Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2016 https://archive.org/details/wisdomoflife01scho ES coxoxoxox< oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoXoxgxo; 1 8 8 V § 8 jj I J-r: VNIVERSAL CLASSICS W LIBRARY«SW APPLETON PRENTISS CLARK GRIFFIN LIBRARY OF CONGRESS EDITORIAL DIRECTOR. U LOXGRQXOi Jr: GXOToTO IQ 3 N ?< ?< I 0 1 I 0 1 8 >< G I 1 8 > < O > < o 0 8 1 1 § N § 1 1 p; G 1 I > < I 0 8 1 I 1 ¥ITH PHOTOGRAWRES ON HAND PAINTED INDIA-PLATE ■ DXoXoXo, £>X oXoxoxoxoXoXoXoXoXoXoXo^ 21 QlQXQXGb i M.WALTER DUNNE, PUBLISHER WASHINGTON O' LONDON i ?< R G ?<■ w' :gX0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0X0'X0XgXqXqYG 'w Copyright, 1901 , BY M. WALTER DUNNE, PUBLISHER ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER From a Painting by F. von Lenbach. WITH A SPECIAL JAMES GIBSON Professor of Philosop) ER AND OTHER ESSAYS ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER TRANSLATED BY BAILEY SAUNDERS and ERNEST BELFORT BAX WITH A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY JAMES GIBSON HUME, M.A.,Ph.D, Professor of Philosophy, University of Toronto. NAVALTER DUNNE, PUBLISHER WASHINGTON & LONDON Copyright, 1901 , BY .WALTER DUNNE, PUBLISHER 195.7 . S3 735 P SPECIAL INTRODUCTION T he Essays of Schopenhauer comprised in this volume are well designated by the title which specially per- tains to the first Essay. It will be noticed that the earlier essays are predominantly theoretical or meta- physical, the later practical or ethical. Hence we have in these Essays Schopenhauer’s views upon a num- ber of important problems in Metaphysics and Ethics, valuable, as an introduction to his more abstract expo- sitions, to the specialist in philosophy, and yet presented in such a manner as to appeal to the general reader and student of literature. Among philosophical writers Schopenhauer enjoys the advantage of standing alone. He cannot be classified. He thus escapes being lost in the crowd. It is indeed true that a great deal of what he writes is taken from his predecessors. It is, however, borrowed, not stolen. It is in each case acknowledged and accredited to the original authors, and while it is adopted by Schopenhauer it is so assimilated and transmuted as to become his own, bearing his image and superscription. He also possesses the advantage of a distinctive and polished literary style. He has a highly developed artistic sense and in accordance with this selects and arranges his material, in a form of expression pleasing to his readers. Although a recluse and given to the habit of talking to himself, when he writes he talks to his reader frankly and entertainingly. While he does not even pretend to practice what he preaches in regard to ethical matters, it will be found that his views on the writing of literature are practiced by himself. For instance, note the advice to writers upon the choice of a title. How well has he succeeded in this. Each of his writings has a title appropriate, striking, suggestive, illuminating. (v) VI SCHOPENHAUER Another advantage that Schopenhauer has, is, that while posing as a critic, he is also the advocate of a positive be- lief. His criticism is not merely fault-finding without any substitute proposed. His confidence in his own theory, whether justifiable or not, makes him earnest at all times, and this makes even his petty moods and savage attacks attain a certain dignity that covers a multitude of sins. An additional advantage that Schopenhauer has is in possessing a unique and striking personality. This always attracts notice and interest even if it does not evoke admiration or elicit approval. On the whole there is more of what we can in a sense admire than there is of what we can commend in Schopenhauer’s personality. Nevertheless one is fascinated with the peculiarities of this eccentric individual. He is a problem as complex as his philosophy. Indeed they are the same problem, for, as much as any writer not excepting Fichte, and much more than most other writers, Schopenhauer’s philosophy is an expression of himself. His own peculiar character is the (< will ” of which his philosophy is the “presentation,” to use his own phraseology. From this one would naturally be led to expect a consistent and harmonious system, but this presupposes a unitary char- acter. Such, however, is just the reverse of the facts in this case. Schopenhauer’s character is a walking contra- diction. No delineation of a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde can approach to the weird and uncanny way in which the two natures are bound together, forever fiercely fighting, not alternating, in Schopenhauer. He himself is well aware of this, and in his own way tries to account for it first by heredity and secondly by a philosophy of the Universe. His philosophy of the Universe is just himself “writ large,” just as his remarks on women are just a detailed account of his mother, as he views her. Arthur Schopenhauer was born in 1788, died in i860.* His *For Schopenhauer’s (< Life and Writings, » see Article <( Arthur Scho- penhauer » in Encyclopaedia Britannica, Vol. XXI., pp. 448-458; also <( Life of Arthur Schopenhauer, » by William Wallace, with Bibliog- raphy, byj. P. Anderson, up to 1890; published by Walter Scott, London. For a criticism of Schopenhauer’s system see article by R. Adam- son in "Mind,® Vol. I., 1876, pp. 491-509. SPECIAL INTRODUCTION vii father, Heinrich Schopenhauer, was a wealthy merchant of Dantzic, of strong political opinions, cosmopolitan in- terests, and independence of thought. His mother was Johanna Schopenhauer, a graceful and refined lady of lit- erary instincts and ambitions, who, after her husband’s death, attained to some degree of success as an author- ess. From the standpoint of heredity Schopenhauer was unfortunate on the father’s side, as there were in the father strong tendencies to mental alienation that ap- peared in the son in the form of eccentricities, ground- less fears, and suspiciousness. On his mother’s side he also suffered in environment, for according to Scho- penhauer’s testimony, her method of dealing with him was unsympathetic. It must be granted that he was not an easy individual to deal with. His mother’s butterfly vanity and her selfishness, her method of snubbing, mortifying, and disparaging her son were unfortunate and injurious in their influence. She did not seem to have the true mother instinct of love which Schopenhauer sadly needed. While Kant could recall the tender solici- tude and pious influence of a godly and deeply affection- ate mother molding his whole life, Schopenhauer could accuse his mother of frivolity and heartlessness. Not that she was positively cruel, but simply lacking in regard for her son. With natural tendencies that dragged him to the earth, there was conjoined a genius that turned his gaze upward persistently. This was his love for the beautiful and his interest in reflective contemplation. From the poet- philosopher Plato he appropriated a vision of the ideal world in contrast with the fleeting shadows that mock us. Plato’s story of the Cave is Schopenhauer’s philosophy in its main features. He turns with eager interest to the neo-Platonic adaptations of the original Plato. From this he is led back to Oriental speculation with its Buddhistic self-obliteration, its annihilation of the Will-to-live, its Nir- vana. He studied Kant assiduously and made himself familiar with the leading features of this great modern thinker. When he began to write his own views he ■claimed to be the true disciple of Kant, but in reality he translates, selects, rejects, adapts, and modifies Kant to SCHOPENHAUER viii suit his own predilections. He was the first to call at- tention to the differences in the two editions of Kant’s “ Critique of the Pure Reason, ” and fiercely attacks Kant for modifications introduced into the second edition. Among English readers both Kant and Hegel have suf- fered to some extent from the fact that in many cases they have been first looked at through the spectacles of Schopenhauer’s presentation, which is often a misrepresen- tation. The fault is partly with Kant and Hegel. What Schopenhauer says about the style or rather lack of style in much that they wrote is — unfortunately too true. It is not surprising that the majority of those to whom German is a foreign language should begin their acquaint- ance with German philosophy through the reading of Schopenhauer, because of the elegance, simplicity, and charm of his exposition. But Schopenhauer is not a trust- worthy expositor or critic of others. He can speak for himself and he warns his readers against accepting any exposition of an author, earnestly advises them to go to the originals and not take their impressions from the “cast of a cast,” blurred and indistinct like old type. A knowledge of Kant will help much in the comprehension and correction of Schopenhauer. A knowledge of Hegel is almost as essential to the philosophical student as an antidote against Schopenhauer’s onesidedness.* It would be the easiest thing in the world to trace contradictions in Schopenhauer. According to his theory the whole Universe is a mighty contradiction where the false appearances continually strive to usurp the place that rightfully belongs to the deeper, more abiding Will. What Schopenhauer means by “Will” is a puzzle not easily solved. The reader should be warned against lightly identifying the term with his own previous con- ceptions. In connection with this chief term we may find opposite poles of meaning from the crudest material- istic to the most refined idealistic. It would be tedious to enumerate the ambiguities whereby he alternately pleases and displeases all sorts and conditions of theorizers and * The following writers in English have been in various degrees influenced by Hegel: Morris, Wallace, Green, John and Edward Caird, Watson, Royce, Ritchie, Dewey, Harris. SPECIAL INTRODUCTION IX anti-theorizers. He declares that a man’s creed should be <( I must have a metaphysic, ® and then elaborately argmes that all metaphysic is foolishness. He asserts that specula- tion is for action, wisdom for life, and then sophistically argues that we should not expect a metaphysician to be a saint, and as usual proves (?) it by a misleading analogy from the sculptor who does not need to be himself beauti- ful to make a beautiful statue. He does not claim con- sistency between his theory and his practice. Although he discovers the root of all morality and religion in a basal sympathy due to the fact that in the last resort all be- ings are but passing phases of the one identical striving; the chief characteristic in Schopenhauer is his misan- thropic lack of sympathy. Although he outruns the mys- tics, the pietists and the pantheists in his demand not only for the renunciation of the joys of life but also of the love of life, he cleverly refutes the foolishness of suicide. In spite of contradictions sometimes amusing, often tragic, due to the conflict of his own character, we may gather much of what is true and excellent from Schopen- hauer. His claim that a man should have a theory of life that is really his own and not one blindly adopted on authority is a truth that needs to be reasserted in every age. Without this insight, no progress. Schopen- hauer has been accused of repudiating history altogether. What he despises and condemns is the mere enumeration of incidents without discerning their deeper meaning. It may be granted that he does more to state the prob- lem of life than he does toward solving it. He refers to <( Will ® as his ultimate metaphysical reality, and to (< Sympathy ® as his ultimate ethical principle. The prob- lem he leaves to his successors is to discover in what sense (< Will ® and (< Sympathy ® must be understood, if they are to result in self-conservation and not in self- destruction as in Schopenhauer. Even Schopenhauer’s pessimistic conclusion has a philosophical value. Unlike such writers as John Locke and John Stuart Mill, who start with a narrow theory and end with many excellent truths that are brought in not because of their theory, but in spite of it, whereby the original jackdaw gets decked in borrowed plumage, Schopenhauer with all his SCHOPENHAUER x waywardness is at least in his final conclusion consistent with his fundamental philosophy. To those who reject his (< materialistic pantheism, w the gloomy pessimism in which it is seen to issue will be regarded as a truer insight than the somewhat shallow optimism that charac- terizes other recent theosophical pantheistic systems. The pessimistic conclusion is more likely to lead to a reconsid- eration of the original presuppositions. Schopenhauer explicitly announces that he is in open revolt against every so-called orthodox position. His work is throughout a protest. He naturally attracts to him every one who is dissatisfied, and where can we find anyone who thinks seriously who does not find something needing emendation ? It will not be surprising if the majority of those who would in varying degrees accept Schopenhauer’s denunciations of established opinions should also see equal force in the objections that could be urged against his own position. The result might be that instead of saying that nothing was left over worthy of being retained, the point of view gained by the dis- covery of inadequacy in each one-sided position might lead to the stereoscopic combination whereby a new result would be gained far in advance of either Schopenhauer or his opponents, for which we should give both of them humble and hearty thanks. Schopenhauer, in spite of all his faults, is a mine of suggestion both to the literary and to the philosophical student. If we understand the secret of his waywardness and extend our sympathy, we shall reap much benefit and not waste our efforts in too harsh criticism. 1 CONTENTS THE WISDOM OF LIFE Chap. Page Introduction i I. Division of the Subject 3 II. Personality, or What a Man Is 12 III. Property, or What a Man Has 36 IV. Position, or a Man’s Place in the Estimation of Others — Sect. 1. Reputation 44 Sect. 2. Pride 51 Sect. 3. Rank 53 Sect. 4. Honor 54 Sect. 5. Fame 85 ESSAYS Sketch of a History of the Doctrine of the Ideal and Real ior Fragments of the History of Philosophy — Sect. 1. On the same 129 Sect. 2. Pre-Socratic Philosophy 130 Sect. 3. Socrates 139 Sect. 4. Plato 14 1 Sect 5. Aristotle 145 Sect. 6. Stoics 150 Sect. 7. Neoplatonists 155 Sect. 8. The Gnostics 159 Sect. 9. Scotus Erigena 160 Sect. 10. Scholasticism 164 Sect. ix. Bacon of Verulam 165 Sect. 12. The Philosophy of the Moderns . . . 167 Sect. 13. Further Observations on Kantian Philosophy 178 Sect. 14. Observations on Schopenhauer’s Philosophy 230 On Philosophy and Its Method 237 Some Reflections on the Antithesis of Thing-in-itself and Phenomenon 255 (xi) SCHOPENHAUER xii Pagb Some Words on Pantheism 263 On Ethics 266 On the Doctrine of the Indestructibility of Our True Nature by Death 304 On Suicide 318 Contributions to the Doctrine of the Affirmation and Negation of the Will-to-live 323 INTRODUCTION. In these pages I shall speak of <( The Wisdom of Life ® in the common meaning of the term, as the art, namely, of ordering our lives so as to obtain the greatest possible amount of pleasure and success; an art the theory of which may be called EudjEmonology, for it teaches us how to lead a happy existence. Such an existence might per- haps be defined as one which, looked at from a purely objective point of view, or rather, after cool and mature reflection — for the question necessarily involves subjective considerations, — would be decidedly preferable to non- existence; implying that we should cling to it for its own sake, and not merely from the fear of death ; and further, that we should never like it to come to an end. Now whether human life corresponds, or could possibly correspond, to this conception of existence, is a question to which, as is well known, my philosophical system returns a negative answer. On the eudsemonistic hypothesis, how- ever, the question must be answered in the affirmative; and I have shown, in the second volume of my chief work ( ch. 49 ) , that this hypothesis is based upon a fundamental mistake. Accordingly, in elaborating the scheme of a happy existence, I have had to make a complete surrender of the higher metaphysical and ethical standpoint to which my own theories lead; and everything I shall say here will to some extent rest upon a compromise; in so far, that is, as I take the common standpoint of every day, and embrace the error which is at the bottom of it. My remarks, therefore, will possess only a qualified value, for the very word eud.emonology is a euphemism. Further, I make no claims to completeness; partly because the sub- ject is inexhaustible, and partly because I should otherwise have to say over again what has been already said by others. i (i) 2 INTRODUCTION The only book composed, as far as I remember, with a like purpose to that which animates this collection of aphorisms, is Cardan’s De utilitate ex adversis capienda , which is well worth reading, and may be used to supple- ment the present work. Aristotle, it is true, has a few words on eudaemonology in the fifth chapter of the first book of his (( Rhetoric ; }> but what he says does not come to very much. As compilation is not my business, I have made no use of these predecessors; more especially be- cause in the process of compiling individuality of view is lost, and individuality of view is the kernel of works of this kind. In general, indeed, the wise in all ages have always said the same thing, and the fools, who at all times form the immense majority, have in their way, too, acted alike, and done just the opposite; and so it will continue. For, as Voltaire says, we shall leave this world as FOOLISH AND AS WICKED AS WE FOUND IT ON OUR ARRIVAL. THE WISDOM OF LIFE. CHAPTER I. Division of the Subject. Aristotle divides the blessings of life into three classes — those which come to us from without, those of the soul, and those of the body. Keeping nothing of this division but the number, I observe that the fundamen- tal differences in human lot may be reduced to three distinct classes : (1) What a man is : that is to say, personality, in the widest sense of the word; under which are included health, strength, beauty, temperament, moral character, intelligence and education. (2) What a man has : that is, property and possessions of every kind. (3) How a man stands in the estimation of others : by which is to be understood, as everybody knows, what a man is in the eyes of his fellow-men, or, more strictly, the light in which they regard him. This is shown by their opinion of him; and their opinion is in its turn manifested by the honor in which he is held, and by his rank and reputation. The differences which come under the first head are those which Nature herself has set between man and man ; and from this fact alone we may at once infer that they influence the happiness or unhappiness of mankind in a much more vital and radical way than those contained under the two following heads, which are merely the effect of human arrangements. Compared with genuine personal advantages, such as a great mind or a great heart, all the privileges of rank or birth, even of royal birth, are but as kings on the stage to kings in real life. The same thing was said long ago by Metrodorus, the ( 3 ) 4 THE WISDOM OF LIFE earliest disciple of Epicurus, who wrote as the title of one of his chapters, The happiness we receive from OURSELVES IS GREATER THAN THAT WHICH WE OBTAIN FROM our surroundings. And it is an obvious fact, which cannot be called in question, that the principal element in a man’s well-being, — indeed, in the whole tenor of his existence, — is what he is made of, his inner constitution. For this is the immediate source of that inward satis- faction or dissatisfaction resulting from the sum total of his sensations, desires and thoughts; while his surround- ings on the other hand, exert only a mediate or indirect influence upon him. This is why the same external events or circumstances affect no two people alike; even with perfectly similar surroundings every one lives in a world of his own. For a man has immediate appre- hension only of his own ideas, feelings and volitions; the outer world can influence him only in so far as it brings these to life. The world in which a man lives shapes itself chiefly by the way in which he looks at it, and so it proves different to different men; to one it is barren, dull, and superficial; to another rich, interesting, and full! of meaning. On hearing of the interesting events which have happened in the course of a man’s experience, many people will wish that similar things had happened in their lives too, completely forgetting that they should be envious rather of the mental aptitude which lent those events the significance they possess when he describes them. To a man of genius they were interesting adven- tures; but to the dull perceptions of an ordinary individual they would have been stale, everyday occurrences. This is in the highest degree the case with many of Goethe’s and Byron’s poems, which are obviously founded upon actual facts; where it is open to a foolish reader to envy the poet because so many delightful things happened to him, instead of envying that mighty power of phantasy which was capable of turning a fairly common experience into something so great and beautiful. In the same way, a person of melancholy temperament will make a scene in a tragedy out of what appears to the sanguine man only in the light of an interesting con- flict, and to a phlegmatic soul as something without any DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT 5 meaning. This all rests upon the fact that every event, in order to be realized and appreciated, requires the co- operation of two factors, namely, a subject and an object; although these are as closely and necessarily connected as oxygen and hydrogen in water. When therefore the objective or external factor in an experience is actually the same, but the subjective or personal appreciation of it varies, the event is just as much a different one in the eyes of different persons as if the objective factors had not been alike; for to a blunt intelligence the fairest and best object in the world presents only a poor reality and is therefore only poorly appreciated, — like a fine landscape in dull weather, or in the reflection of a bad camera obscura. In plain language, every man is pent up within the limits of hig own consciousness, and cannot directly get beyond those limits any more than he can get beyond his own skin; so external aid is not of much use to him. On the stage, one man is a prince, another a minister, a third a servant or a soldier or a general, and so on, mere external differences; the inner reality, the kernel of all these ap- pearances is the same — a poor player, with all the anxie- ties of his lot. In life it is just the same. Differences of rank and wealth give every man his part to play, but this by no means implies a difference of inward happiness and pleasure; here, too, there is the same being in all — a poor mortal, with his hardships and troubles. Though these