Part 17

FORWARD.--And thus forward upon the path of wisdom, with a firm step and good confidence! However you may be situated, serve yourself as a source of experience! Throw off the displeasure at your nature, forgive yourself your own individuality, for in any case you have in yourself a ladder with a hundred steps upon which you can mount to knowledge. The age into which with grief you feel yourself thrown thinks you happy because of this good fortune; it calls out to you that you shall still have experiences which men of later ages will perhaps be obliged to forego. Do not despise the fact of having been religious; consider fully how you have had a genuine access to art. Can you not, with the help of these experiences, follow immense stretches of former humanity with a clearer understanding? Is not that ground which sometimes displeases you so greatly, that ground of clouded thought, precisely the one upon which have grown many of the most glorious fruits of older civilisations? You must have loved religion and art as you loved mother and nurse,--otherwise you cannot be wise. But you must be able to see beyond them, to outgrow them; if you, remain under their ban you do not understand them. You must also be familiar with history and that cautious play with the balances: "On the one hand--on the other hand." Go back, treading in the footsteps made by mankind in its great and painful journey through the desert of the past, and you will learn most surely whither it is that all later humanity never can or may go again. And inasmuch as you wish with all your strength to see in advance how the knots of the future are tied, your own life acquires the value of an instrument and means of knowledge. It is within your power to see that all you have experienced, trials, errors, faults, deceptions, passions, your love and your hope, shall be merged wholly in your aim. This aim is to become a necessary chain of culture-links yourself, and from this necessity to draw a conclusion as to the necessity in the progress of general culture. When your sight has become strong enough to see to the bottom of the dark well of your nature and your knowledge, it is possible that in its mirror you may also behold the far-away visions of future civilisations. Do you think that such a life with such an aim is too wearisome, too empty of all that is agreeable? Then you have still to learn that no honey is sweeter than that of knowledge, and that the overhanging clouds of trouble must be to you as an udder from which you shall draw milk for your refreshment. And only when old age approaches will you rightly perceive how you listened to the voice of nature, that nature which rules the whole world through pleasure; the same life which has its zenith in age has also its zenith in wisdom, in that mild sunshine of a constant mental joyfulness; you meet them both, old age and wisdom, upon one ridge of life,--it was thus intended by Nature. Then it is time, and no cause for anger, that the mists of death approach. Towards the light is your last movement; a joyful cry of knowledge is your last sound.

[Footnote 1: This may remind one of Gobineau's more jocular saying: "_Nous ne descendons pas du singe, mais nous y allons._"--J.M.K.]

[Footnote 2: This refers to his essay, "Schopenhauer as Educator," in _Thoughts Out of Season,_ vol. ii. of the English edition.--J.M.K.]

[Footnote 3: For it is when loving that mortal man gives of his best.--J.M.K.]

SIXTH DIVISION.

MAN IN SOCIETY.

293.

WELL-MEANT DISSIMULATION.--In intercourse with men a well-meant dissimulation is often necessary, as if we did not see through the motives of their actions.

294.

COPIES.--We not unfrequently meet with copies of prominent persons; and as in the case of pictures, so also here, the copies please more than the originals.

295.

THE PUBLIC SPEAKER.--One may speak with the greatest appropriateness, and yet so that everybody cries out to the contrary,--that is to say, when one does not speak to everybody.

296.

WANT OF CONFIDENCE.--Want of confidence among friends is a fault that cannot be censured without becoming incurable.

297.

THE ART OF GIVING.--To have to refuse a gift, merely because it has not been offered in the right way, provokes animosity against the giver.

298.

THE MOST DANGEROUS PARTISAN.--In every party there is one who, by his far too dogmatic expression of the party-principles, excites defection among the others.

299.

ADVISERS OF THE SICK.--Whoever gives advice to a sick person acquires a feeling of superiority over him, whether the advice be accepted or rejected. Hence proud and sensitive sick persons hate advisers more than their sickness.

300.

