great mental gifts betray a strange lack of worldly wisdom and a
deficiency in the knowledge of men, more especially when they are
young; with the result that it is easy to deceive or mislead them; and
that, on the other hand, natures of the commoner sort are more ready
and successful in making their way in the world.
The reason of this is that, when a man has little or no experience,
he must judge by his own antecedent notions; and in matters demanding
judgment, an antecedent notion is never on the same level as
experience. For, with the commoner sort of people, an antecedent
notion means just their own selfish point of view. This is not the
case with those whose mind and character are above the ordinary; for
it is precisely in this respect--their unselfishness--that they differ
from the rest of mankind; and as they judge other people's thoughts
and actions by their own high standard, the result does not always
tally with their calculation.
But if, in the end, a man of noble character comes to see, as the
effect of his own experience, or by the lessons he learns from others,
what it is that may be expected of men in general,--namely, that
five-sixths of them are morally and intellectually so constituted
that, if circumstances do not place you in relation with them, you had
better get out of their way and keep as far as possible from having
anything to do with them,--still, he will scarcely ever attain an
adequate notion of their wretchedly mean and shabby nature: all his
life long he will have to be extending and adding to the inferior
estimate he forms of them; and in the meantime he will commit a great
many mistakes and do himself harm.
Then, again, after he has really taken to heart the lessons that have
been taught him, it will occasionally happen that, when he is in the
society of people whom he does not know, he will be surprised to
find how thoroughly reasonable they all appear to be, both in their
conversation and in their demeanor--in fact, quite honest, sincere,
virtuous and trustworthy people, and at the same time shrewd and
clever.
But that ought not to perplex him. Nature is not like those bad
poets, who, in setting a fool or a knave before us, do their work so
clumsily, and with such evident design, that you might almost
fancy you saw the poet standing behind each of his characters, and
continually disavowing their sentiments, and telling you in a tone of
warning: _This is a knave; that is a fool; do not mind what he says_.
But Nature goes to work like Shakespeare and Goethe, poets who
make every one of their characters--even if it is the devil
himself!--appear to be quite in the right for the moment that they
come before us in their several parts; the characters are described so
objectively that they excite our interest and compel us to sympathize
with their point of view; for, like the works of Nature, every one
of these characters is evolved as the result of some hidden law
or principle, which makes all they say and do appear natural and
therefore necessary. And you will always be the prey or the plaything
of the devils and fools in this world, if you expect to see them going
about with horns or jangling their bells.
And it should be borne in mind that, in their intercourse with others,
people are like the moon, or like hunchbacks; they show you only one
of their sides. Every man has an innate talent for mimicry,--for
making a mask out of his physiognomy, so that he can always look as
if he really were what he pretends to be; and since he makes his
calculations always within the lines of his individual nature, the
appearance he puts on suits him to a nicety, and its effect is
extremely deceptive. He dons his mask whenever his object is to
flatter himself into some one's good opinion; and you may pay just as
much attention to it as if it were made of wax or cardboard, never
forgetting that excellent Italian proverb: _non é si tristo cane che
non meni la coda_,--there is no dog so bad but that he will wag his
tail.
In any case it is well to take care not to form a highly favorable
opinion of a person whose acquaintance you have only recently made,
for otherwise you are very likely to be disappointed; and then you
will be ashamed of yourself and perhaps even suffer some injury.
And while I am on the subject, there is another fact that deserves
mention. It is this. A man shows his character just in the way in
which he deals with trifles,--for then he is off his guard. This will
often afford a good opportunity of observing the boundless egoism of
man's nature, and his total lack of consideration for others; and
if these defects show themselves in small things, or merely in his
general demeanor, you will find that they also underlie his action in
matters of importance, although he may disguise the fact. This is an
opportunity which should not be missed. If in the little affairs of
every day,--the trifles of life, those matters to which the rule _de
minimis non_ applies,--a man is inconsiderate and seeks only what is
advantageous or convenient to himself, to the prejudice of others'
rights; if he appropriates to himself that which belongs to all alike,
you may be sure there is no justice in his heart, and that he would be
a scoundrel on a wholesale scale, only that law and compulsion bind
his hands. Do not trust him beyond your door. He who is not afraid
to break the laws of his own private circle, will break those of the
State when he can do so with impunity.
