{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_11945/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_11945","id":"gutenberg_11945","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11945","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Philosophy, German"],"text":"HTML file produced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\nESSAYS OF SCHOPENHAUER:\n\nTRANSLATED BY MRS. RUDOLF DIRCKS.\n\nWITH AN INTRODUCTION.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nON AUTHORSHIP AND STYLE\nON NOISE\nON EDUCATION\nON READING AND BOOKS\nTHE EMPTINESS OF EXISTENCE\nON WOMEN\nTHINKING FOR ONESELF\nSHORT DIALOGUE ON THE INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF OUR TRUE BEING BY DEATH\nRELIGION--A DIALOGUE\nPSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS\nMETAPHYSICS OF LOVE\nPHYSIOGNOMY\nON SUICIDE\n\n\n\n\nPRELIMINARY.\n\n\nWhen Schopenhauer was asked where he wished to be buried, he answered,\n\"Anywhere; they will find me;\" and the stone that marks his grave at\nFrankfort bears merely the inscription \"Arthur Schopenhauer,\" without\neven the date of his birth or death. Schopenhauer, the pessimist, had a\nsufficiently optimistic conviction that his message to the world would\nultimately be listened to--a conviction that never failed him during a\nlifetime of disappointments, of neglect in quarters where perhaps he\nwould have most cherished appreciation; a conviction that only showed\nsome signs of being justified a few years before his death. Schopenhauer\nwas no opportunist; he was not even conciliatory; he never hesitated to\ndeclare his own faith in himself, in his principles, in his philosophy;\nhe did not ask to be listened to as a matter of courtesy but as a\nright--a right for which he would struggle, for which he fought, and\nwhich has in the course of time, it may be admitted, been conceded to\nhim.\n\nAlthough everything that Schopenhauer wrote was written more or less as\nevidence to support his main philosophical thesis, his unifying\nphilosophical principle, the essays in this volume have an interest, if\nnot altogether apart, at least of a sufficiently independent interest to\nenable them to be considered on their own merits, without relation to\nhis main idea. And in dissociating them, if one may do so for a moment\n(their author would have scarcely permitted it!), one feels that one\nenters a field of criticism in which opinions can scarcely vary. So far\nas his philosophy is concerned, this unanimity does not exist; he is one\nof the best abused amongst philosophers; he has many times been\nexplained and condemned exhaustively, and no doubt this will be as many\ntimes repeated. What the trend of his underlying philosophical principal\nwas, his metaphysical explanation of the world, is indicated in almost\nall the following essays, but chiefly in the \"Metaphysics of Love,\" to\nwhich the reader may be referred.\n\nThese essays are a valuable criticism of life by a man who had a wide\nexperience of life, a man of the world, who possessed an almost inspired\nfaculty of observation. Schopenhauer, of all men, unmistakably observed\nlife at first hand. There is no academic echo in his utterances; he is\nnot one of a school; his voice has no formal intonation; it is deep,\nfull-chested, and rings out its words with all the poignancy of\nindividual emphasis, without bluster, but with unfailing conviction. He\nwas for his time, and for his country, an adept at literary form; but he\nused it only as a means. Complicated as his sentences occasionally are,\nhe says many sharp, many brilliant, many epigrammatic things, he has the\nmanner of the famous essayists, he is paradoxical (how many of his\nparadoxes are now truisms!); one fancies at times that one is almost\nlistening to a creation of Moli\u00e8re, but these fireworks are not merely a\nliterary display, they are used to illumine what he considers to be the\ntruth. _Rien n'est beau que le vrai; le vrai seul est aimable_, he\nquotes; he was a deliberate and diligent searcher after truth, always\nstriving to attain the heart of things, to arrive at a knowledge of\nfirst principles. It is, too, not without a sort of grim humour that\nthis psychological vivisectionist attempts to lay bare the skeleton of\nthe human mind, to tear away all the charming little sentiments and\nhypocrisies which in the course of time become a part and parcel of\nhuman life. A man influenced by such motives, and possessing a frank and\ncaustic tongue, was not likely to attain any very large share of popular\nfavour or to be esteemed a companionable sort of person. The fabric of\nsocial life is interwoven with a multitude of delicate evasions, of\nsmall hypocrisies, of matters of tinsel sentiment; social intercourse\nwould be impossible, if it were not so. There is no sort of social\nexistence possible for a person who is ingenuous enough to say always\nwhat he thinks, and, on the whole, one may be thankful that there is\nnot. One naturally enough objects to form the subject of a critical\ndiagnosis and exposure; one chooses for one's friends the agreeable\nhypocrites of life who sustain for one the illusions in which one wishes\nto live. The mere conception of a plain-speaking world is calculated to\nreduce one to the last degree of despair; it is the conception of the\nintolerable. Nevertheless it is good for mankind now and again to have a\nplain speaker, a \"mar feast,\" on the scene; a wizard who devises for us\na spectacle of disillusionment, and lets us for a moment see things as\nhe honestly conceives them to be, and not as we would have them to be.\nBut in estimating the value of a lesson of this sort, we must not be\ncarried too far, not be altogether convinced. We may first take into\naccount the temperament of the teacher; we may ask, is his vision\nperfect? We may indulge in a trifling diagnosis on our own account. And\nin an examination of this sort we find that Schopenhauer stands the test\npretty well, if not with complete success. It strikes us that he suffers\nperhaps a little from a hereditary taint, for we know that there is an\nunmistakable predisposition to hypochondria in his family; we know, for\ninstance, that his paternal grandmother became practically insane\ntowards the end of her life, that two of her children suffered from some\nsort of mental incapacity, and that a third, Schopenhauer's father, was\na man of curious temper and that he probably ended his own life. He\nhimself would also have attached some importance, in a consideration of\nthis sort, to the fact, as he might have put it, that his mother, when\nshe married, acted in the interests of the individual instead of\nunconsciously fulfilling the will of the species, and that the offspring\nof the union suffered in consequence. Still, taking all these things\ninto account, and attaching to them what importance they may be worth,\none is amazed at the clearness of his vision, by his vigorous and at\nmoments subtle perception. If he did not see life whole, what he did see\nhe saw with his own eyes, and then told us all about it with\nunmistakable veracity, and for the most part simply, brilliantly. Too\nmuch importance cannot be attached to this quality of seeing things for\noneself; it is the stamp of a great and original mind; it is the\nprincipal quality of what one calls genius.\n\nIn possessing Schopenhauer the world possesses a personality the richer;\na somewhat garrulous personality it may be; a curiously whimsical and\nsensitive personality, full of quite ordinary superstitions, of\nextravagant vanities, selfish, at times violent, rarely generous; a man\nwhom during his lifetime nobody quite knew, an isolated creature,\nself-absorbed, solely concerned in his elaboration of the explanation of\nthe world, and possessing subtleties which for the most part escaped the\nperception of his fellows; at once a hermit and a boulevardier. His was\nessentially a great temperament; his whole life was a life of ideas, an\nintellectual life. And his work, the fruit of his life, would seem to be\nstanding the test of all great work--the test of time. It is not a\nlittle curious that one so little realised in his own day, one so little\nlovable and so little loved, should now speak to us from his pages with\nsomething of the force of personal utterance, as if he were actually\nwith us and as if we knew him, even as we know Charles Lamb and Izaak\nWalton, personalities of such a different calibre. And this man whom we\nrealise does not impress us unfavourably; if he is without charm, he is\nsurely immensely interesting and attractive; he is so strong in his\nintellectual convictions, he is so free from intellectual affectations,\nhe is such an ingenuous egotist, so na\u00efvely human; he is so mercilessly\nhonest and independent, and, at times (one may be permitted to think),\nso mistaken.\n\nR.D.\n\n\n\n\nBIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.\n\n\nArthur Schopenhauer was born at No. 117 of the Heiligengeist Strasse, at\nDantzic, on February 22, 1788. His parents on both sides traced their\ndescent from Dutch ancestry, the great-grandfather of his mother having\noccupied some ecclesiastical position at Gorcum. Dr. Gwinner in his\n_Life_ does not follow the Dutch ancestry on the father's side, but\nmerely states that the great-grandfather of Schopenhauer at the\nbeginning of the eighteenth century rented a farm, the Stuthof, in the\nneighbourhood of Dantzic. This ancestor, Andreas Schopenhauer, received\nhere on one occasion an unexpected visit from Peter the Great and\nCatherine, and it is related that there being no stove in the chamber\nwhich the royal pair selected for the night, their host, for the purpose\nof heating it, set fire to several small bottles of brandy which had\nbeen emptied on the stone floor. His son Andreas followed in the\nfootsteps of his father, combining a commercial career with country\npursuits. He died in 1794 at Ohra, where he had purchased an estate, and\nto which he had retired to spend his closing years. His wife (the\ngrandmother of Arthur) survived him for some years, although shortly\nafter his death she was declared insane and incapable of managing her\naffairs. This couple had four sons: the eldest, Michael Andreas, was\nweak-minded; the second, Karl Gottfried, was also mentally weak and had\ndeserted his people for evil companions; the youngest son, Heinrich\nFloris, possessed, however, in a considerable degree the qualities which\nhis brothers lacked. He possessed intelligence, a strong character, and\nhad great commercial sagacity; at the same time, he took a definite\ninterest in intellectual pursuits, reading Voltaire, of whom he was more\nor less a disciple, and other French authors, possessing a keen\nadmiration for English political and family life, and furnishing his\nhouse after an English fashion. He was a man of fiery temperament and\nhis appearance was scarcely prepossessing; he was short and stout; he\nhad a broad face and turned-up nose, and a large mouth. This was the\nfather of our philosopher.\n\nWhen he was thirty-eight, Heinrich Schopenhauer married, on May 16,\n1785, Johanna Henriette Trosiener, a young lady of eighteen, and\ndaughter of a member of the City Council of Dantzic. She was at this\ntime an attractive, cultivated young person, of a placid disposition,\nwho seems to have married more because marriage offered her a\ncomfortable settlement and assured position in life, than from any\npassionate affection for her wooer, which, it is just to her to say, she\ndid not profess. Heinrich Schopenhauer was so much influenced by English\nideas that he desired that his first child should be born in England;\nand thither, some two years after their marriage, the pair, after making\na _d\u00e9tour_ on the Continent, arrived. But after spending some weeks in\nLondon Mrs. Schopenhauer was seized with home-sickness, and her husband\nacceded to her entreaties to return to Dantzic, where a child, the\nfuture philosopher, was shortly afterwards born. The first five years of\nthe child's life were spent in the country, partly at the Stuthof which\nhad formerly belonged to Andreas Schopenhauer, but had recently come\ninto the possession of his maternal grandfather.\n\nFive years after the birth of his son, Heinrich Schopenhauer, in\nconsequence of the political crisis, which he seems to have taken keenly\nto heart, in the affairs of the Hanseatic town of Dantzic, transferred\nhis business and his home to Hamburg, where in 1795 a second child,\nAdele, was born. Two years later, Heinrich, who intended to train his\nson for a business life, took him, with this idea, to Havre, by way of\nParis, where they spent a little time, and left him there with M.\nGr\u00e9goire, a commercial connection. Arthur remained at Havre for two\nyears, receiving private instruction with this man's son Anthime, with\nwhom he struck up a strong friendship, and when he returned to Hamburg\nit was found that he remembered but few words of his mother-tongue. Here\nhe was placed in one of the principal private schools, where he remained\nfor three years. Both his parents, but especially his mother, cultivated\nat this time the society of literary people, and entertained at their\nhouse Klopstock and other notable persons. In the summer following his\nreturn home from Havre he accompanied his parents on a continental tour,\nstopping amongst other places at Weimar, where he saw Schiller. His\nmother, too, had considerable literary tastes, and a distinct literary\ngift which, later, she cultivated to some advantage, and which brought\nher in the production of accounts of travel and fiction a not\ninconsiderable reputation. It is, therefore, not surprising that\nliterary tendencies began to show themselves in her son, accompanied by\na growing distaste for the career of commerce which his father wished\nhim to follow. Heinrich Schopenhauer, although deprecating these\ntendencies, considered the question of purchasing a canonry for his son,\nbut ultimately gave up the idea on the score of expense. He then\nproposed to take him on an extended trip to France, where he might meet\nhis young friend Anthime, and then to England, if he would give up the\nidea of a literary calling, and the proposal was accepted.\n\nIn the spring of 1803, then, he accompanied his parents to London,\nwhere, after spending some time in sight-seeing, he was placed in the\nschool of Mr. Lancaster at Wimbledon. Here he remained for three months,\nfrom July to September, laying the foundation of his knowledge of the\nEnglish language, while his parents proceeded to Scotland. English\nformality, and what he conceived to be English hypocrisy, did not\ncontrast favourably with his earlier and gayer experiences in France,\nand made an extremely unfavourable impression upon his mind; which found\nexpression in letters to his friends and to his mother.\n\nOn returning to Hamburg after this extended excursion abroad,\nSchopenhauer was placed in the office of a Hamburg senator called\nJenisch, but he was as little inclined as ever to follow a commercial\ncareer, and secretly shirked his work so that he might pursue his\nstudies. A little later a somewhat unexplainable calamity occurred. When\nDantzic ceased to be a free city, and Heinrich Schopenhauer at a\nconsiderable cost and monetary sacrifice transferred his business to\nHamburg, the event caused him much bitterness of spirit. At Hamburg his\nbusiness seems to have undergone fluctuations. Whether these further\naffected his spirit is not sufficiently established, but it is certain,\nhowever, that he developed peculiarities of manner, and that his temper\nbecame more violent. At any rate, one day in April 1805 it was found\nthat he had either fallen or thrown himself into the canal from an upper\nstorey of a granary; it was generally concluded that it was a case of\nsuicide.\n\nSchopenhauer was seventeen at the time of this catastrophe, by which he\nwas naturally greatly affected. Although by the death of his father the\ninfluence which impelled him to a commercial career was removed, his\nveneration for the dead man remained with him through life, and on one\noccasion found expression in a curious tribute to his memory in a\ndedication (which was not, however, printed) to the second edition of\n_Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung._ \"That I could make use of and\ncultivate in a right direction the powers which nature gave me,\" he\nconcludes, \"that I could follow my natural impulse and think and work\nfor countless others without the help of any one; for that I thank thee,\nmy father, thank thy activity, thy cleverness, thy thrift and care for\nthe future. Therefore I praise thee, my noble father. And every one who\nfrom my work derives any pleasure, consolation, or instruction shall\nhear thy name and know that if Heinrich Floris Schopenhauer had not been\nthe man he was, Arthur Schopenhauer would have been a hundred times\nruined.\"\n\nThe year succeeding her husband's death, Johanna Schopenhauer removed\nwith her daughter to Weimar, after having attended to the settlement of\nher husband's affairs, which left her in possession of a considerable\nincome. At Weimar she devoted herself to the pursuit of literature, and\nheld twice a week a sort of salon, which was attended by Goethe, the two\nSchlegels, Wieland, Heinrich Meyer, Grimm, and other literary persons of\nnote. Her son meanwhile continued for another year at the \"dead timber\nof the desk,\" when his mother, acting under the advice of her friend\nFernow, consented, to his great joy, to his following his literary bent.\n\nDuring the next few years we find Schopenhauer devoting himself\nassiduously to acquiring the equipment for a learned career; at first at\nthe Gymnasium at Gotha, where he penned some satirical verses on one of\nthe masters, which brought him into some trouble. He removed in\nconsequence to Weimar, where he pursued his classical studies under the\ndirection of Franz Passow, at whose house he lodged. Unhappily, during\nhis sojourn at Weimar his relations with his mother became strained. One\nfeels that there is a sort of autobiographical interest in his essay on\nwomen, that his view was largely influenced by his relations with his\nmother, just as one feels that his particular argument in his essay on\neducation is largely influenced by the course of his own training.\n\nOn his coming of age Schopenhauer was entitled to a share of the\npaternal estate, a share which yielded him a yearly income of about\n\u00a3150. He now entered himself at the University of G\u00f6ttingen (October\n1809), enrolling himself as a student of medicine, and devoting himself\nto the study of the natural sciences, mineralogy, anatomy, mathematics,\nand history; later, he included logic, physiology, and ethnography. He\nhad always been passionately devoted to music and found relaxation in\nlearning to play the flute and guitar. His studies at this time did not\npreoccupy him to the extent of isolation; he mixed freely with his\nfellows, and reckoned amongst his friends or acquaintances, F.W. Kreise,\nBunsen, and Ernst Schulze. During one vacation he went on an expedition\nto Cassel and to the Hartz Mountains. It was about this time, and partly\nowing to the influence of Schulze, the author of _Aenesidemus_, and then\na professor at the University of G\u00f6ttingen, that Schopenhauer came to\nrealise his vocation as that of a philosopher.\n\nDuring his holiday at Weimar he called upon Wieland, then seventy-eight\nyears old, who, probably prompted by Mrs. Schopenhauer, tried to\ndissuade him from the vocation which he had chosen. Schopenhauer in\nreply said, \"Life is a difficult question; I have decided to spend my\nlife in thinking about it.\" Then, after the conversation had continued\nfor some little time, Wieland declared warmly that he thought that he\nhad chosen rightly. \"I understand your nature,\" he said; \"keep to\nphilosophy.\" And, later, he told Johanna Schopenhauer that he thought\nher son would be a great man some day.\n\nTowards the close of the summer of 1811 Schopenhauer removed to Berlin\nand entered the University. He here continued his study of the natural\nsciences; he also attended the lectures on the History of Philosophy by\nSchleiermacher, and on Greek Literature and Antiquities by F.A. Wolf,\nand the lectures on \"Facts of Consciousness\" and \"Theory of Science\" by\nFichte, for the last of whom, as we know indeed from frequent references\nin his books, he had no little contempt. A year or so later, when the\nnews of Napoleon's disaster in Russia arrived, the Germans were thrown\ninto a state of great excitement, and made speedy preparations for war.\nSchopenhauer contributed towards equipping volunteers for the army, but\nhe did not enter active service; indeed, when the result of the battle\nof L\u00fctzen was known and Berlin seemed to be in danger, he fled for\nsafety to Dresden and thence to Weimar. A little later we find him at\nRudolstadt, whither he had proceeded in consequence of the recurrence of\ndifferences with his mother, and remained there from June to November\n1813, principally engaged in the composition of an essay, \"A\nPhilosophical Treatise on the Fourfold Root of the Principle of\nSufficient Reason,\" which he offered to the University of Jena as an\nexercise to qualify for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy, and for\nwhich a diploma was granted. He published this essay at his own cost\ntowards the end of the year, but it seems to have fallen flatly from the\npress, although its arguments attracted the attention and the sympathy\nof Goethe, who, meeting him on his return to Weimar in November,\ndiscussed with him his own theory of colour. A couple of years before,\nGoethe, who was opposed to the Newtonian theory of light, had brought\nout his _Farbenlehre_ (colour theory). In Goethe's diary Schopenhauer's\nname frequently occurs, and on the 24th November 1813 he wrote to\nKnebel: \"Young Schopenhauer is a remarkable and interesting man.... I\nfind him intellectual, but I am undecided about him as far as other\nthings go.\" The result of this association with Goethe was his _Ueber\ndas Sehn und die Farben_ (\"On Vision and Colour\"), published at Leipzig\nin 1816, a copy of which he forwarded to Goethe (who had already seen\nthe MS.) on the 4th May of that year. A few days later Goethe wrote to\nthe distinguished scientist, Dr. Seebeck, asking him to read the work.\nIn Gwinner's _Life_ we find the copy of a letter written in English to\nSir C.L. Eastlake: \"In the year 1830, as I was going to publish in Latin\nthe same treatise which in German accompanies this letter, I went to Dr.\nSeebeck of the Berlin Academy, who is universally admitted to be the\nfirst natural philosopher (in the English sense of the word meaning\nphysiker) of Germany; he is the discoverer of thermo-electricity and of\nseveral physical truths. I questioned him on his opinion on the\ncontroversy between Goethe and Newton; he was extremely cautious and\nmade me promise that I should not print and publish anything of what he\nmight say, and at last, being hard pressed by me, he confessed that\nindeed Goethe was perfectly right and Newton wrong, but that he had no\nbusiness to tell the world so. He has died since, the old coward!\"\n\nIn May 1814 Schopenhauer removed from Weimar to Dresden, in consequence\nof the recurrence of domestic differences with his mother. This was the\nfinal break between the pair, and he did not see her again during the\nremaining twenty-four years of her life, although they resumed\ncorrespondence some years before her death. It were futile to attempt to\nrevive the dead bones of the cause of these unfortunate differences\nbetween Johanna Schopenhauer and her son. It was a question of opposing\ntemperaments; both and neither were at once to blame. There is no reason\nto suppose that Schopenhauer was ever a conciliatory son, or a\ncompanionable person to live with; in fact, there is plenty to show that\nhe possessed trying and irritating qualities, and that he assumed an\nattitude of criticism towards his mother that could not in any\ncircumstances be agreeable. On the other hand, Anselm Feuerbach in his\n_Memoirs_ furnishes us with a scarcely prepossessing picture of Mrs.\nSchopenhauer: \"Madame Schopenhauer,\" he writes, \"a rich widow. Makes\nprofession of erudition. Authoress. Prattles much and well,\nintelligently; without heart and soul. Self-complacent, eager after\napprobation, and constantly smiling to herself. God preserve us from\nwomen whose mind has shot up into mere intellect.\"\n\nSchopenhauer meanwhile was working out his philosophical system, the\nidea of his principal philosophical work. \"Under my hands,\" he wrote in\n1813, \"and still more in my mind grows a work, a philosophy which will\nbe an ethics and a metaphysics in one:--two branches which hitherto have\nbeen separated as falsely as man has been divided into soul and body.\nThe work grows, slowly and gradually aggregating its parts like the\nchild in the womb. I became aware of one member, one vessel, one part\nafter another. In other words, I set each sentence down without anxiety\nas to how it will fit into the whole; for I know it has all sprung from\na single foundation. It is thus that an organic whole originates, and\nthat alone will live.... Chance, thou ruler of this sense-world! Let me\nlive and find peace for yet a few years, for I love my work as the\nmother her child. When it is matured and has come to birth, then exact\nfrom me thy duties, taking interest for the postponement. But, if I sink\nbefore the time in this iron age, then grant that these miniature\nbeginnings, these studies of mine, be given to the world as they are and\nfor what they are: some day perchance will arise a kindred spirit, who\ncan frame the members together and 'restore' the fragment of\nantiquity.\"[1]\n\nBy March 1817 he had completed the preparatory work of his system, and\nbegan to put the whole thing together; a year later _Die Welt als Wille\nund Vorstellung: vier B\u00fccher, nebst einem Anhange, der die Kritik der\nKantischen Philosophie enth\u00e4lt_ (\"The World as Will and Idea; four\nbooks, with an appendix containing a criticism on the philosophy of\nKant\"). Some delay occurring in the publication, Schopenhauer wrote one\nof his characteristically abusive letters to Brockhaus, his publisher,\nwho retorted \"that he must decline all further correspondence with one\nwhose letters, in their divine coarseness and rusticity, savoured more\nof the cabman than of the philosopher,\" and concluded with a hope that\nhis fears that the work he was printing would be good for nothing but\nwaste paper, might not be realised.[2] The work appeared about the end\nof December 1818 with 1819 on the title-page. Schopenhauer had meanwhile\nproceeded in September to Italy, where he revised the final proofs. So\nfar as the reception of the work was concerned there was reason to\nbelieve that the fears of Brockhaus would be realised, as, in fact, they\ncame practically to be. But in the face of this general want of\nappreciation, Schopenhauer had some crumbs of consolation. His sister\nwrote to him in March (he was then staying at Naples) that Goethe \"had\nreceived it with great joy, immediately cut the thick book, and began\n_instantly_ to read it. An hour later he sent me a note to say that he\nthanked you very much and thought that the whole book was good. He\npointed out the most important passages, read them to us, and was\ngreatly delighted.... You are the only author whom Goethe has ever read\nseriously, it seems to me, and I rejoice.\" Nevertheless the book did not\nsell. Sixteen years later Brockhaus informed Schopenhauer that a large\nnumber of copies had been sold at waste paper price, and that he had\neven then a few in stock. Still, during the years 1842-43, Schopenhauer\nwas contemplating the issue of a second edition and making revisions for\nthat purpose; when he had completed the work he took it to Brockhaus,\nand agreed to leave the question of remuneration open. In the following\nyear the second edition was issued (500 copies of the first volume, and\n750 of the second), and for this the author was to receive no\nremuneration. \"Not to my contemporaries,\" says Schopenhauer with fine\nconviction in his preface to this edition, \"not to my compatriots--to\nmankind I commit my now completed work, in the confidence that it will\nnot be without value for them, even if this should be late recognised,\nas is commonly the lot of what is good. For it cannot have been for the\npassing generation, engrossed with the delusion of the moment, that my\nmind, almost against my will, has uninterruptedly stuck to its work\nthrough the course of a long life. And while the lapse of time has not\nbeen able to make me doubt the worth of my work, neither has the lack of\nsympathy; for I constantly saw the false and the bad, and finally the\nabsurd and senseless, stand in universal admiration and honour, and I\nbethought myself that if it were not the case, those who are capable of\nrecognising the genuine and right are so rare that we may look for them\nin vain for some twenty years, then those who are capable of producing\nit could not be so few that their works afterwards form an exception to\nthe perishableness of earthly things; and thus would be lost the\nreviving prospect of posterity which every one who sets before himself a\nhigh aim requires to strengthen him.\"[3]\n\nWhen Schopenhauer started for Italy Goethe had provided him with a\nletter of introduction to Lord Byron, who was then staying at Venice,\nbut Schopenhauer never made use of the letter; he said that he hadn't\nthe courage to present himself. \"Do you know,\" he says in a letter,\n\"three great pessimists were in Italy at the same time--Byron, Leopardi,\nand myself! And yet not one of us has made the acquaintance of the\nother.\" He remained in Italy until June 1819, when he proceeded to\nMilan, where he received distressing news from his sister to the effect\nthat a Dantzic firm, in which she and her mother had invested all their\ncapital, and in which he himself had invested a little, had become\nbankrupt. Schopenhauer immediately proposed to share his own income with\nthem. But later, when the defaulting firm offered to its creditors a\ncomposition of thirty per cent, Schopenhauer would accept nothing less\nthan seventy per cent in the case of immediate payment, or the whole if\nthe payment were deferred; and he was so indignant at his mother and\nsister falling in with the arrangement of the debtors, that he did not\ncorrespond with them again for eleven years. With reference to this\naffair he wrote: \"I can imagine that from your point of view my\nbehaviour may seem hard and unfair. That is a mere illusion which\ndisappears as soon as you reflect that all I want is merely not to have\ntaken from me what is most rightly and incontestably mine, what,\nmoreover, my whole happiness, my freedom, my learned leisure depend\nupon;--a blessing which in this world people like me enjoy so rarely\nthat it would be almost as unconscientious as cowardly not to defend it\nto the uttermost and maintain it by every exertion. You say, perhaps,\nthat if all your creditors were of this way of thinking, I too should\ncome badly off. But if all men thought as I do, there would be much more\nthinking done, and in that case probably there would be neither\nbankruptcies, nor wars, nor gaming tables.\"[4]\n\nIn July 1819, when he was at Heidelberg, the idea occurred to him of\nturning university lecturer, and took practical shape the following\nsummer, when he delivered a course of lectures on philosophy at the\nBerlin University. But the experiment was not a success; the course was\nnot completed through the want of attendance, while Hegel at the same\ntime and place was lecturing to a crowded and enthusiastic audience.\nThis failure embittered him, and during the next few years there is\nlittle of any moment in his life to record. There was one incident,\nhowever, to which his detractors would seem to have attached more\nimportance than it was worth, but which must have been sufficiently\ndisturbing to Schopenhauer--we refer to the Marquet affair. It appears\non his returning home one day he found three women gossiping outside his\ndoor, one of whom was a seamstress who occupied another room in the\nhouse. Their presence irritated Schopenhauer (whose sensitiveness in\nsuch matters may be estimated from his essay \"On Noise\"), who, finding\nthem occupying the same position on another occasion, requested them to\ngo away, but the seamstress replied that she was an honest person and\nrefused to move. Schopenhauer disappeared into his apartments and\nreturned with a stick. According to his own account, he offered his arm\nto the woman in order to take her out; but she would not accept it, and\nremained where she was. He then threatened to put her out, and carried\nhis threat into execution by seizing her round the waist and putting her\nout. She screamed, and attempted to return. Schopenhauer now pushed her\nout; the woman fell, and raised the whole house. This woman, Caroline\nLuise Marquet, brought an action against him for damages, alleging that\nhe had kicked and beaten her. Schopenhauer defended his own case, with\nthe result that the action was dismissed. The woman appealed, and\nSchopenhauer, who was contemplating going to Switzerland, did not alter\nhis plans, so that the appeal was heard during his absence, the judgment\nreversed, and he was mulcted in a fine of twenty thalers. But the\nunfortunate business did not end here. Schopenhauer proceeded from\nSwitzerland to Italy, and did not return to Berlin until May 1825.\nCaroline Marquet renewed her complaints before the courts, stating that\nhis ill-usage had occasioned a fever through which she had lost the\npower of one of her arms, that her whole system was entirely shaken, and\ndemanding a monthly allowance as compensation. She won her case; the\ndefendant had to pay three hundred thalers in costs and contribute sixty\nthalers a year to her maintenance while she lived. Schopenhauer on\nreturning to Berlin did what he could to get the judgment reversed, but\nunsuccessfully. The woman lived for twenty years; he inscribed on her\ndeath certificate, \"_Obit anus, obit onus\"_\n\nThe idea of marriage seems to have more or less possessed Schopenhauer\nabout this time, but he could not finally determine to take the step.\nThere is sufficient to show in the following essays in what light he\nregarded women. Marriage was a debt, he said, contracted in youth and\npaid off in old age. Married people have the whole burden of life to\nbear, while the unmarried have only half, was a characteristically\nselfish apothegm. Had not all the true philosophers been\ncelibates--Descartes, Leibnitz, Malebranche, Spinoza, and Kant? The\nclassic writers were of course not to be considered, because with them\nwoman occupied a subordinate position. Had not all the great poets\nmarried, and with disastrous consequences? Plainly, Schopenhauer was not\nthe person to sacrifice the individual to the will of the species.\n\nIn August 1831 he made a fortuitous expedition to\nFrankfort-on-the-Main--an expedition partly prompted by the outbreak of\ncholera at Berlin at the time, and partly by the portent of a dream (he\nwas credulous in such matters) which at the beginning of the year had\nintimated his death. Here, however, he practically remained until his\ndeath, leading a quiet, mechanically regular life and devoting his\nthoughts to the development of his philosophic ideas, isolated at first,\nbut as time went on enjoying somewhat greedily the success which had\nbeen denied him in his earlier days. In February 1839 he had a moment of\nelation when he heard from the Scientific Society of Drontheim that he\nhad won the prize for the best essay on the question, \"Whether free will\ncould be proved from the evidence of consciousness,\" and that he had\nbeen elected a member of the Society; and a corresponding moment of\ndespondency when he was informed by the Royal Danish Academy of the\nSciences at Copenhagen, in a similar competition, that his essay on\n\"Whether the source and foundation of ethics was to be sought in an\nintuitive moral idea, and in the analysis of other derivative moral\nconceptions, or in some other principle of knowledge,\" had failed,\npartly on the ground of the want of respect which it showed to the\nopinions of the chief philosophers. He published these essays in 1841\nunder the title of \"The Two Fundamental Problems of Ethics,\" and ten\nyears later _Parerga und Paralipomena_ the composition of which had\nengaged his attention for five or six years. The latter work, which\nproved to be his most popular, was refused by three publishers, and when\neventually it was accepted by Hayn of Berlin, the author only received\nten free copies of his work as payment. It is from this book that all\nexcept one of the following essays have been selected; the exception is\n\"The Metaphysics of Love,\" which appears in the supplement of the third\nbook of his principal work. The second edition of _Die Welt als Wille\nund Vorstellung_ appeared in 1844, and was received with growing\nappreciation. Hitherto he had been chiefly known in Frankfort as the son\nof the celebrated Johanna Schopenhauer; now he came to have a following\nwhich, if at first small in numbers, were sufficiently enthusiastic, and\nproved, indeed, so far as his reputation was concerned, helpful. Artists\npainted his portrait; a bust of him was made by Elizabeth Ney. In the\nApril number of the _Westminster Review_ for 1853 John Oxenford, in an\narticle entitled \"Iconoclasm in German Philosophy,\" heralded in England\nhis recognition as a writer and thinker; three years later Saint-Ren\u00e9\nTaillandier, in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_, did a similar service for\nhim in France. One of his most enthusiastic admirers was Richard Wagner,\nwho in 1854 sent him a copy of his _Der Ring der Nibelungen_, with the\ninscription \"In admiration and gratitude.\" The Philosophical Faculty of\nthe University of Leipzic offered a prize for an exposition and\ncriticism of his philosophical system. Two Frenchmen, M. Foucher de\nCareil and M. Challemel Lacour, who visited Schopenhauer during his last\ndays, have given an account of their impressions of the interview, the\nlatter in an article entitled, \"Un Bouddhiste Contemporain en\nAllemagne,\" which appeared in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ for March\n15th, 1870. M. Foucher de Careil gives a charming picture of him:--\"Quand je le vis, pour la premi\u00e8re fois, en 1859, \u00e0 la table de\n    l'h\u00f4tel d'Angleterre, \u00e0 Francfort, c'\u00e9tait d\u00e9j\u00e0 un vieillard, \u00e0\n    l'oeil d'un bleu vif et limpide, \u00e0 la l\u00e8vre mince et l\u00e9g\u00e8rement\n    sarcastique, autour de laquelle errait un fin sourire, et dont le\n    vaste front, estomp\u00e9 de deux touffes de cheveux blancs sur les\n    c\u00f4t\u00e9s, relevait d'un cachet de noblesse et de distinction la\n    physionomie petillante d'esprit et de malice. Les habits, son jabot\n    de dentelle, sa cravate blanche rappelaient un vieillard de la fin\n    du r\u00e8gne de Louis XV; ses mani\u00e8res \u00e9taient celles d'un homme de\n    bonne compagnie. Habituellement r\u00e9serv\u00e9 et d'un naturel craintif\n    jusqu'\u00e0 la m\u00e9fiance, il ne se livrait qu'avec ses intimes ou les\n    \u00e9trangers de passage \u00e0 Francfort. Ses mouvements \u00e9taient vifs et\n    devenaient d'une p\u00e9tulance extraordinaire dans la conversation; il\n    fuyait les discussions et les vains combats de paroles, mais c'\u00e9tait\n    pour mieux jouir du charme d'une causerie intime. Il poss\u00e9dait et\n    parlait avec une \u00e9gale perfection quatre langues: le fran\u00e7ais,\n    l'anglais, l'allemand, l'italien et passablement l'espagnol. Quand\n    il causait, la verve du vieillard brodait sur le canevas un peu\n    lourd de l'allemand ses brilliantes arabesques latines, grecques,\n    fran\u00e7aises, anglaises, italiennes. C'\u00e9tait un entrain, une pr\u00e9cision\n    et des sailles, une richesse de citations, une exactitude de d\u00e9tails\n    qui faisait couler les heures; et quelquefois le petit cercle de ses\n    intimes l'\u00e9coutait jusqu'\u00e0 minuit, sans qu'un moment de fatigue se\n    f\u00fbt peint sur ses traits ou que le feu de son regard se f\u00fbt un\n    instant amorti. Sa parole nette et accentu\u00e9e captivait l'auditoire:\n    elle peignait et analysait tout ensemble; une sensibilit\u00e9 d\u00e9licate\n    en augmentait le feu; elle \u00e9tait exacte et pr\u00e9cise sur toutes sortes\n    de sujets.\"\n\nSchopenhauer died on the 20th September 1860, in his seventy-third year,\npeacefully, alone as he had lived, but not without warning. One day in\nApril, taking his usual brisk walk after dinner, he suffered from\npalpitation of the heart, he could scarcely breathe. These symptoms\ndeveloped during the next few months, and Dr. Gwinner advised him to\ndiscontinue his cold baths and to breakfast in bed; but Schopenhauer,\nnotwithstanding his early medical training, was little inclined to\nfollow medical advice. To Dr. Gwinner, on the evening of the 18th\nSeptember, when he expressed a hope that he might be able to go to\nItaly, he said that it would be a pity if he died now, as he wished to\nmake several important additions to his _Parerga_; he spoke about his\nworks and of the warm recognition with which they had been welcomed in\nthe most remote places. Dr. Gwinner had never before found him so eager\nand gentle, and left him reluctantly, without, however, the least\npremonition that he had seen him for the last time. On the second\nmorning after this interview Schopenhauer got up as usual, and had his\ncold bath and breakfast. His servant had opened the window to let in the\nmorning air and had then left him. A little later Dr. Gwinner arrived\nand found him reclining in a corner of the sofa; his face wore its\ncustomary expression; there was no sign of there having been any\nstruggle with death. There had been no struggle with death; he had died,\nas he had hoped he would die, painlessly, easily.\n\n\nIn preparing the above notice the writer has to acknowledge her\nindebtedness to Dr. Gwinner's _Life_ and Professor Wallace's little work\non the same subject, as well as to the few other authorities that have\nbeen available.--THE TRANSLATOR.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Wallace's _Life_, pp. 95, 96.\n\n[2] Wallace, p. 108.\n\n[3] Haldane and Kemp's _The World as Will and Idea_.\n\n[4] Wallace, p. 145.\n\n\n\n\nESSAYS OF SCHOPENHAUER.\n\n\n\n\nON AUTHORSHIP AND STYLE.\n\n\nThere are, first of all, two kinds of authors: those who write for the\nsubject's sake, and those who write for writing's sake. The first kind\nhave had thoughts or experiences which seem to them worth communicating,\nwhile the second kind need money and consequently write for money. They\nthink in order to write, and they may be recognised by their spinning\nout their thoughts to the greatest possible length, and also by the way\nthey work out their thoughts, which are half-true, perverse, forced, and\nvacillating; then also by their love of evasion, so that they may seem\nwhat they are not; and this is why their writing is lacking in\ndefiniteness and clearness.\n\nConsequently, it is soon recognised that they write for the sake of\nfilling up the paper, and this is the case sometimes with the best\nauthors; for example, in parts of Lessing's _Dramaturgie_, and even in\nmany of Jean Paul's romances. As soon as this is perceived the book\nshould be thrown away, for time is precious. As a matter of fact, the\nauthor is cheating the reader as soon as he writes for the sake of\nfilling up paper; because his pretext for writing is that he has\nsomething to impart. Writing for money and preservation of copyright\nare, at bottom, the ruin of literature. It is only the man who writes\nabsolutely for the sake of the subject that writes anything worth\nwriting. What an inestimable advantage it would be, if, in every branch\nof literature, there existed only a few but excellent books! This can\nnever come to pass so long as money is to be made by writing. It seems\nas if money lay under a curse, for every author deteriorates directly he\nwrites in any way for the sake of money. The best works of great men all\ncome from the time when they had to write either for nothing or for very\nlittle pay. This is confirmed by the Spanish proverb: _honra y provecho\nno caben en un saco_ (Honour and money are not to be found in the same\npurse). The deplorable condition of the literature of to-day, both in\nGermany and other countries, is due to the fact that books are written\nfor the sake of earning money. Every one who is in want of money sits\ndown and writes a book, and the public is stupid enough to buy it. The\nsecondary effect of this is the ruin of language.\n\nA great number of bad authors eke out their existence entirely by the\nfoolishness of the public, which only will read what has just been\nprinted. I refer to journalists, who have been appropriately so-called.\nIn other words, it would be \"day labourer.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAgain, it may be said that there are three kinds of authors. In the\nfirst place, there are those who write without thinking. They write from\nmemory, from reminiscences, or even direct from other people's books.\nThis class is the most numerous. In the second, those who think whilst\nthey are writing. They think in order to write; and they are numerous.\nIn the third place, there are those who have thought before they begin\nto write. They write solely because they have thought; and they are\nrare.\n\nAuthors of the second class, who postpone their thinking until they\nbegin to write, are like a sportsman who goes out at random--he is not\nlikely to bring home very much. While the writing of an author of the\nthird, the rare class, is like a chase where the game has been captured\nbeforehand and cooped up in some enclosure from which it is afterwards\nset free, so many at a time, into another enclosure, where it is not\npossible for it to escape, and the sportsman has now nothing to do but\nto aim and fire--that is to say, put his thoughts on paper. This is the\nkind of sport which yields something.\n\nBut although the number of those authors who really and seriously think\nbefore they write is small, only extremely few of them think about _the\nsubject itself_; the rest think only about the books written on this\nsubject, and what has been said by others upon it, I mean. In order to\nthink, they must have the more direct and powerful incentive of other\npeople's thoughts. These become their next theme, and therefore they\nalways remain under their influence and are never, strictly speaking,\noriginal. On the contrary, the former are roused to thought through the\n_subject itself_, hence their thinking is directed immediately to it. It\nis only among them that we find the authors whose names become immortal.\nLet it be understood that I am speaking here of writers of the higher\nbranches of literature, and not of writers on the method of distilling\nbrandy.\n\nIt is only the writer who takes the material on which he writes direct\nout of his own head that is worth reading. Book manufacturers,\ncompilers, and the ordinary history writers, and others like them, take\ntheir material straight out of books; it passes into their fingers\nwithout its having paid transit duty or undergone inspection when it was\nin their heads, to say nothing of elaboration. (How learned many a man\nwould be if he knew everything that was in his own books!) Hence their\ntalk is often of such a vague nature that one racks one's brains in vain\nto understand of _what_ they are really thinking. They are not thinking\nat all. The book from which they copy is sometimes composed in the same\nway: so that writing of this kind is like a plaster cast of a cast of a\ncast, and so on, until finally all that is left is a scarcely\nrecognisable outline of the face of Antinous. Therefore, compilations\nshould be read as seldom as possible: it is difficult to avoid them\nentirely, since compendia, which contain in a small space knowledge that\nhas been collected in the course of several centuries, are included in\ncompilations.\n\nNo greater mistake can be made than to imagine that what has been\nwritten latest is always the more correct; that what is written later on\nis an improvement on what was written previously; and that every change\nmeans progress. Men who think and have correct judgment, and people who\ntreat their subject earnestly, are all exceptions only. Vermin is the\nrule everywhere in the world: it is always at hand and busily engaged in\ntrying to improve in its own way upon the mature deliberations of the\nthinkers. So that if a man wishes to improve himself in any subject he\nmust guard against immediately seizing the newest books written upon it,\nin the assumption that science is always advancing and that the older\nbooks have been made use of in the compiling of the new. They have, it\nis true, been used; but how? The writer often does not thoroughly\nunderstand the old books; he will, at the same time, not use their exact\nwords, so that the result is he spoils and bungles what has been said in\na much better and clearer way by the old writers; since they wrote from\ntheir own lively knowledge of the subject. He often leaves out the best\nthings they have written, their most striking elucidations of the\nmatter, their happiest remarks, because he does not recognise their\nvalue or feel how pregnant they are. It is only what is stupid and\nshallow that appeals to him. An old and excellent book is frequently\nshelved for new and bad ones; which, written for the sake of money, wear\na pretentious air and are much eulogised by the authors' friends. In\nscience, a man who wishes to distinguish himself brings something new to\nmarket; this frequently consists in his denouncing some principle that\nhas been previously held as correct, so that he may establish a wrong\none of his own. Sometimes his attempt is successful for a short time,\nwhen a return is made to the old and correct doctrine. These innovators\nare serious about nothing else in the world than their own priceless\nperson, and it is this that they wish to make its mark. They bring this\nquickly about by beginning a paradox; the sterility of their own heads\nsuggests their taking the path of negation; and truths that have long\nbeen recognised are now denied--for instance, the vital power, the\nsympathetic nervous system, _generatio equivoca_, Bichat's distinction\nbetween the working of the passions and the working of intelligence, or\nthey return to crass atomism, etc., etc. Hence _the course of science is\noften retrogressive_.\n\nTo this class of writers belong also those translators who, besides\ntranslating their author, at the same time correct and alter him, a\nthing that always seems to me impertinent. Write books yourself which\nare worth translating and leave the books of other people as they are.\nOne should read, if it is possible, the real authors, the founders and\ndiscoverers of things, or at any rate the recognised great masters in\nevery branch of learning, and buy second-hand _books_ rather than read\ntheir _contents_ in new ones.\n\nIt is true that _inventis aliquid addere facile est_, therefore a man,\nafter having studied the principles of his subject, will have to make\nhimself acquainted with the more recent information written upon it. In\ngeneral, the following rule holds good here as elsewhere, namely: what\nis new is seldom good; because a good thing is only new for a short\ntime.\n\nWhat the address is to a letter the _title_ should be to a book--that\nis, its immediate aim should be to bring the book to that part of the\npublic that will be interested in its contents. Therefore, the title\nshould be effective, and since it is essentially short, it should be\nconcise, laconic, pregnant, and if possible express the contents in a\nword. Therefore a title that is prolix, or means nothing at all, or that\nis indirect or ambiguous, is bad; so is one that is false and\nmisleading: this last may prepare for the book the same fate as that\nwhich awaits a wrongly addressed letter. The worst titles are those that\nare stolen, such titles that is to say that other books already bear;\nfor in the first place they are a plagiarism, and in the second a most\nconvincing proof of an absolute want of originality. A man who has not\nenough originality to think out a new title for his book will be much\nless capable of giving it new contents. Akin to these are those titles\nwhich have been imitated, in other words, half stolen; for instance, a\nlong time after I had written \"On Will in Nature,\" Oersted wrote \"On\nMind in Nature.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA book can never be anything more than the impression of its author's\nthoughts. The value of these thoughts lies either in the _matter about\nwhich_ he has thought, or in the _form_ in which he develops his\nmatter--that is to say, _what_ he has thought about it.\n\nThe matter of books is very various, as also are the merits conferred on\nbooks on account of their matter. All matter that is the outcome of\nexperience, in other words everything that is founded on fact, whether\nit be historical or physical, taken by itself and in its widest sense,\nis included in the term matter. It is the _motif_ that gives its\npeculiar character to the book, so that a book can be important whoever\nthe author may have been; while with form the peculiar character of a\nbook rests with the author of it. The subjects may be of such a nature\nas to be accessible and well known to everybody; but the form in which\nthey are expounded, _what_ has been thought about them, gives the book\nits value, and this depends upon the author. Therefore if a book, from\nthis point of view, is excellent and without a rival, so also is its\nauthor. From this it follows that the merit of a writer worth reading is\nall the greater the less he is dependent on matter--and the better known\nand worn out this matter, the greater will be his merit. The three great\nGrecian tragedians, for instance, all worked at the same subject.\n\nSo that when a book becomes famous one should carefully distinguish\nwhether it is so on account of its matter or its form.