DOUBLE NATURE OF EQUALITY.--The rage for equality may so manifest itself that we seek either to draw all others down to ourselves (by belittling, disregarding, and tripping up), or ourselves and all others upwards (by recognition, assistance, and congratulation).

301.

AGAINST EMBARRASSMENT.--The best way to relieve and calm very embarrassed people is to give them decided praise.

302.

PREFERENCE FOR CERTAIN VIRTUES.--We set no special value on the possession of a virtue until we perceive that it is entirely lacking in our adversary.

303.

WHY WE CONTRADICT.--We often contradict an opinion when it is really only the tone in which it is expressed that is unsympathetic to us.

304.

CONFIDENCE AND INTIMACY.--Whoever proposes to command the intimacy of a person is usually uncertain of possessing his confidence. Whoever is sure of a person's confidence attaches little value to intimacy with him.

305.

THE EQUILIBRIUM OF FRIENDSHIP.--The right equilibrium of friendship in our relation to other men is sometimes restored when we put a few grains of wrong on our own side of the scales.

306.

THE MOST DANGEROUS PHYSICIANS.--The most dangerous physicians are those who, like born actors, imitate the born physician with the perfect art of imposture.

307.

WHEN PARADOXES ARE PERMISSIBLE.--In order to interest clever persons in a theory, it is sometimes only necessary to put it before them in the form of a prodigious paradox.

308.

HOW COURAGEOUS PEOPLE ARE WON OVER.--Courageous people are persuaded to a course of action by representing it as more dangerous than it really is.

309.

COURTESIES.--We regard the courtesies show us by unpopular persons as offences.

310.

KEEPING PEOPLE WAITING.--A sure way of exasperating people and of putting bad thoughts into their heads is to keep them waiting long. That makes them immoral.

311.

AGAINST THE CONFIDENTIAL.--Persons who give us their full confidence think they hay thereby a right to ours. That is a mistake people acquire no rights through gifts.

312.

A MODE OF SETTLEMENT.--It often suffices to give a person whom we have injured an opportunity to make a joke about us to give him personal satisfaction, and even to make him favourably disposed to us.

313.

THE VANITY OF THE TONGUE.--Whether man conceals his bad qualities and vices, or frankly acknowledges them, his vanity in either case seeks its advantage thereby,--only let it be observed how nicely he distinguishes those from whom he conceals such qualities from those with whom he is frank and honest.

314.

CONSIDERATE.--To have no wish to offend or injure any one may as well be the sign of a just as of a timid nature.

315.

REQUISITE FOR DISPUTATION.--He who cannot put his thoughts on ice should not enter into the heat of dispute.

316.

INTERCOURSE AND PRETENSION.--We forget our pretensions when we are always conscious of being amongst meritorious people; being alone implants presumption in us. The young are pretentious, for they associate with their equals, who are all ciphers but would fain have a great significance.

317.

MOTIVES OF AN ATTACK.--One does not attack a person merely to hurt and conquer him, but perhaps merely to become conscious of one's own strength.

318.

FLATTERY.--Persons who try by means of flattery to put us off our guard in intercourse with them, employ a dangerous expedient, like a sleeping-draught, which, when it does not send the patient to sleep, keeps him all the wider awake.

319.

A GOOD LETTER-WRITER.--A person who does not write books, thinks much, and lives in unsatisfying society, will usually be a good letter-writer.

320.

THE UGLIEST OF ALL.--It may be doubted whether a person who has travelled much has found anywhere in the world uglier places than those to be met with in the human face.

321.

THE SYMPATHETIC ONES.--Sympathetic natures, ever ready to help in misfortune, are seldom those that participate in joy; in the happiness of others they have nothing to occupy them, they are superfluous, they do not feel themselves in possession of their superiority, and hence readily show their displeasure.

322.

THE RELATIVES OF A SUICIDE.--The relatives of a suicide take it in ill part that he did not remain alive out of consideration for their reputation.

323.

INGRATITUDE FORESEEN.--He who makes a large gift gets no gratitude; for the recipient is already overburdened by the acceptance of the gift.

