{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/wikisource_Counsels_and_Maxims_Chapter_V/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/wikisource_Counsels_and_Maxims_Chapter_V","id":"wikisource_Counsels_and_Maxims_Chapter_V","license":"Public Domain / CC-BY-SA (see source)","rights_basis":"wikisource_site_inclusion_policy","source":"wikisource","source_url":"https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Counsels_and_Maxims/Chapter_V","summary":null,"tags":["Pages_with_translator","Subpages"],"text":"THE AGES OF LIFE.\n\nThere is a very fine saying of Voltaire's to the effect that every age of life has its own peculiar mental character, and that a man will feel completely unhappy if his mind is not in accordance with his years:\u2014\n\nQui n'a pas l'esprit de son age,\n\nDe son age atout le malheur.\n\nIt will, therefore, be a fitting close to our speculations upon the nature of happiness, if we glance at the chances which the various periods of life produce in us.\n\nOur whole life long it is the present, and the present alone, that we actually possess: the only difference is that at the beginning of life we look forward to a long future, and that towards the end we look back upon a long past; also that our temperament, but not our character, undergoes certain well-known changes, which make the present wear a different color at each period of life.\n\nI have elsewhere stated that in childhood we are more given to using our intellect than our will; and I have explained why this is so. It is just for this reason that the first quarter of life is so happy: as we look back upon it in after years, it seems a sort of lost paradise. In childhood our relations with others are limited, our wants are few,\u2014in a word, there is little stimulus for the will; and so our chief concern is the extension of our knowledge. The intellect\u2014like the brain, which attains its full size in the seventh year, is developed early, though it takes time to mature; and it explores the whole world of its surroundings in its constant search for nutriment: it is then that existence is in itself an ever fresh delight, and all things sparkle with the charm of novelty.\n\nThis is why the years of childhood are like a long poem. For the function of poetry, as of all art, is to grasp the Idea\u2014in the Platonic sense; in other words, to apprehend a particular object in\nsuch a way as to perceive its essential nature, the characteristics it has in common with all other objects of the same kind; so that a single object appears as the representative of a class, and the\nresults of one experience hold good for a thousand.\n\nIt may be thought that my remarks are opposed to fact, and that the child is never occupied with anything beyond the individual objects or events which are presented to it from time to time, and then only in so far as they interest and excite its will for the moment; but this is not really the case. In those early years, life\u2014in the full meaning of the word, is something so new and fresh, and its sensations are so keen and unblunted by repetition, that, in the midst of all its pursuits and without any clear consciousness of what it is doing, the child is always silently occupied in grasping the nature of life itself,\u2014in arriving at its fundamental character and general outline\nby means of separate scenes and experiences; or, to use Spinoza's phraseology, the child is learning to see the things and persons about it sub specie aeternitatis,\u2014as particular manifestations of\nuniversal law.\n\nThe younger we are, then, the more does every individual object represent for us the whole class to which it belongs; but as the years increase, this becomes less and less the case. That is the reason why youthful impressions are so different from those of old age. And that it also why the slight knowledge and experience gained in childhood and youth afterwards come to stand as the permanent rubric, or heading, for all the knowledge acquired in later life,\u2014those early forms of knowledge passing into categories, as it were, under which the results of subsequent experience are classified; though a clear consciousness of what is being done, does not always attend upon the process.\n\nIn this way the earliest years of a man's life lay the foundation of his view of the world, whether it be shallow or deep; and although this view may be extended and perfected later on, it is not materially altered. It is an effect of this purely objective and therefore poetical view of the world,\u2014essential to the period of childhood and promoted by the as yet undeveloped state of the volitional energy\u2014that, as children, we are concerned much more with the acquisition of pure knowledge than with exercising the power of will. Hence that grave, fixed look observable in so many children, of which Raphael makes such a happy use in his depiction of cherubs, especially in the picture of the Sistine Madonna. The years of childhood are thus rendered so full of bliss that the memory of them is always coupled with longing and regret.\n\nWhile we thus eagerly apply ourselves to learning the outward aspect of things, as the primitive method of understanding the objects about us, education aims at instilling into us ideas. But ideas furnish no information as to the real and essential nature of objects, which, as the foundation and true content of all knowledge, can be reached only by the process called intuition. This is a kind of knowledge which can in no wise be instilled into us from without; we must arrive at it by and for ourselves.\n\nHence a man's intellectual as well as his moral qualities proceed from the depths of his own nature, and are not the result of external influences; and no educational scheme\u2014of Pestalozzi, or of any one else\u2014can turn a born simpleton into a man of sense. The thing is impossible! He was born a simpleton, and a simpleton he will die.\n\nIt is the depth and intensity of this early intuitive knowledge of the external world that explain why the experiences of childhood take such a firm hold on the memory. When we were young, we were completely absorbed in our immediate surroundings; there was nothing to distract our attention from them; we looked upon the objects about us as though they were the only ones of their kind, as though, indeed, nothing else existed at all. Later on, when we come to find out how many things there are in the world, this primitive state of mind vanishes, and with it our patience.\n\nI have said elsewhere that the world, considered as object,\u2014in other words, as it is presented to us objectively,\u2014wears in general a pleasing aspect; but that in the world, considered as subject,\u2014that is, in regard to its inner nature, which is will,\u2014pain and trouble predominate. I may be allowed to express the matter, briefly, thus: the world is glorious to look at, but dreadful in reality.