\n\nQuite ordinary and shallow men are able to produce books of very great\nimportance because of their _matter_, which was accessible to them\nalone. Take, for instance, books which give descriptions of foreign\ncountries, rare natural phenomena, experiments that have been made,\nhistorical events of which they were witnesses, or have spent both time\nand trouble in inquiring into and specially studying the authorities for\nthem.\n\nOn the other hand, it is on _form_ that we are dependent, where the\nmatter is accessible to every one or very well known; and it is what has\nbeen thought about the matter that will give any value to the\nachievement; it will only be an eminent man who will be able to write\nanything that is worth reading. For the others will only think what is\npossible for every other man to think. They give the impress of their\nown mind; but every one already possesses the original of this\nimpression.\n\nHowever, the public is very much more interested in matter than in form,\nand it is for this very reason that it is behindhand in any high degree\nof culture. It is most laughable the way the public reveals its liking\nfor matter in poetic works; it carefully investigates the real events or\npersonal circumstances of the poet's life which served to give the\n_motif_ of his works; nay, finally, it finds these more interesting than\nthe works themselves; it reads more about Goethe than what has been\nwritten by Goethe, and industriously studies the legend of Faust in\npreference to Goethe's _Faust_ itself. And when B\u00fcrger said that \"people\nwould make learned expositions as to who Leonora really was,\" we see\nthis literally fulfilled in Goethe's case, for we now have many learned\nexpositions on Faust and the Faust legend. They are and will remain of a\npurely material character. This preference for matter to form is the\nsame as a man ignoring the shape and painting of a fine Etruscan vase in\norder to make a chemical examination of the clay and colours of which it\nis made. The attempt to be effective by means of the matter used,\nthereby ministering to this evil propensity of the public, is absolutely\nto be censured in branches of writing where the merit must lie expressly\nin the form; as, for instance, in poetical writing. However, there are\nnumerous bad dramatic authors striving to fill the theatre by means of\nthe matter they are treating. For instance, they place on the stage any\nkind of celebrated man, however stripped of dramatic incidents his life\nmay have been, nay, sometimes without waiting until the persons who\nappear with him are dead.\n\nThe distinction between matter and form, of which I am here speaking, is\ntrue also in regard to conversation. It is chiefly intelligence,\njudgment, wit, and vivacity that enable a man to converse; they give\nform to the conversation. However, the _matter_ of the conversation must\nsoon come into notice--in other words, _that_ about which one can talk\nto the man, namely, his knowledge. If this is very small, it will only\nbe his possessing the above-named formal qualities in a quite\nexceptionally high degree that will make his conversation of any value,\nfor his matter will be restricted to things concerning humanity and\nnature, which are known generally. It is just the reverse if a man is\nwanting in these formal qualities, but has, on the other hand, knowledge\nof such a kind that it lends value to his conversation; this value,\nhowever, will then entirely rest on the matter of his conversation, for,\naccording to the Spanish proverb, _mas sabe el necio en su casa, que el\nsabio en la agena_.\n\nA thought only really lives until it has reached the boundary line of\nwords; it then becomes petrified and dies immediately; yet it is as\neverlasting as the fossilised animals and plants of former ages. Its\nexistence, which is really momentary, may be compared to a crystal the\ninstant it becomes crystallised.\n\nAs soon as a thought has found words it no longer exists in us or is\nserious in its deepest sense.\n\nWhen it begins to exist for others it ceases to live in us; just as a\nchild frees itself from its mother when it comes into existence. The\npoet has also said:\n\n  \"Ihr m\u00fcsst mich nicht durch Widerspruch verwirren!\n  _Sobald man spricht, beginnt man schon zu irren_.\"\n\nThe pen is to thought what the stick is to walking, but one walks most\neasily without a stick, and thinks most perfectly when no pen is at\nhand. It is only when a man begins to get old that he likes to make use\nof a stick and his pen.\n\nA hypothesis that has once gained a position in the mind, or been born\nin it, leads a life resembling that of an organism, in so far as it\nreceives from the outer world matter only that is advantageous and\nhomogeneous to it; on the other hand, matter that is harmful and\nheterogeneous to it is either rejected, or if it must be received, cast\noff again entirely.\n\nAbstract and indefinite terms should be employed in satire only as they\nare in algebra, in place of concrete and specified quantities. Moreover,\nit should be used as sparingly as the dissecting knife on the body of a\nliving man. At the risk of forfeiting his life it is an unsafe\nexperiment.\n\nFor a work to become _immortal_ it must possess so many excellences that\nit will not be easy to find a man who understands and values them _all_;\nso that there will be in all ages men who recognise and appreciate some\nof these excellences; by this means the credit of the work will be\nretained throughout the long course of centuries and ever-changing\ninterests, for, as it is appreciated first in this sense, then in that,\nthe interest is never exhausted.\n\nAn author like this, in other words, an author who has a claim to live\non in posterity, can only be a man who seeks in vain his like among his\ncontemporaries over the wide world, his marked distinction making him a\nstriking contrast to every one else. Even if he existed through several\ngenerations, like the wandering Jew, he would still occupy the same\nposition; in short, he would be, as Ariosto has put it, _lo fece natura,\ne poi ruppe lo stampo_. If this were not so, one would not be able to\nunderstand why his thoughts should not perish like those of other men.\n\nIn almost every age, whether it be in literature or art, we find that if\na thoroughly wrong idea, or a fashion, or a manner is in vogue, it is\nadmired. Those of ordinary intelligence trouble themselves inordinately\nto acquire it and put it in practice. An intelligent man sees through it\nand despises it, consequently he remains out of the fashion. Some years\nlater the public sees through it and takes the sham for what it is\nworth; it now laughs at it, and the much-admired colour of all these\nworks of fashion falls off like the plaster from a badly-built wall: and\nthey are in the same dilapidated condition. We should be glad and not\nsorry when a fundamentally wrong notion of which we have been secretly\nconscious for a long time finally gains a footing and is proclaimed both\nloudly and openly. The falseness of it will soon be felt and eventually\nproclaimed equally loudly and openly. It is as if an abscess had burst.\n\nThe man who publishes and edits an article written by an anonymous\ncritic should be held as immediately responsible for it as if he had\nwritten it himself; just as one holds a manager responsible for bad work\ndone by his workmen. In this way the fellow would be treated as he\ndeserves to be--namely, without any ceremony.\n\nAn anonymous writer is a literary fraud against whom one should\nimmediately cry out, \"Wretch, if you do not wish to admit what it is you\nsay against other people, hold your slanderous tongue.\"\n\nAn anonymous criticism carries no more weight than an anonymous letter,\nand should therefore be looked upon with equal mistrust. Or do we wish\nto accept the assumed name of a man, who in reality represents a\n_soci\u00e9t\u00e9 anonyme_, as a guarantee for the veracity of his friends?\n\nThe little honesty that exists among authors is discernible in the\nunconscionable way they misquote from the writings of others. I find\nwhole passages in my works wrongly quoted, and it is only in my\nappendix, which is absolutely lucid, that an exception is made. The\nmisquotation is frequently due to carelessness, the pen of such people\nhas been used to write down such trivial and banal phrases that it goes\non writing them out of force of habit. Sometimes the misquotation is due\nto impertinence on the part of some one who wants to improve upon my\nwork; but a bad motive only too often prompts the misquotation--it is\nthen horrid baseness and roguery, and, like a man who commits forgery,\nhe loses the character for being an honest man for ever.\n\nStyle is the physiognomy of the mind. It is a more reliable key to\ncharacter than the physiognomy of the body. To imitate another person's\nstyle is like wearing a mask. However fine the mask, it soon becomes\ninsipid and intolerable because it is without life; so that even the\nugliest living face is better. Therefore authors who write in Latin and\nimitate the style of the old writers essentially wear a mask; one\ncertainly hears what they say, but one cannot watch their\nphysiognomy--that is to say their style. One observes, however, the\nstyle in the Latin writings of men _who think for themselves_, those who\nhave not deigned to imitate, as, for instance, Scotus Erigena, Petrarch,\nBacon, Descartes, Spinoza, etc.\n\nAffectation in style is like making grimaces. The language in which a\nman writes is the physiognomy of his nation; it establishes a great many\ndifferences, beginning from the language of the Greeks down to that of\nthe Caribbean islanders.\n\nWe should seek for the faults in the style of another author's works, so\nthat we may avoid committing the same in our own.\n\nIn order to get a provisional estimate of the value of an author's\nproductions it is not exactly necessary to know the matter on which he\nhas thought or what it is he has thought about it,--this would compel\none to read the whole of his works,--but it will be sufficient to know\n_how_ he has thought. His _style_ is an exact expression of _how_ he has\nthought, of the essential state and general _quality_ of his thoughts.\nIt shows the _formal_ nature--which must always remain the same--of all\nthe thoughts of a man, whatever the subject on which he has thought or\nwhat it is he has said about it. It is the dough out of which all his\nideas are kneaded, however various they may be. When Eulenspiegel was\nasked by a man how long he would have to walk before reaching the next\nplace, and gave the apparently absurd answer _Walk_, his intention was\nto judge from the man's walking how far he would go in a given time. And\nso it is when I have read a few pages of an author, I know about how far\nhe can help me.\n\nIn the secret consciousness that this is the condition of things, every\nmediocre writer tries to mask his own natural style. This instantly\nnecessitates his giving up all idea of being _na\u00efve_, a privilege which\nbelongs to superior minds sensible of their superiority, and therefore\nsure of themselves. For instance, it is absolutely impossible for men of\nordinary intelligence to make up their minds to write as they think;\nthey resent the idea of their work looking too simple. It would always\nbe of some value, however. If they would only go honestly to work and in\na simple way express the few and ordinary ideas they have really\nthought, they would be readable and even instructive in their own\nsphere. But instead of that they try to appear to have thought much more\ndeeply than is the case. The result is, they put what they have to say\ninto forced and involved language, create new words and prolix periods\nwhich go round the thought and cover it up. They hesitate between the\ntwo attempts of communicating the thought and of concealing it. They\nwant to make it look grand so that it has the appearance of being\nlearned and profound, thereby giving one the idea that there is much\nmore in it than one perceives at the moment. Accordingly, they sometimes\nput down their thoughts in bits, in short, equivocal, and paradoxical\nsentences which appear to mean much more than they say (a splendid\nexample of this kind of writing is furnished by Schelling's treatises on\nNatural Philosophy); sometimes they express their thoughts in a crowd of\nwords and the most intolerable diffuseness, as if it were necessary to\nmake a sensation in order to make the profound meaning of their phrases\nintelligible--while it is quite a simple idea if not a trivial one\n(examples without number are supplied in Fichte's popular works and in\nthe philosophical pamphlets of a hundred other miserable blockheads that\nare not worth mentioning), or else they endeavour to use a certain style\nin writing which it has pleased them to adopt--for example, a style that\nis so thoroughly _Kat' e'xochae'u_ profound and scientific, where one is\ntortured to death by the narcotic effect of long-spun periods that are\nvoid of all thought (examples of this are specially supplied by those\nmost impertinent of all mortals, the Hegelians in their Hegel newspaper\ncommonly known as _Jahrb\u00fccher der wissenschaftlichen Literatur)_; or\nagain, they aim at an intellectual style where it seems then as if they\nwish to go crazy, and so on. All such efforts whereby they try to\npostpone the _nascetur ridiculus mus_ make it frequently difficult to\nunderstand what they really mean. Moreover, they write down words, nay,\nwhole periods, which mean nothing in themselves, in the hope, however,\nthat some one else will understand something from them. Nothing else is\nat the bottom of all such endeavours but the inexhaustible attempt which\nis always venturing on new paths, to sell words for thoughts, and by\nmeans of new expressions, or expressions used in a new sense, turns of\nphrases and combinations of all kinds, to produce the appearance of\nintellect in order to compensate for the want of it which is so\npainfully felt. It is amusing to see how, with this aim in view, first\nthis mannerism and then that is tried; these they intend to represent\nthe mask of intellect: this mask may possibly deceive the inexperienced\nfor a while, until it is recognised as being nothing but a dead mask,\nwhen it is laughed at and exchanged for another.\n\nWe find a writer of this kind sometimes writing in a dithyrambic style,\nas if he were intoxicated; at other times, nay, on the very next page,\nhe will be high-sounding, severe, and deeply learned, prolix to the last\ndegree of dulness, and cutting everything very small, like the late\nChristian Wolf, only in a modern garment. The mask of unintelligibility\nholds out the longest; this is only in Germany, however, where it was\nintroduced by Fichte, perfected by Schelling, and attained its highest\nclimax finally in Hegel, always with the happiest results. And yet\nnothing is easier than to write so that no one can understand; on the\nother hand, nothing is more difficult than to express learned ideas so\nthat every one must understand them. All the arts I have cited above are\nsuperfluous if the writer really possesses any intellect, for it allows\na man to show himself as he is and verifies for all time what Horace\nsaid: _Scribendi recte sapere est et principium et fons_.\n\nBut this class of authors is like certain workers in metal, who try a\nhundred different compositions to take the place of gold, which is the\nonly metal that can never have a substitute. On the contrary, there is\nnothing an author should guard against more than the apparent endeavour\nto show more intellect than he has; because this rouses the suspicion in\nthe reader that he has very little, since a man always affects\nsomething, be its nature what it may, that he does not really possess.\nAnd this is why it is praise to an author to call him na\u00efve, for it\nsignifies that he may show himself as he is. In general, na\u00efvet\u00e9\nattracts, while anything that is unnatural everywhere repels. We also\nfind that every true thinker endeavours to express his thoughts as\npurely, clearly, definitely, and concisely as ever possible. This is why\nsimplicity has always been looked upon as a token, not only of truth,\nbut also of genius. Style receives its beauty from the thought\nexpressed, while with those writers who only pretend to think it is\ntheir thoughts that are said to be fine because of their style. Style is\nmerely the silhouette of thought; and to write in a vague or bad style\nmeans a stupid or confused mind.\n\nHence, the first rule--nay, this in itself is almost sufficient for a\ngood style--is this, _that the author should have something to say_. Ah!\nthis implies a great deal. The neglect of this rule is a fundamental\ncharacteristic of the philosophical, and generally speaking of all the\nreflective authors in Germany, especially since the time of Fichte. It\nis obvious that all these writers wish _to appear_ to have something to\nsay, while they have nothing to say. This mannerism was introduced by\nthe pseudo-philosophers of the Universities and may be discerned\neverywhere, even among the first literary notabilities of the age. It is\nthe mother of that forced and vague style which seems to have two, nay,\nmany meanings, as well as of that prolix and ponderous style, _le stile\nempes\u00e9_; and of that no less useless bombastic style, and finally of\nthat mode of concealing the most awful poverty of thought under a babble\nof inexhaustible chatter that resembles a clacking mill and is just as\nstupefying: one may read for hours together without getting hold of a\nsingle clearly defined and definite idea. The _Halleschen_, afterwards\ncalled the _Deutschen Jahrb\u00fccher_, furnishes almost throughout excellent\nexamples of this style of writing. The Germans, by the way, from force\nof habit read page after page of all kinds of such verbiage without\ngetting any definite idea of what the author really means: they think it\nall very proper and do not discover that he is writing merely for the\nsake of writing. On the other hand, a good author who is rich in ideas\nsoon gains the reader's credit of having really and truly _something to\nsay_; and this gives the intelligent reader patience to follow him\nattentively. An author of this kind will always express himself in the\nsimplest and most direct manner, for the very reason that he really has\nsomething to say; because he wishes to awaken in the reader the same\nidea he has in his own mind and no other. Accordingly he will be able to\nsay with Boileau--\n\n  \"Ma pens\u00e9e au grand jour partout s'offre et s'expose,\n  Et mon vers, bien ou mal, dit toujours quelque chose;\"\n\nwhile of those previously described writers it may be said, in the words\nof the same poet, _et qui parlant beaucoup ne disent jamais rien_. It is\nalso a characteristic of such writers to avoid, if it is possible,\nexpressing themselves _definitely_, so that they may be always able in\ncase of need to get out of a difficulty; this is why they always choose\nthe more _abstract_ expressions: while people of intellect choose the\nmore _concrete_; because the latter bring the matter closer to view,\nwhich is the source of all evidence. This preference for abstract\nexpressions may be confirmed by numerous examples: a specially\nridiculous example is the following. Throughout German literature of the\nlast ten years we find \"to condition\" almost everywhere used in place of\n\"to cause\" or \"to effect.\" Since it is more abstract and indefinite it\nsays less than it implies, and consequently leaves a little back door\nopen to please those whose secret consciousness of their own incapacity\ninspires them with a continual fear of all _definite_ expressions. While\nwith other people it is merely the effect of that national tendency to\nimmediately imitate everything that is stupid in literature and wicked\nin life; this is shown in either case by the quick way in which it\nspreads. The Englishman depends on his own judgment both in what he\nwrites and what he does, but this applies less to the German than to any\nother nation. In consequence of the state of things referred to, the\nwords \"to cause\" and \"to effect\" have almost entirely disappeared from\nthe literature of the last ten years, and people everywhere talk of \"to\ncondition.\" The fact is worth mentioning because it is\ncharacteristically ridiculous. Everyday authors are only half conscious\nwhen they write, a fact which accounts for their want of intellect and\nthe tediousness of their writings; they do not really themselves\nunderstand the meaning of their own words, because they take ready-made\nwords and learn them. Hence they combine whole phrases more than\nwords--_phrases banales_. This accounts for that obviously\ncharacteristic want of clearly defined thought; in fact, they lack the\ndie that stamps their thoughts, they have no clear thought of their own;\nin place of it we find an indefinite, obscure interweaving of words,\ncurrent phrases, worn-out terms of speech, and fashionable expressions.\nThe result is that their foggy kind of writing is like print that has\nbeen done with old type. On the other hand, intelligent people _really_\nspeak to us in their writings, and this is why they are able to both\nmove and entertain us. It is only intelligent writers who place\nindividual words together with a full consciousness of their use and\nselect them with deliberation. Hence their style of writing bears the\nsame relation to that of those authors described above, as a picture\nthat is really painted does to one that has been executed with stencil.\nIn the first instance every word, just as every stroke of the brush, has\nsome special significance, while in the other everything is done\nmechanically. The same distinction may be observed in music. For it is\nthe omnipresence of intellect that always and everywhere characterises\nthe works of the genius; and analogous to this is Lichtenberg's\nobservation, namely, that Garrick's soul was omnipresent in all the\nmuscles of his body. With regard to the tediousness of the writings\nreferred to above, it is to be observed in general that there are two\nkinds of tediousness--an objective and a subjective. The _objective_\nform of tediousness springs from the deficiency of which we have been\nspeaking--that is to say, where the author has no perfectly clear\nthought or knowledge to communicate. For if a writer possesses any clear\nthought or knowledge it will be his aim to communicate it, and he will\nwork with this end in view; consequently the ideas he furnishes are\neverywhere clearly defined, so that he is neither diffuse, unmeaning,\nnor confused, and consequently not tedious. Even if his fundamental idea\nis wrong, yet in such a case it will be clearly thought out and well\npondered; in other words, it is at least formally correct, and the\nwriting is always of some value. While, for the same reason, a work that\nis objectively _tedious_ is at all times without value. Again,\n_subjective_ tediousness is merely relative: this is because the reader\nis not interested in the subject of the work, and that what he takes an\ninterest in is of a very limited nature. The most excellent work may\ntherefore be tedious subjectively to this or that person, just as, _vice\nvers\ufffd_, the worst work may be subjectively diverting to this or that\nperson: because he is interested in either the subject or the writer of\nthe book.\n\nIt would be of general service to German authors if they discerned that\nwhile a man should, if possible, think like a great mind, he should\nspeak the same language as every other person. Men should use common\nwords to say uncommon things, but they do the reverse. We find them\ntrying to envelop trivial ideas in grand words and to dress their very\nordinary thoughts in the most extraordinary expressions and the most\noutlandish, artificial, and rarest phrases. Their sentences perpetually\nstalk about on stilts. With regard to their delight in bombast, and to\ntheir writing generally in a grand, puffed-up, unreal, hyperbolical, and\nacrobatic style, their prototype is Pistol, who was once impatiently\nrequested by Falstaff, his friend, to \"say what you have to say, _like a\nman of this world_!\"[5]\n\nThere is no expression in the German language exactly corresponding to\n_stile empes\u00e9_; but the thing itself is all the more prevalent. When\ncombined with unnaturalness it is in works what affected gravity,\ngrandness, and unnaturalness are in social intercourse; and it is just\nas intolerable. Poverty of intellect is fond of wearing this dress; just\nas stupid people in everyday life are fond of assuming gravity and\nformality.\n\nA man who writes in this _prezi\u00f6s_ style is like a person who dresses\nhimself up to avoid being mistaken for or confounded with the mob; a\ndanger which a _gentleman_, even in his worst clothes, does not run.\nHence just as a plebeian is recognised by a certain display in his dress\nand his _tir\u00e9 \u00e0 quatre \u00e9pingles_, so is an ordinary writer recognised by\nhis style.\n\nIf a man has something to say that is worth saying, he need not envelop\nit in affected expressions, involved phrases, and enigmatical\ninnuendoes; but he may rest assured that by expressing himself in a\nsimple, clear, and na\u00efve manner he will not fail to produce the right\neffect. A man who makes use of such artifices as have been alluded to\nbetrays his poverty of ideas, mind, and knowledge.\n\nNevertheless, it is a mistake to attempt to write exactly as one speaks.\nEvery style of writing should bear a certain trace of relationship with\nthe monumental style, which is, indeed, the ancestor of all styles; so\nthat to write as one speaks is just as faulty as to do the reverse, that\nis to say, to try and speak as one writes. This makes the author\npedantic, and at the same time difficult to understand.\n\nObscurity and vagueness of expression are at all times and everywhere a\nvery bad sign. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred they arise from\nvagueness of thought, which, in its turn, is almost always fundamentally\ndiscordant, inconsistent, and therefore wrong. When a right thought\nsprings up in the mind it strives after clearness of expression, and it\nsoon attains it, for clear thought easily finds its appropriate\nexpression. A man who is capable of thinking can express himself at all\ntimes in clear, comprehensible, and unambiguous words. Those writers who\nconstruct difficult, obscure, involved, and ambiguous phrases most\ncertainly do not rightly know what it is they wish to say: they have\nonly a dull consciousness of it, which is still struggling to put itself\ninto thought; they also often wish to conceal from themselves and other\npeople that in reality they have nothing to say. Like Fichte, Schelling,\nand Hegel, they wish to appear to know what they do not know, to think\nwhat they do not think, and to say what they do not say.\n\nWill a man, then, who has something real to impart endeavour to say it\nin a clear or an indistinct way? Quintilian has already said, _plerumque\naccidit ut faciliora sint ad intelligendum et lucidiora multo, quae a\ndoctissimo quoque dicuntur.... Erit ergo etiam obscurior, quo quisque\ndeterior_.\n\nA man's way of expressing himself should not be _enigmatical_, but he\nshould know whether he has something to say or whether he has not. It is\nan uncertainty of expression which makes German writers so dull. The\nonly exceptional cases are those where a man wishes to express something\nthat is in some respect of an illicit nature. As anything that is\nfar-fetched generally produces the reverse of what the writer has aimed\nat, so do words serve to make thought comprehensible; but only up to a\ncertain point. If words are piled up beyond this point they make the\nthought that is being communicated more and more obscure. To hit that\npoint is the problem of style and a matter of discernment; for every\nsuperfluous word prevents its purpose being carried out. Voltaire means\nthis when he says: _l'adjectif est l'ennemi du substantif_. (But, truly,\nmany authors try to hide their poverty of thought under a superfluity of\nwords.)\n\nAccordingly, all prolixity and all binding together of unmeaning\nobservations that are not worth reading should be avoided. A writer must\nbe sparing with the reader's time, concentration, and patience; in this\nway he makes him believe that what he has before him is worth his\ncareful reading, and will repay the trouble he has spent upon it. It is\nalways better to leave out something that is good than to write down\nsomething that is not worth saying. Hesiod's \u03c0\u03bb\u03ad\u03bf\u03bd \u1f21\u03bc\u03b9\u03c3\u03c5 \u03c0\u03ac\u03bd\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2[6]\nfinds its right application. In fact, not to say everything! _Le secret\npour \u00eatre ennuyeux, c'est de tout dire_. Therefore, if possible, the\nquintessence only! the chief matter only! nothing that the reader would\nthink for himself. The use of many words in order to express little\nthought is everywhere the infallible sign of mediocrity; while to clothe\nmuch thought in a few words is the infallible sign of distinguished\nminds.\n\nTruth that is naked is the most beautiful, and the simpler its\nexpression the deeper is the impression it makes; this is partly because\nit gets unobstructed hold of the hearer's mind without his being\ndistracted by secondary thoughts, and partly because he feels that here\nhe is not being corrupted or deceived by the arts of rhetoric, but that\nthe whole effect is got from the thing itself. For instance, what\ndeclamation on the emptiness of human existence could be more impressive\nthan Job's: _Homo, natus de muliere, brevi vivit tempore, repletus\nmultis miseriis, qui, tanquam flos, egreditur et conteritur, et fugit\nvelut umbra_. It is for this very reason that the na\u00efve poetry of Goethe\nis so incomparably greater than the rhetorical of Schiller. This is also\nwhy many folk-songs have so great an effect upon us. An author should\nguard against using all unnecessary rhetorical adornment, all useless\namplification, and in general, just as in architecture he should guard\nagainst an excess of decoration, all superfluity of expression--in other\nwords, he must aim at _chastity_ of style. Everything that is redundant\nhas a harmful effect. The law of simplicity and na\u00efvet\u00e9 applies to all\nfine art, for it is compatible with what is most sublime.\n\nTrue brevity of expression consists in a man only saying what is worth\nsaying, while avoiding all diffuse explanations of things which every\none can think out for himself; that is, it consists in his correctly\ndistinguishing between what is necessary and what is superfluous. On the\nother hand, one should never sacrifice clearness, to say nothing of\ngrammar, for the sake of being brief. To impoverish the expression of a\nthought, or to obscure or spoil the meaning of a period for the sake of\nusing fewer words shows a lamentable want of judgment. And this is\nprecisely what that false brevity nowadays in vogue is trying to do, for\nwriters not only leave out words that are to the purpose, but even\ngrammatical and logical essentials.[7]\n\n_Subjectivity_, which is an error of style in German literature, is,\nthrough the deteriorated condition of literature and neglect of old\nlanguages, becoming more common. By _subjectivity_ I mean when a writer\nthinks it sufficient for himself to know what he means and wants to say,\nand it is left to the reader to discover what is meant. Without\ntroubling himself about his reader, he writes as if he were holding a\nmonologue; whereas it should be a dialogue, and, moreover, a dialogue in\nwhich he must express himself all the more clearly as the questions of\nthe reader cannot be heard. And it is for this very reason that style\nshould not be subjective but objective, and for it to be objective the\nwords must be written in such a way as to directly compel the reader to\nthink precisely the same as the author thought. This will only be the\ncase when the author has borne in mind that thoughts, inasmuch as they\nfollow the law of gravity, pass more easily from head to paper than from\npaper to head. Therefore the journey from paper to head must be helped\nby every means at his command. When he does this his words have a purely\nobjective effect, like that of a completed oil painting; while the\nsubjective style is not much more certain in its effect than spots on\nthe wall, and it is only the man whose fantasy is accidentally aroused\nby them that sees figures; other people only see blurs. The difference\nreferred to applies to every style of writing as a whole, and it is also\noften met with in particular instances; for example, I read in a book\nthat has just been published: _I have not written to increase the number\nof existing books_. This means exactly the opposite of what the writer\nhad in view, and is nonsense into the bargain.\n\nA man who writes carelessly at once proves that he himself puts no great\nvalue on his own thoughts. For it is only by being convinced of the\ntruth and importance of our thoughts that there arises in us the\ninspiration necessary for the inexhaustible patience to discover the\nclearest, finest, and most powerful expression for them; just as one\nputs holy relics or priceless works of art in silvern or golden\nreceptacles. It was for this reason that the old writers--whose\nthoughts, expressed in their own words, have lasted for thousands of\nyears and hence bear the honoured title of classics--wrote with\nuniversal care. Plato, indeed, is said to have written the introduction\nto his _Republic_ seven times with different modifications. On the other\nhand, the Germans are conspicuous above all other nations for neglect of\nstyle in writing, as they are for neglect of dress, both kinds of\nslovenliness which have their source in the German national character.\nJust as neglect of dress betrays contempt for the society in which a man\nmoves, so does a hasty, careless, and bad style show shocking disrespect\nfor the reader, who then rightly punishes it by not reading the book.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[5] Schopenhauer here gives an example of this bombastic style which\nwould be of little interest to English readers.--TRANSLATOR.\n\n[6] _Opera et dies_, v. 40.\n\n[7] Schopenhauer here at length points out various common errors in the\nwriting and speaking of German which would lose significance in a\ntranslation.--TR.\n\n\n\n\nON NOISE.\n\n\nKant has written a treatise on _The Vital Powers_; but I should like to\nwrite a dirge on them, since their lavish use in the form of knocking,\nhammering, and tumbling things about has made the whole of my life a\ndaily torment. Certainly there are people, nay, very many, who will\nsmile at this, because they are not sensitive to noise; it is precisely\nthese people, however, who are not sensitive to argument, thought,\npoetry or art, in short, to any kind of intellectual impression: a fact\nto be assigned to the coarse quality and strong texture of their brain\ntissues. On the other hand, in the biographies or in other records of\nthe personal utterances of almost all great writers, I find complaints\nof the pain that noise has occasioned to intellectual men. For example,\nin the case of Kant, Goethe, Lichtenberg, Jean Paul; and indeed when no\nmention is made of the matter it is merely because the context did not\nlead up to it. I should explain the subject we are treating in this way:\nIf a big diamond is cut up into pieces, it immediately loses its value\nas a whole; or if an army is scattered or divided into small bodies, it\nloses all its power; and in the same way a great intellect has no more\npower than an ordinary one as soon as it is interrupted, disturbed,\ndistracted, or diverted; for its superiority entails that it\nconcentrates all its strength on one point and object, just as a concave\nmirror concentrates all the rays of light thrown upon it. Noisy\ninterruption prevents this concentration. This is why the most eminent\nintellects have always been strongly averse to any kind of disturbance,\ninterruption and distraction, and above everything to that violent\ninterruption which is caused by noise; other people do not take any\nparticular notice of this sort of thing. The most intelligent of all the\nEuropean nations has called \"Never interrupt\" the eleventh commandment.\nBut noise is the most impertinent of all interruptions, for it not only\ninterrupts our own thoughts but disperses them. Where, however, there is\nnothing to interrupt, noise naturally will not be felt particularly.\nSometimes a trifling but incessant noise torments and disturbs me for a\ntime, and before I become distinctly conscious of it I feel it merely as\nthe effort of thinking becomes more difficult, just as I should feel a\nweight on my foot; then I realise what it is.\n\nBut to pass from _genus_ to _species_, the truly infernal cracking of\nwhips in the narrow resounding streets of a town must be denounced as\nthe most unwarrantable and disgraceful of all noises. It deprives life\nof all peace and sensibility. Nothing gives me so clear a grasp of the\nstupidity and thoughtlessness of mankind as the tolerance of the\ncracking of whips. This sudden, sharp crack which paralyses the brain,\ndestroys all meditation, and murders thought, must cause pain to any one\nwho has anything like an idea in his head. Hence every crack must\ndisturb a hundred people applying their minds to some activity, however\ntrivial it may be; while it disjoints and renders painful the\nmeditations of the thinker; just like the executioner's axe when it\nsevers the head from the body. No sound cuts so sharply into the brain\nas this cursed cracking of whips; one feels the prick of the whip-cord\nin one's brain, which is affected in the same way as the _mimosa pudica_\nis by touch, and which lasts the same length of time. With all respect\nfor the most holy doctrine of utility, I do not see why a fellow who is\nremoving a load of sand or manure should obtain the privilege of killing\nin the bud the thoughts that are springing up in the heads of about ten\nthousand people successively. (He is only half-an-hour on the road.)\n\nHammering, the barking of dogs, and the screaming of children are\nabominable; but it is _only_ the cracking of a whip that is the true\nmurderer of thought. Its object is to destroy every favourable moment\nthat one now and then may have for reflection. If there were no other\nmeans of urging on an animal than by making this most disgraceful of all\nnoises, one would forgive its existence. But it is quite the contrary:\nthis cursed cracking of whips is not only unnecessary but even useless.\nThe effect that it is intended to have on the horse mentally becomes\nquite blunted and ineffective; since the constant abuse of it has\naccustomed the horse to the crack, he does not quicken his pace for it.\nThis is especially noticeable in the unceasing crack of the whip which\ncomes from an empty vehicle as it is being driven at its slowest rate to\npick up a fare. The slightest touch with the whip would be more\neffective. Allowing, however, that it were absolutely necessary to\nremind the horse of the presence of the whip by continually cracking it,\na crack that made one hundredth part of the noise would be sufficient.\nIt is well known that animals in regard to hearing and seeing notice the\nslightest indications, even indications that are scarcely perceptible to\nourselves. Trained dogs and canary birds furnish astonishing examples of\nthis. Accordingly, this cracking of whips must be regarded as something\npurely wanton; nay, as an impudent defiance, on the part of those who\nwork with their hands, offered to those who work with their heads. That\nsuch infamy is endured in a town is a piece of barbarity and injustice,\nthe more so as it could be easily removed by a police notice requiring\nevery whip cord to have a knot at the end of it. It would do no harm to\ndraw the proletariat's attention to the classes above him who work with\ntheir heads; for he has unbounded fear of any kind of head work. A\nfellow who rides through the narrow streets of a populous town with\nunemployed post-horses or cart-horses, unceasingly cracking with all his\nstrength a whip several yards long, instantly deserves to dismount and\nreceive five really good blows with a stick. If all the philanthropists\nin the world, together with all the legislators, met in order to bring\nforward their reasons for the total abolition of corporal punishment, I\nwould not be persuaded to the contrary.\n\nBut we can see often enough something that is even still worse. I mean a\ncarter walking alone, and without any horses, through the streets\nincessantly cracking his whip. He has become so accustomed to the crack\nin consequence of its unwarrantable toleration. Since one looks after\none's body and all its needs in a most tender fashion, is the thinking\nmind to be the only thing that never experiences the slightest\nconsideration or protection, to say nothing of respect? Carters,\nsack-bearers (porters), messengers, and such-like, are the beasts of\nburden of humanity; they should be treated absolutely with justice,\nfairness, forbearance and care, but they ought not to be allowed to\nthwart the higher exertions of the human race by wantonly making a\nnoise. I should like to know how many great and splendid thoughts these\nwhips have cracked out of the world. If I had any authority, I should\nsoon produce in the heads of these carters an inseparable _nexus\nidearum_ between cracking a whip and receiving a whipping.\n\nLet us hope that those nations with more intelligence and refined\nfeelings will make a beginning, and then by force of example induce the\nGermans to do the same.[8] Meanwhile, hear what Thomas Hood says of them\n(_Up the Rhine)_: \"_For a musical people they are the most noisy I ever\nmet with_\" That they are so is not due to their being more prone to\nmaking a noise than other people, but to their insensibility, which\nsprings from obtuseness; they are not disturbed by it in reading or\nthinking, because they do not think; they only smoke, which is their\nsubstitute for thought. The general toleration of unnecessary noise, for\ninstance, of the clashing of doors, which is so extremely ill-mannered\nand vulgar, is a direct proof of the dulness and poverty of thought that\none meets with everywhere. In Germany it seems as though it were planned\nthat no one should think for noise; take the inane drumming that goes on\nas an instance. Finally, as far as the literature treated of in this\nchapter is concerned, I have only one work to recommend, but it is an\nexcellent one: I mean a poetical epistle in _terzo rimo_ by the famous\npainter Bronzino, entitled \"_De' Romori: a Messer Luca Martini_\" It\ndescribes fully and amusingly the torture to which one is put by the\nmany kinds of noises of a small Italian town. It is written in\ntragicomic style. This epistle is to be found in _Opere burlesche del\nBerni, Aretino ed altri,_ vol. ii. p. 258, apparently published in\nUtrecht in 1771.\n\nThe nature of our intellect is such that _ideas_ are said to spring by\nabstraction from _observations_, so that the latter are in existence\nbefore the former. If this is really what takes place, as is the case\nwith a man who has merely his own experience as his teacher and book, he\nknows quite well which of his observations belong to and are represented\nby each of his ideas; he is perfectly acquainted with both, and\naccordingly he treats everything correctly that comes before his notice.\nWe might call this the natural mode of education.\n\nOn the other hand, an artificial education is having one's head crammed\nfull of ideas, derived from hearing others talk, from learning and\nreading, before one has anything like an extensive knowledge of the\nworld as it is and as one sees it. The observations which produce all\nthese ideas are said to come later on with experience; but until then\nthese ideas are applied wrongly, and accordingly both things and men are\njudged wrongly, seen wrongly, and treated wrongly. And so it is that\neducation perverts the mind; and this is why, after a long spell of\nlearning and reading, we enter the world, in our youth, with views that\nare partly simple, partly perverted; consequently we comport ourselves\nwith an air of anxiety at one time, at another of presumption. This is\nbecause our head is full of ideas which we are now trying to make use\nof, but almost always apply wrongly. This is the result of \u1f51\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\n\u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd (putting the cart before the horse), since we are directly\nopposing the natural development of our mind by obtaining ideas first\nand observations last; for teachers, instead of developing in a boy his\nfaculties of discernment and judgment, and of thinking for himself,\nmerely strive to stuff his head full of other people's thoughts.\nSubsequently, all the opinions that have sprung from misapplied ideas\nhave to be rectified by a lengthy experience; and it is seldom that they\nare completely rectified. This is why so few men of learning have such\nsound common sense as is quite common among the illiterate.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFrom what has been said, the principal point in education is that _one's\nknowledge of the world begins at the right end;_ and the attainment of\nwhich might be designated as the aim of all education. But, as has been\npointed out, this depends principally on the observation of each thing\npreceding the idea one forms of it; further, that narrow ideas precede\nbroader; so that the whole of one's instruction is given in the order\nthat the ideas themselves during formation must have followed. But\ndirectly this order is not strictly adhered to, imperfect and\nsubsequently wrong ideas spring up; and finally there arises a perverted\nview of the world in keeping with the nature of the individual--a view\nsuch as almost every one holds for a long time, and most people to the\nend of their lives. If a man analyses his own character, he will find\nthat it was not until he reached a very ripe age, and in some cases\nquite unexpectedly, that he was able to rightly and clearly understand\nmany matters of a quite simple nature.\n\nPreviously, there had been an obscure point in his knowledge of the\nworld which had arisen through his omitting something in his early\neducation, whether he had been either artificially educated by men or\njust naturally by his own experience. Therefore one should try to find\nout the strictly natural course of knowledge, so that by keeping\nmethodically to it children may become acquainted with the affairs of\nthe world, without getting false ideas into their heads, which\nfrequently cannot be driven out again. In carrying this out, one must\nnext take care that children do not use words with which they connect no\nclear meaning. Even children have, as a rule, that unhappy tendency of\nbeing satisfied with words instead of wishing to understand things, and\nof learning words by heart, so that they may make use of them when they\nare in a difficulty. This tendency clings to them afterwards, so that\nthe knowledge of many learned men becomes mere verbosity.\n\nHowever, the principal thing must always be to let one's observations\nprecede one's ideas, and not the reverse as is usually and unfortunately\nthe case; which may be likened to a child coming into the world with its\nfeet foremost, or a rhyme begun before thinking of its reason. While the\nchild's mind has made a very few observations one inculcates it with\nideas and opinions, which are, strictly speaking, prejudices. His\nobservations and experience are developed through this ready-made\napparatus instead of his ideas being developed out of his own\nobservations. In viewing the world one sees many things from many sides,\nconsequently this is not such a short or quick way of learning as that\nwhich makes use of abstract ideas, and quickly comes to a decision about\neverything; therefore preconceived ideas will not be rectified until\nlate, or it may be they are never rectified. For, when a man's view\ncontradicts his ideas, he will reject at the outset what it renders\nevident as one-sided, nay, he will deny it and shut his eyes to it, so\nthat his preconceived ideas may remain unaffected. And so it happens\nthat many men go through life full of oddities, caprices, fancies, and\nprejudices, until they finally become fixed ideas. He has never\nattempted to abstract fundamental ideas from his own observations and\nexperience, because he has got everything ready-made from other people;\nand it is for this very reason that he and countless others are so\ninsipid and shallow. Instead of such a system, the natural system of\neducation should be employed in educating children. No idea should be\nimpregnated but what has come through the medium of observations, or at\nany rate been verified by them. A child would have fewer ideas, but they\nwould be well-grounded and correct. It would learn to measure things\naccording to its own standard and not according to another's. It would\nthen never acquire a thousand whims and prejudices which must be\neradicated by the greater part of subsequent experience and education.\nIts mind would henceforth be accustomed to thoroughness and clearness;\nthe child would rely on its own judgment, and be free from prejudices.\nAnd, in general, children should not get to know life, in any aspect\nwhatever, from the copy before they have learnt it from the original.\nInstead, therefore, of hastening to place mere books in their hands, one\nshould make them gradually acquainted with things and the circumstances\nof human life, and above everything one should take care to guide them\nto a clear grasp of reality, and to teach them to obtain their ideas\ndirectly from the real world, and to form them in keeping with it--but\nnot to get them from elsewhere, as from books, fables, or what others\nhave said--and then later to make use of such ready-made ideas in real\nlife. The result will be that their heads are full of chimeras and that\nsome will have a wrong comprehension of things, and others will\nfruitlessly endeavour to remodel the world according to those chimeras,\nand so get on to wrong paths both in theory and practice. For it is\nincredible how much harm is done by false notions which have been\nimplanted early in life, only to develop later on into prejudices; the\nlater education which we get from the world and real life must be\nemployed in eradicating these early ideas. And this is why, as is\nrelated by Diogenes Laertius, Antisthenes gave the following answer:\n\u03ad\u03c1\u03c9\u03c4\u03b7\u03b8\u03b5\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b9 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u03bc\u03b1\u03b8\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u1f00\u03bd\u03b1\u03b3\u03ba\u03b1\u03b9\u03bf\u03c4\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd, \u03ad\u03c6\u03b7, \"\u03c4\u03bf \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03b1 \u1f00\u03c0\u03bf\u03bc\u03b1\u03b8\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd.\"\n(_Interrogatus quaenam esset disciplina maxime necessaria, Mala, inquit,\ndediscere_.)\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nChildren should be kept from all kinds of instruction that may make\nerrors possible until their sixteenth year, that is to say, from\nphilosophy, religion, and general views of every description; because it\nis the errors that are acquired in early days that remain, as a rule,\nineradicable, and because the faculty of judgment is the last to arrive\nat maturity. They should only be interested in such things that make\nerrors impossible, such as mathematics, in things which are not very\ndangerous, such as languages, natural science, history, and so forth; in\ngeneral, the branches of knowledge which are to be taken up at any age\nmust be within reach of the intellect at that age and perfectly\ncomprehensible to it. Childhood and youth are the time for collecting\ndata and getting to know specially and thoroughly individual and\nparticular things. On the other hand, all judgment of a general nature\nmust at that time be suspended, and final explanations left alone. One\nshould leave the faculty of judgment alone, as it only comes with\nmaturity and experience, and also take care that one does not anticipate\nit by inculcating prejudice, when it will be crippled for ever.\n\nOn the contrary, the memory is to be specially exercised, as it has its\ngreatest strength and tenacity in youth; however, what has to be\nretained must be chosen with the most careful and scrupulous\nconsideration. For as it is what we have learnt well in our youth that\nlasts, we should take the greatest possible advantage of this precious\ngift. If we picture to ourselves how deeply engraven on our memory the\npeople are whom we knew during the first twelve years of our life, and\nhow indelibly imprinted are also the events of that time, and most of\nthe things that we then experienced, heard, or learnt, the idea of\nbasing education on this susceptibility and tenacity of the youthful\nmind will seem natural; in that the mind receives its impressions\naccording to a strict method and a regular system. But because the years\nof youth that are assigned to man are only few, and the capacity for\nremembering, in general, is always limited (and still more so the\ncapacity for remembering of the individual), everything depends on the\nmemory being filled with what is most essential and important in any\ndepartment of knowledge, to the exclusion of everything else. This\nselection should be made by the most capable minds and masters in every\nbranch of knowledge after the most mature consideration, and the result\nof it established. Such a selection must be based on a sifting of\nmatters which are necessary and important for a man to know in general,\nand also for him to know in a particular profession or calling.\nKnowledge of the first kind would have to be divided into graduated\ncourses, like an encyclop\u00e6dia, corresponding to the degree of general\nculture which each man has attained in his external circumstances; from\na course restricted to what is necessary for primary instruction up to\nthe matter contained in every branch of the philosophical faculty.