{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_10741/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_10741","id":"gutenberg_10741","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10741","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Conduct of life","Maxims"],"text":"THE ESSAYS\n\nOF\n\nARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER\n\nTRANSLATED BY\n\nT. BAILEY SAUNDERS, M.A.\n\n\n\nTHE WISDOM OF LIFE.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n  CHAPTER\n  INTRODUCTION\n  I. DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT\n  II. PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS\n  III. PROPERTY, OR WHAT A MAN HAS\n  IV. POSITION, OR A MAN'S PLACE IN THE ESTIMATION OF OTHERS--\n    Sect. 1. Reputation\n      \"   2. Pride\n      \"   3. Rank\n      \"   4. Honor\n      \"   5. Fame\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nIn these pages I shall speak of _The Wisdom of Life_ in the common\nmeaning of the term, as the art, namely, of ordering our lives so as\nto obtain the greatest possible amount of pleasure and success; an art\nthe theory of which may be called _Eudaemonology_, for it teaches us\nhow to lead a happy existence. Such an existence might perhaps be\ndefined as one which, looked at from a purely objective point of\nview, or, rather, after cool and mature reflection--for the question\nnecessarily involves subjective considerations,--would be decidedly\npreferable to non-existence; implying that we should cling to it for\nits own sake, and not merely from the fear of death; and further, that\nwe should never like it to come to an end.\n\nNow whether human life corresponds, or could possibly correspond,\nto this conception of existence, is a question to which, as is\nwell-known, my philosophical system returns a negative answer. On the\neudaemonistic hypothesis, however, the question must be answered in\nthe affirmative; and I have shown, in the second volume of my chief\nwork (ch. 49), that this hypothesis is based upon a fundamental\nmistake. Accordingly, in elaborating the scheme of a happy existence,\nI have had to make a complete surrender of the higher metaphysical and\nethical standpoint to which my own theories lead; and everything I\nshall say here will to some extent rest upon a compromise; in so far,\nthat is, as I take the common standpoint of every day, and embrace\nthe error which is at the bottom of it. My remarks, therefore, will\npossess only a qualified value, for the very word _eudaemonology_ is a\neuphemism. Further, I make no claims to completeness; partly because\nthe subject is inexhaustible, and partly because I should otherwise\nhave to say over again what has been already said by others.\n\nThe only book composed, as far as I remember, with a like purpose to\nthat which animates this collection of aphorisms, is Cardan's _De\nutilitate ex adversis capienda_, which is well worth reading, and may\nbe used to supplement the present work. Aristotle, it is true, has a\nfew words on eudaemonology in the fifth chapter of the first book\nof his _Rhetoric_; but what he says does not come to very much.\nAs compilation is not my business, I have made no use of these\npredecessors; more especially because in the process of compiling,\nindividuality of view is lost, and individuality of view is the kernel\nof works of this kind. In general, indeed, the wise in all ages have\nalways said the same thing, and the fools, who at all times form the\nimmense majority, have in their way too acted alike, and done just the\nopposite; and so it will continue. For, as Voltaire says, _we shall\nleave this world as foolish and as wicked as we found it on our\narrival_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WISDOM OF LIFE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nDIVISION OF THE SUBJECT.\n\n\nAristotle[1] divides the blessings of life into three classes--those\nwhich come to us from without, those of the soul, and those of the\nbody. Keeping nothing of this division but the number, I observe that\nthe fundamental differences in human lot may be reduced to three\ndistinct classes:\n\n[Footnote 1: _Eth. Nichom_., I. 8.]\n\n(1) What a man is: that is to say, personality, in the widest sense\nof the word; under which are included health, strength, beauty,\ntemperament, moral character, intelligence, and education.\n\n(2) What a man has: that is, property and possessions of every kind.\n\n(3) How a man stands in the estimation of others: by which is to be\nunderstood, as everybody knows, what a man is in the eyes of his\nfellowmen, or, more strictly, the light in which they regard him. This\nis shown by their opinion of him; and their opinion is in its turn\nmanifested by the honor in which he is held, and by his rank and\nreputation.\n\nThe differences which come under the first head are those which Nature\nherself has set between man and man; and from this fact alone we may\nat once infer that they influence the happiness or unhappiness of\nmankind in a much more vital and radical way than those contained\nunder the two following heads, which are merely the effect of human\narrangements. Compared with _genuine personal advantages_, such as a\ngreat mind or a great heart, all the privileges of rank or birth, even\nof royal birth, are but as kings on the stage, to kings in real life.\nThe same thing was said long ago by Metrodorus, the earliest disciple\nof Epicurus, who wrote as the title of one of his chapters, _The\nhappiness we receive from ourselves is greater than that which we\nobtain from our surroundings_[1] And it is an obvious fact, which\ncannot be called in question, that the principal element in a man's\nwell-being,--indeed, in the whole tenor of his existence,--is what he\nis made of, his inner constitution. For this is the immediate source\nof that inward satisfaction or dissatisfaction resulting from the\nsum total of his sensations, desires and thoughts; whilst his\nsurroundings, on the other hand, exert only a mediate or indirect\ninfluence upon him. This is why the same external events or\ncircumstances affect no two people alike; even with perfectly similar\nsurroundings every one lives in a world of his own. For a man has\nimmediate apprehension only of his own ideas, feelings and volitions;\nthe outer world can influence him only in so far as it brings these to\nlife. The world in which a man lives shapes itself chiefly by the way\nin which he looks at it, and so it proves different to different\nmen; to one it is barren, dull, and superficial; to another rich,\ninteresting, and full of meaning. On hearing of the interesting events\nwhich have happened in the course of a man's experience, many people\nwill wish that similar things had happened in their lives too,\ncompletely forgetting that they should be envious rather of the mental\naptitude which lent those events the significance they possess when he\ndescribes them; to a man of genius they were interesting adventures;\nbut to the dull perceptions of an ordinary individual they would have\nbeen stale, everyday occurrences. This is in the highest degree the\ncase with many of Goethe's and Byron's poems, which are obviously\nfounded upon actual facts; where it is open to a foolish reader to\nenvy the poet because so many delightful things happened to him,\ninstead of envying that mighty power of phantasy which was capable\nof turning a fairly common experience into something so great and\nbeautiful.\n\n[Footnote 1: Cf. Clemens Alex. Strom. II., 21.]\n\nIn the same way, a person of melancholy temperament will make a scene\nin a tragedy out of what appears to the sanguine man only in the light\nof an interesting conflict, and to a phlegmatic soul as something\nwithout any meaning;--all of which rests upon the fact that every\nevent, in order to be realized and appreciated, requires the\nco-operation of two factors, namely, a subject and an object, although\nthese are as closely and necessarily connected as oxygen and hydrogen\nin water. When therefore the objective or external factor in an\nexperience is actually the same, but the subjective or personal\nappreciation of it varies, the event is just as much a different one\nin the eyes of different persons as if the objective factors had not\nbeen alike; for to a blunt intelligence the fairest and best object in\nthe world presents only a poor reality, and is therefore only poorly\nappreciated,--like a fine landscape in dull weather, or in the\nreflection of a bad _camera obscura_. In plain language, every man\nis pent up within the limits of his own consciousness, and cannot\ndirectly get beyond those limits any more than he can get beyond his\nown skin; so external aid is not of much use to him. On the stage, one\nman is a prince, another a minister, a third a servant or a soldier or\na general, and so on,--mere external differences: the inner reality,\nthe kernel of all these appearances is the same--a poor player, with\nall the anxieties of his lot. In life it is just the same. Differences\nof rank and wealth give every man his part to play, but this by no\nmeans implies a difference of inward happiness and pleasure; here,\ntoo, there is the same being in all--a poor mortal, with his hardships\nand troubles. Though these may, indeed, in every case proceed from\ndissimilar causes, they are in their essential nature much the same in\nall their forms, with degrees of intensity which vary, no doubt, but\nin no wise correspond to the part a man has to play, to the presence\nor absence of position and wealth. Since everything which exists or\nhappens for a man exists only in his consciousness and happens for it\nalone, the most essential thing for a man is the constitution of this\nconsciousness, which is in most cases far more important than the\ncircumstances which go to form its contents. All the pride and\npleasure of the world, mirrored in the dull consciousness of a fool,\nare poor indeed compared with the imagination of Cervantes writing his\n_Don Quixote_ in a miserable prison. The objective half of life and\nreality is in the hand of fate, and accordingly takes various forms in\ndifferent cases: the subjective half is ourself, and in essentials is\nalways remains the same.\n\nHence the life of every man is stamped with the same character\nthroughout, however much his external circumstances may alter; it is\nlike a series of variations on a single theme. No one can get beyond\nhis own individuality. An animal, under whatever circumstances it\nis placed, remains within the narrow limits to which nature has\nirrevocably consigned it; so that our endeavors to make a pet happy\nmust always keep within the compass of its nature, and be restricted\nto what it can feel. So it is with man; the measure of the happiness\nhe can attain is determined beforehand by his individuality. More\nespecially is this the case with the mental powers, which fix once for\nall his capacity for the higher kinds of pleasure. If these powers are\nsmall, no efforts from without, nothing that his fellowmen or that\nfortune can do for him, will suffice to raise him above the ordinary\ndegree of human happiness and pleasure, half animal though it be; his\nonly resources are his sensual appetite,--a cozy and cheerful family\nlife at the most,--low company and vulgar pastime; even education, on\nthe whole, can avail little, if anything, for the enlargement of his\nhorizon. For the highest, most varied and lasting pleasures are those\nof the mind, however much our youth may deceive us on this point; and\nthe pleasures of the mind turn chiefly on the powers of the mind. It\nis clear, then, that our happiness depends in a great degree upon what\nwe _are_, upon our individuality, whilst lot or destiny is generally\ntaken to mean only what we _have_, or our _reputation_. Our lot,\nin this sense, may improve; but we do not ask much of it if we are\ninwardly rich: on the other hand, a fool remains a fool, a dull\nblockhead, to his last hour, even though he were surrounded by houris\nin paradise. This is why Goethe, in the _West-\u00f6stliclien Divan_, says\nthat every man, whether he occupies a low position in life, or emerges\nas its victor, testifies to personality as the greatest factor in\nhappiness:--\n\n  _Volk und Knecht und Uberwinder\n    Sie gestehen, zu jeder Zeit,\n  H\u00f6chtes Gl\u00fcck der Erdenkinder\n    Sei nur die Pers\u00f6nlichkeit_.\n\nEverything confirms the fact that the subjective element in life is\nincomparably more important for our happiness and pleasure than the\nobjective, from such sayings as _Hunger is the best sauce_, and _Youth\nand Age cannot live together_, up to the life of the Genius and the\nSaint. Health outweighs all other blessings so much that one may\nreally say that a healthy beggar is happier than an ailing king. A\nquiet and cheerful temperament, happy in the enjoyment of a perfectly\nsound physique, an intellect clear, lively, penetrating and seeing\nthings as they are, a moderate and gentle will, and therefore a good\nconscience--these are privileges which no rank or wealth can make up\nfor or replace. For what a man is in himself, what accompanies him\nwhen he is alone, what no one can give or take away, is obviously more\nessential to him than everything he has in the way of possessions, or\neven what he may be in the eyes of the world. An intellectual man in\ncomplete solitude has excellent entertainment in his own thoughts and\nfancies, while no amount of diversity or social pleasure, theatres,\nexcursions and amusements, can ward off boredom from a dullard. A\ngood, temperate, gentle character can be happy in needy circumstances,\nwhilst a covetous, envious and malicious man, even if he be the\nrichest in the world, goes miserable. Nay more; to one who has the\nconstant delight of a special individuality, with a high degree of\nintellect, most of the pleasures which are run after by mankind are\nsimply superfluous; they are even a trouble and a burden. And so\nHorace says of himself, that, however many are deprived of the\nfancy-goods of life, there is one at least who can live without\nthem:--\n\n  _Gemmas, marmor, ebur, Tyrrhena sigilla, tabellas,\n  Argentum, vestes, Gaetulo murice tinctas\n  Sunt qui non habeant, est qui non curat habere_;\n\nand when Socrates saw various articles of luxury spread out for sale,\nhe exclaimed: _How much there is in the world I do not want_.\n\nSo the first and most essential element in our life's happiness is\nwhat we are,--our personality, if for no other reason than that it is\na constant factor coming into play under all circumstances: besides,\nunlike the blessings which are described under the other two heads, it\nis not the sport of destiny and cannot be wrested from us;--and, so\nfar, it is endowed with an absolute value in contrast to the merely\nrelative worth of the other two. The consequence of this is that it is\nmuch more difficult than people commonly suppose to get a hold on a\nman from without. But here the all-powerful agent, Time, comes in\nand claims its rights, and before its influence physical and mental\nadvantages gradually waste away. Moral character alone remains\ninaccessible to it. In view of the destructive effect of time, it\nseems, indeed, as if the blessings named under the other two heads,\nof which time cannot directly rob us, were superior to those of the\nfirst. Another advantage might be claimed for them, namely, that being\nin their very nature objective and external, they are attainable, and\nevery one is presented with the possibility, at least, of coming into\npossession of them; whilst what is subjective is not open to us to\nacquire, but making its entry by a kind of _divine right_, it remains\nfor life, immutable, inalienable, an inexorable doom. Let me quote\nthose lines in which Goethe describes how an unalterable destiny is\nassigned to every man at the hour of his birth, so that he can develop\nonly in the lines laid down for him, as it were, by the conjunctions\nof the stars: and how the Sybil and the prophets declare that\n_himself_ a man can never escape, nor any power of time avail to\nchange the path on which his life is cast:--\n\n  _Wie an dem Tag, der dich der Welt verliehen,\n  D\u00efe Sonne stand zum Grusse der Planeten,\n  Bist alsobald und fort und fort gediehen,\n  Nach dem Gesetz, wonach du angetreten.\n  So musst du sein, dir kannst du nicht entfliehen,\n  So tagten schon Sybillen und Propheten;\n  Und keine Zeit, und keine Macht zerst\u00fcckelt\n  Gepr\u00e4gte Form, die lebend sich entwickelt_.\n\nThe only thing that stands in our power to achieve, is to make the\nmost advantageous use possible of the personal qualities we possess,\nand accordingly to follow such pursuits only as will call them into\nplay, to strive after the kind of perfection of which they admit and\nto avoid every other; consequently, to choose the position, occupation\nand manner of life which are most suitable for their development.\n\nImagine a man endowed with herculean strength who is compelled by\ncircumstances to follow a sedentary occupation, some minute exquisite\nwork of the hands, for example, or to engage in study and mental\nlabor demanding quite other powers, and just those which he has not\ngot,--compelled, that is, to leave unused the powers in which he is\npre-eminently strong; a man placed like this will never feel happy all\nhis life through. Even more miserable will be the lot of the man\nwith intellectual powers of a very high order, who has to leave them\nundeveloped and unemployed, in the pursuit of a calling which does not\nrequire them, some bodily labor, perhaps, for which his strength is\ninsufficient. Still, in a case of this kind, it should be our care,\nespecially in youth, to avoid the precipice of presumption, and not\nascribe to ourselves a superfluity of power which is not there.\n\nSince the blessings described under the first head decidedly outweigh\nthose contained under the other two, it is manifestly a wiser course\nto aim at the maintenance of our health and the cultivation of our\nfaculties, than at the amassing of wealth; but this must not be\nmistaken as meaning that we should neglect to acquire an adequate\nsupply of the necessaries of life. Wealth, in the strict sense of the\nword, that is, great superfluity, can do little for our happiness; and\nmany rich people feel unhappy just because they are without any true\nmental culture or knowledge, and consequently have no objective\ninterests which would qualify them for intellectual occupations. For\nbeyond the satisfaction of some real and natural necessities, all that\nthe possession of wealth can achieve has a very small influence upon\nour happiness, in the proper sense of the word; indeed, wealth rather\ndisturbs it, because the preservation of property entails a great many\nunavoidable anxieties. And still men are a thousand times more intent\non becoming rich than on acquiring culture, though it is quite certain\nthat what a man _is_ contributes much more to his happiness than\nwhat he _has_. So you may see many a man, as industrious as an ant,\nceaselessly occupied from morning to night in the endeavor to increase\nhis heap of gold. Beyond the narrow horizon of means to this end, he\nknows nothing; his mind is a blank, and consequently unsusceptible to\nany other influence. The highest pleasures, those of the intellect,\nare to him inaccessible, and he tries in vain to replace them by the\nfleeting pleasures of sense in which he indulges, lasting but a brief\nhour and at tremendous cost. And if he is lucky, his struggles result\nin his having a really great pile of gold, which he leaves to\nhis heir, either to make it still larger, or to squander it in\nextravagance. A life like this, though pursued with a sense of\nearnestness and an air of importance, is just as silly as many another\nwhich has a fool's cap for its symbol.\n\n_What a man has in himself_ is, then, the chief element in his\nhappiness. Because this is, as a rule, so very little, most of those\nwho are placed beyond the struggle with penury feel at bottom quite as\nunhappy as those who are still engaged in it. Their minds are vacant,\ntheir imagination dull, their spirits poor, and so they are driven to\nthe company of those like them--for _similis simili gaudet_--where\nthey make common pursuit of pastime and entertainment, consisting\nfor the most part in sensual pleasure, amusement of every kind, and\nfinally, in excess and libertinism. A young man of rich family enters\nupon life with a large patrimony, and often runs through it in an\nincredibly short space of time, in vicious extravagance; and why?\nSimply because, here too, the mind is empty and void, and so the man\nis bored with existence. He was sent forth into the world outwardly\nrich but inwardly poor, and his vain endeavor was to make his\nexternal wealth compensate for his inner poverty, by trying to obtain\neverything _from without_, like an old man who seeks to strengthen\nhimself as King David or Mar\u00e9chal de Rex tried to do. And so in the\nend one who is inwardly poor comes to be also poor outwardly.\n\nI need not insist upon the importance of the other two kinds of\nblessings which make up the happiness of human life; now-a-days the\nvalue of possessing them is too well known to require advertisement.\nThe third class, it is true, may seem, compared with the second, of\na very ethereal character, as it consists only of other people's\nopinions. Still every one has to strive for reputation, that is to\nsay, a good name. Rank, on the other hand, should be aspired to only\nby those who serve the state, and fame by very few indeed. In any\ncase, reputation is looked upon as a priceless treasure, and fame as\nthe most precious of all the blessings a man can attain,--the Golden\nFleece, as it were, of the elect: whilst only fools will prefer rank\nto property. The second and third classes, moreover, are reciprocally\ncause and effect; so far, that is, as Petronius' maxim, _habes\nhabeberis_, is true; and conversely, the favor of others, in all its\nforms, often puts us in the way of getting what we want.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nPERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS.\n\n\nWe have already seen, in general, that what a man _is_ contributes\nmuch more to his happiness than what he _has_, or how he is regarded\nby others. What a man is, and so what he has in his own person, is\nalways the chief thing to consider; for his individuality accompanies\nhim always and everywhere, and gives its color to all his experiences.\nIn every kind of enjoyment, for instance, the pleasure depends\nprincipally upon the man himself. Every one admits this in regard to\nphysical, and how much truer it is of intellectual, pleasure. When we\nuse that English expression, \"to enjoy one's self,\" we are employing a\nvery striking and appropriate phrase; for observe--one says, not \"he\nenjoys Paris,\" but \"he enjoys himself in Paris.\" To a man possessed of\nan ill-conditioned individuality, all pleasure is like delicate wine\nin a mouth made bitter with gall. Therefore, in the blessings as well\nas in the ills of life, less depends upon what befalls us than upon\nthe way in which it is met, that is, upon the kind and degree of our\ngeneral susceptibility. What a man is and has in himself,--in a word\npersonality, with all it entails, is the only immediate and direct\nfactor in his happiness and welfare. All else is mediate and indirect,\nand its influence can be neutralized and frustrated; but the influence\nof personality never. This is why the envy which personal qualities\nexcite is the most implacable of all,--as it is also the most\ncarefully dissembled.\n\nFurther, the constitution of our consciousness is the ever present\nand lasting element in all we do or suffer; our individuality is\npersistently at work, more or less, at every moment of our life: all\nother influences are temporal, incidental, fleeting, and subject to\nevery kind of chance and change. This is why Aristotle says: _It is\nnot wealth but character that lasts_.[1]\n\n  [Greek: --hae gar phusis bebion ou ta chraemata]\n\n[Footnote 1: Eth. Eud., vii. 2. 37:]\n\nAnd just for the same reason we can more easily bear a misfortune\nwhich comes to us entirely from without, than one which we have drawn\nupon ourselves; for fortune may always change, but not character.\nTherefore, subjective blessings,--a noble nature, a capable head, a\njoyful temperament, bright spirits, a well-constituted, perfectly\nsound physique, in a word, _mens sana in corpore sano_, are the first\nand most important elements in happiness; so that we should be\nmore intent on promoting and preserving such qualities than on the\npossession of external wealth and external honor.\n\nAnd of all these, the one which makes us the most directly happy is\na genial flow of good spirits; for this excellent quality is its own\nimmediate reward. The man who is cheerful and merry has always a\ngood reason for being so,--the fact, namely, that he is so. There is\nnothing which, like this quality, can so completely replace the loss\nof every other blessing. If you know anyone who is young, handsome,\nrich and esteemed, and you want to know, further, if he is happy, ask,\nIs he cheerful and genial?--and if he is, what does it matter whether\nhe is young or old, straight or humpbacked, poor or rich?--he is\nhappy. In my early days I once opened an old book and found these\nwords: _If you laugh a great deal, you are happy; if you cry a great\ndeal, you are unhappy_;--a very simple remark, no doubt; but just\nbecause it is so simple I have never been able to forget it, even\nthough it is in the last degree a truism. So if cheerfulness knocks\nat our door, we should throw it wide open, for it never comes\ninopportunely; instead of that, we often make scruples about letting\nit in. We want to be quite sure that we have every reason to be\ncontented; then we are afraid that cheerfulness of spirits may\ninterfere with serious reflections or weighty cares. Cheerfulness is a\ndirect and immediate gain,--the very coin, as it were, of happiness,\nand not, like all else, merely a cheque upon the bank; for it alone\nmakes us immediately happy in the present moment, and that is the\nhighest blessing for beings like us, whose existence is but an\ninfinitesimal moment between two eternities. To secure and promote\nthis feeling of cheerfulness should be the supreme aim of all our\nendeavors after happiness.\n\nNow it is certain that nothing contributes so little to cheerfulness\nas riches, or so much, as health. Is it not in the lower classes, the\nso-called working classes, more especially those of them who live in\nthe country, that we see cheerful and contented faces? and is it\nnot amongst the rich, the upper classes, that we find faces full of\nill-humor and vexation? Consequently we should try as much as possible\nto maintain a high degree of health; for cheerfulness is the very\nflower of it. I need hardly say what one must do to be healthy--avoid\nevery kind of excess, all violent and unpleasant emotion, all mental\noverstrain, take daily exercise in the open air, cold baths and such\nlike hygienic measures. For without a proper amount of daily exercise\nno one can remain healthy; all the processes of life demand exercise\nfor the due performance of their functions, exercise not only of the\nparts more immediately concerned, but also of the whole body. For, as\nAristotle rightly says, _Life is movement_; it is its very essence.