\n\nAccordingly, we find that, in the years of childhood, the world is much better known to us on its outer or objective side, namely, as the presentation of will, than on the side of its inner nature, namely, as the will itself. Since the objective side wears a pleasing aspect, and the inner or subjective side, with its tale of horror, remains as yet unknown, the youth, as his intelligence develops, takes all the forms of beauty that he sees, in nature and in art, for so many objects of\nblissful existence; they are so beautiful to the outward eye that, on their inner side, they must, he thinks, be much more beautiful still. So the world lies before him like another Eden; and this is the\nArcadia in which we are all born.\n\nA little later, this state of mind gives birth to a thirst for real life\u2014the impulse to do and suffer\u2014which drives a man forth into the hurly-burly of the world. There he learns the other side of\nexistence\u2014the inner side, the will, which is thwarted at every step. Then comes the great period of disillusion, a period of very gradual growth; but once it has fairly begun, a man will tell you that he has got over all his false notions\u2014l'age des illusions est passe; and yet the process is only beginning, and it goes on extending its sway and applying more and more to the whole of life.\n\nSo it may be said that in childhood, life looks like the scenery in a theatre, as you view it from a distance; and that in old age it is like the same scenery when you come up quite close to it.\n\nAnd, lastly, there is another circumstance that contributes to the happiness of childhood. As spring commences, the young leaves on the trees are similar in color and much the same in shape; and in the\nfirst years of life we all resemble one another and harmonize very well. But with puberty divergence begins; and, like the radii of a circle, we go further and further apart.\n\nThe period of youth, which forms the remainder of this earlier half of our existence\u2014and how many advantages it has over the later half!\u2014is troubled and made miserable by the pursuit of happiness, as though there were no doubt that it can be met with somewhere in life,\u2014a hope that always ends in failure and leads to discontent. An illusory image of some vague future bliss--born of a dream and shaped by fancy\u2014floats before our eyes; and we search for the reality in vain. So it is that the young man is generally dissatisfied with the position in which he finds himself, whatever it may be; he ascribes his disappointment solely to the state of things that meets him on his first introduction to life, when he had expected something very different; whereas it is only the vanity and wretchedness of human life everywhere that he is now for the first time experiencing.\n\nIt would be a great advantage to a young man if his early training could eradicate the idea that the world has a great deal to offer him. But the usual result of education is to strengthen this delusion; and our first ideas of life are generally taken from fiction rather than from fact.\n\nIn the bright dawn of our youthful days, the poetry of life spreads out a gorgeous vision before us, and we torture ourselves by longing to see it realized. We might as well wish to grasp the rainbow! The youth expects his career to be like an interesting romance; and there lies the germ of that disappointment which I have been describing. What lends a charm to all these visions is just the fact that they are visionary and not real, and that in contemplating them we are in the sphere of pure knowledge, which is sufficient in itself and free from the noise and struggle of life. To try and realize those visions is to make them an object of will\u2014a process which always involves pain.\n\nIf the chief feature of the earlier half of life is a never-satisfied longing after happiness, the later half is characterized by the dread of misfortune. For, as we advance in years, it becomes in a greater or less degree clear that all happiness is chimerical in its nature, and that pain alone is real. Accordingly, in later years, we, or, at least, the more prudent amongst us, are more intent upon eliminating what is painful from our lives and making our position secure, than on the pursuit of positive pleasure. I may observe, by the way, that in old age, we are better able to prevent misfortunes from coming, and in youth better able to bear them when they come.\n\nIn my young days, I was always pleased to hear a ring at my door: ah! thought I, now for something pleasant. But in later life my feelings on such occasions were rather akin to dismay than to pleasure: heaven help me! thought I, what am I to do? A similar revulsion of feeling in regard to the world of men takes place in all persons of any talent or distinction. For that very reason they cannot be said properly to belong to the world; in a greater or less degree, according to the extent of their superiority, they stand alone. In their youth they have a sense of being abandoned by the world; but later on, they feel as though they had escaped it. The earlier feeling is an unpleasant\none, and rests upon ignorance; the second is pleasurable\u2014for in the meantime they have come to know what the world is.\n\nThe consequence of this is that, as compared with the earlier, the later half of life, like the second part of a musical period, has less of passionate longing and more restfulness about it. And why is this the case Simply because, in youth, a man fancies that there is a prodigious amount of happiness and pleasure to be had in the world, only that it is difficult to come by it; whereas, when he becomes old, he knows that there is nothing of the kind; he makes his mind completely at ease on the matter, enjoys the present hour as well as he can, and even takes a pleasure in trifles.\n\nThe chief result gained by experience of life is clearness of view. This is what distinguishes the man of mature age, and makes the world wear such a different aspect from that which it presented in his youth or boyhood. It is only then that he sees things quite plain, and takes them for that which they really are: while in earlier years he saw a phantom-world, put together out of the whims and crotchets of his own mind, inherited prejudice and strange delusion: the real world was hidden from him, or the vision of it distorted. The first thing that experience finds to do is to free us from the phantoms of the brain\u2014those false notions that have been put into us in youth.\n\nTo prevent their entrance at all would, of course, be the best form of education, even though it were only negative in aim: but it would be a task full of difficulty. At first the child's horizon would have to be limited as much as possible, and yet within that limited sphere none but clear and correct notions would have to be given; only after the child had properly appreciated everything within it, might the sphere be gradually enlarged; care being always taken that nothing was left obscure, or half or wrongly understood. The consequence of this training would be that the child's notions of men and things would always be limited and simple in their character; but, on the other hand, they would be clear and correct, and only need to be extended, not to be rectified. The same line might be pursued on into the period of youth. This method of education would lay special stress upon the\nprohibition of novel reading; and the place of novels would be taken by suitable biographical literature\u2014the life of Franklin, for instance, or Moritz' Anton Reiser.