VIRTUE
Art, which Schopenhauer calls "the flower of life," enables us to
forget the cares and sufferings of life. The consolation which we
derive from beauty repays us for the miseries and terrors of existence.
The contemplation of beauty brings us deliverance from the deceptions
and illusions of life, and gives us a pure, true, and deep knowledge of
the inner nature of the world. It acts as a quieter of the will, and
such quiet contemplation of beauty is the nearest approach to pure
satisfaction that we can achieve. This deliverance, however, is not a
path out of life, but only a consolation in life. We must seek the
highest solution in proceeding farther in the same direction. In his
theories on ethics and religion, Schopenhauer points the way to a
permanent escape from life.
True morality is summed up in self-surrender, in the denial of the will
to live. There are two stages in this progress of morality. The first
and lower is that attained in the perfecting of the good disposition.
This is ordinary virtue, which is rooted in love and sympathy, and
which rests on the recognition of the real identity of any one
individual with all other individuals. The second and higher stage is
that of holiness, and is attained only through asceticism, through the
complete self-surrender which turns away from all the pleasures {77} of
life, and represses even the natural instincts. Man lays hold on that
which is real through complete resignation and surrender of the will.
Only then is the veil of Mâyâ, the illusion of life, torn asunder, and
is it possible for man to be told the vision of truth. This is the way
of virtue. It cannot be taught any more than genius can be taught.
Systems of ethics can produce virtuous and holy men no more than
æsthetics can produce great poets or musicians.
In working out his ethical system, Schopenhauer was deeply influenced
by ancient Indian philosophy. The complete release from the slavery of
the will is only to be found, in his view, in the asceticism which is
the fundamental principle of Buddhism and of early Christianity. The
disposition of mind, which alone leads to true holiness and to
deliverance from the world of desire, finds expression in renunciation.
Schopenhauer expands his philosophy of art at far greater length than
he does his ethical system, and seems at times to attach more
significance to it. But in his final view it is only through virtue
and holiness that man attains to the gate of heaven.
It follows from his philosophy of the will that human action has a
significance far transcending all the possibilities of experience.
Human action exceeds in importance all other things in the world. The
sanest philosophers, he held, have been those who have played an active
part in life, and who have not devoted themselves merely to abstract
thought. It is not the highest function of man to think and to
understand, but to feel and to live. In short, understanding itself is
attained only through life. For reality is greater than our knowledge
of it. Knowledge itself is a poor thing at best, an indirect way of
seizing hold of reality. We must {78} understand things by a deeper
knowledge than that of the intellect. We must exchange head knowledge
for heart knowledge. For head knowledge is concerned only with that
part of reality which rises above the threshold of consciousness. Our
total sense of reality is broader and deeper than a merely intellectual
knowledge. It includes the subconscious depths of our personality,
making up a whole which is far richer in content than that mere surface
life which we know in consciousness.
This insistence on the importance of intuitive knowledge is closely
connected with Schopenhauer's treatment of instinct. He is supremely
interested in instinct, finding in it a positive quality, which plays
frequently a more important part than the knowledge of the
understanding or the reason. The one kind of knowledge is set
constantly against the other in his system. His treatment of the whole
subject is of deep significance in his philosophy.
The typical case in which instinct is most highly developed is that of
animals. They strive definitely towards an end, though this end is
unknown to them. In all the instinctive actions of animals, the will
is clearly as operative as in their other actions, but it is in blind
activity. In inorganic and vegetable nature the will acts as blind
impulse, and so with infallible certainty. Animals are exposed already
to illusion and deception, but in their case instinct comes to their
assistance. Though guided by no motive or knowledge, they yet have the
appearance of performing their work from rational motives. They work
with the greatest precision and definiteness towards an end which they
do not know. In man also the will is in many ways only blindly active.
Though a tendency of the will, instinct {79} does not act entirely from
within. It waits for some external circumstance for its action.
Instinct gives the universal, the rule; intellect gives the particular,
the application. Instinct seems always to be in accordance with the
conception of an end, and yet is entirely without such an end.
Schopenhauer also connects instinct with clairvoyance and dreams. In
his own life he attached especial importance to dreams, and on several
critical occasions regulated his actions in accordance with them. With
his treatment of instinct is bound up also his theory of sexual love.
The lover is deluded in thinking that he aims at his own happiness.
