The World as Will and Idea Volume II Part 13

The imperfections here proved to be _essential_ to the intellect are constantly increased, however, in particular cases, by _non-essential_ imperfections. The intellect is never in _every_ respect what it possibly might be. The perfections possible to it are so opposed that they exclude each other. Therefore no man can be at once Plato and Aristotle, or Shakspeare and Newton, or Kant and Goethe. The imperfections of the intellect, on the contrary, consort very well together; therefore in reality it for the most part remains far below what it might be. Its functions depend upon so very many conditions, which we can only comprehend as anatomical and physiological, in the _phenomenon_ in which alone they are given us, that a decidedly excelling intellect, even in _one_ respect alone, is among the rarest of natural phenomena. Therefore the productions of such an intellect are preserved through thousands of years, indeed every relic of such a highly favoured individual becomes a most valuable treasure. From such an intellect down to that which approaches imbecility the gradations are innumerable. And primarily, in conformity with these gradations, the _mental horizon_ of each of us varies very much from the mere comprehension of the present, which even the brute has, to that which also embraces the next hour, the day, even the morrow, the week, the year, the life, the century, the thousand years, up to that of the consciousness which has almost always present, even though obscurely dawning, the horizon of the infinite, and whose thoughts therefore a.s.sume a character in keeping with this. Further, that difference among intelligences shows itself in the rapidity of their thinking, which is very important, and which may be as different and as finely graduated as that of the points in the radius of a revolving disc.

The remoteness of the consequents and reasons to which any one's thought can extend seems to stand in a certain relation to the rapidity of his thinking, for the greatest exertion of thought-power in general can only last quite a short time, and yet only while it lasts can a thought be thought out in its complete unity. It therefore amounts to this, how far the intellect can pursue it in so short a time, thus what length of path it can travel in it. On the other hand, in the case of some, rapidity may be made up for by the greater duration of that time of perfectly concentrated thought. Probably the slow and lasting thought makes the mathematical mind, while rapidity of thought makes the genius. The latter is a flight, the former a sure advance upon firm ground, step by step. Yet even in the sciences, whenever it is no longer a question of mere quant.i.ties, but of understanding the nature of phenomena, this last kind of thinking is inadequate. This is shown, for example, by Newton's theory of colour, and later by Biot's nonsense about colour rings, which yet agrees with the whole atomistic method of treating light among the French, with its _molecules de lumiere_, and in general with their fixed idea of reducing everything in nature to mere mechanical effects. Lastly, the great individual diversity of intelligence we are speaking about shows itself excellently in the _degrees of the clearness of understanding_, and accordingly in the distinctness of _the whole thinking_. To one man that is to understand which to another is only in some degree to observe; the one is already done and at the goal while the other is only at the beginning; to the one that is the solution which to the other is only the problem. This depends on the _quality of thought_ and knowledge, which was already referred to above. As in rooms the degree of light varies, so does it in minds. We can detect this _quality of the whole thought_ as soon as we have read only a few pages of an author. For in doing so we have been obliged to understand both with his understanding and in his sense; and therefore before we know all that he has thought we see already how he thinks, what is the _formal_ nature, the _texture_ of his thinking, which remains the same in everything about which he thinks, and whose expression is the train of thought and the style. In this we feel at once the pace, the flexibleness and lightness, even indeed the soaring power of his mind; or, on the contrary, its dulness, formality, lameness and leaden quality.

For, as language is the expression of the mind of a nation, style is the more immediate expression of the mind of an author than even his physiognomy. We throw a book aside when we observe that in it we enter an obscurer region than our own, unless we have to learn from it mere facts, not thoughts. Apart from mere facts, only that author will afford us profit whose understanding is keener and clearer than our own, who forwards our thinking instead of hindering it, like the dull mind that will force us to keep pace with the toad-like course of its thought; thus that author with whose mind it gives us sensible relief and a.s.sistance sometimes to think, by whom we feel ourselves borne where we could not have gone alone. Goethe once said to me that if he read a page of Kant he felt as if he entered a brightly lighted room. Inferior minds are so not merely because they are distorted, and therefore judge falsely, but primarily through the _indistinctness_ of their whole thinking, which may be compared to seeing through a bad telescope, when all the outlines appear indistinct and as if obliterated, and the different objects run into each other. The weak understanding of such minds shrinks from the demand for distinctness of conceptions, and therefore they do not themselves make this claim upon it, but put up with haziness; and to satisfy themselves with this they gladly have recourse to _words_, especially such as denote indefinite, very abstract, unusual conceptions which are hard to explain; such, for example, as infinite and finite, sensible and supersensible, the Idea of being, Ideas of the reason, the absolute, the Idea of the good, the divine, moral freedom, power of spontaneous generation, the absolute Idea, subject-object, &c. The like of these they confidently fling about, imagine they really express thoughts, and expect every one to be content with them; for the highest summit of wisdom which they can see is to have at command such ready-made words for every possible question. This immense _satisfaction in words_ is thoroughly characteristic of inferior minds. It depends simply upon their incapacity for distinct conceptions, whenever these must rise above the most trivial and simple relations. Hence upon the weakness and indolence of their intellect, and indeed upon the secret consciousness of this, which in the case of scholars is bound up with the early learnt and hard necessity of pa.s.sing themselves off as thinking beings, to meet which demand in all cases they keep such a suitable store of ready-made words.

