Counsels and Maxims - Arthur Schopenhauer
To show your intelligence and discernment is only an indirect way of
reproaching other people for being dull and incapable. And besides, it
is natural for a vulgar man to be violently agitated by the sight of
opposition in any form; and in this case envy comes in as the secret
cause of his hostility. For it is a matter of daily observation that
people take the greatest pleasure in that which satisfies their
vanity; and vanity cannot be satisfied without comparison with others.
Now, there is nothing of which a man is prouder than of intellectual
ability, for it is this that gives him his commanding place in the
animal world. It is an exceedingly rash thing to let any one see that
you are decidedly superior to him in this respect, and to let other
people see it too; because he will then thirst for vengeance, and
generally look about for an opportunity of taking it by means of
insult, because this is to pass from the sphere of _intellect_ to
that of _will_--and there, all are on an equal footing as regards the
feeling of hostility. Hence, while rank and riches may always reckon
upon deferential treatment in society, that is something which
intellectual ability can never expect; to be ignored is the greatest
favor shown to it; and if people notice it at all, it is because they
regard it as a piece of impertinence, or else as something to which
its possessor has no legitimate right, and upon which he dares to
pride himself; and in retaliation and revenge for his conduct, people
secretly try and humiliate him in some other way; and if they wait to
do this, it is only for a fitting opportunity. A man may be as humble
as possible in his demeanor, and yet hardly ever get people to
overlook his crime in standing intellectually above them. In the
_Garden of Roses_, Sadi makes the remark:--_You should know that
foolish people are a hundredfold more averse to meeting the wise than
the wise are indisposed for the company of the foolish_.
On the other hand, it is a real recommendation to be stupid. For just
as warmth is agreeable to the body, so it does the mind good to feel
its superiority; and a man will seek company likely to give him this
feeling, as instinctively as he will approach the fireplace or walk
in the sun if he wants to get warm. But this means that he will be
disliked on account of his superiority; and if a man is to be liked,
he must really be inferior in point of intellect; and the same thing
holds good of a woman in point of beauty. To give proof of real and
unfeigned inferiority to some of the people you meet--that is a very
difficult business indeed!
Consider how kindly and heartily a girl who is passably pretty will
welcome one who is downright ugly. Physical advantages are not thought
so much of in the case of man, though I suppose you would rather a
little man sat next to you than one who was bigger than yourself. This
is why, amongst men, it is the dull and ignorant, and amongst women,
the ugly, who are always popular and in request.[1] It is likely to
be said of such people that they are extremely good-natured, because
every one wants to find a pretext for caring about them--a pretext
which will blind both himself and other people to the real reason why
he likes them. This is also why mental superiority of any sort always
tends to isolate its possessor; people run away from him out of
pure hatred, and say all manner of bad things about him by way of
justifying their action. Beauty, in the case of women, has a similar
effect: very pretty girls have no friends of their own sex, and they
even find it hard to get another girl to keep them company. A handsome
woman should always avoid applying for a position as companion,
because the moment she enters the room, her prospective mistress will
scowl at her beauty, as a piece of folly with which, both for her own
and for her daughter's sake, she can very well dispense. But if the
girl has advantages of rank, the case is very different; because rank,
unlike personal qualities which work by the force of mere contrast,
produces its effect by a process of reflection; much in the same
way as the particular hue of a person's complexion depends upon the
prevailing tone of his immediate surroundings.
[Footnote 1: If you desire to get on in the world, friends and
acquaintances are by far the best passport to fortune. The possession
of a great deal of ability makes a man proud, and therefore not apt to
flatter those who have very little, and from whom, on that account,
the possession of great ability should be carefully concealed. The
consciousness of small intellectual power has just the opposite
effect, and is very compatible with a humble, affable and
companionable nature, and with respect for what is mean and wretched.
This is why an inferior sort of man has so many friends to befriend
and encourage him.
These remarks are applicable not only to advancement in political
life, but to all competition for places of honor and dignity, nay,
even for reputation in the world of science, literature and art. In
learned societies, for example, mediocrity--that very acceptable
quality--is always to the fore, whilst merit meets with tardy
recognition, or with none at all. So it is in everything.]