The will to live is forcing him, for nature's own purposes, to aim at a
certain typical beauty, which has its end in the perfection of the
offspring. The more perfectly two individuals are adapted to each
other, the stronger will be their mutual passion. Nature is striving
for a better realisation of the type, and to attain its ends must
implant a certain illusion in the individual. That which is good only
for the species appears to him as good for himself. He serves the
species in imagining that he is serving himself. This illusion is
instinct. The individual is but a helpless tool carrying out blindly
the designs of nature.
An instinctive character belongs also to the highest functions of human
life, as in art and virtue. Wisdom proper, says Schopenhauer, is
something intuitive, and not something pertaining to the intellect. It
does not consist in principles and thoughts, which are carried about
ready in the mind, as the result of research, but it is the whole
manner in which the world presents itself intuitively to the mind. In
real life the scholar is far surpassed by the man of the world, for the
strength of the latter consists in perfect intuitive knowledge. The
{80} true view of life proceeds from the way in which the world is
known and understood, not from abstract knowledge. The heart of all
knowledge is intuition. Upon this depends the infinite superiority of
genius to learning and scholarship. They stand to each other as the
text of a classic to its commentary. It was this emphasis, which
Schopenhauer laid on the instinctive and impulsive side in man, rather
than on the conscious and deliberate, which led him to the view that
man is a creature controlled and dominated by his instincts, and
therefore a mere puppet in the hands of nature.
This aspect of Schopenhauer's system acquires a special importance,
when compared with much of the most modern philosophy. There are
interesting points of contact with the views of M. Bergson, who
maintains that in the intuition of life we see reality as it is.
The intellect is merely a tool in the service of the will. Since
philosophy must express the real nature of life, we are driven to seek
reality through that which is felt. Since the time of Socrates,
Schopenhauer maintained, philosophy has made a systematic misuse of
general conceptions. We have an immediate experience of the will, and
therefore we may be said to have an immediate knowledge of the nature
of reality. One of the most valuable contributions which Schopenhauer
made to the history of thought, was his insistence on the view that
philosophy must be brought back to the recognition of the richness of
an immediate and direct knowledge of reality. It must learn that the
meaning of things is to be realised more by living than by thinking.
The philosopher, therefore, must be before all things "a real man," a
guide to fine living. Schopenhauer brought philosophy into relation
with life, he drew it down from the icy heights, where {81} abstract
conceptions alone can flourish, to the sunny plains below, where art,
with "a spark of the divine fire," warms and lightens the ways of man.
The intuitive insight of the genius, which divines the truth through
art, is a far higher form of knowledge than that of the abstract
thinker.
It is suggestive to compare with this the view of Pater, that
"philosophy serves culture, not by the fancied gift of absolute or
transcendental knowledge, but by suggesting questions which help one to
detect the passion, and strangeness, and dramatic contrasts of life."
There is much significance in Schopenhauer's exaltation of intuition
over reason. Philosophy has always tended to make too much of reason.
And in spite of many crudities in his psychology, Schopenhauer's
treatment of the subject contains much of the greatest value. In
emphasising the part played in the mental life by instinct, habit, and
impulse, he anticipated much that has since been confirmed in the
modern science of psychology.
Kant maintained that the only absolutely good thing in the world is the
good will, and Schopenhauer practically accepts this dictum. Right
action springs from the will, and not from the intellect, for the true
nature of man lies in his will. The problem of ethics for Schopenhauer
is how the will is to be made good. His treatment of the problem leads
him beyond a system of ethics to a philosophy of religion.
Virtue to Socrates was a knowledge of the good; but no amount of mere
knowledge of the good can make the will good, and therefore
Schopenhauer maintained that Socrates had done next to nothing in
ethics. The real solution of the problem of moral obligation {82} lies
in sympathy. It is through sympathy that man is able to attain virtue.
Goodness of disposition shows itself as pure disinterested love towards
others. And when such love becomes perfect it places the fate of other
individuals on a level with itself and its own fate. The character
which has thus attained the highest goodness and nobility will
sacrifice its own interests, and even its life, for the well-being of
others. Great heroes in all ages have laid down their lives for their
country or their friends. Others have submitted voluntarily to death
or torture for the sake of truths or principles which they held dear.
Socrates and Giordano Bruno, and many another hero, have suffered death
rather than deny what they held to be true. Such heights are reached
only by rare natures among men. But all the intermediate stages of
goodness spring from the same root of sympathy. Pure love is in its
nature sympathy.
Schopenhauer is here in direct contradiction to Kant, who recognised
goodness and virtue only when they spring from abstract reflection,
from the conception of duty, and who explained sympathy as weakness.
