CHAPTER 2: What a Man isWE have in general recognized that this contributes much more to a man's happiness than what he has or represents. It always depends on what a man is and accordingly has in himself; for his individuality always and everywhere accompanies him and everything experienced by him is tinged thereby. In everything and with everything he first of all enjoys only himself; this already applies to physical pleasures and how much truer is it of those of the mind! Therefore the English words 'to enjoy oneself" are a very apt expression; for example, we do not say 'he enjoys Paris', but 'he enjoys himself in Paris.' [2] Now if the individuality is ill-conditioned, all pleasures are like choice wines in a mouth that is made bitter with gall. Accordingly, if we leave out of account cases of grave misfortune, less depends, in the good things as well as in the bad, on what befalls and happens to us in life than on the way in which we feel it, and thus on the nature and degree of our susceptibility in every respect. What a man is and has in himself, that is to say, personality and its worth, is the sole immediate factor in his happiness and well-being. Everything else is mediate and indirect and so the effect thereof can be neutralized and frustrated; that of personality never. For this reason, the envy excited by personal qualities is the most implacable, as it is also the most carefully concealed. Further, the constitution of consciousness is that which is permanent and enduring and individuality is at work constantly and incessantly more or less at every moment. Everything else, on the other hand, acts only at times, occasionally, temporarily, and in addition is subject to variation and change. Therefore Aristotle says: [x] (nam natura perennis est, non opes). [3] Eudemian Ethics, vo. 2. To this is due the fact that we can bear with more composure a misfortune that has befallen us entirely from without than one that we have brought upon ourselves, for fate can change, but our own nature never. Therefore subjective blessings, such as a noble character, a gifted mind, a happy temperament, cheerful spirits, and a well-conditioned thoroughly sound body, and so generally mens sana in corpore sano [4] (Juvenal, Satires, x. 356), are for our happiness primary and the most important. We should, therefore, be much more concerned to promote and preserve such qualities than to possess external wealth and external honour.
Now of all those qualities the one that most immediately makes us happy is cheerfulness of disposition; for this good quality is its own instantaneous reward. Whoever is merry and cheerful has always a good reason for so being, namely the very fact that he is so. Nothing can so completely take the place of every other blessing as can this quality, whilst it itself cannot be replaced by anything. A man may be young, handsome, wealthy, and esteemed; if we wish to judge of his happiness, we ask whether he is cheerful. On the other hand, if he is cheerful, it matters not whether he is young or old, straight or humpbacked, rich or poor; he is happy. In my youth, I once opened an old book in which it said: 'Whoever laughs a lot is happy, and whoever weeps a lot is unhappy', a very simple remark, but because of its plain truth I have been unable to forget it, however much it may be the superlative of a truism. For this reason, we should open wide the doors to cheerfulness whenever it makes its appearance, for it never comes inopportunely. Instead of doing this, we often hesitate to let it enter, for we first want to know whether we have every reason to be contented; or because we are afraid of being disturbed by cheerfulness when we are involved in serious deliberations and heavy cares. But what we improve through these is very uncertain, whereas cheerfulness is an immediate gain. It alone is, so to speak, the very coin of happiness and not, like everything else, merely a cheque on a bank; for only it makes us immediately happy in the present moment. And so it is the greatest blessing for beings whose reality takes the form of an indivisible present moment between an infinite past and an infinite future. Accordingly, we should make the acquisition and encouragement of this blessing our first endeavour. Now it is certain that nothing contributes less to cheerfulness than wealth and nothing contributes more than health. The lower classes or the workers, especially those in the country, have the more cheerful and contented faces; peevishness and ill-humour are more at home among the wealthy upper classes. Consequently, we should endeavour above all to maintain a high degree of health, the very bloom of which appears as cheerfulness. The means to this end are, as we know, avoidance of all excesses and irregularities, of all violent and disagreeable emotions, and also of all mental strain that is too great and too prolonged, two hours' brisk exercise every day in the open air, many cold baths, and similar dietetic measures. Without proper daily exercise no one can remain healthy; all the vital processes demand exercise for their proper performance, exercise not only of the parts wherein they occur, but also of the whole. Therefore Aristotle rightly says: [x]. [5] Life consists in movement and has its very essence therein. Ceaseless and rapid motion occurs in every part of the organism; the heart in its complicated double systole and diastole beats strongly and untiringly; with its twenty-eight beats it drives the whole of the blood through all the arteries, veins, and capillaries; the lungs pump incessantly like a steam-engine; the intestines are always turning in motus peristalticus; [6] all the glands are constantly absorbing and secreting; even the brain has a double motion with every heart-beat and every breath. Now when there is an almost total lack of external movement, as is the case with numberless people who lead an entirely sedentary life, there arises a glaring and injurious disproportion between external inactivity and internal tumult. For the constant internal motion must be supported by something external. That want of proportion is analogous to the case where, in consequence of some emotion, something boils up within us which we are obliged to suppress. In order to thrive even trees require movement through wind. Here a rule applies which may be briefly expressed in Latin: omnis motus, quo celerior, eo magis motus. [7] How much our happiness depends on cheerfulness of disposition, and this on the state of our health, is seen when we compare the impression, made on us by external circumstances or events when we are hale and hearty, with that produced by them when ill-health has made us depressed and anxious. It is not what things are objectively and actually, but what they are for us and in our way of looking at them, that makes us happy or unhappy. This is just what Epictetus says: [x] (commovent homines non res sed de rebus opiniones). [8] In general, however, nine-tenths of our happiness depend on health alone. With it everything becomes a source of pleasure, whereas without it nothing, whatever it may be, can be enjoyed, and even the other subjective blessings, such as mental qualities, disposition, and temperament, are depressed and dwarfed by ill-health. Accordingly, it is not without reason that, when two people meet, they first ask about the state of each other's health and hope that it is good; for this really is for human happiness by far the most important thing. But from this it follows that the greatest of all follies is to sacrifice our health for whatever it may be, for gain, profit, promotion, learning, or fame, not to mention sensual and other fleeting pleasures; rather should we give first place to health.