may, indeed, in every case proceed from dissimilar causes, they are in their essential nature much the same in all their forms, with degrees of intensity which vary, no doubt, but in nowise correspond to the part a man has to play, or the presence or absence of position and wealth. Since everything which exists or happens for a man exists only in his consciousness and happens for it alone, the most essential thing for a man is the constitu- tion of this consciousness, which is in most cases far more important than the circumstances which go to form its contents. All the pride and pleasure of the world, mir- rored in the dull consciousness of a fool, is poor indeed compared with the imagination of Cervantes writing his w Don Quixote ® in a miserable prison. The objective half of life and reality is in the hand of fate, and accord- ingly takes various forms in different cases: the subjec- 6 THE WISDOM OF LIFE tive half is ourself, and in essentials it always remains the same. Hence the life of every man is stamped with the same character throughout, however much his external circum- stances may alter; it is like a series of variations on a single theme. No one can get beyond his own individual- ity. An animal, under whatever circumstances it is placed, remains within the narrow limits to which nature has irrevocably consigned it; so that our endeavors to make a pet happy must always keep within the compass of its nature, and be restricted to what it can feel. So it is with man; the measure of the happiness he can attain is determined beforehand by his individuality. More espe- cially is this the case with the mental powers, which fix once for all his capacity for the higher kinds of pleasure. If these powers are small, no efforts from without, noth- ing that his fellow-men or that fortune can do for him, will suffice to raise him above the ordinary degree of hu- man happiness and pleasure, half animal though it be. His only resources are his sensual appetite, a cosy and cheerful family life at the most, low company and vulgar pastime; even education, on the whole, can avail little, if anything, for the enlargement of his horizon. For the highest, most varied and lasting pleasures are those of the mind, however much our youth may deceive us on this point; and the pleasures of the mind turn chiefly on the powers of the mind. It is clear, then, that our happi- ness depends in a great degree upon what we are, upon our individuality, while lot or destiny is generally taken to mean only what we have, or our reputation. Our lot, in this sense, may improve; but we do not ask much of it if we are inwardly rich: on the other hand, a fool remains a fool, a dull blockhead, to his last hour, even though he were surrounded by houris in paradise. This is why Goethe, in the <( West-ostlicher Divan,” says that every man, whether he occupy a low position in life, or emerges as its victor, testifies to personality as the great- est factor in happiness : — Volk und Knecht und Ueberwinder Sie gestehen, zu jeder Zeit, Hochstes Gliick der Erdenkinder Sei nur die Personlichkeit. DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT 7 Common experience shows that the subjective element in life is incomparably more important for our happiness and pleasure than the objective, from such sayings as Hunger is the best sauce, and Youth and Age cannot live together, up to the life of the Genius and the Saint, Health outweighs all other blessings so much that one may really say that a healthy beggar is happier than an ailing king. A quiet and cheerful temperament, happy in the enjoyment of a perfectly sound physique, an intel- lect clear, lively, penetrating and seeing things as they are, a moderate and gentle will, and therefore a good conscience — these are privileges which no rank or wealth can make up for or replace. For what a man is in him- self, what accompanies him when he is alone, what no one can give or take away, is obviously more essential to him than everything he has in the way of possessions, or even what he may be in the eyes of the world. An intellectual man in complete solitude has excellent enter- tainment in his own thoughts and fancies, while no amount or diversity of social pleasure, theatres, excur- sions and amusements, can ward off boredom from a dullard. A good, temperate, gentle character can be happy in needy ciicumstances, while a covetous, envious and malicious man, even if he be the richest in the world, goes miserable. Nay more; to one who has the constant delight of a special individuality, with a high degree of intellect, most of the pleasures which are run after by mankind are perfectly superfluous; they are even a trouble and a burden. And so Horace says of himself, that, however many are deprived of the fancy-goods of life, there is one at least who can live without them : — Gemmas, marmor, ebur, Tyrrhena sigilla, tabellas. Argentum, vestes Gsetulo murice tinctas Sunt qui non babeant, est qui non curat habere; and when Socrates saw various articles of luxury spread out for sale, he exclaimed : How much there is in THE WORLD THAT I DO NOT WANT. So the first and most essential element in our life’s happiness is what we are, our personality, if for no other 8 THE WISDOM OF LIFE reason than that it is a constant factor coming into play- under all circumstances. Besides, unlike the blessings which are described under the other two heads, it is not the sport of destiny and cannot be wrested from us; and, so far, it is endowed with an absolute value in contrast to the merely relative worth of the other two. The conse- quence of this is that it is much more difficult than people commonly suppose to get a hold on a man from without. But here the all-powerful agent, Time, comes in and claims its rights, and before its influence physical and mental advantages gradually waste away. Moral character alone remains inaccessible to it. In view of the destructive ef- fect of time, it seems, indeed, as if the blessings named under the other two heads, of which time cannot directly rob us, were superior to those of the first. Another ad- vantage might be claimed for them, namely, that being in their very nature objective and external, they are attain- able, and every one is presented with the possibility, at least, of coming into possession of them ; while what is subjective is not open to us to acquire, but making its entry by a kind of divine right, it remains for life, im- mutable, inalienable, an inexorable doom. Let me quote those lines in which Goethe describes how an unalterable destiny is assigned to every man at the hour of his birth, so that he can develop only in the lines laid down for him, as it were, by the conjunctions of the stars; and how the Sibyl and the prophets declare that himself a man can never escape, nor any power of time avail to change the path on which his life is cast: — Wie an dem Tag, der dich der Welt verliehen, Die Sonne stand zum Grusse der Planeten, Bist alsobald und fort und fort gediehen, Nach dem Gesetz, wonach du angetreten. So musst du sein, dir kannst du nicht entfliehen, So sagten schon Sibyllen und Propheten; Und keine Zeit und keine Macht zerstiickelt Gepragte Form, die lebend sich entwickelt. The only thing that stands in our power to achieve, is to make the most advantageous use possible of the per- sonal qualities we possess, and accordingly to follow such pursuits only as will call them into play, to strive after DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT 9 the kind of perfection of which they admit and to avoid every other; consequently, to choose the position, occupa- tion and manner of life which are most suitable for their development. Imagine a man endowed with herculean strength who is compelled by circumstances to follow a sedentary occu- pation, some minute exquisite work of the hands, for ex- ample, or to engage in study and mental labor demanding quite other powers, and just those which he has not got, compelled, that is, to leave unused the powers in which he is pre-eminently strong; a man placed like this will never feel happy all his life through. Even more miser- able will be the lot of the man with intellectual powers of a very high order, who has to leave them undeveloped and unemployed, in the pursuit of a calling which does not require them, some bodily labor, perhaps, for which his strength is insufficient. Still, in a case of this kind, it should be our care, especially in youth, to avoid the precipice of presumption, and not ascribe to ourselves a superfluity of power which is not there. Since the blessings described under the first head de- cidedly outweigh those contained under the other two, it is manifestly a wiser course to aim at the maintenance of our health and the cultivation of our faculties, than at the amassing of wealth; but this must not be mistaken as meaning that we should neglect to acquire an adequate supply of the necessaries of life. Wealth, in the strict sense of the word, that is, great superfluity, can do little for our happiness; and many rich people feel unhappy just because they are without any true mental culture or knowl- edge, and consequently have no objective interests which would qualify them for intellectual occupations. For be- yond the satisfaction of some real and natural necessities, all that the possession of wealth can achieve has a very small influence upon our happiness, in the proper sense of the word; indeed, wealth rather disturbs it, be- cause the preservation of property entails a great many unavoidable anxieties. And still men are a thousand times more intent on becoming rich than on acquiring culture, though it is quite certain that what a man is contributes much more to his happiness than what he has. So you IO THE WISDOM OF LIFE may see many a man, as industrious as an ant, ceaselessly occupied from morning to night in the endeavor to in- crease his heap of gold. Beyond the narrow horizon of means to this end, he knows nothing; his mind is a blank, and consequently unsusceptible to any other influence. The highest pleasures, those of the intellect, are to him inaccessible, and he tries in vain to replace them by the fleeting pleasures of sense in which he indulges, lasting but a brief hour and at tremendous cost. And if he is lucky, his struggles result in his having a really great pile of gold, which he leaves to his heir, either to make it still larger or to squander it in extravagance. A life like this, though pursued with a sense of earnestness and an air of importance, is just as silly as many another which has a fool’s cap for its symbol. What a man has in himself is, then, the chief element in his happiness. Because this is, as a rule, so very little, most of those who are placed beyond the struggle with penury, feel at bottom quite as unhappy as those who are still engaged in it. Their minds are vacant, their imag- ination dull, their spirits poor, and so they are driven to the company of those like them — for similis simili gaudet — where they make common pursuit of pastime and en- tertainment, consisting for the most part in sensual pleas- ure, amusement of every kind, and finally, in excess and libertinism. A young man of rich family enters upon life with a large patrimony, and often runs through it in an incredibly short space of time, in vicious extravagance; and why ? Simply because, here too, the mind is empty and void, and so the man is bored with existence. He was sent forth into the world outwardly rich but inwardly poor, and his vain endeavor was to make his external wealth compensate for his inner poverty, by trying to ob- tain everything from