it is invested with a religious motive, which, at any rate, strengthens
it. However, without any such natural foundation, religious motives
often in themselves alone prevent crime: this is not a matter of
surprise to us in the case of the multitude, when we see that even
people of good education sometimes come under the influence, not indeed
of religious motives, which fundamentally are at least allegorically
true, but of the most absurd superstitions, by which they are guided
throughout the whole of their lives; as, for instance, undertaking
nothing on a Friday, refusing to sit down thirteen at table, obeying
chance omens, and the like: how much more likely are the masses to be
guided by such things. You cannot properly conceive the great
limitations of the raw mind; its interior is entirely dark, especially
if, as is often the case, a bad, unjust, and wicked heart is its
foundation. Men like these, who represent the bulk of humanity, must be
directed and controlled meanwhile, as well as possible, even if it be by
really superstitious motives, until they become susceptible to truer and
better ones. Of the direct effect of religion, one may give as an
instance a common occurrence in Italy, namely, that of a thief being
allowed to replace what he has stolen through the medium of his
confessor, who makes this the condition of his absolution. Then think of
the case of an oath, where religion shows a most decided influence:
whether it be because a man places himself expressly in the position of
a mere _moral being_, and as such regards himself as solemnly appealed
to,--as seems to be the case in France, where the form of the oath is
merely "_je le jure_"; and among the Quakers, whose solemn "yea" or
"nay" takes the place of the oath;--or whether it is because a man
really believes he is uttering something that will forfeit his eternal
happiness,--a belief which is obviously only the investiture of the
former feeling. At any rate, religious motives are a means of awakening
and calling forth his moral nature. A man will frequently consent to
take a false oath, but suddenly refuse to do so when it comes to the
point; whereby truth and right come off victorious.
_Phil_. But false oaths are still oftener sworn, whereby truth and right
are trodden underfoot with the clear knowledge of all the witnesses of
the act. An oath is the jurist's metaphysical _pons asinorum_, and like
this should be used as seldom as ever possible. When it cannot be
avoided, it should be taken with great solemnity, always in the presence
of the clergy--nay, even in a church or in a chapel adjoining the court
of justice.... This is precisely why the French abstract formulary of
the oath is of no value. By the way, you are right to cite the oath as
an undeniable example of the practical efficacy of religion. I must, in
spite of everything you have said, doubt whether the efficacy of
religion goes much beyond this. Just think, if it were suddenly declared
by public proclamation that all criminal laws were abolished; I believe
that neither you nor I would have the courage to go home from here alone
under the protection of religious motives. On the other hand, if in a
similar way all religions were declared to be untrue; we would, under
the protection of the laws alone, live on as formerly, without any
special increase in our fears and measures of precaution. But I will
even go further: religions have very frequently a decidedly demoralising
influence. It may be said generally that duties towards God are the
reverse of duties towards mankind; and that it is very easy to make up
for lack of good behaviour towards men by adulation of God. Accordingly,
we see in all ages and countries that the great majority of mankind find
it much easier to beg admission into Heaven by prayers than to deserve
it by their actions. In every religion it soon comes to be proclaimed
that it is not so much moral actions as faith, ceremonies, and rites of
every kind that are the immediate objects of the Divine will; and indeed
the latter, especially if they are bound up with the emoluments of the
clergy, are considered a substitute for the former. The sacrifice of
animals in temples, or the saying of masses, the erection of chapels or
crosses by the roadside, are soon regarded as the most meritorious
works; so that even a great crime may be expiated by them, as also by
penance, subjection to priestly authority, confessions, pilgrimages,
donations to the temple and its priests, the building of monasteries and
the like; until finally the clergy appear almost only as mediators in
the corruption of the gods. And if things do not go so far as that,
where is the religion whose confessors do not consider prayers, songs of
praise, and various kinds of devotional exercise, at any rate, a partial
substitute for moral conduct? Look at England, for instance, where the