It must really be amusing to see a professor of philosophy of this kind in the chair, who _bona fide_ delivers such a juggle of words dest.i.tute of thoughts, quite sincerely, under the delusion that they are really thoughts, and in front of him the students, who just as _bona fide_, _i.e._, under the same delusion, listen attentively and take notes, while yet in reality neither the one nor the other goes beyond the words, but rather these words themselves, together with the audible scratching of pens, are the only realities in the whole matter. This peculiar _satisfaction in words_ has more than anything else to do with the perpetuation of errors. For, relying on the words and phrases received from his predecessors, each one confidently pa.s.ses over obscurities and problems, and thus these are propagated through centuries from book to book; and the thinking man, especially in youth, is in doubt whether it may be that he is incapable of understanding it, or that there is really nothing here to understand; and similarly, whether for others the problem which they all slink past with such comical seriousness by the same path is no problem at all, or whether it is only that they will not see it.

Many truths remain undiscovered simply on this account, that no one has the courage to look the problem in the face and grapple with it. On the contrary, the distinctness of thought and clearness of conceptions peculiar to eminent minds produces the effect that even known truths when brought forward by them gain new light, or at least a new stimulus. If we hear them or read them, it is as if we exchanged a bad telescope for a good one. Let one only read, for example, in Euler's "Letters to the Princess," his exposition of the fundamental truths of mechanics and optics. Upon this rests the remark of Diderot in the _Neveu de Rameau_, that only the perfect masters are capable of teaching really well the elements of a science; just because it is only they who really understand the questions, and for them words never take the place of thoughts.

But we ought to know that inferior minds are the rule, good minds the exception, eminent minds very rare, and genius a portent. How otherwise could a human race consisting of about eight hundred million individuals have left so much after six thousand years to discover, to invent, to think out, and to say? The intellect is calculated for the support of the individual alone, and as a rule it is only barely sufficient even for this. But nature has wisely been very sparing of conferring a larger measure; for the man of limited intelligence can survey the few and simple relations which lie within reach of his narrow sphere of action, and can control the levers of them with much greater ease than could the eminently intellectual man who commands an incomparably larger sphere and works with long levers. Thus the insect sees everything on its stem or leaf with the most minute exactness, and better than we, and yet is not aware of the man who stands within three steps of it. This is the reason of the slyness of half-witted persons, and the ground of the paradox: _Il y a un mystere dans l'esprit des gens qui n'en ont pas_. For practical life genius is about as useful as an astral telescope in a theatre. Thus, with regard to the intellect nature is highly _aristocratic_. The distinctions which it has established are greater than those which are made in any country by birth, rank, wealth, or caste. But in the aristocracy of intellect, as in other aristocracies, there are many thousands of plebeians for one n.o.bleman, many millions for one prince, and the great mult.i.tude of men are mere populace, mob, rabble, _la canaille_. Now certainly there is a glaring contrast between the scale of rank of nature and that of convention, and their agreement is only to be hoped for in a golden age.

Meanwhile those who stand very high in the one scale of rank and in the other have this in common, that for the most part they live in exalted isolation, to which Byron refers when he says:-

"To feel me in the solitude of kings Without the power that makes them bear a crown."

-_Proph. of Dante_, c. I.

For intellect is a differentiating, and therefore a separating principle.