\nCeaseless and rapid motion goes on in every part of the organism.\nThe heart, with its complicated double systole and diastole, beats\nstrongly and untiringly; with twenty-eight beats it has to drive the\nwhole of the blood through arteries, veins and capillaries; the lungs\npump like a steam-engine, without intermission; the intestines are\nalways in peristaltic action; the glands are all constantly absorbing\nand secreting; even the brain has a double motion of its own, with\nevery beat of the pulse and every breath we draw. When people can get\nno exercise at all, as is the case with the countless numbers who\nare condemned to a sedentary life, there is a glaring and fatal\ndisproportion between outward inactivity and inner tumult. For this\nceaseless internal motion requires some external counterpart, and the\nwant of it produces effects like those of emotion which we are obliged\nto suppress. Even trees must be shaken by the wind, if they are to\nthrive. The rule which finds its application here may be most briefly\nexpressed in Latin: _omnis motus, quo celerior, eo magis motus_.\n\nHow much our happiness depends upon our spirits, and these again upon\nour state of health, may be seen by comparing the influence which the\nsame external circumstances or events have upon us when we are well\nand strong with the effects which they have when we are depressed and\ntroubled with ill-health. It is not what things are objectively and in\nthemselves, but what they are for us, in our way of looking at them,\nthat makes us happy or the reverse. As Epictetus says, _Men are not\ninfluenced by things, but by their thoughts about things_. And, in\ngeneral, nine-tenths of our happiness depends upon health alone. With\nhealth, everything is a source of pleasure; without it, nothing\nelse, whatever it may be, is enjoyable; even the other personal\nblessings,--a great mind, a happy temperament--are degraded and\ndwarfed for want of it. So it is really with good reason that, when\ntwo people meet, the first thing they do is to inquire after each\nother's health, and to express the hope that it is good; for good\nhealth is by far the most important element in human happiness. It\nfollows from all this that the greatest of follies is to sacrifice\nhealth for any other kind of happiness, whatever it may be, for gain,\nadvancement, learning or fame, let alone, then, for fleeting sensual\npleasures. Everything else should rather be postponed to it.\n\nBut however much health may contribute to that flow of good spirits\nwhich is so essential to our happiness, good spirits do not entirely\ndepend upon health; for a man may be perfectly sound in his physique\nand still possess a melancholy temperament and be generally given up\nto sad thoughts. The ultimate cause of this is undoubtedly to be\nfound in innate, and therefore unalterable, physical constitution,\nespecially in the more or less normal relation of a man's\nsensitiveness to his muscular and vital energy. Abnormal sensitiveness\nproduces inequality of spirits, a predominating melancholy, with\nperiodical fits of unrestrained liveliness. A genius is one whose\nnervous power or sensitiveness is largely in excess; as Aristotle[1]\nhas very correctly observed, _Men distinguished in philosophy,\npolitics, poetry or art appear to be all of a melancholy temperament_.\nThis is doubtless the passage which Cicero has in his mind when\nhe says, as he often does, _Aristoteles ait omnes ingeniosos\nmelancholicos esse_.[2] Shakespeare has very neatly expressed this\nradical and innate diversity of temperament in those lines in _The\nMerchant of Venice_:\n\n[Footnote 1: Probl. xxx., ep. 1]\n\n[Footnote 2: Tusc. i., 33.]\n\n  _Nature has framed strange fellows in her time;\n  Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,\n  And laugh, like parrots at a bag-piper;\n  And others of such vinegar aspect,\n  That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,\n  Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable_.\n\nThis is the difference which Plato draws between [Greek: eukolos]\nand [Greek: dyskolos]--the man of _easy_, and the man of _difficult_\ndisposition--in proof of which he refers to the varying degrees of\nsusceptibility which different people show to pleasurable and painful\nimpressions; so that one man will laugh at what makes another despair.\nAs a rule, the stronger the susceptibility to unpleasant impressions,\nthe weaker is the susceptibility to pleasant ones, and _vice versa_.\nIf it is equally possible for an event to turn out well or ill,\nthe [Greek: dyskolos] will be annoyed or grieved if the issue is\nunfavorable, and will not rejoice, should it be happy. On the other\nhand, the [Greek: eukolos] will neither worry nor fret over an\nunfavorable issue, but rejoice if it turns out well. If the one is\nsuccessful in nine out of ten undertakings, he will not be pleased,\nbut rather annoyed that one has miscarried; whilst the other, if only\na single one succeeds, will manage to find consolation in the fact\nand remain cheerful. But here is another instance of the truth,\nthat hardly any evil is entirely without its compensation; for the\nmisfortunes and sufferings which the [Greek: auskoloi], that is,\npeople of gloomy and anxious character, have to overcome, are, on the\nwhole, more imaginary and therefore less real than those which befall\nthe gay and careless; for a man who paints everything black, who\nconstantly fears the worst and takes measures accordingly, will not be\ndisappointed so often in this world, as one who always looks upon the\nbright side of things. And when a morbid affection of the nerves, or a\nderangement of the digestive organs, plays into the hands of an\ninnate tendency to gloom, this tendency may reach such a height that\npermanent discomfort produces a weariness of life. So arises an\ninclination to suicide, which even the most trivial unpleasantness may\nactually bring about; nay, when the tendency attains its worst form,\nit may be occasioned by nothing in particular, but a man may resolve\nto put an end to his existence, simply because he is permanently\nunhappy, and then coolly and firmly carry out his determination;\nas may be seen by the way in which the sufferer, when placed under\nsupervision, as he usually is, eagerly waits to seize the first\nunguarded moment, when, without a shudder, without a struggle or\nrecoil, he may use the now natural and welcome means of effecting his\nrelease.[1] Even the healthiest, perhaps even the most cheerful\nman, may resolve upon death under certain circumstances; when, for\ninstance, his sufferings, or his fears of some inevitable misfortune,\nreach such a pitch as to outweigh the terrors of death. The only\ndifference lies in the degree of suffering necessary to bring about\nthe fatal act, a degree which will be high in the case of a cheerful,\nand low in that of a gloomy man. The greater the melancholy, the lower\nneed the degree be; in the end, it may even sink to zero. But if a man\nis cheerful, and his spirits are supported by good health, it requires\na high degree of suffering to make him lay hands upon himself. There\nare countless steps in the scale between the two extremes of suicide,\nthe suicide which springs merely from a morbid intensification of\ninnate gloom, and the suicide of the healthy and cheerful man, who has\nentirely objective grounds for putting an end to his existence.\n\n[Footnote 1: For a detailed description of this condition of mind _Cf_\nEsquirol, _Des maladies mentales_.]\n\nBeauty is partly an affair of health. It may be reckoned as a personal\nadvantage; though it does not, properly speaking, contribute directly\nto our happiness. It does so indirectly, by impressing other people;\nand it is no unimportant advantage, even in man. Beauty is an open\nletter of recommendation, predisposing the heart to favor the person\nwho presents it. As is well said in these lines of Homer, the gift of\nbeauty is not lightly to be thrown away, that glorious gift which none\ncan bestow save the gods alone--\n\n  [Greek: outoi hapoblaet erti theon erikuoea dora,\n  ossa ken autoi dosin, ekon douk an tis eloito].[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: _Iliad_ 3, 65.]\n\nThe most general survey shows us that the two foes of human happiness\nare pain and boredom. We may go further, and say that in the degree in\nwhich we are fortunate enough to get away from the one, we approach\nthe other. Life presents, in fact, a more or less violent oscillation\nbetween the two. The reason of this is that each of these two poles\nstands in a double antagonism to the other, external or objective,\nand inner or subjective. Needy surroundings and poverty produce pain;\nwhile, if a man is more than well off, he is bored. Accordingly, while\nthe lower classes are engaged in a ceaseless struggle with need,\nin other words, with pain, the upper carry on a constant and often\ndesperate battle with boredom.[1] The inner or subjective antagonism\narises from the fact that, in the individual, susceptibility to\npain varies inversely with susceptibility to boredom, because\nsusceptibility is directly proportionate to mental power. Let\nme explain. A dull mind is, as a rule, associated with dull\nsensibilities, nerves which no stimulus can affect, a temperament, in\nshort, which does not feel pain or anxiety very much, however great\nor terrible it may be. Now, intellectual dullness is at the bottom of\nthat _vacuity of soul_ which is stamped on so many faces, a state of\nmind which betrays itself by a constant and lively attention to all\nthe trivial circumstances in the external world. This is the true\nsource of boredom--a continual panting after excitement, in order to\nhave a pretext for giving the mind and spirits something to occupy\nthem. The kind of things people choose for this purpose shows that\nthey are not very particular, as witness the miserable pastimes they\nhave recourse to, and their ideas of social pleasure and conversation:\nor again, the number of people who gossip on the doorstep or gape out\nof the window. It is mainly because of this inner vacuity of soul that\npeople go in quest of society, diversion, amusement, luxury of every\nsort, which lead many to extravagance and misery. Nothing is so good\na protection against such misery as inward wealth, the wealth of\nthe mind, because the greater it grows, the less room it leaves for\nboredom. The inexhaustible activity of thought! Finding ever new\nmaterial to work upon in the multifarious phenomena of self and\nnature, and able and ready to form new combinations of them,--there\nyou have something that invigorates the mind, and apart from moments\nof relaxation, sets it far above the reach of boredom.\n\n[Footnote 1: And the extremes meet; for the lowest state of\ncivilization, a nomad or wandering life, finds its counterpart in the\nhighest, where everyone is at times a tourist. The earlier stage was a\ncase of necessity; the latter is a remedy for boredom.]\n\nBut, on the other hand, this high degree of intelligence is rooted in\na high degree of susceptibility, greater strength of will, greater\npassionateness; and from the union of these qualities comes an\nincreased capacity for emotion, an enhanced sensibility to all mental\nand even bodily pain, greater impatience of obstacles, greater\nresentment of interruption;--all of which tendencies are augmented by\nthe power of the imagination, the vivid character of the whole range\nof thought, including what is disagreeable. This applies, in various\ndegrees, to every step in the long scale of mental power, from the\nveriest dunce to the greatest genius that ever lived. Therefore the\nnearer anyone is, either from a subjective or from an objective point\nof view, to one of those sources of suffering in human life, the\nfarther he is from the other. And so a man's natural bent will lead\nhim to make his objective world conform to his subjective as much as\npossible; that is to say, he will take the greatest measures against\nthat form of suffering to which he is most liable. The wise man will,\nabove all, strive after freedom from pain and annoyance, quiet and\nleisure, consequently a tranquil, modest life, with as few encounters\nas may be; and so, after a little experience of his so-called\nfellowmen, he will elect to live in retirement, or even, if he is\na man of great intellect, in solitude. For the more a man has in\nhimself, the less he will want from other people,--the less, indeed,\nother people can be to him. This is why a high degree of intellect\ntends to make a man unsocial. True, if _quality_ of intellect could be\nmade up for by quantity, it might be worth while to live even in the\ngreat world; but unfortunately, a hundred fools together will not make\none wise man.\n\nBut the individual who stands at the other end of the scale is no\nsooner free from the pangs of need than he endeavors to get pastime\nand society at any cost, taking up with the first person he meets, and\navoiding nothing so much as himself. For in solitude, where every one\nis thrown upon his own resources, what a man has in himself comes\nto light; the fool in fine raiment groans under the burden of his\nmiserable personality, a burden which he can never throw off, whilst\nthe man of talent peoples the waste places with his animating\nthoughts. Seneca declares that folly is its own burden,--_omnis\nstultitia laborat fastidio sui_,--a very true saying, with which may\nbe compared the words of Jesus, the son of Sirach, _The life of a fool\nis worse than death_[1]. And, as a rule, it will be found that a man\nis sociable just in the degree in which he is intellectually poor and\ngenerally vulgar. For one's choice in this world does not go much\nbeyond solitude on one side and vulgarity on the other. It is said\nthat the most sociable of all people are the negroes; and they are at\nthe bottom of the scale in intellect. I remember reading once in a\nFrench paper[2] that the blacks in North America, whether free or\nenslaved, are fond of shutting themselves up in large numbers in the\nsmallest space, because they cannot have too much of one another's\nsnub-nosed company.\n\n[Footnote 1: Ecclesiasticus, xxii. 11.]\n\n[Footnote 2: _Le Commerce_, Oct. 19th, 1837.]\n\nThe brain may be regarded as a kind of parasite of the organism, a\npensioner, as it were, who dwells with the body: and leisure, that\nis, the time one has for the free enjoyment of one's consciousness or\nindividuality, is the fruit or produce of the rest of existence, which\nis in general only labor and effort. But what does most people's\nleisure yield?--boredom and dullness; except, of course, when it is\noccupied with sensual pleasure or folly. How little such leisure is\nworth may be seen in the way in which it is spent: and, as Ariosto\nobserves, how miserable are the idle hours of ignorant men!--_ozio\nlungo d'uomini ignoranti_. Ordinary people think merely how they shall\n_spend_ their time; a man of any talent tries to _use_ it. The reason\nwhy people of limited intellect are apt to be bored is that their\nintellect is absolutely nothing more than the means by which the\nmotive power of the will is put into force: and whenever there is\nnothing particular to set the will in motion, it rests, and their\nintellect takes a holiday, because, equally with the will, it requires\nsomething external to bring it into play. The result is an awful\nstagnation of whatever power a man has--in a word, boredom. To\ncounteract this miserable feeling, men run to trivialities which\nplease for the moment they are taken up, hoping thus to engage the\nwill in order to rouse it to action, and so set the intellect in\nmotion; for it is the latter which has to give effect to these motives\nof the will. Compared with real and natural motives, these are but as\npaper money to coin; for their value is only arbitrary--card games and\nthe like, which have been invented for this very purpose. And if there\nis nothing else to be done, a man will twirl his thumbs or beat the\ndevil's tattoo; or a cigar may be a welcome substitute for exercising\nhis brains. Hence, in all countries the chief occupation of society is\ncard-playing,[1] and it is the gauge of its value, and an outward sign\nthat it is bankrupt in thought. Because people have no thoughts to\ndeal in, they deal cards, and try and win one another's money. Idiots!\nBut I do not wish to be unjust; so let me remark that it may certainly\nbe said in defence of card-playing that it is a preparation for the\nworld and for business life, because one learns thereby how to make a\nclever use of fortuitous but unalterable circumstances (cards, in this\ncase), and to get as much out of them as one can: and to do this a man\nmust learn a little dissimulation, and how to put a good face upon a\nbad business. But, on the other hand, it is exactly for this reason\nthat card-playing is so demoralizing, since the whole object of it is\nto employ every kind of trick and machination in order to win\nwhat belongs to another. And a habit of this sort, learnt at the\ncard-table, strikes root and pushes its way into practical life; and\nin the affairs of every day a man gradually comes to regard _meum_ and\n_tuum_ in much the same light as cards, and to consider that he may\nuse to the utmost whatever advantages he possesses, so long as he does\nnot come within the arm of the law. Examples of what I mean are of\ndaily occurrence in mercantile life. Since, then, leisure is the\nflower, or rather the fruit, of existence, as it puts a man into\npossession of himself, those are happy indeed who possess something\nreal in themselves. But what do you get from most people's\nleisure?--only a good-for-nothing fellow, who is terribly bored and a\nburden to himself. Let us, therefore, rejoice, dear brethren, for _we\nare not children of the bondwoman, but of the free_.\n\n[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Card-playing to this extent is now,\nno doubt, a thing of the past, at any rate amongst the nations\nof northern Europe. The present fashion is rather in favor of a\ndilettante interest in art or literature.]\n\nFurther, as no land is so well off as that which requires few imports,\nor none at all, so the happiest man is one who has enough in his own\ninner wealth, and requires little or nothing from outside for his\nmaintenance, for imports are expensive things, reveal dependence,\nentail danger, occasion trouble, and when all is said and done, are\na poor substitute for home produce. No man ought to expect much from\nothers, or, in general, from the external world. What one human being\ncan be to another is not a very great deal: in the end every one\nstands alone, and the important thing is _who_ it is that stands\nalone. Here, then, is another application of the general truth which\nGoethe recognizes in _Dichtung und Wahrheit_ (Bk. III.), that in\neverything a man has ultimately to appeal to himself; or, as Goldsmith\nputs it in _The Traveller_:\n\n  _Still to ourselves in every place consign'd\n  Our own felicity we make or find_.\n\nHimself is the source of the best and most a man can be or achieve.\nThe more this is so--the more a man finds his sources of pleasure in\nhimself--the happier he will be. Therefore, it is with great truth\nthat Aristotle[1] says, _To be happy means to be self-sufficient_. For\nall other sources of happiness are in their nature most uncertain,\nprecarious, fleeting, the sport of chance; and so even under the most\nfavorable circumstances they can easily be exhausted; nay, this is\nunavoidable, because they are not always within reach. And in old age\nthese sources of happiness must necessarily dry up:--love leaves us\nthen, and wit, desire to travel, delight in horses, aptitude for\nsocial intercourse; friends and relations, too, are taken from us by\ndeath. Then more than ever, it depends upon what a man has in himself;\nfor this will stick to him longest; and at any period of life it is\nthe only genuine and lasting source of happiness. There is not much to\nbe got anywhere in the world. It is filled with misery and pain; and\nif a man escapes these, boredom lies in wait for him at every corner.\nNay more; it is evil which generally has the upper hand, and folly\nmakes the most noise. Fate is cruel, and mankind is pitiable. In such\na world as this, a man who is rich in himself is like a bright, warm,\nhappy room at Christmastide, while without are the frost and snow of\na December night. Therefore, without doubt, the happiest destiny on\nearth is to have the rare gift of a rich individuality, and, more\nespecially to be possessed of a good endowment of intellect; this\nis the happiest destiny, though it may not be, after all, a very\nbrilliant one.\n\n[Footnote 1: Eth. Eud, vii 2]\n\nThere was a great wisdom in that remark which Queen Christina of\nSweden made, in her nineteenth year, about Descartes, who had then\nlived for twenty years in the deepest solitude in Holland, and, apart\nfrom report, was known to her only by a single essay: _M. Descartes_,\nshe said, _is the happiest of men, and his condition seems to me much\nto be envied.[1]_ Of course, as was the case with Descartes, external\ncircumstances must be favorable enough to allow a man to be master of\nhis life and happiness; or, as we read in _Ecclesiastes_[2]--_Wisdom\nis good together with an inheritance, and profitable unto them that\nsee the sun_. The man to whom nature and fate have granted the\nblessing of wisdom, will be most anxious and careful to keep open\nthe fountains of happiness which he has in himself; and for this,\nindependence and leisure are necessary. To obtain them, he will be\nwilling to moderate his desires and harbor his resources, all the more\nbecause he is not, like others, restricted to the external world for\nhis pleasures. So he will not be misled by expectations of office, or\nmoney, or the favor and applause of his fellowmen, into surrendering\nhimself in order to conform to low desires and vulgar tastes; nay, in\nsuch a case he will follow the advice that Horace gives in his epistle\nto Maecenas.[3]\n\n[Footnote 1: _Vie de Descartes_, par Baillet. Liv. vii., ch. 10.]\n\n[Footnote 2: vii. 12.]\n\n[Footnote 3: Lib. 1., ep. 7.]\n\n  _Nec somnum plebis laudo, satur altilium, nec\n  Otia divitiis Arabum liberrima muto_.\n\nIt is a great piece of folly to sacrifice the inner for the outer man,\nto give the whole or the greater part of one's quiet, leisure and\nindependence for splendor, rank, pomp, titles and honor. This is what\nGoethe did. My good luck drew me quite in the other direction.\n\nThe truth which I am insisting upon here, the truth, namely, that the\nchief source of human happiness is internal, is confirmed by that most\naccurate observation of Aristotle in the _Nichomachean Ethics_[1] that\nevery pleasure presupposes some sort of activity, the application of\nsome sort of power, without which it cannot exist. The doctrine of\nAristotle's, that a man's happiness consists in the free exercise\nof his highest faculties, is also enunciated by Stobaeus in his\nexposition of the Peripatetic philosophy[2]: _happiness_, he says,\n_means vigorous and successful activity in all your undertakings_; and\nhe explains that by _vigor [Greek: aretae]_ he means _mastery_ in any\nthing, whatever it be. Now, the original purpose of those forces with\nwhich nature has endowed man is to enable him to struggle against the\ndifficulties which beset him on all sides. But if this struggle comes\nto an end, his unemployed forces become a burden to him; and he has to\nset to work and play with them,--to use them, I mean, for no purpose\nat all, beyond avoiding the other source of human suffering, boredom,\nto which he is at once exposed. It is the upper classes, people of\nwealth, who are the greatest victims of boredom. Lucretius long ago\ndescribed their miserable state, and the truth of his description may\nbe still recognized to-day, in the life of every great capital--where\nthe rich man is seldom in his own halls, because it bores him to be\nthere, and still he returns thither, because he is no better off\noutside;--or else he is away in post-haste to his house in the\ncountry, as if it were on fire; and he is no sooner arrived there,\nthan he is bored again, and seeks to forget everything in sleep, or\nelse hurries back to town once more.\n\n[Footnote 1: i. 7 and vii. 13, 14.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Ecl. eth. ii., ch 7.]\n\n  _Exit saepe foras magnis ex aedibus ille,\n  Esse domi quem pertaesum est, subitoque reventat,\n  Quippe foris nihilo melius qui sentiat esse.\n  Currit, agens mannos, ad villam precipitanter,\n  Auxilium tectis quasi ferre ardentibus instans:\n  Oscitat extemplo, tetigit quum limina villae;\n  Aut abit in somnum gravis, atque oblivia quaerit;\n  Aut etiam properans urbem petit atque revisit_.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: III 1073.]\n\nIn their youth, such people must have had a superfluity of muscular\nand vital energy,--powers which, unlike those of the mind, cannot\nmaintain their full degree of vigor very long; and in later years they\neither have no mental powers at all, or cannot develop any for want\nof employment which would bring them into play; so that they are in a\nwretched plight. _Will_, however, they still possess, for this is the\nonly power that is inexhaustible; and they try to stimulate their\nwill by passionate excitement, such as games of chance for high\nstakes--undoubtedly a most degrading form of vice. And one may say\ngenerally that if a man finds himself with nothing to do, he is sure\nto choose some amusement suited to the kind of power in which he\nexcels,--bowls, it may be, or chess; hunting or painting; horse-racing\nor music; cards, or poetry, heraldry, philosophy, or some other\ndilettante interest. We might classify these interests methodically,\nby reducing them to expressions of the three fundamental powers,\nthe factors, that is to say, which go to make up the physiological\nconstitution of man; and further, by considering these powers by\nthemselves, and apart from any of the definite aims which they may\nsubserve, and simply as affording three sources of possible pleasure,\nout of which every man will choose what suits him, according as he\nexcels in one direction or another.\n\nFirst of all come the pleasures of _vital energy_, of food, drink,\ndigestion, rest and sleep; and there are parts of the world where it\ncan be said that these are characteristic and national pleasures.\nSecondly, there are the pleasures of _muscular energy_, such as\nwalking, running, wrestling, dancing, fencing, riding and similar\nathletic pursuits, which sometimes take the form of sport, and\nsometimes of a military life and real warfare. Thirdly, there are the\npleasures of sensibility, such as observation, thought, feeling, or\na taste for poetry or culture, music, learning, reading, meditation,\ninvention, philosophy and the like. As regards the value, relative\nworth and duration of each of these kinds of pleasure, a great deal\nmight be said, which, however, I leave the reader to supply. But every\none will see that the nobler the power which is brought into play,\nthe greater will be the pleasure which it gives; for pleasure always\ninvolves the use of one's own powers, and happiness consists in a\nfrequent repetition of pleasure. No one will deny that in this respect\nthe pleasures of sensibility occupy a higher place than either of\nthe other two fundamental kinds; which exist in an equal, nay, in\na greater degree in brutes; it is this preponderating amount of\nsensibility which distinguishes man from other animals. Now, our\nmental powers are forms of sensibility, and therefore a preponderating\namount of it makes us capable of that kind of pleasure which has to do\nwith mind, so-called intellectual pleasure; and the more sensibility\npredominates, the greater the pleasure will be.