Essays of Schopenhauer
No one knows what capacities he possesses for suffering and doing until
an opportunity occurs to bring them into play; any more than he imagines
when looking into a perfectly smooth pond with a mirror-like surface,
that it can tumble and toss and rush from rock to rock, or leap as high
into the air as a fountain;--any more than in ice-cold water he suspects
latent warmth.
* * * * *
That line of Ovid's,
"_Pronaque cum spectent animalia cetera terram_,"
is only applicable in its true physical sense to animals; but in a
figurative and spiritual sense, unfortunately, to the great majority of
men too. Their thoughts and aspirations are entirely devoted to physical
enjoyment and physical welfare, or to various personal interests which
receive their importance from their relation to the former; but they
have no interests beyond these. This is not only shown in their way of
living and speaking, but also in their look, the expression of their
physiognomy, their gait and gesticulations; everything about them
proclaims _in terram prona!_ Consequently it is not to them, but only to
those nobler and more highly endowed natures, those men who really think
and observe things round them, and are the exceptions in the human race,
that the following lines are applicable:
"_Os homini sublime dedit coelumque tueri
Jussitt et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus_."
* * * * *
Why is "_common_" an expression of contempt? And why are _"uncommon,"
"extraordinary," "distinguished,"_ expressions of approbation? Why is
everything that is common contemptible?
_Common_, in its original sense, means that which is peculiar and common
to the whole species, that is to say that which is innate in the
species. Accordingly, a man who has no more qualities than those of the
human species in general is a "_common man_" "Ordinary man" is a much
milder expression, and is used more in reference to what is
intellectual, while _common_ is used more in a moral sense.
What value can a being have that is nothing more than like millions of
its kind? Millions? Nay, an infinitude, an endless number of beings,
which Nature in _secula seculorum_ unceasingly sends bubbling forth from
her inexhaustible source; as generous with them as the smith with the
dross that flies round his anvil.
So it is evidently only right that a being which has no other qualities
than those of the species, should make no claim to any other existence
than that confined to and conditioned by the species.
I have already several times explained[14] that whilst animals have only
the generic character, it falls to man's share alone to have an
individual character. Nevertheless, in most men there is in reality very
little individual character; and they may be almost all classified. _Ce
sont des espèces_. Their desires and thoughts, like their faces, are
those of the whole species--at any rate, those of the class of men to
which they belong, and they are therefore of a trivial, common nature,
and exist in thousands. Moreover, as a rule one can tell pretty exactly
beforehand what they will say and do. They have no individual stamp:
they are like manufactured goods. If, then, their nature is absorbed in
that of the species, must not their existence be too? The curse of
vulgarity reduces man to the level of animals, for his nature and
existence are merged in that of the species only. It is taken for
granted that anything that is high, great, or noble by its very nature
stands isolated in a world where no better expression can be found to
signify what is base and paltry than the term which I have mentioned as
being generally used--namely, _common_.
* * * * *
According as our intellectual energy is strained or relaxed will life
appear to us either so short, petty, and fleeting, that nothing can
happen of sufficient importance to affect our feelings; nothing is of
any importance to us--be it pleasure, riches, or even fame, and however
much we may have failed, we cannot have lost much; or _vice versâ,_ life
will appear so long, so important, so all in all, so grave, and so
difficult that we throw ourselves into it with our whole soul, so that
we may get a share of its possessions, make ourselves sure of its
prizes, and carry out our plans. The latter is the immanent view of
life; it is what Gracian means by his expression, _tomar muy de veras el
vivir_ (life is to be taken seriously); while for the former, the
transcendental view, Ovid's _non est tanti_ is a good expression;
Plato's a still better, οὔτε τι των ἀνθρωπινων ἀξιον ἑστι, μεγαλης
σπουδης (_nihil, in rebus humanis, magno studio dignum est_).
The former state of mind is the result of the intellect having gained
ascendency over consciousness, where, freed from the mere service of the
will, it grasps the phenomena of life objectively, and so cannot fail to
see clearly the emptiness and futility of it. On the other hand, it is
the _will_ that rules in the other condition of mind, and it is only
there to lighten the way to the object of its desires. A man is great or
small according to the predominance of one or the other of these views
of life.
* * * * *
It is quite certain that many a man owes his life's happiness solely to
the circumstance that he possesses a pleasant smile, and so wins the
hearts of others. However, these hearts would do better to take care to
remember what Hamlet put down in his tablets--_that one may smile, and
smile, and be a villain_.