Now however much health may contribute to the cheerfulness that is so essential to our happiness, this does not depend solely on health; for even with perfect health we may have a melancholy temperament and a predominantly gloomy frame of mind. The ultimate reason for this is undoubtedly to be found in the original and thus unalterable constitution of the organism and generally in the more or less normal relation of sensibility to irritability and power of reproduction. An abnormal excess of sensibility will produce inequality of spirits, periodical excess of cheerfulness and prevailing melancholy. Now since a genius is conditioned by an excess of nervous force and hence of sensibility, Aristotle quite rightly observed that all people of superior eminence are melancholy: [x] [9] (Problemata, 30, I, Berlin edn.). This is undoubtedly the passage that Cicero had in mind when he made the statement, often quoted: Aristoteles ait, omnes ingeniosos melancholicos esse [10] (Tusculanae disputationes, I. 33). Shakespeare has given a fine description of the great and innate diversity of fundamental temperament generally which we are considering:
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper;
And others of such vinegar aspect,
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
'Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.'
-- Merchant of Venice, Act I, Sc. I.
This is precisely the difference described by Plato with the expressions [x] and [x], [11] which is traceable to the very different susceptibility shown by different people to pleasant and unpleasant impressions, in consequence whereof one man laughs at what would drive another almost to despair. As a rule, the weaker the susceptibility is to pleasant impressions, the stronger is that to unpleasant ones, and vice versa. With the equal possibility of the fortunate or unfortunate end of an affair, the [x] will be annoyed or grieved if the issue is unfortunate, but not pleased if it proves to be fortunate. On the other hand, the [x] will not be annoyed or grieved if the affair goes wrong, but will be pleased if the outcome is fortunate. If the [x] succeeds in nine schemes out of ten, he is not satisfied, but is annoyed that one of the schemes was a failure. On the other hand, the [x] is able to find consolation and cheerfulness even in a single successful scheme. Now just as it is not easy to find an evil without some compensation, so even here we see that the [x] and hence those of gloomy and nervous character will have to endure misfortunes and sufferings on the whole more imaginary but less real than those endured by the gay and carefree. For the man who sees everything with dark glasses, always fears the worst, and accordingly takes precautions, will not be wrong in his reckoning as often as the man who always paints things in bright colours with prospects. However, when a morbid affection of the nervous system or of the organs of digestion plays into the hands of an innate [x], [12] this can reach such a pitch that permanent dissatisfaction engenders a weariness of life and accordingly a tendency to suicide arises. Even the most trivial annoyances and vexations can then bring it about; in fact, when the evil reaches the highest degree, there is no need even for such annoyances. On the contrary, a man decides to commit suicide merely in consequence of a permanent dissatisfaction; and he then commits it with such cool deliberation and firm resolve that, often as a patient under supervision, he uses the first unguarded moment to seize without hesitation, without a struggle or recoil, the now natural and welcome means of relief. Detailed descriptions of this state of mind are given by Esquirol in Des maladies mentales. But even the healthiest and perhaps also the most cheerful can of course, in certain circumstances, decide to commit suicide, for example, when the magnitude of their sufferings or of the misfortune that is sure to arrive overcomes the terrors of death. The difference lies solely in the varying magnitude of the requisite motive which is inversely proportional to the amount of the [x]. The greater this is, the less the motive need be, indeed in the end this may sink to zero. On the other hand, the greater the [x] and the health that sustains it, the more must there be in the suicide motive. Accordingly, there are innumerable cases between the two extremes of suicide, between that springing merely from a morbid intensification of the innate [x] and that of the healthy and cheerful man for purely objective reasons.
Beauty is partly akin to health. Although this subjective good quality does not really contribute directly to our happiness, but only indirectly by impressing others, it is nevertheless of great importance even to a man. Beauty is an open letter of recommendation that wins hearts for us in advance; and so Homer's verse is here specially applicable:
[x]
[x]. [14]
-- Iliad, III.65.