324.

IN DULL SOCIETY.--Nobody thanks a witty man for politeness when he puts himself on a par with a society in which it would not be polite to show one's wit.

325.

THE PRESENCE OF WITNESSES.--We are doubly willing to jump into the water after some one who has fallen in, if there are people present who have not the courage to do so.

326.

BEING SILENT.--For both parties in a controversy, the most disagreeable way of retaliating is to be vexed and silent; for the aggressor usually regards the silence as a sign of contempt.

327.

FRIENDS' SECRETS.--Few people will not expose the private affairs of their friends when at a loss for a subject of conversation.

328.

HUMANITY.--The humanity of intellectual celebrities consists in courteously submitting to unfairness in intercourse with those who are I not celebrated.

329.

THE EMBARRASSED.--People who do not feel sure of themselves in society seize every opportunity of publicly showing their superiority to close friends, for instance by teasing them.

330.

THANKS.--A refined nature is vexed by knowing that some one owes it thanks, a coarse nature by knowing that it owes thanks to some one.

331.

A SIGN OF ESTRANGEMENT.--The surest sign of the estrangement of the opinions of two persons is when they both say something ironical to each other and neither of them feels the irony.

332.

PRESUMPTION IN CONNECTION WITH MERIT.--Presumption in connection with merit offends us even more than presumption in persons devoid of merit, for merit in itself offends us.

333.

DANGER IN THE VOICE.--In conversation we are sometimes confused by the tone of our own voice, and misled to make assertions that do not at all correspond to our opinions.

334.

IN CONVERSATION.--Whether in conversation with others we mostly agree or mostly disagree with them is a matter of habit; there is sense in both cases.

335.

FEAR OF OUR NEIGHBOUR.--We are afraid of the animosity of our neighbour, because we are apprehensive that he may thereby discover our secrets.

336.

DISTINGUISHING BY BLAMING.--Highly respected persons distribute even their blame in such fashion that they try to distinguish us therewith. It is intended to remind us of their serious interest in us. We misunderstand them entirely when we take their blame literally and protest against it; we thereby offend them and estrange ourselves from them.

337.

INDIGNATION AT THE GOODWILL OF OTHERS.--We are mistaken as to the extent to which we think we are hated or feared; because,' though we ourselves know very well the extent of our divergence from a person, tendency, or party, those others know us only superficially, and can, therefore, only hate us superficially. We often meet with goodwill which is inexplicable to us; but when we comprehend it, it shocks us, because it shows that we are not considered with sufficient Seriousness or importance.

338.

THWARTING VANITIES.--When two persons meet whose vanity is equally great, they have afterwards a bad impression of each other because each has been so occupied with the impression he wished to produce on the other that the other has made no impression upon him; at last it becomes clear to them both that their efforts have been in vain, and each puts the blame on the other.

339.

IMPROPER BEHAVIOUR AS A GOOD SIGN.--A superior mind takes pleasure in the tactlessness, pretentiousness, and even hostility of ambitious youths; it is the vicious habit of fiery horses which have not yet carried a rider, but, in a short time, will be so proud to carry one.

340.

WHEN IT IS ADVISABLE TO SUFFER WRONG.--It is well to put up with accusations without refutation, even when they injure us, when the accuser would see a still greater fault on our part if we contradicted and perhaps even refuted him. In this way, certainly, a person may always be wronged and always have right on his side, and may eventually, with the best conscience in the world, become the most intolerable tyrant and tormentor; and what happens in the individual may also take place in whole classes of society.

341.

Too LITTLE HONOURED.--Very conceited persons, who have received less consideration than they expected, attempt for a long time to deceive themselves and others with regard to it, and become subtle psychologists in order to make out that they have been amply honoured. Should they not attain their aim, should the veil of deception be torn, they give way to all the greater fury.

342.