Its different grades, far more than those of mere culture, give to each man different conceptions, in consequence of which each man lives to a certain extent in a different world, in which he can directly meet those only who are like himself, and can only attempt to speak to the rest and make himself understood by them from a distance. Great differences in the grade and in the cultivation of the understanding fix a wide gulf between man and man, which can only be crossed by benevolence; for it is, on the contrary, the unifying principle, which identifies every one else with its own self. Yet the connection remains a moral one; it cannot become intellectual. Indeed, when the degree of culture is about the same, the conversation between a man of great intellect and an ordinary man is like the journey together of two men, one of whom rides on a spirited horse and the other goes on foot. It soon becomes very trying to both of them, and for any length of time impossible. For a short way the rider can indeed dismount, in order to walk with the other, though even then the impatience of his horse will give him much to do.

But the public could be benefited by nothing so much as by the recognition of that _intellectual aristocracy of nature_. By virtue of such recognition it would comprehend that when facts are concerned, thus when the matter has to be decided from experiments, travels, codes, histories, and chronicles, the normal mind is certainly sufficient; but, on the other hand, when mere thoughts are in question, especially those thoughts the material or data of which are within reach of every one, thus when it is really only a question of _thinking before_ others, decided reflectiveness, native eminence, which only nature bestows, and that very seldom, is inevitably demanded, and no one deserves to be heard who does not at once give proofs of this. If the public could be brought to see this for itself, it would no longer waste the time which is sparingly measured out to it for its culture on the productions of ordinary minds, thus on the innumerable botches of poetry and philosophy which are produced every day. It would no longer seize always what is newest, in the childish delusion that books, like eggs, must be enjoyed while they are fresh, but would confine itself to the works of the few select and chosen minds of all ages and nations, would strive to learn to know and understand them, and might thus by degrees attain to true culture. And then, also, those thousands of uncalled-for productions which, like tares, hinder the growth of the good wheat would be discontinued.

Chapter XVI.(26) On The Practical Use Of Reason And On Stoicism.

In the seventh chapter I have shown that, in the theoretical sphere, procedure based upon _conceptions_ suffices for mediocre achievements only, while great achievements, on the other hand, demand that we should draw from perception itself as the primary source of all knowledge. In the practical sphere, however, the converse is the case. Here determination by what is perceived is the way of the brutes, but is unworthy of man, who has _conceptions_ to guide his conduct, and is thus emanc.i.p.ated from the power of what is actually perceptibly present, to which the brute is unconditionally given over. In proportion as a man makes good this prerogative his conduct may be called _rational_, and only in this sense can we speak of _practical reason_, not in the Kantian sense, the inadmissibility of which I have thoroughly exposed in my prize essay on the foundation of morals.

It is not easy, however, to let oneself be determined by _conceptions_ alone; for the directly present external world, with its perceptible reality, intrudes itself forcibly even on the strongest mind. But it is just in conquering this impression, in destroying its illusion, that the human spirit shows its worth and greatness. Thus if incitements to l.u.s.t and pleasure leave it unaffected, if the threats and fury of enraged enemies do not shake it, if the entreaties of erring friends do not make its purpose waver, and the delusive forms with which preconcerted plots surround it leave it unmoved, if the scorn of fools and of the vulgar herd does not disturb it nor trouble it as to its own worth, then it seems to stand under the influence of a spirit-world, visible to it alone (and this is the world of conceptions), before which that perceptibly present world which lies open to all dissolves like a phantom. But, on the other hand, what gives to the external world and visible reality their great power over the mind is their nearness and directness. As the magnetic needle, which is kept in its position by the combined action of widely distributed forces of nature embracing the whole earth, can yet be perturbed and set in violent oscillation by a small piece of iron, if only it comes quite close to it, so even a great mind can sometimes be disconcerted and perturbed by trifling events and insignificant men, if only they affect it very closely, and the deliberate purpose can be for the moment shaken by a trivial but immediately present counter motive. For the influence of the motives is subject to a law which is directly opposed to the law according to which weights act on a balance, and in consequence of it a very small motive, which, however, lies very near to us, can outweigh one which in itself is much stronger, but which only affects us from a distance. But it is this quality of the mind, by reason of which it allows itself to be determined in accordance with this law, and does not withdraw itself from it by the strength of actual practical reason, which the ancients denoted by _animi impotentia_, which really signifies _ratio regendae voluntatis impotens_. Every _emotion_ (_animi perturbatio_) simply arises from the fact that an idea which affects our will comes so excessively near to us that it conceals everything else from us, and we can no longer see anything but it, so that for the moment we become incapable of taking account of things of another kind. It would be a valuable safeguard against this if we were to bring ourselves to regard the present, by the a.s.sistance of imagination, as if it were past, and should thus accustom our apperception to the epistolary style of the Romans. Yet conversely we are very well able to regard what is long past as so vividly present that old emotions which have long been asleep are thereby reawakened in their full strength. Thus also no one would be irritated or disconcerted by a misfortune, a disappointment, if reason always kept present to him what man really is: the most needy of creatures, daily and hourly abandoned to innumerable misfortunes, great and small, t? de???tat?? ????, who has therefore to live in constant care and fear. Herodotus already says, "?a?

est? a????p?? s?f??a" (_h.o.m.o totus est calamitas_).

