteem, nay, in greater honor, than anything else + in the world; nor ought we to wonder that gain is made the only good of + life, and everything that does not lead to it pushed aside or thrown + overboard—philosophy, for instance, by those who profess it. People + are often reproached for wishing for money above all things, and for + loving it more than anything else; but it is natural and even inevitable + for people to love that which, like an unwearied Proteus, is always ready + to turn itself into whatever object their wandering wishes or manifold + desires may for the moment fix upon. Everything else can satisfy only <i>one</i> + wish, <i>one</i> need: food is good only if you are hungry; wine, if you + are able to enjoy it; drugs, if you are sick; fur for the winter; love for + youth, and so on. These are all only relatively good, {Greek: agatha pros + ti}. Money alone is absolutely good, because it is not only a concrete + satisfaction of one need in particular; it is an abstract satisfaction of + all. + </p> + <p> + If a man has an independent fortune, he should regard it as a bulwark + against the many evils and misfortunes which he may encounter; he should + not look upon it as giving him leave to get what pleasure he can out of + the world, or as rendering it incumbent upon him to spend it in this way. + People who are not born with a fortune, but end by making a large one + through the exercise of whatever talents they possess, almost always come + to think that their talents are their capital, and that the money they + have gained is merely the interest upon it; they do not lay by a part of + their earnings to form a permanent capital, but spend their money much as + they have earned it. Accordingly, they often fall into poverty; their + earnings decreased, or come to an end altogether, either because their + talent is exhausted by becoming antiquated,—as, for instance, very + often happens in the case of fine art; or else it was valid only under a + special conjunction of circumstances which has now passed away. There is + nothing to prevent those who live on the common labor of their hands from + treating their earnings in that way if they like; because their kind of + skill is not likely to disappear, or, if it does, it can be replaced by + that of their fellow-workmen; morever, the kind of work they do is always + in demand; so that what the proverb says is quite true, <i>a useful trade + is a mine of gold</i>. But with artists and professionals of every kind + the case is quite different, and that is the reason why they are well + paid. They ought to build up a capital out of their earnings; but they + recklessly look upon them as merely interest, and end in ruin. On the + other hand, people who inherit money know, at least, how to distinguish + between capital and interest, and most of them try to make their capital + secure and not encroach upon it; nay, if they can, they put by at least an + eighth of their interests in order to meet future contingencies. So most + of them maintain their position. These few remarks about capital and + interest are not applicable to commercial life, for merchants look upon + money only as a means of further gain, just as a workman regards his + tools; so even if their capital has been entirely the result of their own + efforts, they try to preserve and increase it by using it. Accordingly, + wealth is nowhere so much at home as in the merchant class. + </p> + <p> + It will generally be found that those who know what it is to have been in + need and destitution are very much less afraid of it, and consequently + more inclined to extravagance, than those who know poverty only by + hearsay. People who have been born and bred in good circumstances are as a + rule much more careful about the future, more economical, in fact, than + those who, by a piece of good luck, have suddenly passed from poverty to + wealth. This looks as if poverty were not really such a very wretched + thing as it appears from a distance. The true reason, however, is rather + the fact that the man who has been born into a position of wealth comes to + look upon it as something without which he could no more live than he + could live without air; he guards it as he does his very life; and so he + is generally a lover of order, prudent and economical. But the man who has + been born into a poor position looks upon it as the natural one, and if by + any chance he comes in for a fortune, he regards it as a superfluity, + something to be enjoyed or wasted, because, if it comes to an end, he can + get on just as well as before, with one anxiety the less; or, as + Shakespeare says in Henry VI.,{1} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + .... <i>the adage must be verified + That beggars mounted run their horse to death</i>. +</pre> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Part III., Act 1., Sc. 4.} + </p> + <p> + But it should be said that people of this kind have a firm and excessive + trust, partly in fate, partly in the peculiar means which have already + raised them out of need and poverty,—a trust not only of the head, + but of the heart also; and so they do not, like the man born rich, look + upon the shallows of poverty as bottomless, but console themselves with + the thought that once they have touched ground again, they can take + another upward flight. It is this trait in human character which explains + the fact that women who were poor before their marriage often make greater + claims, and are more extravagant, than those who have brought their + husbands a rich dowry; because, as a rule, rich girls bring with them, not + only a fortune, but also more eagerness, nay, more of the inherited + instinct, to preserve it, than poor girls do. If anyone doubts the truth + of this, and thinks that it is just the opposite, he will find authority + for his view in Ariosto's first Satire; but, on the other hand, Dr. + Johnson agrees with my opinion. <i>A woman of fortune</i>, he says, <i>being + used to the handling of money, spends it judiciously; but a woman who gets + the command of money for the first time upon her marriage, has such a + gusto in spending it, that she throws it away with great profusion</i>.{1} + And in any case let me advise anyone who marries a poor girl not to leave + her the capital but only the interest, and to take especial care that she + has not the management of the children's fortune. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Boswell's Life of Johnson: ann: 1776, aetat: 67.} + </p> + <p> + I do not by any means think that I am touching upon a subject which is not + worth my while to mention when I recommend people to be careful to + preserve what they have earned or inherited. For to start life with just + as much as will make one independent, that is, allow one to live + comfortably without having to work—even if one has only just enough + for oneself, not to speak of a family—is an advantage which cannot + be over-estimated; for it means exemption and immunity from that chronic + disease of penury, which fastens on the life of man like a plague; it is + emancipation from that forced labor which is the natural lot of every + mortal. Only under a favorable fate like this can a man be said to be born + free, to be, in the proper sense of the word, <i>sui juris</i>, master of + his own time and powers, and able to say every morning, <i>This day is my + own</i>. And just for the same reason the difference between the man who + has a hundred a year and the man who has a thousand, is infinitely smaller + than the difference between the former and a man who has nothing at all. + But inherited wealth reaches its utmost value when it falls to the + individual endowed with mental powers of a high order, who is resolved to + pursue a line of life not compatible with the making of money; for he is + then doubly endowed by fate and can live for his genius; and he will pay + his debt to mankind a hundred times, by achieving what no other could + achieve, by producing some work which contributes to the general good, and + redounds to the honor of humanity at large. Another, again, may use his + wealth to further philanthropic schemes, and make himself well-deserving + of his fellowmen. But a man who does none of these things, who does not + even try to do them, who never attempts to learn the rudiments of any + branch of knowledge so that he may at least do what he can towards + promoting it—such a one, born as he is into riches, is a mere idler + and thief of time, a contemptible fellow. He will not even be happy, + because, in his case, exemption from need delivers him up to the other + extreme of human suffering, boredom, which is such martyrdom to him, that + he would have been better off if poverty had given him something to do. + And as he is bored he is apt to be extravagant, and so lose the advantage + of which he showed himself unworthy. Countless numbers of people find + themselves in want, simply because, when they had money, they spent it + only to get momentary relief from the feeling of boredom which oppressed + them. + </p> + <p> + It is quite another matter if one's object is success in political life, + where favor, friends and connections are all-important, in order to mount + by their aid step by step on the ladder of promotion, and perhaps gain the + topmost rung. In this kind of life, it is much better to be cast upon the + world without a penny; and if the aspirant is not of noble family, but is + a man of some talent, it will redound to his advantage to be an absolute + pauper. For what every one most aims at in ordinary contact with his + fellows is to prove them inferior to himself; and how much more is this + the case in politics. Now, it is only an absolute pauper who has such a + thorough conviction of his own complete, profound and positive inferiority + from every point of view, of his own utter insignificance and + worthlessness, that he can take his place quietly in the political + machine.{1} He is the only one who can keep on bowing low enough, and even + go right down upon his face if necessary; he alone can submit to + everything and laugh at it; he alone knows the entire worthlessness of + merit; he alone uses his loudest voice and his boldest type whenever he + has to speak or write of those who are placed over his head, or occupy any + position of influence; and if they do a little scribbling, he is ready to + applaud it as a masterwork. He alone understands how to beg, and so + betimes, when he is hardly out of his boyhood, he becomes a high priest of + that hidden mystery which Goethe brings to light. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Uber's Niederträchtige + Niemand sich beklage: + Denn es ist das Machtige + Was man dir auch sage</i>: +</pre> + <p> + —it is no use to complain of low aims; for, whatever people may say, + they rule the world. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Translator's Note</i>.—Schopenhauer is probably here + making one of his most virulent attacks upon Hegel; in this case on + account of what he thought to be the philosopher's abject servility to the + government of his day. Though the Hegelian system has been the fruitful + mother of many liberal ideas, there can be no doubt that Hegel's + influence, in his own lifetime, was an effective support of Prussian + bureaucracy.} + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, the man who is born with enough to live upon is + generally of a somewhat independent turn of mind; he is accustomed to keep + his head up; he has not learned all the arts of the beggar; perhaps he + even presumes a little upon the possession of talents which, as he ought + to know, can never compete with cringing mediocrity; in the long run he + comes to recognize the inferiority of those who are placed over his head, + and when they try to put insults upon him, he becomes refractory and shy. + This is not the way to get on in the world. Nay, such a man may at least + incline to the opinion freely expressed by Voltaire: <i>We have only two + days to live; it is not worth our while to spend them</i> in cringing to + contemptible rascals. But alas! let me observe by the way, that <i>contemptible + rascal</i> is an attribute which may be predicated of an abominable number + of people. What Juvenal says—it is difficult to rise if your poverty + is greater than your talent— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Haud facile emergunt quorum virtutibus obstat + Res angusta domi</i>— +</pre> + <p> + is more applicable to a career of art and literature than to a political + and social ambition. + </p> + <p> + Wife and children I have not reckoned amongst a man's possessions: he is + rather in their possession. It would be easier to include friends under + that head; but a man's friends belong to him not a whit more than he + belongs to them. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. — POSITION, OR A MAN'S PLACE IN THE ESTIMATION OF + OTHERS. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Section 1.—Reputation</i>. + </h2> + <p> + By a peculiar weakness of human nature, people generally think too much + about the opinion which others form of them; although the slightest + reflection will show that this opinion, whatever it may be, is not in + itself essential to happiness. Therefore it is hard to understand why + everybody feels so very pleased when he sees that other people have a good + opinion of him, or say anything flattering to his vanity. If you stroke a + cat, it will purr; and, as inevitably, if you praise a man, a sweet + expression of delight will appear on his face; and even though the praise + is a palpable lie, it will be welcome, if the matter is one on which he + prides himself. If only other people will applaud him, a man may console + himself for downright misfortune or for the pittance he gets from the two + sources of human happiness already discussed: and conversely, it is + astonishing how infallibly a man will be annoyed, and in some cases deeply + pained, by any wrong done to his feeling of self-importance, whatever be + the nature, degree, or circumstances of the injury, or by any + depreciation, slight, or disregard. + </p> + <p> + If the feeling of honor rests upon this peculiarity of human nature, it + may have a very salutary effect upon the welfare of a great many people, + as a substitute for morality; but upon their happiness, more especially + upon that peace of mind and independence which are so essential to + happiness, its effect will be disturbing and prejudicial rather than + salutary. Therefore it is advisable, from our point of view, to set limits + to this weakness, and duly to consider and rightly to estimate the + relative value of advantages, and thus temper, as far as possible, this + great susceptibility to other people's opinion, whether the opinion be one + flattering to our vanity, or whether it causes us pain; for in either case + it is the same feeling which is touched. Otherwise, a man is the slave of + what other people are pleased to think,—and how little it requires + to disconcert or soothe the mind that is greedy of praise: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Sic leve, sic parvum est, animum quod laudis avarum + Subruit ac reficit</i>.{1} +</pre> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Horace, Epist: II., 1, 180.} + </p> + <p> + Therefore it will very much conduce to our happiness if we duly compare + the value of what a man is in and for himself with what he is in the eyes + of others. Under the former conies everything that fills up the span of + our existence and makes it what it is, in short, all the advantages + already considered and summed up under the heads of personality and + property; and the sphere in which all this takes place is the man's own + consciousness. On the other hand, the sphere of what we are for other + people is their consciousness, not ours; it is the kind of figure we make + in their eyes, together with the thoughts which this arouses.{1} But this + is something which has no direct and immediate existence for us, but can + affect us only mediately and indirectly, so far, that is, as other + people's behavior towards us is directed by it; and even then it ought to + affect us only in so far as it can move us to modify <i>what we are in and + for ourselves</i>. Apart from this, what goes on in other people's + consciousness is, as such, a matter of indifference to us; and in time we + get really indifferent to it, when we come to see how superficial and + futile are most people's thoughts, how narrow their ideas, how mean their + sentiments, how perverse their opinions, and how much of error there is in + most of them; when we learn by experience with what depreciation a man + will speak of his fellow, when he is not obliged to fear him, or thinks + that what he says will not come to his ears. And if ever we have had an + opportunity of seeing how the greatest of men will meet with nothing but + slight from half-a-dozen blockheads, we shall understand that to lay great + value upon what other people say is to pay them too much honor. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Let me remark that people in the highest positions in life, + with all their brilliance, pomp, display, magnificence and general show, + may well say:—Our happiness lies entirely outside us; for it exists + only in the heads of others.