disliked Protestantism, and tried every means of degrading it in
the eyes of the world. As normally he was not over scrupulous, it is
probable he never took the trouble to acquaint himself with Luther's
teaching. His flair did not deceive him: the Protestant religion and
morality was most unsuitable to him and his kind. But does this mean
that it was to be calumniated, and judged, as Dostoevsky judged it,
merely by the etymological meaning of a word? Protestant--a protester,
one who only protests and has no positive content. A child's text-book
of history will show the absurdity of the definition. Protestantism
is, on the whole, the most positive, _assertive_ creed of all the
Christian religions. It certainly protested against Catholicism, but
against the destructive tendencies in the latter, and in the name of
positive ideals. Catholicism relied too much on its power and its
spell, and most of all on the infallibility of its dogmas to which it
offered millions of victims. To maim and mutilate a man _ad majorem
gloriam Dei_ was considered a perfectly proper thing in the Middle
Ages, the period of bloom for Catholicism. At the risk of appearing
paradoxical, I venture to assert that ideas have been invented only for
the purpose of giving the right to mutilate people. The Middle Ages
nourished a mysterious, incomprehensible hatred for everything normal,
self-satisfied, complete. A young, healthy, handsome man, at peace
with himself, aroused suspicion and hostility in a believing Catholic.
His very appearance offended religion and confuted dogma. It was not
necessary to examine him. Even though he went to church, and gave no
sign of doubt, either in deed or word, yet he must be a heretic, to
be converted at all cost. And we know the Catholic cost: privation,
asceticism, mortification of the flesh. The most normal person, kept
on a monastic regime, will lose his spiritual balance, and all those
virtues which belong to a healthy spirit and a healthy body. This was
all Catholicism needed. It tried to obtain from people the _extreme
endeavour_ of their whole being. Ordinary, natural love, which found
its satisfaction--this was sinful. Monks and priests were condemned
to celibacy--hence monstrous and abnormal passions developed. Poverty
was preached, and the most unheard-of greed appeared in the world,
the more secret the stronger it became. Humility was essential--and
out of bare-footed monks sprang despots who had no limits to their
ambitions. Luther was the last man to understand the meaning and
value of the tasks which Catholicism had set itself. What he saw in
Rome was not the accidental outcome of this or the other historical
circumstance, but a result of the age-long effort of generations that
had striven to attribute to life as alarming and dangerous a nature as
possible. The sincere, direct, rustic German monk was too simple-minded
to make out what was going on in Rome. He thought there existed one
truth, and that the essence of Catholicism lay in what seemed to him
an exemplary, virtuous life. He went direct to his aim? What meaning
can monasticism have? Why deprive a priest of family happiness? How
accept the licentiousness of the pope's capital? The common sense of
the normal German revolted against the absurdity of such a state of
things--and Luther neither could nor _would_ see any good where common
sense was utterly forgotten. The violent oscillation of life resulting
from the continuous quick passage from asceticism and blind faith to
unbelief and freedom of the passions aroused a mystic horror in the
honest monk and released the enormous powers in him necessary to start
the great struggle. How could he help protesting? And who was the
denier, Luther, or the Rome which passed on from the keeping of the
Divine Word to the arbitrary ordaining of all the mysteries of life?
Luther might have forgiven the monks had they confined themselves
to sophistries. But mediaeval monks had nothing in common with our
philosophers. They did not look for world-conceptions in books, and
logical tournaments amused them only moderately. They threw themselves
into the deeps of life, they experimented on themselves and their
neighbours. They passed from mortification to licentious bacchanalia.
They feared nothing, spared nothing. In a word, the Rome against which
Luther arose had undertaken to build Babylon again, not with stones,
but with human souls. Luther, horrified, withdrew, and with him half
Europe was withdrawn. That is his positive merit. And Dostoevsky
attacked Lutheranism, and pitied the old Catholicism and the breathless
heights to which its "spiritual" children had risen. Wholesome
morality and its support is not enough for Dostoevsky. All this is not
"positive," it is only "protest." Whether I am believed or not, I will
repeat that Vladimir Soloviov, who held that Dostoevsky was a prophet,
is wrong, and that N. K. Mikhailovsky, who calls him a cruel talent
and a grubber after buried treasure, is right. Dostoevsky grubs after
buried treasure--no doubt about that. And, therefore, it would be more
becoming in the younger generation that still marches under the flag
of pious idealism if, instead of choosing him as a spiritual leader,
they avoided the old sorcerer, in whom only those gifted with great
shortsightedness or lack of experience in life could fail to see the
dangerous man.