without, like an old man who seeks to strengthen himself as King David or Mardchal de Retz tried to do. And so in the end one who is inwardly poor comes to be also poor outwardly. I need not insist upon the importance of the other two kinds of blessings which make up the happiness of human life; nowadays the value of possessing them is too well known to require advertisement. The third class, it is DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT n true, may seem, compared with the second, of a very ethereal character, as it consists only of other people’s opinions. Still everyone has to strive for reputation, that is to say, a good name. Rank, on the other hand, should be aspired to only by those who serve the State, and fame by very few indeed. In any case, reputation is looked upon as a priceless treasure, and fame as the most pre- cious of all the blessings a man can attain, the Golden Fleece, as it were, of the elect: while only fools will pre- fer rank to property. The second and third classes, more- over, are reciprocally cause and effect; so far that is, as Petronius’ maxim, habes habeberis, is true; and conversely, the favor of others, in all its forms, often puts us in the way of getting what we want. CHAPTER II. Personality, or What a Man Is. We have already seen, in general, that what a man is contributes much more to his happiness than what he has, or how he is regarded by others. What a man is, and so what he has in his own person, is always the chief thing to consider; for his individuality accompanies him always and everywhere, and gives its color to all his experiences. In every kind of enjoyment, for instance, the pleasure depends principally upon the man himself. Every one admits this in regard to physical, and how much truer it is of intellectual, pleasure. When we use that English expression, <( to enjoy oneself,® we are em- ploying a very striking and appropriate phrase; for ob- serve — one says not w he enjoys Paris,® but (< he enjoys himself in Paris. ® To a man possessed of an ill-conditioned individuality, all pleasure is like delicate wine in a mouth made bitter with gall. Therefore, in the blessings as well as in the ills of life, less depends upon what befalls us than upon the way in which it is met, that is, upon the kind and degree of our general susceptibility. What a man is and has in himself, — in a word, personality, with all it entails, is the only immediate and direct factor in his happiness and welfare. All else is mediate and indi- rect, and its influence can be neutralized and frustrated; but the influence of personality never. This is why the envy which personal qualities excite is the most implaca- ble of all, — as it is also the most carefully dissembled. Further, the constitution of our consciousness is the ever present and lasting element in all we do or suffer; our individuality is persistently at work, more or less, at every moment of our life; all other influences are temporal, in- cidental, fleeting, and subject to every kind of chance and change. This is why Aristotle says: It is not wealth but character that lasts. And just for the same reason we ( 12 ) PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS i3 can more easily bear a misfortune which comes to us entirely from without, than one which we have drawn upon our- selves; for fortune may always change, but not character. Therefore, subjective blessings, — a noble nature, a capable head, a joyful temperament, bright spirits, a well-constituted, perfectly sound physique, in a word, mens sana in corpore sano , are the first and most important elements in happi- ness; so that we should be more intent on promoting and preserving such qualities than on the possession of external wealth and external honor. And of all these, the one which makes us the most directly happy is a genial flow of good spirits; for this excellent quality is its own immediate reward. The man who is cheerful and merry has always a good reason for being so, the fact, namely, that he is so. There is noth- ing which, like this quality, can so completely replace the loss of every other blessing. If you know anyone who is young, handsome, rich and esteemed, and you want to know, further, if he is happy, ask, is he cheerful and genial ? and if he is, what does it matter whether he is young or old, straight or humpbacked, poor or rich ? he is happy. In my early days I once opened an old book and found these words: If you laugh a great deal, you are happy; if you cry a great deal, you are unhappy; a very simple remark, no doubt; but just because it is so simple I have never been able to forget it, even though it is in the last degree a truism. So if cheerfulness knocks at our door, we should throw it wide open, for it never comes inop- portunely. Instead of that, we often make scruples about letting it in. We want to be quite sure that we have every reason to be contented; then we are afraid that cheerfulness of spirits may interfere with serious reflec- tions or weighty cares. Cheerfulness is a direct and im- mediate gain, the very coin, as it were, of happiness, and not, like all else, merely a cheque upon the bank; for it alone makes us immediately happy in the present moment, and that is the highest blessing for beings like us, whose existence is but an infinitesimal moment between two eternities. To secure and promote this feeling of cheer- fulness should be the supreme aim of all our endeavors after happiness. 14 THE WISDOM OF LIFE Now it is certain that nothing contributes so little to cheerfulness as riches, or so much, as health. Is it not in the lower classes, the so-called working classes, more especially those of them who live in the country, that we see cheerful and contented faces ? and is it not among the rich, the upper classes, that we find faces full of ill-humor and vexation ? Consequently we should try as much as possible to maintain a high degree of health; for cheerfulness is the very flower of it. I need hardly say what one must do to be healthy — avoid every kind of excess, all violent and unpleasant emotion, all mental overstrain, take daily exercise in the open air, cold baths and such like hygienic measures. For without a proper amount of daily exercise no one can remain healthy; all the pro- cesses of life demand exercise for the due performance of their functions, exercise not only of the parts more immediately concerned, but also of the whole body. For, as Aristotle rightly says, Life is movement ; it is its very essence. Ceaseless and rapid motion goes on in every part of the organism. The heart, with its complicated double systole and diastole, beats strongly and untiringly; with twenty-eight beats it has to drive the whole of the blood through arteries, veins and cap- illaries; the lungs pump like a steam-engine, without intermission; the intestines are always in peristaltic action; the glands are all constantly absorbing and se- creting ; even the brain has a double motion of its own, with every beat of the pulse and every breath we draw. When people can get no exercise at all, as is the case with the countless numbers who are con- demned to a sedentary life, there is a glaring and fatal disproportion between outward inactivity and inner tumult. For this ceaseless internal motion requires some external counterpart, and the want of it produces effects like those of emotion which we are obliged to suppress. Even trees must be shaken by the wind, if they are to thrive. The rule which finds its application here may be most briefly expressed in Latin : oninis motus, quo celerior , eo magis motus. How much our happiness depends upon our spirits, and these again upon our state of health, may be seen by com- PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS 15 paring the influence which the same external circumstances or events have upon us when we are well and strong with the effect which they have when we are depressed and troubled with ill-health. It is not what things are object- ively and in themselves, but what they are for us, in our way of looking at them, that makes us happy or the re- verse. As Epictetus says, Men are not influenced by THINGS BUT BY THEIR THOUGHTS ABOUT THINGS. And, in general, nine-tenths of our happiness depends upon health alone. With health, everything is a source of pleasure: without it, nothing else, whatever it may be, is enjoyable; even the other personal blessings, — a great mind, a happy temperament — are degraded and dwarfed for want of it. So it is really with good reason that, when two people meet, the first thing they do is to inquire after each other’s health, and to express the hope that it is good; for good health is by far the most important element in human happiness. It follows from all this that the greatest of follies is to sacrifice health for any other kind of happiness, whatever it may be, for gain, advancement, learning or fame, let alone, then, for fleeting sensual pleasures. Every- thing else should rather be postponed to it. But however much health may contribute to that flow of good spirits which is so essential to our happiness, good spirits do not entirely depend upon health; for a man may be perfectly sound in his physique and still possess a melancholy temperament and be generally given up to sad thoughts. The ultimate cause of this is un- doubtedly to be found in innate, and therefore unalter- able physical constitution, especially in the more or less normal relation of a man’s sensitiveness to his muscular and vital energy. Abnormal sensitiveness produces in- equality of spirits, a predominating melancholy, with periodical fits of unrestrained liveliness. A genius is one whose nervous power or sensitiveness is largely in excess; as Aristotle has very correctly observed, Men distin- guished IN PHILOSOPHY, POLITICS, POETRY OR ART, APPEAR TO BE ALL OF A MELANCHOLY TEMPERAMENT. This is doubt- less the passage which Cicero has in his mind when he says, as he often does, Aristo teles ait omnes ingeniosos melancholicos esse. Shakespeare has very neatly expressed i6 THE WISDOM OF LIFE this radical and innate diversity of temperament in those lines in <( The Merchant of Venice M : Nature has framed strange fellows in her time; Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh, like parrots at a bag-piper; And others of such vinegar aspect, That they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. This is the difference which Plato draws between euKoioc and dixmoXos — the man of easy, and the man of difficult disposition — in proof of which he refers to the varying degrees of susceptibility which different people show to pleasurable and painful impressions; so that one man will laugh at what makes another despair. As a rule, the stronger the susceptibility to unpleasant impres- sions, the weaker is the susceptibility to pleasant ones, and vice versa. If it is equally possible for an event to turn out well or ill, the dueicoXoi will be annoyed or grieved if the issue is unfavorable, and will not rejoice, should it be happy. On the other hand, the elnoXo ? will neither worry nor fret over an unfavorable issue, but rejoice if it turns out well. If the one is successful in nine out of ten under- takings, he will not be pleased, but rather annoyed that one has miscarried; while the other, if only a single one succeeds, will manage to find consolation in the fact and remain cheerful. But here is another instance of the truth, that hardly any evil is entirely without its com- pensation; for the misfortunes and sufferings which the SuiTKoXot , that is, people of gloomy and anxious character, have to overcome, are, on the