} + </p> + <p> + At all events, a man is in a very bad way, who finds no source of + happiness in the first two classes of blessings already treated of, but + has to seek it in the third, in other words, not in what he is in himself, + but in what he is in the opinion of others. For, after all, the foundation + of our whole nature, and, therefore, of our happiness, is our physique, + and the most essential factor in happiness is health, and, next in + importance after health, the ability to maintain ourselves in independence + and freedom from care. There can be no competition or compensation between + these essential factors on the one side, and honor, pomp, rank and + reputation on the other, however much value we may set upon the latter. No + one would hesitate to sacrifice the latter for the former, if it were + necessary. We should add very much to our happiness by a timely + recognition of the simple truth that every man's chief and real existence + is in his own skin, and not in other people's opinions; and, consequently, + that the actual conditions of our personal life,—health, + temperament, capacity, income, wife, children, friends, home, are a + hundred times more important for our happiness than what other people are + pleased to think of us: otherwise we shall be miserable. And if people + insist that honor is dearer than life itself, what they really mean is + that existence and well-being are as nothing compared with other people's + opinions. Of course, this may be only an exaggerated way of stating the + prosaic truth that reputation, that is, the opinion others have of us, is + indispensable if we are to make any progress in the world; but I shall + come back to that presently. When we see that almost everything men devote + their lives to attain, sparing no effort and encountering a thousand toils + and dangers in the process, has, in the end, no further object than to + raise themselves in the estimation of others; when we see that not only + offices, titles, decorations, but also wealth, nay, even knowledge{1} and + art, are striven for only to obtain, as the ultimate goal of all effort, + greater respect from one's fellowmen,—is not this a lamentable proof + of the extent to which human folly can go? To set much too high a value on + other people's opinion is a common error everywhere; an error, it may be, + rooted in human nature itself, or the result of civilization, and social + arrangements generally; but, whatever its source, it exercises a very + immoderate influence on all we do, and is very prejudicial to our + happiness. We can trace it from a timorous and slavish regard for what + other people will say, up to the feeling which made Virginius plunge the + dagger into his daughter's heart, or induces many a man to sacrifice + quiet, riches, health and even life itself, for posthumous glory. + Undoubtedly this feeling is a very convenient instrument in the hands of + those who have the control or direction of their fellowmen; and + accordingly we find that in every scheme for training up humanity in the + way it should go, the maintenance and strengthening of the feeling of + honor occupies an important place. But it is quite a different matter in + its effect on human happiness, of which it is here our object to treat; + and we should rather be careful to dissuade people from setting too much + store by what others think of them. Daily experience shows us, however, + that this is just the mistake people persist in making; most men set the + utmost value precisely on what other people think, and are more concerned + about it than about what goes on in their own consciousness, which is the + thing most immediately and directly present to them. They reverse the + natural order,—regarding the opinions of others as real existence + and their own consciousness as something shadowy; making the derivative + and secondary into the principal, and considering the picture they present + to the world of more importance than their own selves. By thus trying to + get a direct and immediate result out of what has no really direct or + immediate existence, they fall into the kind of folly which is called <i>vanity</i>—the + appropriate term for that which has no solid or instrinsic value. Like a + miser, such people forget the end in their eagerness to obtain the means. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Scire tuum nihil est nisi te scire hoc sciat alter</i>, + (Persins i, 27)—knowledge is no use unless others know that you have + it.} + </p> + <p> + The truth is that the value we set upon the opinion of others, and our + constant endeavor in respect of it, are each quite out of proportion to + any result we may reasonably hope to attain; so that this attention to + other people's attitude may be regarded as a kind of universal mania which + every one inherits. In all we do, almost the first thing we think about + is, what will people say; and nearly half the troubles and bothers of life + may be traced to our anxiety on this score; it is the anxiety which is at + the bottom of all that feeling of self-importance, which is so often + mortified because it is so very morbidly sensitive. It is solicitude about + what others will say that underlies all our vanity and pretension, yes, + and all our show and swagger too. Without it, there would not be a tenth + part of the luxury which exists. Pride in every form, <i>point d'honneur</i> + and <i>punctilio</i>, however varied their kind or sphere, are at bottom + nothing but this—anxiety about what others will say—and what + sacrifices it costs! One can see it even in a child; and though it exists + at every period of life, it is strongest in age; because, when the + capacity for sensual pleasure fails, vanity and pride have only avarice to + share their dominion. Frenchmen, perhaps, afford the best example of this + feeling, and amongst them it is a regular epidemic, appearing sometimes in + the most absurd ambition, or in a ridiculous kind of national vanity and + the most shameless boasting. However, they frustrate their own gains, for + other people make fun of them and call them <i>la grande nation</i>. + </p> + <p> + By way of specially illustrating this perverse and exuberant respect for + other people's opinion, let me take passage from the <i>Times</i> of March + 31st, 1846, giving a detailed account of the execution of one Thomas Wix, + an apprentice who, from motives of vengeance, had murdered his master. + Here we have very unusual circumstances and an extraordinary character, + though one very suitable for our purpose; and these combine to give a + striking picture of this folly, which is so deeply rooted in human nature, + and allow us to form an accurate notion of the extent to which it will go. + On the morning of the execution, says the report, <i>the rev. ordinary was + early in attendance upon him, but Wix, beyond a quiet demeanor, betrayed + no interest in his ministrations, appearing to feel anxious only to acquit + himself "bravely" before the spectators of his ignomininous end.... In the + procession Wix fell into his proper place with alacrity, and, as he + entered the Chapel-yard, remarked, sufficiently loud to be heard by + several persons near him, "Now, then, as Dr. Dodd said, I shall soon know + the grand secret." On reaching the scaffold, the miserable wretch mounted + the drop without the slightest assistance, and when he got to the centre, + he bowed to the spectators twice, a proceeding which called forth a + tremendous cheer from the degraded crowd beneath</i>. + </p> + <p> + This is an admirable example of the way in which a man, with death in the + most dreadful form before his very eyes, and eternity beyond it, will care + for nothing but the impression he makes upon a crowd of gapers, and the + opinion he leaves behind him in their heads. There was much the same kind + of thing in the case of Lecompte, who was executed at Frankfurt, also in + 1846, for an attempt on the king's life. At the trial he was very much + annoyed that he was not allowed to appear, in decent attire, before the + Upper House; and on the day of the execution it was a special grief to him + that he was not permitted to shave. It is not only in recent times that + this kind of thing has been known to happen. Mateo Aleman tells us, in the + Introduction to his celebrated romance, <i>Juzman de Alfarache</i>, that + many infatuated criminals, instead of devoting their last hours to the + welfare of their souls, as they ought to have done, neglect this duty for + the purpose of preparing and committing to memory a speech to be made from + the scaffold. + </p> + <p> + I take these extreme cases as being the best illustrations to what I mean; + for they give us a magnified reflection of our own nature. The anxieties + of all of us, our worries, vexations, bothers, troubles, uneasy + apprehensions and strenuous efforts are due, in perhaps the large majority + of instances, to what other people will say; and we are just as foolish in + this respect as those miserable criminals. Envy and hatred are very often + traceable to a similar source. + </p> + <p> + Now, it is obvious that happiness, which consists for the most part in + peace of mind and contentment, would be served by nothing so much as by + reducing this impulse of human nature within reasonable limits,—which + would perhaps make it one fiftieth part of what it is now. By doing so, we + should get rid of a thorn in the flesh which is always causing us pain. + But it is a very difficult task, because the impulse in question is a + natural and innate perversity of human nature. Tacitus says, <i>The lust + of fame is the last that a wise man shakes off</i>{1} The only way of + putting an end to this universal folly is to see clearly that it is a + folly; and this may be done by recognizing the fact that most of the + opinions in men's heads are apt to be false, perverse, erroneous and + absurd, and so in themselves unworthy of attention; further, that other + people's opinions can have very little real and positive influence upon us + in most of the circumstances and affairs of life. Again, this opinion is + generally of such an unfavorable character that it would worry a man to + death to hear everything that was said of him, or the tone in which he was + spoken of. And finally, among other things, we should be clear about the + fact that honor itself has no really direct, but only an indirect, value. + If people were generally converted from this universal folly, the result + would be such an addition to our piece of mind and cheerfulness as at + present seems inconceivable; people would present a firmer and more + confident front to the world, and generally behave with less embarrassment + and restraint. It is observable that a retired mode of life has an + exceedingly beneficial influence on our peace of mind, and this is mainly + because we thus escape having to live constantly in the sight of others, + and pay everlasting regard to their casual opinions; in a word, we are + able to return upon ourselves. At the same time a good deal of positive + misfortune might be avoided, which we are now drawn into by striving after + shadows, or, to speak more correctly, by indulging a mischievous piece of + folly; and we should consequently have more attention to give to solid + realities and enjoy them with less interruption that at present. But + {Greek: chalepa ga kala}—what is worth doing is hard to do. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Hist., iv., 6.} + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Section 2.—Pride</i>. + </h2> + <p> + The folly of our nature which we are discussing puts forth three shoots, + ambition, vanity and pride. The difference between the last two is this: + <i>pride</i> is an established conviction of one's own paramount worth in + some particular respect; while <i>vanity</i> is the desire of rousing such + a conviction in others, and it is generally accompanied by the secret hope + of ultimately coming to the same conviction oneself. Pride works <i>from + within</i>; it is the direct appreciation of oneself. Vanity is the desire + to arrive at this appreciation indirectly, <i>from without</i>. So we find + that vain people are talkative, proud, and taciturn. But the vain person + ought to be aware that the good opinion of others, which he strives for, + may be obtained much more easily and certainly by persistent silence than + by speech, even though he has very good things to say. Anyone who wishes + to affect pride is not therefore a proud man; but he will soon have to + drop this, as every other, assumed character. + </p> + <p> + It is only a firm, unshakeable conviction of pre-eminent worth and special + value which makes a man proud in the true sense of the word,—a + conviction which may, no doubt, be a mistaken one or rest on advantages + which are of an adventitious and conventional character: still pride is + not the less pride for all that, so long as it be present in real earnest. + And since pride is thus rooted in conviction, it resembles every other + form of knowledge in not being within our own arbitrament. Pride's worst + foe,—I mean its greatest obstacle,—is vanity, which courts the + applause of the world in order to gain the necessary foundation for a high + opinion of one's own worth, whilst pride is based upon a pre-existing + conviction of it. + </p> + <p> + It is quite true that pride is something which is generally found fault + with, and cried down; but usually, I imagine, by those who have nothing + upon which they can pride themselves. In view of the impudence and + foolhardiness of most people, anyone who possesses any kind of superiority + or merit will do well to keep his eyes fixed on it, if he does not want it + to be entirely forgotten; for if a man is good-natured enough to ignore + his own privileges, and hob-nob with the generality of other people, as if + he were quite on their level, they will be sure to treat him, frankly and + candidly, as one of themselves. This is a piece of advice I would + specially offer to those whose superiority is of the highest kind—real + superiority, I mean, of a purely personal nature—which cannot, like + orders and titles, appeal to the eye or ear at every moment; as, + otherwise, they will find that familiarity breeds contempt, or, as the + Romans used to say, <i>sus Minervam. Joke with a slave, and he'll soon + show his heels</i>, is an excellent Arabian proverb; nor ought we to + despise what Horace says, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Sume superbiam + Quaesitam meritis</i>. +</pre> + <p> + —usurp the fame you have deserved. No doubt, when modesty was made a + virtue, it was a very advantageous thing for the fools; for everybody is + expected to speak of himself as if he were one. This is leveling down + indeed; for it comes to look as if there were nothing but fools in the + world. + </p> + <p> + The cheapest sort of pride is national pride; for if a man is proud of his + own nation, it argues that he has no qualities of his own of which he can + be proud; otherwise he would not have recourse to those which he shares + with so many millions of his fellowmen. The man who is endowed with + important personal qualities will be only too ready to see clearly in what + respects his own nation falls short, since their failings will be + constantly before his eyes. But every miserable fool who has nothing at + all of which he can be proud adopts, as a last resource, pride in the + nation to which he belongs; he is ready and glad to defend all its faults + and follies tooth and nail, thus reimbursing himself for his own + inferiority. For example, if you speak of the stupid and degrading bigotry + of the English nation with the contempt it deserves, you will hardly find + one Englishman in fifty to agree with you; but if there should be one, he + will generally happen to be an intelligent man. + </p> + <p> + The Germans have no national pride, which shows how honest they are, as + everybody knows! and how dishonest are those who, by a piece of ridiculous + affectation, pretend that they are proud of their country—the <i>Deutsche + Bruder</i> and the demagogues who flatter the mob in order to mislead it. + I have heard it said that gunpowder was invented by a German. I doubt it. + Lichtenberg asks, <i>Why is it that a man who is not a German does not + care about pretending that he is one; and that if he makes any pretence at + all, it is to be a Frenchman or an Englishman</i>?{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Translator's Note</i>.—It should be remembered that + these remarks were written in the earlier part of the present century, and + that a German philosopher now-a-days, even though he were as apt to say + bitter things as Schopenhauer, could hardly write in a similar strain.} + </p> + <p> + However that may be, individuality is a far more important thing than + nationality, and in any given man deserves a thousand-fold more + consideration. And since you cannot speak of national character without + referring to large masses of people, it is impossible to be loud in your + praises and at the same time honest. National character is only another + name for the particular form which the littleness, perversity and baseness + of mankind take in every country. If we become disgusted with one, we + praise another, until we get disgusted with this too. Every nation mocks + at other nations, and all are right. + </p> + <p> + The contents of this chapter, which treats, as I have said, of what we + represent in the world, or what we are in the eyes of others, may be + further distributed under three heads: honor rank and fame. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Section 3.