\nKnowledge of the second kind would, however, be reserved for him who had\nreally mastered the selection in all its branches. The whole would give\na canon specially devised for intellectual education, which naturally\nwould require revision every ten years. By such an arrangement the\nyouthful power of the memory would be put to the best advantage, and it\nwould furnish the faculty of judgment with excellent material when it\nappeared later on.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhat is meant by maturity of knowledge is that state of perfection to\nwhich any one individual is able to bring it, when an exact\ncorrespondence has been effected between the whole of his abstract ideas\nand his own personal observations: whereby each of his ideas rests\ndirectly or indirectly on a basis of observation, which alone gives it\nany real value; and likewise he is able to place every observation that\nhe makes under the right idea corresponding to it.\n\n_Maturity_ of knowledge is the work of experience alone, and\nconsequently of time. For the knowledge we acquire from our own\nobservation is, as a rule, distinct from that we get through abstract\nideas; the former is acquired in the natural way, while the latter comes\nthrough good and bad instruction and what other people have told to us.\nConsequently, in youth there is generally little harmony and connection\nbetween our ideas, which mere expressions have fixed, and our real\nknowledge, which has been acquired by observation. Later they both\ngradually approach and correct each other; but maturity of knowledge\ndoes not exist until they have become quite incorporated. This maturity\nis quite independent of that other kind of perfection, the standard of\nwhich may be high or low, I mean the perfection to which the capacities\nof an individual may be brought; it is not based on a correspondence\nbetween the abstract and intuitive knowledge, but on the degree of\nintensity of each.\n\n\nThe most necessary thing for the practical man is the attainment of an\nexact and thorough knowledge of _what is really going on in the world;_\nbut it is also the most irksome, for a man may continue studying until\nold age without having learnt all that is to be learnt; while one can\nmaster the most important things in the sciences in one's youth. In\ngetting such a knowledge of the world, it is as a novice that the boy\nand youth have the first and most difficult lessons to learn; but\nfrequently even the matured man has still much to learn. The study is of\nconsiderable difficulty in itself, but it is made doubly difficult by\n_novels_, which depict the ways of the world and of men who do not exist\nin real life. But these are accepted with the credulity of youth, and\nbecome incorporated with the mind; so that now, in the place of purely\nnegative ignorance, a whole framework of wrong ideas, which are\npositively wrong, crops up, subsequently confusing the schooling of\nexperience and representing the lesson it teaches in a false light. If\nthe youth was previously in the dark, he will now be led astray by a\nwill-o'-the-wisp: and with a girl this is still more frequently the\ncase. They have been deluded into an absolutely false view of life by\nreading novels, and expectations have been raised that can never be\nfulfilled. This generally has the most harmful effect on their whole\nlives. Those men who had neither time nor opportunity to read novels in\ntheir youth, such as those who work with their hands, have decided\nadvantage over them. Few of these novels are exempt from reproach--nay,\nwhose effect is contrary to bad. Before all others, for instance, _Gil\nBlas_ and the other works of Le Sage (or rather their Spanish\noriginals); further, _The Vicar of Wakefield_, and to some extent the\nnovels of Walter Scott. _Don Quixote_ may be regarded as a satirical\npresentation of the error in question.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[8] According to a notice from the Munich Society for the Protection of\nAnimals, the superfluous whipping and cracking were strictly forbidden\nin Nuremberg in December 1858.\n\n\n\n\nON READING AND BOOKS.\n\n\nIgnorance is degrading only when it is found in company with riches.\nWant and penury restrain the poor man; his employment takes the place of\nknowledge and occupies his thoughts: while rich men who are ignorant\nlive for their pleasure only, and resemble a beast; as may be seen\ndaily. They are to be reproached also for not having used wealth and\nleisure for that which lends them their greatest value.\n\nWhen we read, another person thinks for us: we merely repeat his mental\nprocess. It is the same as the pupil, in learning to write, following\nwith his pen the lines that have been pencilled by the teacher.\nAccordingly, in reading, the work of thinking is, for the greater part,\ndone for us. This is why we are consciously relieved when we turn to\nreading after being occupied with our own thoughts. But, in reading, our\nhead is, however, really only the arena of some one else's thoughts. And\nso it happens that the person who reads a great deal--that is to say,\nalmost the whole day, and recreates himself by spending the intervals in\nthoughtless diversion, gradually loses the ability to think for himself;\njust as a man who is always riding at last forgets how to walk. Such,\nhowever, is the case with many men of learning: they have read\nthemselves stupid. For to read in every spare moment, and to read\nconstantly, is more paralysing to the mind than constant manual work,\nwhich, at any rate, allows one to follow one's own thoughts. Just as a\nspring, through the continual pressure of a foreign body, at last loses\nits elasticity, so does the mind if it has another person's thoughts\ncontinually forced upon it. And just as one spoils the stomach by\noverfeeding and thereby impairs the whole body, so can one overload and\nchoke the mind by giving it too much nourishment. For the more one reads\nthe fewer are the traces left of what one has read; the mind is like a\ntablet that has been written over and over. Hence it is impossible to\nreflect; and it is only by reflection that one can assimilate what one\nhas read if one reads straight ahead without pondering over it later,\nwhat has been read does not take root, but is for the most part lost.\nIndeed, it is the same with mental as with bodily food: scarcely the\nfifth part of what a man takes is assimilated; the remainder passes off\nin evaporation, respiration, and the like.\n\nFrom all this it may be concluded that thoughts put down on paper are\nnothing more than footprints in the sand: one sees the road the man has\ntaken, but in order to know what he saw on the way, one requires his\neyes.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo literary quality can be attained by reading writers who possess it:\nbe it, for example, persuasiveness, imagination, the gift of drawing\ncomparisons, boldness or bitterness, brevity or grace, facility of\nexpression or wit, unexpected contrasts, a laconic manner, na\u00efvet\u00e9, and\nthe like. But if we are already gifted with these qualities--that is to\nsay, if we possess them _potentia_--we can call them forth and bring\nthem to consciousness; we can discern to what uses they are to be put;\nwe can be strengthened in our inclination, nay, may have courage, to use\nthem; we can judge by examples the effect of their application and so\nlearn the correct use of them; and it is only after we have accomplished\nall this that we _actu_ possess these qualities. This is the only way in\nwhich reading can form writing, since it teaches us the use to which we\ncan put our own natural gifts; and in order to do this it must be taken\nfor granted that these qualities are in us. Without them we learn\nnothing from reading but cold, dead mannerisms, and we become mere\nimitators.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe health officer should, in the interest of one's eyes, see that the\nsmallness of print has a fixed minimum, which must not be exceeded. When\nI was in Venice in 1818, at which time the genuine Venetian chain was\nstill being made, a goldsmith told me that those who made the _catena\nfina_ turned blind at thirty.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs the strata of the earth preserve in rows the beings which lived in\nformer times, so do the shelves of a library preserve in a like manner\nthe errors of the past and expositions concerning them. Like those\ncreatures, they too were full of life in their time and made a great\ndeal of noise; but now they are stiff and fossilised, and only of\ninterest to the literary palaeontologist.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAccording to Herodotus, Xerxes wept at the sight of his army, which was\ntoo extensive for him to scan, at the thought that a hundred years hence\nnot one of all these would be alive. Who would not weep at the thought\nin looking over a big catalogue that of all these books not one will be\nin existence in ten years' time?\n\nIt is the same in literature as in life. Wherever one goes one\nimmediately comes upon the incorrigible mob of humanity. It exists\neverywhere in legions; crowding, soiling everything, like flies in\nsummer. Hence the numberless bad books, those rank weeds of literature\nwhich extract nourishment from the corn and choke it.\n\nThey monopolise the time, money, and attention which really belong to\ngood books and their noble aims; they are written merely with a view to\nmaking money or procuring places. They are not only useless, but they do\npositive harm. Nine-tenths of the whole of our present literature aims\nsolely at taking a few shillings out of the public's pocket, and to\naccomplish this, author, publisher, and reviewer have joined forces.\n\nThere is a more cunning and worse trick, albeit a profitable one.\n_Litt\u00e9rateurs_, hack-writers, and productive authors have succeeded,\ncontrary to good taste and the true culture of the age, in bringing the\nworld _elegante_ into leading-strings, so that they have been taught to\nread _a tempo_ and all the same thing--namely, _the newest books_ order\nthat they may have material for conversation in their social circles.\nBad novels and similar productions from the pen of writers who were once\nfamous, such as Spindler, Bulwer, Eug\u00e8ne Sue, and so on, serve this\npurpose. But what can be more miserable than the fate of a reading\npublic of this kind, that feels always impelled to read the latest\nwritings of extremely commonplace authors who write for money only, and\ntherefore exist in numbers? And for the sake of this they merely know by\nname the works of the rare and superior writers, of all ages and\ncountries.\n\nLiterary newspapers, since they print the daily smatterings of\ncommonplace people, are especially a cunning means for robbing from the\naesthetic public the time which should be devoted to the genuine\nproductions of art for the furtherance of culture.\n\nHence, in regard to our subject, the art of _not_ reading is highly\nimportant. This consists in not taking a book into one's hand merely\nbecause it is interesting the great public at the time--such as\npolitical or religious pamphlets, novels, poetry, and the like, which\nmake a noise and reach perhaps several editions in their first and last\nyears of existence. Remember rather that the man who writes for fools\nalways finds a large public: and only read for a limited and definite\ntime exclusively the works of great minds, those who surpass other men\nof all times and countries, and whom the voice of fame points to as\nsuch. These alone really educate and instruct.\n\nOne can never read too little of bad, or too much of good books: bad\nbooks are intellectual poison; they destroy the mind.\n\nIn order to read what is good one must make it a condition never to read\nwhat is bad; for life is short, and both time and strength limited.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBooks are written sometimes about this, sometimes about that great\nthinker of former times, and the public reads these books, but not the\nworks of the man himself. This is because it wants to read only what has\njust been printed, and because _similis simili gaudet_, and it finds the\nshallow, insipid gossip of some stupid head of to-day more homogeneous\nand agreeable than the thoughts of great minds. I have to thank fate,\nhowever, that a fine epigram of A.B. Schlegel, which has since been my\nguiding star, came before my notice as a youth:\n\n  \"Leset fleizig die Alten, die wahren eigentlich Alten\n  Was die Neuen davon sagen bedeutet nicht viel.\"\n\nOh, how like one commonplace mind is to another! How they are all\nfashioned in one form! How they all think alike under similar\ncircumstances, and never differ! This is why their views are so personal\nand petty. And a stupid public reads the worthless trash written by\nthese fellows for no other reason than that it has been printed to-day,\nwhile it leaves the works of great thinkers undisturbed on the\nbookshelves.\n\nIncredible are the folly and perversity of a public that will leave\nunread writings of the noblest and rarest of minds, of all times and all\ncountries, for the sake of reading the writings of commonplace persons\nwhich appear daily, and breed every year in countless numbers like\nflies; merely because these writings have been printed to-day and are\nstill wet from the press. It would be better if they were thrown on one\nside and rejected the day they appeared, as they must be after the lapse\nof a few years. They will then afford material for laughter as\nillustrating the follies of a former time.\n\nIt is because people will only read what is _the newest_ instead of what\nis the best of all ages, that writers remain in the narrow circle of\nprevailing ideas, and that the age sinks deeper and deeper in its own\nmire.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere are at all times two literatures which, although scarcely known to\neach other, progress side by side--the one real, the other merely\napparent. The former grows into literature that _lasts_. Pursued by\npeople who live _for_ science or poetry, it goes its way earnestly and\nquietly, but extremely slowly; and it produces in Europe scarcely a\ndozen works in a century, which, however, are _permanent_. The other\nliterature is pursued by people who live _on_ science or poetry; it goes\nat a gallop amid a great noise and shouting of those taking part, and\nbrings yearly many thousand works into the market. But after a few years\none asks, Where are they? where is their fame, which was so great\nformerly? This class of literature may be distinguished as fleeting, the\nother as permanent.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt would be a good thing to buy books if one could also buy the time to\nread them; but one usually confuses the purchase of books with the\nacquisition of their contents. To desire that a man should retain\neverything he has ever read, is the same as wishing him to retain in his\nstomach all that he has ever eaten. He has been bodily nourished on what\nhe has eaten, and mentally on what he has read, and through them become\nwhat he is. As the body assimilates what is homogeneous to it, so will a\nman _retain_ what _interests_ him; in other words, what coincides with\nhis system of thought or suits his ends. Every one has aims, but very\nfew have anything approaching a system of thought. This is why such\npeople do not take an objective interest in anything, and why they learn\nnothing from what they read: they remember nothing about it.\n\n_Repetitio est mater studiorum_. Any kind of important book should\nimmediately be read twice, partly because one grasps the matter in its\nentirety the second time, and only really understands the beginning when\nthe end is known; and partly because in reading it the second time one's\ntemper and mood are different, so that one gets another impression; it\nmay be that one sees the matter in another light.\n\nWorks are the quintessence of a mind, and are therefore always of by far\ngreater value than conversation, even if it be the conversation of the\ngreatest mind. In every essential a man's works surpass his conversation\nand leave it far behind. Even the writings of an ordinary man may be\ninstructive, worth reading, and entertaining, for the simple reason that\nthey are the quintessence of that man's mind--that is to say, the\nwritings are the result and fruit of his whole thought and study; while\nwe should be dissatisfied with his conversation. Accordingly, it is\npossible to read books written by people whose conversation would give\nus no satisfaction; so that the mind will only by degrees attain high\nculture by finding entertainment almost entirely in books, and not in\nmen.\n\nThere is nothing that so greatly recreates the mind as the works of the\nold classic writers. Directly one has been taken up, even if it is only\nfor half-an-hour, one feels as quickly refreshed, relieved, purified,\nelevated, and strengthened as if one had refreshed oneself at a mountain\nstream. Is this due to the perfections of the old languages, or to the\ngreatness of the minds whose works have remained unharmed and untouched\nfor centuries? Perhaps to both combined. This I know, directly we stop\nlearning the old languages (as is at present threatening) a new class of\nliterature will spring up, consisting of writing that is more barbaric,\nstupid, and worthless than has ever yet existed; that, in particular,\nthe German language, which possesses some of the beauties of the old\nlanguages, will be systematically spoilt and stripped by these worthless\ncontemporary scribblers, until, little by little, it becomes\nimpoverished, crippled, and reduced to a miserable jargon.\n\nHalf a century is always a considerable time in the history of the\nuniverse, for the matter which forms it is always shifting; something is\nalways taking place. But the same length of time in literature often\ngoes for nothing, because nothing has happened; unskilful attempts don't\ncount; so that we are exactly where we were fifty years previously.\n\nTo illustrate this: imagine the progress of knowledge among mankind in\nthe form of a planet's course. The false paths the human race soon\nfollows after any important progress has been made represent the\nepicycles in the Ptolemaic system; after passing through any one of them\nthe planet is just where it was before it entered it. The great minds,\nhowever, which really bring the race further on its course, do not\naccompany it on the epicycles which it makes every time. This explains\nwhy posthumous fame is got at the expense of contemporary fame, and\n_vice vers\u00e2_. We have an instance of such an epicycle in the philosophy\nof Fichte and Schelling, crowned by Hegel's caricature of it. This\nepicycle issued from the limit to which philosophy had been finally\nbrought by Kant, where I myself took it up again later to carry it\nfurther. In the interim the false philosophers I have mentioned, and\nsome others, passed through their epicycle, which has just been\nterminated; hence the people who accompanied them are conscious of being\nexactly at the point from which they started.\n\nThis condition of things shows why the scientific, literary, and\nartistic spirit of the age is declared bankrupt about every thirty\nyears. During that period the errors have increased to such an extent\nthat they fall under the weight of their absurdity; while at the same\ntime the opposition to them has become stronger. At this point there is\na crash, which is followed by an error in the opposite direction. To\nshow the course that is taken in its periodical return would be the true\npractical subject of the history of literature; little notice is taken\nof it, however. Moreover, through the comparative shortness of such\nperiods, the data of remote times are with difficulty collected; hence\nthe matter can be most conveniently observed in one's own age. An\nexample of this taken from physical science is found in Werter's\nNeptunian geology. But let me keep to the example already quoted above,\nfor it is nearest to us. In German philosophy Kant's brilliant period\nwas immediately followed by another period, which aimed at being\nimposing rather than convincing. Instead of being solid and clear, it\naimed at being brilliant and hyperbolical, and, in particular,\nunintelligible; instead of seeking truth, it intrigued. Under these\ncircumstances philosophy could make no progress. Ultimately the whole\nschool and its method became bankrupt. For the audacious, sophisticated\nnonsense on the one hand, and the unconscionable praise on the other of\nHegel and his fellows, as well as the apparent object of the whole\naffair, rose to such a pitch that in the end the charlatanry of the\nthing was obvious to everybody; and when, in consequence of certain\nrevelations, the protection that had been given it by the upper classes\nwas withdrawn, it was talked about by everybody. This most miserable of\nall the philosophies that have ever existed dragged down with it into\nthe abyss of discredit the systems of Fichte and Schelling, which had\npreceded it. So that the absolute philosophical futility of the first\nhalf of the century following upon Kant in Germany is obvious; and yet\nthe Germans boast of their gift for philosophy compared with foreigners,\nespecially since an English writer, with malicious irony, called them _a\nnation of thinkers_.\n\nThose who want an example of the general scheme of epicycles taken from\nthe history of art need only look at the School of Sculpture which\nflourished in the last century under Bernini, and especially at its\nfurther cultivation in France. This school represented commonplace\nnature instead of antique beauty, and the manners of a French minuet\ninstead of antique simplicity and grace. It became bankrupt when, under\nWinckelmann's direction, a return was made to the antique school.\nAnother example is supplied in the painting belonging to the first\nquarter of this century. Art was regarded merely as a means and\ninstrument of mediaeval religious feeling, and consequently\necclesiastical subjects alone were chosen for its themes. These,\nhowever, were treated by painters who were wanting in earnestness of\nfaith, and in their delusion they took for examples Francesco Francia,\nPietro Perugino, Angelico da Fiesole, and others like them, even holding\nthem in greater esteem than the truly great masters who followed. In\nview of this error, and because in poetry an analogous effort had at the\nsame time met with favour, Goethe wrote his parable _Pfaffenspiel_. This\nschool, reputedly capricious, became bankrupt, and was followed by a\nreturn to nature, which made itself known in _genre_ pictures and scenes\nof life of every description, even though it strayed sometimes into\nvulgarity.\n\nIt is the same with the progress of the human mind in the _history of\nliterature_, which is for the most part like the catalogue of a cabinet\nof deformities; the spirit in which they keep the longest is pigskin. We\ndo not need to look there for the few who have been born shapely; they\nare still alive, and we come across them in every part of the world,\nlike immortals whose youth is ever fresh. They alone form what I have\ndistinguished as _real_ literature, the history of which, although poor\nin persons, we learn from our youth up out of the mouths of educated\npeople, and not first of all from compilations. As a specific against\nthe present prevailing monomania for reading literary histories, so that\none may be able to chatter about everything without really knowing\nanything, let me refer you to a passage from Lichtenberg which is well\nworth reading (vol. ii. p. 302 of the old edition).\n\nBut I wish some one would attempt a _tragical history of literature_,\nshowing how the greatest writers and artists have been treated during\ntheir lives by the various nations which have produced them and whose\nproudest possessions they are. It would show us the endless fight which\nthe good and genuine works of all periods and countries have had to\ncarry on against the perverse and bad. It would depict the martyrdom of\nalmost all those who truly enlightened humanity, of almost all the great\nmasters in every kind of art; it would show us how they, with few\nexceptions, were tormented without recognition, without any to share\ntheir misery, without followers; how they existed in poverty and misery\nwhilst fame, honour, and riches fell to the lot of the worthless; it\nwould reveal that what happened to them happened to Esau, who, while\nhunting the deer for his father, was robbed of the blessing by Jacob\ndisguised in his brother's coat; and how through it all the love of\ntheir subject kept them up, until at last the trying fight of such a\nteacher of the human race is ended, the immortal laurel offered to him,\nand the time come when it can be said of him\n\n  \"Der schwere Panzer wird zum Fl\u00fcgelkleide\n  Kurz ist der Schmerz, unendlich ist die Freude.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMPTINESS OF EXISTENCE.\n\n\nThis emptiness finds its expression in the whole form of existence, in\nthe infiniteness of Time and Space as opposed to the finiteness of the\nindividual in both; in the flitting present as the only manner of real\nexistence; in the dependence and relativity of all things; in constantly\nBecoming without Being; in continually wishing without being satisfied;\nin an incessant thwarting of one's efforts, which go to make up life,\nuntil victory is won. _Time_, and the _transitoriness_ of all things,\nare merely the form under which the will to live, which as the\nthing-in-itself is imperishable, has revealed to Time the futility of\nits efforts. Time is that by which at every moment all things become as\nnothing in our hands, and thereby lose all their true value.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhat _has been_ exists no more; and exists just as little as that which\nhas _never_ been. But everything that exists _has been_ in the next\nmoment. Hence something belonging to the present, however unimportant it\nmay be, is superior to something important belonging to the past; this\nis because the former is a _reality_ and related to the latter as\nsomething is to nothing.\n\nA man to his astonishment all at once becomes conscious of existing\nafter having been in a state of non-existence for many thousands of\nyears, when, presently again, he returns to a state of non-existence for\nan equally long time. This cannot possibly be true, says the heart; and\neven the crude mind, after giving the matter its consideration, must\nhave some sort of presentiment of the ideality of time. This ideality of\ntime, together with that of space, is the key to every true system of\nmetaphysics, because it finds room for quite another order of things\nthan is to be found in nature. This is why Kant is so great.\n\nOf every event in our life it is only for a moment that we can say that\nit _is_; after that we must say for ever that it _was_. Every evening\nmakes us poorer by a day. It would probably make us angry to see this\nshort space of time slipping away, if we were not secretly conscious in\nthe furthest depths of our being that the spring of eternity belongs to\nus, and that in it we are always able to have life renewed.\n\nReflections of the nature of those above may, indeed, establish the\nbelief that to enjoy the present, and to make this the purpose of one's\nlife, is the greatest _wisdom_; since it is the present alone that is\nreal, everything else being only the play of thought. But such a purpose\nmight just as well be called the greatest _folly_, for that which in the\nnext moment exists no more, and vanishes as completely as a dream, can\nnever be worth a serious effort.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOur existence is based solely on the ever-fleeting present. Essentially,\ntherefore, it has to take the form of continual motion without there\never being any possibility of our finding the rest after which we are\nalways striving. It is the same as a man running downhill, who falls if\nhe tries to stop, and it is only by his continuing to run on that he\nkeeps on his legs; it is like a pole balanced on one's finger-tips, or\nlike a planet that would fall into its sun as soon as it stopped\nhurrying onwards. Hence unrest is the type of existence.\n\nIn a world like this, where there is no kind of stability, no\npossibility of anything lasting, but where everything is thrown into a\nrestless whirlpool of change, where everything hurries on, flies, and is\nmaintained in the balance by a continual advancing and moving, it is\nimpossible to imagine happiness. It cannot dwell where, as Plato says,\n_continual Becoming and never Being_ is all that takes place. First of\nall, no man is happy; he strives his whole life long after imaginary\nhappiness, which he seldom attains, and if he does, then it is only to\nbe disillusioned; and as a rule he is shipwrecked in the end and enters\nthe harbour dismasted. Then it is all the same whether he has been happy\nor unhappy in a life which was made up of a merely ever-changing present\nand is now at an end.\n\nMeanwhile it surprises one to find, both in the world of human beings\nand in that of animals, that this great, manifold, and restless motion\nis sustained and kept going by the medium of two simple impulses--hunger\nand the instinct of sex, helped perhaps a little by boredom--and that\nthese have the power to form the _primum mobile_ of so complex a\nmachinery, setting in motion the variegated show!\n\nLooking at the matter a little closer, we see at the very outset that\nthe existence of inorganic matter is being constantly attacked by\nchemical forces which eventually annihilates it. While organic existence\nis only made possible by continual change of matter, to keep up a\nperpetual supply of which it must consequently have help from without.\nTherefore organic life is like balancing a pole on one's hand; it must\nbe kept in continual motion, and have a constant supply of matter of\nwhich it is continually and endlessly in need. Nevertheless it is only\nby means of this organic life that consciousness is possible.\n\nAccordingly this is a _finite existence_, and its antithesis would be an\n_infinite_, neither exposed to any attack from without nor in want of\nhelp from without, and hence \u1f00\u03b5\u03af \u1f61\u03c3\u03b1\u03cd\u03c4\u03c9\u03c2 \u1f44\u03bd, in eternal rest; \u03bf\u1f54\u03c4\u03b5\n\u03b3\u03b9\u03b3\u03bd\u03cc\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd, \u03bf\u1f54\u03c4\u03b5 \u1f00\u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03bb\u03cd\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd, without change, without time, and without\ndiversity; the negative knowledge of which is the fundamental note of\nPlato's philosophy. The denial of the will to live reveals the way to\nsuch a state as this.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe scenes of our life are like pictures in rough mosaic, which have no\neffect at close quarters, but must be looked at from a distance in order\nto discern their beauty. So that to obtain something we have desired is\nto find out that it is worthless; we are always living in expectation of\nbetter things, while, at the same time, we often repent and long for\nthings that belong to the past. We accept the present as something that\nis only temporary, and regard it only as a means to accomplish our aim.\nSo that most people will find if they look back when their life is at an\nend, that they have lived their lifelong _ad interim_, and they will be\nsurprised to find that something they allowed to pass by unnoticed and\nunenjoyed was just their life--that is to say, it was the very thing in\nthe expectation of which they lived. And so it may be said of man in\ngeneral that, befooled by hope, he dances into the arms of death.\n\nThen again, there is the insatiability of each individual will; every\ntime it is satisfied a new wish is engendered, and there is no end to\nits eternally insatiable desires.\n\nThis is because the Will, taken in itself, is the lord of worlds; since\neverything belongs to it, it is not satisfied with a portion of\nanything, but only with the whole, which, however, is endless. Meanwhile\nit must excite our pity when we consider how extremely little this lord\nof the world receives, when it makes its appearance as an individual;\nfor the most part only just enough to maintain the body. This is why man\nis so very unhappy.\n\nIn the present age, which is intellectually impotent and remarkable for\nits veneration of what is bad in every form--a condition of things which\nis quite in keeping with the coined word \"Jetztzeit\" (present time), as\npretentious as it is cacophonic--the pantheists make bold to say that\nlife is, as they call it, \"an end-in itself.\" If our existence in this\nworld were an end-in-itself, it would be the most absurd end that was\never determined; even we ourselves or any one else might have imagined\nit.\n\nLife presents itself next as a task, the task, that is, of subsisting\n_de gagner sa vie_. If this is solved, then that which has been won\nbecomes a burden, and involves the second task of its being got rid of\nin order to ward off boredom, which, like a bird of prey, is ready to\nfall upon any life that is secure from want.\n\nSo that the first task is to win something, and the second, after the\nsomething has been won, to forget about it, otherwise it becomes a\nburden.\n\nThat human life must be a kind of mistake is sufficiently clear from the\nfact that man is a compound of needs, which are difficult to satisfy;\nmoreover, if they are satisfied, all he is granted is a state of\npainlessness, in which he can only give himself up to boredom. This is a\nprecise proof that existence in itself has no value, since boredom is\nmerely the feeling of the emptiness of life. If, for instance, life, the\nlonging for which constitutes our very being, had in itself any positive\nand real value, boredom could not exist; mere existence in itself would\nsupply us with everything, and therefore satisfy us. But our existence\nwould not be a joyous thing unless we were striving after something;\ndistance and obstacles to be overcome then represent our aim as\nsomething that would satisfy us--an illusion which vanishes when our aim\nhas been attained; or when we are engaged in something that is of a\npurely intellectual nature, when, in reality, we have retired from the\nworld, so that we may observe it from the outside, like spectators at a\ntheatre. Even sensual pleasure itself is nothing but a continual\nstriving, which ceases directly its aim is attained. As soon as we are\nnot engaged in one of these two ways, but thrown back on existence\nitself, we are convinced of the emptiness and worthlessness of it; and\nthis it is we call boredom. That innate and ineradicable craving for\nwhat is out of the common proves how glad we are to have the natural and\ntedious course of things interrupted. Even the pomp and splendour of the\nrich in their stately castles is at bottom nothing but a futile attempt\nto escape the very essence of existence, _misery_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThat the most perfect manifestation of the _will to live_, which\npresents itself in the extremely subtle and complicated machinery of the\nhuman organism, must fall to dust and finally deliver up its whole being\nto dissolution, is the na\u00efve way in which Nature, invariably true and\ngenuine, declares the whole striving of the will in its very essence to\nbe of no avail. If it were of any value in itself, something\nunconditioned, its end would not be non-existence. This is the dominant\nnote of Goethe's beautiful song:\n\n  \"Hoch auf dem alten Thurme steht\n  Des Helden edler Geist.\"\n\nThat man is nothing but a phenomenon, that he is\nnot-the-thing-in-itself--I mean that he is not \u1f44\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03c2 \u1f44\u03bd--is proved by\nthe fact that _death is a necessity_.\n\nAnd how different the beginning of our life is to the end! The former is\nmade up of deluded hopes, sensual enjoyment, while the latter is pursued\nby bodily decay and the odour of death.\n\nThe road dividing the two, as far as our well-being and enjoyment of\nlife are concerned, is downhill; the dreaminess of childhood, the\njoyousness of youth, the troubles of middle age, the infirmity and\nfrequent misery of old age, the agonies of our last illness, and finally\nthe struggle with death--do all these not make one feel that existence\nis nothing but a mistake, the consequences of which are becoming\ngradually more and more obvious?\n\nIt would be wisest to regard life as a _desenga\u00f1o_, a delusion; that\neverything is intended to be so is sufficiently clear.\n\nOur life is of a microscopical nature; it is an indivisible point which,\ndrawn out by the powerful lenses of Time and Space, becomes considerably\nmagnified.\n\nTime is an element in our brain which by the means of duration gives a\nsemblance of reality to the _absolutely empty existence_ of things and\nourselves.\n\nHow foolish it is for a man to regret and deplore his having made no use\nof past opportunities, which might have secured him this or that\nhappiness or enjoyment! What is there left of them now? Only the ghost\nof a remembrance! And it is the same with everything that really falls\nto our lot. So that the _form of time_ itself, and how much is reckoned\non it, is a definite way of proving to us the vanity of all earthly\nenjoyment.\n\nOur existence, as well as that of all animals, is not one that lasts, it\nis only temporary, merely an _existentia fluxa_, which may be compared\nto a water-mill in that it is constantly changing.\n\nIt is true that the _form_ of the body lasts for a time, but only on\ncondition that the matter is constantly changing, that the old matter is\nthrown off and new added. And it is the chief work of all living\ncreatures to secure a constant supply of suitable matter. At the same\ntime, they are conscious that their existence is so fashioned as to last\nonly for a certain time, as has been said. This is why they attempt,\nwhen they are taking leave of life, to hand it over to some one else who\nwill take their place. This attempt takes the form of the sexual\ninstinct in self-consciousness, and in the consciousness of other things\npresents itself objectively--that is, in the form of genital instinct.\nThis instinct may be compared to the threading of a string of pearls;\none individual succeeding another as rapidly as the pearls on the\nthread. If we, in imagination, hasten on this succession, we shall see\nthat the matter is constantly changing in the whole row just as it is\nchanging in each pearl, while it retains the same form: we will then\nrealise that we have only a quasi-existence. That it is only Ideas which\nexist, and the shadow-like nature of the thing corresponding to them, is\nthe basis of Plato's teachings.\n\nThat we are nothing but _phenomena_ as opposed to the thing-in-itself is\nconfirmed, exemplified, and made clear by the fact that the _conditio\nsine qua non_ of our existence is a continual flowing off and flowing to\nof matter which, as nourishment, is a constant need. So that we resemble\nsuch phenomena as smoke, fire, or a jet of water, all of which die out\nor stop directly there is no supply of matter. It may be said then that\nthe _will to live_ presents itself in the form of _pure phenomena_ which\nend _in nothing_. This nothingness, however, together with the\nphenomena, remain within the boundary of the _will to live_ and are\nbased on it. I admit that this is somewhat obscure.\n\nIf we try to get a general view of humanity at a glance, we shall see\neverywhere a constant fighting and mighty struggling for life and\nexistence; that mental and bodily strength is taxed to the utmost, and\nopposed by threatening and actual dangers and woes of every kind.\n\nAnd if we consider the price that is paid for all this, existence, and\nlife itself, it will be found that there has been an interval when\nexistence was free from pain, an interval, however, which was\nimmediately followed by boredom, and which in its turn was quickly\nterminated by fresh cravings.\n\nThat boredom is immediately followed by fresh needs is a fact which is\nalso true of the cleverer order of animals, because life has _no true\nand genuine value_ in itself, but is kept _in motion_ merely through the\nmedium of needs and illusion. As soon as there are no needs and illusion\nwe become conscious of the absolute barrenness and emptiness of\nexistence.\n\nIf one turns from contemplating the course of the world at large, and in\nparticular from the ephemeral and mock existence of men as they follow\neach other in rapid succession, to the _detail_ of _life_, how like a\ncomedy it seems!\n\nIt impresses us in the same way as a drop of water, crowded with\n_infusoria_, seen through a microscope, or a little heap of cheese-mites\nthat would otherwise be invisible. Their activity and struggling with\neach other in such little space amuse us greatly. And it is the same in\nthe little span of life--great and earnest activity produces a comic\neffect.\n\nNo man has ever felt perfectly happy in the present; if he had it would\nhave intoxicated him.\n\n\n\n\nON WOMEN.\n\n\nThese few words of Jouy, _Sans les femmes le commencement de notre vie\nseroit priv\u00e9 de secours, le milieu de plaisirs et la fin de\nconsolation_, more exactly express, in my opinion, the true praise of\nwoman than Schiller's poem, _W\u00fcrde der Frauen_, which is the fruit of\nmuch careful thought and impressive because of its antithesis and use of\ncontrast. The same thing is more pathetically expressed by Byron in\n_Sardanapalus_, Act i, Sc. 2:--\n\n                                \"The very first\n  Of human life must spring from woman's breast,\n  Your first small words are taught you from her lips,\n  Your first tears quench'd by her, and your last sighs\n  Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing,\n  When men have shrunk from the ignoble care\n  Of watching the last hour of him who led them.\"\n\nBoth passages show the right point of view for the appreciation of\nwomen.\n\nOne need only look at a woman's shape to discover that she is not\nintended for either too much mental or too much physical work. She pays\nthe debt of life not by what she does but by what she suffers--by the\npains of child-bearing, care for the child, and by subjection to man, to\nwhom she should be a patient and cheerful companion. The greatest\nsorrows and joys or great exhibition of strength are not assigned to\nher; her life should flow more quietly, more gently, and less\nobtrusively than man's, without her being essentially happier or\nunhappier.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWomen are directly adapted to act as the nurses and educators of our\nearly childhood, for the simple reason that they themselves are\nchildish, foolish, and short-sighted--in a word, are big children all\ntheir lives, something intermediate between the child and the man, who\nis a man in the strict sense of the word. Consider how a young girl will\ntoy day after day with a child, dance with it and sing to it; and then\nconsider what a man, with the very best intentions in the world, could\ndo in her place.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWith girls, Nature has had in view what is called in a dramatic sense a\n\"striking effect,\" for she endows them for a few years with a richness\nof beauty and a, fulness of charm at the expense of the rest of their\nlives; so that they may during these years ensnare the fantasy of a man\nto such a degree as to make him rush into taking the honourable care of\nthem, in some kind of form, for a lifetime--a step which would not\nseem sufficiently justified if he only considered the matter.\nAccordingly, Nature has furnished woman, as she has the rest of her\ncreatures, with the weapons and implements necessary for the protection\nof her existence and for just the length of time that they will be of\nservice to her; so that Nature has proceeded here with her usual\neconomy. Just as the female ant after coition loses her wings, which\nthen become superfluous, nay, dangerous for breeding purposes, so for\nthe most part does a woman lose her beauty after giving birth to one or\ntwo children; and probably for the same reasons.\n\nThen again we find that young girls in their hearts regard their\ndomestic or other affairs as secondary things, if not as a mere jest.\nLove, conquests, and all that these include, such as dressing, dancing,\nand so on, they give their serious attention.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe nobler and more perfect a thing is, the later and slower is it in\nreaching maturity. Man reaches the maturity of his reasoning and mental\nfaculties scarcely before he is eight-and-twenty; woman when she is\neighteen; but hers is reason of very narrow limitations. This is why\nwomen remain children all their lives, for they always see only what is\nnear at hand, cling to the present, take the appearance of a thing for\nreality, and prefer trifling matters to the most important. It is by\nvirtue of man's reasoning powers that he does not live in the present\nonly, like the brute, but observes and ponders over the past and future;\nand from this spring discretion, care, and that anxiety which we so\nfrequently notice in people. The advantages, as well as the\ndisadvantages, that this entails, make woman, in consequence of her\nweaker reasoning powers, less of a partaker in them. Moreover, she is\nintellectually short-sighted, for although her intuitive understanding\nquickly perceives what is near to her, on the other hand her circle of\nvision is limited and does not embrace anything that is remote; hence\neverything that is absent or past, or in the future, affects women in a\nless degree than men. This is why they have greater inclination for\nextravagance, which sometimes borders on madness. Women in their hearts\nthink that men are intended to earn money so that they may spend it, if\npossible during their husband's lifetime, but at any rate after his\ndeath.\n\nAs soon as he has given them his earnings on which to keep house they\nare strengthened in this belief. Although all this entails many\ndisadvantages, yet it has this advantage--that a woman lives more in the\npresent than a man, and that she enjoys it more keenly if it is at all\nbearable. This is the origin of that cheerfulness which is peculiar to\nwoman and makes her fit to divert man, and in case of need, to console\nhim when he is weighed down by cares. To consult women in matters of\ndifficulty, as the Germans used to do in old times, is by no means a\nmatter to be overlooked; for their way of grasping a thing is quite\ndifferent from ours, chiefly because they like the shortest way to the\npoint, and usually keep their attention fixed upon what lies nearest;\nwhile we, as a rule, see beyond it, for the simple reason that it lies\nunder our nose; it then becomes necessary for us to be brought back to\nthe thing in order to obtain a near and simple view. This is why women\nare more sober in their judgment than we, and why they see nothing more\nin things than is really there; while we, if our passions are roused,\nslightly exaggerate or add to our imagination.\n\nIt is because women's reasoning powers are weaker that they show more\nsympathy for the unfortunate than men, and consequently take a kindlier\ninterest in them. On the other hand, women are inferior to men in\nmatters of justice, honesty, and conscientiousness. Again, because their\nreasoning faculty is weak, things clearly visible and real, and\nbelonging to the present, exercise a power over them which is rarely\ncounteracted by abstract thoughts, fixed maxims, or firm resolutions, in\ngeneral, by regard for the past and future or by consideration for what\nis absent and remote. Accordingly they have the first and principal\nqualities of virtue, but they lack the secondary qualities which are\noften a necessary instrument in developing it. Women may be compared in\nthis respect to an organism that has a liver but no gall-bladder.[9] So\nthat it will be found that the fundamental fault in the character of\nwomen is that they have no \"_sense of justice_.\" This arises from their\ndeficiency in the power of reasoning already referred to, and\nreflection, but is also partly due to the fact that Nature has not\ndestined them, as the weaker sex, to be dependent on strength but on\ncunning; this is why they are instinctively crafty, and have an\nineradicable tendency to lie. For as lions are furnished with claws and\nteeth, elephants with tusks, boars with fangs, bulls with horns, and the\ncuttlefish with its dark, inky fluid, so Nature has provided woman for\nher protection and defence with the faculty of dissimulation, and all\nthe power which Nature has given to man in the form of bodily strength\nand reason has been conferred on woman in this form. Hence,\ndissimulation is innate in woman and almost as characteristic of the\nvery stupid as of the clever. Accordingly, it is as natural for women to\ndissemble at every opportunity as it is for those animals to turn to\ntheir weapons when they are attacked; and they feel in doing so that in\na certain measure they are only making use of their rights. Therefore a\nwoman who is perfectly truthful and does not dissemble is perhaps an\nimpossibility. This is why they see through dissimulation in others so\neasily; therefore it is not advisable to attempt it with them. From the\nfundamental defect that has been stated, and all that it involves,\nspring falseness, faithlessness, treachery, ungratefulness, and so on.\nIn a court of justice women are more often found guilty of perjury than\nmen. It is indeed to be generally questioned whether they should be\nallowed to take an oath at all. From time to time there are repeated\ncases everywhere of ladies, who want for nothing, secretly pocketing and\ntaking away things from shop counters.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNature has made it the calling of the young, strong, and handsome men to\nlook after the propagation of the human race; so that the species may\nnot degenerate. This is the firm will of Nature, and it finds its\nexpression in the passions of women. This law surpasses all others in\nboth age and power. Woe then to the man who sets up rights and interests\nin such a way as to make them stand in the way of it; for whatever he\nmay do or say, they will, at the first significant onset, be\nunmercifully annihilated. For the secret, unformulated, nay, unconscious\nbut innate moral of woman is: _We are justified in deceiving those who,\nbecause they care a little for us_,--_that is to say for the\nindividual_,--_imagine they have obtained rights over the species. The\nconstitution, and consequently the welfare of the species, have been put\ninto our hands and entrusted to our care through the medium of the next\ngeneration which proceeds from us; let us fulfil our duties\nconscientiously_.\n\nBut women are by no means conscious of this leading principle _in\nabstracto_, they are only conscious of it _in concreto_, and have no\nother way of expressing it than in the manner in which they act when the\nopportunity arrives. So that their conscience does not trouble them so\nmuch as we imagine, for in the darkest depths of their hearts they are\nconscious that in violating their duty towards the individual they have\nall the better fulfilled it towards the species, whose claim upon them\nis infinitely greater. (A fuller explanation of this matter may be found\nin vol. ii., ch. 44, in my chief work, _Die Welt als Wille und\nVorstellung_.)\n\nBecause women in truth exist entirely for the propagation of the race,\nand their destiny ends here, they live more for the species than for the\nindividual, and in their hearts take the affairs of the species more\nseriously than those of the individual. This gives to their whole being\nand character a certain frivolousness, and altogether a certain tendency\nwhich is fundamentally different from that of man; and this it is which\ndevelops that discord in married life which is so prevalent and almost\nthe normal state.\n\nIt is natural for a feeling of mere indifference to exist between men,\nbut between women it is actual enmity. This is due perhaps to the fact\nthat _odium figulinum_ in the case of men, is limited to their everyday\naffairs, but with women embraces the whole sex; since they have only one\nkind of business. Even when they meet in the street, they look at each\nother like Guelphs and Ghibellines. And it is quite evident when two\nwomen first make each other's acquaintance that they exhibit more\nconstraint and dissimulation than two men placed in similar\ncircumstances. This is why an exchange of compliments between two women\nis much more ridiculous than between two men. Further, while a man will,\nas a rule, address others, even those inferior to himself, with a\ncertain feeling of consideration and humanity, it is unbearable to see\nhow proudly and disdainfully a lady of rank will, for the most part,\nbehave towards one who is in a lower rank (not employed in her service)\nwhen she speaks to her. This may be because differences of rank are much\nmore precarious with women than with us, and consequently more quickly\nchange their line of conduct and elevate them, or because while a\nhundred things must be weighed in our case, there is only one to be\nweighed in theirs, namely, with which man they have found favour; and\nagain, because of the one-sided nature of their vocation they stand in\ncloser relationship to each other than men do; and so it is they try to\nrender prominent the differences of rank.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is only the man whose intellect is clouded by his sexual instinct\nthat could give that stunted, narrow-shouldered, broad-hipped, and\nshort-legged race the name of _the fair sex_; for the entire beauty of\nthe sex is based on this instinct. One would be more justified in\ncalling them the _unaesthetic sex_ than the beautiful. Neither for\nmusic, nor for poetry, nor for fine art have they any real or true sense\nand susceptibility, and it is mere mockery on their part, in their\ndesire to please, if they affect any such thing.