whole, more imaginary and therefore less real than those which befall the gay and careless; for a man who paints everything black, who constantly fears the worst and takes measures accordingly, will not be disappointed so often in this world, as one who always looks upon the bright side of things. And when a morbid affection of the nerves, or a derangement of the digestive organs, plays into the hand of an innate tend- ency to gloom, this tendency may reach such a height that permanent discomfort produces a weariness of life. So arises an inclination to suicide, which even the most PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS 17 trivial unpleasantness may actually bring about; nay, when the tendency attains its worst form, it may be occasioned by nothing in particular, but a man may resolve to put an end to his existence, simply because he is permanently unhappy, and then coolly and firmly carry out his deter- mination; as may be seen by the way in which the suf- ferer, when placed under supervision, as he usually is, eagerly waits to seize the first unguarded moment, when, without a shudder, without a struggle or recoil, he may use the now natural and welcome means of effecting his release. Even the healthiest, perhaps even the most cheerful man, may resolve upon death under certain circumstances; when, for instance, his sufferings, or his fears of some inevitable misfortune, reach such a pitch as to outweigh the terrors of death. The only difference lies in the degree of suffering necessary to bring about the fatal act, a degree which will be high in the case of a cheerful, and low in that of a gloomy man. The greater the melancholy, the lower need the degree be; in the end, it may even sink to zero. But if a man is cheer- ful, and his spirits are supported by good health, it re- quires a high degree of suffering to make him lay hands upon himself. There are countless steps in the scale be- tween the two extremes of suicide, the suicide which springs merely from a morbid intensification of innate gloom, and the suicide of the healthy and cheerful man, who has entirely objective grounds for putting an end to his existence. Beauty is partly an affair of health. It may be reck- oned as a personal advantage; though it does not, prop- erly speaking, contribute directly to our happiness. It does so indirectly, by impressing other people; and it is no unimportant advantage, even in man. Beauty is an open letter of recommendation, predisposing the heart to favor the person who presents it. As is well said in those lines of Homer, the gift of beauty is not lightly to be thrown away, that glorious gift which none can bestow save the gods alone — ouroc axofifo-jT dswv ip'.KuSia 8wpa } offffa nev auro'i dwacv, iKutv S’ouk av tj? sXoito. iS THE WISDOM OF LIFE The most general survey shows us that the two foes of human happiness are pain and boredom. We may go further, and say that in the degree in which we are for- tunate enough to get away from the one, we approach the other. Life presents, in fact, a more or less violent oscillation between the two. The reason of this is that each of these two poles stands in a double antagonism to the other, external or objective, and inner or subjective. Needy surroundings and poverty produce pain; while, if a man is more than well off, he is bored. Accordingly, while the lower classes are engaged in a ceaseless strug- gle with need, in other words with pain, the upper carry on a constant and often desperate battle with boredom.* The inner or subjective antagonism arises from the fact that, in the individual, susceptibility to pain varies in- versely with susceptibility to boredom, because suscepti- bility is directly proportionate to mental power. Let me explain. A dull mind is, as a rule associated with dull sensibilities, nerves which no stimulus can affect, a tem- perament, in short, which does not feel pain or anxiety very much, however great or terrible it may be. Now, intellectual dullness is at the bottom of that vacuity of soul which is stamped on so many faces, a state of mind which betrays itself by a constant and lively attention to all the trivial circumstances in the external world. This is the true source of boredom — a continual panting after excitement, in order to have a pretext for giving the mind and spirits something to occupy them. The kind of things people choose for this purpose shows that they are not very particular, as witness the miserable pastimes they have recourse to, and their ideas of social pleasure and conversation; or again, the number of people who gossip on the doorstep or gape out of the window. It is mainly because of this inner vacuity of soul that people go in quest of society, diversion, amusement, luxury of every sort, which lead many to extravagance and misery. Noth- ing is so good a protection against such misery as inward * And the extremes meet; for the lowest state of civilization, a nomad or wandering life, finds its counterpart in the highest, where everyone is at times a tourist. The earlier stage was a case of necessity; the latter is a remedy for boredom. PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS 19 wealth, the wealth of the mind, because the greater it grows, the less room it leaves for boredom. The inex- haustible activity of thought! finding ever new material to work upon in the multifarious phenomena of self and nature, and able and ready to form new combinations of them, there you have something that invigorates the mind, and apart from the moments of relaxation, sets it far above the reach of boredom. But, on the other hand, this high degree of intelligence is rooted in a high degree of susceptibility, greater strength of will, greater passionateness ; and from the union of these qualities comes an increased capacity for emotion, an en- hanced sensibility to all mental and even bodily pain, greater impatience of obstacles, greater resentment of in- terruption; all of which tendencies are augmented by the power of the imagination, the vivid character of the whole range of thought, including what is disagreeable. This applies, in varying degrees, to every step in the long scale of mental power, from the veriest dunce to the greatest genius that ever lived. Therefore the nearer anyone is, either from a subjective or from an objective point of view, to one of these sources of suffering in human life, the farther he is from the other. And so a man’s natural bent will lead him to make his objective world conform to his subjective as much as possible; that is to say, he will take the greatest measures against that form of suf- fering to which he is most liable. The wise man will, above all, strive after freedom from pain and annoyance, quiet and leisure, consequently a tranquil, modest life, with as few encounters as may be; and so, after a little experience of his so-called fellow-men, he will elect to live in retirement, or even, if he is a man of great intellect, in solitude. For the more a man has in himself, the less he will want from other people, the less, indeed, other peo- ple can be to him. This is why a high degree of intellect tends to make a man unsocial. True, if quality of intel- lect could be made up for by quantity, it might be worth while to live even in the great world ; but, unfortunately, a hundred fools together will not make one wise man. But the individual who stands at the other end of the scale is no sooner free from the pangs of need than he 20 THE WISDOM OF LIFE endeavors to get pastime and society at any cost, taking up with the first person he meets, and avoiding nothing so much as himself. For in solitude, where every one is thrown upon his own resources, what a man has in him- self comes to light: the fool in fine raiment groans under the burden of his miserable personality, a burden which he can never throw off, while the man of talent peoples the waste places with his animating thoughts. Seneca declares that folly is its own burden, omnis stultitia laborat fastidio sni, a very true saying, with which may be com- pared the words of Jesus, the son of Sirach, The life of a fool is worse than death. And, as a rule, it will be found that a man is sociable just in the degree in which he is intellectually poor and generally vulgar. For one’s choice in this world does not go much beyond solitude on one side and vulgarity on the other. It is said that the most sociable of all people are the negroes, and they are at the bottom of the scale in intellect. I remember read- ing once in a French paper that the blacks in North America, whether free or enslaved, are fond of shutting themselves up in large numbers in the smallest space, because they cannot have too much of one another’s snub-nosed company. The brain may be regarded as a kind of parasite of the organism, a pensioner, as it were, who dwells with the body; and leisure, that is, the time one has for the free enjoyment of one’s consciousness or individuality, is the fruit or produce of the rest of existence, which is in gen- eral only labor and effort. But what does most people’s leisure yield? boredom and dullness; except, of course, when it is occupied with sensual pleasure or folly. How little such leisure is worth may be seen in the way in which it is spent; and, as Ariosto observes, how miser- able are the idle hours of ignorant men ! — ozio htngo d'uom- ini ignoranti. Ordinary people think merely how they shall spend their time; a man of any talent tries to use it. The reason why people of limited intellect are apt to be bored is that their intellect is absolutely nothing more than the means by which the motive power of the will is put into force; and whenever there is nothing particular to set the will in motion, it rests, and their intellect takes PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS 21 a holiday, because, equally with the will, it requires some- thing external to bring it into play. The result is an awful stagnation of whatever power a man has — in a word, boredom. To counteract this miserable feeling, men run to trivialities which please for the moment they are taken up, hoping thus to engage the will in order to rouse it to action, and so set the intellect in motion ; for it is the latter which has to give effect to these motives of the will. Compared with real and natural motives, these are but as paper money to coin ; for their value is only arbi- trary — card games and the like, which have been invented for this very purpose. And if there is nothing else to be done, a man will twirl his thumbs or beat the devil’s tat- too; or a cigar may be a welcome substitute for exercis- ing his brains. Hence, in all countries the chief occupation of society is card-playing and it is the gauge of its value, and an outward sign that it is bankrupt in thought. Be- cause people have no thoughts to deal in, they deal cards, and try and win one another’s money. Idiots! But I do not wish to be unjust; so let me remark that it may certainly be said in defense of card-playing that it is a preparation for the world and for business life, because one learns thereby how to make a clever use of fortuitous but unalterable circumstances (cards, in this case), and to get as much out of them as one can; and to do this a man must learn a little dissimulation, and how to put a good face upon a bad business. But, on the other hand, it is exactly for this reason that card-playing is so demor- alizing, since the whole object of it is to employ every kind of trick and machination in order to win what belongs to another. And a habit of this sort, learned at the card- table, strikes root and pushes its way