If the average man were so constituted that the good in him outweighed
the bad, it would be more advisable to rely upon his sense of justice,
fairness, gratitude, fidelity, love or compassion, than to work upon
his fears; but as the contrary is the case, and it is the bad that
outweighs the good, the opposite course is the more prudent one.
If any person with whom we are associated or have to do, exhibits
unpleasant or annoying qualities, we have only to ask ourselves
whether or not this person is of so much value to us that we can put
up with frequent and repeated exhibitions of the same qualities in a
somewhat aggravated form.[1] In case of an affirmative answer to this
question, there will not be much to be said, because talking is very
little use. We must let the matter pass, with or without some notice;
but we should nevertheless remember that we are thereby exposing
ourselves to a repetition of the offence. If the answer is in the
negative, we must break with our worthy friend at once and forever; or
in the case of a servant, dismiss him. For he will inevitably repeat
the offence, or do something tantamount to it, should the occasion
return, even though for the moment he is deep and sincere in his
assurances of the contrary. There is nothing, absolutely nothing,
that a man cannot forget,--but not _himself, his own character_. For
character is incorrigible; because all a man's actions emanate from an
inward principle, in virtue of which he must always do the same thing
under like circumstances; and he cannot do otherwise. Let me refer to
my prize essay on the so-called _Freedom of the Will_, the perusal
of which will dissipate any delusions the reader may have on this
subject.
[Footnote 1: To _forgive and forget_ means to throw away dearly bought
experience.]
To become reconciled to a friend with whom you have broken, is a form
of weakness; and you pay the penalty of it when he takes the first
opportunity of doing precisely the very thing which brought about
the breach; nay, he does it the more boldly, because he is secretly
conscious that you cannot get on without him. This is also applicable
to servants whom you have dismissed, and then taken into your service
again.
For the same reason, you should just as little expect people to
continue to act in a similar way under altered circumstances. The
truth is that men alter their demeanor and sentiments just as fast as
their interest changes; and their resign in this respect is a bill
drawn for short payment that the man must be still more short-sighted
who accepts the bill without protesting it. Accordingly, suppose you
want to know how a man will behave in an office into which you think
of putting him; you should not build upon expectations, on his
promises or assurances. For, even allowing that he is quite sincere,
he is speaking about a matter of which he has no knowledge. The only
way to calculate how he will behave, is to consider the circumstances
in which he will be placed, and the extent to which they will conflict
with his character.
If you wish to get a clear and profound insight--and it is very
needful--into the true but melancholy elements of which most men are
made, you will find in a very instructive thing to take the way they
behave in the pages of literature as a commentary to their doings in
practical life, and _vice versa._ The experience thus gained will be
very useful in avoiding wrong ideas, whether about yourself or about
others. But if you come across any special trait of meanness or
stupidity--in life or in literature,--you must be careful not to let
it annoy or distress you, but to look upon it merely as an addition to
your knowledge--a new fact to be considered in studying the character
of humanity. Your attitude towards it will be that of the mineralogist
who stumbles upon a very characteristic specimen of a mineral.
Of course there are some facts which are very exceptional, and it is
difficult to understand how they arise, and how it is that there come
to be such enormous differences between man and man; but, in general,
what was said long ago is quite true, and the world is in a very bad
way. In savage countries they eat one another, in civilized they
deceive one another; and that is what people call the way of the
world! What are States and all the elaborate systems of political
machinery, and the rule of force, whether in home or in foreign
affairs,--what are they but barriers against the boundless iniquity
of mankind? Does not all history show that whenever a king is firmly
planted on a throne, and his people reach some degree of prosperity,
he uses it to lead his army, like a band of robbers, against adjoining
countries? Are not almost all wars ultimately undertaken for purposes
of plunder? In the most remote antiquity, and to some extent also in
the Middle Ages, the conquered became slaves,--in other words, they
had to work for those who conquered them; and where is the difference
between that and paying war-taxes, which represent the product of our
previous work?
All war, says Voltaire, is a matter of robbery; and the Germans should
take that as a warning.