audacious priestcraft has mendaciously identified the Christian Sunday
with the Jewish Sabbath, in spite of the fact that it was ordained by
Constantine the Great in opposition to the Jewish Sabbath, and even took
its name, so that Jehovah's ordinances for the Sabbath--_i.e._, the day
on which the Almighty rested, tired after His six days' work, making it
therefore _essentially the last day_ of the week--might be conferred on
the Christian Sunday, the _dies solis_, the first day of the week which
the sun opens in glory, the day of devotion and joy. The result of this
fraud is that in England "Sabbath breaking," or the "desecration of the
Sabbath," that is, the slightest occupation, whether it be of a useful
or pleasurable nature, and any kind of game, music, knitting, or worldly
book, are on Sundays regarded as great sins. Must not the ordinary man
believe that if, as his spiritual guides impress upon him, he never
fails in a "strict observance of the holy Sabbath and a regular
attendance on Divine Service,"--in other words, if he invariably whiles
away his time on a Sunday, and never fails to sit two hours in church to
listen to the same Litany for the thousandth time, and to babble it with
the rest _a tempo_, he may reckon on indulgence in here and there little
sins which he at times allows himself? Those devils in human form, the
slave-owners and slave-traders in the Free States of North America (they
should be called the Slave States), are, in general, orthodox, pious
Anglicans, who look upon it as a great sin to work on Sundays; and
confident in this, and their regular attendance at church, they expect
to gain eternal happiness. The demoralising influence of religion is
less problematical than its moral influence. On the other hand, how
great and how certain that moral influence must be to make amends for
the horrors and misery which religions, especially the Christian and
Mohammedan religions, have occasioned and spread over the earth! Think
of the fanaticism, of the endless persecutions, the religious wars, that
sanguinary frenzy of which the ancients had no idea; then, think of the
Crusades, a massacre lasting two hundred years, and perfectly
unwarrantable, with its war-cry, _It is God's will_, so that it might
get into its possession the grave of one who had preached love and
endurance; think of the cruel expulsion and extermination of the Moors
and Jews from Spain; think of the massacres, of the inquisitions and
other heretical tribunals, the bloody and terrible conquests of the
Mohammedans in three different parts of the world, and the conquest of
the Christians in America, whose inhabitants were for the most part, and
in Cuba entirely, exterminated; according to Las Casas, within forty
years twelve million persons were murdered--of course, all _in majorem
Dei gloriam_, and for the spreading of the Gospel, and because,
moreover, what was not Christian was not looked upon as human. It is
true I have already touched upon these matters; but when in our day "the
Latest News from the Kingdom of God" is printed, we shall not be tired
of bringing older news to mind. And in particular, let us not forget
India, that sacred soil, that cradle of the human race, at any rate of
the race to which we belong, where first Mohammedans, and later
Christians, were most cruelly infuriated against the followers of the
original belief of mankind; and the eternally lamentable, wanton, and
cruel destruction and disfigurement of the most ancient temples and
images, still show traces of the monotheistic rage of the Mohammedans,
as it was carried on from Marmud the Ghaznevid of accursed memory, down
to Aureng Zeb, the fratricide, whom later the Portuguese Christians
faithfully tried to imitate by destroying the temples and the _auto da
fé_ of the inquisition at Goa. Let us also not forget the chosen people
of God, who, after they had, by Jehovah's express and special command,
stolen from their old and faithful friends in Egypt the gold and silver
vessels which had been lent to them, made a murderous and predatory
excursion into the Promised Land, with Moses at their head, in order to
tear it from the rightful owners, also at Jehovah's express and repeated
commands, knowing no compassion, and relentlessly murdering and
exterminating all the inhabitants, even the women and children (Joshua
x., xi.); just because they were not circumcised and did not know
Jehovah, which was sufficient reason to justify every act of cruelty
against them. For the same reason, in former times the infamous roguery
of the patriarch Jacob and his chosen people against Hamor, King of
Shalem, and his people is recounted to us with glory, precisely because
the people were unbelievers. Truly, it is the worst side of religions
that the believers of one religion consider themselves allowed