PRIMITIVE CONDITIONS RE--ECHOING IN SPEECH.--By the manner in which people make assertions in their intercourse we often recognise an echo of the times when they were more conversant with weapons than anything else; sometimes they handle their assertions like sharp-shooters using their arms, sometimes we think we hear the whizz and clash of swords, and with some men an assertion crashes down like a stout cudgel. Women, on the contrary, speak like beings who for thousands of years have sat at the loom, plied the needle, or played the child with children.

343.

THE NARRATOR.--He who gives an account of something readily betrays whether it is because the fact interests him, or because he wishes to excite interest by the narration. In the latter case he will exaggerate, employ superlatives, and such like. He then does not usually tell his story so well, because he does not think so much about his subject as about himself.

344.

THE RECITER.--He who recites dramatic works makes discoveries about his own character; he finds his voice more natural in certain moods and scenes than in others, say in the pathetic or in the scurrilous, while in ordinary life, perhaps, he has not had the opportunity to exhibit pathos or scurrility.

345.

A COMEDY SCENE IN REAL LIFE.--Some one conceives an ingenious idea on a theme in order to express it in society. Now in a comedy we should hear and see how he sets all sail for that point, and tries to land the company at the place where he can make his remark, how he continuously pushes the conversation towards the one goal, sometimes losing the way, finding it again, and finally arriving at the moment: he is almost breathless--and then one of the company takes the remark itself out of his mouth! What will he do? Oppose his own opinion?

346.

UNINTENTIONALLY DISCOURTEOUS.--When a person treats another with unintentional discourtesy,--for instance, not greeting him because not recognising him,--he is vexed by it, although he cannot reproach his own sentiments; he is hurt by the bad opinion which he has produced in the other person, or fears the consequences of his bad humour, or is pained by the thought of having injured him,--vanity, fear, or pity may therefore be aroused; perhaps all three together.

347.

A MASTERPIECE OF TREACHERY.--To express a tantalising distrust of a fellow-conspirator, lest he should betray one, and this at the very moment when one is practising treachery one's self, is a masterpiece of wickedness; because it absorbs the other's attention and compels him for a time to act very unsuspiciously and openly, so that the real traitor has thus acquired a free hand.

348.

To INJURE AND TO BE INJURED.--It is far pleasanter to injure and afterwards beg for forgiveness than to be injured and grant forgiveness. He who does the former gives evidence of power and afterwards of kindness of character. The person injured, however, if he does not wish to be considered inhuman, _must_ forgive; his enjoyment of the other's humiliation is insignificant on account of this constraint.

349.

IN A DISPUTE.--When we contradict another's opinion and at the same time develop our own, the constant consideration of the other opinion usually disturbs the natural attitude of our own which appears more intentional, more distinct, and perhaps somewhat exaggerated.

350.

AN ARTIFICE.--He who wants to get another to do something difficult must on no account treat the matter as a problem, but must set forth his plan plainly as the only one possible; and when the adversary's eye betrays objection and opposition he must understand how to break off quickly, and allow him no time to put in a word.

351.

PRICKS OF CONSCIENCE AFTER SOCIAL GATHERINGS.--Why does our conscience prick us after ordinary social gatherings? Because we have treated serious things lightly, because in talking of persons we have not spoken quite justly or have been silent when we should have spoken, because, sometimes, we have not jumped up and run away,--in short, because we have behaved in society as if we belonged to it.

352.

WE ARE MISJUDGED.--He who always listens to hear how he is judged is always vexed. For we are misjudged even by those who are nearest to us ("who know us best"). Even good friends sometimes vent their ill-humour in a spiteful word; and would they be our friends if they knew us rightly? The judgments of the indifferent wound us deeply, because they sound so impartial, so objective almost. But when we see that some one hostile to us knows us in a concealed point as well as we know ourselves, how great is then our vexation!

353.

THE TYRANNY OF THE PORTRAIT.--Artists and statesmen, who out of

## particular features quickly construct the whole picture of a man or an

event, are mostly unjust in demanding that the event or person should afterwards be actually as they have painted it; they demand straightway that a man should be just as gifted, cunning, and unjust as he is in their representation of him.

354.