—Rank</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Let us take rank first, as it may be dismissed in a few words, although it + plays an important part in the eyes of the masses and of the philistines, + and is a most useful wheel in the machinery of the State. + </p> + <p> + It has a purely conventional value. Strictly speaking, it is a sham; its + method is to exact an artificial respect, and, as a matter of fact, the + whole thing is a mere farce. + </p> + <p> + Orders, it may be said, are bills of exchange drawn on public opinion, and + the measure of their value is the credit of the drawer. Of course, as a + substitute for pensions, they save the State a good deal of money; and, + besides, they serve a very useful purpose, if they are distributed with + discrimination and judgment. For people in general have eyes and ears, it + is true; but not much else, very little judgment indeed, or even memory. + There are many services of the State quite beyond the range of their + understanding; others, again, are appreciated and made much of for a time, + and then soon forgotten. It seems to me, therefore, very proper, that a + cross or a star should proclaim to the mass of people always and + everywhere, <i>This man is not like you; he has done something</i>. But + orders lose their value when they are distributed unjustly, or without due + selection, or in too great numbers: a prince should be as careful in + conferring them as a man of business is in signing a bill. It is a + pleonasm to inscribe on any order <i>for distinguished service</i>; for + every order ought to be for distinguished service. That stands to reason. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Section 4.—Honor</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Honor is a much larger question than rank, and more difficult to discuss. + Let us begin by trying to define it. + </p> + <p> + If I were to say <i>Honor is external conscience, and conscience is inward + honor</i>, no doubt a good many people would assent; but there would be + more show than reality about such a definition, and it would hardly go to + the root of the matter. I prefer to say, <i>Honor is, on its objective + side, other people's opinion of what we are worth; on its subjective side, + it is the respect we pay to this opinion</i>. From the latter point of + view, to be <i>a man of honor</i> is to exercise what is often a very + wholesome, but by no means a purely moral, influence. + </p> + <p> + The feelings of honor and shame exist in every man who is not utterly + depraved, and honor is everywhere recognized as something particularly + valuable. The reason of this is as follows. By and in himself a man can + accomplish very little; he is like Robinson Crusoe on a desert island. It + is only in society that a man's powers can be called into full activity. + He very soon finds this out when his consciousness begins to develop, and + there arises in him the desire to be looked upon as a useful member of + society, as one, that is, who is capable of playing his part as a man—<i>pro + parte virili</i>—thereby acquiring a right to the benefits of social + life. Now, to be a useful member of society, one must do two things: + firstly, what everyone is expected to do everywhere; and, secondly, what + one's own particular position in the world demands and requires. + </p> + <p> + But a man soon discovers that everything depends upon his being useful, + not in his own opinion, but in the opinion of others; and so he tries his + best to make that favorable impression upon the world, to which he + attaches such a high value. Hence, this primitive and innate + characteristic of human nature, which is called the feeling of honor, or, + under another aspect, the feeling of shame—<i>verecundia</i>. It is + this which brings a blush to his cheeks at the thought of having suddenly + to fall in the estimation of others, even when he knows that he is + innocent, nay, even if his remissness extends to no absolute obligation, + but only to one which he has taken upon himself of his own free will. + Conversely, nothing in life gives a man so much courage as the attainment + or renewal of the conviction that other people regard him with favor; + because it means that everyone joins to give him help and protection, + which is an infinitely stronger bulwark against the ills of life than + anything he can do himself. + </p> + <p> + The variety of relations in which a man can stand to other people so as to + obtain their confidence, that is, their good opinion, gives rise to a + distinction between several kinds of honor, resting chiefly on the + different bearings that <i>meum</i> may take to <i>tuum</i>; or, again, on + the performance of various pledges; or finally, on the relation of the + sexes. Hence, there are three main kinds of honor, each of which takes + various forms—civic honor, official honor, and sexual honor. + </p> + <p> + <i>Civic honor</i> has the widest sphere of all. It consists in the + assumption that we shall pay unconditional respect to the rights of + others, and, therefore, never use any unjust or unlawful means of getting + what we want. It is the condition of all peaceable intercourse between man + and man; and it is destroyed by anything that openly and manifestly + militates against this peaceable intercourse, anything, accordingly, which + entails punishment at the hands of the law, always supposing that the + punishment is a just one. + </p> + <p> + The ultimate foundation of honor is the conviction that moral character is + unalterable: a single bad action implies that future actions of the same + kind will, under similar circumstances, also be bad. This is well + expressed by the English use of the word <i>character</i> as meaning + credit, reputation, honor. Hence honor, once lost, can never be recovered; + unless the loss rested on some mistake, such as may occur if a man is + slandered or his actions viewed in a false light. So the law provides + remedies against slander, libel, and even insult; for insult though it + amounts to no more than mere abuse, is a kind of summary slander with a + suppression of the reasons. What I mean may be well put in the Greek + phrase—not quoted from any author—{Greek: estin hae loidoria + diabolae}. It is true that if a man abuses another, he is simply showing + that he has no real or true causes of complaint against him; as, + otherwise, he would bring these forward as the premises, and rely upon his + hearers to draw the conclusion themselves: instead of which, he gives the + conclusion and leaves out the premises, trusting that people will suppose + that he has done so only for the sake of being brief. + </p> + <p> + Civic honor draws its existence and name from the middle classes; but it + applies equally to all, not excepting the highest. No man can disregard + it, and it is a very serious thing, of which every one should be careful + not to make light. The man who breaks confidence has for ever forfeited + confidence, whatever he may do, and whoever he may be; and the bitter + consequences of the loss of confidence can never be averted. + </p> + <p> + There is a sense in which honor may be said to have a <i>negative</i> + character in opposition to the <i>positive</i> character of fame. For + honor is not the opinion people have of particular qualities which a man + may happen to possess exclusively: it is rather the opinion they have of + the qualities which a man may be expected to exhibit, and to which he + should not prove false. Honor, therefore, means that a man is not + exceptional; fame, that he is. Fame is something which must be won; honor, + only something which must not be lost. The absence of fame is obscurity, + which is only a negative; but loss of honor is shame, which is a positive + quality. This negative character of honor must not be confused with + anything <i>passive</i>; for honor is above all things active in its + working. It is the only quality which proceeds <i>directly</i> from the + man who exhibits it; it is concerned entirely with what he does and leaves + undone, and has nothing to do with the actions of others or the obstacles + they place in his way. It is something entirely in our own power—{Greek: + ton ephaemon}. This distinction, as we shall see presently, marks off true + honor from the sham honor of chivalry. + </p> + <p> + Slander is the only weapon by which honor can be attacked from without; + and the only way to repel the attack is to confute the slander with the + proper amount of publicity, and a due unmasking of him who utters it. + </p> + <p> + The reason why respect is paid to age is that old people have necessarily + shown in the course of their lives whether or not they have been able to + maintain their honor unblemished; while that of young people has not been + put to the proof, though they are credited with the possession of it. For + neither length of years,—equalled, as it is, and even excelled, in + the case of the lower animals,—nor, again, experience, which is only + a closer knowledge of the world's ways, can be any sufficient reason for + the respect which the young are everywhere required to show towards the + old: for if it were merely a matter of years, the weakness which attends + on age would call rather for consideration than for respect. It is, + however, a remarkable fact that white hair always commands reverence—a + reverence really innate and instinctive. Wrinkles—a much surer sign + of old age—command no reverence at all; you never hear any one speak + of <i>venerable wrinkles</i>; but <i>venerable white hair</i> is a common + expression. + </p> + <p> + Honor has only an indirect value. For, as I explained at the beginning of + this chapter, what other people think of us, if it affects us at all, can + affect us only in so far as it governs their behavior towards us, and only + just so long as we live with, or have to do with, them. But it is to + society alone that we owe that safety which we and our possessions enjoy + in a state of civilization; in all we do we need the help of others, and + they, in their turn, must have confidence in us before they can have + anything to do with us. Accordingly, their opinion of us is, indirectly, a + matter of great importance; though I cannot see how it can have a direct + or immediate value. This is an opinion also held by Cicero. I <i>quite + agree</i>, he writes, <i>with what Chrysippus and Diogenes used to say, + that a good reputation is not worth raising a finger to obtain, if it were + not that it is so useful</i>.{1} This truth has been insisted upon at + great length by Helvetius in his chief work <i>De l'Esprit</i>,{2} the + conclusion of which is that <i>we love esteem not for its own sake, but + solely for the advantages which it brings</i>. And as the means can never + be more than the end, that saying, of which so much is made, <i>Honor is + dearer than life itself</i>, is, as I have remarked, a very exaggerated + statement. So much then, for civic honor. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>De finilus</i> iii., 17.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: <i>Disc</i>: iii. 17.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Official honor</i> is the general opinion of other people that a man + who fills any office really has the necessary qualities for the proper + discharge of all the duties which appertain to it. The greater and more + important the duties a man has to discharge in the State, and the higher + and more influential the office which he fills, the stronger must be the + opinion which people have of the moral and intellectual qualities which + render him fit for his post. Therefore, the higher his position, the + greater must be the degree of honor paid to him, expressed, as it is, in + titles, orders and the generally subservient behavior of others towards + him. As a rule, a man's official rank implies the particular degree of + honor which ought to be paid to him, however much this degree may be + modified by the capacity of the masses to form any notion of its + importance. Still, as a matter of fact, greater honor is paid to a man who + fulfills special duties than to the common citizen, whose honor mainly + consists in keeping clear of dishonor. + </p> + <p> + Official honor demands, further, that the man who occupies an office must + maintain respect for it, for the sake both of his colleagues and of those + who will come after him. This respect an official can maintain by a proper + observance of his duties, and by repelling any attack that may be made + upon the office itself or upon its occupant: he must not, for instance, + pass over unheeded any statement to the effect that the duties of the + office are not properly discharged, or that the office itself does not + conduce to the public welfare. He must prove the unwarrantable nature of + such attacks by enforcing the legal penalty for them. + </p> + <p> + Subordinate to the honor of official personages comes that of those who + serve the State in any other capacity, as doctors, lawyers, teachers, + anyone, in short, who, by graduating in any subject, or by any other + public declaration that he is qualified to exercise some special skill, + claims to practice it; in a word, the honor of all those who take any + public pledges whatever. Under this head comes military honor, in the true + sense of the word, the opinion that people who have bound themselves to + defend their country really possess the requisite qualities which will + enable them to do so, especially courage, personal bravery and strength, + and that they are perfectly ready to defend their country to the death, + and never and under any circumstances desert the flag to which they have + once sworn allegiance. I have here taken official honor in a wider sense + than that in which it is generally used, namely, the respect due by + citizens to an office itself. + </p> + <p> + In treating of <i>sexual honor</i> and the principles on which it rests, a + little more attention and analysis are necessary; and what I shall say + will support my contention that all honor really rests upon a utilitarian + basis. There are two natural divisions of the subject—the honor of + women and the honor of men, in either side issuing in a well-understood <i>esprit + de corps</i>. The former is by far the more important of the two, because + the most essential feature in woman's life is her relation to man. + </p> + <p> + Female honor is the general opinion in regard to a girl that she is pure, + and in regard to a wife that she is faithful. The importance of this + opinion rests upon the following considerations. Women depend upon men in + all the relations of life; men upon women, it might be said, in one only. + So an arrangement is made for mutual interdependence—man undertaking + responsibility for all woman's needs and also for the children that spring + from their union—an arrangement on which is based the welfare of the + whole female race. To carry out this plan, women have to band together + with a show of <i>esprit de corps</i>, and present one undivided front to + their common enemy, man,—who possesses all the good things of the + earth, in virtue of his superior physical and intellectual power,—in + order to lay siege to and conquer him, and so get possession of him and a + share of those good things. To this end the honor of all women depends + upon the enforcement of the rule that no woman should give herself to a + man except in marriage, in order that every man may be forced, as it were, + to surrender and ally himself with a woman; by this arrangement provision + is made for the whole of the female race. This is a result, however, which + can be obtained only by a strict observance of the rule; and, accordingly, + women everywhere show true <i>esprit de corps</i> in carefully insisting + upon its maintenance. Any girl who commits a breach of the rule betrays + the whole female race, because its welfare would be destroyed if every + woman were to do likewise; so she is cast out with shame as one who has + lost her honor. No woman will have anything more to do with her; she is + avoided like the plague. The same doom is awarded to a woman who breaks + the marriage tie; for in so doing she is false to the terms upon which the + man capitulated; and as her conduct is such as to frighten other men from + making a similar surrender, it imperils the welfare of all her sisters. + Nay, more; this deception and coarse breach of troth is a crime punishable + by the loss, not only of personal, but also of civic honor. This is why we + minimize the shame of a girl, but not of a wife; because, in the former + case, marriage can restore honor, while in the latter, no atonement can be + made for the breach of contract. + </p> + <p> + Once this <i>esprit de corps</i> is acknowledged to be the foundation of + female honor, and is seen to be a wholesome, nay, a necessary arrangement, + as at bottom a matter of prudence and interest, its extreme importance for + the welfare of women will be recognized. But it does not possess anything + more than a relative value. It is no absolute end, lying beyond all other + aims of existence and valued above life itself. In this view, there will + be nothing to applaud in the forced and extravagant conduct of a Lucretia + or a Virginius—conduct which can easily degenerate into tragic + farce, and produce a terrible feeling of revulsion. The conclusion of <i>Emilia + Galotti</i>, for instance, makes one leave the theatre completely ill at + ease; and, on the other hand, all the rules of female honor cannot prevent + a certain sympathy with Clara in <i>Egmont</i>. To carry this principle of + female honor too far is to forget the end in thinking of the means—and + this is just what people often do; for such exaggeration suggests that the + value of sexual honor is absolute; while the truth is that it is more + relative than any other kind. One might go so far as to say that its value + is purely conventional, when one sees from Thomasius how in all ages and + countries, up to the time of the Reformation, irregularities were + permitted and recognized by law, with no derogation to female honor,—not + to speak of the temple of Mylitta at Babylon.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Heroditus, i. 199.