On the contrary, says Schopenhauer, the mere concept is as unfruitful
for virtue as it is for art. All true and pure love is sympathy, and
all love which is not sympathy is selfishness. Many of our sentiments
are a combination of the two. Friendship is always, he says, a mixture
of selfishness and sympathy. The selfishness lies in the pleasure
which we experience in the presence of a friend, the sympathy in the
participation in his joy or grief, and the sacrifices we make for his
sake.
Genuine virtue springs from the knowledge, which we have through
intuition, that other individuals are {83} of the same nature as
ourselves. The source of morality is this inward principle of
solidarity between individual and individual. This sense of
brotherhood, which pervades the whole of humanity, is the real and
vital fact which makes the whole world kin. Transcending the spirit of
egoism, which is fostered by the actual conditions of life, there
springs the spirit of altruism, which strives to subordinate the good
of the individual to the good of the whole community, and prompts the
individual to self-denial and unselfishness.
In dealing with men, we should never, he says, take into consideration
their interested motives, their limited intellectual capacity, nor
their wrong-headedness, but we should think only of their sufferings,
their needs, their anxieties and their misery. Only in this way can we
feel ourselves akin, and so enter into sympathy with others, that we
experience a fellow-feeling and a desire to help them in their need.
The two fundamental attitudes of mind, in which the virtues and vices
of men are rooted, are envy and sympathy. Each man bears within
himself these two diametrically opposite characteristics. One or the
other quality becomes the fundamental attitude of mind and the basis of
action according to the character of the individual. Envy builds up a
strong, impregnable wall between each man and his neighbour, isolating
the individual in his crust of misanthropy, which grows daily harder
and denser. Sympathy, on the other hand, breaks down the barriers
between man and man. The sense of division grows thin and transparent,
until the individual feels himself a part of an organic whole, deriving
his sole usefulness and justification only in so far as he subordinates
his own personal ends to the common good.
Schopenhauer's use of the factor of sympathy in {84} explaining
morality, differs considerably from that of the English philosophers of
the eighteenth century, in whose systems of ethics sympathy played a
large part. The sympathy, which Hume presupposes as "a principle in
human nature, beyond which we cannot hope to find any principle more
general," is sympathy with the pleasure resulting from the effects of
virtuous action.
Adam Smith, who also regarded sympathy as the ultimate element into
which moral sentiments may be analysed, approached more nearly to the
position of Schopenhauer. Morality arises in its simplest form from
direct sympathy or "fellow-feeling" with the passions of others, which
a spectator feels from imagining himself in their situation. It is of
two kinds, and moves the spectator to enter into the sentiments of the
person concerned, and also moves the person concerned "to bring down
his emotions to what the spectator can go along with." It is a power
which enables us to take a disinterested view of our own conduct by
putting ourselves in another's position.
In Schopenhauer's view sympathy is a positive principle of conduct. It
is based upon the recognition of the identity of all living beings. It
alone makes moral conduct possible, and moves us to feel and act
towards others as to ourselves.
So far Schopenhauer has described the first stage in the progress of
morality, that which is attained in ordinary virtue. The higher stage,
that which he calls holiness, is attained through asceticism, the
denial of the will to live. On the path of virtue man has learned to
make no distinction between his own person and that of others, to take
as much interest in the sufferings of others as in his own. He is even
ready to sacrifice his own individuality, whenever such sacrifice will
{85} benefit humanity. It is no longer the changing joy and sorrow of
his own personality which concerns him, but the joy and sorrow of all.
He attains to a vision of the real nature of life, and realises the
vain striving, the inward conflict, and incessant suffering in which it
consists. And with this knowledge he finds it impossible to assert the
egoistic desires of his own nature. His will turns away from life. He
shudders at the pleasures which recognise the assertion of life. He
attains to the state of voluntary renunciation, resignation, and
indifference.
The attainment of this goal is the hardest end of all to achieve. Only
the saint, the perfect man, ever attains it completely and finally.
Weaker and less perfect natures are ever drawn back to life by the
sting of the desires, for the veil of Mâyâ, the mist of illusion, still
clings about their feet. The vanity and bitterness of life still holds
them, although the entrance to all suffering stands open while they are
not yet purified by complete and final renunciation. They cannot tear
themselves free from the illusions of life, from the allurements of
hope, and the sweetness of pleasure. Those who see through the
deceptions of life, and recognise the real nature of the world, are
already on the way to consolation. They withdraw from the struggle of
life, and no longer wish to assert their own individuality. The
loftiest goodness means refraining from all willing.