The most general survey shows that pain and boredom are the two foes of human happiness. In addition, it may be remarked that, in proportion as we succeed in getting away from the one, we come nearer to the other, and vice versa. And so our life actually presents a violent or feeble oscillation between the two. This springs from the fact that the two stand to each other in a double antagonism, an outer or objective and an inner or subjective. Thus externally, want and privation produce pain; on the other hand, security and affluence give rise to boredom. Accordingly, we see the lower classes constantly struggling against privation and thus against pain; on the other hand, the wealthy upper classes are engaged in a constant and often really desperate struggle against boredom.* But the inner or subjective antagonism between pain and boredom is due to the fact that in the individual a susceptibility to the one is inversely proportional to a susceptibility to the other since it is determined by the measure of his mental ability. Thus feebleness of mind is generally associated with dullness of sensation and a lack of sensitiveness, qualities that render a man less susceptible to pains and afflictions of every kind and intensity. On the other hand, the result of this mental dullness is that inner vacuity and emptiness that is stamped on innumerable faces and also betrays itself in a constant and lively attention to all the events in the external world, even the most trivial. This vacuity is the real source of boredom and always craves for external excitement in order to set the mind and spirits in motion through something. Therefore in the choice thereof it is not fastidious, as is testified by the miserable and wretched pastimes to which people have recourse and also by the nature of their sociability and conversation, and likewise by the many who gossip at the door or gape out of the window. The principal result of this inner vacuity is the craze for society, diversion, amusement, and luxury of every kind which lead many to extravagance and so to misery. Nothing protects us so surely from this wrong turning as inner wealth, the wealth of the mind, for the more eminent it becomes, the less room does it leave for boredom. The inexhaustible activity of ideas, their constantly renewed play with the manifold phenomena of the inner and outer worlds, the power and urge always to make different combinations with them, all these put the eminent mind, apart from moments of relaxation, quite beyond the reach of boredom. On the other hand, this enhanced intelligence is directly conditioned by a heightened sensibility and is rooted in a greater vehemence of will and hence of impulsiveness. From its union with these qualities, there now result a much greater intensity of all the emotions and an enhanced sensitiveness to mental and also physical pain, even greater impatience in the presence of obstacles, or greater resentment of mere disturbances. All this contributes much to an enhancement of the whole range of thoughts and conceptions, and so too of repulsive ideas the liveliness of which springs from a powerful imagination. This holds good relatively of all the intermediate stages between the two extremes of the dullest blockhead and the greatest genius. Accordingly, both objectively and subjectively, everyone is the nearer to the one source of suffering in human life, the more remote he is from the other. In keeping with this, his natural tendency will in this respect direct him to adapt as far as possible the objective to the subjective and thus to make greater provision against that source of suffering to which he is more susceptible. The clever and intelligent man will first of all look for painlessness, freedom from molestation, quietness, and leisure and consequently for a tranquil and modest life which is as undisturbed as possible. Accordingly, after some acquaintance with human beings so called, he will choose seclusion and, if of greater intellect, even solitude. For the more a man has within himself, the less does he need from without and also the less other people can be to him. Therefore eminence of intellect leads to unsociability. Indeed if the quality of society could be replaced by quantity, it would be worth while to live in the world at large; but unfortunately a hundred fools in a crowd still do not produce one intelligent man. On the other hand, as soon as want and privation give a man from the other extreme a breathing-space, he will look for pastime and society at any price and will readily put up with anything, wishing to escape from nothing so much as from himself. For in solitude, where everyone is referred back to himself, he then sees what he has in himself. For the fool in purple groans under the burden of his wretched individuality that cannot be thrown off, whereas the man of great gifts populates and animates with his ideas the most dreary and desolate environment. What Seneca says is, therefore, very true: omnis stultitia laborat fastidio sui [15] (Epistulae, 9), as also the statement of Jesus ben Sirach: 'The life of the fool is worse than death.' Accordingly, we shall find on the whole that everyone is sociable to the extent that he is intellectually poor and generally common.* For in this world we have little more than a choice between solitude and vulgarity. The most sociable of all human beings are said to be the Negroes who intellectually are decidedly inferior. According to accounts from North America in the French paper (Le Commerce, 19 October 1837), the blacks shut themselves up in large numbers in the smallest space, free men and slaves all together, because they cannot see enough of their black flat-nosed faces.
Accordingly, the brain appears as the parasite or pensioner of the entire organism and a man's hard-won leisure, by giving him the free enjoyment of his own consciousness and individuality, is the fruit and produce of his whole existence that is in other respects only toil and effort. But what does the leisure of most men yield? Boredom and dullness, except when there are sensual pleasures or follies for filling up the time. How utterly worthless this leisure is, is seen by the way in which such people spend it; it is precisely Ariosto's ozio lungo d'uomini ignoranti. [16] Ordinary men are intent merely on how to spend their time; a man with any talent is interested in how to use his time. Men of limited intelligence are so exposed to boredom and this is due to their intellect's being absolutely nothing but the medium of motives for their will. Now if at the moment there are no motives to be taken up, the will rests and the intellect takes a holiday since the one, like the other, does not become active of its own accord. The result is a terrible stagnation of all the powers of the entire man, in a word boredom. To ward off this, men now present the will with trivial motives that are merely temporary and are taken at random in order to rouse it and thus bring into action the intellect that has to interpret them. Accordingly, such motives are related to real and natural ones as paper-money to silver, for their value is arbitrarily assumed. Now such small motives are games, with cards and so on, which have been invented for this very purpose. And if these are wanting, the man of limited intelligence will resort to rattling and drumming with anything he can get hold of. For him even a cigar is a welcome substitute for ideas. And so in all countries the principal entertainment of all society has become card-playing; it is a measure of the worth of society and the declared bankruptcy of all ideas and thoughts. Thus since they are unable to exchange any ideas, they deal out cards and attempt to take one another's half-crowns. What a pitiful race! But not to be unjust here, I will not refrain from saying that, in defence of card-playing, it could at any rate be said that it is a preliminary training for life in the world of business in so far as in this way we learn to make clever use of the accidentally but unalterably given circumstances (cards in this case) in order to make therefrom what we can. For this purpose we become accustomed to showing a bold front by putting a good face on a bad game. But for this very reason, card-playing has a demoralizing effect since the spirit of the game is to win from another what is his and to do so in every possible way and by every trick and stratagem. But the habit, acquired in play, of acting in this way strikes root, encroaches on practical life, and we gradually come to act in the same way with respect to the affairs of mine and thine and to regard as justifiable every advantage we have in our hands whenever we are legally permitted to do so. Proofs of this are furnished by ordinary everyday life. And so, as I have said, free leisure is the flower, or rather the fruit, of everyone's existence, since it alone puts him in possession of himself. Therefore those are to be called happy who in themselves then preserve something of value; whereas for the majority leisure yields only a good-for-nothing fellow who is terribly bored and a burden to himself. Accordingly, we rejoice 'dear brethren that we are not children of the bondwoman, but of the free'. (Galatians 4:31.)