} + </p> + <p> + There are also of course certain circumstances in civil life which make + external forms of marriage impossible, especially in Catholic countries, + where there is no such thing as divorce. Ruling princes everywhere, would, + in my opinion, do much better, from a moral point of view, to dispense + with forms altogether rather than contract a morganatic marriage, the + descendants of which might raise claims to the throne if the legitimate + stock happened to die out; so that there is a possibility, though, + perhaps, a remote one, that a morganatic marriage might produce a civil + war. And, besides, such a marriage, concluded in defiance of all outward + ceremony, is a concession made to women and priests—two classes of + persons to whom one should be most careful to give as little tether as + possible. It is further to be remarked that every man in a country can + marry the woman of his choice, except one poor individual, namely, the + prince. His hand belongs to his country, and can be given in marriage only + for reasons of State, that is, for the good of the country. Still, for all + that, he is a man; and, as a man, he likes to follow whither his heart + leads. It is an unjust, ungrateful and priggish thing to forbid, or to + desire to forbid, a prince from following his inclinations in this matter; + of course, as long as the lady has no influence upon the Government of the + country. From her point of view she occupies an exceptional position, and + does not come under the ordinary rules of sexual honor; for she has merely + given herself to a man who loves her, and whom she loves but cannot marry. + And in general, the fact that the principle of female honor has no origin + in nature, is shown by the many bloody sacrifices which have been offered + to it,—the murder of children and the mother's suicide. No doubt a + girl who contravenes the code commits a breach of faith against her whole + sex; but this faith is one which is only secretly taken for granted, and + not sworn to. And since, in most cases, her own prospects suffer most + immediately, her folly is infinitely greater than her crime. + </p> + <p> + The corresponding virtue in men is a product of the one I have been + discussing. It is their <i>esprit de corps</i>, which demands that, once a + man has made that surrender of himself in marriage which is so + advantageous to his conqueror, he shall take care that the terms of the + treaty are maintained; both in order that the agreement itself may lose + none of its force by the permission of any laxity in its observance, and + that men, having given up everything, may, at least, be assured of their + bargain, namely, exclusive possession. Accordingly, it is part of a man's + honor to resent a breach of the marriage tie on the part of his wife, and + to punish it, at the very least by separating from her. If he condones the + offence, his fellowmen cry shame upon him; but the shame in this case is + not nearly so foul as that of the woman who has lost her honor; the stain + is by no means of so deep a dye—<i>levioris notae macula</i>;—because + a man's relation to woman is subordinate to many other and more important + affairs in his life. The two great dramatic poets of modern times have + each taken man's honor as the theme of two plays; Shakespeare in <i>Othello</i> + and <i>The Winter's Tale</i>, and Calderon in <i>El medico de su honra</i>, + (The Physician of his Honor), and <i>A secreto agravio secreta venganza</i>, + (for Secret Insult Secret Vengeance). It should be said, however, that + honor demands the punishment of the wife only; to punish her paramour too, + is a work of supererogation. This confirms the view I have taken, that a + man's honor originates in <i>esprit de corps</i>. + </p> + <p> + The kind of honor which I have been discussing hitherto has always existed + in its various forms and principles amongst all nations and at all times; + although the history of female honor shows that its principles have + undergone certain local modifications at different periods. But there is + another species of honor which differs from this entirely, a species of + honor of which the Greeks and Romans had no conception, and up to this day + it is perfectly unknown amongst Chinese, Hindoos or Mohammedans. It is a + kind of honor which arose only in the Middle Age, and is indigenous only + to Christian Europe, nay, only to an extremely small portion of the + population, that is to say, the higher classes of society and those who + ape them. It is <i>knightly honor</i>, or <i>point d'honneur</i>. Its + principles are quite different from those which underlie the kind of honor + I have been treating until now, and in some respects are even opposed to + them. The sort I am referring to produces the <i>cavalier</i>; while the + other kind creates the <i>man of honor</i>. As this is so, I shall proceed + to give an explanation of its principles, as a kind of code or mirror of + knightly courtesy. + </p> + <p> + (1.) To begin with, honor of this sort consists, not in other people's + opinion of what we are worth, but wholly and entirely in whether they + express it or not, no matter whether they really have any opinion at all, + let alone whether they know of reasons for having one. Other people may + entertain the worst opinion of us in consequence of what we do, and may + despise us as much as they like; so long as no one dares to give + expression to his opinion, our honor remains untarnished. So if our + actions and qualities compel the highest respect from other people, and + they have no option but to give this respect,—as soon as anyone, no + matter how wicked or foolish he may be, utters something depreciatory of + us, our honor is offended, nay, gone for ever, unless we can manage to + restore it. A superfluous proof of what I say, namely, that knightly honor + depends, not upon what people think, but upon what they say, is furnished + by the fact that insults can be withdrawn, or, if necessary, form the + subject of an apology, which makes them as though they had never been + uttered. Whether the opinion which underlays the expression has also been + rectified, and why the expression should ever have been used, are + questions which are perfectly unimportant: so long as the statement is + withdrawn, all is well. The truth is that conduct of this kind aims, not + at earning respect, but at extorting it. + </p> + <p> + (2.) In the second place, this sort of honor rests, not on what a man + does, but on what he suffers, the obstacles he encounters; differing from + the honor which prevails in all else, in consisting, not in what he says + or does himself, but in what another man says or does. His honor is thus + at the mercy of every man who can talk it away on the tip of his tongue; + and if he attacks it, in a moment it is gone for ever,—unless the + man who is attacked manages to wrest it back again by a process which I + shall mention presently, a process which involves danger to his life, + health, freedom, property and peace of mind. A man's whole conduct may be + in accordance with the most righteous and noble principles, his spirit may + be the purest that ever breathed, his intellect of the very highest order; + and yet his honor may disappear the moment that anyone is pleased to + insult him, anyone at all who has not offended against this code of honor + himself, let him be the most worthless rascal or the most stupid beast, an + idler, gambler, debtor, a man, in short, of no account at all. It is + usually this sort of fellow who likes to insult people; for, as Seneca{1} + rightly remarks, <i>ut quisque contemtissimus et ludibrio est, ita + solutissimae est</i>, the more contemptible and ridiculous a man is,—the + readier he is with his tongue. His insults are most likely to be directed + against the very kind of man I have described, because people of different + tastes can never be friends, and the sight of pre-eminent merit is apt to + raise the secret ire of a ne'er-do-well. What Goethe says in the <i>Westöstlicher + Divan</i> is quite true, that it is useless to complain against your + enemies; for they can never become your friends, if your whole being is a + standing reproach to them:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Was klagst du über Feinde? + Sollten Solche je warden Freunde + Denen das Wesen, wie du bist, + Im stillen ein ewiger Vorwurf ist</i>? +</pre> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>De Constantia</i>, 11.} + </p> + <p> + It is obvious that people of this worthless description have good cause to + be thankful to the principle of honor, because it puts them on a level + with people who in every other respect stand far above them. If a fellow + likes to insult any one, attribute to him, for example, some bad quality, + this is taken <i>prima facie</i> as a well-founded opinion, true in fact; + a decree, as it were, with all the force of law; nay, if it is not at once + wiped out in blood, it is a judgment which holds good and valid to all + time. In other words, the man who is insulted remains—in the eyes of + all <i>honorable people</i>—what the man who uttered the insult—even + though he were the greatest wretch on earth—was pleased to call him; + for he has <i>put up with</i> the insult—the technical term, I + believe. Accordingly, all <i>honorable people</i> will have nothing more + to do with him, and treat him like a leper, and, it may be, refuse to go + into any company where he may be found, and so on. + </p> + <p> + This wise proceeding may, I think, be traced back to the fact that in the + Middle Age, up to the fifteenth century, it was not the accuser in any + criminal process who had to prove the guilt of the accused, but the + accused who had to prove his innocence.{1} This he could do by swearing he + was not guilty; and his backers—<i>consacramentales</i>—had to + come and swear that in their opinion he was incapable of perjury. If he + could find no one to help him in this way, or the accuser took objection + to his backers, recourse was had to trial by <i>the Judgment of God</i>, + which generally meant a duel. For the accused was now <i>in disgrace</i>,{2} + and had to clear himself. Here, then, is the origin of the notion of + disgrace, and of that whole system which prevails now-a-days amongst <i>honorable + people</i>—only that the oath is omitted. This is also the + explanation of that deep feeling of indignation which <i>honorable people</i> + are called upon to show if they are given the lie; it is a reproach which + they say must be wiped out in blood. It seldom comes to this pass, + however, though lies are of common occurrence; but in England, more than + elsewhere, it is a superstition which has taken very deep root. As a + matter of order, a man who threatens to kill another for telling a lie + should never have told one himself. The fact is, that the criminal trial + of the Middle Age also admitted of a shorter form. In reply to the charge, + the accused answered: <i>That is a lie</i>; whereupon it was left to be + decided by <i>the Judgment of God</i>. Hence, the code of knightly honor + prescribes that, when the lie is given, an appeal to arms follows as a + matter of course. So much, then, for the theory of insult. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: See C.G. von Waehter's <i>Beiträge zur deutschen Geschichte</i>, + especially the chapter on criminal law.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: <i>Translator's Note</i>.—It is true that this + expression has another special meaning in the technical terminology of + Chivalry, but it is the nearest English equivalent which I can find for + the German—<i>ein Bescholtener</i>} + </p> + <p> + But there is something even worse than insult, something so dreadful that + I must beg pardon of all <i>honorable people</i> for so much as mentioning + it in this code of knightly honor; for I know they will shiver, and their + hair will stand on end, at the very thought of it—the <i>summum + malum</i>, the greatest evil on earth, worse than death and damnation. A + man may give another—<i>horrible dictu</i>!—a slap or a blow. + This is such an awful thing, and so utterly fatal to all honor, that, + while any other species of insult may be healed by blood-letting, this can + be cured only by the <i>coup-de-grace</i>. + </p> + <p> + (3.) In the third place, this kind of honor has absolutely nothing to do + with what a man may be in and for himself; or, again, with the question + whether his moral character can ever become better or worse, and all such + pedantic inquiries. If your honor happens to be attacked, or to all + appearances gone, it can very soon be restored in its entirety if you are + only quick enough in having recourse to the one universal remedy—<i>a + duel</i>. But if the aggressor does not belong to the classes which + recognize the code of knightly honor, or has himself once offended against + it, there is a safer way of meeting any attack upon your honor, whether it + consists in blows, or merely in words. If you are armed, you can strike + down your opponent on the spot, or perhaps an hour later. This will + restore your honor. + </p> + <p> + But if you wish to avoid such an extreme step, from fear of any unpleasant + consequences arising therefrom, or from uncertainty as to whether the + aggressor is subject to the laws of knightly honor or not, there is + another means of making your position good, namely, the <i>Avantage</i>. + This consists in returning rudeness with still greater rudeness; and if + insults are no use, you can try a blow, which forms a sort of climax in + the redemption of your honor; for instance, a box on the ear may be cured + by a blow with a stick, and a blow with a stick by a thrashing with a + horsewhip; and, as the approved remedy for this last, some people + recommend you to spit at your opponent.{1} If all these means are of no + avail, you must not shrink from drawing blood. And the reason for these + methods of wiping out insult is, in this code, as follows: + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Translator's Note</i>. It must be remembered that + Schopenhauer is here describing, or perhaps caricaturing the manners and + customs of the German aristocracy of half a century ago. Now, of course, + <i>nous avons change tout cela</i>!} + </p> + <p> + (4.) To receive an insult is disgraceful; to give one, honorable. Let me + take an example. My opponent has truth, right and reason on his side. Very + well. I insult him. Thereupon right and honor leave him and come to me, + and, for the time being, he has lost them—until he gets them back, + not by the exercise of right or reason, but by shooting and sticking me. + Accordingly, rudeness is a quality which, in point of honor, is a + substitute for any other and outweighs them all. The rudest is always + right. What more do you want? However stupid, bad or wicked a man may have + been, if he is only rude into the bargain, he condones and legitimizes all + his faults. If in any discussion or conversation, another man shows more + knowledge, greater love of truth, a sounder judgment, better understanding + than we, or generally exhibits intellectual qualities which cast ours into + the shade, we can at once annul his superiority and our own shallowness, + and in our turn be superior to him, by being insulting and offensive. For + rudeness is better than any argument; it totally eclipses intellect. If + our opponent does not care for our mode of attack, and will not answer + still more rudely, so as to plunge us into the ignoble rivalry of the <i>Avantage</i>, + we are the victors and honor is on our side. Truth, knowledge, + understanding, intellect, wit, must beat a retreat and leave the field to + this almighty insolence. + </p> + <p> + <i>Honorable people</i> immediately make a show of mounting their + war-horse, if anyone utters an opinion adverse to theirs, or shows more + intelligence than they can muster; and if in any controversy they are at a + loss for a reply, they look about for some weapon of rudeness, which will + serve as well and come readier to hand; so they retire masters of the + position. It must now be obvious that people are quite right in applauding + this principle of honor as having ennobled the tone of society. This + principle springs from another, which forms the heart and soul of the + entire code. + </p> + <p> + (5.) Fifthly, the code implies that the highest court to which a man can + appeal in any differences he may have with another on a point of honor is + the court of physical force, that is, of brutality. Every piece of + rudeness is, strictly speaking, an appeal to brutality; for it is a + declaration that intellectual strength and moral insight are incompetent + to decide, and that the battle must be fought out by physical force—a + struggle which, in the case of man, whom Franklin defines as <i>a + tool-making animal</i>, is decided by the weapons peculiar to the species; + and the decision is irrevocable. This is the well-known principle of <i>right + of might</i>—irony, of course, like <i>the wit of a fool</i>, a + parallel phrase. The honor of a knight may be called the glory of might. + </p> + <p> + (6.) Lastly, if, as we saw above, civic honor is very scrupulous in the + matter of <i>meum</i> and <i>tuum</i>, paying great respect to obligations + and a promise once made, the code we are here discussing displays, on the + other hand, the noblest liberality. There is only one word which may not + be broken, <i>the word of honor</i>—upon my <i>honor</i>, as people + say—the presumption being, of course, that every other form of + promise may be broken. Nay, if the worst comes to the worst, it is easy to + break even one's word of honor, and still remain honorable—again by + adopting that universal remedy, the duel, and fighting with those who + maintain that we pledged our word. Further, there is one debt, and one + alone, that under no circumstances must be left unpaid—a gambling + debt, which has accordingly been called <i>a debt of honor</i>. In all + other kinds of debt you may cheat Jews and Christians as much as you like; + and your knightly honor remains without a stain. + </p> + <p> + The unprejudiced reader will see at once that such a strange, savage and + ridiculous code of honor as this has no foundation in human nature, nor + any warrant in a healthy view of human affairs. The extremely narrow + sphere of its operation serves only to intensify the feeling, which is + exclusively confined to Europe since the Middle Age, and then only to the + upper classes, officers and soldiers, and people who imitate them. Neither + Greeks nor Romans knew anything of this code of honor or of its + principles; nor the highly civilized nations of Asia, ancient or modern. + Amongst them no other kind of honor is recognized but that which I + discussed first, in virtue of which a man is what he shows himself to be + by his actions, not what any wagging tongue is pleased to say of him. They + thought that what a man said or did might perhaps affect his own honor, + but not any other man's. To them, a blow was but a blow—and any + horse or donkey could give a harder one—a blow which under certain + circumstances might make a man angry and demand immediate vengeance; but + it had nothing to do with honor. No one kept account of blows or insulting + words, or of the <i>satisfaction</i> which was demanded or omitted to be + demanded. Yet in personal bravery and contempt of death, the ancients were + certainly not inferior to the nations of Christian Europe. The Greeks and + Romans were thorough heroes, if you like; but they knew nothing about <i>point + d'honneur</i>. If <i>they</i> had any idea of a duel, it was totally + unconnected with the life of the nobles; it was merely the exhibition of + mercenary gladiators, slaves devoted to slaughter, condemned criminals, + who, alternately with wild beasts, were set to butcher one another to make + a Roman holiday. When Christianity was introduced, gladiatorial shows were + done away with, and their place taken, in Christian times, by the duel, + which was a way of settling difficulties by <i>the Judgment of God</i>. + </p> + <p> + If the gladiatorial fight was a cruel sacrifice to the prevailing desire + for great spectacles, dueling is a cruel sacrifice to existing prejudices—a + sacrifice, not of criminals, slaves and prisoners, but of the noble and + the free.