\n\nIn our early days we fancy that the leading events in our life, and the persons who are going to play an important part in it, will make their entrance to the sound of drums and trumpets; but when, in old age, we look back, we find that they all came in quite quietly, slipped in, as it were, by the side-door, almost unnoticed.\n\nFrom the point of view we have been taking up until now, life may be compared to a piece of embroidery, of which, during the first half of his time, a man gets a sight of the right side, and during the second half, of the wrong. The wrong side is not so pretty as the right, but it is more instructive; it shows the way in which the threads have been worked together.\n\nIntellectual superiority, even if it is of the highest kind, will not secure for a man a preponderating place in conversation until after he is forty years of age. For age and experience, though they can never be a substitute for intellectual talent, may far outweigh it; and even in a person of the meanest capacity, they give a certain counterpoise to the power of an extremely intellectual man, so long as the latter is young. Of course I allude here to personal superiority, not to the place a man may gain by his works.\n\nAnd on passing his fortieth year, any man of the slightest power of mind\u2014any man, that is, who has more than the sorry share of intellect with which Nature has endowed five-sixths of mankind\u2014will hardly fail to show some trace of misanthropy. For, as is natural, he has by that time inferred other people's character from an examination of his own; with the result that he has been gradually disappointed to find that in the qualities of the head or in those of the heart\u2014and usually in\nboth\u2014he reaches a level to which they do not attain; so he gladly avoids having anything more to do with them. For it may be said, in general, that every man will love or hate solitude\u2014in other Words,\nhis own society\u2014just in proportion as he is worth anything in himself. Kant has some remarks upon this kind of misanthropy in his Critique of the Faculty of Judgment.\n\nIn a young man, it is a bad sign, as well from an intellectual as from a moral point of view, if he is precocious in understanding the ways of the world, and in adapting himself to its pursuits; if he at once knows how to deal with men, and enters upon life, as it were, fully prepared. It argues a vulgar nature. On the other hand, to be surprised and astonished at the way people act, and to be clumsy and cross-grained in having to do with them, indicates a character of the nobler sort.\n\nThe cheerfulness and vivacity of youth are partly due to the fact that, when we are ascending the hill of life, death is not visible: it lies down at the bottom of the other side. But once we have crossed the top of the hill, death comes in view\u2014death\u2014which, until then, was known to us only by hearsay. This makes our spirits droop, for at the same time we begin to feel that our vital powers are on the ebb. A grave seriousness now takes the place of that early extravagance of spirit; and the change is noticeable even in the expression of a man's face. As long as we are young, people may tell us what they please! we look upon life as endless and use our time recklessly; but the older we become, the more we practice economy. For towards the close of life, every day we live gives us the same kind of sensation as the criminal experiences at every step on his way to be tried.\n\nFrom the standpoint of youth, life seems to stretch away into an endless future; from the standpoint of old age, to go back but a little way into the past; so that, at the beginning, life presents us\nwith a picture in which the objects appear a great way off, as though we had reversed our telescope; while in the end everything seems so close. To see how short life is, a man must have grown old, that is to say, he must have lived long.\n\nOn the other hand, as the years increase, things look smaller, one and all; and Life, which had so firm and stable a base in the days of our youth, now seems nothing but a rapid flight of moments, every one of them illusory: we have come to see that the whole world is vanity!\n\nTime itself seems to go at a much slower pace when we are young; so that not only is the first quarter of life the happiest, it is also the longest of all; it leaves more memories behind it. If a man were put to it, he could tell you more out of the first quarter of his life than out of two of the remaining periods. Nay, in the spring of life, as in the spring of the year, the days reach a length that is positively tiresome; but in the autumn, whether of the year or of life, though they are short, they are more genial and uniform.\n\nBut why is it that to an old man his past life appears so short? For this reason: his memory is short; and so he fancies that his life has been short too. He no longer remembers the insignificant parts of it, and much that was unpleasant is now forgotten; how little, then, there is left! For, in general, a man's memory is as imperfect as his intellect; and he must make a practice of reflecting upon the lessons he has learned and the events he has experienced, if he does not want them both to sink gradually into the gulf of oblivion. Now, we are unaccustomed to reflect upon matters of no importance, or, as a rule, upon things that we have found disagreeable, and yet that is necessary\nif the memory of them is to be preserved. But the class of things that may be called insignificant is continually receiving fresh additions: much that wears an air of importance at first, gradually becomes of no consequence at all from the fact of its frequent repetition; so that in the end we actually lose count of the number of times it happens. Hence we are better able to remember the events of our early than of our later years. The longer we live, the fewer are the things that we can call important or significant enough to deserve further consideration, and by this alone can they be fixed in the memory; in other words, they are forgotten as soon as they are past. Thus it is that time runs on, leaving always fewer traces of its passage.\n\nFurther, if disagreeable things have happened to us, we do not care to ruminate upon them, least of all when they touch our vanity, as is usually the case; for few misfortunes fall upon us for which we can be held entirely blameless. So people are very ready to forget many things that are disagreeable, as well as many that are unimportant.\n\nIt is from this double cause that our memory is so short; and a man's recollection of what has happened always becomes proportionately shorter, the more things that have occupied him in life. The things we did in years gone by, the events that happened long ago, are like those objects on the coast which, to the seafarer on his outward voyage, become smaller every minute, more unrecognizable and harder to distinguish.