The application of reason to practice primarily accomplishes this. It reconstructs what is one-sided and defective in knowledge of mere perception, and makes use of the contrasts or oppositions which it presents, to correct each other, so that thus the objectively true result is arrived at. For example, if we look simply at the bad action of a man we will condemn him; on the other hand, if we consider merely the need that moved him to it, we will compa.s.sionate him: reason, by means of its conceptions, weighs the two, and leads to the conclusion that he must be restrained, restricted, and curbed by a proportionate punishment.

I am again reminded here of Seneca's saying: "_Si vis tibi omnia subjicere, te subjice rationi_." Since, however, as was shown in the fourth book, the nature of suffering is positive, and that of pleasure negative, he who takes abstract or rational knowledge as the rule of his conduct, and therefore constantly reflects on its consequences and on the future, will very frequently have to practise _sustine et abstine_, for in order to obtain the life that is most free from pain he generally sacrifices its keenest joys and pleasures, mindful of Aristotle's "?

f?????? t? a??p?? d???e?, ?? t? ?d?" (_quod dolore vacat, non quod __ suave est, persequitur vir prudens_). Therefore with him the future constantly borrows from the present, instead of the present borrowing from the future, as is the case with a frivolous fool, who thus becomes impoverished and finally bankrupt. In the case of the former reason must, for the most part, a.s.sume the _role_ of a churlish mentor, and unceasingly call for renunciations, without being able to promise anything in return, except a fairly painless existence. This rests on the fact that reason, by means of its conceptions, surveys the _whole_ of life, whose outcome, in the happiest conceivable case, can be no other than what we have said.

When this striving after a painless existence, so far as it might be attainable by the application of and strict adherence to rational reflection and acquired knowledge of the true nature of life, was carried out with the greatest consistency and to the utmost extreme, it produced cynicism, from which stoicism afterwards proceeded. I wish briefly here to bring this out more fully for the sake of establishing more firmly the concluding exposition of our first book.

All ancient moral systems, with the single exception of that of Plato, were guides to a happy life. Accordingly in them the end of virtue was entirely in this life, not beyond death. For to them it is only the right path to a truly happy life; and on this account the wise choose it. Hence arise those lengthy debates chiefly preserved for us by Cicero, those keen and constantly renewed investigations, whether virtue quite alone and in itself is really sufficient for a happy life, or whether this further requires some external condition; whether the virtuous and wise may also be happy on the rack and the wheel, or in the bull of Phalaris; or whether it does not go as far as this. For certainly this would be the touchstone of an ethical system of this kind; the practice of it must give happiness directly and unconditionally. If it cannot do this it does not accomplish what it ought, and must be rejected. It is therefore with truth and in accordance with the Christian point of view that Augustine prefaces his exposition of the moral systems of the ancients (_De Civ. Dei_, Lib. xix.

c. 1) with the explanation: "_Exponenda sunt n.o.bis argumenta mortalium, quibus sibi ipsi beat.i.tudinem facere_ IN HUJUS VITae INFELICITATE _moliti sunt; ut ab eorum rebus vanis spes nostra quid differat clarescat. De finibus bonorum et malorum multa inter se philosophi disputarunt; quam quaestionem maxima intentione versantes, invenire conati sunt, quid efficiat hominem beatum: illud enim est finis bonorum._" I wish to place beyond all doubt the eudaemonistic end which we have ascribed to all ancient ethics by several express statements of the ancients themselves.

Aristotle says in the "_Eth. Magna_," i. 4: "? e?da????a e? t? e? ???

est?, t? de e? ??? e? t? ?ata ta? a?eta? ???." (_Felicitas in bene vivendo posita est: verum bene vivere est in eo positum, ut secundum virtutem vivamus_), with which may be compared "_Eth. Nicom._," i. 5. "_Cic.

Tusc._," v. 1: "_Nam, quum ea causa impulerit eos, qui primi se ad philosophiae studia contulerunt, ut, omnibus rebus posthabitis, totos se in optimo vitae statu exquirendo collocarent; profecto spe beate vivendi tantam in eo studio curam operamque posuerunt_". According to Plutarch (_De Repugn. Stoic._, c. xviii.) Chrysippus said: "?? ?ata ?a??a? ??? t?