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Translator's Note</i>. These and other remarks on dueling + will no doubt wear a belated look to English readers; but they are hardly + yet antiquated for most parts of the Continent.} + </p> + <p> + There are a great many traits in the character of the ancients which show + that they were entirely free from these prejudices. When, for instance, + Marius was summoned to a duel by a Teutonic chief, he returned answer to + the effect that, if the chief were tired of his life, he might go and hang + himself; at the same time he offered him a veteran gladiator for a round + or two. Plutarch relates in his life of Themistocles that Eurybiades, who + was in command of the fleet, once raised his stick to strike him; + whereupon Themistocles, instead of drawing his sword, simply said: <i>Strike, + but hear me</i>. How sorry the reader must be, if he is an <i>honorable</i> + man, to find that we have no information that the Athenian officers + refused in a body to serve any longer under Themistocles, if he acted like + that! There is a modern French writer who declares that if anyone + considers Demosthenes a man of honor, his ignorance will excite a smile of + pity; and that Cicero was not a man of honor either!{1} In a certain + passage in Plato's <i>Laws</i>{2} the philosopher speaks at length of + {Greek: aikia} or <i>assault</i>, showing us clearly enough that the + ancients had no notion of any feeling of honor in connection with such + matters. Socrates' frequent discussions were often followed by his being + severely handled, and he bore it all mildly. Once, for instance, when + somebody kicked him, the patience with which he took the insult surprised + one of his friends. <i>Do you think</i>, said Socrates, <i>that if an ass + happened to kick me, I should resent it</i>?{3} On another occasion, when + he was asked, <i>Has not that fellow abused and insulted you? No</i>, was + his answer, <i>what he says is not addressed to me</i>{4} Stobaeus has + preserved a long passage from Musonius, from which we can see how the + ancients treated insults. They knew no other form of satisfaction than + that which the law provided, and wise people despised even this. If a + Greek received a box on the ear, he could get satisfaction by the aid of + the law; as is evident from Plato's <i>Gorgias</i>, where Socrates' + opinion may be found. The same thing may be seen in the account given by + Gellius of one Lucius Veratius, who had the audacity to give some Roman + citizens whom he met on the road a box on the ear, without any provocation + whatever; but to avoid any ulterior consequences, he told a slave to bring + a bag of small money, and on the spot paid the trivial legal penalty to + the men whom he had astonished by his conduct. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1:<i>litteraires</i>: par C. Durand. Rouen, 1828.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: Bk. IX.}. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 3: Diogenes Laertius, ii., 21.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 4: <i>Ibid</i> 36.} + </p> + <p> + Crates, the celebrated Cynic philosopher, got such a box on the ear from + Nicodromus, the musician, that his face swelled up and became black and + blue; whereupon he put a label on his forehead, with the inscription, <i>Nicodromus + fecit</i>, which brought much disgrace to the fluteplayer who had + committed such a piece of brutality upon the man whom all Athens honored + as a household god.{1} And in a letter to Melesippus, Diogenes of Sinope + tells us that he got a beating from the drunken sons of the Athenians; but + he adds that it was a matter of no importance.{2} And Seneca devotes the + last few chapters of his <i>De Constantia</i> to a lengthy discussion on + insult—<i>contumelia</i>; in order to show that a wise man will take + no notice of it. In Chapter XIV, he says, <i>What shall a wise man do, if + he is given a blow? What Cato did, when some one struck him on the mouth;—not + fire up or avenge the insult, or even return the blow, but simply ignore + it</i>. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Diogenes Laertius, vi. 87, and Apul: Flor: p. 126.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: Cf. Casaubon's Note, Diog. Laert., vi. 33.} + </p> + <p> + <i>Yes</i>, you say, <i>but these men were philosophers</i>.—And you + are fools, eh? Precisely. + </p> + <p> + It is clear that the whole code of knightly honor was utterly unknown to + the ancients; for the simple reason that they always took a natural and + unprejudiced view of human affairs, and did not allow themselves to be + influenced by any such vicious and abominable folly. A blow in the face + was to them a blow and nothing more, a trivial physical injury; whereas + the moderns make a catastrophe out of it, a theme for a tragedy; as, for + instance, in the <i>Cid</i> of Corneille, or in a recent German comedy of + middle-class life, called <i>The Power of Circumstance</i>, which should + have been entitled <i>The Power of Prejudice</i>. If a member of the + National Assembly at Paris got a blow on the ear, it would resound from + one end of Europe to the other. The examples which I have given of the way + in which such an occurrence would have been treated in classic times may + not suit the ideas of <i>honorable people</i>; so let me recommend to + their notice, as a kind of antidote, the story of Monsieur Desglands in + Diderot's masterpiece, <i>Jacques le fataliste</i>. It is an excellent + specimen of modern knightly honor, which, no doubt, they will find + enjoyable and edifying.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote: 1: <i>Translator's Note</i>. The story to which Schopenhauer + here refers is briefly as follows: Two gentlemen, one of whom was named + Desglands, were paying court to the same lady. As they sat at table side + by side, with the lady opposite, Desglands did his best to charm her with + his conversation; but she pretended not to hear him, and kept looking at + his rival. In the agony of jealousy, Desglands, as he was holding a fresh + egg in his hand, involuntarily crushed it; the shell broke, and its + contents bespattered his rival's face. Seeing him raise his hand, + Desglands seized it and whispered: <i>Sir, I take it as given</i>. The + next day Desglands appeared with a large piece of black sticking-plaster + upon his right cheek. In the duel which followed, Desglands severely + wounded his rival; upon which he reduced the size of the plaster. When his + rival recovered, they had another duel; Desglands drew blood again, and + again made his plaster a little smaller; and so on for five or six times. + After every duel Desglands' plaster grew less and less, until at last his + rival.} + </p> + <p> + From what I have said it must be quite evident that the principle of + knightly honor has no essential and spontaneous origin in human nature. It + is an artificial product, and its source is not hard to find. Its + existence obviously dates from the time when people used their fists more + than their heads, when priestcraft had enchained the human intellect, the + much bepraised Middle Age, with its system of chivalry. That was the time + when people let the Almighty not only care for them but judge for them + too; when difficult cases were decided by an ordeal, a <i>Judgment of God</i>; + which, with few exceptions, meant a duel, not only where nobles were + concerned, but in the case of ordinary citizens as well. There is a neat + illustration of this in Shakespeare's Henry VI.{1} Every judicial sentence + was subject to an appeal to arms—a court, as it were, of higher + instance, namely, <i>the Judgment of God</i>: and this really meant that + physical strength and activity, that is, our animal nature, usurped the + place of reason on the judgment seat, deciding in matters of right and + wrong, not by what a man had done, but by the force with which he was + opposed, the same system, in fact, as prevails to-day under the principles + of knightly honor. If any one doubts that such is really the origin of our + modern duel, let him read an excellent work by J.B. Millingen, <i>The + History of Dueling</i>.{2} Nay, you may still find amongst the supporters + of the system,—who, by the way are not usually the most educated or + thoughtful of men,—some who look upon the result of a duel as really + constituting a divine judgment in the matter in dispute; no doubt in + consequence of the traditional feeling on the subject. + </p> + <p> + But leaving aside the question of origin, it must now be clear to us that + the main tendency of the principle is to use physical menace for the + purpose of extorting an appearance of respect which is deemed too + difficult or superfluous to acquire in reality; a proceeding which comes + to much the same thing as if you were to prove the warmth of your room by + holding your hand on the thermometer and so make it rise. In fact, the + kernel of the matter is this: whereas civic honor aims at peaceable + intercourse, and consists in the opinion of other people that <i>we + deserve full confidence</i>, because we pay unconditional respect to their + rights; knightly honor, on the other hand, lays down that <i>we are to be + feared</i>, as being determined at all costs to maintain our own. + </p> + <p> + As not much reliance can be placed upon human integrity, the principle + that it is more essential to arouse fear than to invite confidence would + not, perhaps, be a false one, if we were living in a state of nature, + where every man would have to protect himself and directly maintain his + own rights. But in civilized life, where the State undertakes the + protection of our person and property, the principle is no longer + applicable: it stands, like the castles and watch-towers of the age when + might was right, a useless and forlorn object, amidst well-tilled fields + and frequented roads, or even railways. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, the application of knightly honor, which still recognizes + this principle, is confined to those small cases of personal assault which + meet with but slight punishment at the hands of the law, or even none at + all, for <i>de minimis non</i>,—mere trivial wrongs, committed + sometimes only in jest. The consequence of this limited application of the + principle is that it has forced itself into an exaggerated respect for the + value of the person,—a respect utterly alien to the nature, + constitution or destiny of man—which it has elated into a species of + sanctity: and as it considers that the State has imposed a very + insufficient penalty on the commission of such trivial injuries, it takes + upon itself to punish them by attacking the aggressor in life or limb. The + whole thing manifestly rests upon an excessive degree of arrogant pride, + which, completely forgetting what man really is, claims that he shall be + absolutely free from all attack or even censure. Those who determine to + carry out this principle by main force, and announce, as their rule of + action, <i>whoever insults or strikes me shall die</i>! ought for their + pains to be banished the country.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Knightly honor is the child of pride and folly, and it is <i>needy</i> + not pride, which is the heritage of the human race. It is a very + remarkable fact that this extreme form of pride should be found + exclusively amongst the adherents of the religion which teaches the + deepest humility. Still, this pride must not be put down to religion, but, + rather, to the feudal system, which made every nobleman a petty sovereign + who recognized no human judge, and learned to regard his person as sacred + and inviolable, and any attack upon it, or any blow or insulting word, as + an offence punishable with death. The principle of knightly honor and of + the duel were at first confined to the nobles, and, later on, also to + officers in the army, who, enjoying a kind of off-and-on relationship with + the upper classes, though they were never incorporated with them, were + anxious not to be behind them. It is true that duels were the product of + the old ordeals; but the latter are not the foundation, but rather the + consequence and application of the principle of honor: the man who + recognized no human judge appealed to the divine. Ordeals, however, are + not peculiar to Christendom: they may be found in great force among the + Hindoos, especially of ancient times; and there are traces of them even + now.} + </p> + <p> + As a palliative to this rash arrogance, people are in the habit of giving + way on everything. If two intrepid persons meet, and neither will give + way, the slightest difference may cause a shower of abuse, then + fisticuffs, and, finally, a fatal blow: so that it would really be a more + decorous proceeding to omit the intermediate steps and appeal to arms at + once. An appeal to arms has its own special formalities; and these have + developed into a rigid and precise system of laws and regulations, + together forming the most solemn farce there is—a regular temple of + honor dedicated to folly! For if two intrepid persons dispute over some + trivial matter, (more important affairs are dealt with by law), one of + them, the cleverer of the two, will of course yield; and they will agree + to differ. That this is so is proved by the fact that common people,—or, + rather, the numerous classes of the community who do not acknowledge the + principle of knightly honor, let any dispute run its natural course. + Amongst these classes homicide is a hundredfold rarer than amongst those—and + they amount, perhaps, in all, to hardly one in a thousand,—who pay + homage to the principle: and even blows are of no very frequent + occurrence. + </p> + <p> + Then it has been said that the manners and tone of good society are + ultimately based upon this principle of honor, which, with its system of + duels, is made out to be a bulwark against the assaults of savagery and + rudeness. But Athens, Corinth and Rome could assuredly boast of good, nay, + excellent society, and manners and tone of a high order, without any + support from the bogey of knightly honor. It is true that women did not + occupy that prominent place in ancient society which they hold now, when + conversation has taken on a frivolous and trifling character, to the + exclusion of that weighty discourse which distinguished the ancients. + </p> + <p> + This change has certainly contributed a great deal to bring about the + tendency, which is observable in good society now-a-days, to prefer + personal courage to the possession of any other quality. The fact is that + personal courage is really a very subordinate virtue,—merely the + distinguishing mark of a subaltern,—a virtue, indeed, in which we + are surpassed by the lower animals; or else you would not hear people say, + <i>as brave as a lion</i>. Far from being the pillar of society, knightly + honor affords a sure asylum, in general for dishonesty and wickedness, and + also for small incivilities, want of consideration and unmannerliness. + Rude behavior is often passed over in silence because no one cares to risk + his neck in correcting it. + </p> + <p> + After what I have said, it will not appear strange that the dueling system + is carried to the highest pitch of sanguinary zeal precisely in that + nation whose political and financial records show that they are not too + honorable. What that nation is like in its private and domestic life, is a + question which may be best put to those who are experienced in the matter. + Their urbanity and social culture have long been conspicuous by their + absence. + </p> + <p> + There is no truth, then, in such pretexts. It can be urged with more + justice that as, when you snarl at a dog, he snarls in return, and when + you pet him, he fawns; so it lies in the nature of