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Nature exhibits a continual progress, starting from the\nmechanical and chemical activity of the inorganic world, proceeding\nto the vegetable, with its dull enjoyment of self, from that to the\nanimal world, where intelligence and consciousness begin, at first\nvery weak, and only after many intermediate stages attaining its last\ngreat development in man, whose intellect is Nature's crowning point,\nthe goal of all her efforts, the most perfect and difficult of all her\nworks. And even within the range of the human intellect, there are a\ngreat many observable differences of degree, and it is very seldom\nthat intellect reaches its highest point, intelligence properly\nso-called, which in this narrow and strict sense of the word, is\nNature's most consummate product, and so the rarest and most precious\nthing of which the world can boast. The highest product of Nature\nis the clearest degree of consciousness, in which the world mirrors\nitself more plainly and completely than anywhere else. A man endowed\nwith this form of intelligence is in possession of what is noblest\nand best on earth; and accordingly, he has a source of pleasure in\ncomparison with which all others are small. From his surroundings he\nasks nothing but leisure for the free enjoyment of what he has got,\ntime, as it were, to polish his diamond. All other pleasures that are\nnot of the intellect are of a lower kind; for they are, one and all,\nmovements of will--desires, hopes, fears and ambitions, no matter to\nwhat directed: they are always satisfied at the cost of pain, and in\nthe case of ambition, generally with more or less of illusion. With\nintellectual pleasure, on the other hand, truth becomes clearer and\nclearer. In the realm of intelligence pain has no power. Knowledge is\nall in all. Further, intellectual pleasures are accessible entirely\nand only through the medium of the intelligence, and are limited by\nits capacity. _For all the wit there is in the world is useless to him\nwho has none_. Still this advantage is accompanied by a substantial\ndisadvantage; for the whole of Nature shows that with the growth of\nintelligence comes increased capacity for pain, and it is only with\nthe highest degree of intelligence that suffering reaches its supreme\npoint.]\n\nThe normal, ordinary man takes a vivid interest in anything only in so\nfar as it excites his will, that is to say, is a matter of personal\ninterest to him. But constant excitement of the will is never an\nunmixed good, to say the least; in other words, it involves pain.\nCard-playing, that universal occupation of \"good society\" everywhere,\nis a device for providing this kind of excitement, and that, too,\nby means of interests so small as to produce slight and momentary,\ninstead of real and permanent, pain. Card-playing is, in fact, a mere\ntickling of the will.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: _Vulgarity_ is, at bottom, the kind of consciousness in\nwhich the will completely predominates over the intellect, where the\nlatter does nothing more than perform the service of its master, the\nwill. Therefore, when the will makes no demands, supplies no motives,\nstrong or weak, the intellect entirely loses its power, and the result\nis complete vacancy of mind. Now _will without intellect_ is the most\nvulgar and common thing in the world, possessed by every blockhead,\nwho, in the gratification of his passions, shows the stuff of which he\nis made. This is the condition of mind called _vulgarity_, in which\nthe only active elements are the organs of sense, and that small\namount of intellect which is necessary for apprehending the data of\nsense. Accordingly, the vulgar man is constantly open to all sorts of\nimpressions, and immediately perceives all the little trifling things\nthat go on in his environment: the lightest whisper, the most trivial\ncircumstance, is sufficient to rouse his attention; he is just like an\nanimal. Such a man's mental condition reveals itself in his face, in\nhis whole exterior; and hence that vulgar, repulsive appearance, which\nis all the more offensive, if, as is usually the case, his will--the\nonly factor in his consciousness--is a base, selfish and altogether\nbad one.]\n\nOn the other hand, a man of powerful intellect is capable of taking\na vivid interest in things in the way of mere _knowledge_, with no\nadmixture of _will_; nay, such an interest is a necessity to him. It\nplaces him in a sphere where pain is an alien,--a diviner air, where\nthe gods live serene.\n\n  _[Greek: phusis bebion ou ta chraematatheoi reia xoontes][1]_\n\n[Footnote 1: Odyssey IV., 805.]\n\nLook on these two pictures--the life of the masses, one long, dull\nrecord of struggle and effort entirely devoted to the petty interests\nof personal welfare, to misery in all its forms, a life beset by\nintolerable boredom as soon as ever those aims are satisfied and the\nman is thrown back upon himself, whence he can be roused again to some\nsort of movement only by the wild fire of passion. On the other side\nyou have a man endowed with a high degree of mental power, leading an\nexistence rich in thought and full of life and meaning, occupied by\nworthy and interesting objects as soon as ever he is free to give\nhimself to them, bearing in himself a source of the noblest pleasure.\nWhat external promptings he wants come from the works of nature, and\nfrom the contemplation of human affairs and the achievements of the\ngreat of all ages and countries, which are thoroughly appreciated by a\nman of this type alone, as being the only one who can quite understand\nand feel with them. And so it is for him alone that those great ones\nhave really lived; it is to him that they make their appeal; the rest\nare but casual hearers who only half understand either them or their\nfollowers. Of course, this characteristic of the intellectual man\nimplies that he has one more need than the others, the need of\nreading, observing, studying, meditating, practising, the need, in\nshort, of undisturbed leisure. For, as Voltaire has very rightly said,\n_there are no real pleasures without real needs_; and the need of them\nis why to such a man pleasures are accessible which are denied to\nothers,--the varied beauties of nature and art and literature. To\nheap these pleasures round people who do not want them and cannot\nappreciate them, is like expecting gray hairs to fall in love. A man\nwho is privileged in this respect leads two lives, a personal and an\nintellectual life; and the latter gradually comes to be looked upon\nas the true one, and the former as merely a means to it. Other people\nmake this shallow, empty and troubled existence an end in itself. To\nthe life of the intellect such a man will give the preference over\nall his other occupations: by the constant growth of insight and\nknowledge, this intellectual life, like a slowly-forming work of art,\nwill acquire a consistency, a permanent intensity, a unity which\nbecomes ever more and more complete; compared with which, a life\ndevoted to the attainment of personal comfort, a life that may broaden\nindeed, but can never be deepened, makes but a poor show: and yet,\nas I have said, people make this baser sort of existence an end in\nitself.\n\nThe ordinary life of every day, so far as it is not moved by passion,\nis tedious and insipid; and if it is so moved, it soon becomes\npainful. Those alone are happy whom nature has favored with some\nsuperfluity of intellect, something beyond what is just necessary to\ncarry out the behests of their will; for it enables them to lead an\nintellectual life as well, a life unattended by pain and full of vivid\ninterests. Mere leisure, that is to say, intellect unoccupied in the\nservice of the will, is not of itself sufficient: there must be a\nreal superfluity of power, set free from the service of the will and\ndevoted to that of the intellect; for, as Seneca says, _otium sine\nlitteris mors est et vivi hominis sepultura_--illiterate leisure is\na form of death, a living tomb. Varying with the amount of the\nsuperfluity, there will be countless developments in this second life,\nthe life of the mind; it may be the mere collection and labelling of\ninsects, birds, minerals, coins, or the highest achievements of poetry\nand philosophy. The life of the mind is not only a protection against\nboredom; it also wards off the pernicious effects of boredom; it keeps\nus from bad company, from the many dangers, misfortunes, losses and\nextravagances which the man who places his happiness entirely in the\nobjective world is sure to encounter, My philosophy, for instance, has\nnever brought me in a six-pence; but it has spared me many an expense.\n\nThe ordinary man places his life's happiness in things external to\nhim, in property, rank, wife and children, friends, society, and the\nlike, so that when he loses them or finds them disappointing, the\nfoundation of his happiness is destroyed. In other words, his centre\nof gravity is not in himself; it is constantly changing its place,\nwith every wish and whim. If he is a man of means, one day it will\nbe his house in the country, another buying horses, or entertaining\nfriends, or traveling,--a life, in short, of general luxury, the\nreason being that he seeks his pleasure in things outside him. Like\none whose health and strength are gone, he tries to regain by the use\nof jellies and drugs, instead of by developing his own vital power,\nthe true source of what he has lost. Before proceeding to the\nopposite, let us compare with this common type the man who comes\nmidway between the two, endowed, it may be, not exactly with\ndistinguished powers of mind, but with somewhat more than the ordinary\namount of intellect. He will take a dilettante interest in art, or\ndevote his attention to some branch of science--botany, for example,\nor physics, astronomy, history, and find a great deal of pleasure in\nsuch studies, and amuse himself with them when external forces of\nhappiness are exhausted or fail to satisfy him any more. Of a man like\nthis it may be said that his centre of gravity is partly in himself.\nBut a dilettante interest in art is a very different thing from\ncreative activity; and an amateur pursuit of science is apt to be\nsuperficial and not to penetrate to the heart of the matter. A man\ncannot entirely identify himself with such pursuits, or have his whole\nexistence so completely filled and permeated with them that he loses\nall interest in everything else. It is only the highest intellectual\npower, what we call _genius_, that attains to this degree of\nintensity, making all time and existence its theme, and striving to\nexpress its peculiar conception of the world, whether it contemplates\nlife as the subject of poetry or of philosophy. Hence, undisturbed\noccupation with himself, his own thoughts and works, is a matter of\nurgent necessity to such a man; solitude is welcome, leisure is\nthe highest good, and everything else is unnecessary, nay, even\nburdensome.\n\nThis is the only type of man of whom it can be said that his centre of\ngravity is entirely in himself; which explains why it is that people\nof this sort--and they are very rare--no matter how excellent their\ncharacter may be, do not show that warm and unlimited interest in\nfriends, family, and the community in general, of which others are\nso often capable; for if they have only themselves they are not\ninconsolable for the loss of everything else. This gives an isolation\nto their character, which is all the more effective since other\npeople never really quite satisfy them, as being, on the whole, of\na different nature: nay more, since this difference is constantly\nforcing itself upon their notice they get accustomed to move about\namongst mankind as alien beings, and in thinking of humanity in\ngeneral, to say _they_ instead of _we_.\n\nSo the conclusion we come to is that the man whom nature has endowed\nwith intellectual wealth is the happiest; so true it is that the\nsubjective concerns us more than the objective; for whatever the\nlatter may be, it can work only indirectly, secondly, and through the\nmedium of the former--a truth finely expressed by Lucian:--\n\n  [Greek: _Aeloutos ho taes psychaes ploutus monos estin alaethaes\n  Talla dechei ataen pleiona ton kteanon_--][1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Epigrammata, 12.]\n\nthe wealth of the soul is the only true wealth, for with all other\nriches comes a bane even greater than they. The man of inner wealth\nwants nothing from outside but the negative gift of undisturbed\nleisure, to develop and mature his intellectual faculties, that is,\nto enjoy his wealth; in short, he wants permission to be himself,\nhis whole life long, every day and every hour. If he is destined to\nimpress the character of his mind upon a whole race, he has only one\nmeasure of happiness or unhappiness--to succeed or fail in perfecting\nhis powers and completing his work. All else is of small consequence.\nAccordingly, the greatest minds of all ages have set the highest value\nupon undisturbed leisure, as worth exactly as much as the man himself.\n_Happiness appears to consist in leisure_, says Aristotle;[1] and\nDiogenes Laertius reports that _Socrates praised leisure as the\nfairest of all possessions_. So, in the _Nichomachean Ethics_,\nAristotle concludes that a life devoted to philosophy is the happiest;\nor, as he says in the _Politics,[2] the free exercise of any power,\nwhatever it may be, is happiness_. This again, tallies with what\nGoethe says in _Wilhelm Meister: The man who is born with a talent\nwhich he is meant to use, finds his greatest happiness in using it_.\n\n[Footnote 1: Eth. Nichom. x. 7.]\n\n[Footnote 2: iv. 11.]\n\nBut to be in possession of undisturbed leisure, is far from being\nthe common lot; nay, it is something alien to human nature, for the\nordinary man's destiny is to spend life in procuring what is necessary\nfor the subsistence of himself and his family; he is a son of struggle\nand need, not a free intelligence. So people as a rule soon get tired\nof undisturbed leisure, and it becomes burdensome if there are no\nfictitious and forced aims to occupy it, play, pastime and hobbies of\nevery kind. For this very reason it is full of possible danger, and\n_difficilis in otio quies_ is a true saying,--it is difficult to keep\nquiet if you have nothing to do. On the other hand, a measure of\nintellect far surpassing the ordinary, is as unnatural as it is\nabnormal. But if it exists, and the man endowed with it is to be\nhappy, he will want precisely that undisturbed leisure which the\nothers find burdensome or pernicious; for without it he is a Pegasus\nin harness, and consequently unhappy. If these two unnatural\ncircumstances, external, and internal, undisturbed leisure and great\nintellect, happen to coincide in the same person, it is a great piece\nof fortune; and if the fate is so far favorable, a man can lead the\nhigher life, the life protected from the two opposite sources of human\nsuffering, pain and boredom, from the painful struggle for existence,\nand the incapacity for enduring leisure (which is free existence\nitself)--evils which may be escaped only by being mutually\nneutralized.\n\nBut there is something to be said in opposition to this view. Great\nintellectual gifts mean an activity pre-eminently nervous in its\ncharacter, and consequently a very high degree of susceptibility to\npain in every form. Further, such gifts imply an intense temperament,\nlarger and more vivid ideas, which, as the inseparable accompaniment\nof great intellectual power, entail on its possessor a corresponding\nintensity of the emotions, making them incomparably more violent than\nthose to which the ordinary man is a prey. Now, there are more things\nin the world productive of pain than of pleasure. Again, a large\nendowment of intellect tends to estrange the man who has it from other\npeople and their doings; for the more a man has in himself, the less\nhe will be able to find in them; and the hundred things in which they\ntake delight, he will think shallow and insipid. Here, then, perhaps,\nis another instance of that law of compensation which makes itself\nfelt everywhere. How often one hears it said, and said, too, with some\nplausibility, that the narrow-minded man is at bottom the happiest,\neven though his fortune is unenviable. I shall make no attempt to\nforestall the reader's own judgment on this point; more especially as\nSophocles himself has given utterance to two diametrically opposite\nopinions:--\n\n  [Greek: Pollo to phronein eudaimonias\n  proton uparchei.][1]\n\nhe says in one place--wisdom is the greatest part of happiness;\nand again, in another passage, he declares that the life of the\nthoughtless is the most pleasant of all--\n\n  [Greek: En ta phronein gar maeden aedistos bios.][2]\n\nThe philosophers of the _Old Testament_ find themselves in a like\ncontradiction.\n\n_The life of a fool is worse than death_[3]\n\nand--\n\n_In much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth knowledge\nincreaseth sorrow_.[4]\n\n[Footnote 1: Antigone, 1347-8.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Ajax, 554.]\n\n[Footnote 3: Ecclesiasticus, xxii. 11.]\n\n[Footnote 4: Ecclesiastes, i. 18.]\n\nI may remark, however, that a man who has no mental needs, because his\nintellect is of the narrow and normal amount, is, in the strict sense\nof the word, what is called a _philistine_--an expression at first\npeculiar to the German language, a kind of slang term at the\nUniversities, afterwards used, by analogy, in a higher sense, though\nstill in its original meaning, as denoting one who is not _a Son of\nthe Muses_. A philistine is and remains [Greek: amousos anaer]. I\nshould prefer to take a higher point of view, and apply the term\n_philistine_ to people who are always seriously occupied with\nrealities which are no realities; but as such a definition would be a\ntranscendental one, and therefore not generally intelligible, it\nwould hardly be in place in the present treatise, which aims at\nbeing popular. The other definition can be more easily elucidated,\nindicating, as it does, satisfactorily enough, the essential nature of\nall those qualities which distinguish the philistine. He is defined to\nbe _a man without mental needs_. From this is follows, firstly, _in\nrelation to himself_, that he has _no intellectual pleasures_; for, as\nwas remarked before, there are no real pleasures without real needs.\nThe philistine's life is animated by no desire to gain knowledge and\ninsight for their own sake, or to experience that true aeesthetic\npleasure which is so nearly akin to them. If pleasures of this kind\nare fashionable, and the philistine finds himself compelled to pay\nattention to them, he will force himself to do so, but he will take as\nlittle interest in them as possible. His only real pleasures are of a\nsensual kind, and he thinks that these indemnify him for the loss of\nthe others. To him oysters and champagne are the height of existence;\nthe aim of his life is to procure what will contribute to his bodily\nwelfare, and he is indeed in a happy way if this causes him some\ntrouble. If the luxuries of life are heaped upon him, he will\ninevitably be bored, and against boredom he has a great many fancied\nremedies, balls, theatres, parties, cards, gambling, horses, women,\ndrinking, traveling and so on; all of which can not protect a man\nfrom being bored, for where there are no intellectual needs, no\nintellectual pleasures are possible. The peculiar characteristic\nof the philistine is a dull, dry kind of gravity, akin to that of\nanimals. Nothing really pleases, or excites, or interests him, for\nsensual pleasure is quickly exhausted, and the society of philistines\nsoon becomes burdensome, and one may even get tired of playing cards.\nTrue, the pleasures of vanity are left, pleasures which he enjoys in\nhis own way, either by feeling himself superior in point of wealth, or\nrank, or influence and power to other people, who thereupon pay\nhim honor; or, at any rate, by going about with those who have a\nsuperfluity of these blessings, sunning himself in the reflection of\ntheir splendor--what the English call a _snob_.\n\nFrom the essential nature of the philistine it follows, secondly, _in\nregard to others_, that, as he possesses no intellectual, but only\nphysical need, he will seek the society of those who can satisfy the\nlatter, but not the former. The last thing he will expect from his\nfriends is the possession of any sort of intellectual capacity; nay,\nif he chances to meet with it, it will rouse his antipathy and\neven hatred; simply because in addition to an unpleasant sense of\ninferiority, he experiences, in his heart, a dull kind of envy, which\nhas to be carefully concealed even from himself. Nevertheless, it\nsometimes grows into a secret feeling of rancor. But for all that,\nit will never occur to him to make his own ideas of worth or value\nconform to the standard of such qualities; he will continue to give\nthe preference to rank and riches, power and influence, which in his\neyes seem to be the only genuine advantages in the world; and his wish\nwill be to excel in them himself. All this is the consequence of his\nbeing a man _without intellectual needs_. The great affliction of all\nphilistines is that they have no interest in _ideas_, and that, to\nescape being bored, they are in constant need of _realities_. But\nrealities are either unsatisfactory or dangerous; when they lose their\ninterest, they become fatiguing. But the ideal world is illimitable\nand calm,\n\n  _something afar\n  From the sphere of our sorrow_.\n\n\nNOTE.--In these remarks on the personal qualities which go to make\nhappiness, I have been mainly concerned with the physical and\nintellectual nature of man. For an account of the direct and immediate\ninfluence of _morality_ upon happiness, let me refer to my prize essay\non _The Foundation of Morals_ (Sec. 22.)\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nPROPERTY, OR WHAT A MAN HAS.\n\n\nEpicurus divides the needs of mankind into three classes, and the\ndivision made by this great professor of happiness is a true and a\nfine one. First come natural and necessary needs, such as, when not\nsatisfied, produce pain,--food and clothing, _victus et amictus_,\nneeds which can easily be satisfied. Secondly, there are those needs\nwhich, though natural, are not necessary, such as the gratification of\ncertain of the senses. I may add, however, that in the report given by\nDiogenes Laertius, Epicurus does not mention which of the senses he\nmeans; so that on this point my account of his doctrine is somewhat\nmore definite and exact than the original. These are needs rather more\ndifficult to satisfy. The third class consists of needs which are\nneither natural nor necessary, the need of luxury and prodigality,\nshow and splendor, which never come to an end, and are very hard to\nsatisfy.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Cf. Diogenes Laertius, Bk. x., ch. xxvii., pp. 127 and\n149; also Cicero _de finibus_, i., 13.]\n\nIt is difficult, if not impossible, to define the limits which reason\nshould impose on the desire for wealth; for there is no absolute or\ndefinite amount of wealth which will satisfy a man. The amount is\nalways relative, that is to say, just so much as will maintain the\nproportion between what he wants and what he gets; for to measure a\nman's happiness only by what he gets, and not also by what he expects\nto get, is as futile as to try and express a fraction which shall have\na numerator but no denominator. A man never feels the loss of things\nwhich it never occurs to him to ask for; he is just as happy without\nthem; whilst another, who may have a hundred times as much, feels\nmiserable because he has not got the one thing he wants. In fact, here\ntoo, every man has an horizon of his own, and he will expect as much\nas he thinks it is possible for him to get. If an object within his\nhorizon looks as though he could confidently reckon on getting it, he\nis happy; but if difficulties come in the way, he is miserable. What\nlies beyond his horizon has no effect at all upon him. So it is\nthat the vast possessions of the rich do not agitate the poor, and\nconversely, that a wealthy man is not consoled by all his wealth for\nthe failure of his hopes. Riches, one may say, are like sea-water; the\nmore you drink the thirstier you become; and the same is true of fame.\nThe loss of wealth and prosperity leaves a man, as soon as the first\npangs of grief are over, in very much the same habitual temper as\nbefore; and the reason of this is, that as soon as fate diminishes the\namount of his possessions, he himself immediately reduces the amount\nof his claims. But when misfortune comes upon us, to reduce the amount\nof our claims is just what is most painful; once that we have done so,\nthe pain becomes less and less, and is felt no more; like an old wound\nwhich has healed. Conversely, when a piece of good fortune befalls us,\nour claims mount higher and higher, as there is nothing to regulate\nthem; it is in this feeling of expansion that the delight of it lies.\nBut it lasts no longer than the process itself, and when the expansion\nis complete, the delight ceases; we have become accustomed to the\nincrease in our claims, and consequently indifferent to the amount of\nwealth which satisfies them. There is a passage in the _Odyssey_[1]\nillustrating this truth, of which I may quote the last two lines:\n\n  [Greek: Toios gar noos estin epichthonion anthropon\n  Oion eth aemar agei pataer andron te theou te]\n\n--the thoughts of man that dwells on the earth are as the day granted\nhim by the father of gods and men. Discontent springs from a constant\nendeavor to increase the amount of our claims, when we are powerless\nto increase the amount which will satisfy them.\n\n[Footnote 1: xviii., 130-7.]\n\nWhen we consider how full of needs the human race is, how its whole\nexistence is based upon them, it is not a matter for surprise that\n_wealth_ is held in more sincere esteem, nay, in greater honor, than\nanything else in the world; nor ought we to wonder that gain is made\nthe only good of life, and everything that does not lead to it pushed\naside or thrown overboard--philosophy, for instance, by those who\nprofess it. People are often reproached for wishing for money above\nall things, and for loving it more than anything else; but it is\nnatural and even inevitable for people to love that which, like an\nunwearied Proteus, is always ready to turn itself into whatever object\ntheir wandering wishes or manifold desires may for the moment fix\nupon. Everything else can satisfy only _one_ wish, _one_ need: food is\ngood only if you are hungry; wine, if you are able to enjoy it; drugs,\nif you are sick; fur for the winter; love for youth, and so on. These\nare all only relatively good, [Greek: agatha pros ti]. Money alone is\nabsolutely good, because it is not only a concrete satisfaction of one\nneed in particular; it is an abstract satisfaction of all.