This is the transition from virtue to asceticism. A man who has
reached so far ceases to will anything, he guards himself against
desire, and strives to attain complete indifference to everything. He
gives the lie to his own body, and no longer desires any gratification.
Voluntary and complete chastity and poverty are {86} necessary steps in
this asceticism. Man is at once the priest and the sacrifice. Every
kind of volition is suppressed intentionally. The body is nourished
sparingly, lest its vigour and well-being should arouse the will.
Every step is taken to break and destroy the will, which is recognised
as the source of all suffering. Death when it comes at last is
welcomed as a longed-for deliverance, and hailed with gladness.
In this picture of the life of holiness and asceticism Schopenhauer
shows the strong influence which Indian philosophy had exercised upon
his thought. This is the ideal life, the life of the saint, as
portrayed by the early Christian mystics, and in the Indian religious
books.
Virtue and holiness proceed from inward, direct and intuitive
knowledge, and not from abstract knowledge, as so many earlier
philosophers asserted. The chasm between the two kinds of knowledge
can be bridged only by philosophy. Everyone is conscious intuitively
of philosophical truths, but philosophy is necessary to bring them to
abstract knowledge and reflection. Hence Schopenhauer is at enmity
with all rational religion. For religion has to do primarily not with
the intellect, but with the will and the feelings. He felt this so
deeply that he left the rational element almost entirely out of his
definition of virtue. We learn the meaning of virtue, in his view,
through the sympathy, which makes us feel intuitively the underlying
identity in the lives of other beings with our own life. It is
possible to express abstractly the inner nature of holiness and
asceticism as the denial of the will to live, but this abstract theory
has been known directly, and carried into practice by countless saints
and ascetics, who all possessed the same inward knowledge, though they
used very different language with regard to it, {87} according to their
dogmas. Whether a saint is moved by the grossest superstition, or
whether he be a philosopher, makes no difference. His conduct
testifies to his saintliness, and this proceeds from an intuitive and
direct realisation of the nature of the world. The dogmas he holds are
merely for the satisfaction of his intellect. It is therefore not
necessary that a saint should be a philosopher, just as it is not
necessary that a great sculptor should be himself a beautiful man.
The use of philosophy is to gather up the whole nature of the world in
concepts, abstractly and universally, and thus to store up "a reflected
image of it in permanent concepts always at the command of reason."
Intuitive knowledge, on the other hand, is expressed most perfectly in
deeds and conduct, not in abstract conceptions. To understand it
fully, therefore, we must know examples in experience and actual life.
A mere description of a beautiful soul is cold and abstract.
Schopenhauer refers as models to the biographies of the early Christian
and of the Buddhist saints, and in later times to the biography of
Spinoza. He holds up with especial admiration the life of St. Francis
of Assisi. These records of the lives of simple, self-denying men,
mixed as they are with superstition, are for the philosopher far more
significant and important than the lives of the great fighters and
conquerors of the world. The life of St. Francis is of greater import
than that of Alexander the Great. It is the ethical aspect of action
which is important, and therefore the most significant life which the
world can show is not the conqueror of the world, but he who has in
himself subdued the world. It is the quiet, unobserved life of the man
who has learned to deny the will to live that is most profoundly
instructive.
{88}
This ethical teaching is no new thing. It is only the philosophical
expression of it which is new. As Christianity developed, the seed of
asceticism unfolded into full flower in the writings of the saints and
mystics. Even more fully developed and more vividly expressed is this
teaching in the ancient Indian writings. In the Indian sacred books,
in their poems, myths, and legends, and in the lives of their saints,
the love of one's neighbour is taught, and the complete surrender of
self enjoined. Such love is not confined to humanity, but includes all
living creatures. The path of asceticism is marked as the ideal way
for all who strive after true holiness. There is wonderful harmony
between the life of a Christian mystic and that of a Hindu saint. In
each case the inward life and effort is the same. The rule of life
enjoined on both shows striking resemblances. The renunciation of all
possessions, the choice of deep, unbroken solitude, which is spent in
silent contemplation, perfect chastity, and voluntary penance, is the
teaching of Christian and Hindu alike. In such rare similarity of
teaching, followed by races differing so radically in outward
circumstances, Schopenhauer finds proof that this manifestation has its
root in the nature of man, and appeals to an essential side of human,
nature.