everything against the sins of every other, and consequently treat them
with the utmost viciousness and cruelty; the Mohammedans against the
Christians and Hindoos; the Christians against the Hindoos, Mohammedans,
Americans, Negroes, Jews, heretics, and the like. Perhaps I go too far
when I say _all_ religions; for in compliance with truth, I must add
that the fanatical horrors, arising from religion, are only perpetrated
by the followers of the monotheistic religions, that is, of Judaism and
its two branches, Christianity and Islamism. The same is not reported of
the Hindoos and Buddhists, although we know, for instance, that Buddhism
was driven out about the fifth century of our era by the Brahmans from
its original home in the southernmost part of the Indian peninsula, and
afterwards spread over the whole of Asia; yet we have, so far as I know,
no definite information of any deeds of violence, of wars and cruelties
by which this was brought about. This may, most certainly, be ascribed
to the obscurity in which the history of those countries is veiled; but
the extremely mild character of their religion, which continually
impresses upon us to be forbearing towards _every living thing_, as well
as the circumstance that Brahmanism properly admits no proselytes by
reason of its caste system, leads us to hope that its followers may
consider themselves exempt from shedding blood to any great extent, and
from cruelty in any form. Spence Hardy, in his excellent book on
_Eastern Monachism_, p. 412, extols the extraordinary tolerance of the
Buddhists, and adds his assurance that the annals of Buddhism furnish
fewer examples of religious persecution than those of any other
religion. As a matter of fact, intolerance is only essential to
monotheism: an only god is by his nature a jealous god, who cannot
permit any other god to exist. On the other hand, polytheistic gods are
by their nature tolerant: they live and let live; they willingly
tolerate their colleagues as being gods of the same religion, and this
tolerance is afterwards extended to alien gods, who are, accordingly,
hospitably received, and later on sometimes attain even the same rights
and privileges; as in the case of the Romans, who willingly accepted and
venerated Phrygian, Egyptian, and other foreign gods. Hence it is the
monotheistic religions alone that furnish us with religious wars,
persecutions, and heretical tribunals, and also with the breaking of
images, the destruction of idols of the gods; the overthrowing of Indian
temples and Egyptian colossi, which had looked on the sun three thousand
years; and all this because a jealous God had said: "_Thou shalt make no
graven image_," etc. To return to the principal part of the matter: you
are certainly right in advocating the strong metaphysical needs of
mankind; but religions appear to me to be not so much a satisfaction as
an abuse of those needs. At any rate we have seen that, in view of the
progress of morality, its advantages are for the most part
problematical, while its disadvantages, and especially the enormities
which have appeared in its train, are obvious. Of course the matter
becomes quite different if we consider the utility of religion as a
mainstay of thrones; for in so far as these are bestowed "by the grace
of God," altar and throne are closely related. Accordingly, every wise
prince who loves his throne and his family will walk before his people
as a type of true religion; just as even Machiavelli, in the eighteenth
chapter of his book, urgently recommended religion to princes. Moreover,
it may be added that revealed religions are related to philosophy,
exactly as the sovereigns by the grace of God are to the sovereignty of
the people; and hence the two former terms of the parallel are in
natural alliance.
_Demop_. Oh, don't adopt that tone! But consider that in doing so you
are blowing the trumpet of ochlocracy and anarchy, the arch-enemy of all
legislative order, all civilisation, and all humanity.
_Phil_. You are right. It was only a sophism, or what the fencing-master
calls a feint. I withdraw it therefore. But see how disputing can make
even honest men unjust and malicious. So let us cease.
_Demop_. It is true I regret, after all the trouble I have taken, that I
have not altered your opinion in regard to religion; on the other hand,
I can assure you that everything you have brought forward has not shaken
my conviction of its high value and necessity.
_Phil_. I believe you; for as it is put in Hudibras:
"He that complies against his will
Is of his own opinion still."
I find consolation, however, in the fact that in controversies and in
taking mineral waters, it is the after-effects that are the true ones.
_Demop_. I hope the after-effect may prove to be beneficial in your
case.
_Phil_. That might be so if I could only digest a Spanish proverb.