34
It is boring and difficult to convince people, and after all, not
necessary. It would be much better if every individual kept his own
opinions. Unfortunately, it cannot be. Whether you like it or not, you
have to admit the law of gravitation. Some people find it necessary
to admit the origin of man from the monkey. In the empirical realm,
however humiliating it may be, there are certain real, binding,
universal truths against which no rebellion will avail. With what
pleasure would we declare to a representative of science that fire does
not burn, that rattlesnakes are not poisonous, that a fall from a high
tower is perfectly agreeable, etc., etc., supposing he were obliged
to prove to us the contrary. Unluckily the scientific person is free
from the burden of proof: nature proves, and thoroughly. If nature,
like metaphysics, set out to compel us through syllogisms or sermons
to believe in her, how little she would get out of us. She is much
more sagacious. Morality and logic she has left to Hegel and Spinoza,
for herself she has taken a cudgel. Now then, try to argue against
_this_! You will give in against your will. The cleverest of all the
metaphysicians, Catholic inquisitors, imitated nature. They rarely
tried the word, and trusted to the fire of faggots rather than of the
heart. Had they only had more power, it would not be possible to find
two people in the whole world disbelieving in the infallibility of the
Pope. Metaphysical ideas, dreamily expecting to conquer the world by
reasoned exposition, will never attain dominion. If they are bent on
success, let them try more effective methods of convincing.
35
_Evolution_.--In recent years we see more and more change in the
philosophies of writers and even of non-literary people. The old men
are beside themselves--such shiftiness seems indecent. After all,
convictions are not gloves. But the young carelessly pass on from
one idea to another. Irresolute men are somewhat timid, and although
they abandon their former convictions they do not declare the change
openly. Others, however, plainly announce, as if it were nothing, how
far they now are from the beliefs they held six months ago. One even
publishes whole volumes relating how he passed on from one philosophy
to another, and then to a third. People see nothing alarming in that
kind of "evolution." They believe it is in the ordering of things.
But not so at all! The readiness to leave off one set of convictions
in order to assume another set shows complete indifference to
convictions altogether. Not for nothing do the old sound the alarm.
But to us who have fought so long against all kinds of constancy, the
levity of the young is a pleasant sight. They will don materialism,
positivism, Kantianism, spiritualism, and so on, one after the other,
till they realise that all theories, ideas and ideals are as of little
consequence as the hoop-skirts and crinolines of our grandmothers. Then
they will begin to live without ideals and pre-arranged purposes,
without foresight, relying on chance and their own ready wit. This way,
too, must be tried. Perhaps we shall do better by it.... Anyhow, it
will be more fun.
36
_Strength of will_.--Weakness and paralysis of the will, a very
dangerous disease in our times, and in most other times, consists
not in the absolute loss of desire, such as takes place in the very
old, but in the loss of the capacity to translate desire into deed. A
diseased will is often met in violently passionate men, so that the
proverb--"Say I will not, not I cannot"--does not always hold good. Man
often would, but cannot. And then the force of desire instead of moving
to outward creation, works inwardly. This is justly considered the
most dangerous effect of the weakening of the will. For inward working
is destructive working. Man does not only, to put it scientifically,
fail to adapt nature to his needs, but he loses his own power of
adaptability to outward circumstances. The most ordinary doctor, or
even anybody, decides that he has before him a pathological case which
must be treated with care. The patient is of the same opinion, whilst
he still hopes. But when the treatment has had no results, the doctor
draws back and speaks of the inadequacy of his science. Then what is
the patient to retire upon? It is disgusting to speak of an incurable
disease. So he begins to think, think, think--all the time about things
of which nobody thinks. He is gradually forgotten, and gradually he
forgets everything--but first of all, that widespread truth which
asserts that no judgments are valid save those that are accepted
and universal. Not that he disputes the truth: he _forgets it_, and
there is none to remind him. To him all his judgments seem valid and
important. Of course he cannot advance the principle: let all men turn
from the external world into themselves. But why advance a principle
at all? One can simply say: I am indifferent to the destinies of the
external world. I do not want to move mountains or turn rivers aside or
rearrange the map of Europe. I don't even want to go to the tobacconist
to buy cigarettes. I don't want _to do_ anything. I want to think that
my inaction is the most important thing on earth, that any "disease" is
better than health, and so on and so on without end. To what thought's
will not a man abandoned by medicine and doctors sink down! His
judgments are not binding on us, that is as clear as day. But are they
uninteresting? And is that paralysis, that weakness of will, a disease
only?
37
_Death and metaphysics_.--A superficial observer knows that the best
things in life are hard to attain. Some psychologists even consider
that the chief beauty of the highest things consists in their
unattainability. This is surely not true--yet there is a grain in it.