men to return hostility + by hostility, and to be embittered and irritated at any signs of + depreciatory treatment or hatred: and, as Cicero says, <i>there is + something so penetrating in the shaft of envy that even men of wisdom and + worth find its wound a painful one</i>; and nowhere in the world, except, + perhaps, in a few religious sects, is an insult or a blow taken with + equanimity. And yet a natural view of either would in no case demand + anything more than a requital proportionate to the offence, and would + never go to the length of assigning <i>death</i> as the proper penalty for + anyone who accuses another of lying or stupidity or cowardice. The old + German theory of <i>blood for a blow</i> is a revolting superstition of + the age of chivalry. And in any case the return or requital of an insult + is dictated by anger, and not by any such obligation of honor and duty as + the advocates of chivalry seek to attach to it. The fact is that, the + greater the truth, the greater the slander; and it is clear that the + slightest hint of some real delinquency will give much greater offence + than a most terrible accusation which is perfectly baseless: so that a man + who is quite sure that he has done nothing to deserve a reproach may treat + it with contempt, and will be safe in doing so. The theory of honor + demands that he shall show a susceptibility which he does not possess, and + take bloody vengeance for insults which he cannot feel. A man must himself + have but a poor opinion of his own worth who hastens to prevent the + utterance of an unfavorable opinion by giving his enemy a black eye. + </p> + <p> + True appreciation of his own value will make a man really indifferent to + insult; but if he cannot help resenting it, a little shrewdness and + culture will enable him to save appearances and dissemble his anger. If he + could only get rid of this superstition about honor—the idea, I + mean, that it disappears when you are insulted, and can be restored by + returning the insult; if we could only stop people from thinking that + wrong, brutality and insolence can be legalized by expressing readiness to + give satisfaction, that is, to fight in defence of it, we should all soon + come to the general opinion that insult and depreciation are like a battle + in which the loser wins; and that, as Vincenzo Monti says, abuse resembles + a church-procession, because it always returns to the point from which it + set out. If we could only get people to look upon insult in this light, we + should no longer have to say something rude in order to prove that we are + in the right. Now, unfortunately, if we want to take a serious view of any + question, we have first of all to consider whether it will not give + offence in some way or other to the dullard, who generally shows alarm and + resentment at the merest sign of intelligence; and it may easily happen + that the head which contains the intelligent view has to be pitted against + the noodle which is empty of everything but narrowness and stupidity. If + all this were done away with, intellectual superiority could take the + leading place in society which is its due—a place now occupied, + though people do not like to confess it, by excellence of physique, mere + fighting pluck, in fact; and the natural effect of such a change would be + that the best kind of people would have one reason the less for + withdrawing from society. This would pave the way for the introduction of + real courtesy and genuinely good society, such as undoubtedly existed in + Athens, Corinth and Rome. If anyone wants to see a good example of what I + mean, I should like him to read Xenophon's <i>Banquet</i>. + </p> + <p> + The last argument in defence of knightly honor no doubt is, that, but for + its existence, the world—awful thought!—would be a regular + bear-garden. To which I may briefly reply that nine hundred and + ninety-nine people out of a thousand who do not recognize the code, have + often given and received a blow without any fatal consequences: whereas + amongst the adherents of the code a blow usually means death to one of the + parties. But let me examine this argument more closely. + </p> + <p> + I have often tried to find some tenable, or at any rate, plausible basis—other + than a merely conventional one—some positive reasons, that is to + say, for the rooted conviction which a portion of mankind entertains, that + a blow is a very dreadful thing; but I have looked for it in vain, either + in the animal or in the rational side of human nature. A blow is, and + always will be, a trivial physical injury which one man can do to another; + proving, thereby, nothing more than his superiority in strength or skill, + or that his enemy was off his guard. Analysis will carry us no further. + The same knight who regards a blow from the human hand as the greatest of + evils, if he gets a ten times harder blow from his horse, will give you + the assurance, as he limps away in suppressed pain, that it is a matter of + no consequence whatever. So I have come to think that it is the human hand + which is at the bottom of the mischief. And yet in a battle the knight may + get cuts and thrusts from the same hand, and still assure you that his + wounds are not worth mentioning. Now, I hear that a blow from the flat of + a sword is not by any means so bad as a blow from a stick; and that, a + short time ago, cadets were liable to be punished by the one but not the + other, and that the very greatest honor of all is the <i>accolade</i>. + This is all the psychological or moral basis that I can find; and so there + is nothing left me but to pronounce the whole thing an antiquated + superstition that has taken deep root, and one more of the many examples + which show the force of tradition. My view is confirmed by the well-known + fact that in China a beating with a bamboo is a very frequent punishment + for the common people, and even for officials of every class; which shows + that human nature, even in a highly civilized state, does not run in the + same groove here and in China. + </p> + <p> + On the contrary, an unprejudiced view of human nature shows that it is + just as natural for a man to beat as it is for savage animals to bite and + rend in pieces, or for horned beasts to butt or push. Man may be said to + be the animal that beats. Hence it is revolting to our sense of the + fitness of things to hear, as we sometimes do, that one man bitten + another; on the other hand, it is a natural and everyday occurrence for + him to get blows or give them. It is intelligible enough that, as we + become educated, we are glad to dispense with blows by a system of mutual + restraint. But it is a cruel thing to compel a nation or a single class to + regard a blow as an awful misfortune which must have death and murder for + its consequences. There are too many genuine evils in the world to allow + of our increasing them by imaginary misfortunes, which brings real ones in + their train: and yet this is the precise effect of the superstition, which + thus proves itself at once stupid and malign. + </p> + <p> + It does not seem to me wise of governments and legislative bodies to + promote any such folly by attempting to do away with flogging as a + punishment in civil or military life. Their idea is that they are acting + in the interests of humanity; but, in point of fact, they are doing just + the opposite; for the abolition of flogging will serve only to strengthen + this inhuman and abominable superstition, to which so many sacrifices have + already been made. For all offences, except the worst, a beating is the + obvious, and therefore the natural penalty; and a man who will not listen + to reason will yield to blows. It seems to me right and proper to + administer corporal punishment to the man who possesses nothing and + therefore cannot be fined, or cannot be put in prison because his master's + interests would suffer by the loss of his service. There are really no + arguments against it: only mere talk about <i>the dignity of man</i>—talk + which proceeds, not from any clear notions on the subject, but from the + pernicious superstition I have been describing. That it is a superstition + which lies at the bottom of the whole business is proved by an almost + laughable example. Not long ago, in the military discipline of many + countries, the cat was replaced by the stick. In either case the object + was to produce physical pain; but the latter method involved no disgrace, + and was not derogatory to honor. + </p> + <p> + By promoting this superstition, the State is playing into the hands of the + principle of knightly honor, and therefore of the duel; while at the same + time it is trying, or at any rate it pretends it is trying, to abolish the + duel by legislative enactment. As a natural consequence we find that this + fragment of the theory that <i>might is right</i>, which has come down to + us from the most savage days of the Middle Age, has still in this + nineteenth century a good deal of life left in it—more shame to us! + It is high time for the principle to be driven out bag and baggage. + Now-a-days no one is allowed to set dogs or cocks to fight each other,—at + any rate, in England it is a penal offence,—but men are plunged into + deadly strife, against their will, by the operation of this ridiculous, + superstitious and absurd principle, which imposes upon us the obligation, + as its narrow-minded supporters and advocates declare, of fighting with + one another like gladiators, for any little trifle. Let me recommend our + purists to adopt the expression <i>baiting</i>{1} instead of <i>duel</i>, + which probably comes to us, not from the Latin <i>duellum</i>, but from + the Spanish <i>duelo</i>,—meaning suffering, nuisance, annoyance. + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: <i>Ritterhetze</i>} + </p> + <p> + In any case, we may well laugh at the pedantic excess to which this + foolish system has been carried. It is really revolting that this + principle, with its absurd code, can form a power within the State—<i>imperium + in imperio</i>—a power too easily put in motion, which, recognizing + no right but might, tyrannizes over the classes which come within its + range, by keeping up a sort of inquisition, before which any one may be + haled on the most flimsy pretext, and there and then be tried on an issue + of life and death between himself and his opponent. This is the lurking + place from which every rascal, if he only belongs to the classes in + question, may menace and even exterminate the noblest and best of men, + who, as such, must of course be an object of hatred to him. Our system of + justice and police-protection has made it impossible in these days for any + scoundrel in the street to attack us with—<i>Your money or your life</i>! + An end should be put to the burden which weighs upon the higher classes—the + burden, I mean, of having to be ready every moment to expose life and limb + to the mercy of anyone who takes it into his rascally head to be coarse, + rude, foolish or malicious. It is perfectly atrocious that a pair of + silly, passionate boys should be wounded, maimed or even killed, simply + because they have had a few words. + </p> + <p> + The strength of this tyrannical power within the State, and the force of + the superstition, may be measured by the fact that people who are + prevented from restoring their knightly honor by the superior or inferior + rank of their aggressor, or anything else that puts the persons on a + different level, often come to a tragic-comic end by committing suicide in + sheer despair. You may generally know a thing to be false and ridiculous + by finding that, if it is carried to its logical conclusion, it results in + a contradiction; and here, too, we have a very glaring absurdity. For an + officer is forbidden to take part in a duel; but if he is challenged and + declines to come out, he is punished by being dismissed the service. + </p> + <p> + As I am on the matter, let me be more frank still. The important + distinction, which is often insisted upon, between killing your enemy in a + fair fight with equal weapons, and lying in ambush for him, is entirely a + corollary of the fact that the power within the State, of which I have + spoken, recognizes no other right than might, that is, the right of the + stronger, and appeals to a <i>Judgment of God</i> as the basis of the + whole code. For to kill a man in a fair fight, is to prove that you are + superior to him in strength or skill; and to justify the deed, <i>you must + assume that the right of the stronger is really a right</i>. + </p> + <p> + But the truth is that, if my opponent is unable to defend himself, it + gives me the possibility, but not by any means the right, of killing him. + The <i>right</i>, the <i>moral justification</i>, must depend entirely + upon the <i>motives</i> which I have for taking his life. Even supposing + that I have sufficient motive for taking a man's life, there is no reason + why I should make his death depend upon whether I can shoot or fence + better than he. In such a case, it is immaterial in what way I kill him, + whether I attack him from the front or the rear. From a moral point of + view, the right of the stronger is no more convincing than the right of + the more skillful; and it is skill which is employed if you murder a a man + treacherously. Might and skill are in this case equally right; in a duel, + for instance, both the one and the other come into play; for a feint is + only another name for treachery. If I consider myself morally justified in + taking a man's life, it is stupid of me to try first of all whether he can + shoot or fence better than I; as, if he can, he will not only have wronged + me, but have taken my life into the bargain. + </p> + <p> + It is Rousseau's opinion that the proper way to avenge an insult is, not + to fight a duel with your aggressor, but to assassinate him,—an + opinion, however, which he is cautious enough only to barely indicate in a + mysterious note to one of the books of his <i>Emile</i>. This shows the + philosopher so completely under the influence of the mediaeval + superstition of knightly honor that he considers it justifiable to murder + a man who accuses you of lying: whilst he must have known that every man, + and himself especially, has deserved to have the lie given him times + without number. + </p> + <p> + The prejudice which justifies the killing of your adversary, so long as it + is done in an open contest and with equal weapons, obviously looks upon + might as really right, and a duel as the interference of God. The Italian + who, in a fit of rage, falls upon his aggressor wherever he finds him, and + despatches him without any ceremony, acts, at any rate, consistently and + naturally: he may be cleverer, but he is not worse, than the duelist. If + you say, I am justified in killing my adversary in a duel, because he is + at the moment doing his best to kill me; I can reply that it is your + challenge which has placed him under the necessity of defending himself; + and that by mutually putting it on the ground of self-defence, the + combatants are seeking a plausible pretext for committing murder. I should + rather justify the deed by the legal maxim <i>Volenti non fit injuria</i>; + because the parties mutually agree to set their life upon the issue. + </p> + <p> + This argument may, however, be rebutted by showing that the injured party + is not injured <i>volens</i>; because it is this tyrannical principle of + knightly honor, with its absurd code, which forcibly drags one at least of + the combatants before a bloody inquisition. + </p> + <p> + I have been rather prolix on the subject of knightly honor, but I had good + reason for being so, because the Augean stable of moral and intellectual + enormity in this world can be cleaned out only with the besom of + philosophy. There are two things which more than all else serve to make + the social arrangements of modern life compare unfavorably with those of + antiquity, by giving our age a gloomy, dark and sinister aspect, from + which antiquity, fresh, natural and, as it were, in the morning of life, + is completely free; I mean modern honor and modern disease,—<i>par + nobile fratrum</i>!