\n\nThis makes them incapable of taking a purely objective interest in\nanything, and the reason for it is, I fancy, as follows. A man strives\nto get _direct_ mastery over things either by understanding them or by\ncompulsion. But a woman is always and everywhere driven to _indirect_\nmastery, namely through a man; all her _direct_ mastery being limited to\nhim alone. Therefore it lies in woman's nature to look upon everything\nonly as a means for winning man, and her interest in anything else is\nalways a simulated one, a mere roundabout way to gain her ends,\nconsisting of coquetry and pretence. Hence Rousseau said, _Les femmes,\nen g\u00e9n\u00e9ral, n'aiment aucun art, ne se connoissent \u00e0 aucun et n'ont aucun\ng\u00e9nie_ (Lettre \u00e0 d'Alembert, note xx.). Every one who can see through a\nsham must have found this to be the case. One need only watch the way\nthey behave at a concert, the opera, or the play; the childish\nsimplicity, for instance, with which they keep on chattering during the\nfinest passages in the greatest masterpieces. If it is true that the\nGreeks forbade women to go to the play, they acted in a right way; for\nthey would at any rate be able to hear something. In our day it would be\nmore appropriate to substitute _taceat mulier in theatro_ for _taceat\nmulier in ecclesia_; and this might perhaps be put up in big letters on\nthe curtain.\n\nNothing different can be expected of women if it is borne in mind that\nthe most eminent of the whole sex have never accomplished anything in\nthe fine arts that is really great, genuine, and original, or given to\nthe world any kind of work of permanent value. This is most striking in\nregard to painting, the technique of which is as much within their reach\nas within ours; this is why they pursue it so industriously. Still, they\nhave not a single great painting to show, for the simple reason that\nthey lack that objectivity of mind which is precisely what is so\ndirectly necessary in painting. They always stick to what is subjective.\nFor this reason, ordinary women have no susceptibility for painting at\nall: for _natura non facet saltum_. And Huarte, in his book which has\nbeen famous for three hundred years, _Examen de ingenios para las\nscienzias_, contends that women do not possess the higher capacities.\nIndividual and partial exceptions do not alter the matter; women are and\nremain, taken altogether, the most thorough and incurable philistines;\nand because of the extremely absurd arrangement which allows them to\nshare the position and title of their husbands they are a constant\nstimulus to his _ignoble_ ambitions. And further, it is because they are\nphilistines that modern society, to which they give the tone and where\nthey have sway, has become corrupted. As regards their position, one\nshould be guided by Napoleon's maxim, _Les femmes n'ont pas de rang_;\nand regarding them in other things, Chamfort says very truly: _Elles\nsont faites pour commercer avec nos faiblesses avec notre folie, mais\nnon avec notre raison. Il existe entre elles et les hommes des\nsympathies d'\u00e9piderme et tr\u00e8s-peu de sympathies d'esprit d'\u00e2me et de\ncaract\u00e8re_. They are the _sexus sequior_, the second sex in every\nrespect, therefore their weaknesses should be spared, but to treat women\nwith extreme reverence is ridiculous, and lowers us in their own eyes.\nWhen nature divided the human race into two parts, she did not cut it\nexactly through the middle! The difference between the positive and\nnegative poles, according to polarity, is not merely qualitative but\nalso quantitative. And it was in this light that the ancients and people\nof the East regarded woman; they recognised her true position better\nthan we, with our old French ideas of gallantry and absurd veneration,\nthat highest product of Christian-Teutonic stupidity. These ideas have\nonly served to make them arrogant and imperious, to such an extent as to\nremind one at times of the holy apes in Benares, who, in the\nconsciousness of their holiness and inviolability, think they can do\nanything and everything they please.\n\nIn the West, the woman, that is to say the \"lady,\" finds herself in a\n_fausse position_; for woman, rightly named by the ancients _sexus\nsequior_, is by no means fit to be the object of our honour and\nveneration, or to hold her head higher than man and to have the same\nrights as he. The consequences of this _fausse position_ are\nsufficiently clear. Accordingly, it would be a very desirable thing if\nthis Number Two of the human race in Europe were assigned her natural\nposition, and the lady-grievance got rid of, which is not only ridiculed\nby the whole of Asia, but would have been equally ridiculed by Greece\nand Rome. The result of this would be that the condition of our social,\ncivil, and political affairs would be incalculably improved. The Salic\nlaw would be unnecessary; it would be a superfluous truism. The European\nlady, strictly speaking, is a creature who should not exist at all; but\nthere ought to be housekeepers, and young girls who hope to become such;\nand they should be brought up not to be arrogant, but to be domesticated\nand submissive. It is exactly because there are _ladies_ in Europe that\nwomen of a lower standing, that is to say, the greater majority of the\nsex, are much more unhappy than they are in the East. Even Lord Byron\nsays (_Letters and Papers_, by Thomas Moore, vol. ii. p. 399), _Thought\nof the state of women under the ancient Greeks--convenient enough.\nPresent state, a remnant of the barbarism of the chivalric and feudal\nages--artificial and unnatural. They ought to mind home--and be well fed\nand clothed--but not mixed in society. Well educated, too, in\nreligion--but to read neither poetry nor politics--nothing but books of\npiety and cookery. Music--drawing--dancing--also a little gardening and\nploughing now and then. I have seen them mending the roads in Epirus\nwith good success. Why not, as well as hay-making and milking_?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn our part of the world, where monogamy is in force, to marry means to\nhalve one's rights and to double one's duties. When the laws granted\nwoman the same rights as man, they should also have given her a\nmasculine power of reason. On the contrary, just as the privileges and\nhonours which the laws decree to women surpass what Nature has meted out\nto them, so is there a proportional decrease in the number of women who\nreally share these privileges; therefore the remainder are deprived of\ntheir natural rights in so far as the others have been given more than\nNature accords.\n\nFor the unnatural position of privilege which the institution of\nmonogamy, and the laws of marriage which accompany it, assign to the\nwoman, whereby she is regarded throughout as a full equivalent of the\nman, which she is not by any means, cause intelligent and prudent men to\nreflect a great deal before they make so great a sacrifice and consent\nto so unfair an arrangement. Therefore, whilst among polygamous nations\nevery woman finds maintenance, where monogamy exists the number of\nmarried women is limited, and a countless number of women who are\nwithout support remain over; those in the upper classes vegetate as\nuseless old maids, those in the lower are reduced to very hard work of a\ndistasteful nature, or become prostitutes, and lead a life which is as\njoyless as it is void of honour. But under such circumstances they\nbecome a necessity to the masculine sex; so that their position is\nopenly recognised as a special means for protecting from seduction those\nother women favoured by fate either to have found husbands, or who hope\nto find them. In London alone there are 80,000 prostitutes. Then what\nare these women who have come too quickly to this most terrible end but\nhuman sacrifices on the altar of monogamy? The women here referred to\nand who are placed in this wretched position are the inevitable\ncounterbalance to the European lady, with her pretensions and arrogance.\nHence polygamy is a real benefit to the female sex, taking it _as a\nwhole_. And, on the other hand, there is no reason why a man whose wife\nsuffers from chronic illness, or remains barren, or has gradually become\ntoo old for him, should not take a second. Many people become converts\nto Mormonism for the precise reasons that they condemn the unnatural\ninstitution of monogamy. The conferring of unnatural rights upon women\nhas imposed unnatural duties upon them, the violation of which, however,\nmakes them unhappy. For example, many a man thinks marriage unadvisable\nas far as his social standing and monetary position are concerned,\nunless he contracts a brilliant match. He will then wish to win a woman\nof his own choice under different conditions, namely, under those which\nwill render safe her future and that of her children. Be the conditions\never so just, reasonable, and adequate, and she consents by giving up\nthose undue privileges which marriage, as the basis of civil society,\nalone can bestow, she must to a certain extent lose her honour and lead\na life of loneliness; since human nature makes us dependent on the\nopinion of others in a way that is completely out of proportion to its\nvalue. While, if the woman does not consent, she runs the risk of being\ncompelled to marry a man she dislikes, or of shrivelling up into an old\nmaid; for the time allotted to her to find a home is very short. In view\nof this side of the institution of monogamy, Thomasius's profoundly\nlearned treatise, _de Concubinatu_, is well worth reading, for it shows\nthat, among all nations, and in all ages, down to the Lutheran\nReformation, concubinage was allowed, nay, that it was an institution,\nin a certain measure even recognised by law and associated with no\ndishonour. And it held this position until the Lutheran Reformation,\nwhen it was recognised as another means for justifying the marriage of\nthe clergy; whereupon the Catholic party did not dare to remain\nbehindhand in the matter.\n\nIt is useless to argue about polygamy, it must be taken as a fact\nexisting everywhere, the _mere regulation_ of which is the problem to be\nsolved. Where are there, then, any real monogamists? We all live, at any\nrate for a time, and the majority of us always, in polygamy.\nConsequently, as each man needs many women, nothing is more just than to\nlet him, nay, make it incumbent upon him to provide for many women. By\nthis means woman will be brought back to her proper and natural place as\na subordinate being, and _the lady_, that monster of European\ncivilisation and Christian-Teutonic stupidity, with her ridiculous claim\nto respect and veneration, will no longer exist; there will still be\n_women_, but no _unhappy women_, of whom Europe is at present full. The\nMormons' standpoint is right.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn India no woman is ever independent, but each one stands under the\ncontrol of her father or her husband, or brother or son, in accordance\nwith the law of Manu.\n\nIt is certainly a revolting idea that widows should sacrifice themselves\non their husband's dead body; but it is also revolting that the money\nwhich the husband has earned by working diligently for all his life, in\nthe hope that he was working for his children, should be wasted on her\nparamours. _Medium tenuere beati_. The first love of a mother, as that\nof animals and men, is purely _instinctive_, and consequently ceases\nwhen the child is no longer physically helpless. After that, the first\nlove should be reinstated by a love based on habit and reason; but this\noften does not appear, especially where the mother has not loved the\nfather. The love of a father for his children is of a different nature\nand more sincere; it is founded on a recognition of his own inner self\nin the child, and is therefore metaphysical in its origin.\n\nIn almost every nation, both of the new and old world, and even among\nthe Hottentots, property is inherited by the male descendants alone; it\nis only in Europe that one has departed from this. That the property\nwhich men have with difficulty acquired by long-continued struggling and\nhard work should afterwards come into the hands of women, who, in their\nwant of reason, either squander it within a short time or otherwise\nwaste it, is an injustice as great as it is common, and it should be\nprevented by limiting the right of women to inherit. It seems to me that\nit would be a better arrangement if women, be they widows or daughters,\nonly inherited the money for life secured by mortgage, but not the\nproperty itself or the capital, unless there lacked male descendants. It\nis men who make the money, and not women; therefore women are neither\njustified in having unconditional possession of it nor capable of\nadministrating it. Women should never have the free disposition of\nwealth, strictly so-called, which they may inherit, such as capital,\nhouses, and estates. They need a guardian always; therefore they should\nnot have the guardianship of their children under any circumstances\nwhatever. The vanity of women, even if it should not be greater than\nthat of men, has this evil in it, that it is directed on material\nthings--that is to say, on their personal beauty and then on tinsel,\npomp, and show. This is why they are in their right element in society.\nThis it is which makes them inclined to be _extravagant_, especially\nsince they possess little reasoning power. Accordingly, an ancient\nwriter says, \u0393\u03c5\u03bd\u03b7 \u03c4\u03bf \u03c3\u03c5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd \u1f10\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9 \u03b4\u03b1\u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03b7\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd \u03c6\u03c5\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9.[10] Men's vanity, on\nthe other hand, is often directed on non-material advantages, such as\nintellect, learning, courage, and the like. Aristotle explains in the\n_Politics_[11] the great disadvantages which the Spartans brought upon\nthemselves by granting too much to their women, by allowing them the\nright of inheritance and dowry, and a great amount of freedom; and how\nthis contributed greatly to the fall of Sparta. May it not be that the\ninfluence of women in France, which has been increasing since Louis\nXIII.'s time, was to blame for that gradual corruption of the court and\ngovernment which led to the first Revolution, of which all subsequent\ndisturbances have been the result? In any case, the false position of\nthe female sex, so conspicuously exposed by the existence of the \"lady,\"\nis a fundamental defect in our social condition, and this defect,\nproceeding from the very heart of it, must extend its harmful influence\nin every direction. That woman is by nature intended to obey is shown by\nthe fact that every woman who is placed in the unnatural position of\nabsolute independence at once attaches herself to some kind of man, by\nwhom she is controlled and governed; this is because she requires a\nmaster. If she, is young, the man is a lover; if she is old, a priest.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[9] Let me refer to what I have said in my treatise on _The Foundation\nof Morals_, \u00a771.\n\n[10] Brunck's _Gnomici poetae graeci_ v. 115.\n\n[11] Bk. I., ch. 9.\n\n\n\n\nTHINKING FOR ONESELF.\n\n\nThe largest library in disorder is not so useful as a smaller but\norderly one; in the same way the greatest amount of knowledge, if it has\nnot been worked out in one's own mind, is of less value than a much\nsmaller amount that has been fully considered. For it is only when a man\ncombines what he knows from all sides, and compares one truth with\nanother, that he completely realises his own knowledge and gets it into\nhis power. A man can only think over what he knows, therefore he should\nlearn something; but a man only knows what he has pondered.\n\nA man can apply himself of his own free will to reading and learning,\nwhile he cannot to thinking. Thinking must be kindled like a fire by a\ndraught and sustained by some kind of interest in the subject. This\ninterest may be either of a purely objective nature or it may be merely\nsubjective. The latter exists in matters concerning us personally, but\nobjective interest is only to be found in heads that think by nature,\nand to whom thinking is as natural as breathing; but they are very rare.\nThis is why there is so little of it in most men of learning.\n\nThe difference between the effect that thinking for oneself and that\nreading has on the mind is incredibly great; hence it is continually\ndeveloping that original difference in minds which induces one man to\nthink and another to read. Reading forces thoughts upon the mind which\nare as foreign and heterogeneous to the bent and mood in which it may be\nfor the moment, as the seal is to the wax on which it stamps its\nimprint. The mind thus suffers total compulsion from without; it has\nfirst this and first that to think about, for which it has at the time\nneither instinct nor liking.\n\nOn the other hand, when a man thinks for himself he follows his own\nimpulse, which either his external surroundings or some kind of\nrecollection has determined at the moment. His visible surroundings do\nnot leave upon his mind _one_ single definite thought as reading does,\nbut merely supply him with material and occasion to think over what is\nin keeping with his nature and present mood. This is why _much_ reading\nrobs the mind of all elasticity; it is like keeping a spring under a\ncontinuous, heavy weight. If a man does not want to think, the safest\nplan is to take up a book directly he has a spare moment.\n\nThis practice accounts for the fact that learning makes most men more\nstupid and foolish than they are by nature, and prevents their writings\nfrom being a success; they remain, as Pope has said,\n\n  \"For ever reading, never to be read.\"--_Dunciad_ iii. 194.\n\nMen of learning are those who have read the contents of books. Thinkers,\ngeniuses, and those who have enlightened the world and furthered the\nrace of men, are those who have made direct use of the book of the\nworld.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIndeed, it is only a man's own fundamental thoughts that have truth and\nlife in them. For it is these that he really and completely understands.\nTo read the thoughts of others is like taking the remains of some one\nelse's meal, like putting on the discarded clothes of a stranger.\n\nThe thought we read is related to the thought which rises in us, as the\nfossilised impress of a prehistoric plant is to a plant budding out in\nspring.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nReading is merely a substitute for one's own thoughts. A man allows his\nthoughts to be put into leading-strings.\n\nFurther, many books serve only to show how many wrong paths there are,\nand how widely a man may stray if he allows himself to be led by them.\nBut he who is guided by his genius, that is to say, he who thinks for\nhimself, who thinks voluntarily and rightly, possesses the compass\nwherewith to find the right course. A man, therefore, should only read\nwhen the source of his own thoughts stagnates; which is often the case\nwith the best of minds.\n\nIt is sin against the Holy Spirit to frighten away one's own original\nthoughts by taking up a book. It is the same as a man flying from Nature\nto look at a museum of dried plants, or to study a beautiful landscape\nin copperplate. A man at times arrives at a truth or an idea after\nspending much time in thinking it out for himself, linking together his\nvarious thoughts, when he might have found the same thing in a book; it\nis a hundred times more valuable if he has acquired it by thinking it\nout for himself. For it is only by his thinking it out for himself that\nit enters as an integral part, as a living member into the whole system\nof his thought, and stands in complete and firm relation with it; that\nit is fundamentally understood with all its consequences, and carries\nthe colour, the shade, the impress of his own way of thinking; and comes\nat the very moment, just as the necessity for it is felt, and stands\nfast and cannot be forgotten. This is the perfect application, nay,\ninterpretation of Goethe's\n\n  \"Was du ererbt von deinen V\ufffdtern hast\n   Erwirb es um es zu besitzen.\"\n\nThe man who thinks for himself learns the authorities for his opinions\nonly later on, when they serve merely to strengthen both them and\nhimself; while the book-philosopher starts from the authorities and\nother people's opinions, therefrom constructing a whole for himself; so\nthat he resembles an automaton, whose composition we do not understand.\nThe other man, the man who thinks for himself, on the other hand, is\nlike a living man as made by nature. His mind is impregnated from\nwithout, which then bears and brings forth its child. Truth that has\nbeen merely learned adheres to us like an artificial limb, a false\ntooth, a waxen nose, or at best like one made out of another's flesh;\ntruth which is acquired by thinking for oneself is like a natural\nmember: it alone really belongs to us. Here we touch upon the difference\nbetween the thinking man and the mere man of learning. Therefore the\nintellectual acquirements of the man who thinks for himself are like a\nfine painting that stands out full of life, that has its light and shade\ncorrect, the tone sustained, and perfect harmony of colour. The\nintellectual attainments of the merely learned man, on the contrary,\nresemble a big palette covered with every colour, at most systematically\narranged, but without harmony, relation, and meaning.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Reading_ is thinking with some one else's head instead of one's own.\nBut to think for oneself is to endeavour to develop a coherent whole, a\nsystem, even if it is not a strictly complete one. Nothing is more\nharmful than, by dint of continual reading, to strengthen the current of\nother people's thoughts. These thoughts, springing from different minds,\nbelonging to different systems, bearing different colours, never flow\ntogether of themselves into a unity of thought, knowledge, insight, or\nconviction, but rather cram the head with a Babylonian confusion of\ntongues; consequently the mind becomes overcharged with them and is\ndeprived of all clear insight and almost disorganised. This condition of\nthings may often be discerned in many men of learning, and it makes them\ninferior in sound understanding, correct judgment, and practical tact to\nmany illiterate men, who, by the aid of experience, conversation, and a\nlittle reading, have acquired a little knowledge from without, and made\nit always subordinate to and incorporated it with their own thoughts.\n\nThe scientific _thinker_ also does this to a much greater extent.\nAlthough he requires much knowledge and must read a great deal, his mind\nis nevertheless strong enough to overcome it all, to assimilate it, to\nincorporate it with the system of his thoughts, and to subordinate it to\nthe organic relative unity of his insight, which is vast and\never-growing. By this means his own thought, like the bass in an organ,\nalways takes the lead in everything, and is never deadened by other\nsounds, as is the case with purely antiquarian minds; where all sorts of\nmusical passages, as it were, run into each other, and the fundamental\ntone is entirely lost.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe people who have spent their lives in reading and acquired their\nwisdom out of books resemble those who have acquired exact information\nof a country from the descriptions of many travellers. These people can\nrelate a great deal about many things; but at heart they have no\nconnected, clear, sound knowledge of the condition of the country. While\nthose who have spent their life in thinking are like the people who have\nbeen to that country themselves; they alone really know what it is they\nare saying, know the subject in its entirety, and are quite at home in\nit.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe ordinary book-philosopher stands in the same relation to a man who\nthinks for himself as an eye-witness does to the historian; he speaks\nfrom his own direct comprehension of the subject.\n\nTherefore all who think for themselves hold at bottom much the same\nviews; when they differ it is because they hold different points of\nview, but when these do not alter the matter they all say the same\nthing. They merely express what they have grasped from an objective\npoint of view. I have frequently hesitated to give passages to the\npublic because of their paradoxical nature, and afterwards to my joyful\nsurprise have found the same thoughts expressed in the works of great\nmen of long ago.\n\nThe book-philosopher, on the other hand, relates what one man has said\nand another man meant, and what a third has objected to, and so on. He\ncompares, weighs, criticises, and endeavours to get at the truth of the\nthing, and in this way resembles the critical historian. For instance,\nhe will try to find out whether Leibnitz was not for some time in his\nlife a follower of Spinoza, etc. The curious student will find striking\nexamples of what I mean in Herbart's _Analytical Elucidation of Morality\nand Natural Right_, and in his _Letters on Freedom_. It surprises us\nthat such a man should give himself so much trouble; for it is evident\nthat if he had fixed his attention on the matter he would soon have\nattained his object by thinking a little for himself.\n\nBut there is a small difficulty to overcome; a thing of this kind does\nnot depend upon our own will. One can sit down at any time and read, but\nnot--think. It is with thoughts as with men: we cannot always summon\nthem at pleasure, but must wait until they come. Thought about a subject\nmust come of its own accord by a happy and harmonious union of external\nmotive with mental temper and application; and it is precisely that\nwhich never seems to come to these people.\n\nOne has an illustration of this in matters that concern our personal\ninterest. If we have to come to a decision on a thing of this kind we\ncannot sit down at any particular moment and thrash out the reasons and\narrive at a decision; for often at such a time our thoughts cannot be\nfixed, but will wander off to other things; a dislike to the subject is\nsometimes responsible for this. We should not use force, but wait until\nthe mood appears of itself; it frequently comes unexpectedly and even\nrepeats itself; the different moods which possess us at the different\ntimes throwing another light on the matter. It is this long process\nwhich is understood by _a ripe resolution_. For the task of making up\nour mind must be distributed; much that has been previously overlooked\noccurs to us; the aversion also disappears, for, after examining the\nmatter closer, it seems much more tolerable than it was at first sight.\n\nAnd in theory it is just the same: a man must wait for the right moment;\neven the greatest mind is not always able to think for itself at all\ntimes. Therefore it is advisable for it to use its spare moments in\nreading, which, as has been said, is a substitute for one's own thought;\nin this way material is imported to the mind by letting another think\nfor us, although it is always in a way which is different from our own.\nFor this reason a man should not read too much, in order that his mind\ndoes not become accustomed to the substitute, and consequently even\nforget the matter in question; that it may not get used to walking in\npaths that have already been trodden, and by following a foreign course\nof thought forget its own. Least of all should a man for the sake of\nreading entirely withdraw his attention from the real world: as the\nimpulse and temper which lead one to think for oneself proceed oftener\nfrom it than from reading; for it is the visible and real world in its\nprimitiveness and strength that is the natural subject of the thinking\nmind, and is able more easily than anything else to rouse it. After\nthese considerations it will not surprise us to find that the thinking\nman can easily be distinguished from the book-philosopher by his marked\nearnestness, directness, and originality, the personal conviction of all\nhis thoughts and expressions: the book-philosopher, on the other hand,\nhas everything second-hand; his ideas are like a collection of old rags\nobtained anyhow; he is dull and pointless, resembling a copy of a copy.\nHis style, which is full of conventional, nay, vulgar phrases and\ncurrent terms, resembles a small state where there is a circulation of\nforeign money because it coins none of its own.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMere experience can as little as reading take the place of thought. Mere\nempiricism bears the same relation to thinking as eating to digestion\nand assimilation. When experience boasts that it alone, by its\ndiscoveries, has advanced human knowledge, it is as though the mouth\nboasted that it was its work alone to maintain the body.\n\nThe works of all really capable minds are distinguished from all other\nworks by a character of decision and definiteness, and, in consequence,\nof lucidity and clearness. This is because minds like these know\ndefinitely and clearly what they wish to express--whether it be in\nprose, in verse, or in music. Other minds are wanting in this decision\nand clearness, and therefore may be instantly recognised.\n\nThe characteristic sign of a mind of the highest standard is the\ndirectness of its judgment. Everything it utters is the result of\nthinking for itself; this is shown everywhere in the way it gives\nexpression to its thoughts. Therefore it is, like a prince, an imperial\ndirector in the realm of intellect. All other minds are mere delegates,\nas may be seen by their style, which has no stamp of its own.\n\nHence every true thinker for himself is so far like a monarch; he is\nabsolute, and recognises nobody above him. His judgments, like the\ndecrees of a monarch, spring from his own sovereign power and proceed\ndirectly from himself. He takes as little notice of authority as a\nmonarch does of a command; nothing is valid unless he has himself\nauthorised it. On the other hand, those of vulgar minds, who are swayed\nby all kinds of current opinions, authorities, and prejudices, are like\nthe people which in silence obey the law and commands.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe people who are so eager and impatient to settle disputed questions,\nby bringing forward authorities, are really glad when they can place the\nunderstanding and insight of some one else in the field in place of\ntheir own, which are deficient. Their number is legion. For, as Seneca\nsays, \"_Unusquisque mavult credere, quam judicare._\"\n\nThe weapon they commonly use in their controversies is that of\nauthorities: they strike each other with it, and whoever is drawn into\nthe fray will do well not to defend himself with reason and arguments;\nfor against a weapon of this kind they are like horned Siegfrieds,\nimmersed in a flood of incapacity for thinking and judging. They will\nbring forward their authorities as an _argumentum ad verecundiam_ and\nthen cry _victoria_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn the realm of reality, however fair, happy, and pleasant it may prove\nto be, we always move controlled by the law of gravity, which we must be\nunceasingly overcoming. While in the realm of thought we are disembodied\nspirits, uncontrolled by the law of gravity and free from penury.\n\nThis is why there is no happiness on earth like that which at the\npropitious moment a fine and fruitful mind finds in itself.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe presence of a thought is like the presence of our beloved. We\nimagine we shall never forget this thought, and that this loved one\ncould never be indifferent to us. But out of sight out of mind! The\nfinest thought runs the risk of being irrevocably forgotten if it is not\nwritten down, and the dear one of being forsaken if we do not marry her.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere are many thoughts which are valuable to the man who thinks them;\nbut out of them only a few which possess strength to produce either\nrepercussion or reflex action, that is, to win the reader's sympathy\nafter they have been written down. It is what a man has thought out\ndirectly _for himself_ that alone has true value. Thinkers may be\nclassed as follows: those who, in the first place, think for themselves,\nand those who think directly for others. The former thinkers are the\ngenuine, _they think for themselves_ in both senses of the word; they\nare the true _philosophers_; they alone are in earnest. Moreover, the\nenjoyment and happiness of their existence consist in thinking. The\nothers are the _sophists_; they wish to _seem_, and seek their happiness\nin what they hope to get from other people; their earnestness consists\nin this. To which of these two classes a man belongs is soon seen by his\nwhole method and manner. Lichtenberg is an example of the first class,\nwhile Herder obviously belongs to the second.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen one considers how great and how close to us the _problem of\nexistence_ is,--this equivocal, tormented, fleeting, dream-like\nexistence--so great and so close that as soon as one perceives it, it\novershadows and conceals all other problems and aims;--and when one sees\nhow all men--with a few and rare exceptions--are not clearly conscious\nof the problem, nay, do not even seem to see it, but trouble themselves\nabout everything else rather than this, and live on taking thought only\nfor the present day and the scarcely longer span of their own personal\nfuture, while they either expressly give the problem up or are ready to\nagree with it, by the aid of some system of popular metaphysics, and are\nsatisfied with this;--when one, I say, reflects upon this, so may one be\nof the opinion that man is a _thinking being_ only in a very remote\nsense, and not feel any special surprise at any trait of thoughtlessness\nor folly; but know, rather, that the intellectual outlook of the normal\nman indeed surpasses that of the brute,--whose whole existence resembles\na continual present without any consciousness of the future or the\npast--but, however, not to such an extent as one is wont to suppose.\n\nAnd corresponding to this, we find in the conversation of most men that\ntheir thoughts are cut up as small as chaff, making it impossible for\nthem to spin out the thread of their discourse to any length. If this\nworld were peopled by really thinking beings, noise of every kind would\nnot be so universally tolerated, as indeed the most horrible and aimless\nform of it is.[12] If Nature had intended man to think she would not\nhave given him ears, or, at any rate, she would have furnished them with\nair-tight flaps like the bat, which for this reason is to be envied.\nBut, in truth, man is like the rest, a poor animal, whose powers are\ncalculated only to maintain him during his existence; therefore he\nrequires to have his ears always open to announce of themselves, by\nnight as by day, the approach of the pursuer.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[12] See Essay on Noise, p. 28.\n\n\n\n\nSHORT DIALOGUE ON\n\nTHE INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF OUR TRUE BEING BY DEATH.\n\n\n_Thrasymachos._ Tell me briefly, what shall I be after my death? Be\nclear and precise.\n\n_Philalethes._ Everything and nothing.\n\n_Thras._ That is what I expected. You solve the problem by a\ncontradiction. That trick is played out.\n\n_Phil._ To answer transcendental questions in language that is made for\nimmanent knowledge must assuredly lead to a contradiction.\n\n_Thras._ What do you call transcendental knowledge, and what immanent?\nIt is true these expressions are known to me, for my professor used\nthem, but only as predicates of God, and as his philosophy had\nexclusively to do with God, their use was quite appropriate. For\ninstance, if God was in the world, He was immanent; if He was somewhere\noutside it, He was transcendent. That is clear and comprehensible. One\nknows how things stand. But your old-fashioned Kantian doctrine is no\nlonger understood. There has been quite a succession of great men in the\nmetropolis of German learning----\n\n_Phil. (aside)._ German philosophical nonsense!\n\n_Thras._----such as the eminent Schleiermacher and that gigantic mind\nHegel; and to-day we have left all that sort of thing behind, or rather\nwe are so far ahead of it that it is out of date and known no more.\nTherefore, what good is it?\n\n_Phil._ Transcendental knowledge is that which, going beyond the\nboundary of possible experience, endeavours to determine the nature of\nthings as they are in themselves; while immanent knowledge keeps itself\nwithin the boundary of possible experience, therefore it can only apply\nto phenomena. As an individual, with your death there will be an end of\nyou. But your individuality is not your true and final being, indeed it\nis rather the mere expression of it; it is not the thing-in-itself but\nonly the phenomenon presented in the form of time, and accordingly has\nboth a beginning and an end. Your being in itself, on the contrary,\nknows neither time, nor beginning, nor end, nor the limits of a given\nindividuality; hence no individuality can be without it, but it is there\nin each and all. So that, in the first sense, after death you become\nnothing; in the second, you are and remain everything. That is why I\nsaid that after death you would be all and nothing. It is difficult to\ngive you a more exact answer to your question than this and to be brief\nat the same time; but here we have undoubtedly another contradiction;\nthis is because your life is in time and your immortality in eternity.\nHence your immortality may be said to be something that is\nindestructible and yet has no endurance--which is again contradictory,\nyou see. This is what happens when transcendental knowledge is brought\nwithin the boundary of immanent knowledge; in doing this some sort of\nviolence is done to the latter, since it is used for things for which it\nwas not intended.\n\n_Thras._ Listen; without I retain my individuality I shall not give a\n_sou_ for your immortality.\n\n_Phil._ Perhaps you will allow me to explain further. Suppose I\nguarantee that you will retain your individuality, on condition,\nhowever, that you spend three months in absolute unconsciousness before\nyou awaken.\n\n_Thras._ I consent to that.\n\n_Phil._ Well then, as we have no idea of time when in a perfectly\nunconscious state, it is all the same to us when we are dead whether\nthree months or ten thousand years pass away in the world of\nconsciousness. For in the one case, as in the other, we must accept on\nfaith and trust what we are told when we awake. Accordingly it will be\nall the same to you whether your individuality is restored to you after\nthe lapse of three months or ten thousand years.\n\n_Thras._ At bottom, that cannot very well be denied.\n\n_Phil._ But if, at the end of those ten thousand years, some one has\nquite forgotten to waken you, I imagine that you would have become\naccustomed to that long state of non-existence, following such a very\nshort existence, and that the misfortune would not be very great.\nHowever, it is quite certain that you would know nothing about it. And\nagain, it would fully console you to know that the mysterious power\nwhich gives life to your present phenomenon had never ceased for one\nmoment during the ten thousand years to produce other phenomena of a\nlike nature and to give them life.\n\n_Thras._ Indeed! And so it is in this way that you fancy you can\nquietly, and without my knowing, cheat me of my individuality? But you\ncannot cozen me in this way. I have stipulated for the retaining of my\nindividuality, and neither mysterious forces nor phenomena can console\nme for the loss of it. It is dear to me, and I shall not let it go.\n\n_Phil._ That is to say, you regard your individuality as something so\nvery delightful, excellent, perfect, and incomparable that there is\nnothing better than it; would you not exchange it for another, according\nto what is told us, that is better and more lasting?\n\n_Thras._ Look here, be my individuality what it may, it is myself,\n\n  \"For God is God, and I am I.\"\n\nI--I--I want to exist! That is what I care about, and not an existence\nwhich has to be reasoned out first in order to show that it is mine.\n\n_Phil._ Look what you are doing! When you say, _I--I--I want to exist_\nyou alone do not say this, but everything, absolutely everything, that\nhas only a vestige of consciousness. Consequently this desire of yours\nis just that which is _not_ individual but which is common to all\nwithout distinction. It does not proceed from individuality, but from\n_existence_ in general; it is the essential in everything that exists,\nnay, it is _that_ whereby anything has existence at all; accordingly it\nis concerned and satisfied only with existence _in general_ and not with\nany definite individual existence; this is not its aim. It has the\nappearance of being so because it can attain consciousness only in an\nindividual existence, and consequently looks as if it were entirely\nconcerned with that. This is nothing but an illusion which has entangled\nthe individual; but by reflection, it can be dissipated and we ourselves\nset free. It is only _indirectly_ that the individual has this great\nlonging for existence; it is the will to live in general that has this\nlonging directly and really, a longing that is one and the same in\neverything. Since, then, existence itself is the free work of the will,\nnay, the mere reflection of it, existence cannot be apart from will, and\nthe latter will be provisionally satisfied with existence in general, in\nso far, namely, as that which is eternally dissatisfied can be\nsatisfied. The will is indifferent to individuality; it has nothing to\ndo with it, although it appears to, because the individual is _only_\ndirectly conscious of will in himself. From this it is to be gathered\nthat the individual carefully guards his own existence; moreover, if\nthis were not so, the preservation of the species would not be assured.\nFrom all this it follows that individuality is not a state of perfection\nbut of limitation; so that to be freed from it is not loss but rather\ngain. Don't let this trouble you any further, it will, forsooth, appear\nto you both childish and extremely ridiculous when you completely and\nthoroughly recognise what you are, namely, that your own existence is\nthe universal will to live.\n\n_Thras._ You are childish yourself and extremely ridiculous, and so are\nall philosophers; and when a sedate man like myself lets himself in for\na quarter of an hour's talk with such fools, it is merely for the sake\nof amusement and to while away the time. I have more important matters\nto look to now; so, adieu!\n\n\n\n\nRELIGION.\n\nA DIALOGUE.\n\n\n_Demopheles._ Between ourselves, dear old friend, I am sometimes\ndissatisfied with you in your capacity as philosopher; you talk\nsarcastically about religion, nay, openly ridicule it. The religion of\nevery one is sacred to him, and so it should be to you.\n\n_Philalethes. Nego consequentiam!_ I don't see at all why I should have\nrespect for lies and frauds because other people are stupid. I respect\ntruth everywhere, and it is precisely for that reason that I cannot\nrespect anything that is opposed to it. My maxim is, _Vigeat veritas, et\npereat mundus_, the same as the lawyer's _Fiat justitia, et pereat\nmundus._ Every profession ought to have an analogous device.\n\n_Demop._ Then that of the medical profession would be, _Fiant pilulae,\net pereat mundus_, which would be the easiest to carry out.\n\n_Phil._ Heaven forbid! Everything must be taken _cum grano salis_.\n\n_Demop._ Exactly; and it is just for that reason that I want you to\naccept religion _cum grano salis_, and to see that the needs of the\npeople must be met according to their powers of comprehension. Religion\naffords the only means of proclaiming and making the masses of crude\nminds and awkward intelligences, sunk in petty pursuits and material\nwork, feel the high import of life. For the ordinary type of man,\nprimarily, has no thought for anything else but what satisfies his\nphysical needs and longings, and accordingly affords him a little\namusement and pastime. Founders of religion and philosophers come into\nthe world to shake him out of his torpidity and show him the high\nsignificance of existence: philosophers for the few, the emancipated;\nfounders of religion for the many, humanity at large. For \u03c6\u03b9\u03bb\u03bf\u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03bf\u03bd\n\u03c0\u03bb\u03b7\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f00\u03b4\u03c5\u03bd\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u03b5\u1f30\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9, as your friend Plato has said, and you should not\nforget it. Religion is the metaphysics of the people, which by all means\nthey must keep; and hence it must be eternally respected, for to\ndiscredit it means taking it away. Just as there is popular poetry,\npopular wisdom in proverbs, so too there must be popular metaphysics;\nfor mankind requires most certainly _an interpretation of life_, and it\nmust be in keeping with its power of comprehension. So that this\ninterpretation is at all times an allegorical investiture of the truth,\nand it fulfils, as far as practical life and our feelings are\nconcerned--that is to say, as a guidance in our affairs, and as a\ncomfort and consolation in suffering and death--perhaps just as much as\ntruth itself could, if we possessed it. Don't be hurt at its unpolished,\nbaroque, and apparently absurd form, for you, with your education and\nlearning, cannot imagine the roundabout ways that must be used in order\nto make people in their crude state understand deep truths. The various\nreligions are only various forms in which the people grasp and\nunderstand the truth, which in itself they could not grasp, and which is\ninseparable from these forms. Therefore, my dear fellow, don't be\ndispleased if I tell you that to ridicule these forms is both\nnarrow-minded and unjust.\n\n_Phil._ But is it not equally narrow-minded and unjust to require that\nthere shall be no other metaphysics but this one cut out to meet the\nneeds and comprehension of the people? that its teachings shall be the\nboundary of human researches and the standard of all thought, so that\nthe metaphysics of the few, the emancipated, as you call them, must aim\nat confirming, strengthening, and interpreting the metaphysics of the\npeople? That is, that the highest faculties of the human mind must\nremain unused and undeveloped, nay, be nipped in the bud, so that their\nactivity may not thwart the popular metaphysics? And at bottom are not\nthe claims that religion makes just the same? Is it right to have\ntolerance, nay, gentle forbearance, preached by what is intolerance and\ncruelty itself? Let me remind you of the heretical tribunals,\ninquisitions, religious wars and crusades, of Socrates' cup of poison,\nof Bruno's and Vanini's death in the flames. And is all this to-day\nsomething belonging to the past? What can stand more in the way of\ngenuine philosophical effort, honest inquiry after truth, the noblest\ncalling of the noblest of mankind, than this conventional system of\nmetaphysics invested with a monopoly from the State, whose principles\nare inculcated so earnestly, deeply, and firmly into every head in\nearliest youth as to make them, unless the mind is of miraculous\nelasticity, become ineradicable? The result is that the basis of healthy\nreasoning is once and for all deranged--in other words, its feeble\ncapacity for thinking for itself, and for unbiassed judgment in regard\nto everything to which it might be applied, is for ever paralysed and\nruined.\n\n_Demop,_ Which really means that the people have gained a conviction\nwhich they will not give up in order to accept yours in its place.\n\n_Phil._ Ah! if it were only conviction based on insight, one would then\nbe able to bring forward arguments and fight the battle with equal\nweapons. But religions admittedly do not lend themselves to conviction\nafter argument has been brought to bear, but to belief as brought about\nby revelation. The capacity for belief is strongest in childhood;\ntherefore one is most careful to take possession of this tender age. It\nis much more through this than through threats and reports of miracles\nthat the doctrines of belief take root. If in early childhood certain\nfundamental views and doctrines are preached with unusual solemnity and\nin a manner of great earnestness, the like of which has never been seen\nbefore, and if, too, the possibility of a doubt about them is either\ncompletely ignored or only touched upon in order to show that doubt is\nthe first step to everlasting perdition; the result is that the\nimpression will be so profound that, as a rule, that is to say in almost\nevery case, a man will be almost as incapable of doubting the truth of\nthose doctrines as he is of doubting his own existence. Hence it is\nscarcely one in many thousands that has the strength of mind to honestly\nand seriously ask himself--is that true? Those who are able to do this\nhave been more appropriately styled strong minds, _esprits forts_, than\nis imagined. For the commonplace mind, however, there is nothing so\nabsurd or revolting but what, if inoculated in this way, the firmest\nbelief in it will take root. If, for example, the killing of a heretic\nor an infidel were an essential matter for the future salvation of the\nsoul, almost every one would make it the principal object of his life,\nand in dying get consolation and strength from the remembrance of his\nhaving succeeded; just as, in truth, in former times almost every\nSpaniard looked upon an _auto da f\u00e9_ as the most pious of acts and one\nmost pleasing to God.\n\nWe have an analogy to this in India in the _Thugs_, a religious body\nquite recently suppressed by the English, who executed numbers of them.\nThey showed their regard for religion and veneration for the goddess\nKali by assassinating at every opportunity their own friends and\nfellow-travellers, so that they might obtain their possessions, and they\nwere seriously convinced that thereby they had accomplished something\nthat was praiseworthy and would contribute to their eternal welfare. The\npower of religious dogma, that has been inculcated early, is so great\nthat it destroys conscience, and finally all compassion and sense of\nhumanity. But if you wish to see with your own eyes, and close at hand,\nwhat early inoculation of belief does, look at the English. Look at this\nnation, favoured by nature before all others, endowed before all others\nwith reason, intelligence, power of judgment, and firmness of character;\nlook at these people degraded, nay, made despicable among all others by\ntheir stupid ecclesiastical superstition, which among their other\ncapacities appears like a fixed idea, a monomania. For this they have to\nthank the clergy in whose hands education is, and who take care to\ninculcate all the articles, of belief at the earliest age in such a way\nas to result in a kind of partial paralysis of the brain; this then\nshows itself throughout their whole life in a silly bigotry, making even\nextremely intelligent and capable people among them degrade themselves\nso that they become quite an enigma to us. If we consider how essential\nto such a masterpiece is inoculation of belief in the tender age of\nchildhood, the system of missions appears no longer merely as the height\nof human importunity, arrogance, and impertinence, but also of\nabsurdity; in so far as it does not confine itself to people who are\nstill in the stage of _childhood_, such as the Hottentots, Kaffirs,\nSouth Sea Islanders, and others like them, among whom it has been really\nsuccessful. While, on the other hand, in India the Brahmans receive the\ndoctrines of missionaries either with a smile of condescending approval\nor refuse them with a shrug of their shoulders; and among these people\nin general, notwithstanding the most favourable circumstances, the\nmissionaries' attempts at conversion are usually wrecked. An authentic\nreport in vol. xxi. of the _Asiatic Journal_ of 1826 shows that after so\nmany years of missionary activity in the whole of India (of which the\nEnglish possessions alone amount to one hundred and fifteen million\ninhabitants) there are not more than three hundred living converts to be\nfound; and at the same time it is admitted that the Christian converts\nare distinguished for their extreme immorality. There are only three\nhundred venal and bribed souls out of so many millions. I cannot see\nthat it has gone better with Christianity in India since then, although\nthe missionaries are now trying, contrary to agreement, to work on the\nchildren's minds in schools exclusively devoted to secular English\ninstruction, in order to smuggle in Christianity, against which,\nhowever, the Hindoos are most jealously on their guard. For, as has been\nsaid, childhood is the time, and not manhood, to sow the seeds of\nbelief, especially where an earlier belief has taken root. An acquired\nconviction, however, that is assumed by matured converts serves,\ngenerally, as only the mask for some kind of personal interest. And it\nis the feeling that this could hardly be otherwise that makes a man, who\nchanges his religion at maturity, despised by most people everywhere; a\nfact which reveals that they do not regard religion as a matter of\nreasoned conviction but merely as a belief inoculated in early\nchildhood, before it has been put to any test. That they are right in\nlooking at religion in this way is to be gathered from the fact that it\nis not only the blind, credulous masses, but also the clergy of every\nreligion, who, as such, have studied its sources, arguments, dogmas and\ndifferences, who cling faithfully and zealously as a body to the\nreligion of their fatherland; consequently it is the rarest thing in the\nworld for a priest to change from one religion or creed to another. For\ninstance, we see that the Catholic clergy are absolutely convinced of\nthe truth of all the principles of their Church, and that the\nProtestants are also of theirs, and that both defend the principles of\ntheir confession with like zeal. And yet the conviction is the outcome\nmerely of the country in which each is born: the truth of the Catholic\ndogma is perfectly clear to the clergy of South Germany, the Protestant\nto the clergy of North Germany. If, therefore, these convictions rest on\nobjective reasons, these reasons must be climatic and thrive like\nplants, some only here, some only there. The masses everywhere, however,\naccept on trust and faith the convictions of those who are _locally\nconvinced_.