The roads to good things are dangerous to travel. Is it because nature
is so much poorer than we imagine, so she must lock up her blessings,
or is there some greater meaning in it, that we have not guessed? For
the fact is, the more alluring an end we have in view, the more risks
and horrors we must undertake to get there. May we not also make a
contrary suggestion: that behind every danger something good is hidden,
and that therefore danger serves as an indication, a mark to guide us
onwards, not as a warning, as we are taught to believe. To decide this
would be to decide that behind death, the greatest of dangers, must
lie the most promising things. It is as well not to speculate further.
We had best stop lest we quarrel even with metaphysics. Traditional
metaphysics has always been able to illumine our temporal existence
with the reflected beams of eternity. Let us follow the example. Let
us make no attempt to know the absolute. If you have discovered a
comforting hypothesis, even in the upper transcendental air, drag it
quickly to earth where labouring men forever await even an imaginary
relief from their lot. We must make use of everything, even of death,
to serve the ends of this life of ours.
38
_The future_.--A clever, reasonable boy, accustomed to trust his
common sense, read in a book for children a description of a shipwreck
which occurred just as the passengers were eating their sweets at
dessert. He was astonished to learn that everyone, women and children
as well, who could give no assistance-whatever in saving the ship,
left their dessert and rushed on deck with wailing and tears. Why
wail, why rush about, why be stupidly agitated? The crew knew their
business and would do all that could be done. If you are going to
perish, perish you will, no matter how you scream. It seemed to
the boy that if he had been on the ship he would just have gone on
eating his sweets to the last moment. Justice should be done to this
judicious and irreproachable opinion. There remained only a few minutes
to live--would it not have been better to enjoy them? The logic is
perfect, worthy of Aristotle. And it was found impossible to prove to
the boy that he would have left his sweets, even his favourite sweets,
under the same circumstances, and rushed, and screamed with the rest.
Hence a moral--do not decide about the future. To-day common sense is
uppermost, and sweets are your highest law. But to-morrow you will
get rid of normality and sense, you will link on with nonsense and
absurdity, and probably you will even get a taste for bitters. What do
you think?
39
A priori _synthetic judgments_.--Kant, as we know, found in mathematics
and the natural sciences _a priori_ synthetic judgments. Was he right
or wrong? Are the judgments he indicated _a priori_ or _a posteriori_?
Anyhow, one thing is certain: they are not accepted as absolutely,
but only as relatively indisputable. In metaphysics, where the only
curious and important truths are hidden, the case is different. Kant
was compelled to admit that just where metaphysics begin the capacity
of our human reason to judge _a priori_ ends. But since we cannot
dispense with metaphysical judgments, he proposed to substitute
for them postulates. At the same time he admitted the optimistic
presupposition that in the domain of the transcendental we shall find
all that we miss in the world of phenomena. So that, because he could
not invent a truly scientific metaphysics, he contrived to present us
with a non-scientific sort. Which is to say, after many round-about
journeys he brings his readers along the opposite way right back to the
very spot from which he led them off. Surely non-scientific metaphysics
existed before Kant: the mediaeval philosophers had plenty of
phantasies and speculations, all supported by "moral" proofs. If Kant
wanted to reform metaphysics, he should have got rid of its favourite
method of obtaining truths through inferential "conclusions." Men are
greedy, they want to learn much, and get their knowledge cheap. So
they think that every truth they have paid for with experience and loss
of energy entitles them to a few more truths gratis: or, in philosophic
language, _a priori_, by deduction. They are not ashamed to speculate
with a gift that has been given them. Instead of looking, listening,
touching, _seeking_, they want to infer and conclude. Certainly if they
could wring any secret out of nature, no matter by what means, cunning,
impudence, fraud, we would forgive them--conquerors are not judged.
But nothing comes of their "conclusions" save metaphysical systems and
empty prattle. It is surely time to give up conclusions, and get truth
_a posteriori_, as did Shakspeare, Goethe, Dostoevsky; that is, every
time you want to know anything, go and look and find out. And if one is
lazy, or horrified at a new experiment, let him train himself to look
on ultimate questions with indifference, as the positivists do. But
moral, ontological and such like arguments!--really, it is disgusting
to talk about them. Every new experiment is interesting; but our
conclusions, _i.e._, synthetic judgments _a priori,_ are mostly pompous
lies, not worth the scrap of paper on which they are recorded.
40
_General rules_.--People go to philosophers for general principles.