Further, just as that country is the best off which requires few or no imports, so too is that man the most fortunate who has enough in his own inner wealth and for his amusement and diversion needs little or nothing from without. For imports are expensive, make us dependent, entail danger, occasion trouble and annoyance, and in the end are only an inferior substitute for the products of our own soil. For on no account should we expect much from others or generally from without. What one man can be to another is very strictly limited; in the end, everyone remains alone and then the question is who is now alone. Accordingly, Goethe's general remarks (Dichtung und Wahrheit, vol. iii, p. 474) here apply, namely that in all things everyone is ultimately referred back to himself, or as Oliver Goldsmith says:
Still to ourselves in ev'ry place consign'd,
Our own felicity we make or find.
-- The Traveller, II. 431f.
Therefore everyone must himself be the best and most that he can be and achieve. Now the more this is so and consequently the more he finds within himself the sources of his pleasures, the happier he will be. Therefore Aristotle is absolutely right when he says: [x] (Eudemian Ethics, VII. 2), which means that happiness belongs to those who are easily contented. For all the external sources of happiness and pleasure are by their nature exceedingly uncertain, precarious, fleeting, and subject to chance; therefore, even under the most favourable circumstances, they could easily come to an end; indeed this is inevitable in so far as they cannot always be close at hand. In old age almost all these sources necessarily dry up, for we are deserted by love, humour, desire to travel, delight in horses, aptitude for social intercourse, and even our friends and relations are taken from us by death. Then more than ever does it depend on what we have in ourselves, for this will last longest; but even at any age it is and remains the genuine and only permanent source of happiness. There is not much to be got anywhere in the world; it is full of privation and pain and for those who have escaped therefrom boredom lurks at every corner. In addition, baseness and wickedness have as a rule the upper hand and folly makes the most noise. Fate is cruel and mankind pitiable. In a world so constituted the man who has much within himself is like a bright, warm, cheerful room at Christmas amid the snow and ice of a December night. Accordingly, the happiest destiny on earth is undoubtedly to have a distinguished and rich individuality and in particular a good endowment of intellect, however differently such a destiny may turn out from the most brilliant. It was, therefore, a wise statement which the nineteen-year-old Queen Christina of Sweden made about Descartes with whom she had become acquainted merely through one essay and from verbal accounts and who at that time had for twenty years lived in Holland in the deepest seclusion. Mr. Descartes est le plus heureux de tous les hommes, et sa condition me semble digne d' envie. [17] (Vie de Descartes, par Baillet, Liv VII, chap. 10) Of course, as was the case with Descartes, external circumstances must be favourable to the extent of enabling a man to be master of his own life and to be satisfied therewith. Therefore Ecclesiastes 7: 11 says: 'Wisdom is good with an inheritance; and by it there is profit to them that see the sun.' Whoever has been granted this lot through the favour of nature and fate will be anxious and careful to see that the inner source of his happiness remains accessible to him and for this the conditions are independence and leisure. And so he will gladly purchase these at the price of moderation and thrift, the more so as he is not, like others, dependent on the external sources of pleasure. Thus he will not be led astray by the prospects of office, money, favour, and approbation of the world into surrendering himself in order to conform to the sordid designs or bad taste of people. * When the occasion occurs, he will do what Horace suggested in his epistle to Maecenas (lib. I, ep. 7). It is a great folly to lose the inner man in order to gain the outer, that is, to give up the whole or the greater part of one's quiet, leisure, and independence for splendour, rank, pomp, titles and honours. But this is what Goethe did; my genius has definitely drawn me in the other direction.
The truth, here discussed, that the chief source of human happiness springs from within ourselves, is also confirmed by the very correct observation of Aristotle in the Nicomachean Ethics (1.7; and VII. 13, 14), namely that every pleasure presupposes some activity and hence the application of some power, and without this it cannot exist. This teaching of Aristotle that a man's happiness consists in the unimpeded exercise of his outstanding ability, is also given again by Stobaeus in his description of the Peripatetic ethics (Eclogae ethicae, lib. II, c. 7, pp. 268-78), for example: [x] (the version in Heeren runs: felicitatem esse functionem secundum virtutem, per actiones successus compotes). [18] Generally in even briefer statements he explains that [x] is any supreme skill. Now the original purpose of the forces with which nature endowed man is the struggle against want and privation that beset him on all sides. When once this struggle is over, the unemployed forces then become a burden to him and so now he must play with them, that is, use them aimlessly, for otherwise he falls at once into the other source of human suffering, namely boredom. Thus the wealthy upper classes are primarily martyrs to this evil and Lucretius has given us a description of their pitiable condition. Even now in every great city we daily have instances of the aptness of this description:
Exit saepe foras magnis ex aedibus ille,
Esse domi quem pertaesum est, subitoque reventat;
Quippe foris nihilo melius qui sentiat esse.