\n\n_Demop._ That doesn't matter, for essentially it makes no difference.\nFor instance, Protestantism in reality is more suited to the north,\nCatholicism to the south.\n\n_Phil._ So it appears. Still, I take a higher point of view, and have\nbefore me a more important object, namely, the progress of the knowledge\nof truth among the human race. It is a frightful condition of things\nthat, wherever a man is born, certain propositions are inculcated in his\nearliest youth, and he is assured that under penalty of forfeiting\neternal salvation he may never entertain any doubt about them; in so\nfar, that is, as they are propositions which influence the foundation of\nall our other knowledge and accordingly decide for ever our point of\nview, and if they are false, upset it for ever. Further, as the\ninfluences drawn from these propositions make inroads everywhere into\nthe entire system of our knowledge, the whole of human knowledge is\nthrough and through affected by them. This is proved by every\nliterature, and most conspicuously by that of the Middle Age, but also,\nin too great an extent, by that of the fifteenth and sixteenth\ncenturies. We see how paralysed even the minds of the first rank of all\nthose epochs were by such false fundamental conceptions; and how\nespecially all insight into the true substance and working of Nature was\nhemmed in on every side. During the whole of the Christian period Theism\nlay like a kind of oppressive nightmare on all intellectual effort, and\non philosophical effort in particular, hindering and arresting all\nprogress. For the men of learning of those epochs, God, devil, angels,\ndemons, hid the whole of Nature; no investigation was carried out to the\nend, no matter sifted to the bottom; everything that was beyond the most\nobvious _causal nexus_ was immediately attributed to these; so that, as\nPomponatius expressed himself at the time, _Certe philosophi nihil\nverisimile habent ad haec, quare necesse est, ad Deum, ad angelos et\ndaemones recurrere._ It is true that there is a suspicion of irony in\nwhat this man says, as his malice in other ways is known, nevertheless\nhe has expressed the general way of thinking of his age. If any one, on\nthe other hand, possessed that rare elasticity of mind which alone\nenabled him to free himself from the fetters, his writings, and he\nhimself with them, were burnt; as happened to Bruno and Vanini. But how\nabsolutely paralysed the ordinary mind is by that early metaphysical\npreparation may be seen most strikingly, and from its most ridiculous\nside, when it undertakes to criticise the doctrines of a foreign belief.\nOne finds the ordinary man, as a rule, merely trying to carefully prove\nthat the dogmas of the foreign belief do not agree with those of his\nown; he labours to explain that not only do they not say the same, but\ncertainly do not mean the same thing as his. With that he fancies in his\nsimplicity that he has proved the falsity of the doctrines of the alien\nbelief. It really never occurs to him to ask the question which of the\ntwo is right; but his own articles of belief are to him as _\u00e0 priori_\ncertain principles. The Rev. Mr. Morrison has furnished an amusing\nexample of this kind in vol. xx. of the _Asiatic Journal_ wherein he\ncriticises the religion and philosophy of the Chinese.\n\n_Demop._ So that's your higher point of view. But I assure you that\nthere is a higher still. _Primum vivere, deinde philosophari_ is of more\ncomprehensive significance than one supposes at first sight. Before\neverything else, the raw and wicked tendencies of the masses ought to be\nrestrained, in order to protect them from doing anything that is\nextremely unjust, or committing cruel, violent, and disgraceful deeds.\nIf one waited until they recognised and grasped the truth one would\nassuredly come too late. And supposing they had already found truth, it\nwould surpass their powers of comprehension. In any case it would be a\nmere allegorical investiture of truth, a parable, or a myth that would\nbe of any good to them. There must be, as Kant has said, a public\nstandard of right and virtue, nay, this must at all times flutter high.\nIt is all the same in the end what kind of heraldic figures are\nrepresented on it, if they only indicate what is meant. Such an\nallegorical truth is at all times and everywhere, for mankind at large,\na beneficial substitute for an eternally unattainable truth, and in\ngeneral, for a philosophy which it can never grasp; to say nothing of\nits changing its form daily, and not having as yet attained any kind of\ngeneral recognition. Therefore practical aims, my good Philalethes, have\nin every way the advantage of theoretical.\n\n_Phil._ This closely resembles the ancient advice of Timaeus of Locrus,\nthe Pythagorean: \u03c4\u03b1\u03c2 \u03c8\u03c5\u03c7\u03b1\u03c2 \u1f00\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03c1\u03b3\u03bf\u03bc\u03b5\u03c2 \u03c8\u03b5\u03c5\u03b4\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9 \u03bb\u03bf\u03b3\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2, \u03b5\u1f30 \u03ba\u03b1 \u03bc\u03b7 \u1f00\u03b3\u03b7\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9\n\u1f00\u03bb\u03b1\u03b8\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9.[13] And I almost suspect that it is your wish, according to the\nfashion of to-day, to remind me--\n\n  \"Good friend, the time is near\n  When we may feast off what is good in peace.\"\n\nAnd your recommendation means that we should take care in time, so that\nthe waves of the dissatisfied, raging masses may not disturb us at\ntable. But the whole of this point of view is as false as it is nowadays\nuniversally liked and praised; this is why I make haste to put in a\nprotest against it. It is _false_ that state, justice, and law cannot be\nmaintained without the aid of religion and its articles of belief, and\nthat justice and police regulations need religion as a complement in\norder to carry out legislative arrangements. It is _false_ if it were\nrepeated a hundred times. For the ancients, and especially the Greeks,\nfurnish us with striking _instantia in contrarium_ founded on fact. They\nhad absolutely nothing of what we understand by religion. They had no\nsacred documents, no dogma to be learnt, and its acceptance advanced by\nevery one, and its principles inculcated early in youth. The servants of\nreligion preached just as little about morals, and the ministers\nconcerned themselves very little about any kind of morality or in\ngeneral about what the people either did or left undone. No such thing.\nBut the duty of the priests was confined merely to temple ceremonies,\nprayers, songs, sacrifices, processions, lustrations, and the like, all\nof which aimed at anything but the moral improvement of the individual.\nThe whole of their so-called religion consisted, and particularly in the\ntowns, in some of the _deorum majorum gentium_ having temples here and\nthere, in which the aforesaid worship was conducted as an affair of\nstate, when in reality it was an affair of police. No one, except the\nfunctionaries engaged, was obliged in any way to be present, or even to\nbelieve in it. In the whole of antiquity there is no trace of any\nobligation to believe in any kind of dogma. It was merely any one who\nopenly denied the existence of the gods or calumniated them that was\npunished; because by so doing he insulted the state which served these\ngods; beyond this every one was allowed to think what he chose of them.\nIf any one wished to win the favour of these gods privately by prayer or\nsacrifice he was free to do so at his own cost and risk; if he did not\ndo it, no one had anything to say against it, and least of all the\nState. Every Roman had his own Lares and Penates at home, which were,\nhowever, at bottom nothing more than the revered portraits of his\nancestors. The ancients had no kind of decisive, clear, and least of all\ndogmatically fixed ideas about the immortality of the soul and a life\nhereafter, but every one in his own way had lax, vacillating, and\nproblematical ideas; and their ideas about the gods were just as\nvarious, individual, and vague. So that the ancients had really no\n_religion_ in our sense of the word. Was it for this reason that anarchy\nand lawlessness reigned among them? Is not law and civil order rather so\nmuch their work, that it still constitutes the foundation of ours? Was\nnot property perfectly secure, although it consisted of slaves for the\ngreater part? And did not this condition of things last longer than a\nthousand years?\n\nSo I cannot perceive, and must protest against the practical aims and\nnecessity of religion in the sense which you have indicated, and in such\ngeneral favour to-day, namely, as an indispensable foundation of all\nlegislative regulations. For from such a standpoint the pure and sacred\nstriving after light and truth, to say the least, would seem quixotic\nand criminal if it should venture in its feeling of justice to denounce\nthe authoritative belief as a usurper who has taken possession of the\nthrone of truth and maintained it by continuing the deception.\n\n_Demop._ But religion is not opposed to truth; for it itself teaches\ntruth. Only it must not allow truth to appear in its naked form, because\nits sphere of activity is not a narrow auditory, but the world and\nhumanity at large, and therefore it must conform to the requirements and\ncomprehension of so great and mixed a public; or, to use a medical\nsimile, it must not present it pure, but must as a medium make use of a\nmythical vehicle. Truth may also be compared in this respect to certain\nchemical stuffs which in themselves are gaseous, but which for official\nuses, as also for preservation or transmission, must be bound to a firm,\npalpable base, because they would otherwise volatilise. For example,\nchlorine is for all such purposes applied only in the form of chlorides.\nBut if truth, pure, abstract, and free from anything of a mythical\nnature, is always to remain unattainable by us all, philosophers\nincluded, it might be compared to fluorine, which cannot be presented by\nitself alone, but only when combined with other stuffs. Or, to take a\nsimpler simile, truth, which cannot be expressed in any other way than\nby myth and allegory, is like water that cannot be transported without a\nvessel; but philosophers, who insist upon possessing it pure, are like a\nperson who breaks the vessel in order to get the water by itself. This\nis perhaps a true analogy. At any rate, religion is truth allegorically\nand mythically expressed, and thereby made possible and digestible to\nmankind at large. For mankind could by no means digest it pure and\nunadulterated, just as we cannot live in pure oxygen but require an\naddition of four-fifths of nitrogen. And without speaking figuratively,\nthe profound significance and high aim of life can only be revealed and\nshown to the masses symbolically, because they are not capable of\ngrasping life in its real sense; while philosophy should be like the\nEleusinian mysteries, for the few, the elect.\n\n_Phil._ I understand. The matter resolves itself into truth putting on\nthe dress of falsehood. But in doing so it enters into a fatal alliance.\nWhat a dangerous weapon is given into the hands of those who have the\nauthority to make use of falsehood as the vehicle of truth! If such is\nthe case, I fear there will be more harm caused by the falsehood than\ngood derived from the truth. If the allegory were admitted to be such, I\nshould say nothing against it; but in that case it would be deprived of\nall respect, and consequently of all efficacy. Therefore the allegory\nmust assert a claim, which it must maintain, to be true in _sensu\nproprio_ while at the most it is true in _sensu allegorico_. Here lies\nthe incurable mischief, the permanent evil; and therefore religion is\nalways in conflict, and always will be with the free and noble striving\nafter pure truth.\n\n_Demop_. Indeed, no. Care has been taken to prevent that. If religion\nmay not exactly admit its allegorical nature, it indicates it at any\nrate sufficiently.\n\n_Phil_. And in what way does it do that?\n\n_Demop_. In its mysteries. _Mystery_ is at bottom only the theological\n_terminus technicus_ for religious allegory. All religions have their\nmysteries. In reality, a mystery is a palpably absurd dogma which\nconceals in itself a lofty truth, which by itself would be absolutely\nincomprehensible to the ordinary intelligence of the raw masses. The\nmasses accept it in this disguise on trust and faith, without allowing\nthemselves to be led astray by its absurdity, which is palpable to them;\nand thereby they participate in the kernel of the matter so far as they\nare able. I may add as an explanation that the use of mystery has been\nattempted even in philosophy; for example, when Pascal, who was pietest,\nmathematician, and philosopher in one, says in this threefold character:\n_God is everywhere centre and nowhere periphery_. Malebranche has also\ntruly remarked, _La libert\u00e9 est un myst\u00e8re_. One might go further, and\nmaintain that in religions everything is really mystery. For it is\nutterly impossible to impart truth in _sensu proprio_ to the multitude\nin its crudity; it is only a mythical and allegorical reflection of it\nthat can fall to its share and enlighten it. Naked truth must not appear\nbefore the eyes of the profane vulgar; it can only appear before them\nclosely veiled. And it is for this reason that it is unfair to demand of\na religion that it should be true in _sensu proprio_, and that, _en\npassant_. Rationalists and Supernaturalists of to-day are so absurd.\nThey both start with the supposition that religion must be the truth;\nand while the former prove that it is not, the latter obstinately\nmaintain that it is; or rather the former cut up and dress the allegory\nin such a way that it could be true in _sensu proprio_ but would in that\ncase become a platitude. The latter wish to maintain, without further\ndressing, that it is true in _sensu proprio_, which, as they should\nknow, can only be carried into execution by inquisitions and the stake.\nWhile in reality, myth and allegory are the essential elements of\nreligion, but under the indispensable condition (because of the\nintellectual limitations of the great masses) that it supplies enough\nsatisfaction to meet those metaphysical needs of mankind which are\nineradicable, and that it takes the place of pure philosophical truth,\nwhich is infinitely difficult, and perhaps never attainable.\n\n_Phil._ Yes, pretty much in the same way as a wooden leg takes the place\nof a natural one. It supplies what is wanting, does very poor service\nfor it, and claims to be regarded as a natural leg, and is more or less\ncleverly put together. There is a difference, however, for, as a rule,\nthe natural leg was in existence before the wooden one, while religion\neverywhere has gained the start of philosophy.\n\n_Demop._ That may be; but a wooden leg is of great value to those who\nhave no natural leg. You must keep in view that the metaphysical\nrequirements of man absolutely demand satisfaction; because the horizon\nof his thoughts must be defined and not remain unlimited. A man, as a\nrule, has no faculty of judgment for weighing reasons, and\ndistinguishing between what is true and what is false. Moreover, the\nwork imposed upon him by nature and her requirements leaves him no time\nfor investigations of that kind, or for the education which they\npresuppose. Therefore it is entirely out of the question to imagine he\nwill be convinced by reasons; there is nothing left for him but belief\nand authority. Even if a really true philosophy took the place of\nreligion, at least nine-tenths of mankind would only accept it on\nauthority, so that it would be again a matter of belief; for Plato's\n\u03c6\u03b9\u03bb\u03bf\u03c3\u03bf\u03c6\u03bf\u03bd \u03c0\u03bb\u03b7\u03b8\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f00\u03b4\u03c5\u03bd\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u03b5\u1f30\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9 will always hold good. Authority,\nhowever, is only established by time and circumstances, so that we\ncannot bestow it on that which has only reason to commend it;\naccordingly, we must grant it only to that which has attained it in the\ncourse of history, even if it is only truth represented allegorically.\nThis kind of truth, supported by authority, appeals directly to the\nessentially metaphysical temperament of man--that is, to his need of a\ntheory concerning the riddle of existence, which thrusts itself upon\nhim, and arises from the consciousness that behind the physical in the\nworld there must be a metaphysical, an unchangeable something, which\nserves as the foundation of constant change. It also appeals to the\nwill, fears, and hopes of mortals living in constant need; religion\nprovides them with gods, demons, to whom they call, appease, and\nconciliate. Finally, it appeals to their moral consciousness, which is\nundeniably present, and lends to it that authenticity and support from\nwithout--a support without which it would not easily maintain itself in\nthe struggle against so many temptations. It is exactly from this side\nthat religion provides an inexhaustible source of consolation and\ncomfort in the countless and great sorrows of life, a comfort which does\nnot leave men in death, but rather then unfolds its full efficacy. So\nthat religion is like some one taking hold of the hand of a blind person\nand leading him, since he cannot see for himself; all that the blind\nperson wants is to attain his end, not to see everything as he walks\nalong.\n\n_Phil._ This side is certainly the brilliant side of religion. If it is\na _fraus_ it is indeed a _pia fraus_; that cannot be denied. Then\npriests become something between deceivers and moralists. For they dare\nnot teach the real truth, as you yourself have quite correctly\nexplained, even if it were known to them; which it is not. There can, at\nany rate, be a true philosophy, but there can be no true religion: I\nmean true in the real and proper understanding of the word, not merely\nin that flowery and allegorical sense which you have described, a sense\nin which every religion would be true only in different degrees. It is\ncertainly quite in harmony with the inextricable admixture of good and\nevil, honesty and dishonesty, goodness and wickedness, magnanimity and\nbaseness, which the world presents everywhere, that the most important,\nthe most lofty, and the most sacred truths can make their appearance\nonly in combination with a lie, nay, can borrow strength from a lie as\nsomething that affects mankind more powerfully; and as revelation must\nbe introduced by a lie. One might regard this fact as the _monogram_ of\nthe moral world. Meanwhile let us not give up the hope that mankind will\nsome day attain that point of maturity and education at which it is able\nto produce a true philosophy on the one hand, and accept it on the\nother. _Simplex sigillum veri_: the naked truth must be so simple and\ncomprehensible that one can impart it to all in its true form without\nany admixture of myth and fable (a pack of lies)--in other words,\nwithout masking it as _religion_.\n\n_Demop._ You have not a sufficient idea of the wretched capacities of\nthe masses.\n\n_Phil._ I express it only as a hope; but to give it up is impossible. In\nthat case, if truth were in a simpler and more comprehensible form, it\nwould surely soon drive religion from the position of vicegerent which\nit has so long held. Then religion will have fulfilled her mission and\nfinished her course; she might then dismiss the race which she has\nguided to maturity and herself retire in peace. This will be the\n_euthanasia_ of religion. However, as long as she lives she has two\nfaces, one of truth and one of deceit. According as one looks\nattentively at one or the other one will like or dislike her. Hence\nreligion must be regarded as a necessary evil, its necessity resting on\nthe pitiful weak-mindedness of the great majority of mankind, incapable\nof grasping the truth, and consequently when in extremity requires a\nsubstitute for truth.\n\n_Demop._ Really, one would think that you philosophers had truth lying\nin readiness, and all that one had to do was to lay hold of it.\n\n_Phil._ If we have not got it, it is principally to be ascribed to the\npressure under which philosophy, at all periods and in all countries,\nhas been held by religion. We have tried to make not only the expression\nand communication of truth impossible, but even the contemplation and\ndiscovery of it, by giving the minds of children in earliest childhood\ninto the hands of priests to be worked upon; to have the groove in which\ntheir fundamental thoughts are henceforth to run so firmly imprinted, as\nin principal matters, to become fixed and determined for a lifetime. I\nam sometimes shocked to see when I take into my hand the writings of\neven the most intelligent minds of the sixteenth and seventeenth\ncenturies, and especially if I have just left my oriental studies, how\nparalysed and hemmed in on all sides they are by Jewish notions.\nPrepared in this way, one cannot form any idea of the true philosophy!\n\n_Demop._ And if, moreover, this true philosophy were discovered,\nreligion would not cease to exist, as you imagine. There cannot be one\nsystem of metaphysics for everybody; the natural differences of\nintellectual power in addition to those of education make this\nimpossible. The great majority of mankind must necessarily be engaged in\nthat arduous bodily labour which is requisite in order to furnish the\nendless needs of the whole race. Not only does this leave the majority\nno time for education, for learning, or for reflection; but by virtue of\nthe strong antagonism between merely physical and intellectual\nqualities, much excessive bodily labour blunts the understanding and\nmakes it heavy, clumsy, and awkward, and consequently incapable of\ngrasping any other than perfectly simple and palpable matters. At least\nnine-tenths of the human race comes under this category. People require\na system of metaphysics, that is, an account of the world and our\nexistence, because such an account belongs to the most natural\nrequirements of mankind. They require also a popular system of\nmetaphysics, which, in order for it to be this, must combine many rare\nqualities; for instance, it must be exceedingly lucid, and yet in the\nright places be obscure, nay, to a certain extent, impenetrable; then a\ncorrect and satisfying moral system must be combined with its dogmas;\nabove everything, it must bring inexhaustible consolation in suffering\nand death. It follows from this that it can only be true in _sensu\nallegorico_ and not in _sensu proprio_. Further, it must have the\nsupport of an authority which is imposing by its great age, by its\ngeneral recognition, by its documents, together with their tone and\nstatements--qualities which are so infinitely difficult to combine that\nmany a man, if he stopped to reflect, would not be so ready to help to\nundermine a religion, but would consider it the most sacred treasure of\nthe people. If any one wants to criticise religion he should always bear\nin mind the nature of the great masses for which it is destined, and\npicture to himself their complete moral and intellectual inferiority. It\nis incredible how far this inferiority goes and how steadily a spark of\ntruth will continue to glimmer even under the crudest veiling of\nmonstrous fables and grotesque ceremonies, adhering indelibly, like the\nperfume of musk, to everything which has come in contact with it. As an\nillustration of this, look at the profound wisdom which is revealed in\nthe Upanishads, and then look at the mad idolatry in the India of\nto-day, as is revealed in its pilgrimages, processions, and festivities,\nor at the mad and ludicrous doings of the Saniassi of the present time.\nNevertheless, it cannot be denied that in all this madness and absurdity\nthere yet lies something that is hidden from view, something that is in\naccordance with, or a reflection of the profound wisdom that has been\nmentioned. It requires this kind of dressing-up for the great brute\nmasses. In this antithesis we have before us the two poles of\nhumanity:--the wisdom of the individual and the bestiality of the\nmasses, both of which, however, find their point of harmony in the moral\nkingdom. Who has not thought of the saying from the Kurral--\"Vulgar\npeople look like men; but I have never seen anything like them.\" The\nmore highly cultured man may always explain religion to himself _cum\ngrano salis_; the man of learning, the thoughtful mind, may, in secret,\nexchange it for a philosophy. And yet _one_ philosophy would not do for\neverybody; each philosophy by the laws of affinity attracts a public to\nwhose education and mental capacities it is fitted. So there is always\nan inferior metaphysical system of the schools for the educated\nplebeians, and a higher system for the _\u00e9lite_. Kant's lofty doctrine,\nfor example, was degraded to meet the requirements of the schools, and\nruined by Fries, Krug, Salat, and similar people. In short, Goethe's\ndictum is as applicable here as anywhere: _One does not suit all_. Pure\nbelief in revelation and pure metaphysics are for the two extremes; and\nfor the intermediate steps mutual modifications of both in countless\ncombinations and gradations. The immeasurable differences which nature\nand education place between men have made this necessary.\n\n_Phil._ This point of view reminds me seriously of the mysteries of the\nancients which you have already mentioned; their aim at bottom seems to\nhave lain in remedying the evil arising out of the differences of mental\ncapacities and education. Their plan was to single out of the great\nmultitude a few people, to whom the unveiled truth was absolutely\nincomprehensible, and to reveal the truth to them up to a certain point;\nthen out of these they singled out others to whom they revealed more, as\nthey were able to grasp more; and so on up to the Epopts. And so we got\n\u03bc\u03b9\u03ba\u03c1\u03b1, \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03bc\u03b5\u03b9\u03b6\u03bf\u03bd\u03b1, \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03bc\u03b5\u03b3\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03b1 \u03bc\u03c5\u03c3\u03c4\u03b7\u03c1\u03b9\u03b1. The plan was based on a\ncorrect knowledge of the intellectual inequality of mankind.\n\n_Demop_. To a certain extent the education in our lower, middle, and\nhigh schools represents the different forms of initiation into the\nmysteries.\n\n_Phil_. Only in a very approximate way, and this only in so far as\nsubjects of higher knowledge were written about exclusively in Latin.\nBut since that has ceased to be so all the mysteries are profaned.\n\n_Demop_. However that may be, I wish to remind you, in speaking of\nreligion, that you should grasp it more from the practical and less from\nthe theoretical side. Personified metaphysics may be religion's enemy,\nyet personified morality will be its friend. Perhaps the metaphysics in\nall religions is false; but the morality in all is true. This is to be\nsurmised from the fact that in their metaphysics they contradict each\nother, while in their morality they agree.\n\n_Phil_. Which furnishes us with a proof of the rule of logic, that a\ntrue conclusion may follow from false premises.\n\n_Demop_. Well, stick to your conclusion, and be always mindful that\nreligion has two sides. If it can't stand when looked at merely from the\ntheoretical--in other words, from its intellectual side, it appears, on\nthe other hand, from the moral side as the only means of directing,\ntraining, and pacifying those races of animals gifted with reason, whose\nkinship with the ape does not exclude a kinship with the tiger. At the\nsame time religion is, in general, a sufficient satisfaction for their\ndull metaphysical needs. You appear to me to have no proper idea of the\ndifference, wide as the heavens apart, of the profound breach between\nyour learned man, who is enlightened and accustomed to think, and the\nheavy, awkward, stupid, and inert consciousness of mankind's beasts of\nburden, whose thoughts have taken once and for all the direction of fear\nabout their maintenance, and cannot be put in motion in any other; and\nwhose muscular power is so exclusively exercised that the nervous power\nwhich produces intelligence is thereby greatly reduced. People of this\nkind must absolutely have something that they can take hold of on the\nslippery and thorny path of their life, some sort of beautiful fable by\nmeans of which things can be presented to them which their crude\nintelligence could most certainly only understand in picture and\nparable. It is impossible to approach them with subtle explanations and\nfine distinctions. If you think of religion in this way, and bear in\nmind that its aims are extremely practical and only subordinately\ntheoretical, it will seem to you worthy of the highest respect.\n\n_Phil_. A respect which would finally rest on the principle that the end\nsanctifies the means. However, I am not in favour of a compromise on a\nbasis of that sort. Religion may be an excellent means of curbing and\ncontrolling the perverse, dull, and malicious creatures of the biped\nrace; in the eyes of the friend of truth every _fraus_, be it ever so\n_pia_, must be rejected. It would be an odd way to promote virtue\nthrough the medium of lies and deception. The flag to which I have sworn\nis truth. I shall remain faithful to it everywhere, and regardless of\nsuccess, I shall fight for light and truth. If I see religion hostile, I\nshall--\n\n_Demop_. But you will not! Religion is not a deception; it is true, and\nthe most important of all truths. But because, as has already been said,\nits doctrines are of such a lofty nature that the great masses cannot\ngrasp them immediately; because, I say, its light would blind the\nordinary eye, does it appear concealed in the veil of allegory and teach\nthat which is not exactly true in itself, but which is true according to\nthe meaning contained in it: and understood in this way religion is the\ntruth.\n\n_Phil_. That would be very probable, if it were allowed to be true only\nin an allegorical sense. But it claims to be exactly true, and true in\nthe proper sense of the word: herein lies the deception, and it is here\nthat the friend of truth must oppose it.\n\n_Demop_. But this deception is a _conditio sine qua non_. If religion\nadmitted that it was merely the allegorical meaning in its doctrines\nthat was true, it would be deprived of all efficacy, and such rigorous\ntreatment would put an end to its invaluable and beneficial influence on\nthe morals and feelings of mankind. Instead of insisting on that with\npedantic obstinacy, look at its great achievements in a practical way\nboth as regards morality and feelings, as a guide to conduct, as a\nsupport and consolation to suffering humanity in life and death. How\ngreatly you should guard against rousing suspicion in the masses by\ntheoretical wrangling, and thereby finally taking from them what is an\ninexhaustible source of consolation and comfort to them; which in their\nhard lot they need very much more than we do: for this reason alone,\nreligion ought not to be attacked.\n\n_Phil_. With this argument Luther could have been beaten out of the\nfield when he attacked the selling of indulgences; for the letters of\nindulgence have furnished many a man with irreparable consolation and\nperfect tranquillity, so that he joyfully passed away with perfect\nconfidence in the little packet of them which he firmly held in his hand\nas he lay dying, convinced that in them he had so many cards of\nadmission into all the nine heavens. What is the use of grounds of\nconsolation and peacefulness over which is constantly hanging the\nDamocles-sword of deception? The truth, my friend, the truth alone holds\ngood, and remains constant and faithful; it is the only solid\nconsolation; it is the indestructible diamond.\n\n_Demop_. Yes, if you had truth in your pocket to bless us with whenever\nwe asked for it. But what you possess are only metaphysical systems in\nwhich nothing is certain but the headaches they cost. Before one takes\nanything away one must have something better to put in its place.\n\n_Phil_. I wish you would not continually say that. To free a man from\nerror does not mean to take something from him, but to give him\nsomething. For knowledge that something is wrong is a truth. No error,\nhowever, is harmless; every error will cause mischief sooner or later to\nthe man who fosters it. Therefore do not deceive any one, but rather\nadmit you are ignorant of what you do not know, and let each man form\nhis own dogmas for himself. Perhaps they will not turn out so bad,\nespecially as they will rub against each other and mutually rectify\nerrors; at any rate the various opinions will establish tolerance. Those\nmen who possess both knowledge and capacity may take up the study of\nphilosophy, or even themselves advance the history of philosophy.\n\n_Demop_. That would be a fine thing! A whole nation of naturalised\nmetaphysicians quarrelling with each other, and _eventualiter_ striking\neach other.\n\n_Phil_. Well, a few blows here and there are the sauce of life, or at\nleast a very slight evil compared with priestly government--prosecution\nof heretics, plundering of the laity, courts of inquisition, crusades,\nreligious wars, massacres of St. Bartholomew, and the like. They have\nbeen the results of chartered popular metaphysics: therefore I still\nhold that one cannot expect to get grapes from thistles, or good from\nlies and deception.\n\n_Demop_. How often must I repeat that religion is not a lie, but the\ntruth itself in a mythical, allegorical dress? But with respect to your\nplan of each man establishing his own religion, I had still something to\nsay to you, that a particularism like this is totally and absolutely\nopposed to the nature of mankind, and therefore would abolish all social\norder. Man is an _animal metaphysicum_--in other words, he has\nsurpassingly great metaphysical requirements; accordingly he conceives\nlife above all in its metaphysical sense, and from that standpoint\nwishes to grasp everything. Accordingly, odd as it may sound with regard\nto the uncertainty of all dogmas, accord in the fundamental elements of\nmetaphysics is the principal thing, in so much as it is only among\npeople who hold the same views on this question that a genuine and\nlasting fellowship is possible. As a result of this, nations resemble\nand differ from each other more in religion than in government, or even\nlanguage. Consequently, the fabric of society, the State, will only be\nperfectly firm when it has for a basis a system of metaphysics\nuniversally acknowledged. Such a system, naturally, can only be a\npopular metaphysical one--that is, a religion. It then becomes\nidentified with the government, with all the general expressions of the\nnational life, as well as with all sacred acts of private life. This was\nthe case in ancient India, among the Persians, Egyptians, Jews, also the\nGreeks and Romans, and it is still the case among the Brahman, Buddhist,\nand Mohammedan nations. There, are three doctrines of faith in China, it\nis true, and the one that has spread the most, namely, Buddhism, is\nexactly the doctrine that is least protected by the State; yet there is\na saying in China that is universally appreciated and daily applied,\n_the three doctrines are only one_--in other words, they agree in the\nmain thing. The Emperor confesses all three at the same time, and agrees\nwith them all. Europe is the confederacy of _Christian_ States;\nChristianity is the basis of each of its members and the common bond of\nall; hence Turkey, although it is in Europe, is really not to be\nreckoned in it. Similarly the European princes are such \"by the grace of\nGod,\" and the Pope is the delegate of God; accordingly, as his throne\nwas the highest, he wished all other thrones to be looked upon only as\nheld in fee from him. Similarly Archbishops and Bishops, as such, had\ntemporal authority, just as they have still in England a seat and voice\nin the Upper House; Protestant rulers are, as such, heads of their\nchurches; in England a few years ago this was a girl of eighteen. By the\nrevolt from the Pope, the Reformation shattered the European structure,\nand, in particular, dissolved the true unity of Germany by abolishing\nits common faith; this unity, which had as a matter of fact come to\ngrief, had accordingly to be replaced later by artificial and purely\npolitical bonds. So you see how essentially connected is unity of faith\nwith common order and every state. It is everywhere the support of the\nlaws and the constitution--that is to say, the foundation of the social\nstructure, which would stand with difficulty if faith did not lend power\nto the authority of the government and the importance of the ruler.\n\n_Phil_. Oh, yes, princes look upon God as a goblin, wherewith to\nfrighten grown-up children to bed when nothing else is of any avail; it\nis for this reason that they depend so much on God. All right; meanwhile\nI should like to advise every ruling lord to read through, on a certain\nday every six months, the fifteenth chapter of the First Book of Samuel,\nearnestly and attentively; so that he may always have in mind what it\nmeans to support the throne on the altar. Moreover, since burning at the\nstake, that _ultima ratio theologorum_, is a thing of the past, this\nmode of government has lost its efficacy. For, as you know, religions\nare like glowworms: before they can shine it must be dark. A certain\ndegree of general ignorance is the condition of every religion, and is\nthe element in which alone it is able to exist. While, as soon as\nastronomy, natural science, geology, history, knowledge of countries and\nnations have spread their light universally, and philosophy is finally\nallowed to speak, every faith which is based on miracle and revelation\nmust perish, and then philosophy will take its place. In Europe the day\nof knowledge and science dawned towards the end of the fifteenth century\nwith the arrival of the modern Greek philosophers, its sun rose higher\nin the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, which were so productive,\nand scattered the mists of the Middle Age. In the same proportion, both\nChurch and Faith were obliged to gradually disappear; so that in the\neighteenth century English and French philosophers became direct\nantagonists, until finally, under Frederick the Great, Kant came and\ntook away from religious belief the support it had formerly received\nfrom philosophy, and emancipated the _ancilla theologiae_ in that he\nattacked the question with German thoroughness and perseverance, whereby\nit received a less frivolous, that is to say, a more earnest tone. As a\nresult of this we see in the nineteenth century Christianity very much\nweakened, almost stripped entirely of serious belief, nay, fighting for\nits own existence; while apprehensive princes try to raise it up by an\nartificial stimulant, as the doctor tries to revive a dying man by the\naid of a drug. There is a passage from Condorcet's _Des Progr\u00e8s de\nl'esprit humain_, which seems to have been written as a warning to our\nepoch: _Le z\u00e8le religieux des philosophes et des grands n'\u00e9tait qu'une\nd\u00e9votion politique: et toute religion, qu'on se permet de d\u00e9fendre comme\nune croyance qu'il est utile de laisser au peuple, ne peut plus esp\u00e9rer\nqu'une agonie plus ou moins prolong\u00e9e_. In the whole course of the\nevents which I have pointed out you may always observe that belief and\nknowledge bear the same relation to each other as the two scales of a\nbalance: when the one rises the other must fall. The balance is so\nsensitive that it indicates momentary influences. For example, in the\nbeginning of this century the predatory excursions of French robbers\nunder their leader Buonaparte, and the great efforts that were requisite\nto drive them out and to punish them, had led to a temporary neglect of\nscience, and in consequence to a certain decrease in the general\npropagation of knowledge; the Church immediately began to raise her head\nagain and Faith to be revived, a revival partly of a poetical nature, in\nkeeping with the spirit of the times. On the other hand, in the more\nthan thirty years' peace that followed, leisure and prosperity promoted\nthe building up of science and the spread of knowledge in an exceptional\ndegree, so that the result was what I have said, the dissolution and\nthreatened fall of religion. Perhaps the time which has been so often\npredicted is not far distant, when religion will depart from European\nhumanity, like a nurse whose care the child has outgrown; it is now\nplaced in the hands of a tutor for instruction. For without doubt\ndoctrines of belief that are based only on authority, miracles, and\nrevelation are only of use and suitable to the childhood of humanity.\nThat a race, which all physical and historical data confirm as having\nbeen in existence only about a hundred times the life of a man sixty\nyears old, is still in its first childhood is a fact that every one will\nadmit.\n\n_Demop_. If instead of prophesying with undisguised pleasure the\ndownfall of Christianity, you would only consider how infinitely\nindebted European humanity is to it, and to the religion which, after\nthe lapse of some time, followed Christianity from its old home in the\nEast! Europe received from it a drift which had hitherto been unknown to\nit--it learnt the fundamental truth that life cannot be an\nend-in-itself, but that the true end of our existence lies beyond it.\nThe Greeks and Romans had placed this end absolutely in life itself, so\nthat, in this sense, they may most certainly be called blind heathens.\nCorrespondingly, all their virtues consist in what is serviceable to the\npublic, in what is useful; and Aristotle says quite na\u00efvely, \"_Those\nvirtues must necessarily be the greatest which are the most useful to\nothers_\" (\u1f00\u03bd\u03b1\u03b3\u03ba\u03b7 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03bc\u03b5\u03b3\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03b1\u03c2 \u03b5\u1f30\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9 \u1f00\u03c1\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03c2 \u03c4\u03b1\u03c2 \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f00\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c7\u03c1\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03bc\u03c9\u03c4\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1\u03c2,\n_Rhetor_. I. c. 9). This is why the ancients considered love for one's\ncountry the greatest virtue, although it is a very doubtful one, as it\nis made up of narrowness, prejudice, vanity, and an enlightened\nself-interest. Preceding the passage that has just been quoted,\nAristotle enumerates all the virtues in order to explain them\nindividually. They are _Justice, Courage, Moderation, Magnificence_\n(\u03bc\u03b5\u03b3\u03b1\u03bb\u03bf\u03c0\u03c1\u03b5\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1), _Magnanimity, Liberality, Gentleness, Reasonableness,\nand Wisdom_. How different from the Christian virtues! Even Plato,\nwithout comparison the most transcendental philosopher of pre-Christian\nantiquity, knows no higher virtue than _Justice_; he alone recommends it\nunconditionally and for its own sake, while all the other philosophers\nmake a happy life--_vita beata_--the aim of all virtue; and it is\nacquired through the medium of moral behaviour. Christianity released\nEuropean humanity from its superficial and crude absorption in an\nephemeral, uncertain, and hollow existence.\n\n                         ... _coelumque tueri\n  Jussit, et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus_.\n\nAccordingly, Christianity does not only preach Justice, but the _Love of\nMankind, Compassion, Charity, Reconciliation, Love of one's Enemies,\nPatience, Humility, Renunciation, Faith, and Hope_. Indeed, it went even\nfurther: it taught that the world was of evil and that we needed\ndeliverance; consequently it preached contempt of the world,\nself-denial, chastity, the giving up of one's own will, that is to say,\nturning away from life and its phantom-like pleasures; it taught further\nthe healing power of suffering, and that an instrument of torture is the\nsymbol of Christianity, I willingly admit that this serious and only\ncorrect view of life had spread in other forms throughout Asia thousands\nof years previously, independently of Christianity as it is still; but\nthis view of life was a new and tremendous revelation to European\nhumanity. For it is well known that the population of Europe consists of\nAsiatic races who, driven out from their own country, wandered away, and\nby degrees hit upon Europe: on their long wanderings they lost the\noriginal religion of their homes, and with it the correct view of life;\nand this is why they formed in another climate religions for themselves\nwhich were somewhat crude; especially the worship of Odin, the Druidic\nand the Greek religions, the metaphysical contents of which were small\nand shallow. Meanwhile there developed among the Greeks a quite special,\none might say an instinctive, sense of beauty, possessed by them alone\nof all the nations of the earth that have ever existed--a peculiar,\nfine, and correct sense of beauty, so that in the mouths of their poets\nand in the hands of their artists, their mythology took an exceptionally\nbeautiful and delightful form. On the other hand, the earnest, true, and\nprofound import of life was lost to the Greeks and Romans; they lived\nlike big children until Christianity came and brought them back to the\nserious side of life.\n\n_Phil_. And to form an idea of the result we need only compare antiquity\nwith the Middle Age that followed--that is, the time of Pericles with\nthe fourteenth century. It is difficult to believe that we have the same\nkind of beings before us. There, the finest development of humanity,\nexcellent constitutional regulations, wise laws, cleverly distributed\noffices, rationally ordered freedom, all the arts, as well as poetry and\nphilosophy, at their best; the creation of works which after thousands\nof years have never been equalled and are almost works of a higher order\nof beings, whom we can never approach; life embellished by the noblest\nfellowship, as is portrayed in the _Banquet_ of Xenophon. And now look\nat this side, if you can. Look at the time when the Church had\nimprisoned the minds, and violence the bodies of men, whereby knights\nand priests could lay the whole weight of life on the common beast of\nburden--the third estate. There you have club-law, feudalism, and\nfanaticism in close alliance, and in their train shocking uncertainty\nand darkness of mind, a corresponding intolerance, discord of faiths,\nreligious wars, crusades, persecution of heretics and inquisitions; as\nthe form of fellowship, chivalry, an amalgam of savagery and\nfoolishness, with its pedantic system of absurd affectations, its\ndegrading superstitions, and apish veneration for women; the survival of\nwhich is gallantry, deservedly requited by the arrogance of women; it\naffords to all Asiatics continual material for laughter, in which the\nGreeks would have joined. In the golden Middle Age the matter went as\nfar as a formal and methodical service of women and enjoined deeds of\nheroism, _cours d'amour_, bombastic Troubadour songs and so forth,\nalthough it is to be observed that these last absurdities, which have an\nintellectual side, were principally at home in France; while among the\nmaterial phlegmatic Germans the knights distinguished themselves more by\ndrinking and robbing. Drinking and hoarding their castles with plunder\nwere the occupations of their lives; and certainly there was no want of\nstupid love-songs in the courts. What has changed the scene so?\nMigration and Christianity.\n\n_Demop_. It is a good thing you reminded me of it. Migration was the\nsource of the evil, and Christianity the dam on which it broke.\nChristianity was the means of controlling and taming those raw, wild\nhordes who were washed in by the flood of migration. The savage man must\nfirst of all learn to kneel, to venerate, and to obey; it is only after\nthat, that he can be civilised. This was done in Ireland by St. Patrick,\nin Germany by Winifred the Saxon, who was a genuine Boniface. It was\nmigration of nations, this last movement of Asiatic races towards\nEurope, followed only by their fruitless attempts under Attila, Gengis\nKhan, and Timur, and, as a comic after-piece, by the gipsies: it was\nmigration of nations which swept away the humanity of the ancients.\nChristianity was the very principle which worked against this savagery,\njust as later, through the whole of the Middle Age, the Church and its\nhierarchy were extremely necessary to place a limit to the savagery and\nbarbarism of those lords of violence, the princes and knights: it was\nthe ice-breaker of this mighty flood. Still, the general aim of\nChristianity is not so much to make this life pleasant as to make us\nworthy of a better. It looks beyond this span of time, this fleeting\ndream, in order to lead us to eternal salvation. Its tendency is ethical\nin the highest sense of the word, a tendency which had hitherto been\nunknown in Europe; as I have already pointed out to you by comparing the\nmorality and religion of the ancients with those of Christianity.\n\n_Phil_. That is right so far as theory is concerned; but look at the\npractice. In comparison with the Christian centuries that followed, the\nancient world was undoubtedly less cruel than the Middle Age, with its\ndeaths by frightful torture, its countless burnings at the stake;\nfurther, the ancients were very patient, thought very highly of justice,\nand frequently sacrificed themselves for their country, showed traits of\nmagnanimity of every kind, and such genuine humanity, that, up to the\npresent time, an acquaintance with their doings and thoughts is called\nthe study of Humanity. Religious wars, massacres, crusades,\ninquisitions, as well as other persecutions, the extermination of the\noriginal inhabitants of America and the introduction of African slaves\nin their place, were the fruits of Christianity, and among the ancients\none cannot find anything analogous to this, anything to counterpoise it;\nfor the slaves of the ancients, the _familia_, the _vernae_, were a\nsatisfied race and faithfully devoted to their masters, and as widely\ndistinct from the miserable negroes of the sugar plantations, which are\na disgrace to humanity, as they were in colour. The censurable\ntoleration of pederasty, for which one chiefly reproaches the morality\nof the ancients, is a trifle compared with the Christian horrors I have\ncited, and is not so rare among people of to-day as it appears to be.\nCan you then, taking everything into consideration, maintain that\nhumanity has really become morally better by Christianity?\n\n_Demop_. If the result has not everywhere corresponded with the purity\nand accuracy of the doctrine, it may be because this doctrine has been\ntoo noble, too sublime for humanity, and its aim set too high: to be\nsure, it was much easier to comply with heathen morality or with the\nMohammedan. It is precisely what is most elevated that is the most open\nto abuse and deception--_abusus optimi pessimus_; and therefore those\nlofty doctrines have sometimes served as a pretext for the most\ndisgraceful transactions and veritable crimes. The downfall of the\nancient institutions, as well as of the arts and sciences of the old\nworld, is, as has been said, to be ascribed to the invasion of foreign\nbarbarians. Accordingly, it was inevitable that ignorance and savagery\ngot the upper hand; with the result that violence and fraud usurped\ntheir dominion, and knights and priests became a burden to mankind. This\nis partly to be explained by the fact that the new religion taught the\nlesson of eternal and not temporal welfare, that simplicity of heart was\npreferable to intellectual knowledge, and it was averse to all worldly\npleasures which are served by the arts and sciences. However, in so far\nas they could be made serviceable to religion they were promoted, and so\nflourished to a certain extent.\n\n_Phil_. In a very narrow sphere. The sciences were suspicious\ncompanions, and as such were placed under restrictions; while fond\nignorance, that element so necessary to the doctrines of faith, was\ncarefully nourished.\n\n_Demop_. And yet what humanity had hitherto acquired in the shape of\nknowledge, and handed down in the works of the ancients, was saved from\nruin by the clergy, especially by those in the monasteries. What would\nhave happened if Christianity had not come in just before the migration\nof nations?\n\n_Phil_. It would really be an extremely useful inquiry if some one, with\nthe greatest frankness and impartiality, tried to weigh exactly and\naccurately the advantages and disadvantages derived from religions. To\ndo this, it would be necessary to have a much greater amount of\nhistorical and psychological data than either of us has at our command.\nAcademies might make it a subject for a prize essay.\n\n_Demop_. They will take care not to do that.\n\n_Phil_. I am surprised to hear you say that, for it is a bad look-out\nfor religion. Besides, there are also academies which make it a secret\ncondition in submitting their questions that the prize should be given\nto the competitor who best understands the art of flattering them. If\nwe, then, could only get a statistician to tell us how many crimes are\nprevented yearly by religious motives, and how many by other motives.