And since philosophers are human, they are kept busy supplying the
market with general principles. But what sense is there in them? None
at all. Nature demands individual creative activity from us. Men won't
understand this, so they wait forever for the ultimate truths from
philosophy, which they will never get. Why should not every grown-up
person be a creator, live in his own way at his own risk and have his
own experience? Children and raw youths must go in leading strings. But
adult people who want to feel the reins should be despised. They are
cowards, and slothful: afraid to try, they eternally go to the wise for
advice. And the wise do not hesitate to take the responsibility for the
lives of others. They invent general rules, as if they had access to
the sources of knowledge. What foolery! The wise are no wiser than the
stupid--they have only more conceit and effrontery. Every intelligent
man laughs in his soul at "bookish" views. And are not books the work
of the wise? They are often extremely interesting--but only in so far
as they do not contain general rules. Woe to him, who would build
up his life according to Hegel, Schopenhauer, Tolstoy, Schiller, or
Dostoevsky. He must read them, but he must have sense, a mind of his
own to live with. Those who have tried to live according to theories
from books have found this out. At the best, their efforts produced
banality. There is no alternative. Whether man likes or not he will
at last have to realise that cliches are worthless, and that he must
live from himself. There are no all-binding, universal judgments--let
us manage with non-binding, non-universal ones. Only professors will
suffer for it....
41
_Metaphysical consolations_.--Metaphysics mercilessly persecutes all
eudaemonistic doctrines, seeing in them a sort of _laesio majestatis_
of human dignity. Our dignity forbids us to place human happiness in
the highest goal. Suppose it is so? But why then invent consolations,
even metaphysical ones? Why give to such a "pure" ideal concept as
metaphysics such a coarse "sensual" partner as consolation?--sensual
in the Kantian meaning of the word. Metaphysics had much better
associate herself with proud disconsolation. Consolation brings
calm and ease, even quiet gratification to the soul. But surely, if
metaphysics condescend to accept any assistance whatever, she must
scorn all earthly gratifications, leave them to wingless positivism
and materialism. What are joys and pains to metaphysics?--she is one
thing, they another. Yet all of a sudden metaphysicians begin to shout
about consolations. Evidently there is a misunderstanding here, and a
big one. The more you pierce to the ultimate ends of the "infinite"
metaphysical problems, the more finite they reveal themselves.
Metaphysicians only look out for some new boon--I nearly said pleasure.
Voltaire said that if there was no God, then He should be invented. We
explain these words by the great Frenchman's extreme positivism. But
the form only is positive, the content is purely metaphysical. All that
a metaphysician wants to do is to convince himself that God exists. No
matter whether he is mistaken or not, he has found a consolation. It
is impossible for him to see that his belief in a certain fact does
not make that fact veritable. The whole question is whether there
does exist a supreme, conscious First Cause, or whether we are slaves
to the laws of dead necessity. But what does the metaphysician care
about this real question! Having declared himself the avowed enemy
of eudaemonism, he next seeks consolation, nothing but consolation.
To doubt his right to be consoled drives him to fury and madness. He
is prepared to support his convictions by every means--ranging from
righteous indignation to fists. It is obviously futile to try to
enlighten such a creature. Once a man cares nothing for God, and seeks
only to make the best of his life, you will not tear away his attention
from the immediate moment. But perhaps there is a God, and neither
Voltaire nor the metaphysicians have any need to invent Him. The
metaphysicians never saw that an avowed disbelief in God does not prove
the non-existence of God, but just the opposite; it is a surer sign of
faith than ever belief is. Unfortunate metaphysicians! They might have
found their greatest consolation here, and fists and moral indignation
and other forms of chastisement to which they have been driven might
have been spared us.
42
_Practical advice_.--People who read much must always keep it in mind
that life is one thing, literature another. Not that authors invariably
lie. I declare that there are writers who rarely and most reluctantly
lie. But one must know how to read, and that isn't easy. Out of a
hundred book-readers ninety-nine have no idea what they are reading
about. It is a common belief, for example, that any writer who sings of
suffering must be ready at all times to open his arms to the weary and
heavy-laden. This is what his readers feel when they read his books.
Then when they approach him with their woes, and find that he runs away
without looking back at them, they are filled with indignation and talk
of the discrepancy between word and deed. Whereas the fact is, the
singer has more than enough woes of his own, and he sings them because
he can't get rid of them. _L'uccello canto, nella gabbia, non di gioia
ma di rabbia_, says the Italian proverb: "The bird sings in the cage,
not from joy but from rage." It is impossible to love sufferers,
particularly hopeless sufferers, and whoever says otherwise is a
deliberate liar. "Come unto Me all ye that labour and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest." But you remember what the Jews said about
Him: "He speaks as one having authority!" And if Jesus had been unable,
or _had not possessed the right_, to answer this sceptical taunt, He
would have had to renounce His words. We common mortals have neither
divine powers nor divine rights, we can only love our neighbours whilst
they still have hope, and any pretence of going beyond this is empty
swagger. Ask him who sings of suffering for nothing but his songs.
Rather think of alleviating his burden than of requiring alleviation
from him. Surely not for ever should we ask any poet to sob and look
upon tears. I will end with another Italian saying: _Non e un si triste
cane che non meni la coda_. ... "No dog so wretched but he wags his
tail sometimes."
43