?a??da????? ??? ta?t?? est?." (_Vitiose vivere idem est guod vivere infeliciter._) Ibid., c. 26: "? f????s?? ??? ?te??? est? t?? e?da????a?

?a?? ?a?t?, a??? e?da????a." (_Prudentia nihil differt a felicitate, estque ipsa adeo felicitas._) "Stob. Ecl.," Lib. ii. c. 7: "?e??? de fas??

e??a? t? e?da???e??, ?? ??e?a pa?ta p?atteta?." (_Finem esse dic.u.n.t felicitatem, cujus causa fiunt omnia._) "??da????a? s?????e?? t? te?e?

?e???s?." (_Finem bonorum et felicitatem synonyma esse dic.u.n.t._) "Arrian Diss. Epict.," i. 4: "? a?et? ta?t?? e?e? t?? epa??e??a?, e?da????a?

p???sa?." (_Virtus profitetur, se felicitatem praestare._) Sen., Ep. 90: "_Ceterum (sapientia) ad beatum statum tendit, illo ducit, __ illo vias aperit_."-Id., Ep. 108: "_Illud admoneo auditionem philosophorum, lectionemque, ad propositum beatae vitae trahendum._"

The ethics of the Cynics also adopted this end of the happiest life, as the Emperor Julian expressly testifies (Orat. vi.): "??? ??????? de f???s?f?a? s??p?? e? est? ?a? te???, ?spe? d? ?a? pas?? f???s?f?a?, t?

e?da???e??; t? de e?da???e?? e? t? ??? ?ata f?s??, a??a ? p??? ta? t??

p????? d??a?." (_Cynicae philosophiae ut etiam omnis philosophiae, scopus et finis est feliciter vivere: felicitas vitae autem in eo posita est, ut secundum naturam vivatur, nec vero secundum opiniones mult.i.tudinis._) Only the Cynics followed quite a peculiar path to this end, a path directly opposed to the ordinary one-the path of extreme privation. They start from the insight that the motions of the will which are brought about by the objects which attract and excite it, and the wearisome, and for the most part vain, efforts to attain these, or, if they are attained, the fear of losing them, and finally the loss itself, produce far greater pain than the want of all these objects ever can. Therefore, in order to attain to the life that is most free from pain, they chose the path of the extremest dest.i.tution, and fled from all pleasures as snares through which one was afterwards handed over to pain. But after this they could boldly scorn happiness and its caprices. This is the _spirit of cynicism_. Seneca distinctly expresses it in the eighth chapter, "_De Tranquilitate Animi_:"

"_Cogitandum est, quanto levior dolor sit, non habere, quam perdere: et intelligemus paupertati eo minorem tormentorum, quo minorem d.a.m.norum esse materiam._" Then: "_Tolerabilius est, faciliusque, non acquirere, quam amittere.... Diogenes effecit, ne quid sibi eripi posset, ... qui se fortuitis omnibus exuit.... Videtur mihi dixisse; age tuum negotium, fortuna: nihil apud Diogenem jam tuum est._" The parallel pa.s.sage to this last sentence is the quotation of Stobaeus (_Ecl._ ii. 7): "????e??? ef?

????e?? ??a? t?? ????? e????sa? a?t?? ?a? ?e???sa?; t??t?? d? ?? d??aa?

a?ee?? ???a ??ss?t??a." (_Diogenes credere se dixit, videre Fortunam, ipsum intuentem, ac dicentem: aut hunc non potui tetigisse canem rabiosum._) The same spirit of cynicism is also shown in the epitaph on Diogenes, in Suidas, under the word F???s???, and in "Diogenes Laertius,"

vi. 2:

"G??as?e? e? ?a???? ?p? ??????; a??a s?? ??t?

??d?? ? pa? a???, ????e???, ?a?e?e?; ?????? epe? ??t?? a?ta??ea d??a? ede??a?

T??t???, ?a? ???? ???? e?af??tat??."