Currit, agens mannos, ad villam praecipitanter,
Auxilium tectis quasi ferre ardentibus instans:
Oscitat extemplo, tetigit quum limina villae;
Aut abit in somnum gravis, atque oblivia quaerit;
Aut etiam properans urbem petit, atque revisit. [19]
-- III. 1060-7.
In youth these gentlemen must have muscular strength and procreative power. In later years, we are left with only mental powers; but these they lack or the development thereof and the accumulated material for their activity; and their plight is pitiable. Now since the will is the only inexhaustible force, it is roused by a stimulation of passions, for example, by games of chance for high stakes, this truly degrading vice. But generally speaking, every unoccupied individual will choose a game for the exercise of those powers wherein he excels; it may be skittles or chess, hunting or painting, horse-racing or music, cards or poetry, heraldry or philosophy, and so on. We can even investigate the matter methodically by going to the root of all the manifestations of human force and thus to the three physiological fundamental forces. Accordingly, we have here to consider them in their aimless play wherein they appear as the sources of three kinds of possible pleasures. From these every man will choose the ones that suit him according as he excels in one or other of those forces. First we have the pleasures of the power of reproduction which consist in eating, drinking, digesting, resting, and sleeping. There are even whole nations in whom these are regarded as national pleasures. Then we have the pleasures of irritability which consist in walking, jumping, wrestling, dancing, fencing, riding, and athletic games of every kind, also in hunting and even conflict and war. Finally, we have the pleasures of sensibility which consist in observing, thinking, feeling, writing poetry, improving the mind, playing music, learning, reading, meditating, inventing, philosophizing, and so on. On the value, degree, and duration of each of these kinds of pleasure remarks of many kinds can be made which are left to the reader himself to supply. But it will be clear to everyone that, the nobler the nature of the power that conditions our pleasure, the greater this will be; for it is conditioned by the use of our own powers and our happiness consists in the frequent recurrence of our pleasure. Again no one will deny that, in this respect, sensibility, whose decided preponderance is man's superiority to the other animal species, ranks before the other two fundamental physiological forces which in an equal and even greater degree are inherent in animals. Our cognitive powers are related to sensibility; and so a preponderance thereof qualifies us for the so-called intellectual pleasures that consist in knowledge; and indeed such pleasures will be the greater, the more decided that preponderance.* A thing can gain the normal ordinary man's lively concern only by stirring his will and hence having for him a personal interest. Now the constant excitement of the will is at any rate not an unmixed blessing, and thus entails pain. Card-playing, the usual occupation of 'good-society' everywhere, is an intentional device for producing such excitement and indeed by means of such trivial interests that they can give rise only to momentary and slight, not to permanent and serious, pain and are accordingly to be regarded as a mere tickling of the will. * On the other hand, the man of great intellectual powers is capable, in fact in need, of the liveliest interest on the path of mere knowledge, without any admixture of the will. But this interest then puts him in a region to which pain is essentially foreign; it places him so to speak, in the atmosphere where the gods live easily and serenely, [x]. [20] Accordingly the life of the masses is passed in dullness since all their thoughts and desires are directed entirely to the petty interests of personal welfare and thus to wretchedness and misery in all its forms. For this reason, intolerable boredom befalls them as soon as they are no longer occupied with those aims and they are now thrown back on themselves, for only the fierce fire of passion can stir into action the dull and indolent masses. On the other hand, the existence of the man who is endowed with outstanding intellectual powers is rich in ideas and full of life and meaning. Worthy and interesting objects occupy him as soon as he is permitted to devote himself to them, and he bears within himself a source of the noblest pleasures. Stimulation from without comes to him from the works of nature and the contemplation of human affairs and then from the many and varied achievements of the most highly gifted of all ages and lands; only such a man is really capable of thoroughly enjoying those things for he alone can fully understand and feel them. Accordingly, for him those highly gifted men have actually lived; to him they have really appealed; whereas the rest as casual hearers only half-understand something or other. But naturally through all this, the man of intelligence has one need more than the others, namely to learn, to see, to study, to meditate, to practise, and consequently the need for leisure. But because, as Voltaire rightly remarks, il n'est de vrais plaisirs qu'avec de vrais besoins, [21] so is this need the condition for the accessibility to him of pleasures that are denied to others. Indeed, even when they are surrounded by the beauties of nature and art and by intellectual works of all kinds, such things at bottom are to them only what courtesans are to a greybeard. As a result of this, a man so gifted leads two lives, a personal and an intellectual. For him the latter gradually becomes the real end to which the former is regarded merely as a means, whereas for the rest this shallow empty and troubled existence must be regarded as an end in itself. The man mentally gifted will, therefore, prefer to concern himself with that intellectual life. Through a constant extension of his insight and knowledge, such a life obtains cohesion, steady enhancement, totality, and perfection, becoming ever more complete like a slowly maturing work of art. Compared with it, the merely practical lives of others cut a sorry figure, devoted as they are merely to personal welfare and capable of an increase in length but not in depth. Yet, as I have said, to those others such a life must be regarded as an end in itself, whereas to the man of intellect it is only a means.