SECTION 35. Our trust in other people often consists in great measure
of pure laziness, selfishness and vanity on our own part: I say
_laziness_, because, instead of making inquiries ourselves, and
exercising an active care, we prefer to trust others; _selfishness_,
because we are led to confide in people by the pressure of our own
affairs; and _vanity_, when we ask confidence for a matter on which we
rather pride ourselves. And yet, for all that, we expect people to be
true to the trust we repose in them.
But we ought not to become angry if people put no trust in us: because
that really means that they pay honesty the sincere compliment of
regarding it as a very rare thing,--so rare, indeed, as to leave us in
doubt whether its existence is not merely fabulous.
SECTION 36. _Politeness_,--which the Chinese hold to be a cardinal
virtue,--is based upon two considerations of policy. I have explained
one of these considerations in my _Ethics_; the other is as
follows:--Politeness is a tacit agreement that people's miserable
defects, whether moral or intellectual, shall on either side be
ignored and not made the subject of reproach; and since these defects
are thus rendered somewhat less obtrusive, the result is mutually
advantageous.[1]
[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--In the passage referred to
_(Grundlage der Moral_, collected works, Vol. IV., pp. 187 and 198),
Schopenhauer explains politeness as a conventional and systematic
attempt to mask the egoism of human nature in the small affairs of
life,--an egoism so repulsive that some such device is necessary for
the purpose of concealing its ugliness. The relation which politeness
bears to the true love of one's neighbor is analogous to that existing
between justice as an affair of legality, and justice as the real
integrity of the heart.]
It is a wise thing to be polite; consequently, it is a stupid thing
to be rude. To make enemies by unnecessary and willful incivility,
is just as insane a proceeding as to set your house on fire. For
politeness is like a counter--an avowedly false coin, with which it is
foolish to be stingy. A sensible man will be generous in the use
of it. It is customary in every country to end a letter with
the words:--_your most obedient servant_--_votre tres-humble
serviteur_--_suo devotissimo servo_. (The Germans are the only people
who suppress the word _servant_--_Diener_--because, of course, it is
not true!) However, to carry politeness to such an extent as to damage
your prospects, is like giving money where only counters are expected.
Wax, a substance naturally hard and brittle, can be made soft by the
application of a little warmth, so that it will take any shape you
please. In the same way, by being polite and friendly, you can make
people pliable and obliging, even though they are apt to be crabbed
and malevolent. Hence politeness is to human nature what warmth is to
wax.
Of course, it is no easy matter to be polite; in so far, I mean, as it
requires us to show great respect for everybody, whereas most people
deserve none at all; and again in so far as it demands that we should
feign the most lively interest in people, when we must be very glad
that we have nothing to do with them. To combine politeness with pride
is a masterpiece of wisdom.
We should be much less ready to lose our temper over an
insult,--which, in the strict sense of the word, means that we have
not been treated with respect,--if, on the one hand, we have not such
an exaggerated estimate of our value and dignity--that is to say, if
we were not so immensely proud of ourselves; and, on the other hand,
if we had arrived at any clear notion of the judgment which, in his
heart, one man generally passes upon another. If most people resent
the slightest hint that any blame attaches to them, you may imagine
their feelings if they were to overhear what their acquaintance say
about them. You should never lose sight of the fact that ordinary
politeness is only a grinning mask: if it shifts its place a little,
or is removed for a moment, there is no use raising a hue and cry.
When a man is downright rude, it is as though he had taken off all his
clothes, and stood before you in _puris naturalibus_. Like most men in
this condition, he does not present a very attractive appearance.
SECTION 37. You ought never to take any man as a model for what you
should do or leave undone; because position and circumstances are in
no two cases alike, and difference of character gives a peculiar,
individual tone to what a man does. Hence _duo cum faciunt idem, non
est idem_--two persons may do the same thing with a different result.
A man should act in accordance with his own character, as soon as he
has carefully deliberated on what he is about to do.