\nThere would be very few of the former. If a man feels himself tempted to\ncommit a crime, certainly the first thing which presents itself to his\nmind is the punishment he must suffer for it, and the probability that\nhe will be punished; after that comes the second consideration, that his\nreputation is at stake. If I am not mistaken, he will reflect by the\nhour on these two obstacles before religious considerations ever come\ninto his mind. If he can get away from these two first safeguards\nagainst crime, I am convinced that religion _alone_ will very rarely\nkeep him back from it.\n\n_Demop_. I believe, however, that it will do so very often; especially\nwhen its influence works through the medium of custom, and thereby\nimmediately makes a man shrink from the idea of committing a crime.\nEarly impressions cling to him. As an illustration of what I mean,\nconsider how many a man, and especially if he is of noble birth, will\noften, in order to fulfil some promise, make great sacrifices, which are\ninstigated solely by the fact that his father has often impressed it\nupon him in childhood that \"a man of honour, or a gentleman, or a\ncavalier, always keeps his word inviolate.\"\n\n_Phil_. And that won't work unless there is a certain innate _probitas_.\nYou must not ascribe to religion what is the result of innate goodness\nof character, by which pity for the one who would be affected by the\ncrime prevents a man from committing it. This is the genuine moral\nmotive, and as such it is independent of all religions.\n\n_Demop_. But even this moral motive has no effect on the masses unless\nit is invested with a religious motive, which, at any rate, strengthens\nit. However, without any such natural foundation, religious motives\noften in themselves alone prevent crime: this is not a matter of\nsurprise to us in the case of the multitude, when we see that even\npeople of good education sometimes come under the influence, not indeed\nof religious motives, which fundamentally are at least allegorically\ntrue, but of the most absurd superstitions, by which they are guided\nthroughout the whole of their lives; as, for instance, undertaking\nnothing on a Friday, refusing to sit down thirteen at table, obeying\nchance omens, and the like: how much more likely are the masses to be\nguided by such things. You cannot properly conceive the great\nlimitations of the raw mind; its interior is entirely dark, especially\nif, as is often the case, a bad, unjust, and wicked heart is its\nfoundation. Men like these, who represent the bulk of humanity, must be\ndirected and controlled meanwhile, as well as possible, even if it be by\nreally superstitious motives, until they become susceptible to truer and\nbetter ones. Of the direct effect of religion, one may give as an\ninstance a common occurrence in Italy, namely, that of a thief being\nallowed to replace what he has stolen through the medium of his\nconfessor, who makes this the condition of his absolution. Then think of\nthe case of an oath, where religion shows a most decided influence:\nwhether it be because a man places himself expressly in the position of\na mere _moral being_, and as such regards himself as solemnly appealed\nto,--as seems to be the case in France, where the form of the oath is\nmerely \"_je le jure_\"; and among the Quakers, whose solemn \"yea\" or\n\"nay\" takes the place of the oath;--or whether it is because a man\nreally believes he is uttering something that will forfeit his eternal\nhappiness,--a belief which is obviously only the investiture of the\nformer feeling. At any rate, religious motives are a means of awakening\nand calling forth his moral nature. A man will frequently consent to\ntake a false oath, but suddenly refuse to do so when it comes to the\npoint; whereby truth and right come off victorious.\n\n_Phil_. But false oaths are still oftener sworn, whereby truth and right\nare trodden underfoot with the clear knowledge of all the witnesses of\nthe act. An oath is the jurist's metaphysical _pons asinorum_, and like\nthis should be used as seldom as ever possible. When it cannot be\navoided, it should be taken with great solemnity, always in the presence\nof the clergy--nay, even in a church or in a chapel adjoining the court\nof justice.... This is precisely why the French abstract formulary of\nthe oath is of no value. By the way, you are right to cite the oath as\nan undeniable example of the practical efficacy of religion. I must, in\nspite of everything you have said, doubt whether the efficacy of\nreligion goes much beyond this. Just think, if it were suddenly declared\nby public proclamation that all criminal laws were abolished; I believe\nthat neither you nor I would have the courage to go home from here alone\nunder the protection of religious motives. On the other hand, if in a\nsimilar way all religions were declared to be untrue; we would, under\nthe protection of the laws alone, live on as formerly, without any\nspecial increase in our fears and measures of precaution. But I will\neven go further: religions have very frequently a decidedly demoralising\ninfluence. It may be said generally that duties towards God are the\nreverse of duties towards mankind; and that it is very easy to make up\nfor lack of good behaviour towards men by adulation of God. Accordingly,\nwe see in all ages and countries that the great majority of mankind find\nit much easier to beg admission into Heaven by prayers than to deserve\nit by their actions. In every religion it soon comes to be proclaimed\nthat it is not so much moral actions as faith, ceremonies, and rites of\nevery kind that are the immediate objects of the Divine will; and indeed\nthe latter, especially if they are bound up with the emoluments of the\nclergy, are considered a substitute for the former. The sacrifice of\nanimals in temples, or the saying of masses, the erection of chapels or\ncrosses by the roadside, are soon regarded as the most meritorious\nworks; so that even a great crime may be expiated by them, as also by\npenance, subjection to priestly authority, confessions, pilgrimages,\ndonations to the temple and its priests, the building of monasteries and\nthe like; until finally the clergy appear almost only as mediators in\nthe corruption of the gods. And if things do not go so far as that,\nwhere is the religion whose confessors do not consider prayers, songs of\npraise, and various kinds of devotional exercise, at any rate, a partial\nsubstitute for moral conduct? Look at England, for instance, where the\naudacious priestcraft has mendaciously identified the Christian Sunday\nwith the Jewish Sabbath, in spite of the fact that it was ordained by\nConstantine the Great in opposition to the Jewish Sabbath, and even took\nits name, so that Jehovah's ordinances for the Sabbath--_i.e._, the day\non which the Almighty rested, tired after His six days' work, making it\ntherefore _essentially the last day_ of the week--might be conferred on\nthe Christian Sunday, the _dies solis_, the first day of the week which\nthe sun opens in glory, the day of devotion and joy. The result of this\nfraud is that in England \"Sabbath breaking,\" or the \"desecration of the\nSabbath,\" that is, the slightest occupation, whether it be of a useful\nor pleasurable nature, and any kind of game, music, knitting, or worldly\nbook, are on Sundays regarded as great sins. Must not the ordinary man\nbelieve that if, as his spiritual guides impress upon him, he never\nfails in a \"strict observance of the holy Sabbath and a regular\nattendance on Divine Service,\"--in other words, if he invariably whiles\naway his time on a Sunday, and never fails to sit two hours in church to\nlisten to the same Litany for the thousandth time, and to babble it with\nthe rest _a tempo_, he may reckon on indulgence in here and there little\nsins which he at times allows himself? Those devils in human form, the\nslave-owners and slave-traders in the Free States of North America (they\nshould be called the Slave States), are, in general, orthodox, pious\nAnglicans, who look upon it as a great sin to work on Sundays; and\nconfident in this, and their regular attendance at church, they expect\nto gain eternal happiness. The demoralising influence of religion is\nless problematical than its moral influence. On the other hand, how\ngreat and how certain that moral influence must be to make amends for\nthe horrors and misery which religions, especially the Christian and\nMohammedan religions, have occasioned and spread over the earth! Think\nof the fanaticism, of the endless persecutions, the religious wars, that\nsanguinary frenzy of which the ancients had no idea; then, think of the\nCrusades, a massacre lasting two hundred years, and perfectly\nunwarrantable, with its war-cry, _It is God's will_, so that it might\nget into its possession the grave of one who had preached love and\nendurance; think of the cruel expulsion and extermination of the Moors\nand Jews from Spain; think of the massacres, of the inquisitions and\nother heretical tribunals, the bloody and terrible conquests of the\nMohammedans in three different parts of the world, and the conquest of\nthe Christians in America, whose inhabitants were for the most part, and\nin Cuba entirely, exterminated; according to Las Casas, within forty\nyears twelve million persons were murdered--of course, all _in majorem\nDei gloriam_, and for the spreading of the Gospel, and because,\nmoreover, what was not Christian was not looked upon as human. It is\ntrue I have already touched upon these matters; but when in our day \"the\nLatest News from the Kingdom of God\" is printed, we shall not be tired\nof bringing older news to mind. And in particular, let us not forget\nIndia, that sacred soil, that cradle of the human race, at any rate of\nthe race to which we belong, where first Mohammedans, and later\nChristians, were most cruelly infuriated against the followers of the\noriginal belief of mankind; and the eternally lamentable, wanton, and\ncruel destruction and disfigurement of the most ancient temples and\nimages, still show traces of the monotheistic rage of the Mohammedans,\nas it was carried on from Marmud the Ghaznevid of accursed memory, down\nto Aureng Zeb, the fratricide, whom later the Portuguese Christians\nfaithfully tried to imitate by destroying the temples and the _auto da\nf\u00e9_ of the inquisition at Goa. Let us also not forget the chosen people\nof God, who, after they had, by Jehovah's express and special command,\nstolen from their old and faithful friends in Egypt the gold and silver\nvessels which had been lent to them, made a murderous and predatory\nexcursion into the Promised Land, with Moses at their head, in order to\ntear it from the rightful owners, also at Jehovah's express and repeated\ncommands, knowing no compassion, and relentlessly murdering and\nexterminating all the inhabitants, even the women and children (Joshua\nx., xi.); just because they were not circumcised and did not know\nJehovah, which was sufficient reason to justify every act of cruelty\nagainst them. For the same reason, in former times the infamous roguery\nof the patriarch Jacob and his chosen people against Hamor, King of\nShalem, and his people is recounted to us with glory, precisely because\nthe people were unbelievers. Truly, it is the worst side of religions\nthat the believers of one religion consider themselves allowed\neverything against the sins of every other, and consequently treat them\nwith the utmost viciousness and cruelty; the Mohammedans against the\nChristians and Hindoos; the Christians against the Hindoos, Mohammedans,\nAmericans, Negroes, Jews, heretics, and the like. Perhaps I go too far\nwhen I say _all_ religions; for in compliance with truth, I must add\nthat the fanatical horrors, arising from religion, are only perpetrated\nby the followers of the monotheistic religions, that is, of Judaism and\nits two branches, Christianity and Islamism. The same is not reported of\nthe Hindoos and Buddhists, although we know, for instance, that Buddhism\nwas driven out about the fifth century of our era by the Brahmans from\nits original home in the southernmost part of the Indian peninsula, and\nafterwards spread over the whole of Asia; yet we have, so far as I know,\nno definite information of any deeds of violence, of wars and cruelties\nby which this was brought about. This may, most certainly, be ascribed\nto the obscurity in which the history of those countries is veiled; but\nthe extremely mild character of their religion, which continually\nimpresses upon us to be forbearing towards _every living thing_, as well\nas the circumstance that Brahmanism properly admits no proselytes by\nreason of its caste system, leads us to hope that its followers may\nconsider themselves exempt from shedding blood to any great extent, and\nfrom cruelty in any form. Spence Hardy, in his excellent book on\n_Eastern Monachism_, p. 412, extols the extraordinary tolerance of the\nBuddhists, and adds his assurance that the annals of Buddhism furnish\nfewer examples of religious persecution than those of any other\nreligion. As a matter of fact, intolerance is only essential to\nmonotheism: an only god is by his nature a jealous god, who cannot\npermit any other god to exist. On the other hand, polytheistic gods are\nby their nature tolerant: they live and let live; they willingly\ntolerate their colleagues as being gods of the same religion, and this\ntolerance is afterwards extended to alien gods, who are, accordingly,\nhospitably received, and later on sometimes attain even the same rights\nand privileges; as in the case of the Romans, who willingly accepted and\nvenerated Phrygian, Egyptian, and other foreign gods. Hence it is the\nmonotheistic religions alone that furnish us with religious wars,\npersecutions, and heretical tribunals, and also with the breaking of\nimages, the destruction of idols of the gods; the overthrowing of Indian\ntemples and Egyptian colossi, which had looked on the sun three thousand\nyears; and all this because a jealous God had said: \"_Thou shalt make no\ngraven image_,\" etc. To return to the principal part of the matter: you\nare certainly right in advocating the strong metaphysical needs of\nmankind; but religions appear to me to be not so much a satisfaction as\nan abuse of those needs. At any rate we have seen that, in view of the\nprogress of morality, its advantages are for the most part\nproblematical, while its disadvantages, and especially the enormities\nwhich have appeared in its train, are obvious. Of course the matter\nbecomes quite different if we consider the utility of religion as a\nmainstay of thrones; for in so far as these are bestowed \"by the grace\nof God,\" altar and throne are closely related. Accordingly, every wise\nprince who loves his throne and his family will walk before his people\nas a type of true religion; just as even Machiavelli, in the eighteenth\nchapter of his book, urgently recommended religion to princes. Moreover,\nit may be added that revealed religions are related to philosophy,\nexactly as the sovereigns by the grace of God are to the sovereignty of\nthe people; and hence the two former terms of the parallel are in\nnatural alliance.\n\n_Demop_. Oh, don't adopt that tone! But consider that in doing so you\nare blowing the trumpet of ochlocracy and anarchy, the arch-enemy of all\nlegislative order, all civilisation, and all humanity.\n\n_Phil_. You are right. It was only a sophism, or what the fencing-master\ncalls a feint. I withdraw it therefore. But see how disputing can make\neven honest men unjust and malicious. So let us cease.\n\n_Demop_. It is true I regret, after all the trouble I have taken, that I\nhave not altered your opinion in regard to religion; on the other hand,\nI can assure you that everything you have brought forward has not shaken\nmy conviction of its high value and necessity.\n\n_Phil_. I believe you; for as it is put in Hudibras:\n\n  \"He that complies against his will\n  Is of his own opinion still.\"\n\nI find consolation, however, in the fact that in controversies and in\ntaking mineral waters, it is the after-effects that are the true ones.\n\n_Demop_. I hope the after-effect may prove to be beneficial in your\ncase.\n\n_Phil_. That might be so if I could only digest a Spanish proverb.\n\n_Demop_. And that is?\n\n_Phil._ _Detras de la cruz est\u00e1 el Diablo_.\n\n_Demop_. Which means?\n\n_Phil_ Wait--\"Behind the cross stands the devil.\"\n\n_Demop_. Come, don't let us separate from each other with sarcasms, but\nrather let us allow that religion, like Janus, or, better still, like\nthe Brahman god of death, Yama, has two faces, and like him, one very\nfriendly and one very sullen. Each of us, however, has only fixed his\neyes on one.\n\n_Phil_. You are right, old fellow.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[13] _De Anim. Mundi_, p. 104, d. Steph.\n\n\n\n\nPSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.\n\n\nEvery animal, and especially man, requires, in order to exist and get on\nin the world, a certain fitness and proportion between his will and his\nintellect. The more exact and true this fitness and proportion are by\nnature, the easier, safer, and pleasanter it will be for him to get\nthrough the world. At the same time, a mere approximation to this exact\npoint will protect him from destruction. There is, in consequence, a\ncertain scope within the limits of exactness and fitness of this\nso-called proportion. The normal proportion is as follows. As the object\nof the intellect is to be the light and guide of the will on its path,\nthe more violent, impetuous, and passionate the inner force of the will,\nthe more perfect and clear must be the intellect which belongs to it; so\nthat the ardent efforts of the will, the glow of passion, the vehemence\nof affection, may not lead a man astray or drive him to do things that\nhe has not given his consideration or are wrong or will ruin him; which\nwill infallibly be the case when a very strong will is combined with a\nvery weak intellect. On the other hand, a phlegmatic character, that is\nto say, a weak and feeble will, can agree and get on with little\nintellect; a moderate will only requires a moderate intellect. In\ngeneral, any disproportion between the will and intellect--that is to\nsay, any deviation from the normal proportion referred to--tends to make\na man unhappy; and the same thing happens when the disproportion is\nreversed. The development of the intellect to an abnormal degree of\nstrength and superiority, thereby making it out of all proportion to the\nwill, a condition which constitutes the essence of true genius, is not\nonly superfluous but actually an impediment to the needs and purposes of\nlife. This means that, in youth, excessive energy in grasping the\nobjective world, accompanied by a lively imagination and little\nexperience, makes the mind susceptible to exaggerated ideas and a prey\neven to chimeras; and this results in an eccentric and even fantastic\ncharacter. And when, later, this condition of mind no longer exists and\nsuccumbs to the teaching of experience, the genius will never feel so\nmuch at home or take up his position in the everyday world or in civic\nlife, and move with the ease of a man of normal intellect; indeed, he is\noften more apt to make curious mistakes. For the ordinary mind is so\nperfectly at home in the narrow circle of its own ideas and way of\ngrasping things that no one can control it in that circle; its\ncapacities always remain true to their original purpose, namely, to look\nafter the service of the will; therefore it applies itself unceasingly\nto this end without ever going beyond it. While the genius, as I have\nstated, is at bottom a _monstrum per excessum_; just as conversely the\npassionate, violent, and unintelligent man, the brainless savage, is a\n_monstrum per dejectum_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe _will_ to _live_, which forms the innermost kernel of every living\nbeing, is most distinctly apparent in the highest, that is to say in the\ncleverest, order of animals, and therefore in them we may see and\nconsider the nature of the will most clearly. For _below_ this order of\nanimals the will is not so prominent, and has a less degree of\nobjectivation; but _above_ the higher order of animals, I mean in men,\nwe get reason, and with reason reflection, and with this the faculty for\ndissimulation, which immediately throws a veil over the actions of the\nwill. But in outbursts of affection and passion the will exhibits itself\nunveiled. This is precisely why passion, when it speaks, always carries\nconviction, whatever the passion may be; and rightly so. For the same\nreason, the passions are the principal theme of poets and the\nstalking-horse of actors. And it is because the will is most striking in\nthe lower class of animals that we may account for our delight in dogs,\napes, cats, etc.; it is the absolute _na\u00efvet\u00e9_ of all their expressions\nwhich charms us so much.\n\nWhat a peculiar pleasure it affords us to see any free animal looking\nafter its own welfare unhindered, finding its food, or taking care of\nits young, or associating with others of its kind, and so on! This is\nexactly what ought to be and can be. Be it only a bird, I can look at it\nfor some time with a feeling of pleasure; nay, a water-rat or a frog,\nand with still greater pleasure a hedgehog, a weazel, a roe, or a deer.\nThe contemplation of animals delights us so much, principally because we\nsee in them our own existence very _much simplified_.\n\nThere is only one mendacious creature in the world--man. Every other is\ntrue and genuine, for it shows itself as it is, and expresses itself\njust as it feels. An emblematical or allegorical expression of this\nfundamental difference is to be found in the fact that all animals go\nabout in their natural state; this largely accounts for the happy\nimpression they make on us when we look at them; and as far as I myself\nam concerned, my heart always goes out to them, particularly if they are\nfree animals. Man, on the other hand, by his silly dress becomes a\nmonster; his very appearance is objectionable, enhanced by the unnatural\npaleness of his complexion,--the nauseating effect of his eating meat,\nof his drinking alcohol, his smoking, dissoluteness, and ailments. He\nstands out as a blot on Nature. And it was because the Greeks were\nconscious of this that they restricted themselves as far as possible in\nthe matter of dress.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMuch that is attributed to _force of habit_ ought rather to be put down\nto the constancy and immutability of original, innate character, whereby\nwe always do the _same_ thing under the same circumstances; which\nhappens the first as for the hundredth time in consequence of the same\nnecessity. While _force of habit_, in reality, is solely due to\n_indolence_ seeking to save the intellect and will the work, difficulty,\nand danger of making a fresh choice; so that we are made to do to-day\nwhat we did yesterday and have done a hundred times before, and of which\nwe know that it will gain its end.\n\nBut the truth of the matter lies deeper; for it can be explained more\nclearly than appears at first sight. The _power of inertia_ applied to\nbodies which may be moved by mechanical means only, becomes _force of\nhabit_ when applied to bodies which are moved by motives. The actions\nwhich we do out of sheer force of habit occur, as a matter of fact,\nwithout any individual separate motive exercised for the particular\ncase; hence we do not really think of them. It was only when each action\nat first took place that it had a motive; after that it became a habit;\nthe secondary after-effect of this motive is the present habit, which is\nsufficient to carry on the action; just as a body, set in motion by a\npush, does not need another push in order to enable it to continue its\nmotion; it will continue in motion for ever if it is not obstructed in\nany way. The same thing applies to animals; training is a habit which is\nforced upon them. The horse draws a cart along contentedly without being\nurged to do so; this motion is still the effect of those lashes with the\nwhip which incited him at first, but which by the law of inertia have\nbecome perpetuated as habit. There is really something more in all this\nthan a mere parable; it is the identity of the thing in question, that\nis to say of the will, at very different degrees of its objectivation,\nby which the same law of motion takes such different forms.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Viva muchos a\ufffdos!_ is the ordinary greeting in Spain, and it is usual\nthroughout the whole world to wish people a long life. It is not a\nknowledge of what life is that explains the origin of such a wish, but\nrather knowledge of what man is in his real nature: namely, _the will to\nlive_.\n\nThe wish which every one has, that he may be _remembered_ after his\ndeath, and which those people with aspirations have for _posthumous_\nfame, seems to me to arise from this tenacity to life. When they see\nthemselves cut off from every possibility of real existence they\nstruggle after a life which is still within their reach, even if it is\nonly an ideal--that is to say, an unreal one.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe wish, more or less, to get to the end of everything we are interested\nin or occupied with; we are impatient to get to the end of it, and glad\nwhen it is finished. It is only the general end, the end of all ends,\nthat we wish, as a rule, as far off as possible.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEvery separation gives a foretaste of death, and every meeting a\nforetaste of the resurrection. This explains why even people who were\nindifferent to each other, rejoice so much when they meet again after\nthe lapse of twenty or thirty years.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe deep sorrow we feel on the death of a friend springs from the\nfeeling that in every individual there is a something which we cannot\ndefine, which is his alone and therefore _irreparable. Omne individuum\nineffabile_. The same applies to individual animals. A man who has by\naccident fatally wounded a favourite animal feels the most acute sorrow,\nand the animal's dying look causes him infinite pain.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is possible for us to grieve over the death of our enemies and\nadversaries, even after the lapse of a long time, almost as much as over\nthe death of our friends--that is to say, if we miss them as witnesses\nof our brilliant success.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThat the sudden announcement of some good fortune may easily have a\nfatal effect on us is due to the fact that our happiness and unhappiness\ndepend upon the relation of our demands to what we get; accordingly, the\ngood things we possess, or are quite sure of possessing, are not felt to\nbe such, because the nature of all enjoyment is really only _negative_,\nand has only the effect of annulling pain; whilst, on the other hand,\nthe nature of pain or evil is really positive and felt immediately. With\nthe possession, or the certain prospect of it, our demands instantly\nrise and increase our desire for further possession and greater\nprospects. But if the mind is depressed by continual misfortune, and the\nclaims reduced to a _minimum_, good fortune that comes suddenly finds no\ncapacity for its acceptance. Neutralised by no previous claims, it now\nhas apparently a positive effect, and accordingly its whole power is\nexercised; hence it may disorganise the mind--that is to say, be fatal\nto it. This is why, as is well known, one is so careful to get a man\nfirst to hope for happiness before announcing it, then to suggest the\nprospect of it, then little by little make it known, until gradually all\nis known to him; every portion of the revelation loses the strength of\nits effect because it is anticipated by a demand, and room is still left\nfor more. In virtue of all this, it might be said that our stomach for\ngood fortune is bottomless, but the entrance to it is narrow. What has\nbeen said does not apply to sudden misfortunes in the same way. Since\nhope always resists them, they are for this reason rarely fatal. That\nfear does not perform an analogous office in cases of good fortune is\ndue to the fact that we are instinctively more inclined to hope than to\nfear; just as our eyes turn of themselves to light in preference to\ndarkness.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Hope_ is to confuse the desire that something should occur with the\nprobability that it will. Perhaps no man is free from this folly of the\nheart, which deranges the intellect's correct estimation of probability\nto such a degree as to make him think the event quite possible, even if\nthe chances are only a thousand to one. And still, an unexpected\nmisfortune is like a speedy death-stroke; while a hope that is always\nfrustrated, and yet springs into life again, is like death by slow\ntorture.\n\nHe who has given up hope has also given up fear; this is the meaning of\nthe expression _desperate_. It is natural for a man to have faith in\nwhat he wishes, and to have faith in it because he wishes it. If this\npeculiarity of his nature, which is both beneficial and comforting, is\neradicated by repeated hard blows of fate, and he is brought to a\nconverse condition, when he believes that something must happen because\nhe does not wish it, and what he wishes can never happen just because he\nwishes it; this is, in reality, the state which has been called\n_desperation_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThat we are so often mistaken in others is not always precisely due to\nour faulty judgment, but springs, as a rule as Bacon says, from\n_intellectus luminis sicci non est, sec recipit infusionem a voluntate\net affectibus_: for without knowing it, we are influenced for or against\nthem by trifles from the very beginning. It also often lies in the fact\nthat we do not adhere to the qualities which we really discover in them,\nbut conclude from these that there are others which we consider\ninseparable from, or at any rate incompatible with, them. For instance,\nwhen we discern generosity, we conclude there is honesty; from lying we\nconclude there is deception; from deception, stealing, and so on; and\nthis opens the door to many errors, partly because of the peculiarity of\nhuman nature, and partly because of the one-sidedness of our point of\nview. It is true that character is always consistent and connected; but\nthe roots of all its qualities lies too deep to enable one to decide\nfrom special data in a given case which qualities can, and which cannot\nexist together.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe use of the word _person_ in every European language to signify a\nhuman individual is unintentionally appropriate; _persona_ really means\na player's mask, and it is quite certain that no one shows himself as he\nis, but that each wears a mask and plays a _r\ufffdle_. In general, the whole\nof social life is a continual comedy, which the worthy find insipid,\nwhilst the stupid delight in it greatly.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt often happens that we blurt out things that may in some kind of way\nbe harmful to us, but we are silent about things that may make us look\nridiculous; because in this case effect follows very quickly on cause.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe ordinary man who has suffered injustice burns with a desire for\nrevenge; and it has often been said that revenge is sweet. This is\nconfirmed by the many sacrifices made merely for the sake of enjoying\nrevenge, without any intention of making good the injury that one has\nsuffered. The centaur Nessus utilised his last moments in devising an\nextremely clever revenge, and the fact that it was certain to be\neffective sweetened an otherwise bitter death. The same idea, presented\nin a more modern and plausible way, occurs in Bertolotti's novel, _Le\ndue Sorelle_ which has been translated into three languages. Walter\nScott expresses mankind's proneness to revenge in words as powerful as\nthey are true: \"Vengeance is the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever\nwas cooked in hell!\" I shall now attempt a psychological explanation of\nrevenge. All the suffering that nature, chance, or fate have assigned to\nus does not, _ceteris paribus_, pain us so much as suffering which is\nbrought upon us by the arbitrary will of another. This is due to the\nfact that we regard nature and fate as the original rulers of the world;\nwe look upon what befalls us, through them, as something that might have\nbefallen every one else. Therefore in a case of suffering which arises\nfrom this source, we bemoan the fate of mankind in general more than we\ndo our own. On the other hand, suffering inflicted on us through the\narbitrary will of another is a peculiarly bitter addition to the pain or\ninjury caused, as it involves the consciousness of another's\nsuperiority, whether it be in strength or cunning, as opposed to our own\nweakness. If compensation is possible, it wipes out the injury; but that\nbitter addition, \"I must submit to that from you,\" which often hurts\nmore than the injury itself, is only to be neutralised by vengeance. For\nby injuring the man who has injured us, whether it be by force or\ncunning, we show our superiority, and thereby annul the proof of his.\nThis gives that satisfaction to the mind for which it has been\nthirsting. Accordingly, where there is much pride or vanity there will\nbe a great desire for revenge. But as the fulfilment of every wish\nproves to be more or less a delusion, so is also the wish for revenge.\nThe expected enjoyment is mostly embittered by pity; nay, gratified\nrevenge will often lacerate the heart and torment the mind, for the\nmotive which prompts the feeling of it is no longer active, and what is\nleft is the testimony of our wickedness.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe pain of an ungratified desire is small compared with that of\nrepentance; for the former has to face the immeasurable, open future;\nthe latter the past, which is closed irrevocably.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMoney is human happiness _in abstracto_; so that a man who is no longer\ncapable of enjoying it _in concrete_ gives up his whole heart to it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMoroseness and melancholy are very opposite in nature; and melancholy is\nmore nearly related to happiness than to moroseness. Melancholy\nattracts; moroseness repels. Hypochondria not only makes us unreasonably\ncross and angry over things concerning the present; not only fills us\nwith groundless fears of imaginative mishaps for the future; but also\ncauses us to unjustly reproach ourselves concerning our actions in the\npast.\n\nHypochondria causes a man to be always searching for and racking his\nbrain about things that either irritate or torment him. The cause of it\nis an internal morbid depression, combined often with an inward\nrestlessness which is temperamental; when both are developed to their\nutmost, suicide is the result.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhat makes a man hard-hearted is this, that each man has, or fancies he\nhas, sufficient in his own troubles to bear. This is why people placed\nin happier circumstances than they have been used to are sympathetic and\ncharitable. But people who have always been placed in happy\ncircumstances are often the reverse; they have become so estranged to\nsuffering that they have no longer any sympathy with it; and hence it\nhappens that the poor sometimes show themselves more benevolent than the\nrich.\n\nOn the other hand, what makes a man so very _curious_, as may be seen in\nthe way he will spy into other people's affairs, is boredom, a condition\nwhich is diametrically opposed to suffering;--though envy also often\nhelps in creating curiosity.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt times, it seems as though we wish for something, and at the same time\ndo not wish for it, so that we are at once both pleased and troubled\nabout it. For instance, if we have to undergo some decisive test in some\naffair or other, in which to come off victorious is of great importance\nto us; we both wish that the time to be tested were here, and yet dread\nthe idea of its coming. If it happens that the time, for once in a way,\nis postponed, we are both pleased and sorry, for although the\npostponement was unexpected, it, however, gives us momentary relief. We\nhave the same kind of feeling when we expect an important letter\ncontaining some decision of moment, and it fails to come.\n\nIn cases like these we are really controlled by two different motives;\nthe stronger but more remote being the desire to stand the test, and to\nhave the decision given in our favour; the weaker, which is closer at\nhand, the desire to be left in peace and undisturbed for the present,\nand consequently in further enjoyment of the advantage that hoping on in\nuncertainty has over what might possibly be an unhappy issue.\nConsequently, in this case the same happens to our moral vision as to\nour physical, when a smaller object near at hand conceals from view a\nbigger object some distance away.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe course and affairs of our individual life, in view of their true\nmeaning and connection, are like a piece of crude work in mosaic. So\nlong as one stands close in front of it, one cannot correctly see the\nobjects presented, or perceive their importance and beauty; it is only\nby standing some distance away that both come into view. And in the same\nway one often understands the true connection of important events in\none's own life, not while they are happening, or even immediately after\nthey have happened, but only a long time afterwards.\n\nIs this so, because we require the magnifying power of imagination, or\nbecause a general view can only be got by looking from a distance? or\nbecause one's emotions would otherwise carry one away? or because it is\nonly the school of experience that ripens our judgment? Perhaps all\nthese combined. But it is certain that it is only after many years that\nwe see the actions of others, and sometimes even our own, in their true\nlight. And as it is in one's own life, so it is in history.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhy is it, in spite of all the mirrors in existence, no man really knows\nwhat he looks like, and, therefore, cannot picture in his mind his own\nperson as he pictures that of an acquaintance? This is a difficulty\nwhich is thwarted at the very outset by _gnothi sauton--know thyself_.\n\nThis is undoubtedly partly due to the fact that a man can only see\nhimself in the glass by looking straight towards it and remaining quite\nstill; whereby the play of the eye, which is so important, and the real\ncharacteristic of the face is, to a great extent, lost. But co-operating\nwith this physical impossibility, there appears to be an ethical\nimpossibility analogous to it. A man cannot regard the reflection of his\nown face in the glass as if it were the face of _some one else_--which\nis the condition of his seeing himself _objectively_. This objective\nview rests with a profound feeling on the egoist's part, as a moral\nbeing, that what he is looking at is _not himself_; which is requisite\nfor his perceiving all his defects as they really are from a purely\nobjective point of view; and not until, then can he see his face\nreflected as it really and truly is. Instead of that, when a man sees\nhis own person in the glass the egoistic side of him always whispers,\n_It is not somebody else, but I myself_, which has the effect of a _noli\nme tangere_, and prevents his taking a purely objective view. Without\nthe leaven of a grain of malice, it does not seem possible to look at\noneself objectively.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo one knows what capacities he possesses for suffering and doing until\nan opportunity occurs to bring them into play; any more than he imagines\nwhen looking into a perfectly smooth pond with a mirror-like surface,\nthat it can tumble and toss and rush from rock to rock, or leap as high\ninto the air as a fountain;--any more than in ice-cold water he suspects\nlatent warmth.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThat line of Ovid's,\n\n  \"_Pronaque cum spectent animalia cetera terram_,\"\n\nis only applicable in its true physical sense to animals; but in a\nfigurative and spiritual sense, unfortunately, to the great majority of\nmen too. Their thoughts and aspirations are entirely devoted to physical\nenjoyment and physical welfare, or to various personal interests which\nreceive their importance from their relation to the former; but they\nhave no interests beyond these. This is not only shown in their way of\nliving and speaking, but also in their look, the expression of their\nphysiognomy, their gait and gesticulations; everything about them\nproclaims _in terram prona!_ Consequently it is not to them, but only to\nthose nobler and more highly endowed natures, those men who really think\nand observe things round them, and are the exceptions in the human race,\nthat the following lines are applicable:\n\n  \"_Os homini sublime dedit coelumque tueri\n  Jussitt et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus_.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhy is \"_common_\" an expression of contempt? And why are _\"uncommon,\"\n\"extraordinary,\" \"distinguished,\"_ expressions of approbation? Why is\neverything that is common contemptible?\n\n_Common_, in its original sense, means that which is peculiar and common\nto the whole species, that is to say that which is innate in the\nspecies. Accordingly, a man who has no more qualities than those of the\nhuman species in general is a \"_common man_\" \"Ordinary man\" is a much\nmilder expression, and is used more in reference to what is\nintellectual, while _common_ is used more in a moral sense.\n\nWhat value can a being have that is nothing more than like millions of\nits kind? Millions? Nay, an infinitude, an endless number of beings,\nwhich Nature in _secula seculorum_ unceasingly sends bubbling forth from\nher inexhaustible source; as generous with them as the smith with the\ndross that flies round his anvil.\n\nSo it is evidently only right that a being which has no other qualities\nthan those of the species, should make no claim to any other existence\nthan that confined to and conditioned by the species.\n\nI have already several times explained[14] that whilst animals have only\nthe generic character, it falls to man's share alone to have an\nindividual character. Nevertheless, in most men there is in reality very\nlittle individual character; and they may be almost all classified. _Ce\nsont des esp\u00e8ces_. Their desires and thoughts, like their faces, are\nthose of the whole species--at any rate, those of the class of men to\nwhich they belong, and they are therefore of a trivial, common nature,\nand exist in thousands. Moreover, as a rule one can tell pretty exactly\nbeforehand what they will say and do. They have no individual stamp:\nthey are like manufactured goods. If, then, their nature is absorbed in\nthat of the species, must not their existence be too? The curse of\nvulgarity reduces man to the level of animals, for his nature and\nexistence are merged in that of the species only. It is taken for\ngranted that anything that is high, great, or noble by its very nature\nstands isolated in a world where no better expression can be found to\nsignify what is base and paltry than the term which I have mentioned as\nbeing generally used--namely, _common_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAccording as our intellectual energy is strained or relaxed will life\nappear to us either so short, petty, and fleeting, that nothing can\nhappen of sufficient importance to affect our feelings; nothing is of\nany importance to us--be it pleasure, riches, or even fame, and however\nmuch we may have failed, we cannot have lost much; or _vice vers\u00e2,_ life\nwill appear so long, so important, so all in all, so grave, and so\ndifficult that we throw ourselves into it with our whole soul, so that\nwe may get a share of its possessions, make ourselves sure of its\nprizes, and carry out our plans. The latter is the immanent view of\nlife; it is what Gracian means by his expression, _tomar muy de veras el\nvivir_ (life is to be taken seriously); while for the former, the\ntranscendental view, Ovid's _non est tanti_ is a good expression;\nPlato's a still better, \u03bf\u1f54\u03c4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03b9 \u03c4\u03c9\u03bd \u1f00\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03b9\u03bd\u03c9\u03bd \u1f00\u03be\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd \u1f11\u03c3\u03c4\u03b9, \u03bc\u03b5\u03b3\u03b1\u03bb\u03b7\u03c2\n\u03c3\u03c0\u03bf\u03c5\u03b4\u03b7\u03c2 (_nihil, in rebus humanis, magno studio dignum est_).\n\nThe former state of mind is the result of the intellect having gained\nascendency over consciousness, where, freed from the mere service of the\nwill, it grasps the phenomena of life objectively, and so cannot fail to\nsee clearly the emptiness and futility of it. On the other hand, it is\nthe _will_ that rules in the other condition of mind, and it is only\nthere to lighten the way to the object of its desires. A man is great or\nsmall according to the predominance of one or the other of these views\nof life.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is quite certain that many a man owes his life's happiness solely to\nthe circumstance that he possesses a pleasant smile, and so wins the\nhearts of others. However, these hearts would do better to take care to\nremember what Hamlet put down in his tablets--_that one may smile, and\nsmile, and be a villain_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPeople of great and brilliant capacities think little of admitting or\nexposing their faults and weaknesses. They regard them as something for\nwhich they have paid, and even are of the opinion that these weaknesses,\ninstead of being a disgrace to them, do them honour. This is especially\nthe case when they are errors that are inseparable from their brilliant\ncapacities--_conditiones sine quibus non_, or, as George Sand expressed\nit, _chacun a les d\u00e9fauts de ses vertus_.\n\nOn the contrary, there are people of good character and irreproachable\nminds, who, rather than admit their few little weaknesses, carefully\nconceal them, and are very sensitive if any reference is made to them;\nand this just because their whole merit consists in the absence of\nerrors and defects; and hence when these errors come to light they are\nimmediately held in less esteem.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nModesty, in people of moderate ability, is merely honesty, but in people\nof great talent it is hypocrisy. Hence it is just as becoming in the\nlatter to openly admit the regard they have for themselves, and not to\nconceal the fact that they are conscious of possessing exceptional\ncapabilities, as it is in the former to be modest. Valerius Maximus\ngives some very good examples of this in his chapter _de fiducia sui_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMan even surpasses all the lower order of animals in his capacity for\nbeing trained. Mohammedans are trained to pray five times a day with\ntheir faces turned towards Mecca; and they do it regularly. Christians\nare trained to make the sign of the Cross on certain occasions, and to\nbow, and so forth; so that religion on the whole is a real masterpiece\nof training--that is to say, it trains people what they are to think;\nand the training, as is well known, cannot begin too early. There is no\nabsurdity, however palpable it may be, which may not be fixed in the\nminds of all men, if it is inculcated before they are six years old by\ncontinual and earnest repetition. For it is the same with men as with\nanimals, to train them with perfect success one must begin when they are\nvery young.\n\nNoblemen are trained to regard nothing more sacred than their word of\nhonour, to believe earnestly, rigidly, and firmly in the inane code of\nknight-errantry, and if necessary to seal their belief by death, and to\nlook upon a king as a being of a higher order. Politeness and\ncompliments, and particularly our courteous attitude towards ladies, are\nthe result of training; and so is our esteem for birth, position, and\ntitle. And so is our displeasure at certain expressions directed against\nus, our displeasure being proportionate to the expression used. The\nEnglishman has been trained to consider his being called no gentleman a\ncrime worthy of death--a liar, a still greater crime; and so, the\nFrenchman, if he is called a coward; a German, if he is called a stupid.\nMany people are trained to be honest in some particular direction,\nwhilst in everything else they exhibit very little honesty; so that many\na man will not steal money, but he will steal everything that will\nafford him enjoyment in an indirect way. Many a shopkeeper will deceive\nwithout scruple, but he will on no condition whatever steal.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe doctor sees mankind in all its weakness; the lawyer in all its\nwickedness; the theologian in all its stupidity.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Opinion_ obeys the same law as the swing of the pendulum: if it goes\nbeyond the centre of gravity on one side, it must go as far beyond on\nthe other. It is only after a time that it finds the true point of rest\nand remains stationary.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDistance in space decreases the size of things, for it contracts them\nand so makes their defects and deficiencies disappear. This is why\neverything looks so much finer in a contracting mirror or in a _camera\nobscura_ than it is in reality; and the past is affected in the same way\nin the course of time. The scenes and events that happened long ago, as\nwell as the persons who took part in them, become a delight to the\nmemory, which ignores everything that is immaterial and disagreeable.\nThe present possesses no such advantage; it always seems to be\ndefective. And in space, small objects near at hand appear to be big,\nand if they are very near, they cover the whole of our field of vision;\nbut as soon as we stand some little distance away they become minute and\nfinally invisible. And so it is with time: the little affairs and\nmisfortunes of everyday life excite in us emotion, anxiety, vexation,\npassion, for so long as they are quite near us, they appear big,\nimportant, and considerable; but as soon as the inexhaustible stream of\ntime has carried them into the distance they become unimportant; they\nare not worth remembering and are soon forgotten, because their\nimportance merely consisted in being near.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is only now and then that a man learns something; but he forgets the\nwhole day long.\n\nOur memory is like a sieve, that with time and use holds less and less;\nin so far, namely, as the older we get, the quicker anything we have\nentrusted to our memory slips through it, while anything that was fixed\nfirmly in it, when we were young, remains. This is why an old man's\nrecollections are the clearer the further they go back, and the less\nclear the nearer they approach the present; so that his memory, like his\neyes, becomes long-sighted (\u03c0\u03c1\u03b5\u03c3\u03b2\u03c5\u03c2).\n\nThat sometimes, and apparently without any reason, long-forgotten scenes\nsuddenly come into the memory, is, in many cases, due to the recurrence\nof a scarcely perceptible odour, of which we were conscious when those\nscenes actually took place; for it is well known that odours more easily\nthan anything else awaken memories, and that, in general, something of\nan extremely trifling nature is all that is necessary to call up a\n_nexus idearum_.\n\nAnd by the way, I may say that the sense of sight has to do with the\nunderstanding,[15] the sense of hearing with reason,[16] and the sense\nof smell with memory, as we see in the present case. Touch and taste are\nsomething real, and dependent on contact; they have no ideal side.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMemory has also this peculiarity attached to it, that a slight state of\nintoxication very often enhances the remembrance of past times and\nscenes, whereby all the circumstances connected with them are recalled\nmore distinctly than they could be in a state of sobriety; on the other\nhand, the recollection of what one said or did while in a state of\nintoxication is less clear than usual, nay, one does not recollect at\nall if one has been very drunk. Therefore, intoxication enhances one's\nrecollection of the past, while, on the other hand, one remembers little\nof the present, while in that state.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThat arithmetic is the basest of all mental activities is proved by the\nfact that it is the only one that can be accomplished by means of a\nmachine. Take, for instance, the reckoning machines that are so commonly\nused in England at the present time, and solely for the sake of\nconvenience. But all _analysis finitorum et infinitorum_ is\nfundamentally based on calculation. Therefore we may gauge the \"profound\nsense of the mathematician,\" of whom Lichtenberg has made fun, in that\nhe says: \"These so-called professors of mathematics have taken advantage\nof the ingenuousness of other people, have attained the credit of\npossessing profound sense, which strongly resembles the theologians'\nprofound sense of their own holiness.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs a rule, people of very great capacities will get on better with a man\nof extremely limited intelligence than with a man of ordinary\nintelligence; and it is for the same reason that the despot and the\nplebeians, the grandparents and the grandchildren, are natural allies.