In his treatment of art, Schopenhauer points out how happiness is
achieved in the contemplation of beauty. In his treatment of ethics he
shows how permanent happiness may be attained. It is the man alone who
follows the path of renunciation, and who succeeds in denying the will
to live, who attains perfect happiness. He is filled with inward joy
and peace. This joy is in no way akin to the passionate delight
experienced by those who love life. That is a fleeting emotion, which
has keen suffering as its correlative. But "it is a {89} peace that
cannot be shaken, a deep rest and inward serenity, a state which we
cannot contemplate without the greatest longing, when it is brought
before our imagination, because we at once recognise it as that which
infinitely surpasses anything else. Then we feel that every
gratification won from the world is merely like the alms which the
beggar receives from life to-day, that he may hunger again on the
morrow. Resignation, on the other hand, is like an inherited estate,
it frees the owner for ever from all care." He who can enter into the
spirit of the beautiful, as revealed in art, silences his will for the
moment, but the saint who attains holiness is altogether blessed, for
he silences his will, not only for the moment, but for ever. His will
is wholly extinguished, save for the last glimmering spark, which
retains his body in life, and which will be extinguished only with his
death. Such a man has endured bitter struggles with his own nature,
but has emerged triumphant. "Nothing can trouble him more, nothing can
move him, for he has cut all the thousand cords of will which hold us
bound to the world, and as desire, fear, envy, and anger drag us hither
and thither in constant pain. He now looks back smiling and at rest on
the delusions of the world, which once were able to agonise his spirit,
but which now are as indifferent to him as the chessmen when the game
is ended. Life passes before him as a fleeting illusion, as a light
morning dream before half-waking eyes, the real world already shining
through it."
It is interesting to compare Schopenhauer's ideal of the highest form
of human life with that of Aristotle. For Aristotle too the highest
end of man was the life of pure contemplation. This, however, was a
more purely intellectual state than Schopenhauer had in mind, but {90}
still an existence withdrawn from the cares and struggles of life,
wrapped securely in quiet contemplation.
It must not be supposed that when this self-surrender has been won,
that it never wavers or hesitates. We can never rest upon it as an
assured possession. It must ever be attained anew by a constant
battle. For so long as the body lives, the whole will to live exists
potentially, striving to realise itself and to burn again with its old
intensity. The peace and blessedness which is attained in the lives of
holy men is found only as the flower which blossoms after victory in
the constant battle with the will to live. In the histories of the
saints we find their inner lives full of conflicts and temptations, the
end which gives the deepest peace and opens the door of freedom
constantly eluding them.
The suffering which is experienced personally is that which most
frequently produces the fullest resignation. The illusions of life are
a constant hindrance to the fullest self-surrender. The will must
first be broken by great personal suffering before complete
self-conquest is reached. Then, having passed through increasing
stages of affliction, and being brought finally to the verge of
despair, a man knows himself and the world, and rises above himself and
all suffering. He renounces willingly everything he desired formerly,
and faces death joyfully. This is the refined gold, which is drawn out
of the purifying flame of suffering. Goethe has given an incomparable
picture of an unfolding of character to such ends, in his drawing of
Gretchen in Faust.
The extent to which man is free to make himself good raises the
perennial question of the freedom of the will. Schopenhauer held that
the answer depends entirely on the statement of the problem. In so far
as the real nature of man is will, and man himself is only a {91}
phenomenon of this will, a particular action follows inevitably on a
given motive in a given character. It is just as absurd, he says, to
doubt such inevitableness as to doubt that the three angles of any
triangle are together equal to two right angles. If the character and
the motives were given completely, it would be possible to calculate
the future conduct of a man as exactly as we can calculate an eclipse
of the sun or moon. Character is as consistent as nature. There is no
independence of the law of causality, the necessity of which extends to
man as to all else in nature. But in the metaphysical world,
Schopenhauer, following Kant, maintains that the will is free. In so
far as the will represents the only reality, it transcends experience.
It is outside time, outside every form of the mind which limits or
moulds our experience. It is above and beyond the forms of causality,
and therefore free transcendentally. In that dim region where
character is formed we are our own creators. Action which is seen
empirically to follow inevitably from a character already formed is
seen from another point of view to be but a form of self-realisation,
of self-expression.