\n\nAgain, it sometimes happens that memory and imagination will call up some long past scene as vividly as if it had occurred only yesterday; so that the event in question seems to stand very near to the present time. The reason of this is that it is impossible to call up all the intervening period in the same vivid way, as there is no one figure pervading it which can be taken in at a glance; and besides, most of the things that happened in that period are forgotten, and all that remains of it is the general knowledge that we have lived through it\u2014a mere notion of abstract existence, not a direct vision of some particular experience. It is this that causes some single event of long ago to appear as though it took place but yesterday: the intervening time vanishes, and the whole of life looks incredibly short. Nay, there are occasional moments in old age when we can scarcely believe that we are so advanced in years, or that the long past lying behind us has had any real existence\u2014a feeling which is mainly due to the circumstance that the present always seems fixed and immovable as we look at it. These and similar mental phenomena are ultimately to be traced to the fact that it is not our nature in itself, but only the outward presentation of it, that lies in time, and that the present is the point of contact between the world as subject and the world as object.\n\nAgain, why is it that in youth we can see no end to the years that seem to lie before us? Because we are obliged to find room for all the things we hope to attain in life. We cram the years so full of\nprojects that if we were to try and carry them all out, death would come prematurely though we reached the age of Methuselah.\n\nAnother reason why life looks so long when we are young, is that we are apt to measure its length by the few years we have already lived. In those early years things are new to us, and so they appear\nimportant; we dwell upon them after they have happened and often call them to mind; and thus in youth life seems replete with incident, and therefore of long duration.\n\nSometimes we credit ourselves with a longing to be in some distant spot, whereas, in truth, we are only longing to have the time back again which we spent there\u2014days when we were younger and fresher than we are now. In those moments Time mocks us by wearing the mask of space; and if we travel to the spot, we can see how much we have been deceived.\n\nThere are two ways of reaching a great age, both of which presuppose a sound constitution as a conditio sine qua non. They may be illustrated by two lamps, one of which burns a long time with very little oil, because it has a very thin wick; and the other just as long, though it has a very thick one, because there is plenty of oil to feed it. Here, the oil is the vital energy, and the difference in the wick is the manifold way in which the vital energy is used.\n\nUp to our thirty-sixth year, we may be compared, in respect of the way in which we use our vital energy, to people who live on the interest of their money: what they spend to-day, they have again to-morrow. But from the age of thirty-six onwards, our position is like that of the investor who begins to entrench upon his capital. At first he hardly notices any difference at all, as the greater part of his expenses is covered by the interest of his securities; and if the deficit is but slight, he pays no attention to it. But the deficit goes on increasing, until he awakes to the fact that it is becoming more serious every day: his position becomes less and less secure, and he feels himself growing poorer and poorer, while he has no expectation of this drain upon his resources coming to an end. His fall from wealth to poverty becomes faster every moment\u2014like the fall of a solid body in space, until at last he has absolutely nothing left. A man is truly in a woeful plight if both the terms of this comparison\u2014his vital energy and his wealth\u2014really begin to melt away at one and the same time. It is the dread of this calamity that makes love of possession increase with age.\n\nOn the other hand, at the beginning of life, in the years before we attain majority, and for some little time afterwards\u2014the state of our vital energy puts us on a level with those who each year lay by a part of their interest and add it to their capital: in other words, not only does their interest come in regularly, but the capital is constantly receiving additions. This happy condition of affairs is sometimes brought about\u2014with health as with money\u2014under the watchful care of some honest guardian. O happy youth, and sad old age!\n\nNevertheless, a man should economize his strength even when he is young. Aristotle observes that amongst those who were victors at Olympia only two or three gained a prize at two different periods, once in boyhood and then again when they came to be men; and the reason of this was that the premature efforts which the training involved, so completely exhausted their powers that they failed to last on into manhood. As this is true of muscular, so it is still more true of nervous energy, of which all intellectual achievements are the manifestation. Hence, those infant prodigies\u2014ingenia praecoda\u2014the fruit of a hot-house education, who surprise us by their cleverness as children, afterwards turn out very ordinary folk. Nay, the manner in which boys are forced into an early acquaintance with the ancient tongues may, perhaps, be to blame for the dullness and lack of judgment which distinguish so many learned persons.\n\nI have said that almost every man's character seems to be specially suited to some one period of life, so that on reaching it the man is at his best. Some people are charming so long as they are young, and afterwards there is nothing attractive about them; others are vigorous and active in manhood, and then lose all the value they possess as they advance in years; many appear to best advantage in old age, when their character assumes a gentler tone, as becomes men who have seen\nthe world and take life easily. This is often the case with the French.\n\nThis peculiarity must be due to the fact that the man's character has something in it akin to the qualities of youth or manhood or old age\u2014something which accords with one or another of these periods of life, or perhaps acts as a corrective to its special failings.\n\nThe mariner observes the progress he makes only by the way in which objects on the coast fade away into the distance and apparently decrease in size. In the same way a man becomes conscious that he is\nadvancing in years when he finds that people older than himself begin to seem young to him.