The outcome of this is that _originality_ cannot be dispensed with in
practical matters: otherwise, what a man does will not accord with
what he is.
SECTION 38. Never combat any man's opinion; for though you reached the
age of Methuselah, you would never have done setting him right upon
all the absurd things that he believes.
It is also well to avoid correcting people's mistakes in conversation,
however good your intentions may be; for it is easy to offend people,
and difficult, if not impossible, to mend them.
If you feel irritated by the absurd remarks of two people whose
conversation you happen to overhear, you should imagine that you are
listening to a dialogue of two fools in a comedy. _Probatum est._
The man who comes into the world with the notion that he is really
going to instruct in matters of the highest importance, may thank his
stars if he escapes with a whole skin.
SECTION 39. If you want your judgment to be accepted, express it
coolly and without passion. All violence has its seat in the _will_;
and so, if your judgment is expressed with vehemence, people will
consider it an effort of will, and not the outcome of knowledge, which
is in its nature cold and unimpassioned. Since the will is the primary
and radical element in human nature, and _intellect_ merely supervenes
as something secondary, people are more likely to believe that the
opinion you express with so much vehemence is due to the excited state
of your will, rather than that the excitement of the will comes only
from the ardent nature of your opinion.
SECTION 40. Even when you are fully justified in praising yourself,
you should never be seduced into doing so. For vanity is so very
common, and merit so very uncommon, that even if a man appears to be
praising himself, though very indirectly, people will be ready to lay
a hundred to one that he is talking out of pure vanity, and that he
has not sense enough to see what a fool he is making of himself.
Still, for all that, there may be some truth in Bacon's remark that,
as in the case of calumny, if you throw enough dirt, some of it will
stick, so it it also in regard to self-praise; with the conclusion
that self-praise, in small doses, is to be recommended.[1]
[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_.--Schopenhauer alludes to the
following passage in Bacon's _De Augmentis Scientiarum_, Bk. viii.,
ch. 2: _Sicut enim dici solet de calumnia_, audacter calumniare,
semper aliquid haeret; _sic dici potest de jactantia, (nisi plane
deformis fuerit et ridicula_), audacter te vendita, semper aliquid
haeret. _Haerebit certe apud populum, licet prudentiores subrideant.
Itaque existimatio parta apud plurimos paucorum fastidium abunde
compensabit._]
SECTION 41. If you have reason to suspect that a person is telling you
a lie, look as though you believed every word he said. This will give
him courage to go on; he will become more vehement in his assertions,
and in the end betray himself.
Again, if you perceive that a person is trying to conceal something
from you, but with only partial success, look as though you did not
believe him, This opposition on your part will provoke him into
leading out his reserve of truth and bringing the whole force of it to
bear upon your incredulity.
SECTION 42. You should regard all your private affairs as secrets,
and, in respect of them, treat your acquaintances, even though you
are on good terms with them, as perfect strangers, letting them know
nothing more than they can see for themselves. For in course of time,
and under altered circumstances, you may find it a disadvantage that
they know even the most harmless things about you.
And, as a general rule, it is more advisable to show your intelligence
by saying nothing than by speaking out; for silence is a matter
of prudence, whilst speech has something in it of vanity. The
opportunities for displaying the one or the other quality occur
equally often; but the fleeting satisfaction afforded by speech is
often preferred to the permanent advantage secured by silence.
The feeling of relief which lively people experience in speaking aloud
when no one is listening, should not be indulged, lest it grow into a
habit; for in this way thought establishes such very friendly terms
with speech, that conversation is apt to become a process of thinking
aloud. Prudence exacts that a wide gulf should be fixed between what
we think and what we say.
At times we fancy that people are utterly unable to believe in the
truth of some statement affecting us personally, whereas it never
occurs to them to doubt it; but if we give them the slightest
opportunity of doubting it, they find it absolutely impossible
to believe it any more. We often betray ourselves into revealing
something, simply because we suppose that people cannot help noticing
it,--just as a man will throw himself down from a great height because
he loses his head, in other words, because he fancies that he cannot
retain a firm footing any longer; the torment of his position is so
great, that he thinks it better to put an end to it at once. This is
the kind of insanity which is called _acrophobia_.