—which have combined to poison all the relations + of life, whether public or private. The second of this noble pair extends + its influence much farther than at first appears to be the case, as being + not merely a physical, but also a moral disease. From the time that + poisoned arrows have been found in Cupid's quiver, an estranging, hostile, + nay, devilish element has entered into the relations of men and women, + like a sinister thread of fear and mistrust in the warp and woof of their + intercourse; indirectly shaking the foundations of human fellowship, and + so more or less affecting the whole tenor of existence. But it would be + beside my present purpose to pursue the subject further. + </p> + <p> + An influence analogous to this, though working on other lines, is exerted + by the principle of knightly honor,—that solemn farce, unknown to + the ancient world, which makes modern society stiff, gloomy and timid, + forcing us to keep the strictest watch on every word that falls. Nor is + this all. The principle is a universal Minotaur; and the goodly company of + the sons of noble houses which it demands in yearly tribute, comes, not + from one country alone, as of old, but from every land in Europe. It is + high time to make a regular attack upon this foolish system; and this is + what I am trying to do now. Would that these two monsters of the modern + world might disappear before the end of the century! + </p> + <p> + Let us hope that medicine may be able to find some means of preventing the + one, and that, by clearing our ideals, philosophy may put an end to the + other: for it is only by clearing our ideas that the evil can be + eradicated. Governments have tried to do so by legislation, and failed. + </p> + <p> + Still, if they are really concerned to stop the dueling system; and if the + small success that has attended their efforts is really due only to their + inability to cope with the evil, I do not mind proposing a law the success + of which I am prepared to guarantee. It will involve no sanguinary + measures, and can be put into operation without recourse either to the + scaffold or the gallows, or to imprisonment for life. It is a small + homeopathic pilule, with no serious after effects. If any man send or + accept a challenge, let the corporal take him before the guard house, and + there give him, in broad daylight, twelve strokes with a stick <i>a la + Chinoise</i>; a non-commissioned officer or a private to receive six. If a + duel has actually taken place, the usual criminal proceedings should be + instituted. + </p> + <p> + A person with knightly notions might, perhaps, object that, if such a + punishment were carried out, a man of honor would possibly shoot himself; + to which I should answer that it is better for a fool like that to shoot + himself rather than other people. However, I know very well that + governments are not really in earnest about putting down dueling. Civil + officials, and much more so, officers in the army, (except those in the + highest positions), are paid most inadequately for the services they + perform; and the deficiency is made up by honor, which is represented by + titles and orders, and, in general, by the system of rank and distinction. + The duel is, so to speak, a very serviceable extra-horse for people of + rank: so they are trained in the knowledge of it at the universities. The + accidents which happen to those who use it make up in blood for the + deficiency of the pay. + </p> + <p> + Just to complete the discussion, let me here mention the subject of <i>national + honor</i>. It is the honor of a nation as a unit in the aggregate of + nations. And as there is no court to appeal to but the court of force; and + as every nation must be prepared to defend its own interests, the honor of + a nation consists in establishing the opinion, not only that it may be + trusted (its credit), but also that it is to be feared. An attack upon its + rights must never be allowed to pass unheeded. It is a combination of + civic and knightly honor. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + <i>Section 5.—Fame</i>. + </h2> + <p> + Under the heading of place in the estimation of the world we have put <i>Fame</i>; + and this we must now proceed to consider. + </p> + <p> + Fame and honor are twins; and twins, too, like Castor and Pollux, of whom + the one was mortal and the other was not. Fame is the undying brother of + ephemeral honor. I speak, of course, of the highest kind of fame, that is, + of fame in the true and genuine sense of the word; for, to be sure, there + are many sorts of fame, some of which last but a day. Honor is concerned + merely with such qualities as everyone may be expected to show under + similar circumstances; fame only of those which cannot be required of any + man. Honor is of qualities which everyone has a right to attribute to + himself; fame only of those which should be left to others to attribute. + Whilst our honor extends as far as people have knowledge of us; fame runs + in advance, and makes us known wherever it finds its way. Everyone can + make a claim to honor; very few to fame, as being attainable only in + virtue of extraordinary achievements. + </p> + <p> + These achievements may be of two kinds, either <i>actions</i> or <i>works</i>; + and so to fame there are two paths open. On the path of actions, a great + heart is the chief recommendation; on that of works, a great head. Each of + the two paths has its own peculiar advantages and detriments; and the + chief difference between them is that actions are fleeting, while works + remain. The influence of an action, be it never so noble, can last but a + short time; but a work of genius is a living influence, beneficial and + ennobling throughout the ages. All that can remain of actions is a memory, + and that becomes weak and disfigured by time—a matter of + indifference to us, until at last it is extinguished altogether; unless, + indeed, history takes it up, and presents it, fossilized, to posterity. + Works are immortal in themselves, and once committed to writing, may live + for ever. Of Alexander the Great we have but the name and the record; but + Plato and Aristotle, Homer and Horace are alive, and as directly at work + to-day as they were in their own lifetime. The <i>Vedas</i>, and their <i>Upanishads</i>, + are still with us: but of all contemporaneous actions not a trace has come + down to us.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Accordingly it is a poor compliment, though sometimes a + fashionable one, to try to pay honor to a work by calling it an action. + For a work is something essentially higher in its nature. An action is + always something based on motive, and, therefore, fragmentary and fleeting—a + part, in fact, of that Will which is the universal and original element in + the constitution of the world. But a great and beautiful work has a + permanent character, as being of universal significance, and sprung from + the Intellect, which rises, like a perfume, above the faults and follies + of the world of Will. + </p> + <p> + The fame of a great action has this advantage, that it generally starts + with a loud explosion; so loud, indeed, as to be heard all over Europe: + whereas the fame of a great work is slow and gradual in its beginnings; + the noise it makes is at first slight, but it goes on growing greater, + until at last, after a hundred years perhaps, it attains its full force; + but then it remains, because the works remain, for thousands of years. But + in the other case, when the first explosion is over, the noise it makes + grows less and less, and is heard by fewer and fewer persons; until it + ends by the action having only a shadowy existence in the pages of + history.} + </p> + <p> + Another disadvantage under which actions labor is that they depend upon + chance for the possibility of coming into existence; and hence, the fame + they win does not flow entirely from their intrinsic value, but also from + the circumstances which happened to lend them importance and lustre. + Again, the fame of actions, if, as in war, they are purely personal, + depends upon the testimony of fewer witnesses; and these are not always + present, and even if present, are not always just or unbiased observers. + This disadvantage, however, is counterbalanced by the fact that actions + have the advantage of being of a practical character, and, therefore, + within the range of general human intelligence; so that once the facts + have been correctly reported, justice is immediately done; unless, indeed, + the motive underlying the action is not at first properly understood or + appreciated. No action can be really understood apart from the motive + which prompted it. + </p> + <p> + It is just the contrary with works. Their inception does not depend upon + chance, but wholly and entirely upon their author; and whoever they are in + and for themselves, that they remain as long as they live. Further, there + is a difficulty in properly judging them, which becomes all the harder, + the higher their character; often there are no persons competent to + understand the work, and often no unbiased or honest critics. Their fame, + however, does not depend upon one judge only; they can enter an appeal to + another. In the case of actions, as I have said, it is only their memory + which comes down to posterity, and then only in the traditional form; but + works are handed down themselves, and, except when parts of them have been + lost, in the form in which they first appeared. In this case there is no + room for any disfigurement of the facts; and any circumstance which may + have prejudiced them in their origin, fall away with the lapse of time. + Nay, it is often only after the lapse of time that the persons really + competent to judge them appear—exceptional critics sitting in + judgment on exceptional works, and giving their weighty verdicts in + succession. These collectively form a perfectly just appreciation; and + though there are cases where it has taken some hundreds of years to form + it, no further lapse of time is able to reverse the verdict;—so + secure and inevitable is the fame of a great work. + </p> + <p> + Whether authors ever live to see the dawn of their fame depends upon the + chance of circumstance; and the higher and more important their works are, + the less likelihood there is of their doing so. That was an incomparable + fine saying of Seneca's, that fame follows merit as surely as the body + casts a shadow; sometimes falling in front, and sometimes behind. And he + goes on to remark that <i>though the envy of contemporaries be shown by + universal silence, there will come those who will judge without enmity or + favor</i>. From this remark it is manifest that even in Seneca's age there + were rascals who understood the art of suppressing merit by maliciously + ignoring its existence, and of concealing good work from the public in + order to favor the bad: it is an art well understood in our day, too, + manifesting itself, both then and now, in <i>an envious conspiracy of + silence</i>. + </p> + <p> + As a general rule, the longer a man's fame is likely to last, the later it + will be in coming; for all excellent products require time for their + development. The fame which lasts to posterity is like an oak, of very + slow growth; and that which endures but a little while, like plants which + spring up in a year and then die; whilst false fame is like a fungus, + shooting up in a night and perishing as soon. + </p> + <p> + And why? For this reason; the more a man belongs to posterity, in other + words, to humanity in general, the more of an alien he is to his + contemporaries; since his work is not meant for them as such, but only for + them in so far as they form part of mankind at large; there is none of + that familiar local color about his productions which would appeal to + them; and so what he does, fails of recognition because it is strange. + </p> + <p> + People are more likely to appreciate the man who serves the circumstances + of his own brief hour, or the temper of the moment,—belonging to it, + living and dying with it. + </p> + <p> + The general history of art and literature shows that the highest + achievements of the human mind are, as a rule, not favorably received at + first; but remain in obscurity until they win notice from intelligence of + a high order, by whose influence they are brought into a position which + they then maintain, in virtue of the authority thus given them. + </p> + <p> + If the reason of this should be asked, it will be found that ultimately, a + man can really understand and appreciate those things only which are of + like nature with himself. The dull person will like what is dull, and the + common person what is common; a man whose ideas are mixed will be + attracted by confusion of thought; and folly will appeal to him who has no + brains at all; but best of all, a man will like his own works, as being of + a character thoroughly at one with himself. This is a truth as old as + Epicharmus of fabulous memory— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + {Greek: Thaumaston ouden esti me tauth outo legein + Kal andanein autoisin autous kal dokein + Kalos pethukenai kal gar ho kuon kuni + Kalloton eimen phainetai koi bous boi + Onos dono kalliston {estin}, us dut.} +</pre> + <p> + The sense of this passage—for it should not be lost—is that we + should not be surprised if people are pleased with themselves, and fancy + that they are in good case; for to a dog the best thing in the world is a + dog; to an ox, an ox; to an ass, an ass; and to a sow, a sow. + </p> + <p> + The strongest arm is unavailing to give impetus to a featherweight; for, + instead of speeding on its way and hitting its mark with effect, it will + soon fall to the ground, having expended what little energy was given to + it, and possessing no mass of its own to be the vehicle of momentum. So it + is with great and noble thoughts, nay, with the very masterpieces of + genius, when there are none but little, weak, and perverse minds to + appreciate them,—a fact which has been deplored by a chorus of the + wise in all ages. Jesus, the son of Sirach, for instance, declares that <i>He + that telleth a tale to a fool speaketh to one in slumber: when he hath + told his tale, he will say, What is the matter</i>?{1} And Hamlet says, <i>A + knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear</i>.{2} And Goethe is of the same + opinion, that a dull ear mocks at the wisest word, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Das glücktichste Wort es wird verhöhnt, + Wenn der Hörer ein Schiefohr ist</i>: +</pre> + <p> + and again, that we should not be discouraged if people are stupid, for you + can make no rings if you throw your stone into a marsh. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Du iwirkest nicht, Alles bleibt so stumpf: + Sei guter Dinge! + Der Stein in Sumpf + Macht keine Ringe</i>. +</pre> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Ecclesiasticus, xxii., 8.} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 2: Act iv., Sc. 2.} + </p> + <p> + Lichtenberg asks: <i>When a head and a book come into collision, and one + sounds hollow, is it always the book</i>? And in another place: <i>Works + like this are as a mirror; if an ass looks in, you cannot expect an + apostle to look out</i>. We should do well to remember old Gellert's fine + and touching lament, that the best gifts of all find the fewest admirers, + and that most men mistake the bad for the good,—a daily evil that + nothing can prevent, like a plague which no remedy can cure. There is but + one thing to be done, though how difficult!—the foolish must become + wise,—and that they can never be. The value of life they never know; + they see with the outer eye but never with the mind, and praise the + trivial because the good is strange to them:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Nie kennen sie den Werth der Dinge, + Ihr Auge schliesst, nicht ihr Verstand; + Sie loben ewig das Geringe + Weil sie das Gute nie gekannt</i>. +</pre> + <p> + To the intellectual incapacity which, as Goethe says, fails to recognize + and appreciate the good which exists, must be added something which comes + into play everywhere, the moral baseness of mankind, here taking the form + of envy. The new fame that a man wins raises him afresh over the heads of + his fellows, who are thus degraded in proportion. All conspicuous merit is + obtained at the cost of those who possess none; or, as Goethe has it in + the <i>Westöstlicher Divan</i>, another's praise is one's own depreciation— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Wenn wir Andern Ehre geben + Müssen wir uns selbst entadeln</i>. +</pre> + <p> + We see, then, how it is that, whatever be the form which excellence takes, + mediocrity, the common lot of by far the greatest number, is leagued + against it in a conspiracy to resist, and if possible, to suppress it. The + pass-word of this league is <i>à bas le mérite</i>. Nay more; those who + have done something themselves, and enjoy a certain amount of fame, do not + care about the appearance of a new reputation, because its success is apt + to throw theirs into the shade. Hence, Goethe declares that if we had to + depend for our life upon the favor of others, we should never have lived + at all; from their desire to appear important themselves, people gladly + ignore our very existence:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Hätte ich gezaudert zu werden, + Bis man mir's Leben geögnut, + Ich wäre noch nicht auf Erden, + Wie ihr begreifen könnt, + Wenn ihr seht, wie sie sich geberden, + Die, um etwas zu scheinen, + Mich gerne mochten verneinen</i>. +</pre> + <p> + Honor, on the contrary, generally meets with fair appreciation, and is not + exposed to the onslaught of envy; nay, every man is credited with the + possession of it until the contrary is proved. But fame has to be won in + despite of envy, and the tribunal which awards the laurel is composed of + judges biased against the applicant from the very first. Honor is + something which we are able and ready to share with everyone; fame suffers + encroachment and is rendered more unattainable in proportion as more + people come by it. Further, the difficulty of winning fame by any given + work stands in reverse ratio to the number of people who are likely to + read it; and hence it is so much harder to become famous as the author of + a learned work than as a writer who aspires only to amuse. It is hardest + of all in the case of philosophical works, because the result at which + they aim is rather vague, and, at the same time, useless from a material + point of view; they appeal chiefly to readers who are working on the same + lines themselves. + </p> + <p> + It is clear, then, from what I have said as to the difficulty of winning + fame, that those who labor, not out of love for their subject, nor from + pleasure in pursuing it, but under the stimulus of ambition, rarely or + never leave mankind a legacy of immortal works. The man who seeks to do + what is good and genuine, must avoid what is bad, and be ready to defy the + opinions of the mob, nay, even to despise it and its misleaders. Hence the + truth of the remark, (especially insisted upon by Osorius <i>de Gloria</i>), + that fame shuns those who seek it, and seeks those who shun it; for the + one adapt themselves to the taste of their contemporaries, and the others + work in defiance of it. + </p> + <p> + But, difficult though it be to acquire fame, it is an easy thing to keep + when once acquired. Here, again, fame is in direct opposition to honor, + with which everyone is presumably to be accredited. Honor has not to be + won; it must only not be lost. But there lies the difficulty! For by a + single unworthy action, it is gone irretrievably. But fame, in the proper + sense of the word, can never disappear; for the action or work by which it + was acquired can never be undone; and fame attaches to its author, even + though he does nothing to deserve it anew. The fame which vanishes, or is + outlived, proves itself thereby to be spurious, in other words, unmerited, + and due to a momentary overestimate of a man's work; not to speak of the + kind of fame which Hegel enjoyed, and which Lichtenberg describes as <i>trumpeted + forth by a clique of admiring undergraduates</i>—<i>the resounding + echo of empty heads</i>;—<i>such a fame as will make posterity smile + when it lights upon a grotesque architecture of words, a fine nest with + the birds long ago flown; it will knock at the door of this decayed + structure of conventionalities and find it utterly empty</i>!