(_aera quidem absumit tempus, sed tempore numquam_ _Interitura tua est gloria, Diogenes:_ _Quandoquidem ad vitam miseris mortalibus aequam_ _Monstrata est facilis, te duce, et ampla via._)

Accordingly the fundamental thought of cynicism is that life in its simplest and nakedest form, with the hardships that belong to it by nature, is the most endurable, and is therefore to be chosen; for every a.s.sistance, convenience, gratification, and pleasure by means of which men seek to make life more agreeable only brings with it new and greater ills than originally belonged to it. Therefore we may regard the following sentence as the expression of the kernel of the doctrine of cynicism: "????e??? e?? p???a??? ?e???, t?? t?? a???p?? ??? ?ad??? ?p? t?? ?e??

ded?s?a?, ap??e???f?a? de a?t?? ??t???t?? e??p??ta ?a? ??a ?a? ta pa?ap??s?a." (_Diogenes clamabat saepius, hominum vitam facilem a diis dari, verum occultari illam quaerentibus mellita cibaria, unguenta et his similia._) (_Diog., Laert._, vi. 2.) And further: "?e??, a?t? t?? a???st??

p????, t??? ?ata f?s?? ???e????, ??? e?da?????; pa?a t?? a???a?

?a??da?????s?.... t?? a?t?? ?a?a?t??a t?? ??? ?e??? d?e?a?e??, ??pe? ?a?

??a????, ?de? e?e?????a? p????????." (_Quum igitur, repudiatis inutilibus laboribus, naturales insequi, ac vivere beate debeamus, per summam dementiam infelices sumus.... eandem vitae formam, quam Hercules, se vivere affirmans, nihil libertati praeferens. Ibid._) Therefore the old, genuine Cynics, Antisthenes, Diogenes, Krates, and their disciples had once for all renounced every possession, all conveniences and pleasures, in order to escape for ever from the troubles and cares, the dependence and the pains, which are inevitably bound up with them and are not counterbalanced by them. Through the bare satisfaction of the most pressing wants and the renunciation of everything superfluous they thought they would come off best. Accordingly they contented themselves with what in Athens or Corinth was to be had almost for nothing, such as lupines, water, an old threadbare cloak, a wallet, and a staff. They begged occasionally, as far as was necessary to supply such wants, but they never worked. Yet they accepted absolutely nothing that exceeded the wants referred to above.

Independence in the widest sense was their aim. They occupied their time in resting, going about, talking with all men, and much mocking, laughing, and joking; their characteristic was carelessness and great cheerfulness.

Since now in this manner of life they had no aims of their own, no purposes or ends to pursue, thus were lifted above the sphere of human action, and at the same time always enjoyed complete leisure, they were admirably fitted, as men of proved strength of mind, to be the advisers and admonishers of the rest. Therefore Apuleius says (_Florid._, iv.): "_Crates, ut lar familiaris apud homines suae aetatis cultus est. Nulla domus ei unquam clausa erat: nec erat patrisfamilias tam absconditum secretum, quin eo tempestive Crates interveniret, litium omnium et jurgiorum inter propinquos disceptator et arbiter._" Thus in this, as in so many other respects, they show a great likeness to the mendicant friars of modern times, that is, to the better and more genuine among them, whose ideal may be seen in the Capucine Christoforo in Manzoni's famous romance.

Yet this resemblance lies only in the effects, not in the cause. They agree in the result, but the fundamental thought of the two is quite different. With the friars, as with the Sannyasis, who are akin to them, it is an aim which transcends life; but with the Cynics it is only the conviction that it is easier to reduce their wishes and their wants to the _minimum_, than to attain to the _maximum_ in their satisfaction, which indeed is impossible, for with their satisfaction the wishes and wants grow _ad infinitum_; therefore, in order to reach the goal of all ancient ethics, the greatest happiness possible in this life, they took the path of renunciation as the shortest and easiest: "??e? ?a? t?? ????s??

e????as?? s??t??? ep? a?et?? ?d??." (_Unde Cynismum dixere compendiosam ad virtutem viam._) _Diog. Laert._, vi. 9. The fundamental difference between the spirit of cynicism and that of asceticism comes out very clearly in the humility which is essential to the ascetic, but is so foreign to the Cynic that, on the contrary, he is distinguished beyond everything else for pride and scorn:-

"_Sapiens uno minor est Jove, dives,_ _Liber, honoratus, pulcher, rex denique regum._"-_Hor._

On the other hand, the view of life held by the Cynics agrees in spirit with that of J. J. Rousseau as he expounds it in the "_Discours sur l'Origine de l'Inegalite_." For he also would wish to lead us back to the crude state of nature, and regards the reduction of our wants to the minimum as the surest path to happiness. For the rest, the Cynics were exclusively _practical_ philosophers: at least no account of their theoretical philosophy is known to me.