\n\nIf a man has an independent fortune, he should regard it as a bulwark\nagainst the many evils and misfortunes which he may encounter; he\nshould not look upon it as giving him leave to get what pleasure he\ncan out of the world, or as rendering it incumbent upon him to spend\nit in this way. People who are not born with a fortune, but end by\nmaking a large one through the exercise of whatever talents they\npossess, almost always come to think that their talents are their\ncapital, and that the money they have gained is merely the interest\nupon it; they do not lay by a part of their earnings to form a\npermanent capital, but spend their money much as they have earned it.\nAccordingly, they often fall into poverty; their earnings decreased,\nor come to an end altogether, either because their talent is exhausted\nby becoming antiquated,--as, for instance, very often happens in\nthe case of fine art; or else it was valid only under a special\nconjunction of circumstances which has now passed away. There is\nnothing to prevent those who live on the common labor of their hands\nfrom treating their earnings in that way if they like; because their\nkind of skill is not likely to disappear, or, if it does, it can be\nreplaced by that of their fellow-workmen; morever, the kind of work\nthey do is always in demand; so that what the proverb says is quite\ntrue, _a useful trade is a mine of gold_. But with artists and\nprofessionals of every kind the case is quite different, and that is\nthe reason why they are well paid. They ought to build up a capital\nout of their earnings; but they recklessly look upon them as merely\ninterest, and end in ruin. On the other hand, people who inherit money\nknow, at least, how to distinguish between capital and interest, and\nmost of them try to make their capital secure and not encroach\nupon it; nay, if they can, they put by at least an eighth of their\ninterests in order to meet future contingencies. So most of them\nmaintain their position. These few remarks about capital and interest\nare not applicable to commercial life, for merchants look upon money\nonly as a means of further gain, just as a workman regards his tools;\nso even if their capital has been entirely the result of their\nown efforts, they try to preserve and increase it by using it.\nAccordingly, wealth is nowhere so much at home as in the merchant\nclass.\n\nIt will generally be found that those who know what it is to have\nbeen in need and destitution are very much less afraid of it, and\nconsequently more inclined to extravagance, than those who know\npoverty only by hearsay. People who have been born and bred in good\ncircumstances are as a rule much more careful about the future, more\neconomical, in fact, than those who, by a piece of good luck, have\nsuddenly passed from poverty to wealth. This looks as if poverty were\nnot really such a very wretched thing as it appears from a distance.\nThe true reason, however, is rather the fact that the man who has been\nborn into a position of wealth comes to look upon it as something\nwithout which he could no more live than he could live without air; he\nguards it as he does his very life; and so he is generally a lover of\norder, prudent and economical. But the man who has been born into a\npoor position looks upon it as the natural one, and if by any chance\nhe comes in for a fortune, he regards it as a superfluity, something\nto be enjoyed or wasted, because, if it comes to an end, he can get on\njust as well as before, with one anxiety the less; or, as Shakespeare\nsays in Henry VI.,[1]\n\n        .... _the adage must be verified\n  That beggars mounted run their horse to death_.\n\n[Footnote 1: Part III., Act 1., Sc. 4.]\n\nBut it should be said that people of this kind have a firm and\nexcessive trust, partly in fate, partly in the peculiar means which\nhave already raised them out of need and poverty,--a trust not only of\nthe head, but of the heart also; and so they do not, like the man born\nrich, look upon the shallows of poverty as bottomless, but console\nthemselves with the thought that once they have touched ground again,\nthey can take another upward flight. It is this trait in human\ncharacter which explains the fact that women who were poor before\ntheir marriage often make greater claims, and are more extravagant,\nthan those who have brought their husbands a rich dowry; because, as\na rule, rich girls bring with them, not only a fortune, but also more\neagerness, nay, more of the inherited instinct, to preserve it, than\npoor girls do. If anyone doubts the truth of this, and thinks that it\nis just the opposite, he will find authority for his view in Ariosto's\nfirst Satire; but, on the other hand, Dr. Johnson agrees with my\nopinion. _A woman of fortune_, he says, _being used to the handling\nof money, spends it judiciously; but a woman who gets the command\nof money for the first time upon her marriage, has such a gusto in\nspending it, that she throws it away with great profusion_.[1] And in\nany case let me advise anyone who marries a poor girl not to leave her\nthe capital but only the interest, and to take especial care that she\nhas not the management of the children's fortune.\n\n[Footnote 1: Boswell's Life of Johnson: ann: 1776, aetat: 67.]\n\nI do not by any means think that I am touching upon a subject which is\nnot worth my while to mention when I recommend people to be careful to\npreserve what they have earned or inherited. For to start life with\njust as much as will make one independent, that is, allow one to live\ncomfortably without having to work--even if one has only just enough\nfor oneself, not to speak of a family--is an advantage which cannot be\nover-estimated; for it means exemption and immunity from that chronic\ndisease of penury, which fastens on the life of man like a plague; it\nis emancipation from that forced labor which is the natural lot of\nevery mortal. Only under a favorable fate like this can a man be said\nto be born free, to be, in the proper sense of the word, _sui juris_,\nmaster of his own time and powers, and able to say every morning,\n_This day is my own_. And just for the same reason the difference\nbetween the man who has a hundred a year and the man who has a\nthousand, is infinitely smaller than the difference between the former\nand a man who has nothing at all. But inherited wealth reaches its\nutmost value when it falls to the individual endowed with mental\npowers of a high order, who is resolved to pursue a line of life not\ncompatible with the making of money; for he is then doubly endowed by\nfate and can live for his genius; and he will pay his debt to mankind\na hundred times, by achieving what no other could achieve, by\nproducing some work which contributes to the general good, and\nredounds to the honor of humanity at large. Another, again, may\nuse his wealth to further philanthropic schemes, and make himself\nwell-deserving of his fellowmen. But a man who does none of these\nthings, who does not even try to do them, who never attempts to learn\nthe rudiments of any branch of knowledge so that he may at least do\nwhat he can towards promoting it--such a one, born as he is into\nriches, is a mere idler and thief of time, a contemptible fellow. He\nwill not even be happy, because, in his case, exemption from need\ndelivers him up to the other extreme of human suffering, boredom,\nwhich is such martyrdom to him, that he would have been better off if\npoverty had given him something to do. And as he is bored he is apt to\nbe extravagant, and so lose the advantage of which he showed himself\nunworthy. Countless numbers of people find themselves in want, simply\nbecause, when they had money, they spent it only to get momentary\nrelief from the feeling of boredom which oppressed them.\n\nIt is quite another matter if one's object is success in political\nlife, where favor, friends and connections are all-important, in order\nto mount by their aid step by step on the ladder of promotion, and\nperhaps gain the topmost rung. In this kind of life, it is much better\nto be cast upon the world without a penny; and if the aspirant is not\nof noble family, but is a man of some talent, it will redound to his\nadvantage to be an absolute pauper. For what every one most aims at\nin ordinary contact with his fellows is to prove them inferior to\nhimself; and how much more is this the case in politics. Now, it is\nonly an absolute pauper who has such a thorough conviction of his own\ncomplete, profound and positive inferiority from every point of view,\nof his own utter insignificance and worthlessness, that he can take\nhis place quietly in the political machine.[1] He is the only one who\ncan keep on bowing low enough, and even go right down upon his face if\nnecessary; he alone can submit to everything and laugh at it; he alone\nknows the entire worthlessness of merit; he alone uses his loudest\nvoice and his boldest type whenever he has to speak or write of those\nwho are placed over his head, or occupy any position of influence;\nand if they do a little scribbling, he is ready to applaud it as a\nmasterwork. He alone understands how to beg, and so betimes, when he\nis hardly out of his boyhood, he becomes a high priest of that hidden\nmystery which Goethe brings to light.\n\n  _Uber's Niedertr\u00e4chtige\n  Niemand sich beklage:\n  Denn es ist das Machtige\n  Was man dir auch sage_:\n\n--it is no use to complain of low aims; for, whatever people may say,\nthey rule the world.\n\n[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Schopenhauer is probably here\nmaking one of his most virulent attacks upon Hegel; in this case on\naccount of what he thought to be the philosopher's abject servility\nto the government of his day. Though the Hegelian system has been the\nfruitful mother of many liberal ideas, there can be no doubt that\nHegel's influence, in his own lifetime, was an effective support of\nPrussian bureaucracy.]\n\nOn the other hand, the man who is born with enough to live upon is\ngenerally of a somewhat independent turn of mind; he is accustomed\nto keep his head up; he has not learned all the arts of the beggar;\nperhaps he even presumes a little upon the possession of talents\nwhich, as he ought to know, can never compete with cringing\nmediocrity; in the long run he comes to recognize the inferiority of\nthose who are placed over his head, and when they try to put insults\nupon him, he becomes refractory and shy. This is not the way to get\non in the world. Nay, such a man may at least incline to the opinion\nfreely expressed by Voltaire: _We have only two days to live; it\nis not worth our while to spend them_ in cringing to contemptible\nrascals. But alas! let me observe by the way, that _contemptible\nrascal_ is an attribute which may be predicated of an abominable\nnumber of people. What Juvenal says--it is difficult to rise if your\npoverty is greater than your talent--\n\n  _Haud facile emergunt quorum virtutibus obstat\n  Res angusta domi_--\n\nis more applicable to a career of art and literature than to a\npolitical and social ambition.\n\nWife and children I have not reckoned amongst a man's possessions: he\nis rather in their possession. It would be easier to include friends\nunder that head; but a man's friends belong to him not a whit more\nthan he belongs to them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nPOSITION, OR A MAN'S PLACE IN THE ESTIMATION OF OTHERS.\n\n\n_Section 1.--Reputation_.\n\n\nBy a peculiar weakness of human nature, people generally think too\nmuch about the opinion which others form of them; although the\nslightest reflection will show that this opinion, whatever it may\nbe, is not in itself essential to happiness. Therefore it is hard to\nunderstand why everybody feels so very pleased when he sees that other\npeople have a good opinion of him, or say anything flattering to his\nvanity. If you stroke a cat, it will purr; and, as inevitably, if you\npraise a man, a sweet expression of delight will appear on his face;\nand even though the praise is a palpable lie, it will be welcome, if\nthe matter is one on which he prides himself. If only other people\nwill applaud him, a man may console himself for downright misfortune\nor for the pittance he gets from the two sources of human happiness\nalready discussed: and conversely, it is astonishing how infallibly\na man will be annoyed, and in some cases deeply pained, by any wrong\ndone to his feeling of self-importance, whatever be the nature,\ndegree, or circumstances of the injury, or by any depreciation,\nslight, or disregard.\n\nIf the feeling of honor rests upon this peculiarity of human nature,\nit may have a very salutary effect upon the welfare of a great many\npeople, as a substitute for morality; but upon their happiness, more\nespecially upon that peace of mind and independence which are so\nessential to happiness, its effect will be disturbing and prejudicial\nrather than salutary. Therefore it is advisable, from our point of\nview, to set limits to this weakness, and duly to consider and rightly\nto estimate the relative value of advantages, and thus temper, as far\nas possible, this great susceptibility to other people's opinion,\nwhether the opinion be one flattering to our vanity, or whether it\ncauses us pain; for in either case it is the same feeling which is\ntouched. Otherwise, a man is the slave of what other people are\npleased to think,--and how little it requires to disconcert or soothe\nthe mind that is greedy of praise:\n\n  _Sic leve, sic parvum est, animum quod laudis avarum\n  Subruit ac reficit_.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Horace, Epist: II., 1, 180.]\n\nTherefore it will very much conduce to our happiness if we duly\ncompare the value of what a man is in and for himself with what he is\nin the eyes of others. Under the former conies everything that fills\nup the span of our existence and makes it what it is, in short, all\nthe advantages already considered and summed up under the heads of\npersonality and property; and the sphere in which all this takes place\nis the man's own consciousness. On the other hand, the sphere of what\nwe are for other people is their consciousness, not ours; it is the\nkind of figure we make in their eyes, together with the thoughts\nwhich this arouses.[1] But this is something which has no direct and\nimmediate existence for us, but can affect us only mediately and\nindirectly, so far, that is, as other people's behavior towards us is\ndirected by it; and even then it ought to affect us only in so far as\nit can move us to modify _what we are in and for ourselves_. Apart\nfrom this, what goes on in other people's consciousness is, as such, a\nmatter of indifference to us; and in time we get really indifferent to\nit, when we come to see how superficial and futile are most people's\nthoughts, how narrow their ideas, how mean their sentiments, how\nperverse their opinions, and how much of error there is in most of\nthem; when we learn by experience with what depreciation a man will\nspeak of his fellow, when he is not obliged to fear him, or thinks\nthat what he says will not come to his ears. And if ever we have\nhad an opportunity of seeing how the greatest of men will meet with\nnothing but slight from half-a-dozen blockheads, we shall understand\nthat to lay great value upon what other people say is to pay them too\nmuch honor.\n\n[Footnote 1: Let me remark that people in the highest positions in\nlife, with all their brilliance, pomp, display, magnificence and\ngeneral show, may well say:--Our happiness lies entirely outside us;\nfor it exists only in the heads of others.]\n\nAt all events, a man is in a very bad way, who finds no source of\nhappiness in the first two classes of blessings already treated of,\nbut has to seek it in the third, in other words, not in what he is in\nhimself, but in what he is in the opinion of others. For, after all,\nthe foundation of our whole nature, and, therefore, of our happiness,\nis our physique, and the most essential factor in happiness is\nhealth, and, next in importance after health, the ability to maintain\nourselves in independence and freedom from care. There can be no\ncompetition or compensation between these essential factors on the one\nside, and honor, pomp, rank and reputation on the other, however much\nvalue we may set upon the latter. No one would hesitate to sacrifice\nthe latter for the former, if it were necessary. We should add very\nmuch to our happiness by a timely recognition of the simple truth that\nevery man's chief and real existence is in his own skin, and not in\nother people's opinions; and, consequently, that the actual conditions\nof our personal life,--health, temperament, capacity, income, wife,\nchildren, friends, home, are a hundred times more important for our\nhappiness than what other people are pleased to think of us: otherwise\nwe shall be miserable. And if people insist that honor is dearer than\nlife itself, what they really mean is that existence and well-being\nare as nothing compared with other people's opinions. Of course, this\nmay be only an exaggerated way of stating the prosaic truth that\nreputation, that is, the opinion others have of us, is indispensable\nif we are to make any progress in the world; but I shall come back to\nthat presently. When we see that almost everything men devote their\nlives to attain, sparing no effort and encountering a thousand toils\nand dangers in the process, has, in the end, no further object than\nto raise themselves in the estimation of others; when we see that\nnot only offices, titles, decorations, but also wealth, nay, even\nknowledge[1] and art, are striven for only to obtain, as the ultimate\ngoal of all effort, greater respect from one's fellowmen,--is not this\na lamentable proof of the extent to which human folly can go? To set\nmuch too high a value on other people's opinion is a common error\neverywhere; an error, it may be, rooted in human nature itself, or\nthe result of civilization, and social arrangements generally; but,\nwhatever its source, it exercises a very immoderate influence on all\nwe do, and is very prejudicial to our happiness. We can trace it from\na timorous and slavish regard for what other people will say, up to\nthe feeling which made Virginius plunge the dagger into his daughter's\nheart, or induces many a man to sacrifice quiet, riches, health and\neven life itself, for posthumous glory. Undoubtedly this feeling is a\nvery convenient instrument in the hands of those who have the control\nor direction of their fellowmen; and accordingly we find that in\nevery scheme for training up humanity in the way it should go, the\nmaintenance and strengthening of the feeling of honor occupies an\nimportant place. But it is quite a different matter in its effect\non human happiness, of which it is here our object to treat; and we\nshould rather be careful to dissuade people from setting too much\nstore by what others think of them. Daily experience shows us,\nhowever, that this is just the mistake people persist in making; most\nmen set the utmost value precisely on what other people think, and\nare more concerned about it than about what goes on in their own\nconsciousness, which is the thing most immediately and directly\npresent to them. They reverse the natural order,--regarding the\nopinions of others as real existence and their own consciousness\nas something shadowy; making the derivative and secondary into the\nprincipal, and considering the picture they present to the world of\nmore importance than their own selves. By thus trying to get a direct\nand immediate result out of what has no really direct or immediate\nexistence, they fall into the kind of folly which is called\n_vanity_--the appropriate term for that which has no solid or\ninstrinsic value. Like a miser, such people forget the end in their\neagerness to obtain the means.\n\n[Footnote 1: _Scire tuum nihil est nisi te scire hoc sciat alter_,\n(Persins i, 27)--knowledge is no use unless others know that you have\nit.]\n\nThe truth is that the value we set upon the opinion of others, and our\nconstant endeavor in respect of it, are each quite out of proportion\nto any result we may reasonably hope to attain; so that this attention\nto other people's attitude may be regarded as a kind of universal\nmania which every one inherits. In all we do, almost the first thing\nwe think about is, what will people say; and nearly half the troubles\nand bothers of life may be traced to our anxiety on this score; it\nis the anxiety which is at the bottom of all that feeling of\nself-importance, which is so often mortified because it is so very\nmorbidly sensitive. It is solicitude about what others will say that\nunderlies all our vanity and pretension, yes, and all our show and\nswagger too. Without it, there would not be a tenth part of the luxury\nwhich exists. Pride in every form, _point d'honneur_ and _punctilio_,\nhowever varied their kind or sphere, are at bottom nothing but\nthis--anxiety about what others will say--and what sacrifices it\ncosts! One can see it even in a child; and though it exists at every\nperiod of life, it is strongest in age; because, when the capacity for\nsensual pleasure fails, vanity and pride have only avarice to share\ntheir dominion. Frenchmen, perhaps, afford the best example of\nthis feeling, and amongst them it is a regular epidemic, appearing\nsometimes in the most absurd ambition, or in a ridiculous kind of\nnational vanity and the most shameless boasting. However, they\nfrustrate their own gains, for other people make fun of them and call\nthem _la grande nation_.\n\nBy way of specially illustrating this perverse and exuberant respect\nfor other people's opinion, let me take passage from the _Times_ of\nMarch 31st, 1846, giving a detailed account of the execution of one\nThomas Wix, an apprentice who, from motives of vengeance, had\nmurdered his master. Here we have very unusual circumstances and an\nextraordinary character, though one very suitable for our purpose; and\nthese combine to give a striking picture of this folly, which is so\ndeeply rooted in human nature, and allow us to form an accurate notion\nof the extent to which it will go. On the morning of the execution,\nsays the report, _the rev. ordinary was early in attendance upon\nhim, but Wix, beyond a quiet demeanor, betrayed no interest in his\nministrations, appearing to feel anxious only to acquit himself\n\"bravely\" before the spectators of his ignomininous end.... In the\nprocession Wix fell into his proper place with alacrity, and, as he\nentered the Chapel-yard, remarked, sufficiently loud to be heard by\nseveral persons near him, \"Now, then, as Dr. Dodd said, I shall soon\nknow the grand secret.\" On reaching the scaffold, the miserable wretch\nmounted the drop without the slightest assistance, and when he got\nto the centre, he bowed to the spectators twice, a proceeding which\ncalled forth a tremendous cheer from the degraded crowd beneath_.\n\nThis is an admirable example of the way in which a man, with death in\nthe most dreadful form before his very eyes, and eternity beyond it,\nwill care for nothing but the impression he makes upon a crowd of\ngapers, and the opinion he leaves behind him in their heads. There was\nmuch the same kind of thing in the case of Lecompte, who was executed\nat Frankfurt, also in 1846, for an attempt on the king's life. At the\ntrial he was very much annoyed that he was not allowed to appear, in\ndecent attire, before the Upper House; and on the day of the execution\nit was a special grief to him that he was not permitted to shave. It\nis not only in recent times that this kind of thing has been known to\nhappen. Mateo Aleman tells us, in the Introduction to his celebrated\nromance, _Juzman de Alfarache_, that many infatuated criminals,\ninstead of devoting their last hours to the welfare of their souls,\nas they ought to have done, neglect this duty for the purpose of\npreparing and committing to memory a speech to be made from the\nscaffold.\n\nI take these extreme cases as being the best illustrations to what I\nmean; for they give us a magnified reflection of our own nature. The\nanxieties of all of us, our worries, vexations, bothers, troubles,\nuneasy apprehensions and strenuous efforts are due, in perhaps the\nlarge majority of instances, to what other people will say; and we are\njust as foolish in this respect as those miserable criminals. Envy and\nhatred are very often traceable to a similar source.\n\nNow, it is obvious that happiness, which consists for the most part in\npeace of mind and contentment, would be served by nothing so much\nas by reducing this impulse of human nature within reasonable\nlimits,--which would perhaps make it one fiftieth part of what it is\nnow. By doing so, we should get rid of a thorn in the flesh which is\nalways causing us pain. But it is a very difficult task, because\nthe impulse in question is a natural and innate perversity of human\nnature. Tacitus says, _The lust of fame is the last that a wise man\nshakes off_[1] The only way of putting an end to this universal\nfolly is to see clearly that it is a folly; and this may be done by\nrecognizing the fact that most of the opinions in men's heads are apt\nto be false, perverse, erroneous and absurd, and so in themselves\nunworthy of attention; further, that other people's opinions can\nhave very little real and positive influence upon us in most of the\ncircumstances and affairs of life. Again, this opinion is generally of\nsuch an unfavorable character that it would worry a man to death to\nhear everything that was said of him, or the tone in which he was\nspoken of. And finally, among other things, we should be clear about\nthe fact that honor itself has no really direct, but only an indirect,\nvalue. If people were generally converted from this universal folly,\nthe result would be such an addition to our piece of mind and\ncheerfulness as at present seems inconceivable; people would present\na firmer and more confident front to the world, and generally behave\nwith less embarrassment and restraint. It is observable that a retired\nmode of life has an exceedingly beneficial influence on our peace\nof mind, and this is mainly because we thus escape having to live\nconstantly in the sight of others, and pay everlasting regard to their\ncasual opinions; in a word, we are able to return upon ourselves. At\nthe same time a good deal of positive misfortune might be avoided,\nwhich we are now drawn into by striving after shadows, or, to speak\nmore correctly, by indulging a mischievous piece of folly; and we\nshould consequently have more attention to give to solid realities and\nenjoy them with less interruption that at present. But [Greek: chalepa\nga kala]--what is worth doing is hard to do.\n\n[Footnote 1: Hist., iv., 6.]\n\n\n_Section 2.--Pride_.