\n\nIt has already been remarked that the older a man becomes, the fewer are the traces left in his mind by all that he sees, does or experiences, and the cause of this has been explained. There is thus\na sense in which it may be said that it is only in youth that a man lives with a full degree of consciousness, and that he is only half alive when he is old. As the years advance, his consciousness of what goes on about him dwindles, and the things of life hurry by without making any impression upon him, just as none is made by a work of art seen for the thousandth time. A man does what his hand finds to do, and afterwards he does not know whether he has done it or not.\n\nAs life becomes more and more unconscious, the nearer it approaches the point at which all consciousness ceases, the course of time itself seems to increase in rapidity. In childhood all the things and circumstances of life are novel; and that is sufficient to awake us to the full consciousness of existence: hence, at that age, the day seems of such immense length. The same thing happens when we are traveling: one month seems longer then than four spent at home. Still, though\ntime seems to last longer when we are young or on a journey, the sense of novelty does not prevent it from now and then in reality hanging heavily upon our hands under both these circumstances, at any rate more than is the case when we are old or staying at home. But the intellect gradually becomes so rubbed down and blunted by long habituation to such impressions that things have a constant tendency\nto produce less and less impression upon us as they pass by; and this makes time seem increasingly less important, and therefore shorter in duration: the hours of the boy are longer than the days of the old man. Accordingly, time goes faster and faster the longer we live, like a ball rolling down a hill. Or, to take another example: as in a revolving disc, the further a point lies from the centre, the more rapid is its rate of progression, so it is in the wheel of life; the further you stand from the beginning, the faster time moves for you. Hence it may be said that as far as concerns the immediate sensation that time makes upon our minds, the length of any given year is in direct proportion to the number of times it will divide our whole life: for instance, at the age of fifty the year appears to us only one-tenth as long as it did at the age of five.\n\nThis variation in the rate at which time appears to move, exercises a most decided influence upon the whole nature of our existence at every period of it. First of all, it causes childhood\u2014even though it\nembrace only a span of fifteen years\u2014to seem the longest period of life, and therefore the richest in reminiscences. Next, it brings it about that a man is apt to be bored just in proportion as he is young. Consider, for instance, that constant need of occupation\u2014whether it is work or play\u2014that is shown by children: if they come to an end of both work and play, a terrible feeling of boredom ensues. Even in youth people are by no means free from this tendency, and dread the hours when they have nothing to do. As manhood approaches, boredom disappears; and old men find the time too short when their days fly past them like arrows from a bow. Of course, I must be understood to speak of men, not of decrepit brutes. With this increased rapidity of time, boredom mostly passes away as we advance in life; and as the passions with all their attendant pain are then laid asleep, the\nburden of life is, on the whole, appreciably lighter in later years than in youth, provided, of course, that health remains. So it is that the period immediately preceding the weakness and troubles of old age, receives the name of a man's best years.\n\nThat may be a true appellation, in view of the comfortable feeling which those years bring; but for all that the years of youth, when our consciousness is lively and open to every sort of impression, have this privilege\u2014that then the seeds are sown and the buds come forth; it is the springtime of the mind. Deep truths may be perceived, but can never be excogitated\u2014that is to say, the first knowledge of them is immediate, called forth by some momentary impression. This knowledge is of such a kind as to be attainable only when the impressions are strong, lively and deep; and if we are to be acquainted with deep truths, everything depends upon a proper use of our early years. In later life, we may be better able to work upon other people,\u2014upon the world, because our natures are then finished and rounded off, and no more a prey to fresh views; but then the world is less able to work upon us. These are the years of action and achievement; while youth is the time for forming fundamental conceptions, and laying down the ground-work of thought.\n\nIn youth it is the outward aspect of things that most engages us; while in age, thought or reflection is the predominating quality of the mind. Hence, youth is the time for poetry, and age is more\ninclined to philosophy. In practical affairs it is the same: a man shapes his resolutions in youth more by the impression that the outward world makes upon him; whereas, when he is old, it is thought\nthat determines his actions. This is partly to be explained by the fact that it is only when a man is old that the results of outward observation are present in sufficient numbers to allow of their being\nclassified according to the ideas they represent,\u2014a process which in its turn causes those ideas to be more fully understood in all their bearings, and the exact value and amount of trust to be placed in them, fixed and determined; while at the same time he has grown accustomed to the impressions produced by the various phenomena of life, and their effects on him are no longer what they were.\nContrarily, in youth, the impressions that things make, that is to say, the outward aspects of life, are so overpoweringly strong, especially in the case of people of lively and imaginative disposition, that they view the world like a picture; and their chief concern is the figure they cut in it, the appearance they present; nay, they are unaware of the extent to which this is the case. It is\na quality of mind that shows itself\u2014if in no other way\u2014in that personal vanity, and that love of fine clothes, which distinguish young people.\n\nThere can be no doubt that the intellectual powers are most capable of enduring great and sustained efforts in youth, up to the age of thirty-five at latest; from which period their strength begins to\ndecline, though very gradually. Still, the later years of life, and even old age itself, are not without their intellectual compensation. It is only then that a man can be said to be really rich in experience or in learning; he has then had time and opportunity enough to enable him to see and think over life from all its sides; he has been able to compare one thing with another, and to discover points of contact and connecting links, so that only then are the true relations of things rightly understood. Further, in old age there comes an increased depth in the knowledge that was acquired in youth; a man has now many more illustrations of any ideas he may have attained; things which he\nthought he knew when he was young, he now knows in reality. And besides, his range of knowledge is wider; and in whatever direction it extends, it is thorough, and therefore formed into a consistent and connected whole; whereas in youth knowledge is always defective and fragmentary.