into practical life; and in the affairs of every day a man gradually comes to regard meum and tuum in much the same light as cards, and to consider that he may use to the utmost whatever advantages he possesses, so long as he does not come within the arm of the law. Examples of what I mean are of daily occurrence in mercantile life. Since, then, leisure is the flower, or rather the fruit, of existence, as it puts a man into possession of himself, those are happy indeed who possess something real in themselves. But what do 22 THE WISDOM OF LIFE you get from most people’s leisure? only a good-for-nothing fellow, who is terribly bored and a burden to himself. Let us, therefore, rejoice, dear brethren, for we are not chil- dren OF THE BONDWOMAN, BUT OF THE FREE. Further, as no land is so well off as that which requires few imports, or none at all, so the happiest man is one who has enough in his own inner wealth, and asks little or nothing from outside for his maintenance. For im- ports are expensive things, reveal dependence, entail dan- ger, occasion trouble, and, when all is said and done, are a poor substitute for home produce. No man ought to expect much from others, or, in general, from the external world. What one human being can be to another is not a very great deal; in the end every one stands alone, and the important thing is who it is that stands alone. Here, then, is another application of the general truth which Goethe recognizes in <( Dichtung und Wahrheit ” (Bk. III.), that in everything a man has ultimately to appeal to him- self ; or, as Goldsmith puts it in <( The Traveller” : Still to ourselves in every place consign’d Our own felicity we make or find. Himself is the source of the best and most a man can be or achieve. The more this is so — the more a man finds his sources of pleasure in himself — the happier he will be. Therefore, it is with great truth that Aristotle says, To be happy means to be self-sufficient. For all other sources of happiness are in their nature most un- certain, precarious, fleeting, the sport of chance; and so even under the most favorable circumstances they can easily be exhausted; nay, this is unavoidable, because they are not always within reach. And in old age these sources of happiness most necessarily dry up: love leaves us then, and wit, desire to travel, delight in horses, apti- tude for social intercourse; friends and relations, too, are taken from us by death. Then more than ever, it de- pends upon what a man has in himself ; for this will stick to him longest; and at any period of life it is the only genuine and lasting source of happiness. There is not much to be got anywhere in the world. It is filled with misery and pain; and if a man escapes these, boredom PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS 23 lies in wait for him at every corner. Nay more; it is evil which generally has the upper hand, and folly makes the most noise. Fate is cruel, and mankind pitiable. In such a world as this, a man who is rich in himself is like a bright, warm, happy room at Christmastide, while with- out are the frost and snow of a December night. There- fore, without doubt, the happiest destiny on earth is to have the rare gift of a rich individuality, and, more espe- cially, to be possessed of a good endowment of intellect; this is the happiest destiny, though it may not be, after all, a very brilliant one. There was great wisdom in that remark which Queen Christina of Sweden made, in her nineteenth year, about Descartes, who had then lived for twenty years in the deepest solitude in Holland, and, apart from report, was known to her only by a single essay: M. Descartes, she said, is the happiest of men, AND HIS CONDITION SEEMS TO ME MUCH TO BE ENVIED. Of course, as was the case with Descartes, external cir- cumstances must be favorable enough to allow a man to be master of his life and happiness; or, as we read in <( Ecclesiastes, w Wisdom is good, together with an inher- itance, AND PROFITABLE UNTO THEM THAT SEE THE SUN. The man to whom nature and fate have granted the bless- ing of wisdom, will be most anxious and careful to keep open the fountains of happiness which he has in himself ; and for this, independence and leisure are necessary. To obtain them, he will be willing to moderate his desires and harbor his resources; all the more because he is not, like others, restricted to the external world for his pleas- ures. So he will not be misled by expectations of office, or money, or the favor and applause of his fellow-men, into surrendering himself in order to conform to low de- sires and vulgar tastes; nay, in such a case he will follow the advice that Horace gives in his epistle to Maecenas. It is a great piece of folly to sacrifice the inner for the outer man, to give the whole or the greater part of one’s quiet leisure and independence for splendor, rank, pomp, titles and honor. This is what Goethe did. My good luck drew me quite in the other direction. The truth which I am insisting upon here, the truth, namely, that the chief source of human happiness is 24 THE WISDOM OF LIFE internal, is confirmed by that most accurate observation of Aristotle in the (< Nichomachean Ethics, ® that every pleasure presupposes some sort of activity, the application of some sort of power, without which it cannot exist. The doctrine of Aristotle’s, that a man’s happiness con- sists in the free exercise of his highest faculties, is also enunciated by Stobaeus in his exposition of the Peripa- tetic philosophy: Happiness, he says, means vigorous and SUCCESSFUL ACTIVITY IN ALL YOUR UNDERTAKINGS; and he explains that by vigor (apirr]) he means mastery in any- thing, whatever it be. Now, the original purpose of those forces with which nature has endowed man is to enable him to struggle against the difficulties which beset him on all sides. But if this struggle comes to an end, his unemployed forces become a burden to him; and he has to set to work and play with them, use them, I mean, for no purpose at all, beyond avoiding the other source of human suffering, boredom, to which he is at once exposed. It is the upper classes, people of wealth, who are the greatest victims of boredom. Lucretius long ago described their miserable state, and the truth of his description may be still recognized to-day in the life of every great capital — where the rich man is seldom in his own halls, because it bores him to be there, and still he returns thither, because he is no better off outside; or else he is away in posthaste to his house in the country, as if it were on fire; and he is no sooner arrived there, than he is bored again, and seeks to forget everything in sleep, or else hurries back to town once more. Exit saepe foras magnis ex ce dibits ille. Esse domi quern pertaesum est, subitoque reventat; Quippe foris nihilo melius qui sentiat esse. Currit , agens mannos , ad villam precipitanter , A uxilium tectis quasi ferre ardentibus instans: Oscitat extemplo, tetigit quum limina villae; Aut abit in somnum gravis , atque oblivia quaerit; Aut etiam properans urbem petit atque revisit. In their youth, such people must have had a superfluity of muscular and vital energy, powers which, unlike those of the mind, cannot maintain their full degree of vigor very long; and in later years they either have no mental PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS 25 powers at all, or cannot develop any for want of employ- ment which would bring them into play; so that they are in a wretched plight. Will, however, they still possess, for this is the only power that is inexhaustible; and they try to stimulate their will by passionate excitement, such as games of chance for high stakes — undoubtedly a most degrading form of vice. And one may say generally that if a man finds himself with nothing to do, he is sure to choose some amusement suited to the kind of power in which he excels, bowls, it may be, or chess; hunting or painting; horse-racing or music; cards, or poetry, heraldry, philosophy, or some other dilettante interest. We might classify these interests methodically, by reducing them to expressions of the three fundamental powers, the factors, that is to say, which go to make up the physiological constitution of man; and further, by considering these powers by themselves, and apart from any of the definite aims which they may subserve, and simply as affording three sources of possible pleasure, out of which every man will choose what suits him, according as he excels in one direction or another. First of all come the pleasures of vital energy, of food, drink, digestion, rest and sleep; and there are parts of the world where it can be said that these are characteristic and national pleasures. Secondly, there are the pleasures of muscular energy, such as walking, running, wrestling, dancing, fencing, riding and similar athletic pursuits, which sometimes take the form of sport, and sometimes of a military life and real warfare. Thirdly, there are the pleasures of sensibility, such as observation, thought, feel- ing, or a taste for poetry or culture, music, learning, read- ing, meditation, invention, philosophy and the like. As regards the value, relative worth and duration of each of these kinds of pleasure, a great deal might be said, which, however, I leave the reader to supply. But every one will see that the nobler the power which is brought into play, the greater will be the pleasure which it gives; for pleas- ure always involves the use of one’s own powers, and hap- piness consists in a frequent repetition of pleasure. No one will deny that in this respect the pleasures of sensi- bility occupy a higher place than either of the other two 26 THE WISDOM OF LIFE fundamental kinds; which exist in an equal, nay, in a greater degree in brutes; it is his preponderating amount of sensibility which distinguishes man from other animals. Now, our mental powers are forms of sensibility, and therefore a preponderating amount of it makes us capable of that kind of pleasure which has to do with mind, so- called intellectual pleasure; and the more sensibility pre- dominates, the greater the pleasure will be.* The normal, ordinary man takes a vivid interest in anything only in so far as it excites his will, that is to say, is a matter of personal interest to him. But constant excitement of the will is never an unmixed good, to say the least; in other words, it involves pain. Card-playing, * Nature exhibits a continual progress, starting from the mechanical and chemical activity of the inorganic world, proceeding to the vege- table, with its dull enjoyment of self, from that to the animal world, where intelligence and consciousness begin, at first very weak, and only after many intermediate stages attaining its last great develop- ment in man, whose intellect is Nature’s crowning point, the goal of all her efforts, the most perfect and difficult of all her works. And even within the range of the human intellect, there are a great many observable differences of degree, and it is very seldom that intellect reaches its highest point, intelligence properly so-called, which in this narrow and strict sense of the word, is Nature’s most consummate product, and so the rarest and most precious thing of which the world can boast. The highest product of Nature is the clearest degree of consciousness in which the world mirrors itself more plainly and com- pletely than anywhere else. A man endowed with this form of in- telligence is in possession of what is noblest and best on earth; and accordingly, he has a source of pleasure in comparison with which all others are small. From his surroundings he asks nothing but leisure for the free enjoyment of what he has got, time, as it were, to polish his diamond. All other pleasures that are not of the intellect are of a lower kind ; for they are, one and all, movements of will — desires, hopes, fears and ambitions, no matter to what directed: they are al- ways satisfied at the cost of pain, and in the case of ambition, gen- erally with more or less of illusion. With intellectual pleasure, on the other hand, truth becomes clearer and clearer. In the realm of intelligence pain has no power. Knowledge is all in all. Further, intellectual pleasures are accessible entirely and only through the medium of the intelligence, and are limited by its capacity. For all THE WIT THERE IS IN THE WORLD IS USELESS TO HIM WHO HAS NONE. Still this advantage is accompanied by a substantial disadvantage; for the whole of Nature shows that with the growth of intelligence comes increased capacity for pain, and it is only with the highest degree of intelligence that suffering reaches its supreme point. PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS 2 7 that universal occupation of (< good society ® everywhere is a device for providing this kind of excitement, and that, too, by means of interests so small as to produce slight and momentary, instead of real and permanent, pain. Card-playing is, in fact, a mere tickling of the will.