\n\n\nThe folly of our nature which we are discussing puts forth three\nshoots, ambition, vanity and pride. The difference between the last\ntwo is this: _pride_ is an established conviction of one's own\nparamount worth in some particular respect; while _vanity_ is the\ndesire of rousing such a conviction in others, and it is generally\naccompanied by the secret hope of ultimately coming to the same\nconviction oneself. Pride works _from within_; it is the direct\nappreciation of oneself. Vanity is the desire to arrive at this\nappreciation indirectly, _from without_. So we find that vain people\nare talkative, proud, and taciturn. But the vain person ought to be\naware that the good opinion of others, which he strives for, may be\nobtained much more easily and certainly by persistent silence than by\nspeech, even though he has very good things to say. Anyone who wishes\nto affect pride is not therefore a proud man; but he will soon have to\ndrop this, as every other, assumed character.\n\nIt is only a firm, unshakeable conviction of pre-eminent worth and\nspecial value which makes a man proud in the true sense of the\nword,--a conviction which may, no doubt, be a mistaken one or rest on\nadvantages which are of an adventitious and conventional character:\nstill pride is not the less pride for all that, so long as it be\npresent in real earnest. And since pride is thus rooted in conviction,\nit resembles every other form of knowledge in not being within our own\narbitrament. Pride's worst foe,--I mean its greatest obstacle,--is\nvanity, which courts the applause of the world in order to gain the\nnecessary foundation for a high opinion of one's own worth, whilst\npride is based upon a pre-existing conviction of it.\n\nIt is quite true that pride is something which is generally found\nfault with, and cried down; but usually, I imagine, by those who have\nnothing upon which they can pride themselves. In view of the impudence\nand foolhardiness of most people, anyone who possesses any kind of\nsuperiority or merit will do well to keep his eyes fixed on it, if\nhe does not want it to be entirely forgotten; for if a man is\ngood-natured enough to ignore his own privileges, and hob-nob with the\ngenerality of other people, as if he were quite on their level, they\nwill be sure to treat him, frankly and candidly, as one of themselves.\nThis is a piece of advice I would specially offer to those whose\nsuperiority is of the highest kind--real superiority, I mean, of a\npurely personal nature--which cannot, like orders and titles, appeal\nto the eye or ear at every moment; as, otherwise, they will find that\nfamiliarity breeds contempt, or, as the Romans used to say, _sus\nMinervam. Joke with a slave, and he'll soon show his heels_, is an\nexcellent Arabian proverb; nor ought we to despise what Horace says,\n\n    _Sume superbiam\n  Quaesitam meritis_.\n\n--usurp the fame you have deserved. No doubt, when modesty was made a\nvirtue, it was a very advantageous thing for the fools; for everybody\nis expected to speak of himself as if he were one. This is leveling\ndown indeed; for it comes to look as if there were nothing but fools\nin the world.\n\nThe cheapest sort of pride is national pride; for if a man is proud of\nhis own nation, it argues that he has no qualities of his own of which\nhe can be proud; otherwise he would not have recourse to those which\nhe shares with so many millions of his fellowmen. The man who is\nendowed with important personal qualities will be only too ready to\nsee clearly in what respects his own nation falls short, since their\nfailings will be constantly before his eyes. But every miserable fool\nwho has nothing at all of which he can be proud adopts, as a last\nresource, pride in the nation to which he belongs; he is ready and\nglad to defend all its faults and follies tooth and nail, thus\nreimbursing himself for his own inferiority. For example, if you speak\nof the stupid and degrading bigotry of the English nation with the\ncontempt it deserves, you will hardly find one Englishman in fifty to\nagree with you; but if there should be one, he will generally happen\nto be an intelligent man.\n\nThe Germans have no national pride, which shows how honest they are,\nas everybody knows! and how dishonest are those who, by a piece\nof ridiculous affectation, pretend that they are proud of their\ncountry--the _Deutsche Bruder_ and the demagogues who flatter the\nmob in order to mislead it. I have heard it said that gunpowder was\ninvented by a German. I doubt it. Lichtenberg asks, _Why is it that a\nman who is not a German does not care about pretending that he is one;\nand that if he makes any pretence at all, it is to be a Frenchman or\nan Englishman_?[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--It should be remembered that these\nremarks were written in the earlier part of the present century, and\nthat a German philosopher now-a-days, even though he were as apt to\nsay bitter things as Schopenhauer, could hardly write in a similar\nstrain.]\n\nHowever that may be, individuality is a far more important thing\nthan nationality, and in any given man deserves a thousand-fold more\nconsideration. And since you cannot speak of national character\nwithout referring to large masses of people, it is impossible to be\nloud in your praises and at the same time honest. National character\nis only another name for the particular form which the littleness,\nperversity and baseness of mankind take in every country. If we become\ndisgusted with one, we praise another, until we get disgusted with\nthis too. Every nation mocks at other nations, and all are right.\n\nThe contents of this chapter, which treats, as I have said, of what we\nrepresent in the world, or what we are in the eyes of others, may be\nfurther distributed under three heads: honor rank and fame.\n\n\n_Section 3.--Rank_.\n\n\nLet us take rank first, as it may be dismissed in a few words,\nalthough it plays an important part in the eyes of the masses and of\nthe philistines, and is a most useful wheel in the machinery of the\nState.\n\nIt has a purely conventional value. Strictly speaking, it is a sham;\nits method is to exact an artificial respect, and, as a matter of\nfact, the whole thing is a mere farce.\n\nOrders, it may be said, are bills of exchange drawn on public opinion,\nand the measure of their value is the credit of the drawer. Of course,\nas a substitute for pensions, they save the State a good deal of\nmoney; and, besides, they serve a very useful purpose, if they are\ndistributed with discrimination and judgment. For people in general\nhave eyes and ears, it is true; but not much else, very little\njudgment indeed, or even memory. There are many services of the State\nquite beyond the range of their understanding; others, again, are\nappreciated and made much of for a time, and then soon forgotten. It\nseems to me, therefore, very proper, that a cross or a star should\nproclaim to the mass of people always and everywhere, _This man is not\nlike you; he has done something_. But orders lose their value when\nthey are distributed unjustly, or without due selection, or in too\ngreat numbers: a prince should be as careful in conferring them as a\nman of business is in signing a bill. It is a pleonasm to inscribe on\nany order _for distinguished service_; for every order ought to be for\ndistinguished service. That stands to reason.\n\n\n_Section 4.--Honor_.\n\n\nHonor is a much larger question than rank, and more difficult to\ndiscuss. Let us begin by trying to define it.\n\nIf I were to say _Honor is external conscience, and conscience is\ninward honor_, no doubt a good many people would assent; but there\nwould be more show than reality about such a definition, and it would\nhardly go to the root of the matter. I prefer to say, _Honor is, on\nits objective side, other people's opinion of what we are worth; on\nits subjective side, it is the respect we pay to this opinion_. From\nthe latter point of view, to be _a man of honor_ is to exercise what\nis often a very wholesome, but by no means a purely moral, influence.\n\nThe feelings of honor and shame exist in every man who is not utterly\ndepraved, and honor is everywhere recognized as something particularly\nvaluable. The reason of this is as follows. By and in himself a man\ncan accomplish very little; he is like Robinson Crusoe on a desert\nisland. It is only in society that a man's powers can be called into\nfull activity. He very soon finds this out when his consciousness\nbegins to develop, and there arises in him the desire to be looked\nupon as a useful member of society, as one, that is, who is capable\nof playing his part as a man--_pro parte virili_--thereby acquiring a\nright to the benefits of social life. Now, to be a useful member of\nsociety, one must do two things: firstly, what everyone is expected to\ndo everywhere; and, secondly, what one's own particular position in\nthe world demands and requires.\n\nBut a man soon discovers that everything depends upon his being\nuseful, not in his own opinion, but in the opinion of others; and so\nhe tries his best to make that favorable impression upon the world, to\nwhich he attaches such a high value. Hence, this primitive and innate\ncharacteristic of human nature, which is called the feeling of honor,\nor, under another aspect, the feeling of shame--_verecundia_. It is\nthis which brings a blush to his cheeks at the thought of having\nsuddenly to fall in the estimation of others, even when he knows that\nhe is innocent, nay, even if his remissness extends to no absolute\nobligation, but only to one which he has taken upon himself of his own\nfree will. Conversely, nothing in life gives a man so much courage as\nthe attainment or renewal of the conviction that other people regard\nhim with favor; because it means that everyone joins to give him help\nand protection, which is an infinitely stronger bulwark against the\nills of life than anything he can do himself.\n\nThe variety of relations in which a man can stand to other people so\nas to obtain their confidence, that is, their good opinion, gives rise\nto a distinction between several kinds of honor, resting chiefly on\nthe different bearings that _meum_ may take to _tuum_; or, again, on\nthe performance of various pledges; or finally, on the relation of the\nsexes. Hence, there are three main kinds of honor, each of which takes\nvarious forms--civic honor, official honor, and sexual honor.\n\n_Civic honor_ has the widest sphere of all. It consists in the\nassumption that we shall pay unconditional respect to the rights of\nothers, and, therefore, never use any unjust or unlawful means of\ngetting what we want. It is the condition of all peaceable intercourse\nbetween man and man; and it is destroyed by anything that openly and\nmanifestly militates against this peaceable intercourse, anything,\naccordingly, which entails punishment at the hands of the law, always\nsupposing that the punishment is a just one.\n\nThe ultimate foundation of honor is the conviction that moral\ncharacter is unalterable: a single bad action implies that future\nactions of the same kind will, under similar circumstances, also be\nbad. This is well expressed by the English use of the word _character_\nas meaning credit, reputation, honor. Hence honor, once lost, can\nnever be recovered; unless the loss rested on some mistake, such as\nmay occur if a man is slandered or his actions viewed in a false\nlight. So the law provides remedies against slander, libel, and even\ninsult; for insult though it amounts to no more than mere abuse, is a\nkind of summary slander with a suppression of the reasons. What I\nmean may be well put in the Greek phrase--not quoted from any\nauthor--[Greek: estin hae loidoria diabolae]. It is true that if a\nman abuses another, he is simply showing that he has no real or true\ncauses of complaint against him; as, otherwise, he would bring these\nforward as the premises, and rely upon his hearers to draw the\nconclusion themselves: instead of which, he gives the conclusion and\nleaves out the premises, trusting that people will suppose that he has\ndone so only for the sake of being brief.\n\nCivic honor draws its existence and name from the middle classes;\nbut it applies equally to all, not excepting the highest. No man can\ndisregard it, and it is a very serious thing, of which every one\nshould be careful not to make light. The man who breaks confidence has\nfor ever forfeited confidence, whatever he may do, and whoever he may\nbe; and the bitter consequences of the loss of confidence can never be\naverted.\n\nThere is a sense in which honor may be said to have a _negative_\ncharacter in opposition to the _positive_ character of fame. For honor\nis not the opinion people have of particular qualities which a man may\nhappen to possess exclusively: it is rather the opinion they have of\nthe qualities which a man may be expected to exhibit, and to which\nhe should not prove false. Honor, therefore, means that a man is not\nexceptional; fame, that he is. Fame is something which must be won;\nhonor, only something which must not be lost. The absence of fame is\nobscurity, which is only a negative; but loss of honor is shame, which\nis a positive quality. This negative character of honor must not be\nconfused with anything _passive_; for honor is above all things active\nin its working. It is the only quality which proceeds _directly_ from\nthe man who exhibits it; it is concerned entirely with what he does\nand leaves undone, and has nothing to do with the actions of others or\nthe obstacles they place in his way. It is something entirely in our\nown power--[Greek: ton ephaemon]. This distinction, as we shall see\npresently, marks off true honor from the sham honor of chivalry.\n\nSlander is the only weapon by which honor can be attacked from\nwithout; and the only way to repel the attack is to confute the\nslander with the proper amount of publicity, and a due unmasking of\nhim who utters it.\n\nThe reason why respect is paid to age is that old people have\nnecessarily shown in the course of their lives whether or not they\nhave been able to maintain their honor unblemished; while that of\nyoung people has not been put to the proof, though they are credited\nwith the possession of it. For neither length of years,--equalled,\nas it is, and even excelled, in the case of the lower animals,--nor,\nagain, experience, which is only a closer knowledge of the world's\nways, can be any sufficient reason for the respect which the young are\neverywhere required to show towards the old: for if it were merely a\nmatter of years, the weakness which attends on age would call rather\nfor consideration than for respect. It is, however, a remarkable fact\nthat white hair always commands reverence--a reverence really innate\nand instinctive. Wrinkles--a much surer sign of old age--command\nno reverence at all; you never hear any one speak of _venerable\nwrinkles_; but _venerable white hair_ is a common expression.\n\nHonor has only an indirect value. For, as I explained at the beginning\nof this chapter, what other people think of us, if it affects us at\nall, can affect us only in so far as it governs their behavior towards\nus, and only just so long as we live with, or have to do with, them.\nBut it is to society alone that we owe that safety which we and our\npossessions enjoy in a state of civilization; in all we do we need the\nhelp of others, and they, in their turn, must have confidence in\nus before they can have anything to do with us. Accordingly, their\nopinion of us is, indirectly, a matter of great importance; though I\ncannot see how it can have a direct or immediate value. This is an\nopinion also held by Cicero. I _quite agree_, he writes, _with what\nChrysippus and Diogenes used to say, that a good reputation is not\nworth raising a finger to obtain, if it were not that it is so\nuseful_.[1] This truth has been insisted upon at great length by\nHelvetius in his chief work _De l'Esprit_,[2] the conclusion of which\nis that _we love esteem not for its own sake, but solely for the\nadvantages which it brings_. And as the means can never be more than\nthe end, that saying, of which so much is made, _Honor is dearer than\nlife itself_, is, as I have remarked, a very exaggerated statement. So\nmuch then, for civic honor.\n\n[Footnote 1: _De finilus_ iii., 17.]\n\n[Footnote 2: _Disc_: iii. 17.]\n\n_Official honor_ is the general opinion of other people that a man who\nfills any office really has the necessary qualities for the proper\ndischarge of all the duties which appertain to it. The greater and\nmore important the duties a man has to discharge in the State, and the\nhigher and more influential the office which he fills, the stronger\nmust be the opinion which people have of the moral and intellectual\nqualities which render him fit for his post. Therefore, the higher\nhis position, the greater must be the degree of honor paid to him,\nexpressed, as it is, in titles, orders and the generally subservient\nbehavior of others towards him. As a rule, a man's official rank\nimplies the particular degree of honor which ought to be paid to him,\nhowever much this degree may be modified by the capacity of the masses\nto form any notion of its importance. Still, as a matter of fact,\ngreater honor is paid to a man who fulfills special duties than to\nthe common citizen, whose honor mainly consists in keeping clear of\ndishonor.\n\nOfficial honor demands, further, that the man who occupies an office\nmust maintain respect for it, for the sake both of his colleagues\nand of those who will come after him. This respect an official can\nmaintain by a proper observance of his duties, and by repelling any\nattack that may be made upon the office itself or upon its occupant:\nhe must not, for instance, pass over unheeded any statement to the\neffect that the duties of the office are not properly discharged, or\nthat the office itself does not conduce to the public welfare. He must\nprove the unwarrantable nature of such attacks by enforcing the legal\npenalty for them.\n\nSubordinate to the honor of official personages comes that of those\nwho serve the State in any other capacity, as doctors, lawyers,\nteachers, anyone, in short, who, by graduating in any subject, or by\nany other public declaration that he is qualified to exercise some\nspecial skill, claims to practice it; in a word, the honor of all\nthose who take any public pledges whatever. Under this head comes\nmilitary honor, in the true sense of the word, the opinion that people\nwho have bound themselves to defend their country really possess\nthe requisite qualities which will enable them to do so, especially\ncourage, personal bravery and strength, and that they are perfectly\nready to defend their country to the death, and never and under\nany circumstances desert the flag to which they have once sworn\nallegiance. I have here taken official honor in a wider sense than\nthat in which it is generally used, namely, the respect due by\ncitizens to an office itself.\n\nIn treating of _sexual honor_ and the principles on which it rests, a\nlittle more attention and analysis are necessary; and what I shall\nsay will support my contention that all honor really rests upon a\nutilitarian basis. There are two natural divisions of the subject--the\nhonor of women and the honor of men, in either side issuing in a\nwell-understood _esprit de corps_. The former is by far the more\nimportant of the two, because the most essential feature in woman's\nlife is her relation to man.\n\nFemale honor is the general opinion in regard to a girl that she is\npure, and in regard to a wife that she is faithful. The importance of\nthis opinion rests upon the following considerations. Women depend\nupon men in all the relations of life; men upon women, it might\nbe said, in one only. So an arrangement is made for mutual\ninterdependence--man undertaking responsibility for all woman's needs\nand also for the children that spring from their union--an arrangement\non which is based the welfare of the whole female race. To carry out\nthis plan, women have to band together with a show of _esprit de\ncorps_, and present one undivided front to their common enemy,\nman,--who possesses all the good things of the earth, in virtue of his\nsuperior physical and intellectual power,--in order to lay siege to\nand conquer him, and so get possession of him and a share of those\ngood things. To this end the honor of all women depends upon the\nenforcement of the rule that no woman should give herself to a man\nexcept in marriage, in order that every man may be forced, as it\nwere, to surrender and ally himself with a woman; by this arrangement\nprovision is made for the whole of the female race. This is a result,\nhowever, which can be obtained only by a strict observance of the\nrule; and, accordingly, women everywhere show true _esprit de corps_\nin carefully insisting upon its maintenance. Any girl who commits a\nbreach of the rule betrays the whole female race, because its welfare\nwould be destroyed if every woman were to do likewise; so she is cast\nout with shame as one who has lost her honor. No woman will have\nanything more to do with her; she is avoided like the plague. The same\ndoom is awarded to a woman who breaks the marriage tie; for in so\ndoing she is false to the terms upon which the man capitulated; and\nas her conduct is such as to frighten other men from making a similar\nsurrender, it imperils the welfare of all her sisters. Nay, more; this\ndeception and coarse breach of troth is a crime punishable by the\nloss, not only of personal, but also of civic honor. This is why we\nminimize the shame of a girl, but not of a wife; because, in the\nformer case, marriage can restore honor, while in the latter, no\natonement can be made for the breach of contract.\n\nOnce this _esprit de corps_ is acknowledged to be the foundation\nof female honor, and is seen to be a wholesome, nay, a necessary\narrangement, as at bottom a matter of prudence and interest, its\nextreme importance for the welfare of women will be recognized. But\nit does not possess anything more than a relative value. It is no\nabsolute end, lying beyond all other aims of existence and valued\nabove life itself. In this view, there will be nothing to applaud\nin the forced and extravagant conduct of a Lucretia or a\nVirginius--conduct which can easily degenerate into tragic farce, and\nproduce a terrible feeling of revulsion. The conclusion of _Emilia\nGalotti_, for instance, makes one leave the theatre completely ill at\nease; and, on the other hand, all the rules of female honor cannot\nprevent a certain sympathy with Clara in _Egmont_. To carry this\nprinciple of female honor too far is to forget the end in thinking\nof the means--and this is just what people often do; for such\nexaggeration suggests that the value of sexual honor is absolute;\nwhile the truth is that it is more relative than any other kind. One\nmight go so far as to say that its value is purely conventional, when\none sees from Thomasius how in all ages and countries, up to the time\nof the Reformation, irregularities were permitted and recognized by\nlaw, with no derogation to female honor,--not to speak of the temple\nof Mylitta at Babylon.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Heroditus, i. 199.]\n\nThere are also of course certain circumstances in civil life which\nmake external forms of marriage impossible, especially in Catholic\ncountries, where there is no such thing as divorce. Ruling princes\neverywhere, would, in my opinion, do much better, from a moral point\nof view, to dispense with forms altogether rather than contract a\nmorganatic marriage, the descendants of which might raise claims to\nthe throne if the legitimate stock happened to die out; so that there\nis a possibility, though, perhaps, a remote one, that a morganatic\nmarriage might produce a civil war. And, besides, such a marriage,\nconcluded in defiance of all outward ceremony, is a concession made to\nwomen and priests--two classes of persons to whom one should be most\ncareful to give as little tether as possible. It is further to be\nremarked that every man in a country can marry the woman of his\nchoice, except one poor individual, namely, the prince. His hand\nbelongs to his country, and can be given in marriage only for reasons\nof State, that is, for the good of the country. Still, for all that,\nhe is a man; and, as a man, he likes to follow whither his heart\nleads. It is an unjust, ungrateful and priggish thing to forbid, or\nto desire to forbid, a prince from following his inclinations in this\nmatter; of course, as long as the lady has no influence upon the\nGovernment of the country. From her point of view she occupies an\nexceptional position, and does not come under the ordinary rules of\nsexual honor; for she has merely given herself to a man who loves her,\nand whom she loves but cannot marry. And in general, the fact that the\nprinciple of female honor has no origin in nature, is shown by the\nmany bloody sacrifices which have been offered to it,--the murder of\nchildren and the mother's suicide. No doubt a girl who contravenes the\ncode commits a breach of faith against her whole sex; but this faith\nis one which is only secretly taken for granted, and not sworn to. And\nsince, in most cases, her own prospects suffer most immediately, her\nfolly is infinitely greater than her crime.\n\nThe corresponding virtue in men is a product of the one I have been\ndiscussing. It is their _esprit de corps_, which demands that, once\na man has made that surrender of himself in marriage which is so\nadvantageous to his conqueror, he shall take care that the terms of\nthe treaty are maintained; both in order that the agreement itself\nmay lose none of its force by the permission of any laxity in its\nobservance, and that men, having given up everything, may, at\nleast, be assured of their bargain, namely, exclusive possession.\nAccordingly, it is part of a man's honor to resent a breach of the\nmarriage tie on the part of his wife, and to punish it, at the\nvery least by separating from her. If he condones the offence, his\nfellowmen cry shame upon him; but the shame in this case is not nearly\nso foul as that of the woman who has lost her honor; the stain is by\nno means of so deep a dye--_levioris notae macula_;--because a man's\nrelation to woman is subordinate to many other and more important\naffairs in his life. The two great dramatic poets of modern times\nhave each taken man's honor as the theme of two plays; Shakespeare in\n_Othello_ and _The Winter's Tale_, and Calderon in _El medico de su\nhonra_, (The Physician of his Honor), and _A secreto agravio secreta\nvenganza_, (for Secret Insult Secret Vengeance). It should be said,\nhowever, that honor demands the punishment of the wife only; to punish\nher paramour too, is a work of supererogation. This confirms the view\nI have taken, that a man's honor originates in _esprit de corps_.