But it should not be forgotten how clever people are in regard
to affairs which do not concern them, even though they show no
particularly sign of acuteness in other matters. This is a kind of
algebra in which people are very proficient: give them a single fact
to go upon, and they will solve the most complicated problems. So,
if you wish to relate some event that happened long ago, without
mentioning any names, or otherwise indicating the persons to whom you
refer, you should be very careful not to introduce into your narrative
anything that might point, however distantly, to some definite fact,
whether it is a particular locality, or a date, or the name of some
one who was only to a small extent implicated, or anything else that
was even remotely connected with the event; for that at once gives
people something positive to go upon, and by the aid of their talent
for this sort of algebra, they will discover all the rest. Their
curiosity in these matters becomes a kind of enthusiasm: their will
spurs on their intellect, and drives it forward to the attainment
of the most remote results. For however unsusceptible and different
people may be to general and universal truths, they are very ardent in
the matter of particular details.
In keeping with what I have said, it will be found that all those
who profess to give instructions in the wisdom of life are specially
urgent in commending the practice of silence, and assign manifold
reasons why it should be observed; so it is not necessary for me to
enlarge upon the subject any further. However, I may just add one or
two little known Arabian proverbs, which occur to me as peculiarly
appropriate:--
_Do not tell a friend anything that you would conceal from an enemy_.
_A secret is in my custody, if I keep it; but should it escape me, it
is I who am the prisoner_.
_The tree of silence bears the fruit of peace_.
SECTION 43. Money is never spent to so much advantage as when you have
been cheated out of it; for at one stroke you have purchased prudence.
SECTION 44. If possible, no animosity should be felt for anyone. But
carefully observe and remember the manner in which a man conducts
himself, so that you may take the measure of his value,--at any
rate in regard to yourself,--and regulate your bearing towards
him accordingly; never losing sight of the fact that character
is unalterable, and that to forget the bad features in a man's
disposition is like throwing away hard-won money. Thus you will
protect yourself against the results of unwise intimacy and foolish
friendship.
_Give way neither to love nor to hate_, is one-half of worldly wisdom:
_say nothing and believe nothing_, the other half. Truly, a world
where there is need of such rules as this and the following, is one
upon which a man may well turn his back.
SECTION 45. To speak angrily to a person, to show your hatred by
what you say or by the way you look, is an unnecessary
proceeding--dangerous, foolish, ridiculous, and vulgar.
Anger and hatred should never be shown otherwise than in what you do;
and feelings will be all the more effective in action, in so far
as you avoid the exhibition of them in any other way. It is only
cold-blooded animals whose bite is poisonous.
SECTION 46. To speak without emphasizing your words--_parler sans
accent_--is an old rule with those who are wise in the world's ways.
It means that you should leave other people to discover what it is
that you have said; and as their minds are slow, you can make your
escape in time. On the other hand, to emphasize your meaning--_parler
avec accent_--is to address their feelings; and the result is always
the opposite of what you expect. If you are polite enough in your
manner and courteous in your tone there are many people whom you may
abuse outright, and yet run no immediate risk of offending them.
CHAPTER IV,
WORLDLY FORTUNE.--SECTION 47.
However varied the forms that human destiny may take, the same
elements are always present; and so life is everywhere much of a
piece, whether it passed in the cottage or in the palace, in the
barrack or in the cloister. Alter the circumstance as much as you
please! point to strange adventures, successes, failures! life is like
a sweet-shop, where there is a great variety of things, odd in shape
and diverse in color--one and all made from the same paste. And when
men speak of some one's success, the lot of the man who has failed is
not so very different as it seems. The inequalities in the world are
like the combinations in a kaleidoscope; at every turn a fresh picture
strikes the eye; and yet, in reality, you see only the same bits of
glass as you saw before.
SECTION 48. An ancient writer says, very truly, that there are three
great powers in the world; _Sagacity, Strength_, and _Luck_,--[Greek:
sunetos, kratos, tuchu.] I think the last is the most efficacious.
