The Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer: the Wisdom of Life
to be false, perverse, erroneous and absurd, and so in themselves
unworthy of attention; further, that other people's opinions can
have very little real and positive influence upon us in most of the
circumstances and affairs of life. Again, this opinion is generally of
such an unfavorable character that it would worry a man to death to
hear everything that was said of him, or the tone in which he was
spoken of. And finally, among other things, we should be clear about
the fact that honor itself has no really direct, but only an indirect,
value. If people were generally converted from this universal folly,
the result would be such an addition to our piece of mind and
cheerfulness as at present seems inconceivable; people would present
a firmer and more confident front to the world, and generally behave
with less embarrassment and restraint. It is observable that a retired
mode of life has an exceedingly beneficial influence on our peace
of mind, and this is mainly because we thus escape having to live
constantly in the sight of others, and pay everlasting regard to their
casual opinions; in a word, we are able to return upon ourselves. At
the same time a good deal of positive misfortune might be avoided,
which we are now drawn into by striving after shadows, or, to speak
more correctly, by indulging a mischievous piece of folly; and we
should consequently have more attention to give to solid realities and
enjoy them with less interruption that at present. But [Greek: chalepa
ga kala]--what is worth doing is hard to do.
[Footnote 1: Hist., iv., 6.]
_Section 2.--Pride_.
The folly of our nature which we are discussing puts forth three
shoots, ambition, vanity and pride. The difference between the last
two is this: _pride_ is an established conviction of one's own
paramount worth in some particular respect; while _vanity_ is the
desire of rousing such a conviction in others, and it is generally
accompanied by the secret hope of ultimately coming to the same
conviction oneself. Pride works _from within_; it is the direct
appreciation of oneself. Vanity is the desire to arrive at this
appreciation indirectly, _from without_. So we find that vain people
are talkative, proud, and taciturn. But the vain person ought to be
aware that the good opinion of others, which he strives for, may be
obtained much more easily and certainly by persistent silence than by
speech, even though he has very good things to say. Anyone who wishes
to affect pride is not therefore a proud man; but he will soon have to
drop this, as every other, assumed character.
It is only a firm, unshakeable conviction of pre-eminent worth and
special value which makes a man proud in the true sense of the
word,--a conviction which may, no doubt, be a mistaken one or rest on
advantages which are of an adventitious and conventional character:
still pride is not the less pride for all that, so long as it be
present in real earnest. And since pride is thus rooted in conviction,
it resembles every other form of knowledge in not being within our own
arbitrament. Pride's worst foe,--I mean its greatest obstacle,--is
vanity, which courts the applause of the world in order to gain the
necessary foundation for a high opinion of one's own worth, whilst
pride is based upon a pre-existing conviction of it.
It is quite true that pride is something which is generally found
fault with, and cried down; but usually, I imagine, by those who have
nothing upon which they can pride themselves. In view of the impudence
and foolhardiness of most people, anyone who possesses any kind of
superiority or merit will do well to keep his eyes fixed on it, if
he does not want it to be entirely forgotten; for if a man is
good-natured enough to ignore his own privileges, and hob-nob with the
generality of other people, as if he were quite on their level, they
will be sure to treat him, frankly and candidly, as one of themselves.
This is a piece of advice I would specially offer to those whose
superiority is of the highest kind--real superiority, I mean, of a
purely personal nature--which cannot, like orders and titles, appeal
to the eye or ear at every moment; as, otherwise, they will find that
familiarity breeds contempt, or, as the Romans used to say, _sus
Minervam. Joke with a slave, and he'll soon show his heels_, is an
excellent Arabian proverb; nor ought we to despise what Horace says,
_Sume superbiam
Quaesitam meritis_.
--usurp the fame you have deserved. No doubt, when modesty was made a
virtue, it was a very advantageous thing for the fools; for everybody
is expected to speak of himself as if he were one. This is leveling
down indeed; for it comes to look as if there were nothing but fools
in the world.
The cheapest sort of pride is national pride; for if a man is proud of
his own nation, it argues that he has no qualities of his own of which
he can be proud; otherwise he would not have recourse to those which
he shares with so many millions of his fellowmen. The man who is
endowed with important personal qualities will be only too ready to
see clearly in what respects his own nation falls short, since their
failings will be constantly before his eyes. But every miserable fool
who has nothing at all of which he can be proud adopts, as a last
resource, pride in the nation to which he belongs; he is ready and
glad to defend all its faults and follies tooth and nail, thus
reimbursing himself for his own inferiority. For example, if you speak
of the stupid and degrading bigotry of the English nation with the
contempt it deserves, you will hardly find one Englishman in fifty to
agree with you; but if there should be one, he will generally happen
to be an intelligent man.