* On the other hand, a man of powerful intellect is capable of taking a vivid interest in things in the way of mere knowledge, with no admixture of will; nay, such an interest is a necessity to him. It places him in a sphere where pain is an alien, a diviner air where the gods live serene : 6so\ p'eia Ccoovre?. Look on these two pictures — the life of the masses, one long, dull record of struggle and effort entirely 'de- voted to the petty interests of personal welfare, to misery in all its forms, a life beset by intolerable boredom as soon as ever those aims are satisfied and the man is thrown back upon himself, whence he can be roused again to some sort of movement only by the wild fire of passion. On the other side you have a man endowed with a high degree of mental power, leading an existence rich in thought and full of life and meaning, occupied by * Vulgarity is, at bottom, the kind of consciousness in which the will completely predominates over the intellect, where the latter does nothing more than perform the service of its master, the will. There- fore, when the will makes no demands, supplies no motives, strong or weak, the intellect entirely loses its power, and the result is complete vacancy of mind. Now will without intellect is the most vulgar and common thing in the world, possessed by every blockhead, who, in the gratification of his passions, shows the stuff of which he is made. This is the condition of mind called vulgarity, in which the only active elements are the organs of sense, and that small amount of intellect which is necessary for apprehending the data of sense. Accordingly, the vulgar man is constantly open to all sorts of impressions, and immediately perceives all the little trifling things that go on in his environment: the lightest whisper, the most trivial circumstance, is suf- ficient to rouse his attention ; he is just like an animal. Such a man’s mental condition reveals itself in his face, in his whole exterior; and hence that vulgar, repulsive appearance, which is all the more offensive, if, as is usually the case, his will — the only factor in his consciousness — is a base, selfish and altogether bad one. 28 THE WISDOM OF LIFE worthy and interesting objects as soon as ever he is free to give himself to them, bearing in himself a source of the noblest pleasure. What external promptings he wants come from the works of nature, and from the contempla- tion of human affairs and the achievements of the great of all ages and countries, which are thoroughly appreciated by a man of this type alone, as being the only one who can quite understand and feel with them. And so it is for him alone that those great ones have really lived; it is to him that they make their appeal; the rest are but casual hearers who only half understand either them or their followers. Of course, this characteristic of the intel- lectual man implies that he has one more need than the others, the need of reading, observing, studying, meditat- ing, practicing, the need, in short, of undisturbed leisure. For, as Voltaire has very rightly said, there are no real pleasures without real needs; and the need of them is why to such a man pleasures are accessible which are denied to others, the varied beauties of nature and art and literature. To heap these round people who do not want them and cannot appreciate them, is like expecting gray hairs to fall in love. A man who is privileged in this respect leads two lives, a personal and an intellectual, life; and the latter gradually comes to be looked upon as the true one, and the former as merely a means to it. Other people make this shallow, empty and troubled exist- ence an end in itself. To the life of the intellect such a man will give the preference over all his other occupa- tions: by the constant growth of insight and knowledge, this intellectual life, like a slowly-forming work of art, will acquire a consistency, a permanent intensity, a unity which becomes ever more and more complete; compared with which, a life devoted to the attainment of personal comfort, a life that may broaden indeed, but can never be deepened, makes but a poor show: and yet, as I have said, people make this baser sort of existence an end in itself. The ordinary life of every day, so far as it is not moved by passion, is tedious and insipid; and if it is so moved, it soon becomes painful. Those alone are happy whom nature has favored with some superfluity of intel- PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS 29 lect, something beyond what is just necessary to carry out the behests of their will; for it enables them to lead an intellectual life as well, a life unattended by pain and full of vivid intei'ests. Mere leisure, that is to say, intellect unoccupied in the service of the will, is not of itself suf- ficient : there must be a real superfluity of power, set free from the service of the will and devoted to that of the intellect; for, as Seneca says, otium sine litter is mors est et vivi hominis sepultura — illiterate leisure is a form of death, a living tomb. Varying with the amount of the superfluity, there will be countless developments in this second life, the life of the mind ; it may be the mere col- lection and labelling of insects, birds, minerals, coins, or the highest achievements of poetry and philosophy. The life o f the mind is not only a protection against bore- dom, it also wards off the pernicious effects of boredom; it keeps us from bad company, from the many dangers, mis- fortunes, losses and extravagances which the man who places his happiness entirely in the objective world is sure to encounter. My philosophy, for instance, has never brought me in a sixpence; but it has spared me many an expense. The ordinary man places his life’s happiness in things external to him, in property, rank, wife and children, friends, society, and the like, so that when he loses them or finds them disappointing, the foundation of his happi- ness is destroyed. In other words, the centre of gravity is not in himself ; it is constantly changing its place, with every wish and whim. If he is a man of means, one day it will be his house in the country, another buying horses, or entertaining friends, or traveling, a life, in short, cf general luxury, the reason being that he seeks his pleasure in things outside him. Like one whose health and strength are gone, he tries to regain by the use of jellies and drugs, instead of by developing his own vital power, the true source of what he has lost. Before proceeding to the opposite, let us compare with this common type the man who comes midway between the two, endowed, it may be, not exactly with distin- guished powers of mind, but with somewhat more than the ordinary amount of intellect. He will take a dilet- 30 THE WISDOM OF LIFE tante interest in art, or devote his attention to some branch of science — botany, for example, or physics, as- tronomy, history, and find a great deal of pleasure in such studies, and amuse himself with them when exter- nal sources of happiness are exhausted or fail to satisfy him any more. Of a man like this it may be said that his centre of gravity is partly in himself. But a dilet- tante interest in art is a very different thing from creat- ive activity; and an amateur pursuit of science is apt to be superficial and not to penetrate to the heart of the matter. A man cannot entirely identify himself with such pursuits, or have his whole existence so completely filled and permeated with them that he loses all interest in everything else. It is only the highest intellectual power, what we call genius, that attains to this degree of intensity, making all time and existence its theme, and striving to express its peculiar conception of the world, whether it contemplates life as the subject of poetry or of philosophy. Hence, undisturbed occupation with him- self, his own thoughts and works, is a matter of urgent necessity to such a man; solitude is welcome, leisure is the highest good, and everything else is unnecessary, nay, even burdensome. This is the only type of man of whom it can be said that his centre of gravity is entirely in himself; which explains why it is that people of this sort — and they are very rare — no matter how excellent their character may be, do not show that warm and unlimited interest in friends, family, and the community in general, of which others are so often capable; for if they have only them- selves they are not inconsolable for the loss of everything else. This gives an isolation to their character, which is all the more effective since other people never really quite satisfy them, as being, on the whole, of a different nature; nay more, since this difference is constantly forc- ing itself upon their notice, they get accustomed to move about among mankind as alien beings, and in thinking of humanity in general, to say they instead of we. So the conclusion we come to is that the man whom nature has endowed with intellectual wealth is the happi- est; so true it is that the subjective concerns us more PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS 3i than the objective; for whatever the latter may be, it can work only indirectly, secondarily, and through the medium of the former — a truth finely expressed by Lucian : — IIXoutck; 6 rrjg tpo^rjg ttAoOto? fiovos iar'iv dXTjdrjs TakXa S' i%et arr/V ztliv ktsolviuv. — ' the wealth of the soul is the only true wealth, for with all other riches comes a bane even greater than they. The man of inner wealth wants nothing from outside but the negative gift of undisturbed leisure, to develop and mature his intellectual faculties, that is, to enjoy his wealth; in short, he wants permission to be himself, his whole life long, every day and every hour. If he is des- tined to impress the character of his mind upon a whole race, he has only one measure of happiness or unhappi- ness — to succeed or fail in perfecting his powers and completing his work. All else is of small consequence. Accordingly, the greatest minds of all ages have set the highest value upon undisturbed leisure, as worth exactly as much as the man himself. Happiness appears to con- sist in leisure, says Aristotle; and Diogenes Laertius re- ports that Socrates praised leisure