Mysticism is strong in Schopenhauer. Now and again it breaks through
the even flow of European thought, usually, as with Schopenhauer,
drawing its main inspiration from the East. There is a recurring
period in the history of thought, when the scientific point of view
does not make its accustomed appeal, when it is felt intensely that
science can give but a partial and limited view. Academic culture and
science are felt to be inadequate, are felt even to be leading away
from the real heart of the matter, and putting us outside the deepest
current of existence. Intuitive and direct knowledge is given then an
importance {92} denied to the knowledge of the reason. Man retires
into himself, instead of searching outside himself for objective
knowledge. He seeks the secret of the universe in the depths of his
own heart and will, and strives to pluck out the heart of life's
mystery in waiting on the silent twilight of inner feeling. The eyes
are shut on the outer world, in order that one may see the more
inwardly. Then only does man experience the sense of solidarity and
kinship which runs through all things, and feel himself one with the
universe.
These recurring waves of mysticism seem always to appear in the history
of thought at the end of a specially brilliant intellectual period. It
is as though the human mind, having striven to the top of its capacity
on the lines of the intellect and the reason, impatient at its own
limitations, and wearying of the discrepancy between its endeavours and
its achievements, turns eagerly in the opposite direction, and directs
its gaze inward. The great school of Neo-Platonists, for example,
followed immediately the most brilliant age of Greek thought. And the
same is true of the strong trend in the direction of mysticism, which
is so marked towards the close of the eighteenth and the beginning of
the nineteenth centuries in Germany, a tendency which shows itself in
Schopenhauer more strongly than in any other philosopher.
There is a strong appeal in this ideal of human life, which
Schopenhauer depicts in words of glowing eloquence. Based on the
pessimism which claims that all life is worthless, it aims at
conquering life by withdrawing altogether from it. This is a negative
solution of the problem of life. It is possible to oppose to this
philosophy a robuster view, which would come to grips with the misery
and evil of existence on another plane. {93} William James points to
the spiritual gain that comes of fighting ills. To wage war
obstinately against the odds of life fills us with courage and
resolution, and there is possibly a deeper satisfaction to be won from
the determined facing of the battle of life than in the attitude of
pessimism, which bids us draw back and take no part in the fray. There
is a fine courage in the attitude of mind, which admits "the
deliciousness of insanities and realities, strivings and deadnesses,
hopes and fears, agonies and exultations," but which claims that we who
are born for the conflict, the shifting struggle of the sunbeam in the
gloom, must accept it all as a vital part of the whole. "When the
healthy love of life is on one, and all its forms and its appetites
seem so unutterably real; when the most brutal and the most spiritual
things are lit by the same sun, and each is an integral part of the
total richness, it seems a grudging and sickly way of meeting so robust
a universe to shrink away from any of its facts and wish them not to
be. Rather take the strictly dramatic point of view, and treat the
whole thing as a great unending romance which the spirit of the
universe, striving to realise its own content, is eternally thinking
out and representing to itself."
{94}
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_Arthur Schopenhauer_. J. Volkelt. 1907. Stuttgart, Pp. xvi, 459.
_Schopenhauer und Nietzsche_. G. Simmel. 1907. Leipzig. Pp. 263.
{96}
INDEX
Architecture, 68
Aristotle, 12, 67, 89
Art, 10, 23, 25, 52
Asceticism, 25, 76, 77, 84, 88
Bergson, 80
Blake, 54
Browning, 63
Buddhism, 10, 13, 77, 86, 87, 88
Dreams, 30, 79
Epicurus, 60
St. Francis, 87
Genius, 12, 25, 54
Goethe, 7, 19, 23, 75, 90
Hartmann, E. von, 48
Hegel, 11, 13, 24, 28, 30, 61, 62
History, 11
Hume, 84
Instinct, 8, 39, 78, 79, 80
James, William, 50, 93
Kant, 7, 13, 22, 30, 32, 38, 81, 82, 91
Leopardi, 48
Music, 7, 19, 61
Mysticism, 13, 53, 91
Nietzsche, 49
Opera, 66
Painting, 72
_Parerga und Paralipomena_, 36
Pater, 81
Pessimism, 10, 13, 24, 38
Plato, 7, 12, 13, 25, 38, 53, 58, 67
Poetry, 74
Religion, 12, 75
Ruskin, 71
Schopenhauer, Heinrich F., 16
Schopenhauer, Johanna, 16, 18, 19, 22
Sculpture, 72
Shelley, 7
Smith, Adam, 84
Socrates, 81
Spenser, 7
Spinoza, 7, 40, 87
Style, 9
Suicide, 47
Symbolism, 75
Sympathy, 10, 76, 82, 84
St. Thomas Aquinas, 61
Tragedy, 74
Virtue, 70
Wagner, 8, 66, 68
Will, 8, 24, 80, 90
Women, views on, 20, 29
Wordsworth, 7
_World as Will and Idea_, 20, 26, 33, 35, 38, 68
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