_Demop_. And that is?
_Phil._ _Detras de la cruz está el Diablo_.
_Demop_. Which means?
_Phil_ Wait--"Behind the cross stands the devil."
_Demop_. Come, don't let us separate from each other with sarcasms, but
rather let us allow that religion, like Janus, or, better still, like
the Brahman god of death, Yama, has two faces, and like him, one very
friendly and one very sullen. Each of us, however, has only fixed his
eyes on one.
_Phil_. You are right, old fellow.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] _De Anim. Mundi_, p. 104, d. Steph.
PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS.
Every animal, and especially man, requires, in order to exist and get on
in the world, a certain fitness and proportion between his will and his
intellect. The more exact and true this fitness and proportion are by
nature, the easier, safer, and pleasanter it will be for him to get
through the world. At the same time, a mere approximation to this exact
point will protect him from destruction. There is, in consequence, a
certain scope within the limits of exactness and fitness of this
so-called proportion. The normal proportion is as follows. As the object
of the intellect is to be the light and guide of the will on its path,
the more violent, impetuous, and passionate the inner force of the will,
the more perfect and clear must be the intellect which belongs to it; so
that the ardent efforts of the will, the glow of passion, the vehemence
of affection, may not lead a man astray or drive him to do things that
he has not given his consideration or are wrong or will ruin him; which
will infallibly be the case when a very strong will is combined with a
very weak intellect. On the other hand, a phlegmatic character, that is
to say, a weak and feeble will, can agree and get on with little
intellect; a moderate will only requires a moderate intellect. In
general, any disproportion between the will and intellect--that is to
say, any deviation from the normal proportion referred to--tends to make
a man unhappy; and the same thing happens when the disproportion is
reversed. The development of the intellect to an abnormal degree of
strength and superiority, thereby making it out of all proportion to the
will, a condition which constitutes the essence of true genius, is not
only superfluous but actually an impediment to the needs and purposes of
life. This means that, in youth, excessive energy in grasping the
objective world, accompanied by a lively imagination and little
experience, makes the mind susceptible to exaggerated ideas and a prey
even to chimeras; and this results in an eccentric and even fantastic
character. And when, later, this condition of mind no longer exists and
succumbs to the teaching of experience, the genius will never feel so
much at home or take up his position in the everyday world or in civic
life, and move with the ease of a man of normal intellect; indeed, he is
often more apt to make curious mistakes. For the ordinary mind is so
perfectly at home in the narrow circle of its own ideas and way of
grasping things that no one can control it in that circle; its
capacities always remain true to their original purpose, namely, to look
after the service of the will; therefore it applies itself unceasingly
to this end without ever going beyond it. While the genius, as I have
stated, is at bottom a _monstrum per excessum_; just as conversely the
passionate, violent, and unintelligent man, the brainless savage, is a
_monstrum per dejectum_.
* * * * *
The _will_ to _live_, which forms the innermost kernel of every living
being, is most distinctly apparent in the highest, that is to say in the
cleverest, order of animals, and therefore in them we may see and
consider the nature of the will most clearly. For _below_ this order of
animals the will is not so prominent, and has a less degree of
objectivation; but _above_ the higher order of animals, I mean in men,
we get reason, and with reason reflection, and with this the faculty for
dissimulation, which immediately throws a veil over the actions of the
will. But in outbursts of affection and passion the will exhibits itself
unveiled. This is precisely why passion, when it speaks, always carries
conviction, whatever the passion may be; and rightly so. For the same
reason, the passions are the principal theme of poets and the
stalking-horse of actors. And it is because the will is most striking in
the lower class of animals that we may account for our delight in dogs,
apes, cats, etc.; it is the absolute _naïveté_ of all their expressions
which charms us so much.
What a peculiar pleasure it affords us to see any free animal looking
after its own welfare unhindered, finding its food, or taking care of
its young, or associating with others of its kind, and so on! This is
exactly what ought to be and can be. Be it only a bird, I can look at it
for some time with a feeling of pleasure; nay, a water-rat or a frog,
and with still greater pleasure a hedgehog, a weazel, a roe, or a deer.