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI am not surprised that people are bored when they are alone; they\ncannot laugh when they are alone, for such a thing seems foolish to\nthem. Is laughter, then, to be regarded as merely a signal for others, a\nmere sign, like a word? It is a want of imagination and dulness of mind\ngenerally (\u1f00\u03bd\u03b1\u03b9\u03c3\u03b8\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03b1 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b2\u03c1\u03b1\u03b4\u03c5\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2 \u03c8\u03c5\u03c7\u03b7\u03c2), as Theophrastus puts it, that\nprevents people from laughing when they are alone. The lower animals\nneither laugh when they are alone nor in company.\n\nNyson, the misanthropist, was surprised as he was laughing to himself by\none of these people, who asked him why he laughed when he was alone.\n\"That is just why I was laughing,\" was the answer.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPeople who do not go to the theatre are like those who make their toilet\nwithout a looking-glass;--but it is still worse to come to a decision\nwithout seeking the advice of a friend. For a man may have the most\ncorrect and excellent judgment in everything else but in his own\naffairs; because here the will at once deranges the intellect. Therefore\na man should seek counsel. A doctor can cure every one but himself; this\nis why he calls in a colleague when he is ill.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe natural gesticulation of everyday life, such as accompanies any kind\nof lively conversation, is a language of its own, and, moreover, is much\nmore universal than the language of words; so far as it is independent\nof words, and the same in all nations; although each nation makes use of\ngesticulation in proportion to its vivacity, and in individual nations,\nthe Italian, for instance, it is supplemented by some few gesticulations\nwhich are merely conventional, and have therefore only local value.\n\nIts universal use is analogous to logic and grammar, since it expresses\nthe form and not the matter of conversation. However, it is to be\ndistinguished from them since it has not only an intellectual relation\nbut also a moral--that is, it defines the movements of the will. And so\nit accompanies conversation, just as a correctly progressive bass\naccompanies a melody, and serves in the same way to enhance the effect.\nThe most interesting fact about gesticulation is that as soon as\nconversation assumes the same _form_ there is a repetition of the same\ngesture. This is the case, however varied the _matter_, that is to say,\nthe subject-matter, may be. So that I am able to understand quite well\nthe general nature of a conversation--in other words, the mere form and\ntype of it, while looking out of a window--without hearing a word\nspoken. It is unmistakably evident that the speaker is arguing,\nadvancing his reasons, then modifying them, then urging them, and\ndrawing his conclusion in triumph; or it may be he is relating some\nwrong that he has suffered, plainly depicting in strong and condemnatory\nlanguage the stupidity and stubbornness of his opponents; or he is\nspeaking of the splendid plan he has thought out and put in execution,\nexplaining how it became a success, or perhaps failed because fate was\nunfavourable; or perhaps he is confessing that he was powerless to act\nin the matter in question; or recounting that he noticed and saw\nthrough, in good time, the evil schemes that had been organised against\nhim, and by asserting his rights or using force frustrated them and\npunished their author; and a hundred other things of a similar kind. But\nwhat gesticulation alone really conveys to me is the essential\nmatter--be it of a moral or intellectual nature--of the whole\nconversation _in abstracto_. That is to say the quintessence, the true\nsubstance of the conversation, remains identical whatever has brought\nabout the conversation, and consequently whatever the subject-matter of\nit may be.\n\nThe most interesting and amusing part of the matter, as has been said,\nis the complete identity of the gestures for denoting the same kind of\ncircumstances, even if they are used by most diverse people; just as the\nwords of a language are alike for every one and liable to such\nmodifications as are brought about by a slight difference in accent or\neducation. And yet these standing forms of gesticulation which are\nuniversally observed are certainly the outcome of no convention; they\nare natural and original, a true language of nature, which may have been\nstrengthened by imitation and custom. It is incumbent on an actor, as is\nwell known, and on a public speaker, to a less extent, to make a careful\nstudy of gesture--a study which must principally consist in the\nobservation and imitation of others, for the matter cannot very well be\nbased on abstract rules; with the exception of some quite general\nleading principles--as, for instance, that the gesture must not follow\nthe word, but rather immediately precede it, in order to announce it and\nthereby rouse attention.\n\nThe English have a peculiar contempt for gesticulation, and regard it as\nsomething undignified and common; this seems to me to be only one of\nthose silly prejudices of English fastidiousness. For it is a language\nwhich nature has given to every one and which every one understands;\ntherefore to abolish and forbid it for no other reason than to gratify\nthat so much extolled, gentlemanly feeling, is a very dubious thing to\ndo.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe state of human happiness, for the most part, is like certain groups\nof trees, which seen from a distance look wonderfully fine; but if we go\nup to them and among them, their beauty disappears; we do not know\nwherein it lay, for it is only trees that surround us. And so it happens\nthat we often envy the position of others.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[14] _Grundpr. der Ethik_, p. 48; _Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, vol.\ni. p. 338.\n\n[15] _Vierfache Wurzel_, \u00a7 21.\n\n[16] _Pererga_, vol. ii. \u00a7 311.\n\n\n\n\nMETAPHYSICS OF LOVE.\n\n\nWe are accustomed to see poets principally occupied with describing the\nlove of the sexes. This, as a rule, is the leading idea of every\ndramatic work, be it tragic or comic, romantic or classic, Indian or\nEuropean. It in no less degree constitutes the greater part of both\nlyric and epic poetry, especially if in these we include the host of\nromances which have been produced every year for centuries in every\ncivilised country in Europe as regularly as the fruits of the earth. All\nthese works are nothing more than many-sided, short, or long\ndescriptions of the passion in question. Moreover, the most successful\ndelineations of love, such, for example, as _Romeo and Juliet, La\nNouvelle H\u00e9loise_, and _Werther_, have attained immortal fame.\n\nRochefoucauld says that love may be compared to a ghost since it is\nsomething we talk about but have never seen, and Lichtenberg, in his\nessay _Ueber die Macht der Liebe_, disputes and denies its reality and\nnaturalness--but both are in the wrong. For if it were foreign to and\ncontradicted human nature--in other words, if it were merely an\nimaginary caricature, it would not have been depicted with such zeal by\nthe poets of all ages, or accepted by mankind with an unaltered\ninterest; for anything artistically beautiful cannot exist without\ntruth.\n\n  \"_Rien n'est beau que le vrai; le vrai seul est aimable_.\"--BOIL.\n\nExperience, although not that of everyday, verifies that that which as a\nrule begins only as a strong and yet controllable inclination, may\ndevelop, under certain conditions, into a passion, the ardour of which\nsurpasses that of every other. It will ignore all considerations,\novercome all kinds of obstacles with incredible strength and\npersistence. A man, in order to have his love gratified, will\nunhesitatingly risk his life; in fact, if his love is absolutely\nrejected, he will sacrifice his life into the bargain. The Werthers and\nJacopo Ortis do not only exist in romances; Europe produces every year\nat least half-a-dozen like them: _sed ignotis perierunt mortibus illi_:\nfor their sufferings are chronicled by the writer of official registers\nor by the reporters of newspapers. Indeed, readers of the police news in\nEnglish and French newspapers will confirm what I have said.\n\nLove drives a still greater number of people into the lunatic asylum.\nThere is a case of some sort every year of two lovers committing suicide\ntogether because material circumstances happen to be unfavourable to\ntheir union. By the way, I cannot understand how it is that such people,\nwho are confident of each other's love, and expect to find their\ngreatest happiness in the enjoyment of it, do not avoid taking extreme\nsteps, and prefer suffering every discomfort to sacrificing with their\nlives a happiness which is greater than any other they can conceive. As\nfar as lesser phases and passages of love are concerned, all of us have\nthem daily before our eyes, and, if we are not old, the most of us in\nour hearts.\n\nAfter what has been brought to mind, one cannot doubt either the reality\nor importance of love. Instead, therefore, of wondering why a\nphilosopher for once in a way writes on this subject, which has been\nconstantly the theme of poets, rather should one be surprised that love,\nwhich always plays such an important _r\u00f4le_ in a man's life, has\nscarcely ever been considered at all by philosophers, and that it still\nstands as material for them to make use of.\n\nPlato has devoted himself more than any one else to the subject of love,\nespecially in the _Symposium_ and the _Phaedrus_; what he has said about\nit, however, comes within the sphere of myth, fable, and raillery, and\nonly applies for the most part to the love of a Greek youth. The little\nthat Rousseau says in his _Discours sur l'in\u00e9galit\u00e9_ is neither true nor\nsatisfactory. Kant's disquisition on love in the third part of his\ntreatise, _Ueber das Gef\u00fchl des Sch\u00f6nen und Erhabenen_, is very\nsuperficial; it shows that he has not thoroughly gone into the subject,\nand therefore it is somewhat untrue. Finally, Platner's treatment of it\nin his _Anthropology_ will be found by every one to be insipid and\nshallow.\n\nTo amuse the reader, on the other hand, Spinoza's definition deserves to\nbe quoted because of its exuberant na\u00efvet\u00e9: _Amor est titillatio,\nconcomitante idea causae externae_ (_Eth._ iv., prop. 44). It is not my\nintention to be either influenced or to contradict what has been written\nby my predecessors; the subject has forced itself upon me objectively,\nand has of itself become inseparable from my consideration of the world.\nMoreover, I shall expect least approval from those people who are for\nthe moment enchained by this passion, and in consequence try to express\ntheir exuberant feelings in the most sublime and ethereal images. My\nview will seem to them too physical, too material, however metaphysical,\nnay, transcendent it is fundamentally.\n\nFirst of all let them take into consideration that the creature whom\nthey are idealising to-day in madrigals and sonnets would have been\nignored almost entirely by them if she had been born eighteen years\npreviously.\n\nEvery kind of love, however ethereal it may seem to be, springs entirely\nfrom the instinct of sex; indeed, it is absolutely this instinct, only\nin a more definite, specialised, and perhaps, strictly speaking, more\nindividualised form. If, bearing this in mind, one considers the\nimportant _r\u00f4le_ which love plays in all its phases and degrees, not\nonly in dramas and novels, but also in the real world, where next to\none's love of life it shows itself as the strongest and most active of\nall motives; if one considers that it constantly occupies half the\ncapacities and thoughts of the younger part of humanity, and is the\nfinal goal of almost every human effort; that it influences adversely\nthe most important affairs; that it hourly disturbs the most earnest\noccupations; that it sometimes deranges even the greatest intellects for\na time; that it is not afraid of interrupting the transactions of\nstatesmen or the investigations of men of learning; that it knows how to\nleave its love-letters and locks of hair in ministerial portfolios and\nphilosophical manuscripts; that it knows equally well how to plan the\nmost complicated and wicked affairs, to dissolve the most important\nrelations, to break the strongest ties; that life, health, riches, rank,\nand happiness are sometimes sacrificed for its sake; that it makes the\notherwise honest, perfidious, and a man who has been hitherto faithful a\nbetrayer, and, altogether, appears as a hostile demon whose object is to\noverthrow, confuse, and upset everything it comes across: if all this is\ntaken into consideration one will have reason to ask--\"Why is there all\nthis noise? Why all this crowding, blustering, anguish, and want? Why\nshould such a trifle play so important a part and create disturbance and\nconfusion in the well-regulated life of mankind?\" But to the earnest\ninvestigator the spirit of truth gradually unfolds the answer: it is not\na trifle one is dealing with; the importance of love is absolutely in\nkeeping with the seriousness and zeal with which it is prosecuted. The\nultimate aim of all love-affairs, whether they be of a tragic or comic\nnature, is really more important than all other aims in human life, and\ntherefore is perfectly deserving of that profound seriousness with which\nit is pursued.\n\nAs a matter of fact, love determines nothing less than the\n_establishment of the next generation_. The existence and nature of the\n_dramatis personae_ who come on to the scene when we have made our exit\nhave been determined by some frivolous love-affair. As the being, the\n_existentia_ of these future people is conditioned by our instinct of\nsex in general, so is the nature, the _essentia_, of these same people\nconditioned by the selection that the individual makes for his\nsatisfaction, that is to say, by love, and is thereby in every respect\nirrevocably established. This is the key of the problem. In applying it,\nwe shall understand it more fully if we analyse the various degrees of\nlove, from the most fleeting sensation to the most ardent passion; we\nshall then see that the difference arises from the degree of\nindividualisation of the choice. All the love-affairs of the present\ngeneration taken altogether are accordingly the _meditatio compositionis\ngenerationis futurae, e qua iterum pendent innumerae generationes_ of\nmankind. Love is of such high import, because it has nothing to do with\nthe weal or woe of the present individual, as every other matter has; it\nhas to secure the existence and special nature of the human race in\nfuture times; hence the will of the individual appears in a higher\naspect as the will of the species; and this it is that gives a pathetic\nand sublime import to love-affairs, and makes their raptures and\ntroubles transcendent, emotions which poets for centuries have not tired\nof depicting in a variety of ways. There is no subject that can rouse\nthe same interest as love, since it concerns both the weal and woe of\nthe species, and is related to every other which only concerns the\nwelfare of the individual as body to surface.\n\nThis is why it is so difficult to make a drama interesting if it\npossesses no love motive; on the other hand, the subject is never\nexhausted, although it is constantly being utilised.\n\nWhat manifests itself in the individual consciousness as instinct of sex\nin general, without being concentrated on any particular individual, is\nvery plainly in itself, in its generalised form, the will to live. On\nthe other hand, that which appears as instinct of sex directed to a\ncertain individual, is in itself the will to live as a definitely\ndetermined individual. In this case the instinct of sex very cleverly\nwears the mask of objective admiration, although in itself it is a\nsubjective necessity, and is, thereby, deceptive. Nature needs these\nstratagems in order to accomplish her ends. The purpose of every man in\nlove, however objective and sublime his admiration may appear to be, is\nto beget a being of a definite nature, and that this is so, is verified\nby the fact that it is not mutual love but possession that is the\nessential. Without possession it is no consolation to a man to know that\nhis love is requited. In fact, many a man has shot himself on finding\nhimself in such a position. On the other hand, take a man who is very\nmuch in love; if he cannot have his love returned he is content simply\nwith possession. Compulsory marriages and cases of seduction corroborate\nthis, for a man whose love is not returned frequently finds consolation\nin giving handsome presents to a woman, in spite of her dislike, or\nmaking other sacrifices, so that he may buy her favour.\n\nThe real aim of the whole of love's romance, although the persons\nconcerned are unconscious of the fact, is that a particular being may\ncome into the world; and the way and manner in which it is accomplished\nis a secondary consideration. However much those of lofty sentiments,\nand especially of those in love, may refute the gross realism of my\nargument, they are nevertheless in the wrong. For is not the aim of\ndefinitely determining the individualities of the next generation a much\nhigher and nobler aim than that other, with its exuberant sensations and\ntranscendental soap-bubbles? Among all earthly aims is there one that is\neither more important or greater? It alone is in keeping with that\ndeep-rooted feeling inseparable from passionate love, with that\nearnestness with which it appears, and the importance which it attaches\nto the trifles that come within its sphere. It is only in so far as we\nregard _this_ end as the real one that the difficulties encountered, the\nendless troubles and vexations endured, in order to attain the object we\nlove, appear to be in keeping with the matter. For it is the future\ngeneration in its entire individual determination which forces itself\ninto existence through the medium of all this strife and trouble.\nIndeed, the future generation itself is already stirring in the careful,\ndefinite, and apparently capricious selection for the satisfaction of\nthe instinct of sex which we call love. That growing affection of two\nlovers for each other is in reality the will to live of the new being,\nof which they shall become the parents; indeed, in the meeting of their\nyearning glances the life of a new being is kindled, and manifests\nitself as a well-organised individuality of the future. The lovers have\na longing to be really united and made one being, and to live as such\nfor the rest of their lives; and this longing is fulfilled in the\nchildren born to them, in whom the qualities inherited from both, but\ncombined and united in one being, are perpetuated. Contrarily, if a man\nand woman mutually, persistently, and decidedly dislike each other, it\nindicates that they could only bring into the world a badly organised,\ndiscordant, and unhappy being. Therefore much must be attached to\nCalderon's words, when he calls the horrible Semiramis a daughter of the\nair, yet introduces her as a daughter of seduction, after which follows\nthe murder of the husband.\n\nFinally, it is the will to live presenting itself in the whole species,\nwhich so forcibly and exclusively attracts two individuals of different\nsex towards each other. This will anticipates in the being, of which\nthey shall become the parents, an objectivation of its nature\ncorresponding to its aims. This individual will inherit the father's\nwill and character, the mother's intellect, and the constitution of\nboth. As a rule, however, an individual takes more after the father in\nshape and the mother in stature, corresponding to the law which applies\nto the offspring of animals.... It is impossible to explain the\nindividuality of each man, which is quite exceptional and peculiar to\nhim alone; and it is just as impossible to explain the passion of two\npeople for each other, for it is equally individual and uncommon in\ncharacter; indeed, fundamentally both are one and the same. The former\nis _explicite_ what the latter was _implicite_.\n\nWe must consider as the origin of a new individual and true _punctum\nsaliens_ of its life the moment when the parents begin to love each\nother--_to fancy each other_, as the English appropriately express it.\nAnd, as has been said, in the meeting of their longing glances\noriginates the first germ of a new being, which, indeed, like all germs,\nis generally crushed out. This new individual is to a certain extent a\nnew (Platonic) Idea; now, as all Ideas strive with the greatest\nvehemence to enter the phenomenal sphere, and to do this, ardently seize\nupon the matter which the law of causality distributes among them all,\nso this particular Idea of a human individuality struggles with the\ngreatest eagerness and vehemence for its realisation in the phenomenal.\nIt is precisely this vehement desire which is the passion of the future\nparents for one another. Love has countless degrees, and its two\nextremes may be indicated as \u1f08\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03b4\u03b9\u03c4\u03b7 \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03b4\u03b7\u03bc\u03bf\u03c2 and \u03bf\u1f50\u03c1\u03b1\u03bd\u03b9\u03b1;\nnevertheless, in essentials it is the same everywhere.\n\nAccording to the degree, on the other hand, it will be the more powerful\nthe more _individualised_ it is--that is to say, the more the loved\nindividual, by virtue of all her qualities, is exclusively fit to\nsatisfy the lover's desire and needs determined by her own\nindividuality. If we investigate further we shall understand more\nclearly what this involves. All amorous feeling immediately and\nessentially concentrates itself on health, strength, and beauty, and\nconsequently on youth; because the will above all wishes to exhibit the\nspecific character of the human species as the basis of all\nindividuality. The same applies pretty well to everyday courtship\n(\u1f08\u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03b4\u03b9\u03c4\u03b7 \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03b4\u03b7\u03bc\u03bf\u03c2). With this are bound up more special requirements,\nwhich we will consider individually later on, and with which, if there\nis any prospect of gratification, there is an increase of passion.\nIntense love, however, springs from a fitness of both individualities\nfor each other; so that the will, that is to say the father's character\nand the mother's intellect combined, exactly complete that individual\nfor which the will to live in general (which exhibits itself in the\nwhole species) has a longing--a longing proportionate to this its\ngreatness, and therefore surpassing the measure of a mortal heart; its\nmotives being in a like manner beyond the sphere of the individual\nintellect. This, then, is the soul of a really great passion. The more\nperfectly two individuals are fitted for each other in the various\nrespects which we shall consider further on, the stronger will be their\npassion for each other. As there are not two individuals exactly alike,\na particular kind of woman must perfectly correspond with a particular\nkind of man--always in view of the child that is to be born. Real,\npassionate love is as rare as the meeting of two people exactly fitted\nfor each other. By the way, it is because there is a possibility of real\npassionate love in us all that we understand why poets have depicted it\nin their works.\n\nBecause the kernel of passionate love turns on the anticipation of the\nchild to be born and its nature, it is quite possible for friendship,\nwithout any admixture of sexual love, to exist between two young,\ngood-looking people of different sex, if there is perfect fitness of\ntemperament and intellectual capacity. In fact, a certain aversion for\neach other may exist also. The reason of this is that a child begotten\nby them would physically or mentally have discordant qualities. In\nshort, the child's existence and nature would not be in harmony with the\npurposes of the will to live as it presents itself in the species.\n\nIn an opposite case, where there is no fitness of disposition,\ncharacter, and mental capacity, whereby aversion, nay, even enmity for\neach other exists, it is possible for love to spring up. Love of this\nkind makes them blind to everything; and if it leads to marriage it is a\nvery unhappy one.\n\nAnd now let us more thoroughly investigate the matter. Egoism is a\nquality so deeply rooted in every personality that it is on egotistical\nends only that one may safely rely in order to rouse the individual to\nactivity.\n\nTo be sure, the species has a prior, nearer, and greater claim on the\nindividual than the transient individuality itself; and yet even when\nthe individual makes some sort of conscious sacrifice for the\nperpetuation and future of the species, the importance of the matter\nwill not be made sufficiently comprehensible to his intellect, which is\nmainly constituted to regard individual ends.\n\nTherefore Nature attains her ends by implanting in the individual a\ncertain illusion by which something which is in reality advantageous to\nthe species alone seems to be advantageous to himself; consequently he\nserves the latter while he imagines he is serving himself. In this\nprocess he is carried away by a mere chimera, which floats before him\nand vanishes again immediately, and as a motive takes the place of\nreality. _This illusion is instinct_. In most instances instinct may be\nregarded as the sense of the species which presents to the will whatever\nis of service to the species. But because the will has here become\nindividual it must be deceived in such a manner for it to discern by the\nsense of the _individual_ what the sense of the species has presented to\nit; in other words, imagine it is pursuing ends concerning the\nindividual, when in reality it is pursuing merely general ends (using\nthe word general in its strictest sense).\n\nOutward manifestation of instinct can be best observed in animals, where\nthe part it plays is most significant; but it is in ourselves alone that\nwe can get to know its internal process, as of everything internal. It\nis true, it is thought that man has scarcely any instinct at all, or at\nany rate has only sufficient instinct when he is born to seek and take\nhis mother's breast. But as a matter of fact man has a very decided,\nclear, and yet complicated instinct--namely, for the selection, both\nearnest and capricious, of another individual, to satisfy his instinct\nof sex. The beauty or ugliness of the other individual has nothing\nwhatever to do with this satisfaction in itself, that is in so far as it\nis a matter of pleasure based upon a pressing desire of the individual.\nThe regard, however, for this satisfaction, which is so zealously\npursued, as well as the careful selection it entails, has obviously\nnothing to do with the chooser himself, although he fancies that it has.\nIts real aim is the child to be born, in whom the type of the species is\nto be preserved in as pure and perfect a form as possible. For instance,\ndifferent phases of degeneration of the human form are the consequences\nof a thousand physical accidents and moral delinquencies; and yet the\ngenuine type of the human form is, in all its parts, always restored;\nfurther, this is accomplished under the guidance of the sense of beauty,\nwhich universally directs the instinct of sex, and without which the\nsatisfaction of the latter would deteriorate to a repulsive necessity.\n\nAccordingly, every one in the first place will infinitely prefer and\nardently desire those who are most beautiful--in other words, those in\nwhom the character of the species is most purely defined; and in the\nsecond, every one will desire in the other individual those perfections\nwhich he himself lacks, and he will consider imperfections, which are\nthe reverse of his own, beautiful. This is why little men prefer big\nwomen, and fair people like dark, and so on. The ecstasy with which a\nman is filled at the sight of a beautiful woman, making him imagine that\nunion with her will be the greatest happiness, is simply the _sense of\nthe species_. The preservation of the type of the species rests on this\ndistinct preference for beauty, and this is why beauty has such power.\n\nWe will later on more fully state the considerations which this\ninvolves. It is really instinct aiming at what is best in the species\nwhich induces a man to choose a beautiful woman, although the man\nhimself imagines that by so doing he is only seeking to increase his own\npleasure. As a matter of fact, we have here an instructive solution of\nthe secret nature of all instinct which almost always, as in this case,\nprompts the individual to look after the welfare of the species. The\ncare with which an insect selects a certain flower or fruit, or piece of\nflesh, or the way in which the ichneumon seeks the larva of a strange\ninsect so that it may lay its eggs in _that particular place only_, and\nto secure which it fears neither labour nor danger, is obviously very\nanalogous to the care with which a man chooses a woman of a definite\nnature individually suited to him. He strives for her with such ardour\nthat he frequently, in order to attain his object, will sacrifice his\nhappiness in life, in spite of all reason, by a foolish marriage, by\nsome love-affair which costs him his fortune, honour, and life, even by\ncommitting crimes. And all this in accordance with the will of nature\nwhich is everywhere sovereign, so that he may serve the species in the\nmost efficient manner, although he does so at the expense of the\nindividual.\n\nInstinct everywhere works as with the conception of an end, and yet it\nis entirely without one. Nature implants instinct where the acting\nindividual is not capable of understanding the end, or would be\nunwilling to pursue it. Consequently, as a rule, it is only given\nprominently to animals, and in particular to those of the lowest order,\nwhich have the least intelligence. But it is only in such a case as the\none we are at present considering that it is also given to man, who\nnaturally is capable of understanding the end, but would not pursue it\nwith the necessary zeal--that is to say, he would not pursue it at the\ncost of his individual welfare. So that here, as in all cases of\ninstinct, truth takes the form of illusion in order to influence the\nwill....\n\nAll this, however, on its part throws light upon the instinct of\nanimals. They, too, are undoubtedly carried away by a kind of illusion,\nwhich represents that they are working for their own pleasure, while it\nis for the species that they are working with such industry and\nself-denial. The bird builds its nest; the insect seeks a suitable place\nwherein to lay its eggs, or even hunts for prey, which it dislikes\nitself, but which must be placed beside the eggs as food for the future\nlarvae; the bee, the wasp, and the ant apply themselves to their skilful\nbuilding and extremely complex economy. All of them are undoubtedly\ncontrolled by an illusion which conceals the service of the species\nunder the mask of an egotistical purpose.\n\nThis is probably the only way in which to make the inner or subjective\nprocess, from which spring all manifestations of instinct, intelligible\nto us. The outer or objective process, however, shows in animals\nstrongly controlled by instinct, as insects for instance, a\npreponderance of the ganglion--_i.e., subjective_ nervous system over\nthe _objective_ or cerebral system. From which it may be concluded that\nthey are controlled not so much by objective and proper apprehension as\nby subjective ideas, which excite desire and arise through the influence\nof the ganglionic system upon the brain; accordingly they are moved by a\ncertain illusion....\n\nThe great preponderance of brain in man accounts for his having fewer\ninstincts than the lower order of animals, and for even these few easily\nbeing led astray. For instance, the sense of beauty which instinctively\nguides a man in his selection of a mate is misguided when it degenerates\ninto the proneness to pederasty. Similarly, the blue-bottle (_Musca\nvomitoria_), which instinctively ought to place its eggs in putrified\nflesh, lays them in the blossom of the _Arum dracunculus_, because it is\nmisled by the decaying odour of this plant. That an absolutely generic\ninstinct is the foundation of all love of sex may be confirmed by a\ncloser analysis of the subject--an analysis which can hardly be avoided.\n\nIn the first place, a man in love is by nature inclined to be\ninconstant, while a woman constant. A man's love perceptibly decreases\nafter a certain period; almost every other woman charms him more than\nthe one he already possesses; he longs for change: while a woman's love\nincreases from the very moment it is returned. This is because nature\naims at the preservation of the species, and consequently at as great an\nincrease in it as possible.... This is why a man is always desiring\nother women, while a woman always clings to one man; for nature compels\nher intuitively and unconsciously to take care of the supporter and\nprotector of the future offspring. For this reason conjugal fidelity is\nartificial with the man but natural to a woman. Hence a woman's\ninfidelity, looked at objectively on account of the consequences, and\nsubjectively on account of its unnaturalness, is much more unpardonable\nthan a man's.\n\nIn order to be quite clear and perfectly convinced that the delight we\ntake in the other sex, however objective it may seem to be, is\nnevertheless merely instinct disguised, in other words, the sense of the\nspecies striving to preserve its type, it will be necessary to\ninvestigate more closely the considerations which influence us in this,\nand go into details, strange as it may seem for these details to figure\nin a philosophical work. These considerations may be classed in the\nfollowing way:--\n\nThose that immediately concern the type of the species, _id est_,\nbeauty; those that concern other physical qualities; and finally, those\nthat are merely relative and spring from the necessary correction or\nneutralisation of the one-sided qualities and abnormities of the two\nindividuals by each other. Let us look at these considerations\nseparately.\n\nThe first consideration that influences our choice and feelings is\n_age_....\n\nThe second consideration is that of _health_: a severe illness may alarm\nus for the time being, but an illness of a chronic nature or even\ncachexy frightens us away, because it would be transmitted.\n\nThe third consideration is the _skeleton_, since it is the foundation of\nthe type of the _species_. Next to old age and disease, nothing disgusts\nus so much as a deformed shape; even the most beautiful face cannot make\namends for it--in fact, the ugliest face combined with a well-grown\nshape is infinitely preferable. Moreover, we are most keenly sensible of\nevery malformation of the _skeleton_; as, for instance, a stunted,\nshort-legged form, and the like, or a limping gait when it is not the\nresult of some extraneous accident: while a conspicuously beautiful\nfigure compensates for every defect. It delights us. Further, the great\nimportance which is attached to small feet! This is because the size of\nthe foot is an essential characteristic of the species, for no animal\nhas the tarsus and metatarsus combined so small as man; hence the\nuprightness of his gait: he is a plantigrade. And Jesus Sirach has\nsaid[17] (according to the improved translation by Kraus), \"A woman that\nis well grown and has beautiful feet is like pillars of gold in sockets\nof silver.\" The teeth, too, are important, because they are essential\nfor nourishment, and quite peculiarly hereditary.\n\nThe fourth consideration is a certain _plumpness_, in other words, a\nsuperabundance of the vegetative function, plasticity.... Hence\nexcessive thinness strikingly repels us.... The last consideration that\ninfluences us is a _beautiful face_. Here, too, the bone parts are taken\ninto account before everything else. So that almost everything depends\non a beautiful nose, while a short _retrouss\u00e9_ one will mar all. A\nslight upward or downward turn of the nose has often determined the\nlife's happiness of a great many maidens; and justly so, for the type of\nthe species is at stake.\n\nA small mouth, by means of small maxillae, is very essential, as it is\nthe specific characteristic of the human face as distinguished from the\nmuzzle of the brutes. A receding, as it were, a cut-away chin is\nparticularly repellent, because _mentum prominulum_ is a characteristic\nbelonging exclusively to our species.\n\nFinally, we come to the consideration of beautiful eyes and a beautiful\nforehead; they depend upon the psychical qualities, and in particular,\nthe intellectual, which are inherited from the mother. The unconscious\nconsiderations which, on the other hand, influence women in their choice\nnaturally cannot be so accurately specified. In general, we may say the\nfollowing:--That the age they prefer is from thirty to thirty-five. For\ninstance, they prefer men of this age to youths, who in reality possess\nthe highest form of human beauty. The reason for this is that they are\nnot guided by taste but by instinct, which recognises in this particular\nage the acme of generative power. In general, women pay little attention\nto beauty, that is, to beauty of face; they seem to take it upon\nthemselves alone to endow the child with beauty. It is chiefly the\nstrength of a man and the courage that goes with it that attract them,\nfor both of these promise the generation of robust children and at the\nsame time a brave protector for them. Every physical defect in a man,\nany deviation from the type, a woman may, with regard to the child,\neradicate if she is faultless in these parts herself or excels in a\ncontrary direction. The only exceptions are those qualities which are\npeculiar to the man, and which, in consequence, a mother cannot bestow\non her child; these include the masculine build of the skeleton, breadth\nof shoulder, small hips, straight legs, strength of muscle, courage,\nbeard, and so on. And so it happens that a woman frequently loves an\nugly man, albeit she never loves an unmanly man, because she cannot\nneutralise his defects.\n\nThe second class of considerations that are the source of love are those\ndepending on the psychical qualities. Here we shall find that a woman\nuniversally is attracted by the qualities of a man's heart or character,\nboth of which are inherited from the father. It is mainly firmness of\nwill, determination and courage, and may be honesty and goodness of\nheart too, that win a woman over; while intellectual qualifications\nexercise no direct or instinctive power over her, for the simple reason\nthat these are not inherited from the father. A lack of intelligence\ncarries no weight with her; in fact, a superabundance of mental power or\neven genius, as abnormities, might have an unfavourable effect. And so\nwe frequently find a woman preferring a stupid, ugly, and ill-mannered\nman to one who is well-educated, intellectual, and agreeable. Hence,\npeople of extremely different temperament frequently marry for\nlove--that is to say, _he_ is coarse, strong, and narrow-minded, while\n_she_ is very sensitive, refined, cultured, and aesthetic, and so on; or\n_he_ is genial and clever, and _she_ is a goose.\n\n  \"Sic visum Veneri; cui placet impares\n  Formas atque animos sub juga a\u00ebnea\n    Saevo mittere cum joco.\"\n\nThe reason for this is, that she is not influenced by intellectual\nconsiderations, but by something entirely different, namely, instinct.\nMarriage is not regarded as a means for intellectual entertainment, but\nfor the generation of children; it is a union of hearts and not of\nminds. When a woman says that she has fallen in love with a man's mind,\nit is either a vain and ridiculous pretence on her part or the\nexaggeration of a degenerate being. A man, on the other hand, is not\ncontrolled in instinctive love by the _qualities_ of the woman's\n_character_; this is why so many a Socrates has found his Xantippe, as\nfor instance, Shakespeare, Albrecht D\u00fcrer, Byron, and others. But here\nwe have the influence of intellectual qualities, because they are\ninherited from the mother; nevertheless their influence is easily\noverpowered by physical beauty, which concerns more essential points,\nand therefore has a more direct effect. By the way, it is for this\nreason that mothers who have either felt or experienced the former\ninfluence have their daughters taught the fine arts, languages, etc., so\nthat they may prove more attractive. In this way they hope by artificial\nmeans to pad the intellect, just as they do their bust and hips if it is\nnecessary to do so. Let it be understood that here we are simply\nspeaking of that attraction which is absolutely direct and instinctive,\nand from which springs real love. That an intelligent and educated woman\nesteems intelligence and brains in a man, and that a man after\ndeliberate reasoning criticises and considers the character of his\n_fiance\u00e9_, are matters which do not concern our present subject. Such\nthings influence a rational selection in marriage, but they do not\ncontrol passionate love, which is our matter.\n\nUp to the present I have taken into consideration merely the _absolute_\nconsiderations--_id est_, such considerations as apply to every one. I\nnow come to the _relative_ considerations, which are individual, because\nthey aim at rectifying the type of the species which is defectively\npresented and at correcting any deviation from it existing in the person\nof the chooser himself, and in this way lead back to a pure presentation\nof the type. Hence each man loves what he himself is deficient in. The\nchoice that is based on relative considerations--that is, has in view\nthe constitution of the individual--is much more certain, decided, and\nexclusive than the choice that is made after merely absolute\nconsiderations; consequently real passionate love will have its origin,\nas a rule, in these relative considerations, and it will only be the\nordinary phases of love that spring from the absolute. So that it is not\nstereotyped, perfectly beautiful women who are wont to kindle great\npassions. Before a truly passionate feeling can exist, something is\nnecessary that is perhaps best expressed by a metaphor in\nchemistry--namely, the two persons must neutralise each other, like acid\nand alkali to a neutral salt. Before this can be done the following\nconditions are essential. In the first place, all sexuality is\none-sided. This one-sidedness is more definitely expressed and exists in\na higher degree in one person than in another; so that it may be better\nsupplemented and neutralised in each individual by one person than by\nanother of the opposite sex, because the individual requires a\none-sidedness opposite to his own in order to complete the type of\nhumanity in the new individual to be generated, to the constitution of\nwhich everything tends....\n\nThe following is necessary for this neutralisation of which we are\nspeaking. The particular degree of _his_ manhood must exactly correspond\nto the particular degree of _her_ womanhood in order to exactly balance\nthe one-sidedness of each. Hence the most manly man will desire the most\nwomanly woman, and _vice vers\u00e2_, and so each will want the individual\nthat exactly corresponds to him in degree of sex. Inasmuch as two\npersons fulfil this necessary relation towards each other, it is\ninstinctively felt by them and is the origin, together with the other\n_relative_ considerations, of the higher degrees of love. While,\ntherefore, two lovers are pathetically talking about the harmony of\ntheir souls, the kernel of the conversation is for the most part the\nharmony concerning the individual and its perfection, which obviously is\nof much more importance than the harmony of their souls--which\nfrequently turns out to be a violent discord shortly after marriage.\n\nWe now come to those other relative considerations which depend on each\nindividual trying to eradicate, through the medium of another, his\nweaknesses, deficiencies, and deviations from the type, in order that\nthey may not be perpetuated in the child that is to be born or develop\ninto absolute abnormities. The weaker a man is in muscular power, the\nmore will he desire a woman who is muscular; and the same thing applies\nto a woman....\n\nNevertheless, if a big woman choose a big husband, in order, perhaps, to\npresent a better appearance in society, the children, as a rule, suffer\nfor her folly. Again, another very decided consideration is complexion.\nBlonde people fancy either absolutely dark complexions or brown; but it\nis rarely the case _vice vers\u00e2_. The reason for it is this: that fair\nhair and blue eyes are a deviation from the type and almost constitute\nan abnormity, analogous to white mice, or at any rate white horses. They\nare not indigenous to any other part of the world but Europe,--not even\nto the polar regions,--and are obviously of Scandinavian origin. _En\npassant_, it is my conviction that a white skin is not natural to man,\nand that by nature he has either a black or brown skin like our\nforefathers, the Hindoos, and that the white man was never originally\ncreated by nature; and that, therefore, there is no _race_ of white\npeople, much as it is talked about, but every white man is a bleached\none. Driven up into the north, where he was a stranger, and where he\nexisted only like an exotic plant, in need of a hothouse in winter, man\nin the course of centuries became white. The gipsies, an Indian tribe\nwhich emigrated only about four centuries ago, show the transition of\nthe Hindoo's complexion to ours. In love, therefore, nature strives to\nreturn to dark hair and brown eyes, because they are the original type;\nstill, a white skin has become second nature, although not to such an\nextent as to make the dark skin of the Hindoo repellent to us.\n\nFinally, every man tries to find the corrective of his own defects and\naberrations in the particular parts of his body, and the more\nconspicuous the defect is the greater is his determination to correct\nit. This is why snub-nosed persons find an aquiline nose or a\nparrot-like face so indescribably pleasing; and the same thing applies\nto every other part of the body. Men of immoderately long and attenuated\nbuild delight in a stunted and short figure. Considerations of\ntemperament also influence a man's choice. Each prefers a temperament\nthe reverse of his own; but only in so far as his is a decided one.\n\nA man who is quite perfect in some respect himself does not, it is true,\ndesire and love imperfection in this particular respect, yet he can be\nmore easily reconciled to it than another man, because he himself saves\nthe children from being very imperfect in this particular. For instance,\na man who has a very white skin himself will not dislike a yellowish\ncomplexion, while a man who has a yellowish complexion will consider a\ndazzlingly white skin divinely beautiful. It is rare for a man to fall\nin love with a positively ugly woman, but when he does, it is because\nexact harmony in the degree of sex exists between them, and all her\nabnormities are precisely the opposite to, that is to say, the\ncorrective of his. Love in these circumstances is wont to attain a high\ndegree.\n\nThe profoundly earnest way in which we criticise and narrowly consider\nevery part of a woman, while she on her part considers us; the\nscrupulously careful way we scrutinise, a woman who is beginning to\nplease us; the fickleness of our choice; the strained attention with\nwhich a man watches his _fianc\u00e9e_; the care he takes not to be deceived\nin any trait; and the great importance he attaches to every more or less\nessential trait,--all this is quite in keeping with the importance of\nthe end. For the child that is to be born will have to bear a similar\ntrait through its whole life; for instance, if a woman stoops but a\nlittle, it is possible for her son to be inflicted with a hunchback; and\nso in every other respect. We are not conscious of all this, naturally.\nOn the contrary, each man imagines that his choice is made in the\ninterest of his own pleasure (which, in reality, cannot be interested in\nit at all); his choice, which we must take for granted is in keeping\nwith his own individuality, is made precisely in the interest of the\nspecies, to maintain the type of which as pure as possible is the secret\ntask. In this case the individual unconsciously acts in the interest of\nsomething higher, that is, the species. This is why he attaches so much\nimportance to things to which he might, nay, would be otherwise\nindifferent. There is something quite singular in the unconsciously\nserious and critical way two young people of different sex look at each\nother on meeting for the first time; in the scrutinising and penetrating\nglances they exchange, in the careful inspection which their various\ntraits undergo. This scrutiny and analysis represent the _meditation of\nthe genius of the species_ on the individual which may be born and the\ncombination of its qualities; and the greatness of their delight in and\nlonging for each other is determined by this meditation. This longing,\nalthough it may have become intense, may possibly disappear again if\nsomething previously unobserved comes to light. And so the genius of the\nspecies meditates concerning the coming race in all who are yet not too\nold. It is Cupid's work to fashion this race, and he is always busy,\nalways speculating, always meditating. The affairs of the individual in\ntheir whole ephemeral totality are very trivial compared with those of\nthis divinity, which concern the species and the coming race; therefore\nhe is always ready to sacrifice the individual regardlessly. He is\nrelated to these ephemeral affairs as an immortal being is to a mortal,\nand his interests to theirs as infinite to finite. Conscious, therefore,\nof administering affairs of a higher order than those that concern\nmerely the weal and woe of the individual, he administers them with\nsublime indifference amid the tumult of war, the bustle of business, or\nthe raging of a plague--indeed, he pursues them into the seclusion of\nthe cloisters.\n\nIt has been seen that the intensity of love grows with its\nindividuation; we have shown that two individuals may be so physically\nconstituted, that, in order to restore the best possible type of the\nspecies, the one is the special and perfect complement of the other,\nwhich, in consequence, exclusively desires it. In a case of this kind,\npassionate love arises, and as it is bestowed on one object, and one\nonly--that is to say, because it appears in the _special_ service of the\nspecies--it immediately assumes a nobler and sublimer nature. On the\nother hand, mere sexual instinct is base, because, without\nindividuation, it is directed to all, and strives to preserve the\nspecies merely as regards quantity with little regard for quality.\nIntense love concentrated on one individual may develop to such a\ndegree, that unless it is gratified all the good things of this world,\nand even life itself, lose their importance. It then becomes a desire,\nthe intensity of which is like none other; consequently it will make any\nkind of sacrifice, and should it happen that it cannot be gratified, it\nmay lead to madness or even suicide. Besides these unconscious\nconsiderations which are the source of passionate love, there must be\nstill others, which we have not so directly before us. Therefore, we\nmust take it for granted that here there is not only a fitness of\nconstitution but also a special fitness between the man's _will_ and the\nwoman's _intellect_, in consequence of which a perfectly definite\nindividual can be born to them alone, whose existence is contemplated by\nthe genius of the species for reasons to us impenetrable, since they are\nthe very essence of the thing-in-itself. Or more strictly speaking, the\nwill to live desires to objectivise itself in an individual which is\nprecisely determined, and can only be begotten by this particular father\nand this particular mother. This metaphysical yearning of the will in\nitself has immediately, as its sphere of action in the circle of human\nbeings, the hearts of the future parents, who accordingly are seized\nwith this desire. They now fancy that it is for their own sakes they are\nlonging for what at present has purely a metaphysical end, that is to\nsay, for what does not come within the range of things that exist in\nreality. In other words, it is the desire of the future individual to\nenter existence, which has first become possible here, a longing which\nproceeds from the primary source of all being and exhibits itself in the\nphenomenal world as the intense love of the future parents for each\nother, and has little regard for anything outside itself. In fact, love\nis an illusion like no other; it will induce a man to sacrifice\neverything he possesses in the world, in order to obtain this woman, who\nin reality will satisfy him no more than any other. It also ceases to\nexist when the end, which was in reality metaphysical, has been\nfrustrated perhaps by the woman's barrenness (which, according to\nHufeland, is the result of nineteen accidental defects in the\nconstitution), just as it is frustrated daily in millions of crushed\ngerms in which the same metaphysical life-principle struggles to exist;\nthere is no other consolation in this than that there is an infinity of\nspace, time, and matter, and consequently inexhaustible opportunity, at\nthe service of the will to live.