When our real practical life is not moved by passions, it is tedious and humdrum; but when it is so moved, it becomes painful. Therefore they alone are fortunate to whom there has been granted an excess of intellect over that required in the service of their will. For with this they lead, in addition to their actual life, an intellectual one that always occupies and entertains them painlessly yet vividly. Mere leisure, that is, intellect unoccupied in the service of the will, is not sufficient; but an actual excess of power is required, for this alone enables a man to undertake a purely mental occupation that does not serve the will. On the contrary, otium sine litteris mors est et hominis vivi sepultura [22] (Seneca, Epistulae, 82). Now according as this excess is small or great, there are innumerable degrees of that intellectual life from the mere collection and description of insects, birds, minerals, or coins to the highest achievements of poetry and philosophy. Such an intellectual life, however, is a protection not only against boredom, but also against the pernicious effects thereof. Thus it becomes a safeguard against bad company and the many dangers, misfortunes, losses, and extravagances in which we land when we seek our happiness entirely in the outside world. Thus, for example, my philosophy has never brought me in anything, but it has spared me many a loss.
The normal man, on the other hand, as regards the pleasures of his life, relies on things that are outside him and thus on possessions, rank, wife and children, friends, society, and so on; these are the props of his life's happiness. It therefore collapses when he loses such things or is disillusioned by them. We may express this relation by saying that his centre of gravity lies outside him. For this reason his wishes and whims are always changing; if he has the means, he will buy country-houses or horses, give parties, or travel; but generally speaking, he will indulge in great luxury, just because he seeks satisfactionjrom without in all kinds of things. He is like a man who is debilitated and hopes through soups and medicines to recover his health and strength whose true source is his own vital force. Before going at once to the other extreme, let us compare him with a man whose mental powers are not exactly outstanding, but yet exceed the normal narrow limit. We then see such a man as an amateur practising a fine art, or pursuing some branch of science such as botany, mineralogy, physics, astronomy, history, and so on, and immediately finding most of his pleasure and deriving recreation therefrom, when those outside sources dry up or no longer satisfy him. To this extent, we can say that his centre of gravity already lies partly within himself. Nevertheless, since mere dilettantism in art is still far removed from creative ability and mere scientific knowledge stops at the mutual relations of phenomena, the ordinary man is unable to become wholly absorbed therein; his whole nature cannot be thoroughly imbued with them and thus his existence cannot be so intimately associated with them that he would lose all interest in everything else. This is reserved only for supreme intellectual eminence which is usually described by the name of genius; for this alone takes existence and the nature of things entirely and absolutely as its theme. It will then endeavour to express its profound comprehension of these things in accordance with its particular tendency, either through art, poetry, or philosophy. And so only to such a man is the undisturbed preoccupation with himself, his ideas and works, an urgent necessity; solitude is welcome, leisure is the greatest blessing, and everything else is superfluous; in fact, when it exists it is often only a burden. Thus only of such a man can we say that his centre of gravity is entirely within himself. We can even explain from this why men of this nature, who are exceedingly rare, do not show, even with the best character, that intimate and immense interest in friends, family, and the community at large, of which many others are capable. For in the last resort, they can put up with the loss of everything else, if only they have themselves. Accordingly, there is in them an element of isolation which is the more effective, as others never really satisfy them completely. And so they cannot look on these as entirely their equals; in fact, as the difference of each and all is always making itself felt, they gradually grow accustomed to moving among men as if they were beings of a different order, and, in their thoughts about people, to making use of the word they instead of we. Our moral virtues benefit mainly other people; intellectual virtues, on the other hand, benefit primarily ourselves; therefore the former make us universally popular, the latter unpopular.
Now from this point of view, the man who is richly endowed by nature in an intellectual respect, appears to be the happiest, so surely does the subjective lie nearer to us than the objective; for the effect of the latter, whatever its nature, is invariably brought about by the former and is therefore only secondary. This is also testified by the fine verse:
[x]
[x]. [23]
-- Lucian, Epigrams, 12.
Such an inwardly wealthy man requires nothing from without except a negative gift, namely leisure to be able to cultivate and develop his intellectual faculties and to enjoy that inner wealth. Thus he wants permission simply to be entirely himself throughout his life, every day and every hour. If a man is destined to impress on the whole human race the mark of his mind, he has only one measure of happiness or unhappiness, namely to be able wholly to develop his abilities and to complete his works, or to be prevented from so doing. For him everything else is of no importance. Accordingly, we see eminent minds of all ages attaching the greatest value to leisure. For every man's leisure is as valuable as he is himself [x] [24] says Aristotle (Nicomachean Ethics. x. 7), and Diogenes Laertius (II.5.31) reports that [x] (Socrates otium ut possessionum omnium pulcherrimam laudabat). [25] In keeping with this, Aristotle (Nicomachean Ethics, x. 7, 8, 9) declares the philosophical life to be the happiest. Even what he says in the Politics (IV. II) is relevant: [x], which properly translated states: 'To be able without hindrance to exercise his pre-eminent quality, whatever its nature, is real happiness' and thus agrees with Goethe's words in Wilhelm Meister: 'Whoever is born with a talent for a talent discovers therein his finest existence.' Now the possession of leisure is foreign not only to man's customary fate, but also to his usual nature, for his natural destiny is to spend his time providing what is necessary for his own and his family's existence. He is a son of want and privation, not a free intelligence. Accordingly, leisure soon becomes for him a burden and indeed ultimately a great affliction, if he is unable to employ his time by means of imaginary and fictitious aims of all kinds through every form of game, pastime, and hobby. For the same reason, it also brings him danger, since difficilis in otio quies [26] is a true saying. On the other hand, a measure of intellect that goes far beyond the normal is likewise abnormal and therefore unnatural. Nevertheless, when once it exists, then for the happiness of the man so gifted just that leisure is needed which others find either so burdensome or so pernicious, for without it he will be a Pegasus under the yoke and consequently unhappy. Now if these two unnatural circumstances, external and internal, coincide, then it is most fortunate, for the man so favoured will now lead a life of a higher order, that of one who is exempt from the two opposite sources of human suffering, want and boredom, from the anxious business of earning a living and the inability to endure leisure (i.e. free existence itself). A man escapes these two evils only by their being mutually neutralized and eliminated.