—<i>not + even a trace of thought there to invite the passer-by</i>. + </p> + <p> + The truth is that fame means nothing but what a man is in comparison with + others. It is essentially relative in character, and therefore only + indirectly valuable; for it vanishes the moment other people become what + the famous man is. Absolute value can be predicated only of what a man + possesses under any and all circumstances,—here, what a man is + directly and in himself. It is the possession of a great heart or a great + head, and not the mere fame of it, which is worth having, and conducive to + happiness. Not fame, but that which deserves to be famous, is what a man + should hold in esteem. This is, as it were, the true underlying substance, + and fame is only an accident, affecting its subject chiefly as a kind of + external symptom, which serves to confirm his own opinion of himself. + Light is not visible unless it meets with something to reflect it; and + talent is sure of itself only when its fame is noised abroad. But fame is + not a certain symptom of merit; because you can have the one without the + other; or, as Lessing nicely puts it, <i>Some people obtain fame, and + others deserve it</i>. + </p> + <p> + It would be a miserable existence which should make its value or want of + value depend upon what other people think; but such would be the life of a + hero or a genius if its worth consisted in fame, that is, in the applause + of the world. Every man lives and exists on his own account, and, + therefore, mainly in and for himself; and what he is and the whole manner + of his being concern himself more than anyone else; so if he is not worth + much in this respect, he cannot be worth much otherwise. The idea which + other people form of his existence is something secondary, derivative, + exposed to all the chances of fate, and in the end affecting him but very + indirectly. Besides, other people's heads are a wretched place to be the + home of a man's true happiness—a fanciful happiness perhaps, but not + a real one. + </p> + <p> + And what a mixed company inhabits the Temple of Universal Fame!—generals, + ministers, charlatans, jugglers, dancers, singers, millionaires and Jews! + It is a temple in which more sincere recognition, more genuine esteem, is + given to the several excellencies of such folk, than to superiority of + mind, even of a high order, which obtains from the great majority only a + verbal acknowledgment. + </p> + <p> + From the point of view of human happiness, fame is, surely, nothing but a + very rare and delicate morsel for the appetite that feeds on pride and + vanity—an appetite which, however carefully concealed, exists to an + immoderate degree in every man, and is, perhaps strongest of all in those + who set their hearts on becoming famous at any cost. Such people generally + have to wait some time in uncertainty as to their own value, before the + opportunity comes which will put it to the proof and let other people see + what they are made of; but until then, they feel as if they were suffering + secret injustice.{1} + </p> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Our greatest pleasure consists in being admired; but those + who admire us, even if they have every reason to do so, are slow to + express their sentiments. Hence he is the happiest man who, no matter how, + manages sincerely to admire himself—so long as other people leave + him alone.} + </p> + <p> + But, as I explained at the beginning of this chapter, an unreasonable + value is set upon other people's opinion, and one quite disproportionate + to its real worth. Hobbes has some strong remarks on this subject; and no + doubt he is quite right. <i>Mental pleasure</i>, he writes, <i>and ecstacy + of any kind, arise when, on comparing ourselves with others, we come to + the conclusion that we may think well of ourselves</i>. So we can easily + understand the great value which is always attached to fame, as worth any + sacrifices if there is the slightest hope of attaining it. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise</i> + <i>(That hath infirmity of noble mind)</i> + <i>To scorn delights and live laborious days</i>{1} +</pre> + <p> + And again: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>How hard it is to climb + The heights where Fame's proud temple shines afar</i>! +</pre> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Milton. <i>Lycidas</i>.} + </p> + <p> + We can thus understand how it is that the vainest people in the world are + always talking about <i>la gloire</i>, with the most implicit faith in it + as a stimulus to great actions and great works. But there can he no doubt + that fame is something secondary in its character, a mere echo or + reflection—as it were, a shadow or symptom—of merit: and, in + any case, what excites admiration must be of more value than the + admiration itself. The truth is that a man is made happy, not by fame, but + by that which brings him fame, by his merits, or to speak more correctly, + by the disposition and capacity from which his merits proceed, whether + they be moral or intellectual. The best side of a man's nature must of + necessity be more important for him than for anyone else: the reflection + of it, the opinion which exists in the heads of others, is a matter that + can affect him only in a very subordinate degree. He who deserves fame + without getting it possesses by far the more important element of + happiness, which should console him for the loss of the other. It is not + that a man is thought to be great by masses of incompetent and often + infatuated people, but that he really is great, which should move us to + envy his position; and his happiness lies, not in the fact that posterity + will hear of him, but that he is the creator of thoughts worthy to be + treasured up and studied for hundreds of years. + </p> + <p> + Besides, if a man has done this, he possesses something which cannot be + wrested from him; and, unlike fame, it is a possession dependent entirely + upon himself. If admiration were his chief aim, there would be nothing in + him to admire. This is just what happens in the case of false, that is, + unmerited, fame; for its recipient lives upon it without actually + possessing the solid substratum of which fame is the outward and visible + sign. False fame must often put its possessor out of conceit with himself; + for the time may come when, in spite of the illusions borne of self-love, + he will feel giddy on the heights which he was never meant to climb, or + look upon himself as spurious coin; and in the anguish of threatened + discovery and well-merited degradation, he will read the sentence of + posterity on the foreheads of the wise—like a man who owes his + property to a forged will. + </p> + <p> + The truest fame, the fame that comes after death, is never heard of by its + recipient; and yet he is called a happy man. + </p> + <p> + His happiness lay both in the possession of those great qualities which + won him fame, and in the opportunity that was granted him of developing + them—the leisure he had to act as he pleased, to dedicate himself to + his favorite pursuits. It is only work done from the heart that ever gains + the laurel. + </p> + <p> + Greatness of soul, or wealth of intellect, is what makes a man happy—intellect, + such as, when stamped on its productions, will receive the admiration of + centuries to come,—thoughts which make him happy at the time, and + will in their turn be a source of study and delight to the noblest minds + of the most remote posterity. The value of posthumous fame lies in + deserving it; and this is its own reward. Whether works destined to fame + attain it in the lifetime of their author is a chance affair, of no very + great importance. For the average man has no critical power of his own, + and is absolutely incapable of appreciating the difficulty of a great + work. People are always swayed by authority; and where fame is widespread, + it means that ninety-nine out of a hundred take it on faith alone. If a + man is famed far and wide in his own lifetime, he will, if he is wise, not + set too much value upon it, because it is no more than the echo of a few + voices, which the chance of a day has touched in his favor. + </p> + <p> + Would a musician feel flattered by the loud applause of an audience if he + knew that they were nearly all deaf, and that, to conceal their infirmity, + they set to work to clap vigorously as soon as ever they saw one or two + persons applauding? And what would he say if he got to know that those one + or two persons had often taken bribes to secure the loudest applause for + the poorest player! + </p> + <p> + It is easy to see why contemporary praise so seldom develops into + posthumous fame. D'Alembert, in an extremely fine description of the + temple of literary fame, remarks that the sanctuary of the temple is + inhabited by the great dead, who during their life had no place there, and + by a very few living persons, who are nearly all ejected on their death. + Let me remark, in passing, that to erect a monument to a man in his + lifetime is as much as declaring that posterity is not to be trusted in + its judgment of him. If a man does happen to see his own true fame, it can + very rarely be before he is old, though there have been artists and + musicians who have been exceptions to this rule, but very few + philosophers. This is confirmed by the portraits of people celebrated by + their works; for most of them are taken only after their subjects have + attained celebrity, generally depicting them as old and grey; more + especially if philosophy has been the work of their lives. From the + eudaemonistic standpoint, this is a very proper arrangement; as fame and + youth are too much for a mortal at one and the same time. Life is such a + poor business that the strictest economy must be exercised in its good + things. Youth has enough and to spare in itself, and must rest content + with what it has. But when the delights and joys of life fall away in old + age, as the leaves from a tree in autumn, fame buds forth opportunely, + like a plant that is green in winter. Fame is, as it were, the fruit that + must grow all the summer before it can be enjoyed at Yule. There is no + greater consolation in age than the feeling of having put the whole force + of one's youth into works which still remain young. + </p> + <p> + Finally, let us examine a little more closely the kinds of fame which + attach to various intellectual pursuits; for it is with fame of this sort + that my remarks are more immediately concerned. + </p> + <p> + I think it may be said broadly that the intellectual superiority it + denotes consists in forming theories, that is, new combinations of certain + facts. These facts may be of very different kinds; but the better they are + known, and the more they come within everyday experience, the greater and + wider will be the fame which is to be won by theorizing about them. + </p> + <p> + For instance, if the facts in question are numbers or lines or special + branches of science, such as physics, zoology, botany, anatomy, or corrupt + passages in ancient authors, or undecipherable inscriptions, written, it + may be, in some unknown alphabet, or obscure points in history; the kind + of fame that may be obtained by correctly manipulating such facts will not + extend much beyond those who make a study of them—a small number of + persons, most of whom live retired lives and are envious of others who + become famous in their special branch of knowledge. + </p> + <p> + But if the facts be such as are known to everyone, for example, the + fundamental characteristics of the human mind or the human heart, which + are shared by all alike; or the great physical agencies which are + constantly in operation before our eyes, or the general course of natural + laws; the kind of fame which is to be won by spreading the light of a new + and manifestly true theory in regard to them, is such as in time will + extend almost all over the civilized world: for if the facts be such as + everyone can grasp, the theory also will be generally intelligible. But + the extent of the fame will depend upon the difficulties overcome; and the + more generally known the facts are, the harder it will be to form a theory + that shall be both new and true: because a great many heads will have been + occupied with them, and there will be little or no possibility of saying + anything that has not been said before. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, facts which are not accessible to everybody, and can be + got at only after much difficulty and labor, nearly always admit of new + combinations and theories; so that, if sound understanding and judgment + are brought to bear upon them—qualities which do not involve very + high intellectual power—a man may easily be so fortunate as to light + upon some new theory in regard to them which shall be also true. But fame + won on such paths does not extend much beyond those who possess a + knowledge of the facts in question. To solve problems of this sort + requires, no doubt, a great ideal of study and labor, if only to get at + the facts; whilst on the path where the greatest and most widespread fame + is to be won, the facts may be grasped without any labor at all. But just + in proportion as less labor is necessary, more talent or genius is + required; and between such qualities and the drudgery of research no + comparison is possible, in respect either of their intrinsic value, or of + the estimation in which they are held. + </p> + <p> + And so people who feel that they possess solid intellectual capacity and a + sound judgment, and yet cannot claim the highest mental powers, should not + be afraid of laborious study; for by its aid they may work themselves + above the great mob of humanity who have the facts constantly before their + eyes, and reach those secluded spots which are accessible to learned toil. + </p> + <p> + For this is a sphere where there are infinitely fewer rivals, and a man of + only moderate capacity may soon find an opportunity of proclaiming a + theory which shall be both new and true; nay, the merit of his discovery + will partly rest upon the difficulty of coming at the facts. But applause + from one's fellow-students, who are the only persons with a knowledge of + the subject, sounds very faint to the far-off multitude. And if we follow + up this sort of fame far enough, we shall at last come to a point where + facts very difficult to get at are in themselves sufficient to lay a + foundation of fame, without any necessity for forming a theory;—travels, + for instance, in remote and little-known countries, which make a man + famous by what he has seen, not by what he has thought. The great + advantage of this kind of fame is that to relate what one has seen, is + much easier than to impart one's thoughts, and people are apt to + understand descriptions better than ideas, reading the one more readily + than the other: for, as Asmus says, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>When one goes forth a-voyaging + He has a tale to tell</i>. +</pre> + <p> + And yet for all that, a personal acquaintance with celebrated travelers + often remind us of a line from Horace—new scenes do not always mean + new ideas— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt</i>.{1} +</pre> + <p> + {Footnote 1: Epist. I. II.} + </p> + <p> + But if a man finds himself in possession of great mental faculties, such + as alone should venture on the solution of the hardest of all problems—those + which concern nature as a whole and humanity in its widest range, he will + do well to extend his view equally in all directions, without ever + straying too far amid the intricacies of various by-paths, or invading + regions little known; in other words, without occupying himself with + special branches of knowledge, to say nothing of their petty details. + There is no necessity for him to seek out subjects difficult of access, in + order to escape a crowd of rivals; the common objects of life will give + him material for new theories at once serious and true; and the service he + renders will be appreciated by all those—and they form a great part + of mankind—who know the facts of which he treats. What a vast + distinction there is between students of physics, chemistry, anatomy, + mineralogy, zoology, philology, history, and the men who deal with the + great facts of human life, the poet and the philosopher! + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Essays Of Arthur Schopenhauer: +The Wisdom of Life, by Arthur Schopenhauer + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ESSAYS OF SCHOPENHAUER *** + +***** This file should be named 10741-h.htm or 10741-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/7/4/10741/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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