\n\nAlthough this subject has not been treated by Theophrastus Paracelsus,\nand my entire train of thought is foreign to him, yet it must have\npresented itself to him, if even in a cursory way, when he gave\nutterance to the following remarkable words, written in quite a\ndifferent context and in his usual desultory style: _Hi sunt, quos Deus\ncopulavit, ut eam, quae fuit Uriae et David; quamvis ex diametro (sic\nenim sibi humana mens persuadebat) cum justo et legitimo matrimonio\npugnaret hoc ... sed propter Salomonem, qui aliunde nasci non potuit,\nnisi ex Bathseba, conjuncto David semine, quamvis meretrice, conjunxit\neos Deus._[18]\n\nThe yearning of love, the \u1f31\u03bc\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2, which has been expressed in countless\nways and forms by the poets of all ages, without their exhausting the\nsubject or even doing it justice; this longing which makes us imagine\nthat the possession of a certain woman will bring interminable\nhappiness, and the loss of her, unspeakable pain; this longing and this\npain do not arise from the needs of an ephemeral individual, but are, on\nthe contrary, the sigh of the spirit of the species, discerning\nirreparable means of either gaining or losing its ends. It is the\nspecies alone that has an interminable existence: hence it is capable of\nendless desire, endless gratification, and endless pain. These, however,\nare imprisoned in the heart of a mortal; no wonder, therefore, if it\nseems like to burst, and can find no expression for the announcements of\nendless joy or endless pain. This it is that forms the substance of all\nerotic poetry that is sublime in character, which, consequently, soars\ninto transcendent metaphors, surpassing everything earthly. This is the\ntheme of Petrarch, the material for the St. Preuxs, Werthers, and Jacopo\nOrtis, who otherwise could be neither understood nor explained. This\ninfinite regard is not based on any kind of intellectual, nor, in\ngeneral, upon any real merits of the beloved one; because the lover\nfrequently does not know her well enough; as was the case with Petrarch.\n\nIt is the spirit of the species alone that can see at a glance of what\n_value_ the beloved one is to _it_ for its purposes. Moreover, great\npassions, as a rule, originate at first sight:\n\n  \"Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight.\"\n\n--SHAKESPEARE, _As You Like It,_ iii. 5.\n\nCuriously enough, there is a passage touching upon this in _Guzmann de\nAlfarache_, a well-known romance written two hundred and fifty years ago\nby Mateo Aleman: _No es necessario para que uno ame, que pase distancia\nde tiempo, que siga discurso, in haga eleccion, sino que con aquella\nprimera y sola vista, concurran juntamente cierta correspondencia \u00f3\nconsonancia, \u00f3 lo que ac\u00e1 solemos vulgarmente decir, una confrontacion\nde sangre, \u00e0 que por particular influxo suelen mover las estrellas_.\n(For a man to love there is no need for any length of time to pass for\nhim to weigh considerations or make his choice, but only that a certain\ncorrespondence and consonance is encountered on both sides at the first\nand only glance, or that which is ordinarily called _a sympathy of\nblood_, to which a peculiar influence of the stars generally impels.)\nAccordingly, the loss of the beloved one through a rival, or through\ndeath, is the greatest pain of all to those passionately in love; just\nbecause it is of a transcendental nature, since it affects him not\nmerely as an individual, but also assails him in his _essentia aeterna_,\nin the life of the species, in whose special will and service he was\nhere called. This is why jealousy is so tormenting and bitter, and the\ngiving up of the loved one the greatest of all sacrifices. A hero is\nashamed of showing any kind of emotion but that which may be the outcome\nof love; the reason for this is, that when he is in love it is not he,\nbut the species which is grieving. In Calderon's _Zenobia the Great_\nthere is a scene in the second act between Zenobia and Decius where the\nlatter says, _Cielos, luego tu me quieres? Perdiera cien mil victorias,\nVolvi\u00e9rame_, etc. (Heavens! then you love me? For this I would\nsacrifice a thousand victories, etc.) In this case honour, which has\nhitherto outweighed every other interest, is driven out of the field\ndirectly love--_i.e._, the interest of the species--comes into play and\ndiscerns something that will be of decided advantage to itself; for the\ninterest of the species, compared with that of the mere individual,\nhowever important this may be, is infinitely more important. Honour,\nduty, and fidelity succumb to it after they have withstood every other\ntemptation--the menace of death even. We find the same going on in\nprivate life; for instance, a man has less conscience when in love than\nin any other circumstances. Conscience is sometimes put on one side even\nby people who are otherwise honest and straightforward, and infidelity\nrecklessly committed if they are passionately in love--i.e., when the\ninterest of the species has taken possession of them. It would seem,\nindeed, as if they believed themselves conscious of a greater authority\nthan the interests of individuals could ever confer; this is simply\nbecause they are concerned in the interest of the species. Chamfort's\nutterance in this respect is remarkable: _Quand un homme et une femme\nont l'un pour l'autre une passion violente, il me semble toujours que\nquelque soient les obstacles qui les s\u00e9parent, un mari, des parens,\netc.; les deux amans sont l'un \u00e0 l'autre, de par la Nature, qu'ils\ns'appartiennent de droit devin, malgr\u00e9 les lois et les conventions\nhumaines_.... From this standpoint the greater part of the _Decameron_\nseems a mere mocking and jeering on the part of the genius of the\nspecies at the rights and interests of the individual which it treads\nunderfoot. Inequality of rank and all similar relations are put on one\nside with the same indifference and disregarded by the genius of the\nspecies, if they thwart the union of two people passionately in love\nwith one another: it pursues its ends pertaining to endless generations,\nscattering human principles and scruples abroad like chaff.\n\nFor the same reason, a man will willingly risk every kind of danger, and\neven become courageous, although he may otherwise be faint-hearted. What\na delight we take in watching, either in a play or novel, two young\nlovers fighting for each other--i.e., for the interest of the\nspecies--and their defeat of the old people, who had only in view the\nwelfare of the individual! For the struggling of a pair of lovers seems\nto us so much more important, delightful, and consequently justifiable\nthan any other, as the species is more important than the individual.\n\nAccordingly, we have as the fundamental subject of almost all comedies\nthe genius of the species with its purposes, running counter to the\npersonal interests of the individuals presented, and, in consequence,\nthreatening to undermine their happiness. As a rule it carries out its\nends, which, in keeping with true poetic justice, satisfies the\nspectator, because the latter feels that the purposes of the species\nwidely surpass those of the individual. Hence he is quite consoled when\nhe finally takes leave of the victorious lovers, sharing with them the\nillusion that they have established their own happiness, while, in\ntruth, they have sacrificed it for the welfare of the species, in\nopposition to the will of the discreet old people.\n\nIt has been attempted in a few out-of-the-way comedies to reverse this\nstate of things and to effect the happiness of the individuals at the\ncost of the ends of the species; but here the spectator is sensible of\nthe pain inflicted on the genius of the species, and does not find\nconsolation in the advantages that are assured to the individuals.\n\nTwo very well-known little pieces occur to me as examples of this kind:\n_La reine de 16 ans_, and _Le mariage de raison_.\n\nIn the love-affairs that are treated in tragedies the lovers, as a rule,\nperish together: the reason for this is that the purposes of the\nspecies, whose tools the lovers were, have been frustrated, as, for\ninstance, in _Romeo and Juliet, Tancred, Don Carlos, Wallenstein, The\nBride of Messina_, and so on.\n\nA man in love frequently furnishes comic as well as tragic aspects; for\nbeing in the possession of the spirit of the species and controlled by\nit, he no longer belongs to himself, and consequently his line of\nconduct is not in keeping with that of the individual. It is\nfundamentally this that in the higher phases of love gives such a\npoetical and sublime colour, nay, transcendental and hyperphysical turn\nto a man's thoughts, whereby he appears to lose sight of his essentially\nmaterial purpose. He is inspired by the spirit of the species, whose\naffairs are infinitely more important than any which concern mere\nindividuals, in order to establish by special mandate of this spirit the\nexistence of an indefinitely long posterity with _this_ particular and\nprecisely determined nature, which it can receive only from him as\nfather and his loved one as mother, and which, moreover, _as such_ never\ncomes into existence, while the objectivation of the will to live\nexpressly demands this existence. It is the feeling that he is engaged\nin affairs of such transcendent importance that exalts the lover above\neverything earthly, nay, indeed, above himself, and gives such a\nhyperphysical clothing to his physical wishes, that love becomes, even\nin the life of the most prosaic, a poetical episode; and then the affair\noften assumes a comical aspect. That mandate of the will which\nobjectifies itself in the species presents itself in the consciousness\nof the lover under the mask of the anticipation of an infinite\nhappiness, which is to be found in his union with this particular woman.\nThis illusion to a man deeply in love becomes so dazzling that if it\ncannot be attained, life itself not only loses all charm, but appears to\nbe so joyless, hollow, and uninteresting as to make him too disgusted\nwith it to be afraid of the terrors of death; this is why he sometimes\nof his own free will cuts his life short. The will of a man of this kind\nhas become engulfed in that of the species, or the will of the species\nhas obtained so great an ascendency over the will of the individual that\nif such a man cannot be effective in the manifestation of the first, he\ndisdains to be so in the last. The individual in this case is too weak a\nvessel to bear the infinite longing of the will of the species\nconcentrated upon a definite object. When this is the case suicide is\nthe result, and sometimes suicide of the two lovers; unless nature, to\nprevent this, causes insanity, which then enshrouds with its veil the\nconsciousness of so hopeless a condition. The truth of this is confirmed\nyearly by various cases of this description.\n\nHowever, it is not only unrequited love that leads frequently to a\ntragic end; for requited love more frequently leads to unhappiness than\nto happiness. This is because its demands often so severely clash with\nthe personal welfare of the lover concerned as to undermine it, since\nthe demands are incompatible with the lover's other circumstances, and\nin consequence destroy the plans of life built upon them. Further, love\nfrequently runs counter not only to external circumstances but to the\nindividuality itself, for it may fling itself upon a person who, apart\nfrom the relation of sex, may become hateful, despicable, nay, even\nrepulsive. As the will of the species, however, is so very much stronger\nthan that of the individual, the lover shuts his eyes to all\nobjectionable qualities, overlooks everything, ignores all, and unites\nhimself for ever to the object of his passion. He is so completely\nblinded by this illusion that as soon as the will of the species is\naccomplished the illusion vanishes and leaves in its place a hateful\ncompanion for life. From this it is obvious why we often see very\nintelligent, nay, distinguished men married to dragons and she-devils,\nand why we cannot understand how it was possible for them to make such a\nchoice. Accordingly, the ancients represented _Amor_ as blind. In fact,\nit is possible for a lover to clearly recognise and be bitterly\nconscious of horrid defects in his _fianc\u00e9e's_ disposition and\ncharacter--defects which promise him a life of misery--and yet for him\nnot to be filled with fear:\n\n  \"I ask not, I care not,\n    If guilt's in thy heart;\n  I know that I love thee,\n    Whatever thou art.\"\n\nFor, in truth, he is not acting in his own interest but in that of a\nthird person, who has yet to come into existence, albeit he is under the\nimpression that he is acting in his own But it is this very _acting in\nsome one else's interest_ which is everywhere the stamp of greatness and\ngives to passionate love the touch of the sublime, making it a worthy\nsubject for the poet. Finally, a man may both love and hate his beloved\nat the same time. Accordingly, Plato compares a man's love to the love\nof a wolf for a sheep. We have an instance of this kind when a\npassionate lover, in spite of all his exertions and entreaties, cannot\nobtain a hearing upon any terms.\n\n  \"I love and hate her.\"--SHAKESPEARE, _Cymb_. iii. 5.\n\nWhen hatred is kindled, a man will sometimes go so far as to first kill\nhis beloved and then himself. Examples of this kind are brought before\nour notice yearly in the newspapers. Therefore Goethe says truly:\n\n  \"Bei aller verschm\u00e4hten Liebe, beim h\u00f6llichen Elemente!\n  Ich wollt', ich w\u00fcsst' was \u00e4rger's, das ich fluchen k\u00f6nnte!\"\n\nIt is in truth no hyperbole on the part of a lover when he calls his\nbeloved's coldness, or the joy of her vanity, which delights in his\nsuffering, _cruelty_. For he has come under the influence of an impulse\nwhich, akin to the instinct of animals, compels him in spite of all\nreason to unconditionally pursue his end and discard every other; he\ncannot give it up. There has not been one but many a Petrarch, who,\nfailing to have his love requited, has been obliged to drag through life\nas if his feet were either fettered or carried a leaden weight, and give\nvent to his sighs in a lonely forest; nevertheless there was only one\nPetrarch who possessed the true poetic instinct, so that Goethe's\nbeautiful lines are true of him:\n\n  \"Und wenn der Mensch in seiner Quaal verstummt,\n  Gab mir ein Gott, zu sagen, wie ich leide.\"\n\nAs a matter of fact, the genius of the species is at continual warfare\nwith the guardian genius of individuals; it is its pursuer and enemy; it\nis always ready to relentlessly destroy personal happiness in order to\ncarry out its ends; indeed, the welfare of whole nations has sometimes\nbeen sacrificed to its caprice. Shakespeare furnishes us with such an\nexample in _Henry VI_ Part III., Act iii., Scenes 2 and 3. This is\nbecause the species, in which lies the germ of our being, has a nearer\nand prior claim upon us than the individual, so that the affairs of the\nspecies are more important than those of the individual. Sensible of\nthis, the ancients personified the genius of the species in Cupid,\nnotwithstanding his having the form of a child, as a hostile and cruel\ngod, and therefore one to be decried as a capricious and despotic demon,\nand yet lord of both gods and men.\n\n  \u03a3\u03c5 \u03b4' \u1f60 \u03b8\u03b5\u03c9\u03bd \u03c4\u03c5\u03c1\u03b1\u03bd\u03bd\u03b5 \u03ba' \u1f00\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03c9\u03bd, \u1f18\u03c1\u03c9\u03c2.\n  (Tu, deorum hominumque tyranne, Amor!)\n\nMurderous darts, blindness, and wings are Cupid's attributes. The latter\nsignify inconstancy, which as a rule comes with the disillusion\nfollowing possession.\n\nBecause, for instance, love is based on an illusion and represents what\nis an advantage to the species as an advantage to the individual, the\nillusion necessarily vanishes directly the end of the species has been\nattained. The spirit of the species, which for the time being has got\nthe individual into its possession, now frees him again. Deserted by the\nspirit, he relapses into his original state of narrowness and want; he\nis surprised to find that after all his lofty, heroic, and endless\nattempts to further his own pleasure he has obtained but little; and\ncontrary to his expectation, he finds that he is no happier than he was\nbefore. He discovers that he has been the dupe of the will of the\nspecies. Therefore, as a rule, a Theseus who has been made happy will\ndesert his Ariadne. If Petrarch's passion had been gratified his song\nwould have become silent from that moment, as that of the birds as soon\nas the eggs are laid.\n\nLet it be said in passing that, however much my metaphysics of love may\ndisplease those in love, the fundamental truth revealed by me would\nenable them more effectually than anything else to overcome their\npassion, if considerations of reason in general could be of any avail.\nThe words of the comic poet of ancient times remain good: _Quae res in\nse neque consilium, neque modum habet ullum, eam consilio regere non\npotes_. People who marry for love do so in the interest of the species\nand not of the individuals. It is true that the persons concerned\nimagine they are promoting their own happiness; but their real aim,\nwhich is one they are unconscious of, is to bring forth an individual\nwhich can be begotten by them alone. This purpose having brought them\ntogether, they ought henceforth to try and make the best of things. But\nit very frequently happens that two people who have been brought\ntogether by this instinctive illusion, which is the essence of\npassionate love, are in every other respect temperamentally different.\nThis becomes apparent when the illusion wears off, as it necessarily\nmust.\n\nAccordingly, people who marry for love are generally unhappy, for such\npeople look after the welfare of the future generation at the expense of\nthe present. _Quien se casa por amores, ha de vivir con dolores_ (He who\nmarries for love must live in grief), says the Spanish proverb.\nMarriages _de convenance_, which are generally arranged by the parents,\nwill turn out the reverse. The considerations in this case which control\nthem, whatever their nature may be, are at any rate real and unable to\nvanish of themselves. A marriage of this kind attends to the welfare of\nthe present generation to the detriment of the future, it is true; and\nyet this remains problematical.\n\nA man who marries for money, and not for love, lives more in the\ninterest of the individual than in that of the species; a condition\nexactly opposed to truth; therefore it is unnatural and rouses a certain\nfeeling of contempt. A girl who against the wish of her parents refuses\nto marry a rich man, still young, and ignores all considerations of\n_convenance_, in order to choose another instinctively to her liking,\nsacrifices her individual welfare to the species. But it is for this\nvery reason that she meets with a certain approval, for she has given\npreference to what was more important and acted in the spirit of nature\n(of the species) more exactly; while the parents advised only in the\nspirit of individual egoism.\n\nAs the outcome of all this, it seems that to marry means that either the\ninterest of the individual or the interest of the species must suffer.\nAs a rule one or the other is the case, for it is only by the rarest and\nluckiest accident that _convenance_ and passionate love go hand in hand.\nThe wretched condition of most persons physically, morally, and\nintellectually may be partly accounted for by the fact that marriages\nare not generally the result of pure choice and inclination, but of all\nkinds of external considerations and accidental circumstances. However,\nif inclination to a certain degree is taken into consideration, as well\nas convenience, this is as it were a compromise with the genius of the\nspecies. As is well known, happy marriages are few and far between,\nsince marriage is intended to have the welfare of the future generation\nat heart and not the present.\n\nHowever, let me add for the consolation of the more tender-hearted that\npassionate love is sometimes associated with a feeling of quite another\nkind--namely, real friendship founded on harmony of sentiment, but this,\nhowever, does not exist until the instinct of sex has been extinguished.\nThis friendship will generally spring from the fact that the physical,\nmoral, and intellectual qualities which correspond to and supplement\neach other in two individuals in love, in respect of the child to be\nborn, will also supplement each other in respect of the individuals\nthemselves as opposite qualities of temperament and intellectual\nexcellence, and thereby establish a harmony of sentiment.\n\nThe whole metaphysics of love which has been treated here is closely\nrelated to my metaphysics in general, and the light it throws upon this\nmay be said to be as follows.\n\nWe have seen that a man's careful choice, developing through innumerable\ndegrees to passionate love, for the satisfaction of his instinct of sex,\nis based upon the fundamental interest he takes in the constitution of\nthe next generation. This overwhelming interest that he takes verifies\ntwo truths which have been already demonstrated.\n\nFirst: Man's immortality, which is perpetuated in the future race. For\nthis interest of so active and zealous a nature, which is neither the\nresult of reflection nor intention, springs from the innermost\ncharacteristics and tendencies of our being, could not exist so\ncontinuously or exercise such great power over man if the latter were\nreally transitory and if a race really and totally different to himself\nsucceeded him merely in point of time.\n\nSecond: That his real nature is more closely allied to the species than\nto the individual. For this interest that he takes in the special nature\nof the species, which is the source of all love, from the most fleeting\nemotion to the most serious passion, is in reality the most important\naffair in each man's life, the successful or unsuccessful issue of which\ntouches him more nearly than anything else. This is why it has been\npre-eminently called the \"affair of the heart.\" Everything that merely\nconcerns one's own person is set aside and sacrificed, if the case\nrequire it, to this interest when it is of a strong and decided nature.\nTherefore in this way man proves that he is more interested in the\nspecies than in the individual, and that he lives more directly in the\ninterest of the species than in that of the individual.\n\nWhy, then, is a lover so absolutely devoted to every look and turn of\nhis beloved, and ready to make any kind of sacrifice for her? Because\nthe _immortal_ part of him is yearning for her; it is only the _mortal_\npart of him that longs for everything else. That keen and even intense\nlonging for a particular woman is accordingly a direct pledge of the\nimmortality of the essence of our being and of its perpetuity in the\nspecies.\n\nTo regard this perpetuity as something unimportant and insufficient is\nan error, arising from the fact that in thinking of the continuity of\nthe species we only think of the future existence of beings similar to\nourselves, but in no respect, however, identical with us; and again,\nstarting from knowledge directed towards without, we only grasp the\nouter form of the species as it presents itself to us, and do not take\ninto consideration its inner nature. It is precisely this inner nature\nthat lies at the foundation of our own consciousness as its kernel, and\ntherefore is more direct than our consciousness itself, and as\nthing-in-itself exempt from the _principium individuationis_--is in\nreality identical and the same in all individuals, whether they exist at\nthe same or at different times.\n\nThis, then, is the will to live--that is to say, it is exactly _that\nwhich_ so intensely desires both life and continuance, and which\naccordingly remains unharmed and unaffected by death. Further, its\npresent state cannot be improved, and while there is life it is certain\nof the unceasing sufferings and death of the individual. The _denial_ of\nthe will to live is reserved to free it from this, as the means by which\nthe individual will breaks away from the stem of the species, and\nsurrenders that existence in it.\n\nWe are wanting both in ideas and all data as to what it is after that.\nWe can only indicate it as something which is free to be will to live or\nnot to live. Buddhism distinguishes the latter case by the word\n_Nirvana_. It is the point which as such remains for ever impenetrable\nto all human knowledge.\n\nLooking at the turmoil of life from this standpoint we find all occupied\nwith its want and misery, exerting all their strength in order to\nsatisfy its endless needs and avert manifold suffering, without,\nhowever, daring to expect anything else in return than merely the\npreservation of this tormented individual existence for a short span of\ntime. And yet, amid all this turmoil we see a pair of lovers exchanging\nlonging glances--yet why so secretly, timidly, and stealthily? Because\nthese lovers are traitors secretly striving to perpetuate all this\nmisery and turmoil that otherwise would come to a timely end.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[17] Ch. xxvi. 23.\n\n[18] _De vita longa_ i. 5.\n\n\n\n\nPHYSIOGNOMY.\n\n\nThat the outside reflects the inner man, and that the face expresses his\nwhole character, is an obvious supposition and accordingly a safe one,\ndemonstrated as it is in the desire people have _to see_ on all\noccasions a man who has distinguished himself by something good or evil,\nor produced some exceptional work; or if this is denied them, at any\nrate to hear from others _what he looks like_. This is why, on the one\nhand, they go to places where they conjecture he is to be found; and on\nthe other, why the press, and especially the English press, tries to\ndescribe him in a minute and striking way; he is soon brought visibly\nbefore us either by a painter or an engraver; and finally, photography,\non that account so highly prized, meets this necessity in a most perfect\nway.\n\nIt is also proved in everyday life that each one inspects the\nphysiognomy of those he comes in contact with, and first of all secretly\ntries to discover their moral and intellectual character from their\nfeatures. This could not be the case if, as some foolish people state,\nthe outward appearance of a man is of no importance; nay, if the soul is\none thing and the body another, and the latter related to the soul as\nthe coat is to the man himself.\n\nRather is every human face a hieroglyph, which, to be sure, admits of\nbeing deciphered--nay, the whole alphabet of which we carry about with\nus. Indeed, the face of a man, as a rule, bespeaks more interesting\nmatter than his tongue, for it is the compendium of all which he will\never say, as it is the register of all his thoughts and aspirations.\nMoreover, the tongue only speaks the thoughts of one man, while the face\nexpresses a thought of nature. Therefore it is worth while to observe\neverybody attentively; even if they are not worth talking to. Every\nindividual is worthy of observation as a single thought of nature; so is\nbeauty in the highest degree, for it is a higher and more general\nconception of nature: it is her thought of a species. This is why we are\nso captivated by beauty. It is a fundamental and principal thought of\nNature; whereas the individual is only a secondary thought, a corollary.\n\nIn secret, everybody goes upon the principle that a man _is_ what he\n_looks_; but the difficulty lies in its application. The ability to\napply it is partly innate and partly acquired by experience; but no one\nunderstands it thoroughly, for even the most experienced may make a\nmistake. Still, it is not the face that deceives, whatever Figaro may\nsay, but it is we who are deceived in reading what is not there. The\ndeciphering of the face is certainly a great and difficult art. Its\nprinciples can never be learnt _in abstracto_. Its first condition is\nthat the man must be looked at from a _purely objective_ point of view;\nwhich is not so easy to do. As soon as, for instance, there is the\nslightest sign of dislike, or affection, or fear, or hope, or even the\nthought of the impression which we ourselves are making on him--in\nshort, as soon as anything of a subjective nature is present, the\nhieroglyphics become confused and falsified. The sound of a language is\nonly heard by one who does not understand it, because in thinking of the\nsignificance one is not conscious of the sign itself; and similarly the\nphysiognomy of a man is only seen by one to whom it is still\nstrange--that is to say, by one who has not become accustomed to his\nface through seeing him often or talking to him. Accordingly it is,\nstrictly speaking, the first glance that gives one a purely objective\nimpression of a face, and makes it possible for one to decipher it. A\nsmell only affects us when we first perceive it, and it is the first\nglass of wine which gives us its real taste; in the same way, it is only\nwhen we see a face for the first time that it makes a full impression\nupon us. Therefore one should carefully attend to the first impression;\none should make a note of it, nay, write it down if the man is of\npersonal importance--that is, if one can trust one's own sense of\nphysiognomy. Subsequent acquaintance and intercourse will erase that\nimpression, but it will be verified one day in the future.\n\n_En passant_, let us not conceal from ourselves the fact that this first\nimpression is as a rule extremely disagreeable: but how little there is\nin the majority of faces! With the exception of those that are\nbeautiful, good-natured, and intellectual--that is, the very few and\nexceptional,--I believe a new face for the most part gives a sensitive\nperson a sensation akin to a shock, since the disagreeable impression is\npresented in a new and surprising combination.\n\nAs a rule it is indeed _a sorry sight_. There are individuals whose\nfaces are stamped with such na\u00efve vulgarity and lowness of character,\nsuch an animal limitation of intelligence, that one wonders how they\ncare to go out with such a face and do not prefer to wear a mask. Nay,\nthere are faces a mere glance at which makes one feel contaminated. One\ncannot therefore blame people, who are in a position to do so, if they\nseek solitude and escape the painful sensation of \"_seeing new faces_.\"\nThe _metaphysical_ explanation of this rests on the consideration that\nthe individuality of each person is exactly that by which he should be\nreclaimed and corrected.\n\nIf any one, on the other hand, will be content with a _psychological_\nexplanation, let him ask himself what kind of physiognomy can be\nexpected in those whose minds, their whole life long, have scarcely ever\nentertained anything but petty, mean, and miserable thoughts, and\nvulgar, selfish, jealous, wicked, and spiteful desires. Each one of\nthese thoughts and desires has left its impress on the face for the\nlength of time it existed; all these marks, by frequent repetition, have\neventually become furrows and blemishes, if one may say so. Therefore\nthe appearance of the majority of people is calculated to give one a\nshock at first sight, and it is only by degrees that one becomes\naccustomed to a face--that is to say, becomes so indifferent to the\nimpression as to be no longer affected by it.\n\nBut that the predominating facial expression is formed by countless\nfleeting and characteristic contortions is also the reason why the faces\nof intellectual men only become moulded gradually, and indeed only\nattain their sublime expression in old age; whilst portraits of them in\ntheir youth only show the first traces of it. But, on the other hand,\nwhat has just been said about the shock one receives at first sight\ncoincides with the above remark, that it is only at first sight that a\nface makes its true and full impression. In order to get a purely\nobjective and true impression of it, we must stand in no kind of\nrelation to the person, nay, if possible, we must not even have spoken\nto him. Conversation makes one in some measure friendly disposed, and\nbrings us into a certain _rapport_, a reciprocal _subjective_ relation,\nwhich immediately interferes with our taking an objective view. As\neverybody strives to win either respect or friendship for himself, a man\nwho is being observed will immediately resort to every art of\ndissembling, and corrupt us with his airs, hypocrisies, and flatteries;\nso that in a short time we no longer see what the first impression had\nclearly shown us. It is said that \"most people gain on further\nacquaintance\" but what ought to be said is that \"they delude us\" on\nfurther acquaintance. But when these bad traits have an opportunity of\nshowing themselves later on, our first impression generally receives its\njustification. Sometimes a further acquaintance is a hostile one, in\nwhich case it will not be found that people gain by it. Another reason\nfor the apparent advantage of a further acquaintance is, that the man\nwhose first appearance repels us, as soon as we converse with him no\nlonger shows his true being and character, but his education as\nwell--that is to say, not only what he really is by nature, but what he\nhas appropriated from the common wealth of mankind; three-fourths of\nwhat he says does not belong to him, but has been acquired from without;\nso that we are often surprised to hear such a minotaur speak so humanly.\nAnd on a still further acquaintance, the brutality of which his face\ngave promise, will reveal itself in all its glory. Therefore a man who\nis gifted with a keen sense of physiognomy should pay careful attention\nto those verdicts prior to a further acquaintance, and therefore\ngenuine. For the face of a man expresses exactly what he is, and if he\ndeceives us it is not his fault but ours. On the other hand, the words\nof a man merely state what he thinks, more frequently only what he has\nlearnt, or it may be merely what he pretends to think. Moreover, when we\nspeak to him, nay, only hear others speak to him, our attention is taken\naway from his real physiognomy; because it is the substance, that which\nis given fundamentally, and we disregard it; and we only pay attention\nto its pathognomy, its play of feature while speaking. This, however, is\nso arranged that the good side is turned upwards.\n\nWhen Socrates said to a youth who was introduced to him so that he might\ntest his capabilities, \"Speak so that I may see you\" (taking it for\ngranted that he did not simply mean \"hearing\" by \"seeing\"), he was right\nin so far as it is only in speaking that the features and especially the\neyes of a man become animated, and his intellectual powers and\ncapabilities imprint their stamp on his features: we are then in a\nposition to estimate provisionally the degree and capacity of his\nintelligence; which was precisely Socrates' aim in that case. But, on\nthe other hand, it is to be observed, firstly, that this rule does not\napply to the _moral_ qualities of a man, which lie deeper; and secondly,\nthat what is gained from an _objective_ point of view by the clearer\ndevelopment of a man's countenance while he is speaking, is again from a\n_subjective_ point of view lost, because of the personal relation into\nwhich he immediately enters with us, occasioning a slight fascination,\ndoes not leave us unprejudiced observers, as has already been explained.\nTherefore, from this last standpoint it might be more correct to say:\n\"Do not speak in order that I may see you.\"\n\nFor to obtain a pure and fundamental grasp of a man's physiognomy one\nmust observe him when he is alone and left to himself. Any kind of\nsociety and conversation with another throw a reflection upon him which\nis not his own, mostly to his advantage; for he thereby is placed in a\ncondition of action and reaction which exalts him. But, on the contrary,\nif he is alone and left to himself immersed in the depths of his own\nthoughts and sensations, it is only then that he is absolutely and\nwholly _himself_. And any one with a keen, penetrating eye for\nphysiognomy can grasp the general character of his whole being at a\nglance. For on his face, regarded in and by itself, is indicated the\nground tone of all his thoughts and efforts, the _arr\u00eat irrevocable_ of\nhis future, and of which he is only conscious when alone.\n\nThe science of physiognomy is one of the principal means of a knowledge\nof mankind: arts of dissimulation do not come within the range of\nphysiognomy, but within that of mere pathognomy and mimicry. This is\nprecisely why I recommend the physiognomy of a man to be studied when he\nis alone and left to his own thoughts, and before he has been conversed\nwith; partly because it is only then that his physiognomy can be seen\npurely and simply, since in conversation pathognomy immediately steps\nin, and he then resorts to the arts of dissimulation which he has\nacquired; and partly because personal intercourse, even of the slightest\nnature, makes us prejudiced, and in consequence impairs our judgment.\n\nConcerning our physiognomy in general, it is still to be observed that\nit is much easier to discover the intellectual capacities of a man than\nhis moral character. The intellectual capacities take a much more\noutward direction. They are expressed not only in the face and play of\nhis features, but also in his walk, nay, in every movement, however\nslight it may be. One could perhaps discriminate from behind between a\nblockhead, a fool, and a man of genius. A clumsy awkwardness\ncharacterises every movement of the blockhead; folly imprints its mark\non every gesture, and so do genius and a reflective nature. Hence the\noutcome of La Bruyere's remark: _Il n'y a rien de si d\u00e9li\u00e9, de si\nsimple, et de si imperceptible o\u00f9 il n'y entrent des mani\u00e8res, qui nous\nd\u00e9c\u00e8lent: un sot ni n'entre, ni ne sort, ni ne s'assied, ni ne se l\u00e8ve,\nni ne se tait, ni n'est sur ses jambes, comme un homme d'esprit_. This\naccounts for, by the way, that instinct _stir et prompt_ which,\naccording to Helvetius, ordinary people have of recognising people of\ngenius and of running away from them. This is to be accounted for by the\nfact that the larger and more developed the brain, and the thinner, in\nrelation to it, the spine and nerves, the greater not only is the\nintelligence, but also at the same time the mobility and pliancy of all\nthe limbs; because they are controlled more immediately and decisively\nby the brain; consequently everything depends more on a single thread,\nevery movement of which precisely expresses its purpose. The whole\nmatter is analogous to, nay dependent on, the fact that the higher an\nanimal stands in the scale of development, the easier can it be killed\nby wounding it in a single place. Take, for instance, batrachia: they\nare as heavy, clumsy, and slow in their movements as they are\nunintelligent, and at the same time extremely tenacious of life. This is\nexplained by the fact that with a little brain they have a very thick\nspine and nerves. But gait and movement of the arms are for the most\npart functions of the brain; because the limbs receive their motion, and\neven the slightest modification of it, from the brain through the medium\nof the spinal nerves; and this is precisely why voluntary movements tire\nus. This feeling of fatigue, like that of pain, has its seat in the\nbrain, and not as we suppose in the limbs, hence motion promotes sleep;\non the other hand, those motions that are not excited by the brain, that\nis to say, the involuntary motions of organic life, of the heart and\nlungs, go on without causing fatigue: and as thought as well as motion\nis a function of the brain, the character of its activity is denoted in\nboth, according to the nature of the individual. Stupid people move like\nlay figures, while every joint of intellectual people speaks for itself.\nIntellectual qualities are much better discerned, however, in the face\nthan in gestures and movements, in the shape and size of the forehead,\nin the contraction and movement of the features, and especially in the\neye; from the little, dull, sleepy-looking eye of the pig, through all\ngradations, to the brilliant sparkling eye of the genius. The _look of\nwisdom_, even of the best kind, is different from that of _genius_,\nsince it bears the stamp of serving the will; while that of the latter\nis free from it. Therefore the anecdote which Squarzafichi relates in\nhis life of Petrarch, and has taken from Joseph Brivius, a contemporary,\nis quite credible--namely, that when Petrarch was at the court of\nVisconti, and among many men and titled people, Galeazzo Visconti asked\nhis son, who was still a boy in years and was afterwards the first Duke\nof Milan, to pick out _the wisest man_ of those present. The boy looked\nat every one for a while, when he seized Petrarch's hand and led him to\nhis father, to the great admiration of all present. For nature imprints\nher stamp of dignity so distinctly on the distinguished among mankind\nthat a child can perceive it. Therefore I should advise my sagacious\ncountrymen, if they ever again wish to trumpet a commonplace person as a\ngenius for the period of thirty years, not to choose for that end such\nan inn-keeper's physiognomy as was possessed by Hegel, upon whose face\nnature had written in her clearest handwriting the familiar title,\n_commonplace person_. But what applies to intellectual qualities does\nnot apply to the moral character of mankind; its physiognomy is much\nmore difficult to perceive, because, being of a metaphysical nature, it\nlies much deeper, and although moral character is connected with the\nconstitution and with the organism, it is not so immediately connected,\nhowever, with definite parts of its system as is intellect. Hence, while\neach one makes a public show of his intelligence, with which he is in\ngeneral quite satisfied, and tries to display it at every opportunity,\nthe moral qualities are seldom brought to light, nay, most people\nintentionally conceal them; and long practice makes them acquire great\nmastery in hiding them.\n\nMeanwhile, as has been explained above, wicked thoughts and worthless\nendeavours gradually leave their traces on the face, and especially the\neyes. Therefore, judging by physiognomy, we can easily guarantee that a\nman will never produce an immortal work; but not that he will never\ncommit a great crime.\n\n\n\n\nON SUICIDE.\n\n\nAs far as I can see, it is only the followers of monotheistic, that is\nof Jewish, religions that regard suicide as a crime. This is the more\nstriking as there is no forbiddance of it, or even positive disapproval\nof it, to be found either in the New Testament or the Old; so that\nteachers of religion have to base their disapprobation of suicide on\ntheir own philosophical grounds; these, however, are so bad that they\ntry to compensate for the weakness of their arguments by strongly\nexpressing their abhorrence of the act--that is to say, by abusing it.\nWe are told that suicide is an act of the greatest cowardice, that it is\nonly possible to a madman, and other absurdities of a similar nature; or\nthey make use of the perfectly senseless expression that it is\n\"_wrong_,\" while it is perfectly clear that no one has such indisputable\nright over anything in the world as over his own person and life.\nSuicide, as has been said, is computed a crime, rendering\ninevitable--especially in vulgar, bigoted England--an ignominious\nburial and the confiscation of the property; this is why the jury almost\nalways bring in the verdict of insanity. Let one's own moral feelings\ndecide the matter for one. Compare the impression made upon one by the\nnews that a friend has committed a crime, say a murder, an act of\ncruelty or deception, or theft, with the news that he has died a\nvoluntary death. Whilst news of the first kind will incite intense\nindignation, the greatest displeasure, and a desire for punishment or\nrevenge, news of the second will move us to sorrow and compassion;\nmoreover, we will frequently have a feeling of admiration for his\ncourage rather than one of moral disapproval, which accompanies a wicked\nact. Who has not had acquaintances, friends, relatives, who have\nvoluntarily left this world? And are we to think of them with horror as\ncriminals? _Nego ac pernego_! I am rather of the opinion that the clergy\nshould be challenged to state their authority for stamping--from the\npulpit or in their writings--as a _crime_ an act which has been\ncommitted by many people honoured and loved by us, and refusing an\nhonourable burial to those who have of their own free will left the\nworld. They cannot produce any kind of Biblical authority, nay, they\nhave no philosophical arguments that are at all valid; and it is\n_reasons_ that we want; mere empty phrases or words of abuse we cannot\naccept. If the criminal law forbids suicide, that is not a reason that\nholds good in the church; moreover, it is extremely ridiculous, for what\npunishment can frighten those who seek death? When a man is punished for\ntrying to commit suicide, it is his clumsy failure that is punished.\n\nThe ancients were also very far from looking at the matter in this\nlight. Pliny says: \"_Vitam quidem non adeo expetendam censemus, ut\nquoque modo trahenda sit. Quisquis es talis, aeque moriere, etiam cum\nobscoenus vixeris, aut nefandus. Quapropter hoc primum quisque in\nremediis animi sui habeat: ex omnibus bonis, quae homini tribuit natura,\nnullum melius esse tempestiva morte: idque in ea optimum, quod illam\nsibi quisque praestare poterit_.\" He also says: \"_Ne Deum quidem posse\nomnia. Namque nec sibi potest mortem consciscere, si velit, quod homini\ndedit optimum in taniis vitae poenis_,\" etc.\n\nIn Massilia and on the island of Ceos a hemlock-potion was offered in\npublic by the magistrate to those who could give valid reasons for\nquitting this life. And how many heroes and wise men of ancient times\nhave not ended their lives by a voluntary death! To be sure, Aristotle\nsays \"Suicide is a wrong against the State, although not against the\nperson;\" Stob\u00e6us, however, in his treatise on the Peripatetic ethics\nuses this sentence: _\u03c6\u03b5\u03c5\u03ba\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u03b4\u03b5 \u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u03b2\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd \u03b3\u03b9\u03b3\u03bd\u03b5\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bd \u1f00\u03b3\u03b1\u03b8\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f10\u03bd\n\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f00\u03b3\u03b1\u03bd \u1f00\u03c4\u03c5\u03c7\u03b9\u03b1\u03b9\u03c2 \u03c4\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u1f10\u03bd \u03c4\u03b1\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f00\u03b3\u03b1\u03bd \u03b5\u1f50\u03c4\u03c5\u03c7\u03b9\u03b1\u03b9\u03c2. (Vitam\nautem relinquendam esse bonis in nimiis quidem miseriis pravis vero in\nnimium quoque secundis_) And similarly: \u0394\u03b9\u03bf \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b3\u03b1\u03bc\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd, \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9\n\u03c0\u03b1\u03b9\u03b4\u03bf\u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9, \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c0\u03bf\u03bb\u03b9\u03c4\u03b5\u03c5\u03c3\u03b5\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9, etc.; \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b8\u03bf\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5 \u03c4\u03b7\u03bd \u1f00\u03c1\u03b5\u03c4\u03b7\u03bd\n\u1f00\u03bf\u03ba\u03bf\u03c5\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9\u03bd \u1f10\u03bd \u03c4\u1ff3 \u03b2\u03b9\u1ff3, \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b1\u03bb\u03b9\u03bd, \u03b5\u1f30 \u03b4\u03b5\u03bf\u03b9, \u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u03b5 \u03b4\u1f30 \u1f00\u03bd\u03b1\u03b3\u03ba\u03b1\u03c2\n\u1f00\u03c0\u03b1\u03bb\u03bb\u03b1\u03b3\u03b7\u03c3\u03b5\u03c3\u03b8\u03b1\u03b9, \u03c4\u03b1\u03c6\u03b7\u03c2 \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03bf\u03b7\u03c3\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1, etc. _(Ideoque et uxorem ducturum, et\nliberos procreaturum, et ad civitatem accessurum,_ etc.; _atque omnino\nvirtutem colendo tum vitam servaturum, tum iterum, cogente necessitate,\nrelicturum,_ etc.) And we find that suicide was actually praised by the\nStoics as a noble and heroic act, this is corroborated by hundreds of\npassages, and especially in the works of Seneca. Further, it is well\nknown that the Hindoos often look upon suicide as a religious act, as,\nfor instance, the self-sacrifice of widows, throwing oneself under the\nwheels of the chariot of the god at Juggernaut, or giving oneself to the\ncrocodiles in the Ganges or casting oneself in the holy tanks in the\ntemples, and so on. It is the same on the stage--that mirror of life.\nFor instance, in the famous Chinese play, _L'Orphelin de la Chine_,[19]\nalmost all the noble characters end by suicide, without indicating\nanywhere or it striking the spectator that they were committing a crime.\nAt bottom it is the same on our own stage; for instance, Palmira in\n_Mahomet_, Mortimer in _Maria Stuart_, Othello, Countess Terzky. Is\nHamlet's monologue the meditation of a criminal? He merely states that\nconsidering the nature of the world, death would be certainly\npreferable, if we were sure that by it we should be annihilated. But\n_there lies the rub_! But the reasons brought to bear against suicide by\nthe priests of monotheistic, that is of Jewish religions, and by those\nphilosophers who adapt themselves to it, are weak sophisms easily\ncontradicted.[20] Hume has furnished the most thorough refutation of\nthem in his _Essay on Suicide_, which did not appear until after his\ndeath, and was immediately suppressed by the shameful bigotry and gross\necclesiastical tyranny existing in England. Hence, only a very few\ncopies of it were sold secretly, and those at a dear price; and for this\nand another treatise of that great man we are indebted to a reprint\npublished at Basle. That a purely philosophical treatise originating\nfrom one of the greatest thinkers and writers of England, which refuted\nwith cold reason the current arguments against suicide, must steal about\nin that country as if it were a fraudulent piece of work until it found\nprotection in a foreign country, is a great disgrace to the English\nnation. At the same time it shows what a good conscience the Church has\non a question of this kind. The only valid moral reason against suicide\nhas been explained in my chief work. It is this: that suicide prevents\nthe attainment of the highest moral aim, since it substitutes a real\nrelease from this world of misery for one that is merely apparent. But\nthere is a very great difference between a mistake and a crime, and it\nis as a crime that the Christian clergy wish to stamp it. Christianity's\ninmost truth is that suffering (the Cross) is the real purpose of life;\nhence it condemns suicide as thwarting this end, while the ancients,\nfrom a lower point of view, approved of it, nay, honoured it. This\nargument against suicide is nevertheless ascetic, and only holds good\nfrom a much higher ethical standpoint than has ever been taken by moral\nphilosophers in Europe. But if we come down from that very high\nstandpoint, there is no longer a valid moral reason for condemning\nsuicide. The extraordinarily active zeal with which the clergy of\nmonotheistic religions attack suicide is not supported either by the\nBible or by any valid reasons; so it looks as if their zeal must be\ninstigated by some secret motive. May it not be that the voluntary\nsacrificing of one's life is a poor compliment to him who said, \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\n\u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u03b1 \u03bb\u03b9\u03b1\u03bd?[21]\n\nIn that case it would be another example of the gross optimism of these\nreligions denouncing suicide, in order to avoid being denounced by it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs a rule, it will be found that as soon as the terrors of life outweigh\nthe terrors of death a man will put an end to his life. The resistance\nof the terrors of death is, however, considerable; they stand like a\nsentinel at the gate that leads out of life. Perhaps there is no one\nliving who would not have already put an end to his life if this end had\nbeen something that was purely negative, a sudden cessation of\nexistence. But there is something positive about it, namely, the\ndestruction of the body. And this alarms a man simply because his body\nis the manifestation of the will to live.\n\nMeanwhile, the fight as a rule with these sentinels is not so hard as it\nmay appear to be from a distance; in consequence, it is true, of the\nantagonism between mental and physical suffering. For instance, if we\nsuffer very great bodily pain, or if the pain lasts a long time, we\nbecome indifferent to all other troubles: our recovery is what we desire\nmost dearly. In the same way, great mental suffering makes us insensible\nto bodily suffering: we despise it. Nay, if it outweighs the other, we\nfind it a beneficial distraction, a pause in our mental suffering. And\nso it is that suicide becomes easy; for the bodily pain that is bound up\nwith it loses all importance in the eyes of one who is tormented by\nexcessive mental suffering. This is particularly obvious in the case of\nthose who are driven to commit suicide through some purely morbid and\ndiscordant feeling. They have no feelings to overcome; they do not need\nto rush at it, but as soon as the keeper who looks after them leaves\nthem for two minutes they quickly put an end to their life.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen in some horrid and frightful dream we reach the highest pitch of\nterror, it awakens us, scattering all the monsters of the night. The\nsame thing happens in the dream of life, when the greatest degree of\nterror compels us to break it off.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSuicide may also be looked upon as an experiment, as a question which\nman puts to Nature and compels her to answer. It asks, what change a\nman's existence and knowledge of things experience through death? It is\nan awkward experiment to make; for it destroys the very consciousness\nthat awaits the answer.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[19] Translated by St. Julien, 1834.\n\n[20] See my treatise on the _Foundation of Morals_, \u00a7 5.\n\n[21] Bd. I. p. 69.","title":"Essays of Schopenhauer","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":73328}