On the other hand, against all this, we must consider the fact that great intellectual gifts, in consequence of predominant nervous activity, produce a very much enhanced sensitiveness to pain in every form. Further, the passionate temperament that conditions such gifts, and at the same time the greater vividness and completeness of all images and conceptions inseparable therefrom, produce an incomparably greater intensity of the emotions that are thereby stirred, whilst in general there are more painful than pleasant emotions. Finally, great intellectual gifts estrange their possessor from the rest of mankind and its activities. For the more he has in himself, the less is he able to find in others, and the hundred things in which they take a great delight are to him shallow and insipid. Perhaps in this way, the law of compensation which everywhere asserts itself, remains in force even here. Indeed, it has been often enough maintained, and not without plausibility, that the man of the most limited intelligence is at bottom the happiest, although no one may envy him his luck. I do not wish to forestall the reader in a definite decision on the matter, the less so as even Sophocles has made two diametrically opposite statements on the subject:
[x]
(Sapere longe prima felicitatis pars est.) [27]
-- Antigone, 1328.
and again:
[x]
(Nihil cogitantium jucundissima vita est.) [28]
-- Ajax, 550.
The philosophers of the Old Testament are just as much at variance with one another. Thus: 'The life of a fool is worse than death!' [x], Jesus ben Sirach 12: 12); and: 'In much wisdom is much grief; And he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.' ([x], Ecclesiastes 1:18). However, I will not omit to mention here that the man who has no intellectual needs in consequence of the strictly normal and scanty measure of his intellectual powers, is really what is described as a Philistine. It is an expression exclusively peculiar to the German language and came from the universities; but it was afterwards used in a higher sense, although still always analogous to the original meaning as denoting the opposite of the son of the Muses. Thus a Philistine is and remains the [x]. [29] Now it is true that, from a higher point of view, I should state the definition of Philistine so as to cover those who are always most seriously concerned with a reality that is no reality. But such a definition would be transcendental and not appropriate to the popular point of view which I have adopted in this essay; and so perhaps it would not be thoroughly understood by every reader. On the other hand, the first definition more readily admits of a special elucidation and adequately indicates the essence of the matter, the root of all those qualities that characterize the Philistine. Accordingly, he is a man without intellectual needs. Now it follows from this that, as regards himself, he is left without any intellectual pleasures in accordance with the principle, already mentioned, il n' est de vrais plaisirs qu' avec de vrais besoins. [30] His existence is not animated by any keen desire for knowledge and insight for their own sake, or by any desire for really aesthetic pleasures which is so entirely akin to it. If, however, any pleasures of this kind are forced on him by fashion or authority, he will dispose of them as briefly as possible as a kind of compulsory labour. For him real pleasures are only those of the senses whereby he indemnifies himself. Accordingly, oysters and champagne are the acme of his existence, and the purpose of his life is to procure for himself everything that contributes to bodily welfare. He is happy enough when this causes him a lot of trouble. For if those good things are heaped on him in advance, he will inevitably lapse into boredom against which all possible means are tried, such as dancing, the theatre, society, card-playing, games of chance, horses, women, drinking, travelling, and so on. And yet all these are not enough to ward off boredom where intellectual pleasures are rendered impossible by a lack of intellectual needs. Thus a peculiar characteristic of the Philistine is a dull dry seriousness akin to that of animals. Nothing delights him, nothing excites him, nothing gains his interest; for sensual pleasures are soon exhausted and society consisting of such Philistines soon becomes boring; in the end card-playing becomes wearisome. At all events, he is still left with the pleasures of vanity to be enjoyed in his own way. These consist in his excelling in wealth, rank, or influence and power others by whom he is then honoured; or they consist in his going about at any rate with those who have a surplus of such things and thus in sunning himself in their reflected splendour (a snob). From the fundamental nature of the Philistine I have just mentioned, it follows that, in regard to others, as he has no intellectual but only physical needs, he will seek those who are capable of satisfying the latter not the former. And so of all the demands he makes on others the very smallest will be that of any outstanding intellectual abilities. On the contrary, when he comes across these they will excite his antipathy and even hatred. For here he has a hateful feeling of inferiority and also a dull secret envy which he most carefully attempts to conceal even from himself; but in this way, it grows sometimes into a feeling of secret rage and rancour. Therefore it will never occur to him to assess his own esteem and respect in accordance with such qualities, but they will remain exclusively reserved for rank and wealth, power and influence, as being in his eyes the only real advantages to excel in which is also his desire. But all this follows from his being a man without intellectual needs.
A great affliction of all Philistines is that idealities afford them no entertainment, but to escape from boredom they are always in need of realities. Thus the latter are soon exhausted where, instead of entertaining, they weary us; moreover they entail all kinds of evil and harm. Idealities, on the other hand, are inexhaustible and in themselves harmless and innocuous.