The contemplation of animals delights us so much, principally because we
see in them our own existence very _much simplified_.
There is only one mendacious creature in the world--man. Every other is
true and genuine, for it shows itself as it is, and expresses itself
just as it feels. An emblematical or allegorical expression of this
fundamental difference is to be found in the fact that all animals go
about in their natural state; this largely accounts for the happy
impression they make on us when we look at them; and as far as I myself
am concerned, my heart always goes out to them, particularly if they are
free animals. Man, on the other hand, by his silly dress becomes a
monster; his very appearance is objectionable, enhanced by the unnatural
paleness of his complexion,--the nauseating effect of his eating meat,
of his drinking alcohol, his smoking, dissoluteness, and ailments. He
stands out as a blot on Nature. And it was because the Greeks were
conscious of this that they restricted themselves as far as possible in
the matter of dress.
* * * * *
Much that is attributed to _force of habit_ ought rather to be put down
to the constancy and immutability of original, innate character, whereby
we always do the _same_ thing under the same circumstances; which
happens the first as for the hundredth time in consequence of the same
necessity. While _force of habit_, in reality, is solely due to
_indolence_ seeking to save the intellect and will the work, difficulty,
and danger of making a fresh choice; so that we are made to do to-day
what we did yesterday and have done a hundred times before, and of which
we know that it will gain its end.
But the truth of the matter lies deeper; for it can be explained more
clearly than appears at first sight. The _power of inertia_ applied to
bodies which may be moved by mechanical means only, becomes _force of
habit_ when applied to bodies which are moved by motives. The actions
which we do out of sheer force of habit occur, as a matter of fact,
without any individual separate motive exercised for the particular
case; hence we do not really think of them. It was only when each action
at first took place that it had a motive; after that it became a habit;
the secondary after-effect of this motive is the present habit, which is
sufficient to carry on the action; just as a body, set in motion by a
push, does not need another push in order to enable it to continue its
motion; it will continue in motion for ever if it is not obstructed in
any way. The same thing applies to animals; training is a habit which is
forced upon them. The horse draws a cart along contentedly without being
urged to do so; this motion is still the effect of those lashes with the
whip which incited him at first, but which by the law of inertia have
become perpetuated as habit. There is really something more in all this
than a mere parable; it is the identity of the thing in question, that
is to say of the will, at very different degrees of its objectivation,
by which the same law of motion takes such different forms.
* * * * *
_Viva muchos a�os!_ is the ordinary greeting in Spain, and it is usual
throughout the whole world to wish people a long life. It is not a
knowledge of what life is that explains the origin of such a wish, but
rather knowledge of what man is in his real nature: namely, _the will to
live_.
The wish which every one has, that he may be _remembered_ after his
death, and which those people with aspirations have for _posthumous_
fame, seems to me to arise from this tenacity to life. When they see
themselves cut off from every possibility of real existence they
struggle after a life which is still within their reach, even if it is
only an ideal--that is to say, an unreal one.
* * * * *
We wish, more or less, to get to the end of everything we are interested
in or occupied with; we are impatient to get to the end of it, and glad
when it is finished. It is only the general end, the end of all ends,
that we wish, as a rule, as far off as possible.
* * * * *
Every separation gives a foretaste of death, and every meeting a
foretaste of the resurrection. This explains why even people who were
indifferent to each other, rejoice so much when they meet again after
the lapse of twenty or thirty years.
* * * * *
The deep sorrow we feel on the death of a friend springs from the
feeling that in every individual there is a something which we cannot
define, which is his alone and therefore _irreparable. Omne individuum
ineffabile_. The same applies to individual animals. A man who has by
accident fatally wounded a favourite animal feels the most acute sorrow,
and the animal's dying look causes him infinite pain.
* * * * *
It is possible for us to grieve over the death of our enemies and
adversaries, even after the lapse of a long time, almost as much as over
the death of our friends--that is to say, if we miss them as witnesses
of our brilliant success.
* * * * *