A man's life is like the voyage of a ship, where luck--_secunda aut
adversa fortuna_--acts the part of the wind, and speeds the vessel on
its way or drives it far out of its course. All that the man can do
for himself is of little avail; like the rudder, which, if worked hard
and continuously, may help in the navigation of the ship; and yet all
may be lost again by a sudden squall. But if the wind is only in the
right quarter, the ship will sail on so as not to need any steering.
The power of luck is nowhere better expressed than in a certain
Spanish proverb: _Da Ventura a tu hijo, y echa lo en el mar_--give
your son luck and throw him into the sea.
Still, chance, it may be said, is a malignant power, and as little
as possible should be left to its agency. And yet where is there any
giver who, in dispensing gifts, tells us quite clearly that we have no
right to them, and that we owe them not to any merit on our part,
but wholly to the goodness and grace of the giver--at the same time
allowing us to cherish the joyful hope of receiving, in all humility,
further undeserved gifts from the same hands--where is there any giver
like that, unless it be _Chance_? who understands the kingly art of
showing the recipient that all merit is powerless and unavailing
against the royal grace and favor.
On looking back over the course of his life,--that _labyrinthine way
of error_,--a man must see many points where luck failed him and
misfortune came; and then it is easy to carry self-reproach to an
unjust excess. For the course of a man's life is in no wise entirely
of his own making; it is the product of two factors--the series of
things that happened, and his own resolves in regard to them, and
these two are constantly interacting upon and modifying each other.
And besides these, another influence is at work in the very limited
extent of a man's horizon, whether it is that he cannot see very far
ahead in respect of the plans he will adopt, or that he is still less
able to predict the course of future events: his knowledge is strictly
confined to present plans and present events. Hence, as long as a
man's goal is far off, he cannot steer straight for it; he must be
content to make a course that is approximately right; and in following
the direction in which he thinks he ought to go, he will often have
occasion to tack.
All that a man can do is to form such resolves as from time to time
accord with the circumstances in which he is placed, in the hope of
thus managing to advance a step nearer towards the final goal. It is
usually the case that the position in which we stand, and the object
at which we aim, resemble two tendencies working with dissimilar
strength in different directions; and the course of our life is
represented by their diagonal, or resultant force.
Terence makes the remark that life is like a game at dice, where if
the number that turns up is not precisely the one you want, you can
still contrive to use it equally:--_in vita est hominum quasi cum
ludas tesseris; si illud quod maxime opus est jactu non cadit, illud
quod cecidit forte, id arte ut corrigas_.[1] Or, to put the matter
more shortly, life is a game of cards, when the cards are shuffled and
dealt by fate. But for my present purpose, the most suitable simile
would be that of a game of chess, where the plan we determined to
follow is conditioned by the play of our rival,--in life, by the
caprice of fate. We are compelled to modify our tactics, often to such
an extent that, as we carry them out, hardly a single feature of the
original plan can be recognized.
[Footnote 1: He seems to have been referring to a game something like
backgammon.]
But above and beyond all this, there is another influence that makes
itself felt in our lives. It is a trite saying--only too frequently
true--that we are often more foolish than we think. On the other hand,
we are often wiser than we fancy ourselves to be. This, however, is a
discovery which only those can make, of whom it is really true; and it
takes them a long time to make it. Our brains are not the wisest
part of us. In the great moments of life, when a man decides upon
an important step, his action is directed not so much by any clear
knowledge of the right thing to do, as by an inner impulse--you may
almost call it an instinct--proceeding from the deepest foundations of
his being. If, later on, he attempts to criticise his action by the
light of hard and fast ideas of what is right in the abstract--those
unprofitable ideas which are learnt by rote, or, it may be, borrowed
from other people; if he begins to apply general rules, the principles
which have guided others, to his own case, without sufficiently
weighing the maxim that one man's meat is another's poison, then he
will run great risk of doing himself an injustice. The result will
show where the right course lay. It is only when a man has reached
the happy age of wisdom that he is capable of just judgment in regard
either to his own actions or to those of others.