In all these remarks about personal qualities that contribute to our happiness, I have been concerned mainly with those that are physical and intellectual. Now the way in which moral excellence also contributes directly to our happiness has already been discussed by me in my prize-essay' On the Basis of Ethics', § 22, to which I therefore refer the reader.
_______________
Notes:1 [Schopenhauer's own words.]
2 [Schopenhauer's own words.]
3 ['For we can depend on nature, not on money.']
4 ['A healthy mind in a healthy body'.]
5 ['Life consists in movement.']
6 ['Worm-like movement'.]
7 ['The more rapid a movement is, the more it is movement.']
8 ['It is not things that disturb men, but opinions about things.']
9 ['All who have distinguished themselves whether in philosophy, politics, poetry, or the arts, appear to be melancholy.')
10 [' Aristotle says that all men of genius are melancholy.')
11 [' Peevish and cheerful'.]
12 [' Peevish frame of mind'.]
13 ['Cheerful frame of mind'.]
14 ['Not to be despised are the divine gifts of the gods which they alone bestow and which none can obtain at will.']
* The nomadic life, indicating the lowest stage of civilization, is again found at the highest in the tourist life which has become general. The first was produced by want, the second by boredom.
* The very thing that makes people sociable is their inner poverty.
15 ['Stupidity suffers from its own weariness.']
16 ['The boredom of the ignorant'.]
* They achieve their welfare at the expense of their leisure; but of what use to me is welfare if for it I have to give up that which alone makes it desirable, namely my leisure?
17 ['M. Descartes is the happiest and most fortunate of men and his condition seems to me to be most enviable.']
18 ['Happiness is a virtuous activity in those affairs which have the desired result.']
19 ['Frequently he quits the large palace and hurries into the open, for the house disgusts him, until he suddenly returns because out of doors he feels no better off. Or else he gallops off to his country-house, as if it were on fire and he were hurrying to put it out. But as soon as he has crossed the threshold, he yawns with boredom or falls asleep and tries to forget himself, unless he prefers to return to the city.']
* Nature advances continuously first from the mechanical and chemical action of the inorganic kingdom to the vegetable and its dull enjoyment of self, thence to the animal kingdom with the dawning of intelligence and consciousness. From feeble beginnings, she ascends by stages ever higher and in the final and greatest step reaches man. In his intellect, therefore, nature attains the pinnacle and goal of her productions and thus furnishes the most perfect and most difficult thing she is capable of producing. But even within the human species the intellect presents us with many observable differences of degree and only extremely rarely does it reach the highest, really eminent intelligence. This, then, in the narrower and stricter sense is the most difficult and supreme product of nature and consequently the rarest and most precious thing whereof the world can boast. In such an intelligence the clearest consciousness occurs and accordingly the world presents itself more distinctly and completely than anywhere else. Therefore whoever is endowed with such intelligence, possesses the noblest and choicest thing on earth and accordingly has a source of pleasure compared with which all others are of little value. From without he requires nothing but the leisure to enjoy this possession in peace and to polish his diamond. For all other pleasures not of the intellect are of a lower order; they all lead to movements of the will and hence to desires, hopes, fears, and attainments, no matter in what direction. But here they cannot pass off without pain; moreover, with attainment, disappointment more or less as a rule occurs, whereas in the case of intellectual pleasures truth becomes ever clearer. No pain reigns in the realm of intelligence, but all is knowledge. Now all intellectual pleasures are accessible to everyone only by means, and thus to the extent, of his own intelligence; for tout l'esprit qui est au monde, est inutile a celui qui n'en a point. ['All the intelligence in the world is useless to him who has none.' La Bruyere.] But a real drawback which accompanies that advantage is that, in the whole of nature, the capacity for pain is enhanced with the degree of intelligence, and thus here reaches its highest.
* At bottom, vulgarity consists in the fact that in consciousness willing so completely outweighs knowing that knowledge appears only in the service of the will. Where such service does not demand knowledge and so when there are no motives great or small, knowledge ceases entirely and consequently the result is a complete absence of ideas. Now willing without knowledge is the commonest thing there is. Every blockhead has it and shows it at any rate when he falls down. This state, therefore, constitutes vulgarity in which are left only the organs of sense and the small intellectual activity required for apprehending their data. In consequence of this, the vulgar man is constantly open to every impression and thus instantly perceives all that goes on around him, so that the least sound and every circumstance, even the most trivial, at once rouses his attention, just as they do that of the animals. This entire state of mind reveals itself in his face and the whole of his appearance; and the result is that vulgar look whose impression is the more repulsive when, as is often the case, the will that here completely occupies consciousness is base, egoistical, and thoroughly bad.
20 ['Of the gods who live lightly'.]
21 ['There are no true pleasures without true needs.']
22 ['Leisure without literature is death; it is for man like being buried alive.']
23 ['True wealth is only the inner wealth of the soul; Everything else brings more trouble than advantage.']
24 ['Happiness appears to consist in leisure.']
25 ['Socrates prized leisure as the fairest of all possessions.']
26 ['It is difficult to keep quiet when one has nothing to do.']
27 ['To be intelligent is the main part of happiness.']
28 ['The most agreeable life consists in a lack of intelligence.']
29 ['A man forsaken of the Muses'.]
30 ['There are no true pleasures without true needs.']