\n\nThe kind of honor which I have been discussing hitherto has always\nexisted in its various forms and principles amongst all nations and\nat all times; although the history of female honor shows that its\nprinciples have undergone certain local modifications at different\nperiods. But there is another species of honor which differs from this\nentirely, a species of honor of which the Greeks and Romans had\nno conception, and up to this day it is perfectly unknown amongst\nChinese, Hindoos or Mohammedans. It is a kind of honor which arose\nonly in the Middle Age, and is indigenous only to Christian Europe,\nnay, only to an extremely small portion of the population, that is\nto say, the higher classes of society and those who ape them. It is\n_knightly honor_, or _point d'honneur_. Its principles are quite\ndifferent from those which underlie the kind of honor I have been\ntreating until now, and in some respects are even opposed to them. The\nsort I am referring to produces the _cavalier_; while the other kind\ncreates the _man of honor_. As this is so, I shall proceed to give an\nexplanation of its principles, as a kind of code or mirror of knightly\ncourtesy.\n\n(1.) To begin with, honor of this sort consists, not in other people's\nopinion of what we are worth, but wholly and entirely in whether they\nexpress it or not, no matter whether they really have any opinion at\nall, let alone whether they know of reasons for having one. Other\npeople may entertain the worst opinion of us in consequence of what we\ndo, and may despise us as much as they like; so long as no one dares\nto give expression to his opinion, our honor remains untarnished. So\nif our actions and qualities compel the highest respect from other\npeople, and they have no option but to give this respect,--as soon as\nanyone, no matter how wicked or foolish he may be, utters something\ndepreciatory of us, our honor is offended, nay, gone for ever, unless\nwe can manage to restore it. A superfluous proof of what I say,\nnamely, that knightly honor depends, not upon what people think, but\nupon what they say, is furnished by the fact that insults can be\nwithdrawn, or, if necessary, form the subject of an apology, which\nmakes them as though they had never been uttered. Whether the opinion\nwhich underlays the expression has also been rectified, and why\nthe expression should ever have been used, are questions which are\nperfectly unimportant: so long as the statement is withdrawn, all is\nwell. The truth is that conduct of this kind aims, not at earning\nrespect, but at extorting it.\n\n(2.) In the second place, this sort of honor rests, not on what a man\ndoes, but on what he suffers, the obstacles he encounters; differing\nfrom the honor which prevails in all else, in consisting, not in what\nhe says or does himself, but in what another man says or does. His\nhonor is thus at the mercy of every man who can talk it away on the\ntip of his tongue; and if he attacks it, in a moment it is gone for\never,--unless the man who is attacked manages to wrest it back again\nby a process which I shall mention presently, a process which involves\ndanger to his life, health, freedom, property and peace of mind. A\nman's whole conduct may be in accordance with the most righteous and\nnoble principles, his spirit may be the purest that ever breathed, his\nintellect of the very highest order; and yet his honor may disappear\nthe moment that anyone is pleased to insult him, anyone at all who has\nnot offended against this code of honor himself, let him be the most\nworthless rascal or the most stupid beast, an idler, gambler, debtor,\na man, in short, of no account at all. It is usually this sort of\nfellow who likes to insult people; for, as Seneca[1] rightly remarks,\n_ut quisque contemtissimus et ludibrio est, ita solutissimae est_, the\nmore contemptible and ridiculous a man is,--the readier he is with his\ntongue. His insults are most likely to be directed against the very\nkind of man I have described, because people of different tastes can\nnever be friends, and the sight of pre-eminent merit is apt to\nraise the secret ire of a ne'er-do-well. What Goethe says in the\n_West\u00f6stlicher Divan_ is quite true, that it is useless to complain\nagainst your enemies; for they can never become your friends, if your\nwhole being is a standing reproach to them:--\n\n  _Was klagst du \u00fcber Feinde?\n  Sollten Solche je warden Freunde\n  Denen das Wesen, wie du bist,\n  Im stillen ein ewiger Vorwurf ist_?\n\n[Footnote 1: _De Constantia_, 11.]\n\nIt is obvious that people of this worthless description have good\ncause to be thankful to the principle of honor, because it puts them\non a level with people who in every other respect stand far above\nthem. If a fellow likes to insult any one, attribute to him,\nfor example, some bad quality, this is taken _prima facie_ as a\nwell-founded opinion, true in fact; a decree, as it were, with all the\nforce of law; nay, if it is not at once wiped out in blood, it is a\njudgment which holds good and valid to all time. In other words,\nthe man who is insulted remains--in the eyes of all _honorable\npeople_--what the man who uttered the insult--even though he were the\ngreatest wretch on earth--was pleased to call him; for he has _put\nup with_ the insult--the technical term, I believe. Accordingly, all\n_honorable people_ will have nothing more to do with him, and treat\nhim like a leper, and, it may be, refuse to go into any company where\nhe may be found, and so on.\n\nThis wise proceeding may, I think, be traced back to the fact that in\nthe Middle Age, up to the fifteenth century, it was not the accuser in\nany criminal process who had to prove the guilt of the accused, but\nthe accused who had to prove his innocence.[1] This he could do by\nswearing he was not guilty; and his backers--_consacramentales_--had\nto come and swear that in their opinion he was incapable of perjury.\nIf he could find no one to help him in this way, or the accuser took\nobjection to his backers, recourse was had to trial by _the Judgment\nof God_, which generally meant a duel. For the accused was now _in\ndisgrace_,[2] and had to clear himself. Here, then, is the origin\nof the notion of disgrace, and of that whole system which prevails\nnow-a-days amongst _honorable people_--only that the oath is omitted.\nThis is also the explanation of that deep feeling of indignation which\n_honorable people_ are called upon to show if they are given the lie;\nit is a reproach which they say must be wiped out in blood. It seldom\ncomes to this pass, however, though lies are of common occurrence; but\nin England, more than elsewhere, it is a superstition which has taken\nvery deep root. As a matter of order, a man who threatens to kill\nanother for telling a lie should never have told one himself. The\nfact is, that the criminal trial of the Middle Age also admitted of a\nshorter form. In reply to the charge, the accused answered: _That is\na lie_; whereupon it was left to be decided by _the Judgment of God_.\nHence, the code of knightly honor prescribes that, when the lie is\ngiven, an appeal to arms follows as a matter of course. So much, then,\nfor the theory of insult.\n\n[Footnote 1: See C.G. von Waehter's _Beitr\u00e4ge zur deutschen\nGeschichte_, especially the chapter on criminal law.]\n\n[Footnote 2: _Translator's Note_.--It is true that this expression has\nanother special meaning in the technical terminology of Chivalry,\nbut it is the nearest English equivalent which I can find for the\nGerman--_ein Bescholtener_]\n\nBut there is something even worse than insult, something so dreadful\nthat I must beg pardon of all _honorable people_ for so much as\nmentioning it in this code of knightly honor; for I know they will\nshiver, and their hair will stand on end, at the very thought of\nit--the _summum malum_, the greatest evil on earth, worse than death\nand damnation. A man may give another--_horrible dictu_!--a slap or a\nblow. This is such an awful thing, and so utterly fatal to all\nhonor, that, while any other species of insult may be healed by\nblood-letting, this can be cured only by the _coup-de-grace_.\n\n(3.) In the third place, this kind of honor has absolutely nothing\nto do with what a man may be in and for himself; or, again, with the\nquestion whether his moral character can ever become better or worse,\nand all such pedantic inquiries. If your honor happens to be attacked,\nor to all appearances gone, it can very soon be restored in its\nentirety if you are only quick enough in having recourse to the one\nuniversal remedy--_a duel_. But if the aggressor does not belong to\nthe classes which recognize the code of knightly honor, or has himself\nonce offended against it, there is a safer way of meeting any attack\nupon your honor, whether it consists in blows, or merely in words.\nIf you are armed, you can strike down your opponent on the spot, or\nperhaps an hour later. This will restore your honor.\n\nBut if you wish to avoid such an extreme step, from fear of any\nunpleasant consequences arising therefrom, or from uncertainty as to\nwhether the aggressor is subject to the laws of knightly honor or\nnot, there is another means of making your position good, namely, the\n_Avantage_. This consists in returning rudeness with still greater\nrudeness; and if insults are no use, you can try a blow, which forms a\nsort of climax in the redemption of your honor; for instance, a box on\nthe ear may be cured by a blow with a stick, and a blow with a stick\nby a thrashing with a horsewhip; and, as the approved remedy for this\nlast, some people recommend you to spit at your opponent.[1] If all\nthese means are of no avail, you must not shrink from drawing blood.\nAnd the reason for these methods of wiping out insult is, in this\ncode, as follows:\n\n[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. It must be remembered that\nSchopenhauer is here describing, or perhaps caricaturing the manners\nand customs of the German aristocracy of half a century ago. Now, of\ncourse, _nous avons change tout cela_!]\n\n(4.) To receive an insult is disgraceful; to give one, honorable. Let\nme take an example. My opponent has truth, right and reason on his\nside. Very well. I insult him. Thereupon right and honor leave him and\ncome to me, and, for the time being, he has lost them--until he gets\nthem back, not by the exercise of right or reason, but by shooting and\nsticking me. Accordingly, rudeness is a quality which, in point of\nhonor, is a substitute for any other and outweighs them all. The\nrudest is always right. What more do you want? However stupid, bad or\nwicked a man may have been, if he is only rude into the bargain, he\ncondones and legitimizes all his faults. If in any discussion or\nconversation, another man shows more knowledge, greater love of\ntruth, a sounder judgment, better understanding than we, or generally\nexhibits intellectual qualities which cast ours into the shade, we can\nat once annul his superiority and our own shallowness, and in our turn\nbe superior to him, by being insulting and offensive. For rudeness\nis better than any argument; it totally eclipses intellect. If our\nopponent does not care for our mode of attack, and will not answer\nstill more rudely, so as to plunge us into the ignoble rivalry of\nthe _Avantage_, we are the victors and honor is on our side. Truth,\nknowledge, understanding, intellect, wit, must beat a retreat and\nleave the field to this almighty insolence.\n\n_Honorable people_ immediately make a show of mounting their\nwar-horse, if anyone utters an opinion adverse to theirs, or shows\nmore intelligence than they can muster; and if in any controversy\nthey are at a loss for a reply, they look about for some weapon of\nrudeness, which will serve as well and come readier to hand; so they\nretire masters of the position. It must now be obvious that people are\nquite right in applauding this principle of honor as having ennobled\nthe tone of society. This principle springs from another, which forms\nthe heart and soul of the entire code.\n\n(5.) Fifthly, the code implies that the highest court to which a man\ncan appeal in any differences he may have with another on a point of\nhonor is the court of physical force, that is, of brutality. Every\npiece of rudeness is, strictly speaking, an appeal to brutality; for\nit is a declaration that intellectual strength and moral insight are\nincompetent to decide, and that the battle must be fought out by\nphysical force--a struggle which, in the case of man, whom Franklin\ndefines as _a tool-making animal_, is decided by the weapons peculiar\nto the species; and the decision is irrevocable. This is the\nwell-known principle of _right of might_--irony, of course, like _the\nwit of a fool_, a parallel phrase. The honor of a knight may be called\nthe glory of might.\n\n(6.) Lastly, if, as we saw above, civic honor is very scrupulous in\nthe matter of _meum_ and _tuum_, paying great respect to obligations\nand a promise once made, the code we are here discussing displays, on\nthe other hand, the noblest liberality. There is only one word which\nmay not be broken, _the word of honor_--upon my _honor_, as people\nsay--the presumption being, of course, that every other form of\npromise may be broken. Nay, if the worst comes to the worst, it\nis easy to break even one's word of honor, and still remain\nhonorable--again by adopting that universal remedy, the duel, and\nfighting with those who maintain that we pledged our word. Further,\nthere is one debt, and one alone, that under no circumstances must be\nleft unpaid--a gambling debt, which has accordingly been called _a\ndebt of honor_. In all other kinds of debt you may cheat Jews and\nChristians as much as you like; and your knightly honor remains\nwithout a stain.\n\nThe unprejudiced reader will see at once that such a strange, savage\nand ridiculous code of honor as this has no foundation in human\nnature, nor any warrant in a healthy view of human affairs. The\nextremely narrow sphere of its operation serves only to intensify the\nfeeling, which is exclusively confined to Europe since the Middle Age,\nand then only to the upper classes, officers and soldiers, and people\nwho imitate them. Neither Greeks nor Romans knew anything of this code\nof honor or of its principles; nor the highly civilized nations of\nAsia, ancient or modern. Amongst them no other kind of honor is\nrecognized but that which I discussed first, in virtue of which a man\nis what he shows himself to be by his actions, not what any wagging\ntongue is pleased to say of him. They thought that what a man said or\ndid might perhaps affect his own honor, but not any other man's. To\nthem, a blow was but a blow--and any horse or donkey could give a\nharder one--a blow which under certain circumstances might make a man\nangry and demand immediate vengeance; but it had nothing to do with\nhonor. No one kept account of blows or insulting words, or of the\n_satisfaction_ which was demanded or omitted to be demanded. Yet in\npersonal bravery and contempt of death, the ancients were certainly\nnot inferior to the nations of Christian Europe. The Greeks and Romans\nwere thorough heroes, if you like; but they knew nothing about\n_point d'honneur_. If _they_ had any idea of a duel, it was totally\nunconnected with the life of the nobles; it was merely the exhibition\nof mercenary gladiators, slaves devoted to slaughter, condemned\ncriminals, who, alternately with wild beasts, were set to butcher one\nanother to make a Roman holiday. When Christianity was introduced,\ngladiatorial shows were done away with, and their place taken, in\nChristian times, by the duel, which was a way of settling difficulties\nby _the Judgment of God_.\n\nIf the gladiatorial fight was a cruel sacrifice to the prevailing\ndesire for great spectacles, dueling is a cruel sacrifice to existing\nprejudices--a sacrifice, not of criminals, slaves and prisoners, but\nof the noble and the free.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. These and other remarks on dueling\nwill no doubt wear a belated look to English readers; but they are\nhardly yet antiquated for most parts of the Continent.]\n\nThere are a great many traits in the character of the ancients which\nshow that they were entirely free from these prejudices. When, for\ninstance, Marius was summoned to a duel by a Teutonic chief, he\nreturned answer to the effect that, if the chief were tired of his\nlife, he might go and hang himself; at the same time he offered him a\nveteran gladiator for a round or two. Plutarch relates in his life of\nThemistocles that Eurybiades, who was in command of the fleet, once\nraised his stick to strike him; whereupon Themistocles, instead of\ndrawing his sword, simply said: _Strike, but hear me_. How sorry the\nreader must be, if he is an _honorable_ man, to find that we have no\ninformation that the Athenian officers refused in a body to serve any\nlonger under Themistocles, if he acted like that! There is a modern\nFrench writer who declares that if anyone considers Demosthenes a man\nof honor, his ignorance will excite a smile of pity; and that Cicero\nwas not a man of honor either![1] In a certain passage in Plato's\n_Laws_[2] the philosopher speaks at length of [Greek: aikia] or\n_assault_, showing us clearly enough that the ancients had no notion\nof any feeling of honor in connection with such matters. Socrates'\nfrequent discussions were often followed by his being severely\nhandled, and he bore it all mildly. Once, for instance, when somebody\nkicked him, the patience with which he took the insult surprised\none of his friends. _Do you think_, said Socrates, _that if an ass\nhappened to kick me, I should resent it_?[3] On another occasion, when\nhe was asked, _Has not that fellow abused and insulted you? No_, was\nhis answer, _what he says is not addressed to me_[4] Stobaeus has\npreserved a long passage from Musonius, from which we can see how the\nancients treated insults. They knew no other form of satisfaction than\nthat which the law provided, and wise people despised even this. If a\nGreek received a box on the ear, he could get satisfaction by the aid\nof the law; as is evident from Plato's _Gorgias_, where Socrates'\nopinion may be found. The same thing may be seen in the account given\nby Gellius of one Lucius Veratius, who had the audacity to give some\nRoman citizens whom he met on the road a box on the ear, without any\nprovocation whatever; but to avoid any ulterior consequences, he\ntold a slave to bring a bag of small money, and on the spot paid\nthe trivial legal penalty to the men whom he had astonished by his\nconduct.\n\n[Footnote 1:_litteraires_: par C. Durand. Rouen, 1828.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Bk. IX.].\n\n[Footnote 3: Diogenes Laertius, ii., 21.]\n\n[Footnote 4: _Ibid_ 36.]\n\nCrates, the celebrated Cynic philosopher, got such a box on the ear\nfrom Nicodromus, the musician, that his face swelled up and became\nblack and blue; whereupon he put a label on his forehead, with the\ninscription, _Nicodromus fecit_, which brought much disgrace to the\nfluteplayer who had committed such a piece of brutality upon the man\nwhom all Athens honored as a household god.[1] And in a letter to\nMelesippus, Diogenes of Sinope tells us that he got a beating from the\ndrunken sons of the Athenians; but he adds that it was a matter of no\nimportance.[2] And Seneca devotes the last few chapters of his _De\nConstantia_ to a lengthy discussion on insult--_contumelia_; in order\nto show that a wise man will take no notice of it. In Chapter XIV, he\nsays, _What shall a wise man do, if he is given a blow? What Cato did,\nwhen some one struck him on the mouth;--not fire up or avenge the\ninsult, or even return the blow, but simply ignore it_.\n\n[Footnote 1: Diogenes Laertius, vi. 87, and Apul: Flor: p. 126.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Cf. Casaubon's Note, Diog. Laert., vi. 33.]\n\n_Yes_, you say, _but these men were philosophers_.--And you are fools,\neh? Precisely.\n\nIt is clear that the whole code of knightly honor was utterly unknown\nto the ancients; for the simple reason that they always took a natural\nand unprejudiced view of human affairs, and did not allow themselves\nto be influenced by any such vicious and abominable folly. A blow\nin the face was to them a blow and nothing more, a trivial physical\ninjury; whereas the moderns make a catastrophe out of it, a theme for\na tragedy; as, for instance, in the _Cid_ of Corneille, or in a\nrecent German comedy of middle-class life, called _The Power of\nCircumstance_, which should have been entitled _The Power of\nPrejudice_. If a member of the National Assembly at Paris got a blow\non the ear, it would resound from one end of Europe to the other. The\nexamples which I have given of the way in which such an occurrence\nwould have been treated in classic times may not suit the ideas of\n_honorable people_; so let me recommend to their notice, as a kind of\nantidote, the story of Monsieur Desglands in Diderot's masterpiece,\n_Jacques le fataliste_. It is an excellent specimen of modern knightly\nhonor, which, no doubt, they will find enjoyable and edifying.[1]\n\n[Footnote: 1: _Translator's Note_. The story to which Schopenhauer\nhere refers is briefly as follows: Two gentlemen, one of whom was\nnamed Desglands, were paying court to the same lady. As they sat at\ntable side by side, with the lady opposite, Desglands did his best to\ncharm her with his conversation; but she pretended not to hear him,\nand kept looking at his rival. In the agony of jealousy, Desglands, as\nhe was holding a fresh egg in his hand, involuntarily crushed it; the\nshell broke, and its contents bespattered his rival's face. Seeing him\nraise his hand, Desglands seized it and whispered: _Sir, I take it as\ngiven_. The next day Desglands appeared with a large piece of black\nsticking-plaster upon his right cheek. In the duel which followed,\nDesglands severely wounded his rival; upon which he reduced the size\nof the plaster. When his rival recovered, they had another duel;\nDesglands drew blood again, and again made his plaster a little\nsmaller; and so on for five or six times. After every duel Desglands'\nplaster grew less and less, until at last his rival.]\n\nFrom what I have said it must be quite evident that the principle\nof knightly honor has no essential and spontaneous origin in human\nnature. It is an artificial product, and its source is not hard to\nfind. Its existence obviously dates from the time when people used\ntheir fists more than their heads, when priestcraft had enchained the\nhuman intellect, the much bepraised Middle Age, with its system of\nchivalry. That was the time when people let the Almighty not only care\nfor them but judge for them too; when difficult cases were decided by\nan ordeal, a _Judgment of God_; which, with few exceptions, meant\na duel, not only where nobles were concerned, but in the case of\nordinary citizens as well. There is a neat illustration of this in\nShakespeare's Henry VI.[1] Every judicial sentence was subject to an\nappeal to arms--a court, as it were, of higher instance, namely, _the\nJudgment of God_: and this really meant that physical strength and\nactivity, that is, our animal nature, usurped the place of reason on\nthe judgment seat, deciding in matters of right and wrong, not by what\na man had done, but by the force with which he was opposed, the same\nsystem, in fact, as prevails to-day under the principles of knightly\nhonor. If any one doubts that such is really the origin of our modern\nduel, let him read an excellent work by J.B. Millingen, _The History\nof Dueling_.[2] Nay, you may still find amongst the supporters of\nthe system,--who, by the way are not usually the most educated or\nthoughtful of men,--some who look upon the result of a duel as really\nconstituting a divine judgment in the matter in dispute; no doubt in\nconsequence of the traditional feeling on the subject.\n\nBut leaving aside the question of origin, it must now be clear to us\nthat the main tendency of the principle is to use physical menace for\nthe purpose of extorting an appearance of respect which is deemed too\ndifficult or superfluous to acquire in reality; a proceeding which\ncomes to much the same thing as if you were to prove the warmth of\nyour room by holding your hand on the thermometer and so make it rise.\nIn fact, the kernel of the matter is this: whereas civic honor aims\nat peaceable intercourse, and consists in the opinion of other people\nthat _we deserve full confidence_, because we pay unconditional\nrespect to their rights; knightly honor, on the other hand, lays\ndown that _we are to be feared_, as being determined at all costs to\nmaintain our own.\n\nAs not much reliance can be placed upon human integrity, the principle\nthat it is more essential to arouse fear than to invite confidence\nwould not, perhaps, be a false one, if we were living in a state of\nnature, where every man would have to protect himself and directly\nmaintain his own rights. But in civilized life, where the State\nundertakes the protection of our person and property, the principle is\nno longer applicable: it stands, like the castles and watch-towers of\nthe age when might was right, a useless and forlorn object, amidst\nwell-tilled fields and frequented roads, or even railways.\n\nAccordingly, the application of knightly honor, which still recognizes\nthis principle, is confined to those small cases of personal assault\nwhich meet with but slight punishment at the hands of the law, or even\nnone at all, for _de minimis non_,--mere trivial wrongs, committed\nsometimes only in jest. The consequence of this limited application of\nthe principle is that it has forced itself into an exaggerated respect\nfor the value of the person,--a respect utterly alien to the nature,\nconstitution or destiny of man--which it has elated into a species\nof sanctity: and as it considers that the State has imposed a very\ninsufficient penalty on the commission of such trivial injuries, it\ntakes upon itself to punish them by attacking the aggressor in life\nor limb. The whole thing manifestly rests upon an excessive degree\nof arrogant pride, which, completely forgetting what man really is,\nclaims that he shall be absolutely free from all attack or even\ncensure. Those who determine to carry out this principle by main\nforce, and announce, as their rule of action, _whoever insults or\nstrikes me shall die_! ought for their pains to be banished the\ncountry.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Knightly honor is the child of pride and folly, and it is\n_needy_ not pride, which is the heritage of the human race. It is a\nvery remarkable fact that this extreme form of pride should be found\nexclusively amongst the adherents of the religion which teaches the\ndeepest humility. Still, this pride must not be put down to religion,\nbut, rather, to the feudal system, which made every nobleman a petty\nsovereign who recognized no human judge, and learned to regard his\nperson as sacred and inviolable, and any attack upon it, or any blow\nor insulting word, as an offence punishable with death. The principle\nof knightly honor and of the duel were at first confined to the\nnobles, and, later on, also to officers in the army, who, enjoying a\nkind of off-and-on relationship with the upper classes, though they\nwere never incorporated with them, were anxious not to be behind them.\nIt is true that duels were the product of the old ordeals; but\nthe latter are not the foundation, but rather the consequence and\napplication of the principle of honor: the man who recognized no human\njudge appealed to the divine. Ordeals, however, are not peculiar to\nChristendom: they may be found in great force among the Hindoos,\nespecially of ancient times; and there are traces of them even now.]