\n\nA complete and adequate notion of life can never be attained by any one who does not reach old age; for it is only the old man who sees life whole and knows its natural course; it is only he who is\nacquainted\u2014and this is most important\u2014not only with its entrance, like the rest of mankind, but with its exit too; so that he alone has a full sense of its utter vanity; whilst the others never cease to\nlabor under the false notion that everything will come right in the end.\n\nOn the other hand, there is more conceptive power in youth, and at that time of life a man can make more out of the little that he knows. In age, judgment, penetration and thoroughness predominate. Youth is the time for amassing the material for a knowledge of the world that shall be distinctive and peculiar,\u2014for an original view of life, in other words, the legacy that a man of genius leaves to his fellow-men; it is, however, only in later years that he becomes master of his material. Accordingly it will be found that, as a rule, a great writer gives his best work to the world when he is about fifty years of age. But though the tree of knowledge must reach its full height before it\ncan bear fruit, the roots of it lie in youth.\n\nEvery generation, no matter how paltry its character, thinks itself\nmuch wiser than the one immediately preceding it, let alone those that\nare more remote. It is just the same with the different periods in a\nman's life; and yet often, in the one case no less than in the other,\nit is a mistaken opinion. In the years of physical growth, when\nour powers of mind and our stores of knowledge are receiving daily\nadditions, it becomes a habit for to-day to look down with contempt\nupon yesterday. The habit strikes root, and remains even after the\nintellectual powers have begun to decline,\u2014when to-day should rather\nlook up with respect to yesterday. So it is that we often unduly\ndepreciate the achievements as well as the judgments of our youth.\nThis seems the place for making the general observation, that,\nalthough in its main qualities a man's intellect or head, as well\nas his character or heart, is innate, yet the former is by no\nmeans so unalterable in its nature as the latter. The fact is that the\nintellect is subject to very many transformations, which, as a rule,\ndo not fail to make their actual appearance; and this is so, partly\nbecause the intellect has a deep foundation in the physique,\nand partly because the material with which it deals is given in\nexperience. And so, from a physical point of view, we find that if a\nman has any peculiar power, it first gradually increases in strength\nuntil it reaches its acme, after which it enters upon a path of slow\ndecadence, until it ends in imbecility. But, on the other hand,\nwe must not lose sight of the fact that the material which gives\nemployment to a man's powers and keeps them in activity,\u2014the\nsubject-matter of thought and knowledge, experience, intellectual\nattainments, the practice of seeing to the bottom of things, and so a\nperfect mental vision, form in themselves a mass which continues to\nincrease in size, until the time comes when weakness shows itself,\nand the man's powers suddenly fail. The way in which these two\ndistinguishable elements combine in the same nature,\u2014the one\nabsolutely unalterable, and the other subject to change in two\ndirections opposed to each other\u2014explains the variety of mental\nattitude and the dissimilarity of value which attach to a man at\ndifferent periods of life.\n\nThe same truth may be more broadly expressed by saying that the first\nforty years of life furnish the text, while the remaining thirty\nsupply the commentary; and that without the commentary we are unable\nto understand aright the true sense and coherence of the text,\ntogether with the moral it contains and all the subtle application of\nwhich it admits.\n\nTowards the close of life, much the same thing happens as at the end of a bal masque\u2014the masks are taken off. Then you can see who the people really are, with whom you have come into contact in your passage through the world. For by the end of life characters have come out in their true light, actions have borne fruit, achievements have been rightly appreciated, and all shams have fallen to pieces. For this, Time was in every case requisite.\n\nBut the most curious fact is that it is also only towards the close\nof life than a man really recognizes and understands his own true\nself,\u2014the aims and objects he has followed in life, more especially\nthe kind of relation in which he has stood to other people and to the\nworld. It will often happen that as a result of this knowledge, a man\nwill have to assign himself a lower place than he formerly thought\nwas his due. But there are exceptions to this rule; and it will\noccasionally be the case that he will take a higher position than he\nhad before. This will be owing to the fact that he had no adequate\nnotion of the baseness of the world, and that he set up a higher aim\nfor himself than was followed by the rest of mankind.\n\nThe progress of life shows a man the stuff of which he is made.\n\nIt is customary to call youth the happy, and age the sad part of life.\nThis would be true if it were the passions that made a man happy.\nYouth is swayed to and fro by them; and they give a great deal of pain\nand little pleasure. In age the passions cool and leave a man at rest,\nand then forthwith his mind takes a contemplative tone; the intellect\nis set free and attains the upper hand. And since, in itself,\nintellect is beyond the range of pain, and man feels happy just in so\nfar as his intellect is the predominating part of him.\n\nIt need only be remembered that all pleasure is negative, and that\npain is positive in its nature, in order to see that the passions can\nnever be a source of happiness, and that age is not the less to be\nenvied on the ground that many pleasures are denied it. For every sort\nof pleasure is never anything more than the quietive of some need or\nlonging; and that pleasure should come to an end as soon as the need\nceases, is no more a subject of complaint than that a man cannot go on\neating after he has had his dinner, or fall asleep again after a good\nnight's rest.\n\nSo far from youth being the happiest period of life, there is much\nmore truth in the remark made by Plato, at the beginning of the\nRepublic, that the prize should rather be given to old age, because\nthen at last a man is freed from the animal passion which has hitherto\nnever ceased to disquiet him. Nay, it may even be said that the\ncountless and manifold humors which have their source in this passion,\nand the emotions that spring from it, produce a mild state of madness;\nand this lasts as long as the man is subject to the spell of\nthe impulse\u2014this evil spirit, as it were, of which there is no\nriddance\u2014so that he never really becomes a reasonable being until the\npassion is extinguished.