The Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer: the Wisdom of Life
Hence, the code of knightly honor prescribes that, when the lie is
given, an appeal to arms follows as a matter of course. So much, then,
for the theory of insult.
[Footnote 1: See C.G. von Waehter's _Beiträge zur deutschen
Geschichte_, especially the chapter on criminal law.]
[Footnote 2: _Translator's Note_.--It is true that this expression has
another special meaning in the technical terminology of Chivalry,
but it is the nearest English equivalent which I can find for the
German--_ein Bescholtener_]
But there is something even worse than insult, something so dreadful
that I must beg pardon of all _honorable people_ for so much as
mentioning it in this code of knightly honor; for I know they will
shiver, and their hair will stand on end, at the very thought of
it--the _summum malum_, the greatest evil on earth, worse than death
and damnation. A man may give another--_horrible dictu_!--a slap or a
blow. This is such an awful thing, and so utterly fatal to all
honor, that, while any other species of insult may be healed by
blood-letting, this can be cured only by the _coup-de-grace_.
(3.) In the third place, this kind of honor has absolutely nothing
to do with what a man may be in and for himself; or, again, with the
question whether his moral character can ever become better or worse,
and all such pedantic inquiries. If your honor happens to be attacked,
or to all appearances gone, it can very soon be restored in its
entirety if you are only quick enough in having recourse to the one
universal remedy--_a duel_. But if the aggressor does not belong to
the classes which recognize the code of knightly honor, or has himself
once offended against it, there is a safer way of meeting any attack
upon your honor, whether it consists in blows, or merely in words.
If you are armed, you can strike down your opponent on the spot, or
perhaps an hour later. This will restore your honor.
But if you wish to avoid such an extreme step, from fear of any
unpleasant consequences arising therefrom, or from uncertainty as to
whether the aggressor is subject to the laws of knightly honor or
not, there is another means of making your position good, namely, the
_Avantage_. This consists in returning rudeness with still greater
rudeness; and if insults are no use, you can try a blow, which forms a
sort of climax in the redemption of your honor; for instance, a box on
the ear may be cured by a blow with a stick, and a blow with a stick
by a thrashing with a horsewhip; and, as the approved remedy for this
last, some people recommend you to spit at your opponent.[1] If all
these means are of no avail, you must not shrink from drawing blood.
And the reason for these methods of wiping out insult is, in this
code, as follows:
[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. It must be remembered that
Schopenhauer is here describing, or perhaps caricaturing the manners
and customs of the German aristocracy of half a century ago. Now, of
course, _nous avons change tout cela_!]
(4.) To receive an insult is disgraceful; to give one, honorable. Let
me take an example. My opponent has truth, right and reason on his
side. Very well. I insult him. Thereupon right and honor leave him and
come to me, and, for the time being, he has lost them--until he gets
them back, not by the exercise of right or reason, but by shooting and
sticking me. Accordingly, rudeness is a quality which, in point of
honor, is a substitute for any other and outweighs them all. The
rudest is always right. What more do you want? However stupid, bad or
wicked a man may have been, if he is only rude into the bargain, he
condones and legitimizes all his faults. If in any discussion or
conversation, another man shows more knowledge, greater love of
truth, a sounder judgment, better understanding than we, or generally
exhibits intellectual qualities which cast ours into the shade, we can
at once annul his superiority and our own shallowness, and in our turn
be superior to him, by being insulting and offensive. For rudeness
is better than any argument; it totally eclipses intellect. If our
opponent does not care for our mode of attack, and will not answer
still more rudely, so as to plunge us into the ignoble rivalry of
the _Avantage_, we are the victors and honor is on our side. Truth,
knowledge, understanding, intellect, wit, must beat a retreat and
leave the field to this almighty insolence.
_Honorable people_ immediately make a show of mounting their
war-horse, if anyone utters an opinion adverse to theirs, or shows
more intelligence than they can muster; and if in any controversy
they are at a loss for a reply, they look about for some weapon of
rudeness, which will serve as well and come readier to hand; so they
retire masters of the position. It must now be obvious that people are
quite right in applauding this principle of honor as having ennobled
the tone of society. This principle springs from another, which forms
the heart and soul of the entire code.
(5.) Fifthly, the code implies that the highest court to which a man
can appeal in any differences he may have with another on a point of
honor is the court of physical force, that is, of brutality. Every
piece of rudeness is, strictly speaking, an appeal to brutality; for
it is a declaration that intellectual strength and moral insight are
incompetent to decide, and that the battle must be fought out by
physical force--a struggle which, in the case of man, whom Franklin
defines as _a tool-making animal_, is decided by the weapons peculiar
to the species; and the decision is irrevocable. This is the
well-known principle of _right of might_--irony, of course, like _the
wit of a fool_, a parallel phrase. The honor of a knight may be called
the glory of might.