RELATIVES AS THE BEST FRIENDS.--The Greeks, who knew so well what a friend was, they alone of all peoples have a profound and largely philosophical discussion of friendship; so that it is by them firstly (and as yet lastly) that the problem of the friend has been recognised as worthy of solution,--these same Greeks have designated _relatives_ by an expression which is the superlative of the word "friend." This is inexplicable to me.

355.

MISUNDERSTOOD HONESTY.--When any one quotes himself in conversation ("I then said," "I am accustomed to say"), it gives the impression of presumption; whereas it often proceeds from quite an opposite source; or at least from honesty, which does not wish to deck and adorn the present moment with wit which belongs to an earlier moment.

356.

THE PARASITE.--It denotes entire absence of a noble disposition when a person prefers to live in dependence at the expense of others, usually with a secret bitterness against them, in order only that he may not be obliged to work. Such a disposition is far more frequent in women than in men, also far more pardonable (for historical reasons).

357.

ON THE ALTAR OF RECONCILIATION.--There are circumstances under which one can only gain a point from a person by wounding him and becoming hostile; the feeling of having a foe torments him so much that he gladly seizes the first indication of a milder disposition to effect a reconciliation, and offers on the altar of this reconciliation what was formerly of such importance to him that he would not give it up at any price.

358.

PRESUMPTION IN DEMANDING PITY.--There are people who, when they have been in a rage and have insulted others, demand, firstly, that it shall all be taken in good part; and, secondly, that they shall be pitied because they are subject to such violent paroxysms. So far does human presumption extend.

359.

BAIT.--"Every man has his price"--that is not true. But perhaps every one can be found a bait of one kind or other at which he will snap. Thus, in order to gain some supporters for a cause, it is only necessary to give it the glamour of being philanthropic, noble, charitable, and self-denying--and to what cause could this glamour not be given! It is the sweetmeat and dainty of _their_ soul; others have different ones.

360.

THE ATTITUDE IN PRAISING.--When good friends praise a gifted person he often appears to be delighted with them out of politeness and goodwill, but in reality he feels indifferent. His real nature is quite unmoved towards them, and will not budge a step on that account out of the sun or shade in which it lies; but people wish to please by praise, and it would grieve them if one did not rejoice when they praise a person.

361.

THE EXPERIENCE OF SOCRATES.--If one has become a master in one thing, one has generally remained, precisely thereby, a complete dunce in most other things; but one forms the very reverse opinion, as was already experienced by Socrates. This is the annoyance which makes association with masters disagreeable.

362.

A MEANS OF DEFENCE.--In warring against stupidity, the most just and gentle of men at last become brutal. They are thereby, perhaps, taking the proper course for defence; for the most appropriate argument for a stupid brain is the clenched fist. But because, as has been said, their character is just and gentle, they suffer more by this means of protection than they injure their opponents by it.

363.

CURIOSITY.--If curiosity did not exist, very little would be done for the good of our neighbour. But curiosity creeps into the houses of the unfortunate and the needy under the name of duty or of pity. Perhaps there is a good deal of curiosity even in the much-vaunted maternal love.

364.

DISAPPOINTMENT IN SOCIETY.--One man wishes to be interesting for his opinions, another for his likes and dislikes, a third for his acquaintances, and a fourth for his solitariness--and they all meet with disappointment. For he before whom the play is performed thinks himself the only play that is to be taken into account.

365.

THE DUEL.--It may be said in favour of duels and all affairs of honour that if a man has such susceptible feelings that he does not care to live when So-and-so says or thinks this or that about him; he has a right to make it a question of the death of the one or the other. With regard to the fact that he is so susceptible, it is not at all to be remonstrated with, in that matter we are the heirs of the past, of its greatness as well as of its exaggerations, without which no greatness ever existed. So when there exists a code of honour which lets blood stand in place of death, so that the mind is relieved after a regular duel it is a great blessing, because otherwise many human lives would be in danger. Such an institution, moreover, teaches men to be cautious in their utterances and makes intercourse with them possible.

366.