Now the Stoics proceeded from them in this way-they changed the practical into the theoretical. They held that the _actual_ dispensing with everything that can be done without is not demanded, but that it is sufficient that we should regard possessions and pleasures constantly as _dispensable_, and as held in the hand of chance; for then the actual deprivation of them, if it should chance to occur, would neither be unexpected nor fall heavily. One might always have and enjoy everything; only one must ever keep present the conviction of the worthlessness and dispensableness of these good things on the one hand, and of their uncertainty and perishableness on the other, and therefore prize them all very little, and be always ready to give them up. Nay more, he who must actually dispense with these things in order not to be moved by them, thereby shows that in his heart he holds them to be truly good things, which one must put quite out of sight if one is not to long after them.

The wise man, on the other hand, knows that they are not good things at all, but rather perfectly indifferent things, ad?af??a, in any case p????e?a. Therefore if they present themselves he will accept them, but yet is always ready to let them go again, if chance, to which they belong, should demand them back; for they are t?? ??? ef? ???. In this sense, Epictetus, chap. vii., says that the wise man, like one who has landed from a ship, &c., will also let himself be comforted by a wife or a child, but yet will always be ready, whenever the captain calls, to let them go again. Thus the Stoics perfected the theory of equanimity and independence at the cost of the practice, for they reduced everything to a mental process, and by arguments, such as are presented in the first chapter of Epictetus, sophisticated themselves into all the amenities of life. But in doing so they left out of account that everything to which one is accustomed becomes a need, and therefore can only be given up with pain; that the will does not allow itself to be played with, cannot enjoy without loving the pleasures; that a dog does not remain indifferent if one draws a piece of meat through its mouth, and neither does a wise man if he is hungry; and that there is no middle path between desiring and renouncing. But they believed that they satisfied their principles if, sitting at a luxurious Roman table, they left no dish untasted, yet at the same time protested that they were each and all of them mere p????e?a, not a?a?a; or in plain English, if they eat, drank, and were merry, yet gave no thanks to G.o.d for it all, but rather made fastidious faces, and persisted in boldly a.s.serting that they gained nothing whatever from the whole feast. This was the expedient of the Stoics; they were therefore mere braggarts, and stand to the Cynics in much the same relation as well-fed Benedictines and Augustines stand to Franciscans and Capucines.

Now the more they neglected practice, the more they refined the theory. I shall here add a few proofs and supplementary details to the exposition of it given at the close of our first book.

If we search in the writings of the Stoics which remain to us, all of which are unsystematically composed, for the ultimate ground of that irrefragible equanimity which is unceasingly demanded of us, we find no other than the knowledge that the course of the world is entirely independent of our will, and consequently, that the evil which befalls us is inevitable. If we have regulated our claims by a correct insight into this, then mourning, rejoicing, fearing, and hoping are follies of which we are no longer capable. Further, especially in the commentaries of Arrian, it is surrept.i.tiously a.s.sumed that all that is ??? ef? ???

(_i.e._, does not depend upon us) is at once also ?? p??? ?a? (_i.e._, does not concern us). Yet it remains true that all the good things of life are in the power of chance, and therefore whenever it makes use of this power to deprive us of them, we are unhappy if we have placed our happiness in them. From this unworthy fate we are, in the opinion of the Stoics, delivered by the right use of reason, by virtue of which we regard all these things, never as ours, but only as lent to us for an indefinite time; only thus can we never really lose them. Therefore Seneca says (Ep.

98): "_Si, quid humanarum rerum varietas possit, cogitaverit, ante quam senserit_," and Diogenes Laertius (vii. 1. 87): "?s?? de est? t? ?at?

a?et?? ??? t? ?at? epe???a? t?? f?se? s?a????t?? ???." (_Secundum virtutem vivere idem est, quod secundum experientiam eorum, quae secundum naturam accidunt, vivere._) The pa.s.sage in Arrian's "Discourses of Epictetus," B. iii., c. 24, 84-89, is particularly in point here; and especially, as a proof of what I have said in this reference in -- 16 of the first volume, the pa.s.sage: "???t? ?a? est? t? a?t??? t??? a????p???

pa?t?? t?? ?a??? t? ta? p?????e?? ta? ????a? ? d??as?a? efa???e?? t???

ep? e????," Ibid. iv., 1. 42. (_Haec enim causa est hominibus omnium malorum, quod antic.i.p.ationes generales rebus singularibus accommodare non possunt._) Similarly the pa.s.sage in "Marcus Aurelius" (iv. 29): "?? ?e???