(6.) Lastly, if, as we saw above, civic honor is very scrupulous in
the matter of _meum_ and _tuum_, paying great respect to obligations
and a promise once made, the code we are here discussing displays, on
the other hand, the noblest liberality. There is only one word which
may not be broken, _the word of honor_--upon my _honor_, as people
say--the presumption being, of course, that every other form of
promise may be broken. Nay, if the worst comes to the worst, it
is easy to break even one's word of honor, and still remain
honorable--again by adopting that universal remedy, the duel, and
fighting with those who maintain that we pledged our word. Further,
there is one debt, and one alone, that under no circumstances must be
left unpaid--a gambling debt, which has accordingly been called _a
debt of honor_. In all other kinds of debt you may cheat Jews and
Christians as much as you like; and your knightly honor remains
without a stain.
The unprejudiced reader will see at once that such a strange, savage
and ridiculous code of honor as this has no foundation in human
nature, nor any warrant in a healthy view of human affairs. The
extremely narrow sphere of its operation serves only to intensify the
feeling, which is exclusively confined to Europe since the Middle Age,
and then only to the upper classes, officers and soldiers, and people
who imitate them. Neither Greeks nor Romans knew anything of this code
of honor or of its principles; nor the highly civilized nations of
Asia, ancient or modern. Amongst them no other kind of honor is
recognized but that which I discussed first, in virtue of which a man
is what he shows himself to be by his actions, not what any wagging
tongue is pleased to say of him. They thought that what a man said or
did might perhaps affect his own honor, but not any other man's. To
them, a blow was but a blow--and any horse or donkey could give a
harder one--a blow which under certain circumstances might make a man
angry and demand immediate vengeance; but it had nothing to do with
honor. No one kept account of blows or insulting words, or of the
_satisfaction_ which was demanded or omitted to be demanded. Yet in
personal bravery and contempt of death, the ancients were certainly
not inferior to the nations of Christian Europe. The Greeks and Romans
were thorough heroes, if you like; but they knew nothing about
_point d'honneur_. If _they_ had any idea of a duel, it was totally
unconnected with the life of the nobles; it was merely the exhibition
of mercenary gladiators, slaves devoted to slaughter, condemned
criminals, who, alternately with wild beasts, were set to butcher one
another to make a Roman holiday. When Christianity was introduced,
gladiatorial shows were done away with, and their place taken, in
Christian times, by the duel, which was a way of settling difficulties
by _the Judgment of God_.
If the gladiatorial fight was a cruel sacrifice to the prevailing
desire for great spectacles, dueling is a cruel sacrifice to existing
prejudices--a sacrifice, not of criminals, slaves and prisoners, but
of the noble and the free.[1]
[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. These and other remarks on dueling
will no doubt wear a belated look to English readers; but they are
hardly yet antiquated for most parts of the Continent.]
There are a great many traits in the character of the ancients which
show that they were entirely free from these prejudices. When, for
instance, Marius was summoned to a duel by a Teutonic chief, he
returned answer to the effect that, if the chief were tired of his
life, he might go and hang himself; at the same time he offered him a
veteran gladiator for a round or two. Plutarch relates in his life of
Themistocles that Eurybiades, who was in command of the fleet, once
raised his stick to strike him; whereupon Themistocles, instead of
drawing his sword, simply said: _Strike, but hear me_. How sorry the
reader must be, if he is an _honorable_ man, to find that we have no
information that the Athenian officers refused in a body to serve any
longer under Themistocles, if he acted like that! There is a modern
French writer who declares that if anyone considers Demosthenes a man
of honor, his ignorance will excite a smile of pity; and that Cicero
was not a man of honor either![1] In a certain passage in Plato's
_Laws_[2] the philosopher speaks at length of [Greek: aikia] or
_assault_, showing us clearly enough that the ancients had no notion
of any feeling of honor in connection with such matters. Socrates'
frequent discussions were often followed by his being severely
handled, and he bore it all mildly. Once, for instance, when somebody
kicked him, the patience with which he took the insult surprised
one of his friends. _Do you think_, said Socrates, _that if an ass
happened to kick me, I should resent it_?[3] On another occasion, when
he was asked, _Has not that fellow abused and insulted you? No_, was
his answer, _what he says is not addressed to me_[4] Stobaeus has
preserved a long passage from Musonius, from which we can see how the
ancients treated insults. They knew no other form of satisfaction than
that which the law provided, and wise people despised even this. If a
Greek received a box on the ear, he could get satisfaction by the aid
of the law; as is evident from Plato's _Gorgias_, where Socrates'
opinion may be found. The same thing may be seen in the account given
by Gellius of one Lucius Veratius, who had the audacity to give some
Roman citizens whom he met on the road a box on the ear, without any
provocation whatever; but to avoid any ulterior consequences, he
told a slave to bring a bag of small money, and on the spot paid
the trivial legal penalty to the men whom he had astonished by his
conduct.
[Footnote 1:_litteraires_: par C. Durand. Rouen, 1828.]
[Footnote 2: Bk. IX.].
[Footnote 3: Diogenes Laertius, ii., 21.]
[Footnote 4: _Ibid_ 36.]
Crates, the celebrated Cynic philosopher, got such a box on the ear
from Nicodromus, the musician, that his face swelled up and became