\n\nAs a palliative to this rash arrogance, people are in the habit of\ngiving way on everything. If two intrepid persons meet, and neither\nwill give way, the slightest difference may cause a shower of abuse,\nthen fisticuffs, and, finally, a fatal blow: so that it would really\nbe a more decorous proceeding to omit the intermediate steps and\nappeal to arms at once. An appeal to arms has its own special\nformalities; and these have developed into a rigid and precise system\nof laws and regulations, together forming the most solemn farce there\nis--a regular temple of honor dedicated to folly! For if two intrepid\npersons dispute over some trivial matter, (more important affairs are\ndealt with by law), one of them, the cleverer of the two, will of\ncourse yield; and they will agree to differ. That this is so is proved\nby the fact that common people,--or, rather, the numerous classes of\nthe community who do not acknowledge the principle of knightly honor,\nlet any dispute run its natural course. Amongst these classes homicide\nis a hundredfold rarer than amongst those--and they amount, perhaps,\nin all, to hardly one in a thousand,--who pay homage to the principle:\nand even blows are of no very frequent occurrence.\n\nThen it has been said that the manners and tone of good society are\nultimately based upon this principle of honor, which, with its system\nof duels, is made out to be a bulwark against the assaults of savagery\nand rudeness. But Athens, Corinth and Rome could assuredly boast of\ngood, nay, excellent society, and manners and tone of a high order,\nwithout any support from the bogey of knightly honor. It is true that\nwomen did not occupy that prominent place in ancient society which\nthey hold now, when conversation has taken on a frivolous and\ntrifling character, to the exclusion of that weighty discourse which\ndistinguished the ancients.\n\nThis change has certainly contributed a great deal to bring about the\ntendency, which is observable in good society now-a-days, to prefer\npersonal courage to the possession of any other quality. The fact is\nthat personal courage is really a very subordinate virtue,--merely the\ndistinguishing mark of a subaltern,--a virtue, indeed, in which we are\nsurpassed by the lower animals; or else you would not hear people say,\n_as brave as a lion_. Far from being the pillar of society, knightly\nhonor affords a sure asylum, in general for dishonesty and wickedness,\nand also for small incivilities, want of consideration and\nunmannerliness. Rude behavior is often passed over in silence because\nno one cares to risk his neck in correcting it.\n\nAfter what I have said, it will not appear strange that the dueling\nsystem is carried to the highest pitch of sanguinary zeal precisely in\nthat nation whose political and financial records show that they\nare not too honorable. What that nation is like in its private and\ndomestic life, is a question which may be best put to those who are\nexperienced in the matter. Their urbanity and social culture have long\nbeen conspicuous by their absence.\n\nThere is no truth, then, in such pretexts. It can be urged with more\njustice that as, when you snarl at a dog, he snarls in return, and\nwhen you pet him, he fawns; so it lies in the nature of men to return\nhostility by hostility, and to be embittered and irritated at any\nsigns of depreciatory treatment or hatred: and, as Cicero says, _there\nis something so penetrating in the shaft of envy that even men of\nwisdom and worth find its wound a painful one_; and nowhere in the\nworld, except, perhaps, in a few religious sects, is an insult or a\nblow taken with equanimity. And yet a natural view of either would\nin no case demand anything more than a requital proportionate to the\noffence, and would never go to the length of assigning _death_ as the\nproper penalty for anyone who accuses another of lying or stupidity or\ncowardice. The old German theory of _blood for a blow_ is a revolting\nsuperstition of the age of chivalry. And in any case the return or\nrequital of an insult is dictated by anger, and not by any such\nobligation of honor and duty as the advocates of chivalry seek to\nattach to it. The fact is that, the greater the truth, the greater\nthe slander; and it is clear that the slightest hint of some real\ndelinquency will give much greater offence than a most terrible\naccusation which is perfectly baseless: so that a man who is quite\nsure that he has done nothing to deserve a reproach may treat it with\ncontempt, and will be safe in doing so. The theory of honor demands\nthat he shall show a susceptibility which he does not possess, and\ntake bloody vengeance for insults which he cannot feel. A man must\nhimself have but a poor opinion of his own worth who hastens to\nprevent the utterance of an unfavorable opinion by giving his enemy a\nblack eye.\n\nTrue appreciation of his own value will make a man really indifferent\nto insult; but if he cannot help resenting it, a little shrewdness and\nculture will enable him to save appearances and dissemble his anger.\nIf he could only get rid of this superstition about honor--the idea, I\nmean, that it disappears when you are insulted, and can be restored by\nreturning the insult; if we could only stop people from thinking\nthat wrong, brutality and insolence can be legalized by expressing\nreadiness to give satisfaction, that is, to fight in defence of it,\nwe should all soon come to the general opinion that insult and\ndepreciation are like a battle in which the loser wins; and that, as\nVincenzo Monti says, abuse resembles a church-procession, because it\nalways returns to the point from which it set out. If we could only\nget people to look upon insult in this light, we should no longer have\nto say something rude in order to prove that we are in the right. Now,\nunfortunately, if we want to take a serious view of any question, we\nhave first of all to consider whether it will not give offence in some\nway or other to the dullard, who generally shows alarm and resentment\nat the merest sign of intelligence; and it may easily happen that the\nhead which contains the intelligent view has to be pitted against the\nnoodle which is empty of everything but narrowness and stupidity. If\nall this were done away with, intellectual superiority could take\nthe leading place in society which is its due--a place now occupied,\nthough people do not like to confess it, by excellence of physique,\nmere fighting pluck, in fact; and the natural effect of such a change\nwould be that the best kind of people would have one reason the\nless for withdrawing from society. This would pave the way for the\nintroduction of real courtesy and genuinely good society, such as\nundoubtedly existed in Athens, Corinth and Rome. If anyone wants\nto see a good example of what I mean, I should like him to read\nXenophon's _Banquet_.\n\nThe last argument in defence of knightly honor no doubt is, that,\nbut for its existence, the world--awful thought!--would be a regular\nbear-garden. To which I may briefly reply that nine hundred and\nninety-nine people out of a thousand who do not recognize the code,\nhave often given and received a blow without any fatal consequences:\nwhereas amongst the adherents of the code a blow usually means death\nto one of the parties. But let me examine this argument more closely.\n\nI have often tried to find some tenable, or at any rate, plausible\nbasis--other than a merely conventional one--some positive reasons,\nthat is to say, for the rooted conviction which a portion of mankind\nentertains, that a blow is a very dreadful thing; but I have looked\nfor it in vain, either in the animal or in the rational side of human\nnature. A blow is, and always will be, a trivial physical injury which\none man can do to another; proving, thereby, nothing more than his\nsuperiority in strength or skill, or that his enemy was off his guard.\nAnalysis will carry us no further. The same knight who regards a blow\nfrom the human hand as the greatest of evils, if he gets a ten times\nharder blow from his horse, will give you the assurance, as he limps\naway in suppressed pain, that it is a matter of no consequence\nwhatever. So I have come to think that it is the human hand which is\nat the bottom of the mischief. And yet in a battle the knight may get\ncuts and thrusts from the same hand, and still assure you that his\nwounds are not worth mentioning. Now, I hear that a blow from the flat\nof a sword is not by any means so bad as a blow from a stick; and\nthat, a short time ago, cadets were liable to be punished by the one\nbut not the other, and that the very greatest honor of all is the\n_accolade_. This is all the psychological or moral basis that I can\nfind; and so there is nothing left me but to pronounce the whole thing\nan antiquated superstition that has taken deep root, and one more\nof the many examples which show the force of tradition. My view is\nconfirmed by the well-known fact that in China a beating with a bamboo\nis a very frequent punishment for the common people, and even for\nofficials of every class; which shows that human nature, even in a\nhighly civilized state, does not run in the same groove here and in\nChina.\n\nOn the contrary, an unprejudiced view of human nature shows that it is\njust as natural for a man to beat as it is for savage animals to bite\nand rend in pieces, or for horned beasts to butt or push. Man may be\nsaid to be the animal that beats. Hence it is revolting to our sense\nof the fitness of things to hear, as we sometimes do, that one man\nbitten another; on the other hand, it is a natural and everyday\noccurrence for him to get blows or give them. It is intelligible\nenough that, as we become educated, we are glad to dispense with blows\nby a system of mutual restraint. But it is a cruel thing to compel a\nnation or a single class to regard a blow as an awful misfortune which\nmust have death and murder for its consequences. There are too\nmany genuine evils in the world to allow of our increasing them by\nimaginary misfortunes, which brings real ones in their train: and yet\nthis is the precise effect of the superstition, which thus proves\nitself at once stupid and malign.\n\nIt does not seem to me wise of governments and legislative bodies to\npromote any such folly by attempting to do away with flogging as a\npunishment in civil or military life. Their idea is that they are\nacting in the interests of humanity; but, in point of fact, they are\ndoing just the opposite; for the abolition of flogging will serve only\nto strengthen this inhuman and abominable superstition, to which so\nmany sacrifices have already been made. For all offences, except the\nworst, a beating is the obvious, and therefore the natural penalty;\nand a man who will not listen to reason will yield to blows. It seems\nto me right and proper to administer corporal punishment to the man\nwho possesses nothing and therefore cannot be fined, or cannot be put\nin prison because his master's interests would suffer by the loss of\nhis service. There are really no arguments against it: only mere talk\nabout _the dignity of man_--talk which proceeds, not from any clear\nnotions on the subject, but from the pernicious superstition I have\nbeen describing. That it is a superstition which lies at the bottom of\nthe whole business is proved by an almost laughable example. Not\nlong ago, in the military discipline of many countries, the cat was\nreplaced by the stick. In either case the object was to produce\nphysical pain; but the latter method involved no disgrace, and was not\nderogatory to honor.\n\nBy promoting this superstition, the State is playing into the hands of\nthe principle of knightly honor, and therefore of the duel; while at\nthe same time it is trying, or at any rate it pretends it is trying,\nto abolish the duel by legislative enactment. As a natural consequence\nwe find that this fragment of the theory that _might is right_, which\nhas come down to us from the most savage days of the Middle Age, has\nstill in this nineteenth century a good deal of life left in it--more\nshame to us! It is high time for the principle to be driven out bag\nand baggage. Now-a-days no one is allowed to set dogs or cocks to\nfight each other,--at any rate, in England it is a penal offence,--but\nmen are plunged into deadly strife, against their will, by the\noperation of this ridiculous, superstitious and absurd principle,\nwhich imposes upon us the obligation, as its narrow-minded supporters\nand advocates declare, of fighting with one another like gladiators,\nfor any little trifle. Let me recommend our purists to adopt the\nexpression _baiting_[1] instead of _duel_, which probably comes to us,\nnot from the Latin _duellum_, but from the Spanish _duelo_,--meaning\nsuffering, nuisance, annoyance.\n\n[Footnote 1: _Ritterhetze_]\n\nIn any case, we may well laugh at the pedantic excess to which this\nfoolish system has been carried. It is really revolting that this\nprinciple, with its absurd code, can form a power within the\nState--_imperium in imperio_--a power too easily put in motion, which,\nrecognizing no right but might, tyrannizes over the classes which come\nwithin its range, by keeping up a sort of inquisition, before which\nany one may be haled on the most flimsy pretext, and there and then be\ntried on an issue of life and death between himself and his opponent.\nThis is the lurking place from which every rascal, if he only belongs\nto the classes in question, may menace and even exterminate the\nnoblest and best of men, who, as such, must of course be an object of\nhatred to him. Our system of justice and police-protection has made it\nimpossible in these days for any scoundrel in the street to attack us\nwith--_Your money or your life_! An end should be put to the burden\nwhich weighs upon the higher classes--the burden, I mean, of having to\nbe ready every moment to expose life and limb to the mercy of anyone\nwho takes it into his rascally head to be coarse, rude, foolish or\nmalicious. It is perfectly atrocious that a pair of silly, passionate\nboys should be wounded, maimed or even killed, simply because they\nhave had a few words.\n\nThe strength of this tyrannical power within the State, and the force\nof the superstition, may be measured by the fact that people who are\nprevented from restoring their knightly honor by the superior or\ninferior rank of their aggressor, or anything else that puts the\npersons on a different level, often come to a tragic-comic end by\ncommitting suicide in sheer despair. You may generally know a thing\nto be false and ridiculous by finding that, if it is carried to its\nlogical conclusion, it results in a contradiction; and here, too, we\nhave a very glaring absurdity. For an officer is forbidden to take\npart in a duel; but if he is challenged and declines to come out, he\nis punished by being dismissed the service.\n\nAs I am on the matter, let me be more frank still. The important\ndistinction, which is often insisted upon, between killing your enemy\nin a fair fight with equal weapons, and lying in ambush for him, is\nentirely a corollary of the fact that the power within the State, of\nwhich I have spoken, recognizes no other right than might, that is,\nthe right of the stronger, and appeals to a _Judgment of God_ as the\nbasis of the whole code. For to kill a man in a fair fight, is to\nprove that you are superior to him in strength or skill; and to\njustify the deed, _you must assume that the right of the stronger is\nreally a right_.\n\nBut the truth is that, if my opponent is unable to defend himself, it\ngives me the possibility, but not by any means the right, of killing\nhim. The _right_, the _moral justification_, must depend entirely upon\nthe _motives_ which I have for taking his life. Even supposing that I\nhave sufficient motive for taking a man's life, there is no reason\nwhy I should make his death depend upon whether I can shoot or fence\nbetter than he. In such a case, it is immaterial in what way I kill\nhim, whether I attack him from the front or the rear. From a moral\npoint of view, the right of the stronger is no more convincing than\nthe right of the more skillful; and it is skill which is employed if\nyou murder a a man treacherously. Might and skill are in this case\nequally right; in a duel, for instance, both the one and the other\ncome into play; for a feint is only another name for treachery. If I\nconsider myself morally justified in taking a man's life, it is stupid\nof me to try first of all whether he can shoot or fence better than\nI; as, if he can, he will not only have wronged me, but have taken my\nlife into the bargain.\n\nIt is Rousseau's opinion that the proper way to avenge an insult is,\nnot to fight a duel with your aggressor, but to assassinate him,--an\nopinion, however, which he is cautious enough only to barely indicate\nin a mysterious note to one of the books of his _Emile_. This shows\nthe philosopher so completely under the influence of the mediaeval\nsuperstition of knightly honor that he considers it justifiable to\nmurder a man who accuses you of lying: whilst he must have known that\nevery man, and himself especially, has deserved to have the lie given\nhim times without number.\n\nThe prejudice which justifies the killing of your adversary, so long\nas it is done in an open contest and with equal weapons, obviously\nlooks upon might as really right, and a duel as the interference of\nGod. The Italian who, in a fit of rage, falls upon his aggressor\nwherever he finds him, and despatches him without any ceremony, acts,\nat any rate, consistently and naturally: he may be cleverer, but he is\nnot worse, than the duelist. If you say, I am justified in killing my\nadversary in a duel, because he is at the moment doing his best to\nkill me; I can reply that it is your challenge which has placed him\nunder the necessity of defending himself; and that by mutually putting\nit on the ground of self-defence, the combatants are seeking a\nplausible pretext for committing murder. I should rather justify the\ndeed by the legal maxim _Volenti non fit injuria_; because the parties\nmutually agree to set their life upon the issue.\n\nThis argument may, however, be rebutted by showing that the injured\nparty is not injured _volens_; because it is this tyrannical principle\nof knightly honor, with its absurd code, which forcibly drags one at\nleast of the combatants before a bloody inquisition.\n\nI have been rather prolix on the subject of knightly honor, but I\nhad good reason for being so, because the Augean stable of moral and\nintellectual enormity in this world can be cleaned out only with the\nbesom of philosophy. There are two things which more than all\nelse serve to make the social arrangements of modern life compare\nunfavorably with those of antiquity, by giving our age a gloomy, dark\nand sinister aspect, from which antiquity, fresh, natural and, as it\nwere, in the morning of life, is completely free; I mean modern honor\nand modern disease,--_par nobile fratrum_!--which have combined to\npoison all the relations of life, whether public or private. The\nsecond of this noble pair extends its influence much farther than at\nfirst appears to be the case, as being not merely a physical, but also\na moral disease. From the time that poisoned arrows have been found\nin Cupid's quiver, an estranging, hostile, nay, devilish element has\nentered into the relations of men and women, like a sinister thread\nof fear and mistrust in the warp and woof of their intercourse;\nindirectly shaking the foundations of human fellowship, and so more or\nless affecting the whole tenor of existence. But it would be beside my\npresent purpose to pursue the subject further.\n\nAn influence analogous to this, though working on other lines, is\nexerted by the principle of knightly honor,--that solemn farce,\nunknown to the ancient world, which makes modern society stiff, gloomy\nand timid, forcing us to keep the strictest watch on every word that\nfalls. Nor is this all. The principle is a universal Minotaur; and the\ngoodly company of the sons of noble houses which it demands in yearly\ntribute, comes, not from one country alone, as of old, but from every\nland in Europe. It is high time to make a regular attack upon this\nfoolish system; and this is what I am trying to do now. Would that\nthese two monsters of the modern world might disappear before the end\nof the century!\n\nLet us hope that medicine may be able to find some means of preventing\nthe one, and that, by clearing our ideals, philosophy may put an end\nto the other: for it is only by clearing our ideas that the evil can\nbe eradicated. Governments have tried to do so by legislation, and\nfailed.\n\nStill, if they are really concerned to stop the dueling system; and if\nthe small success that has attended their efforts is really due only\nto their inability to cope with the evil, I do not mind proposing a\nlaw the success of which I am prepared to guarantee. It will involve\nno sanguinary measures, and can be put into operation without recourse\neither to the scaffold or the gallows, or to imprisonment for life. It\nis a small homeopathic pilule, with no serious after effects. If any\nman send or accept a challenge, let the corporal take him before the\nguard house, and there give him, in broad daylight, twelve strokes\nwith a stick _a la Chinoise_; a non-commissioned officer or a private\nto receive six. If a duel has actually taken place, the usual criminal\nproceedings should be instituted.\n\nA person with knightly notions might, perhaps, object that, if such\na punishment were carried out, a man of honor would possibly shoot\nhimself; to which I should answer that it is better for a fool like\nthat to shoot himself rather than other people. However, I know very\nwell that governments are not really in earnest about putting down\ndueling. Civil officials, and much more so, officers in the army,\n(except those in the highest positions), are paid most inadequately\nfor the services they perform; and the deficiency is made up by honor,\nwhich is represented by titles and orders, and, in general, by the\nsystem of rank and distinction. The duel is, so to speak, a very\nserviceable extra-horse for people of rank: so they are trained in the\nknowledge of it at the universities. The accidents which happen to\nthose who use it make up in blood for the deficiency of the pay.\n\nJust to complete the discussion, let me here mention the subject\nof _national honor_. It is the honor of a nation as a unit in the\naggregate of nations. And as there is no court to appeal to but the\ncourt of force; and as every nation must be prepared to defend its own\ninterests, the honor of a nation consists in establishing the opinion,\nnot only that it may be trusted (its credit), but also that it is to\nbe feared. An attack upon its rights must never be allowed to pass\nunheeded. It is a combination of civic and knightly honor.\n\n\n_Section 5.--Fame_.\n\n\nUnder the heading of place in the estimation of the world we have put\n_Fame_; and this we must now proceed to consider.\n\nFame and honor are twins; and twins, too, like Castor and Pollux, of\nwhom the one was mortal and the other was not. Fame is the undying\nbrother of ephemeral honor. I speak, of course, of the highest kind of\nfame, that is, of fame in the true and genuine sense of the word; for,\nto be sure, there are many sorts of fame, some of which last but a\nday. Honor is concerned merely with such qualities as everyone may be\nexpected to show under similar circumstances; fame only of those which\ncannot be required of any man. Honor is of qualities which everyone\nhas a right to attribute to himself; fame only of those which should\nbe left to others to attribute. Whilst our honor extends as far as\npeople have knowledge of us; fame runs in advance, and makes us known\nwherever it finds its way. Everyone can make a claim to honor; very\nfew to fame, as being attainable only in virtue of extraordinary\nachievements.\n\nThese achievements may be of two kinds, either _actions_ or _works_;\nand so to fame there are two paths open. On the path of actions, a\ngreat heart is the chief recommendation; on that of works, a great\nhead. Each of the two paths has its own peculiar advantages and\ndetriments; and the chief difference between them is that actions are\nfleeting, while works remain. The influence of an action, be it never\nso noble, can last but a short time; but a work of genius is a living\ninfluence, beneficial and ennobling throughout the ages. All that can\nremain of actions is a memory, and that becomes weak and disfigured by\ntime--a matter of indifference to us, until at last it is extinguished\naltogether; unless, indeed, history takes it up, and presents it,\nfossilized, to posterity. Works are immortal in themselves, and once\ncommitted to writing, may live for ever. Of Alexander the Great we\nhave but the name and the record; but Plato and Aristotle, Homer and\nHorace are alive, and as directly at work to-day as they were in their\nown lifetime. The _Vedas_, and their _Upanishads_, are still with us:\nbut of all contemporaneous actions not a trace has come down to us.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Accordingly it is a poor compliment, though sometimes\na fashionable one, to try to pay honor to a work by calling it an\naction. For a work is something essentially higher in its nature.\nAn action is always something based on motive, and, therefore,\nfragmentary and fleeting--a part, in fact, of that Will which is the\nuniversal and original element in the constitution of the world. But\na great and beautiful work has a permanent character, as being of\nuniversal significance, and sprung from the Intellect, which rises,\nlike a perfume, above the faults and follies of the world of Will.\n\nThe fame of a great action has this advantage, that it generally\nstarts with a loud explosion; so loud, indeed, as to be heard all over\nEurope: whereas the fame of a great work is slow and gradual in its\nbeginnings; the noise it makes is at first slight, but it goes on\ngrowing greater, until at last, after a hundred years perhaps, it\nattains its full force; but then it remains, because the works\nremain, for thousands of years. But in the other case, when the first\nexplosion is over, the noise it makes grows less and less, and is\nheard by fewer and fewer persons; until it ends by the action having\nonly a shadowy existence in the pages of history.]\n\nAnother disadvantage under which actions labor is that they depend\nupon chance for the possibility of coming into existence; and hence,\nthe fame they win does not flow entirely from their intrinsic value,\nbut also from the circumstances which happened to lend them importance\nand lustre. Again, the fame of actions, if, as in war, they are purely\npersonal, depends upon the testimony of fewer witnesses; and these\nare not always present, and even if present, are not always just or\nunbiased observers. This disadvantage, however, is counterbalanced\nby the fact that actions have the advantage of being of a practical\ncharacter, and, therefore, within the range of general human\nintelligence; so that once the facts have been correctly reported,\njustice is immediately done; unless, indeed, the motive underlying the\naction is not at first properly understood or appreciated. No action\ncan be really understood apart from the motive which prompted it.