??s?? ? ? ???????? ta e? a?t? ??ta, ??? ?tt?? ?e??? ?a? ? ? ???????? ta ?????e?a;" that is: "If he is a stranger to the universe who does not know what is in it, no less is he a stranger who does not know how things go on in it." Also Seneca's eleventh chapter, "_De Tranquilitate Animi_,"

is a complete proof of this view. The opinion of the Stoics amounts on the whole to this, that if a man has watched for a while the juggling illusion of happiness and then uses his reason, he must recognise both the rapid changes of the dice and the intrinsic worthlessness of the counters, and therefore must henceforth remain unmoved. Taken generally the Stoical point of view may be thus expressed: our suffering always arises from the want of agreement between our wishes and the course of the world.

Therefore one of these two must be changed and adapted to the other. Since now the course of things is not in our power (??? ef? ???), we must direct our volitions and desires according to the course of things: for the will alone is ef? ???. This adaptation of volition to the course of the external world, thus to the nature of things, is very often understood under the ambiguous ?ata f?s?? ???. See the "Discourses of Epictetus," ii.

17, 21, 22. Seneca also denotes this point of view (Ep. 119) when he says: "_Nihil interest, utrum non desideres, an habeas. Summa rei in utroque est eadem: non torqueberis._" Also Cicero (_Tusc._ iv. 26) by the words: "_Solum habere velle, summa dementia est._" Similarly Arrian (iv. 1. 175): "?? ?a? e?p????se? t?? ep?????e??? e?e??e??a pa?as?e?a?eta?, a??a a?as?e?? t?? ep????a?." (_Non enim explendis desideriis libertas comparatur, sed tollenda cupiditate._)

The collected quotations in the "_Historia Philosophiae Graeco-Romanae_" of Ritter and Preller may be taken as proofs of what I have said, in the place referred to above, about the ???????e??? ??? of the Stoics. Also the saying of Seneca (Ep. 31, and again Ep. 74): "_Perfecta virtus est aequalitas et tenor vitae per omnia consonans sibi._" The following pa.s.sage of Seneca's indicates the spirit of the Stoa generally (Ep. 92): "_Quid est beata vita? Securitas et perpetua tranquillitas. Hanc dabit animi magnitudo, dabit constantia bene judicati tenax._" A systematical study of the Stoics will convince every one that the end of their ethics, like that of the ethics of Cynicism from which they sprang, is really nothing else than a life as free as possible from pain, and therefore as happy as possible. Whence it follows that the Stoical morality is only a special form of _Eudaemonism_. It has not, like the Indian, the Christian, and even the Platonic ethics, a metaphysical tendency, a transcendental end, but a completely immanent end, attainable in this life; the steadfast serenity (ata?a??a) and unclouded happiness of the wise man, whom nothing can disturb. Yet it cannot be denied that the later Stoics, especially Arrian, sometimes lose sight of this end, and show a really ascetic tendency, which is to be attributed to the Christian and Oriental spirit in general which was then already spreading. If we consider closely and seriously the goal of Stoicism, that ata?a??a, we find in it merely a hardening and insensibility to the blow of fate which a man attains to because he keeps ever present to his mind the shortness of life, the emptiness of pleasure, the instability of happiness, and has also discerned that the difference between happiness and unhappiness is very much less than our antic.i.p.ation of both is wont to represent. But this is yet no state of happiness; it is only the patient endurance of sufferings which one has foreseen as irremediable. Yet magnanimity and worth consist in this, that one should bear silently and patiently what is irremediable, in melancholy peace, remaining always the same, while others pa.s.s from rejoicing to despair and from despair to rejoicing. Accordingly one may also conceive of Stoicism as a spiritual hygiene, in accordance with which, just as one hardens the body against the influences of wind and weather, against fatigue and exertion, one has also to harden one's mind against misfortune, danger, loss, injustice, malice, perfidy, arrogance, and the folly of men.

I remark further, that the ?a?????ta of the Stoics, which Cicero translates _officia_, signify as nearly as possible _Obliegenheiten_, or that which it befits the occasion to do; English, _inc.u.mbencies_; Italian, _quel che tocca a me di fare, o di lasciare_, thus what _it behoves_ a reasonable man to do. Cf. _Diog. Laert._, vii. 1. 109. Finally, the _pantheism_ of the Stoics, though absolutely inconsistent with many an exhortation of Arrian, is most distinctly expressed by Seneca: "_Quid est Deus? Mens universi. Quid est Deus? Quod vides totum, et quod non vides totum. Sic demum magnitudo sua illi redditur, qua nihil majus excogitari potest: si solus est omnia, opus suum et extra, et intra tenet._" (_Quaest.

Natur._ 1, _praefatio_ 12.)