as the fairest of all possessions. So, in the (< Nichomachean Ethics,” Aristotle concludes that a life devoted to philosophy is the happiest; or, as he says in the ® Politics,” the free exercise of any power, whatever it may be, is happi- ness. This, again, tallies with what Goethe says in * Wilhelm Meister:” The man who is born with a talent WHICH HE IS MEANT TO USE, FINDS HIS GREATEST HAPPINESS IN USING IT. But to be in possession of undisturbed leisure is far from being the common lot; nay, it is something alien to human nature, for the ordinary man’s destiny is to spend life in procuring what is necessary for the subsistence of himself and his family; he is a son of struggle and need, not a free intelligence. So people as a rule soon get tired of undisturbed leisure, and it becomes burdensome if there are no fictitious and forced aims to occupy it, play, pastime and hobbies of every kind. For this very reason it is full of possible danger, and difficilis in otio quies is a true saying, — it is difficult to keep quiet if you 32 THE WISDOM OF LIFE have nothing to do. On the other hand, a measure of in- tellect far surpassing the ordinary is as unnatural as it is abnormal. But if it exists, and the man endowed with it is to be happy, he will want precisely that undisturbed leisure which the others find burdensome or pernicious; for without it he is a Pegasus in harness, and consequently unhappy. If these two unnatural circumstances, external and internal, undisturbed leisure and great intellect, hap- pen to coincide in the same person, it is a great piece of fortune; and if fate is so far favorable, a man can lead the higher life, the life protected from the two opposite sources of human suffering, pain and boredom, from the painful struggle for existence, and the incapacity for en. during leisure (which is free existence itself) — evils which may be escaped only by being mutually neutralized. But there is something to be said in opposition to this view. Great intellectual gifts mean an activity pre- eminently nervous in its character, and consequently a very high degree of susceptibility to pain in every form. Further, such gifts imply an intense temperament, larger and more vivid ideas, which, as the inseparable accom- paniment of great intellectual power, entail on its pos- sessor a corresponding intensity of the emotions, making them incomparably more violent than those to which the ordinary man is a prey. Now, there are more things in the world productive of pain than of pleasure. Again, a large endowment of intellect tends to estrange the man who has it from other people and their doings; for the more a man has in himself, the less he will be able to find in them ; and the hundred things in which they take delight, he will think shallow and insipid. Here, then, perhaps, is another instance of that law of compensation which makes itself felt everywhere. How often one hears it said, and said, too, with some plausibility, that the narrow- minded man is at bottom the happiest, even though his fortune is unenviable. I shall make no attempt to fore- stall the reader’s own judgment on this point; more es- pecially as Sophocles himself has given utterance to two diametrically opposite opinions: TIdXXuj to povsiv yap pvjSsv rjdurTos /SOf. The philosophers of the Old Testament find themselves in a like contradiction. The life of a fool is worse than death. And — In much wisdom is much grief; And he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow. I may remark, however, that a man who has no mental needs, because his intellect is of the narrow and normal amount, is, in the strict sense of the word, what is called a philistine — an expression at first peculiar to the Ger- man language, a kind of slang term at the universities, afterward used, by analogy, in a higher sense, though still in its original meaning, as denoting one who is not a Son of the Muses. A philistine is and remains apoutros wrjp. I should prefer to take a higher point of view, and apply the term philistine to people who are always seri- ously occupied with realities which are no realities; but as such a definition would be a transcendental one, and therefore not generally intelligible, it would hardly be in place in the present treatise, which aims at being popu- lar. The other definition can be more easily elucidated, indicating, as it does, satisfactorily enough, the essential nature of all those qualities which distinguish the philis- tine. He is defined to be a man without mental needs. From this it follows, firstly, in relation to himself, that he has no intellectual pleasures; for, as was remarked before, there are no real pleasures without real needs. The philistine’s life is animated by no desire to gain knowledge and insight for their own sake, or to experi- ence that true sesthetic pleasure which is so nearly akin to them. If pleasures of this kind are fashionable, and the philistine finds himself compelled to pay attention to them, he will force himself to do so, but he will take as little interest in them as possible. His only real pleas- ures are of a sensual kind, and he thinks that these in- 3 34 THE WISDOM OF LIFE demnify him for the loss of the others. To him oysters and champagne are the height of existence; the aim of his life is to procure what will contribute to his bodily welfare, and he is indeed in a happy way if this causes him some trouble. If the luxuries of life are heaped upon him, he will inevitably be bored, and against bore- dom he has a great many fancied remedies, balls, theatres, parties, cards, gambling, horses, women, drinking, travel- ing and so on; all of which cannot protect a man from being bored, for where there are no intellectual needs, no intellectual pleasures are possible. The peculiar charac- teristic of the philistine is a dull, dry kind of gravity, akin to that of animals. Nothing really pleases, or ex- cites, or interests him, for sensual pleasure is quickly exhausted, and the society of philistines soon becomes burdensome, and one may even get tired of playing cards. True, the pleasures of vanity are left, pleasures which he enjoys in his own way, either by feeling himself superior in point of wealth, or rank, or influence and power to other people, who thereupon pay him honor; or, at any rate, by going about with those who have a superfluity of these blessings, sunning himself in the reflection of their splendor — what the English call a snob. From the essential nature of the philistine it follows, secondly, in regard to others, that, as he possesses no intellectual, but only physical needs, he will seek the society of those who can satisfy the latter, but not the former. The last thing he will expect from his friends is the possession of any sort of intellectual capacity; nay, if he chances to meet with it, it will rouse his antipathy and even hatred ; simply because in addition to an unpleasant sense of inferiority, he experiences, in his heart, a dull kind of envy, which has to be carefully concealed even from himself. Nevertheless, it sometimes grows into a secret feeling of rancor. But for all that, it will never occur to him to make his own ideas of worth or value conform to the standard of such qualities ; he will continue to give the preference to rank and riches, power and influence, which in his eyes seem to be the only genuine advantages in the world; and his wish will be to excel in them himself. All this is the consequence of his being PERSONALITY, OR WHAT A MAN IS 35 a man without intellectual needs. The great affliction of all philistines is that they have no interest in ideas, and that, to escape being bored, they are in constant need of realities. Now realities are either unsatisfactory or dangerous; when they lose their interest, they become fatiguing. But the ideal world is illimitable and calm, something afar From the sphere of our sorrow. Note. — In these remarks on the personal qualities which go to make happiness, I have been mainly con- cerned with the physical and intellectual nature of man. For an account of the direct and immediate influence of morality upon happiness, let me refer to my prize essay on “The Foundation of Morals” (Sec. 22.) CHAPTER III. Property, or What a Man Has. Epicurus divides the needs of mankind into three classes, and the division made by this great professor of happi- ness is a true and a fine one. First come natural and necessary needs, such as, when not satisfied, produce pain, — food and clothing, victus et amictus, needs which can easily be satisfied. Secondly, there are those needs which, though natural, are not necessary, such as the gratification of certain of the senses. I may add, however, that in the report given by Diogenes Laertius, Epicurus does not mention which of the senses he means; so that on this point my account of his doctrine is somewhat more definite and exact than the original. These are needs rather more difficult to satisfy. The third class consists of needs which are neither natural nor necessary, the need of luxury and prodigality, show and splendor, which never come to an end, and are very hard to satisfy. It is difficult, if not impossible, to define the limits which reason should impose on the desire for wealth ; for there is no absolute or definite amount of wealth which will satisfy a man. The amount is always relative, that is to say, just so much as will maintain the proportion between what he wants and what he gets; for to measure a man’s happiness only by what he gets, and not also by what he expects to get, is as futile as to try to express a fraction which shall have a numerator but no denomi- nator. A man never feels the loss of things which it never occurs to him to ask for; he is just as happy with- out them; while another, who may have a hundred times as much, feels miserable because he has not got the one thing which he wants. In fact, here too, every man has an horizon of his own, and he will expect just as much as he thinks it possible for him to get. If an object within his horizon looks as though he could confidently reckon on getting it, he is happy; but if difficulties come ( 36 ) PROPERTY, OR WHAT A MAN HAS 37 in the way, he is miserable. What lies beyond his horizon has no effect at all upon him. So it is that the vast possessions of the rich do not agitate the poor, and con- versely, that a wealthy man is not consoled by all his wealth for the failure of his hopes. Riches, one may say, are like sea- water : the more you drink, the more thirsty you become ; and the same is true of fame. The loss of wealth and prosperity leaves a man, as soon as the first pangs of grief are over, in very much the same habitual temper as before; and the reason of this is, that as soon as fate diminishes the amount of his possessions, he himself im- mediately reduces the amount of his claims. But when misfortune comes upon us, to reduce the amount of our claims is just what is most painful; when once we have done so, the pain becomes less and less, and is felt no more; like an old wound which has healed. Conversely, when a piece of good fortune befalls us, our claims mount higher and higher, as there is nothing to regulate them. It is in this feeling of expansion that the delight of it lies. But it lasts no longer than the process itself, and when the expansion is complete, the delight ceases: we have become accustomed to the increase in our claims, and consequently indifferent to the amount of wealth which satisfies them. There is a passage in the (< Odyssey * illustrating this truth, of which I may quote the last two lines: To7o? yap voo? iariv hzi^Ooviiav w/Opwnwv Otov l