\n\nIt is just the contrary with works. Their inception does not depend\nupon chance, but wholly and entirely upon their author; and whoever\nthey are in and for themselves, that they remain as long as they live.\nFurther, there is a difficulty in properly judging them, which becomes\nall the harder, the higher their character; often there are no persons\ncompetent to understand the work, and often no unbiased or honest\ncritics. Their fame, however, does not depend upon one judge only;\nthey can enter an appeal to another. In the case of actions, as I have\nsaid, it is only their memory which comes down to posterity, and then\nonly in the traditional form; but works are handed down themselves,\nand, except when parts of them have been lost, in the form in\nwhich they first appeared. In this case there is no room for any\ndisfigurement of the facts; and any circumstance which may have\nprejudiced them in their origin, fall away with the lapse of time.\nNay, it is often only after the lapse of time that the persons really\ncompetent to judge them appear--exceptional critics sitting in\njudgment on exceptional works, and giving their weighty verdicts in\nsuccession. These collectively form a perfectly just appreciation; and\nthough there are cases where it has taken some hundreds of years to\nform it, no further lapse of time is able to reverse the verdict;--so\nsecure and inevitable is the fame of a great work.\n\nWhether authors ever live to see the dawn of their fame depends upon\nthe chance of circumstance; and the higher and more important their\nworks are, the less likelihood there is of their doing so. That was\nan incomparable fine saying of Seneca's, that fame follows merit as\nsurely as the body casts a shadow; sometimes falling in front, and\nsometimes behind. And he goes on to remark that _though the envy of\ncontemporaries be shown by universal silence, there will come those\nwho will judge without enmity or favor_. From this remark it is\nmanifest that even in Seneca's age there were rascals who understood\nthe art of suppressing merit by maliciously ignoring its existence,\nand of concealing good work from the public in order to favor the bad:\nit is an art well understood in our day, too, manifesting itself, both\nthen and now, in _an envious conspiracy of silence_.\n\nAs a general rule, the longer a man's fame is likely to last, the\nlater it will be in coming; for all excellent products require time\nfor their development. The fame which lasts to posterity is like an\noak, of very slow growth; and that which endures but a little while,\nlike plants which spring up in a year and then die; whilst false fame\nis like a fungus, shooting up in a night and perishing as soon.\n\nAnd why? For this reason; the more a man belongs to posterity, in\nother words, to humanity in general, the more of an alien he is to his\ncontemporaries; since his work is not meant for them as such, but only\nfor them in so far as they form part of mankind at large; there is\nnone of that familiar local color about his productions which would\nappeal to them; and so what he does, fails of recognition because it\nis strange.\n\nPeople are more likely to appreciate the man who serves the\ncircumstances of his own brief hour, or the temper of the\nmoment,--belonging to it, living and dying with it.\n\nThe general history of art and literature shows that the highest\nachievements of the human mind are, as a rule, not favorably received\nat first; but remain in obscurity until they win notice from\nintelligence of a high order, by whose influence they are brought into\na position which they then maintain, in virtue of the authority thus\ngiven them.\n\nIf the reason of this should be asked, it will be found that\nultimately, a man can really understand and appreciate those things\nonly which are of like nature with himself. The dull person will like\nwhat is dull, and the common person what is common; a man whose ideas\nare mixed will be attracted by confusion of thought; and folly will\nappeal to him who has no brains at all; but best of all, a man will\nlike his own works, as being of a character thoroughly at one with\nhimself. This is a truth as old as Epicharmus of fabulous memory--\n\n  [Greek: Thaumaston ouden esti me tauth outo legein\n  Kal andanein autoisin autous kal dokein\n  Kalos pethukenai kal gar ho kuon kuni\n  Kalloton eimen phainetai koi bous boi\n  Onos dono kalliston [estin], us dut.]\n\nThe sense of this passage--for it should not be lost--is that we\nshould not be surprised if people are pleased with themselves, and\nfancy that they are in good case; for to a dog the best thing in the\nworld is a dog; to an ox, an ox; to an ass, an ass; and to a sow, a\nsow.\n\nThe strongest arm is unavailing to give impetus to a featherweight;\nfor, instead of speeding on its way and hitting its mark with effect,\nit will soon fall to the ground, having expended what little energy\nwas given to it, and possessing no mass of its own to be the vehicle\nof momentum. So it is with great and noble thoughts, nay, with the\nvery masterpieces of genius, when there are none but little, weak, and\nperverse minds to appreciate them,--a fact which has been deplored\nby a chorus of the wise in all ages. Jesus, the son of Sirach, for\ninstance, declares that _He that telleth a tale to a fool speaketh to\none in slumber: when he hath told his tale, he will say, What is the\nmatter_?[1] And Hamlet says, _A knavish speech sleeps in a fool's\near_.[2] And Goethe is of the same opinion, that a dull ear mocks at\nthe wisest word,\n\n  _Das gl\u00fccktichste Wort es wird verh\u00f6hnt,\n  Wenn der H\u00f6rer ein Schiefohr ist_:\n\nand again, that we should not be discouraged if people are stupid, for\nyou can make no rings if you throw your stone into a marsh.\n\n  _Du iwirkest nicht, Alles bleibt so stumpf:\n    Sei guter Dinge!\n  Der Stein in Sumpf\n    Macht keine Ringe_.\n\n[Footnote 1: Ecclesiasticus, xxii., 8.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Act iv., Sc. 2.]\n\nLichtenberg asks: _When a head and a book come into collision, and one\nsounds hollow, is it always the book_? And in another place: _Works\nlike this are as a mirror; if an ass looks in, you cannot expect an\napostle to look out_. We should do well to remember old Gellert's\nfine and touching lament, that the best gifts of all find the fewest\nadmirers, and that most men mistake the bad for the good,--a daily\nevil that nothing can prevent, like a plague which no remedy can cure.\nThere is but one thing to be done, though how difficult!--the foolish\nmust become wise,--and that they can never be. The value of life they\nnever know; they see with the outer eye but never with the mind, and\npraise the trivial because the good is strange to them:--\n\n  _Nie kennen sie den Werth der Dinge,\n    Ihr Auge schliesst, nicht ihr Verstand;\n  Sie loben ewig das Geringe\n    Weil sie das Gute nie gekannt_.\n\nTo the intellectual incapacity which, as Goethe says, fails to\nrecognize and appreciate the good which exists, must be added\nsomething which comes into play everywhere, the moral baseness of\nmankind, here taking the form of envy. The new fame that a man wins\nraises him afresh over the heads of his fellows, who are thus degraded\nin proportion. All conspicuous merit is obtained at the cost of those\nwho possess none; or, as Goethe has it in the _West\u00f6stlicher Divan_,\nanother's praise is one's own depreciation--\n\n  _Wenn wir Andern Ehre geben\n  M\u00fcssen wir uns selbst entadeln_.\n\nWe see, then, how it is that, whatever be the form which excellence\ntakes, mediocrity, the common lot of by far the greatest number, is\nleagued against it in a conspiracy to resist, and if possible, to\nsuppress it. The pass-word of this league is _\u00e0 bas le m\u00e9rite_. Nay\nmore; those who have done something themselves, and enjoy a certain\namount of fame, do not care about the appearance of a new reputation,\nbecause its success is apt to throw theirs into the shade. Hence,\nGoethe declares that if we had to depend for our life upon the favor\nof others, we should never have lived at all; from their desire\nto appear important themselves, people gladly ignore our very\nexistence:--\n\n  _H\u00e4tte ich gezaudert zu werden,\n  Bis man mir's Leben ge\u00f6gnut,\n  Ich w\u00e4re noch nicht auf Erden,\n  Wie ihr begreifen k\u00f6nnt,\n  Wenn ihr seht, wie sie sich geberden,\n  Die, um etwas zu scheinen,\n  Mich gerne mochten verneinen_.\n\nHonor, on the contrary, generally meets with fair appreciation, and is\nnot exposed to the onslaught of envy; nay, every man is credited with\nthe possession of it until the contrary is proved. But fame has to be\nwon in despite of envy, and the tribunal which awards the laurel is\ncomposed of judges biased against the applicant from the very first.\nHonor is something which we are able and ready to share with everyone;\nfame suffers encroachment and is rendered more unattainable in\nproportion as more people come by it. Further, the difficulty of\nwinning fame by any given work stands in reverse ratio to the number\nof people who are likely to read it; and hence it is so much harder\nto become famous as the author of a learned work than as a writer\nwho aspires only to amuse. It is hardest of all in the case of\nphilosophical works, because the result at which they aim is rather\nvague, and, at the same time, useless from a material point of view;\nthey appeal chiefly to readers who are working on the same lines\nthemselves.\n\nIt is clear, then, from what I have said as to the difficulty of\nwinning fame, that those who labor, not out of love for their subject,\nnor from pleasure in pursuing it, but under the stimulus of ambition,\nrarely or never leave mankind a legacy of immortal works. The man who\nseeks to do what is good and genuine, must avoid what is bad, and be\nready to defy the opinions of the mob, nay, even to despise it and its\nmisleaders. Hence the truth of the remark, (especially insisted upon\nby Osorius _de Gloria_), that fame shuns those who seek it, and seeks\nthose who shun it; for the one adapt themselves to the taste of their\ncontemporaries, and the others work in defiance of it.\n\nBut, difficult though it be to acquire fame, it is an easy thing to\nkeep when once acquired. Here, again, fame is in direct opposition to\nhonor, with which everyone is presumably to be accredited. Honor\nhas not to be won; it must only not be lost. But there lies the\ndifficulty! For by a single unworthy action, it is gone irretrievably.\nBut fame, in the proper sense of the word, can never disappear; for\nthe action or work by which it was acquired can never be undone; and\nfame attaches to its author, even though he does nothing to deserve it\nanew. The fame which vanishes, or is outlived, proves itself thereby\nto be spurious, in other words, unmerited, and due to a momentary\noverestimate of a man's work; not to speak of the kind of fame which\nHegel enjoyed, and which Lichtenberg describes as _trumpeted forth by\na clique of admiring undergraduates_--_the resounding echo of empty\nheads_;--_such a fame as will make posterity smile when it lights upon\na grotesque architecture of words, a fine nest with the birds long\nago flown; it will knock at the door of this decayed structure of\nconventionalities and find it utterly empty_!--_not even a trace of\nthought there to invite the passer-by_.\n\nThe truth is that fame means nothing but what a man is in comparison\nwith others. It is essentially relative in character, and therefore\nonly indirectly valuable; for it vanishes the moment other people\nbecome what the famous man is. Absolute value can be predicated only\nof what a man possesses under any and all circumstances,--here, what a\nman is directly and in himself. It is the possession of a great heart\nor a great head, and not the mere fame of it, which is worth having,\nand conducive to happiness. Not fame, but that which deserves to be\nfamous, is what a man should hold in esteem. This is, as it were, the\ntrue underlying substance, and fame is only an accident, affecting its\nsubject chiefly as a kind of external symptom, which serves to confirm\nhis own opinion of himself. Light is not visible unless it meets with\nsomething to reflect it; and talent is sure of itself only when its\nfame is noised abroad. But fame is not a certain symptom of merit;\nbecause you can have the one without the other; or, as Lessing nicely\nputs it, _Some people obtain fame, and others deserve it_.\n\nIt would be a miserable existence which should make its value or want\nof value depend upon what other people think; but such would be the\nlife of a hero or a genius if its worth consisted in fame, that is,\nin the applause of the world. Every man lives and exists on his own\naccount, and, therefore, mainly in and for himself; and what he is and\nthe whole manner of his being concern himself more than anyone else;\nso if he is not worth much in this respect, he cannot be worth much\notherwise. The idea which other people form of his existence is\nsomething secondary, derivative, exposed to all the chances of fate,\nand in the end affecting him but very indirectly. Besides, other\npeople's heads are a wretched place to be the home of a man's true\nhappiness--a fanciful happiness perhaps, but not a real one.\n\nAnd what a mixed company inhabits the Temple of Universal\nFame!--generals, ministers, charlatans, jugglers, dancers, singers,\nmillionaires and Jews! It is a temple in which more sincere\nrecognition, more genuine esteem, is given to the several excellencies\nof such folk, than to superiority of mind, even of a high order, which\nobtains from the great majority only a verbal acknowledgment.\n\nFrom the point of view of human happiness, fame is, surely, nothing\nbut a very rare and delicate morsel for the appetite that feeds on\npride and vanity--an appetite which, however carefully concealed,\nexists to an immoderate degree in every man, and is, perhaps strongest\nof all in those who set their hearts on becoming famous at any cost.\nSuch people generally have to wait some time in uncertainty as to\ntheir own value, before the opportunity comes which will put it to the\nproof and let other people see what they are made of; but until then,\nthey feel as if they were suffering secret injustice.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Our greatest pleasure consists in being admired; but\nthose who admire us, even if they have every reason to do so, are slow\nto express their sentiments. Hence he is the happiest man who, no\nmatter how, manages sincerely to admire himself--so long as other\npeople leave him alone.]\n\nBut, as I explained at the beginning of this chapter, an\nunreasonable value is set upon other people's opinion, and one quite\ndisproportionate to its real worth. Hobbes has some strong remarks on\nthis subject; and no doubt he is quite right. _Mental pleasure_, he\nwrites, _and ecstacy of any kind, arise when, on comparing ourselves\nwith others, we come to the conclusion that we may think well of\nourselves_. So we can easily understand the great value which is\nalways attached to fame, as worth any sacrifices if there is the\nslightest hope of attaining it.\n\n  _Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise_\n  _(That hath infirmity of noble mind)_\n  _To scorn delights and live laborious days_[1]\n\nAnd again:\n\n        _How hard it is to climb\n  The heights where Fame's proud temple shines afar_!\n\n[Footnote 1: Milton. _Lycidas_.]\n\nWe can thus understand how it is that the vainest people in the world\nare always talking about _la gloire_, with the most implicit faith in\nit as a stimulus to great actions and great works. But there can he no\ndoubt that fame is something secondary in its character, a mere echo\nor reflection--as it were, a shadow or symptom--of merit: and, in\nany case, what excites admiration must be of more value than the\nadmiration itself. The truth is that a man is made happy, not by fame,\nbut by that which brings him fame, by his merits, or to speak more\ncorrectly, by the disposition and capacity from which his merits\nproceed, whether they be moral or intellectual. The best side of a\nman's nature must of necessity be more important for him than for\nanyone else: the reflection of it, the opinion which exists in the\nheads of others, is a matter that can affect him only in a very\nsubordinate degree. He who deserves fame without getting it possesses\nby far the more important element of happiness, which should console\nhim for the loss of the other. It is not that a man is thought to be\ngreat by masses of incompetent and often infatuated people, but that\nhe really is great, which should move us to envy his position; and his\nhappiness lies, not in the fact that posterity will hear of him, but\nthat he is the creator of thoughts worthy to be treasured up and\nstudied for hundreds of years.\n\nBesides, if a man has done this, he possesses something which cannot\nbe wrested from him; and, unlike fame, it is a possession dependent\nentirely upon himself. If admiration were his chief aim, there would\nbe nothing in him to admire. This is just what happens in the case\nof false, that is, unmerited, fame; for its recipient lives upon it\nwithout actually possessing the solid substratum of which fame is the\noutward and visible sign. False fame must often put its possessor out\nof conceit with himself; for the time may come when, in spite of the\nillusions borne of self-love, he will feel giddy on the heights which\nhe was never meant to climb, or look upon himself as spurious\ncoin; and in the anguish of threatened discovery and well-merited\ndegradation, he will read the sentence of posterity on the foreheads\nof the wise--like a man who owes his property to a forged will.\n\nThe truest fame, the fame that comes after death, is never heard of by\nits recipient; and yet he is called a happy man.\n\nHis happiness lay both in the possession of those great qualities\nwhich won him fame, and in the opportunity that was granted him of\ndeveloping them--the leisure he had to act as he pleased, to dedicate\nhimself to his favorite pursuits. It is only work done from the heart\nthat ever gains the laurel.\n\nGreatness of soul, or wealth of intellect, is what makes a man\nhappy--intellect, such as, when stamped on its productions, will\nreceive the admiration of centuries to come,--thoughts which make him\nhappy at the time, and will in their turn be a source of study and\ndelight to the noblest minds of the most remote posterity. The value\nof posthumous fame lies in deserving it; and this is its own reward.\nWhether works destined to fame attain it in the lifetime of their\nauthor is a chance affair, of no very great importance. For the\naverage man has no critical power of his own, and is absolutely\nincapable of appreciating the difficulty of a great work. People are\nalways swayed by authority; and where fame is widespread, it means\nthat ninety-nine out of a hundred take it on faith alone. If a man is\nfamed far and wide in his own lifetime, he will, if he is wise, not\nset too much value upon it, because it is no more than the echo of a\nfew voices, which the chance of a day has touched in his favor.\n\nWould a musician feel flattered by the loud applause of an audience\nif he knew that they were nearly all deaf, and that, to conceal their\ninfirmity, they set to work to clap vigorously as soon as ever they\nsaw one or two persons applauding? And what would he say if he got to\nknow that those one or two persons had often taken bribes to secure\nthe loudest applause for the poorest player!\n\nIt is easy to see why contemporary praise so seldom develops into\nposthumous fame. D'Alembert, in an extremely fine description of the\ntemple of literary fame, remarks that the sanctuary of the temple is\ninhabited by the great dead, who during their life had no place there,\nand by a very few living persons, who are nearly all ejected on their\ndeath. Let me remark, in passing, that to erect a monument to a man\nin his lifetime is as much as declaring that posterity is not to be\ntrusted in its judgment of him. If a man does happen to see his own\ntrue fame, it can very rarely be before he is old, though there have\nbeen artists and musicians who have been exceptions to this rule, but\nvery few philosophers. This is confirmed by the portraits of people\ncelebrated by their works; for most of them are taken only after their\nsubjects have attained celebrity, generally depicting them as old and\ngrey; more especially if philosophy has been the work of their lives.\nFrom the eudaemonistic standpoint, this is a very proper arrangement;\nas fame and youth are too much for a mortal at one and the same time.\nLife is such a poor business that the strictest economy must be\nexercised in its good things. Youth has enough and to spare in itself,\nand must rest content with what it has. But when the delights and joys\nof life fall away in old age, as the leaves from a tree in autumn,\nfame buds forth opportunely, like a plant that is green in winter.\nFame is, as it were, the fruit that must grow all the summer before it\ncan be enjoyed at Yule. There is no greater consolation in age than\nthe feeling of having put the whole force of one's youth into works\nwhich still remain young.\n\nFinally, let us examine a little more closely the kinds of fame which\nattach to various intellectual pursuits; for it is with fame of this\nsort that my remarks are more immediately concerned.\n\nI think it may be said broadly that the intellectual superiority it\ndenotes consists in forming theories, that is, new combinations of\ncertain facts. These facts may be of very different kinds; but\nthe better they are known, and the more they come within everyday\nexperience, the greater and wider will be the fame which is to be won\nby theorizing about them.\n\nFor instance, if the facts in question are numbers or lines or special\nbranches of science, such as physics, zoology, botany, anatomy, or\ncorrupt passages in ancient authors, or undecipherable inscriptions,\nwritten, it may be, in some unknown alphabet, or obscure points\nin history; the kind of fame that may be obtained by correctly\nmanipulating such facts will not extend much beyond those who make a\nstudy of them--a small number of persons, most of whom live retired\nlives and are envious of others who become famous in their special\nbranch of knowledge.\n\nBut if the facts be such as are known to everyone, for example, the\nfundamental characteristics of the human mind or the human heart,\nwhich are shared by all alike; or the great physical agencies which\nare constantly in operation before our eyes, or the general course of\nnatural laws; the kind of fame which is to be won by spreading the\nlight of a new and manifestly true theory in regard to them, is such\nas in time will extend almost all over the civilized world: for if the\nfacts be such as everyone can grasp, the theory also will be generally\nintelligible. But the extent of the fame will depend upon the\ndifficulties overcome; and the more generally known the facts are, the\nharder it will be to form a theory that shall be both new and true:\nbecause a great many heads will have been occupied with them, and\nthere will be little or no possibility of saying anything that has not\nbeen said before.\n\nOn the other hand, facts which are not accessible to everybody, and\ncan be got at only after much difficulty and labor, nearly\nalways admit of new combinations and theories; so that, if sound\nunderstanding and judgment are brought to bear upon them--qualities\nwhich do not involve very high intellectual power--a man may easily be\nso fortunate as to light upon some new theory in regard to them which\nshall be also true. But fame won on such paths does not extend much\nbeyond those who possess a knowledge of the facts in question. To\nsolve problems of this sort requires, no doubt, a great ideal of study\nand labor, if only to get at the facts; whilst on the path where the\ngreatest and most widespread fame is to be won, the facts may be\ngrasped without any labor at all. But just in proportion as less labor\nis necessary, more talent or genius is required; and between such\nqualities and the drudgery of research no comparison is possible, in\nrespect either of their intrinsic value, or of the estimation in which\nthey are held.\n\nAnd so people who feel that they possess solid intellectual capacity\nand a sound judgment, and yet cannot claim the highest mental powers,\nshould not be afraid of laborious study; for by its aid they may\nwork themselves above the great mob of humanity who have the facts\nconstantly before their eyes, and reach those secluded spots which are\naccessible to learned toil.\n\nFor this is a sphere where there are infinitely fewer rivals, and\na man of only moderate capacity may soon find an opportunity of\nproclaiming a theory which shall be both new and true; nay, the merit\nof his discovery will partly rest upon the difficulty of coming at\nthe facts. But applause from one's fellow-students, who are the only\npersons with a knowledge of the subject, sounds very faint to the\nfar-off multitude. And if we follow up this sort of fame far enough,\nwe shall at last come to a point where facts very difficult to get at\nare in themselves sufficient to lay a foundation of fame, without any\nnecessity for forming a theory;--travels, for instance, in remote and\nlittle-known countries, which make a man famous by what he has seen,\nnot by what he has thought. The great advantage of this kind of fame\nis that to relate what one has seen, is much easier than to impart\none's thoughts, and people are apt to understand descriptions better\nthan ideas, reading the one more readily than the other: for, as Asmus\nsays,\n\n  _When one goes forth a-voyaging\n  He has a tale to tell_.\n\nAnd yet for all that, a personal acquaintance with celebrated\ntravelers often remind us of a line from Horace--new scenes do not\nalways mean new ideas--\n\n  _Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt_.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Epist. I. II.]\n\nBut if a man finds himself in possession of great mental faculties,\nsuch as alone should venture on the solution of the hardest of all\nproblems--those which concern nature as a whole and humanity in its\nwidest range, he will do well to extend his view equally in all\ndirections, without ever straying too far amid the intricacies of\nvarious by-paths, or invading regions little known; in other words,\nwithout occupying himself with special branches of knowledge, to say\nnothing of their petty details. There is no necessity for him to\nseek out subjects difficult of access, in order to escape a crowd of\nrivals; the common objects of life will give him material for new\ntheories at once serious and true; and the service he renders will be\nappreciated by all those--and they form a great part of mankind--who\nknow the facts of which he treats. What a vast distinction there is\nbetween students of physics, chemistry, anatomy, mineralogy, zoology,\nphilology, history, and the men who deal with the great facts of human\nlife, the poet and the philosopher!","title":"The Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer: the Wisdom of Life","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":38151}