The Essays Of Arthur Schopenhauer: The Wisdom of Life - Arthur Schopenhauer
The truest fame, the fame that comes after death, is never heard of by
its recipient; and yet he is called a happy man.
His happiness lay both in the possession of those great qualities
which won him fame, and in the opportunity that was granted him of
developing them--the leisure he had to act as he pleased, to dedicate
himself to his favorite pursuits. It is only work done from the heart
that ever gains the laurel.
Greatness of soul, or wealth of intellect, is what makes a man
happy--intellect, such as, when stamped on its productions, will
receive the admiration of centuries to come,--thoughts which make him
happy at the time, and will in their turn be a source of study and
delight to the noblest minds of the most remote posterity. The value
of posthumous fame lies in deserving it; and this is its own reward.
Whether works destined to fame attain it in the lifetime of their
author is a chance affair, of no very great importance. For the
average man has no critical power of his own, and is absolutely
incapable of appreciating the difficulty of a great work. People are
always swayed by authority; and where fame is widespread, it means
that ninety-nine out of a hundred take it on faith alone. If a man is
famed far and wide in his own lifetime, he will, if he is wise, not
set too much value upon it, because it is no more than the echo of a
few voices, which the chance of a day has touched in his favor.
Would a musician feel flattered by the loud applause of an audience
if he knew that they were nearly all deaf, and that, to conceal their
infirmity, they set to work to clap vigorously as soon as ever they
saw one or two persons applauding? And what would he say if he got to
know that those one or two persons had often taken bribes to secure
the loudest applause for the poorest player!
It is easy to see why contemporary praise so seldom develops into
posthumous fame. D'Alembert, in an extremely fine description of the
temple of literary fame, remarks that the sanctuary of the temple is
inhabited by the great dead, who during their life had no place there,
and by a very few living persons, who are nearly all ejected on their
death. Let me remark, in passing, that to erect a monument to a man
in his lifetime is as much as declaring that posterity is not to be
trusted in its judgment of him. If a man does happen to see his own
true fame, it can very rarely be before he is old, though there have
been artists and musicians who have been exceptions to this rule, but
very few philosophers. This is confirmed by the portraits of people
celebrated by their works; for most of them are taken only after their
subjects have attained celebrity, generally depicting them as old and
grey; more especially if philosophy has been the work of their lives.
From the eudaemonistic standpoint, this is a very proper arrangement;
as fame and youth are too much for a mortal at one and the same time.
Life is such a poor business that the strictest economy must be
exercised in its good things. Youth has enough and to spare in itself,
and must rest content with what it has. But when the delights and joys
of life fall away in old age, as the leaves from a tree in autumn,
fame buds forth opportunely, like a plant that is green in winter.
Fame is, as it were, the fruit that must grow all the summer before it
can be enjoyed at Yule. There is no greater consolation in age than
the feeling of having put the whole force of one's youth into works
which still remain young.
Finally, let us examine a little more closely the kinds of fame which
attach to various intellectual pursuits; for it is with fame of this
sort that my remarks are more immediately concerned.
I think it may be said broadly that the intellectual superiority it
denotes consists in forming theories, that is, new combinations of
certain facts. These facts may be of very different kinds; but
the better they are known, and the more they come within everyday
experience, the greater and wider will be the fame which is to be won
by theorizing about them.
For instance, if the facts in question are numbers or lines or special
branches of science, such as physics, zoology, botany, anatomy, or
corrupt passages in ancient authors, or undecipherable inscriptions,
written, it may be, in some unknown alphabet, or obscure points
in history; the kind of fame that may be obtained by correctly
manipulating such facts will not extend much beyond those who make a
study of them--a small number of persons, most of whom live retired
lives and are envious of others who become famous in their special
branch of knowledge.
But if the facts be such as are known to everyone, for example, the
fundamental characteristics of the human mind or the human heart,
which are shared by all alike; or the great physical agencies which
are constantly in operation before our eyes, or the general course of
natural laws; the kind of fame which is to be won by spreading the
light of a new and manifestly true theory in regard to them, is such
as in time will extend almost all over the civilized world: for if the
facts be such as everyone can grasp, the theory also will be generally
intelligible. But the extent of the fame will depend upon the
difficulties overcome; and the more generally known the facts are, the
harder it will be to form a theory that shall be both new and true:
because a great many heads will have been occupied with them, and
there will be little or no possibility of saying anything that has not
been said before.
On the other hand, facts which are not accessible to everybody, and
can be got at only after much difficulty and labor, nearly
always admit of new combinations and theories; so that, if sound
understanding and judgment are brought to bear upon them--qualities
which do not involve very high intellectual power--a man may easily be
so fortunate as to light upon some new theory in regard to them which
shall be also true. But fame won on such paths does not extend much
beyond those who possess a knowledge of the facts in question. To
solve problems of this sort requires, no doubt, a great ideal of study
and labor, if only to get at the facts; whilst on the path where the
greatest and most widespread fame is to be won, the facts may be
grasped without any labor at all. But just in proportion as less labor
is necessary, more talent or genius is required; and between such
qualities and the drudgery of research no comparison is possible, in
respect either of their intrinsic value, or of the estimation in which
they are held.
And so people who feel that they possess solid intellectual capacity
and a sound judgment, and yet cannot claim the highest mental powers,
should not be afraid of laborious study; for by its aid they may
work themselves above the great mob of humanity who have the facts
constantly before their eyes, and reach those secluded spots which are
accessible to learned toil.
For this is a sphere where there are infinitely fewer rivals, and
a man of only moderate capacity may soon find an opportunity of
proclaiming a theory which shall be both new and true; nay, the merit
of his discovery will partly rest upon the difficulty of coming at
the facts. But applause from one's fellow-students, who are the only
persons with a knowledge of the subject, sounds very faint to the
far-off multitude. And if we follow up this sort of fame far enough,
we shall at last come to a point where facts very difficult to get at
are in themselves sufficient to lay a foundation of fame, without any
necessity for forming a theory;--travels, for instance, in remote and
little-known countries, which make a man famous by what he has seen,
not by what he has thought. The great advantage of this kind of fame
is that to relate what one has seen, is much easier than to impart
one's thoughts, and people are apt to understand descriptions better
than ideas, reading the one more readily than the other: for, as Asmus
says,
_When one goes forth a-voyaging
He has a tale to tell_.
And yet for all that, a personal acquaintance with celebrated
travelers often remind us of a line from Horace--new scenes do not
always mean new ideas--
_Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt_.[1]
[Footnote 1: Epist. I. II.]
But if a man finds himself in possession of great mental faculties,
such as alone should venture on the solution of the hardest of all
problems--those which concern nature as a whole and humanity in its
widest range, he will do well to extend his view equally in all
directions, without ever straying too far amid the intricacies of
various by-paths, or invading regions little known; in other words,
without occupying himself with special branches of knowledge, to say
nothing of their petty details. There is no necessity for him to
seek out subjects difficult of access, in order to escape a crowd of
rivals; the common objects of life will give him material for new
theories at once serious and true; and the service he renders will be
appreciated by all those--and they form a great part of mankind--who
know the facts of which he treats. What a vast distinction there is
between students of physics, chemistry, anatomy, mineralogy, zoology,
philology, history, and the men who deal with the great facts of human
life, the poet and the philosopher!