\n\nThere is no doubt that, in general, and apart from individual\ncircumstances and particular dispositions, youth is marked by a\ncertain melancholy and sadness, while genial sentiments attach to old\nage; and the reason for this is nothing but the fact that the young\nman is still under the service, nay, the forced labor, imposed by that\nevil spirit, which scarcely ever leaves him a moment to himself. To\nthis source may be traced, directly or indirectly, almost all and\nevery ill that befalls or menaces mankind. The old man is genial and\ncheerful because, after long lying in the bonds of passion, he can now\nmove about in freedom.\n\nStill, it should not be forgotten that, when this passion is\nextinguished, the true kernel of life is gone, and nothing remains but\nthe hollow shell; or, from another point of view, life then becomes\nlike a comedy, which, begun by real actors, is continued and brought\nto an end by automata dressed in their clothes.\n\nHowever that may be, youth is the period of unrest, and age of repose;\nand from that very circumstance, the relative degree of pleasure\nbelonging to each may be inferred. The child stretches out its little\nhands in the eager desire to seize all the pretty things that meet its\nsight, charmed by the world because all its senses are still so young\nand fresh. Much the same thing happens with the youth, and he displays\ngreater energy in his quest. He, too, is charmed by all the pretty\nthings and the many pleasing shapes that surround him; and forthwith\nhis imagination conjures up pleasures which the world can never\nrealize. So he is filled with an ardent desire for he knows not what\ndelights--robbing him of all rest and making happiness impossible.\nBut when old age is reached, all this is over and done with, partly\nbecause the blood runs cooler and the senses are no longer so easily\nallured; partly because experience has shown the true value of things\nand the futility of pleasure, whereby illusion has been gradually\ndispelled, and the strange fancies and prejudices which previously\nconcealed or distorted a free and true view of the world, have been\ndissipated and put to flight; with the result that a man can now get\na juster and clearer view, and see things as they are, and also in a\nmeasure attain more or less insight into the nullity of all things on\nthis earth.\n\nIt is this that gives almost every old man, no matter how ordinary his\nfaculties may be, a certain tincture of wisdom, which distinguishes\nhim from the young. But the chief result of all this change is the\npeace of mind that ensues\u2014a great element in happiness, and, in fact,\nthe condition and essence of it. While the young man fancies that\nthere is a vast amount of good things in the world, if he could only\ncome at them, the old man is steeped in the truth of the Preacher's\nwords, that all things are vanity\u2014knowing that, however gilded the\nshell, the nut is hollow.\n\nIn these later years, and not before, a man comes to a true\nappreciation of Horace's maxim: Nil admirari. He is directly and\nsincerely convinced of the vanity of everything and that all the\nglories of the world are as nothing: his illusions are gone. He is\nno more beset with the idea that there is any particular amount of\nhappiness anywhere, in the palace or in the cottage, any more than he\nhimself enjoys when he is free from bodily or mental pain. The worldly\ndistinctions of great and small, high and low, exist for him no\nlonger; and in this blissful state of mind the old man may look down\nwith a smile upon all false notions. He is completely undeceived, and\nknows that whatever may be done to adorn human life and deck it out in\nfinery, its paltry character will soon show through the glitter of its\nsurroundings; and that, paint and be jewel it as one may, it remains\neverywhere much the same,\u2014an existence which has no true value except\nin freedom from pain, and is never to be estimated by the presence of\npleasure, let alone, then, of display.\n\nDisillusion is the chief characteristic of old age; for by that time\nthe fictions are gone which gave life its charm and spurred on the\nmind to activity; the splendors of the world have been proved null and\nvain; its pomp, grandeur and magnificence are faded. A man has then\nfound out that behind most of the things he wants, and most of the\npleasures he longs for, there is very little after all; and so he\ncomes by degrees to see that our existence is all empty and void. It\nis only when he is seventy years old that he quite understands the\nfirst words of the Preacher; and this again explains why it is that\nold men are sometimes fretful and morose.\n\nIt is often said that the common lot of old age is disease and\nweariness of life. Disease is by no means essential to old age;\nespecially where a really long span of years is to be attained; for\nas life goes on, the conditions of health and disorder tend to\nincrease\u2014crescente vita, crescit sanitas et morbus. And as far as\nweariness or boredom is concerned, I have stated above why old age is\neven less exposed to that form of evil than youth. Nor is boredom by\nany means to be taken as a necessary accompaniment of that solitude,\nwhich, for reasons that do not require to be explained, old age\ncertainly cannot escape; it is rather the fate that awaits those who\nhave never known any other pleasures but the gratification of the\nsenses and the delights of society\u2014who have left their minds\nunenlightened and their faculties unused. It is quite true that the\nintellectual faculties decline with the approach of old age; but where\nthey were originally strong, there will always be enough left to\ncombat the onslaught of boredom. And then again, as I have said,\nexperience, knowledge, reflection, and skill in dealing with men,\ncombine to give an old man an increasingly accurate insight into the\nways of the world; his judgment becomes keen and he attains a coherent\nview of life: his mental vision embraces a wider range. Constantly\nfinding new uses for his stores of knowledge and adding to them at\nevery opportunity, he maintains uninterrupted that inward process of\nself-education, which gives employment and satisfaction to the mind,\nand thus forms the due reward of all its efforts.\n\nAll this serves in some measure as a compensation for decreased intellectual power. And besides, Time, as I have remarked, seems to go much more quickly when we are advanced in years; and this is in itself a preventive of boredom. There is no great harm in the fact that a man's bodily strength decreases in old age, unless, indeed, he requires it to make a living. To be poor when one is old, is a great misfortune. If a man is secure from that, and retains his health, old age may be a very passable time of life. Its chief necessity is to be comfortable and well off; and, in consequence, money is then prized more than ever, because it is a substitute for failing strength. Deserted by Venus, the old man likes to turn to Bacchus to make him merry. In the place of wanting to see things, to travel and learn, comes the desire to speak and teach. It is a piece of good fortune if the old man retains some of his love of study or of music or of the theatre,\u2014if, in general, he is still somewhat susceptible to the things about him; as is, indeed, the case with some people to a very\nlate age. At that time of life, what a man has in himself is of greater advantage to him that ever it was before.