The Germans have no national pride, which shows how honest they are,
as everybody knows! and how dishonest are those who, by a piece
of ridiculous affectation, pretend that they are proud of their
country--the _Deutsche Bruder_ and the demagogues who flatter the
mob in order to mislead it. I have heard it said that gunpowder was
invented by a German. I doubt it. Lichtenberg asks, _Why is it that a
man who is not a German does not care about pretending that he is one;
and that if he makes any pretence at all, it is to be a Frenchman or
an Englishman_?[1]
[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--It should be remembered that these
remarks were written in the earlier part of the present century, and
that a German philosopher now-a-days, even though he were as apt to
say bitter things as Schopenhauer, could hardly write in a similar
strain.]
However that may be, individuality is a far more important thing
than nationality, and in any given man deserves a thousand-fold more
consideration. And since you cannot speak of national character
without referring to large masses of people, it is impossible to be
loud in your praises and at the same time honest. National character
is only another name for the particular form which the littleness,
perversity and baseness of mankind take in every country. If we become
disgusted with one, we praise another, until we get disgusted with
this too. Every nation mocks at other nations, and all are right.
The contents of this chapter, which treats, as I have said, of what we
represent in the world, or what we are in the eyes of others, may be
further distributed under three heads: honor rank and fame.
_Section 3.--Rank_.
Let us take rank first, as it may be dismissed in a few words,
although it plays an important part in the eyes of the masses and of
the philistines, and is a most useful wheel in the machinery of the
State.
It has a purely conventional value. Strictly speaking, it is a sham;
its method is to exact an artificial respect, and, as a matter of
fact, the whole thing is a mere farce.
Orders, it may be said, are bills of exchange drawn on public opinion,
and the measure of their value is the credit of the drawer. Of course,
as a substitute for pensions, they save the State a good deal of
money; and, besides, they serve a very useful purpose, if they are
distributed with discrimination and judgment. For people in general
have eyes and ears, it is true; but not much else, very little
judgment indeed, or even memory. There are many services of the State
quite beyond the range of their understanding; others, again, are
appreciated and made much of for a time, and then soon forgotten. It
seems to me, therefore, very proper, that a cross or a star should
proclaim to the mass of people always and everywhere, _This man is not
like you; he has done something_. But orders lose their value when
they are distributed unjustly, or without due selection, or in too
great numbers: a prince should be as careful in conferring them as a
man of business is in signing a bill. It is a pleonasm to inscribe on
any order _for distinguished service_; for every order ought to be for
distinguished service. That stands to reason.
_Section 4.--Honor_.
Honor is a much larger question than rank, and more difficult to
discuss. Let us begin by trying to define it.
If I were to say _Honor is external conscience, and conscience is
inward honor_, no doubt a good many people would assent; but there
would be more show than reality about such a definition, and it would
hardly go to the root of the matter. I prefer to say, _Honor is, on
its objective side, other people's opinion of what we are worth; on
its subjective side, it is the respect we pay to this opinion_. From
the latter point of view, to be _a man of honor_ is to exercise what
is often a very wholesome, but by no means a purely moral, influence.
The feelings of honor and shame exist in every man who is not utterly
depraved, and honor is everywhere recognized as something particularly
valuable. The reason of this is as follows. By and in himself a man
can accomplish very little; he is like Robinson Crusoe on a desert
island. It is only in society that a man's powers can be called into
full activity. He very soon finds this out when his consciousness
begins to develop, and there arises in him the desire to be looked
upon as a useful member of society, as one, that is, who is capable
of playing his part as a man--_pro parte virili_--thereby acquiring a
right to the benefits of social life. Now, to be a useful member of
society, one must do two things: firstly, what everyone is expected to
do everywhere; and, secondly, what one's own particular position in
the world demands and requires.
But a man soon discovers that everything depends upon his being
useful, not in his own opinion, but in the opinion of others; and so
he tries his best to make that favorable impression upon the world, to
which he attaches such a high value. Hence, this primitive and innate
characteristic of human nature, which is called the feeling of honor,
or, under another aspect, the feeling of shame--_verecundia_. It is
this which brings a blush to his cheeks at the thought of having
suddenly to fall in the estimation of others, even when he knows that
he is innocent, nay, even if his remissness extends to no absolute
obligation, but only to one which he has taken upon himself of his own
free will. Conversely, nothing in life gives a man so much courage as
the attainment or renewal of the conviction that other people regard
him with favor; because it means that everyone joins to give him help
and protection, which is an infinitely stronger bulwark against the
ills of life than anything he can do himself.
The variety of relations in which a man can stand to other people so
as to obtain their confidence, that is, their good opinion, gives rise
to a distinction between several kinds of honor, resting chiefly on
the different bearings that _meum_ may take to _tuum_; or, again, on