* * * * *
People of great and brilliant capacities think little of admitting or
exposing their faults and weaknesses. They regard them as something for
which they have paid, and even are of the opinion that these weaknesses,
instead of being a disgrace to them, do them honour. This is especially
the case when they are errors that are inseparable from their brilliant
capacities--_conditiones sine quibus non_, or, as George Sand expressed
it, _chacun a les défauts de ses vertus_.
On the contrary, there are people of good character and irreproachable
minds, who, rather than admit their few little weaknesses, carefully
conceal them, and are very sensitive if any reference is made to them;
and this just because their whole merit consists in the absence of
errors and defects; and hence when these errors come to light they are
immediately held in less esteem.
* * * * *
Modesty, in people of moderate ability, is merely honesty, but in people
of great talent it is hypocrisy. Hence it is just as becoming in the
latter to openly admit the regard they have for themselves, and not to
conceal the fact that they are conscious of possessing exceptional
capabilities, as it is in the former to be modest. Valerius Maximus
gives some very good examples of this in his chapter _de fiducia sui_.
* * * * *
Man even surpasses all the lower order of animals in his capacity for
being trained. Mohammedans are trained to pray five times a day with
their faces turned towards Mecca; and they do it regularly. Christians
are trained to make the sign of the Cross on certain occasions, and to
bow, and so forth; so that religion on the whole is a real masterpiece
of training--that is to say, it trains people what they are to think;
and the training, as is well known, cannot begin too early. There is no
absurdity, however palpable it may be, which may not be fixed in the
minds of all men, if it is inculcated before they are six years old by
continual and earnest repetition. For it is the same with men as with
animals, to train them with perfect success one must begin when they are
very young.
Noblemen are trained to regard nothing more sacred than their word of
honour, to believe earnestly, rigidly, and firmly in the inane code of
knight-errantry, and if necessary to seal their belief by death, and to
look upon a king as a being of a higher order. Politeness and
compliments, and particularly our courteous attitude towards ladies, are
the result of training; and so is our esteem for birth, position, and
title. And so is our displeasure at certain expressions directed against
us, our displeasure being proportionate to the expression used. The
Englishman has been trained to consider his being called no gentleman a
crime worthy of death--a liar, a still greater crime; and so, the
Frenchman, if he is called a coward; a German, if he is called a stupid.
Many people are trained to be honest in some particular direction,
whilst in everything else they exhibit very little honesty; so that many
a man will not steal money, but he will steal everything that will
afford him enjoyment in an indirect way. Many a shopkeeper will deceive
without scruple, but he will on no condition whatever steal.
* * * * *
The doctor sees mankind in all its weakness; the lawyer in all its
wickedness; the theologian in all its stupidity.
* * * * *
_Opinion_ obeys the same law as the swing of the pendulum: if it goes
beyond the centre of gravity on one side, it must go as far beyond on
the other. It is only after a time that it finds the true point of rest
and remains stationary.
* * * * *
Distance in space decreases the size of things, for it contracts them
and so makes their defects and deficiencies disappear. This is why
everything looks so much finer in a contracting mirror or in a _camera
obscura_ than it is in reality; and the past is affected in the same way
in the course of time. The scenes and events that happened long ago, as
well as the persons who took part in them, become a delight to the
memory, which ignores everything that is immaterial and disagreeable.
The present possesses no such advantage; it always seems to be
defective. And in space, small objects near at hand appear to be big,
and if they are very near, they cover the whole of our field of vision;
but as soon as we stand some little distance away they become minute and
finally invisible. And so it is with time: the little affairs and
misfortunes of everyday life excite in us emotion, anxiety, vexation,
passion, for so long as they are quite near us, they appear big,
important, and considerable; but as soon as the inexhaustible stream of
time has carried them into the distance they become unimportant; they
are not worth remembering and are soon forgotten, because their
importance merely consisted in being near.
* * * * *
It is only now and then that a man learns something; but he forgets the
whole day long.
Our memory is like a sieve, that with time and use holds less and less;
in so far, namely, as the older we get, the quicker anything we have
entrusted to our memory slips through it, while anything that was fixed
firmly in it, when we were young, remains. This is why an old man's
recollections are the clearer the further they go back, and the less
clear the nearer they approach the present; so that his memory, like his
eyes, becomes long-sighted (πρεσβυς).
That sometimes, and apparently without any reason, long-forgotten scenes
suddenly come into the memory, is, in many cases, due to the recurrence
of a scarcely perceptible odour, of which we were conscious when those
scenes actually took place; for it is well known that odours more easily
than anything else awaken memories, and that, in general, something of
an extremely trifling nature is all that is necessary to call up a
_nexus idearum_.
And by the way, I may say that the sense of sight has to do with the
understanding,[15] the sense of hearing with reason,[16] and the sense