\n\nThere can be no doubt that most people who have never been anything but dull and stupid, become more and more of automata as they grow old. They have always thought, said and done the same things as their neighbors; and nothing that happens now can change their disposition, or make them act otherwise. To talk to old people of this kind is like writing on the sand; if you produce any impression at all, it is gone almost immediately; old age is here nothing but the caput mortuum\nof life\u2014all that is essential to manhood is gone. There are cases in which nature supplies a third set of teeth in old age, thereby apparently demonstrating the fact that that period of life is a second childhood.\n\nIt is certainly a very melancholy thing that all a man's faculties tend to waste away as he grows old, and at a rate that increases in rapidity: but still, this is a necessary, nay, a beneficial\narrangement, as otherwise death, for which it is a preparation, would be too hard to bear. So the greatest boon that follows the attainment of extreme old age is euthanasia,\u2014an easy death, not ushered in by disease, and free from all pain and struggle. For let a man live as long as he may, he is never conscious of any moment but the present, one and indivisible; and in those late years the mind loses more every day by sheer forgetfulness than ever it gains anew.\n\nThe main difference between youth and age will always be that youth looks forward to life, and old age to death; and that while the one has a short past and a long future before it, the case is just the opposite with the other. It is quite true that when a man is old, to die is the only thing that awaits him; while if he is young, he may expect to live; and the question arises which of the two fates is the more hazardous, and if life is not a matter which, on the whole, it is better to have behind one than before? Does not the Preacher say: the day of death [is better] than the day of one's birth. It is certainly a rash thing to wish for long life; for as the Spanish proverb has it, it means to see much evil,\u2014Quien larga vida vive mucho mal vide.\n\nIn one of the Vedic Upanishads (Oupnekhat, II.) the natural length of human life is put down at one hundred years. And I believe this to be right. I have observed, as a matter of fact, that it is only people who exceed the age of ninety who attain euthanasia,\u2014who die, that is to say, of no disease, apoplexy or convulsion, and pass away without agony of any sort; nay, who sometimes even show no pallor, but expire generally in a sitting attitude, and often after a meal,\u2014or, I may say, simply cease to live rather than die. To come to one's end before the age of ninety, means to die of disease, in other words, prematurely.\n\nNow the Old Testament (Psalms xc. 10) puts the limit of human life at seventy, and if it is very long, at eighty years; and what is more noticeable still, Herodotus (i. 32 and iii. 22) says the same thing. But this is wrong; and the error is due simply to a rough and superficial estimate of the results of daily experience. For if the natural length of life were from seventy to eighty years, people would die, about that time, of mere old age. Now this is certainly not the case. If they die then, they die, like younger people, of disease; and disease is something abnormal. Therefore it is not natural to die at that age. It is only when they are between ninety and a hundred that people die of old age; die, I mean, without suffering from any disease, or showing any special signs of their condition, such as a struggle, death-rattle, convulsion, pallor,\u2014the absence of all which\nconstitutes euthanasia. The natural length of human life is a hundred years; and in assigning that limit the Upanishads are right once more.]\n\nA man's individual career is not, as Astrology wishes to make out, to be predicted from observation of the planets; but the course of human life in general, as far as the various periods of it are concerned, may be likened to the succession of the planets: so that we may be said to pass under the influence of each one of them in turn.\n\nAt ten, Mercury is in the ascendant; and at that age, a youth, like this planet, is characterized by extreme mobility within a narrow sphere, where trifles have a great effect upon him; but under the\nguidance of so crafty and eloquent a god, he easily makes great progress. Venus begins her sway during his twentieth year, and then a man is wholly given up to the love of women. At thirty, Mars comes to the front, and he is now all energy and strength,\u2014daring, pugnacious and arrogant.\n\nWhen a man reaches the age of forty, he is under the rule of the four Asteroids; that is to say, his life has gained something in extension. He is frugal; in other words, by the help of Ceres, he favors what is useful; he has his own hearth, by the influence of Vesta; Pallas has taught him that which is necessary for him to know; and his wife\u2014his Juno\u2014rules as the mistress of his house.\n\nBut at the age of fifty, Jupiter is the dominant influence. At that period a man has outlived most of his contemporaries, and he can feel himself superior to the generation about him. He is still in the full enjoyment of his strength, and rich in experience and knowledge; and if he has any power and position of his own, he is endowed with authority over all who stand in his immediate surroundings. He is no more inclined to receive orders from others; he wants to take command\nhimself. The work most suitable to him now is to guide and rule within his own sphere. This is the point where Jupiter culminates, and where the man of fifty years is at his best.\n\nThen comes Saturn, at about the age of sixty, a weight as of lead, dull and slow:\u2014\n\nBut old folks, many feign as they were dead;\n\nUnwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.\n\nLast of all, Uranus; or, as the saying is, a man goes to heaven.\n\nI cannot find a place for Neptune, as this planet has been very thoughtlessly named; because I may not call it as it should be called\u2014Eros. Otherwise I should point out how Beginning and End\nmeet together, and how closely and intimately Eros is connected with Death: how Orcus, or Amenthes, as the Egyptians called him, is not only the receiver but the giver of all things\u2014[Greek: lambanon kai didous]. Death is the great reservoir of Life. Everything comes from Orcus; everything that is alive now was once there. Could we but understand the great trick by which that is done, all would be clear!","title":"Counsels and Maxims/Chapter V","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":10244}