accusations without refutation, even when they injure us, when the
accuser would see a still greater fault on our part if we contradicted
and perhaps even refuted him. In this way, certainly, a person
may always be wronged and always have right on his side, and may
eventually, with the best conscience in the world, become the most
intolerable tyrant and tormentor; and what happens in the individual
may also take place in whole classes of society.
341.
Too LITTLE HONOURED.--Very conceited persons, who have received
less consideration than they expected, attempt for a long time to
deceive themselves and others with regard to it, and become subtle
psychologists in order to make out that they have been amply honoured.
Should they not attain their aim, should the veil of deception be torn,
they give way to all the greater fury.
342.
PRIMITIVE CONDITIONS RE--ECHOING IN SPEECH.--By the manner in which
people make assertions in their intercourse we often recognise an echo
of the times when they were more conversant with weapons than anything
else; sometimes they handle their assertions like sharp-shooters using
their arms, sometimes we think we hear the whizz and clash of swords,
and with some men an assertion crashes down like a stout cudgel. Women,
on the contrary, speak like beings who for thousands of years have sat
at the loom, plied the needle, or played the child with children.
343.
THE NARRATOR.--He who gives an account of something readily betrays
whether it is because the fact interests him, or because he wishes
to excite interest by the narration. In the latter case he will
exaggerate, employ superlatives, and such like. He then does not
usually tell his story so well, because he does not think so much
about his subject as about himself.
344.
THE RECITER.--He who recites dramatic works makes discoveries about his
own character; he finds his voice more natural in certain moods and
scenes than in others, say in the pathetic or in the scurrilous, while
in ordinary life, perhaps, he has not had the opportunity to exhibit
pathos or scurrility.
345.
A COMEDY SCENE IN REAL LIFE.--Some one conceives an ingenious idea on
a theme in order to express it in society. Now in a comedy we should
hear and see how he sets all sail for that point, and tries to land the
company at the place where he can make his remark, how he continuously
pushes the conversation towards the one goal, sometimes losing the way,
finding it again, and finally arriving at the moment: he is almost
breathless--and then one of the company takes the remark itself out of
his mouth! What will he do? Oppose his own opinion?
346.
UNINTENTIONALLY DISCOURTEOUS.--When a person treats another with
unintentional discourtesy,--for instance, not greeting him because not
recognising him,--he is vexed by it, although he cannot reproach his
own sentiments; he is hurt by the bad opinion which he has produced in
the other person, or fears the consequences of his bad humour, or is
pained by the thought of having injured him,--vanity, fear, or pity may
therefore be aroused; perhaps all three together.
347.
A MASTERPIECE OF TREACHERY.--To express a tantalising distrust of a
fellow-conspirator, lest he should betray one, and this at the very
moment when one is practising treachery one's self, is a masterpiece
of wickedness; because it absorbs the other's attention and compels
him for a time to act very unsuspiciously and openly, so that the real
traitor has thus acquired a free hand.
348.
To INJURE AND TO BE INJURED.--It is far pleasanter to injure
and afterwards beg for forgiveness than to be injured and grant
forgiveness. He who does the former gives evidence of power and
afterwards of kindness of character. The person injured, however, if he
does not wish to be considered inhuman, _must_ forgive; his enjoyment
of the other's humiliation is insignificant on account of this
constraint.
349.
IN A DISPUTE.--When we contradict another's opinion and at the same
time develop our own, the constant consideration of the other opinion
usually disturbs the natural attitude of our own which appears more
intentional, more distinct, and perhaps somewhat exaggerated.
350.
AN ARTIFICE.--He who wants to get another to do something difficult
must on no account treat the matter as a problem, but must set forth
his plan plainly as the only one possible; and when the adversary's eye
betrays objection and opposition he must understand how to break off
quickly, and allow him no time to put in a word.
351.
PRICKS OF CONSCIENCE AFTER SOCIAL GATHERINGS.--Why does our conscience
prick us after ordinary social gatherings? Because we have treated
serious things lightly, because in talking of persons we have not
spoken quite justly or have been silent when we should have spoken,
because, sometimes, we have not jumped up and run away,--in short,
because we have behaved in society as if we belonged to it.
352.
WE ARE MISJUDGED.--He who always listens to hear how he is judged is
always vexed. For we are misjudged even by those who are nearest to us
("who know us best"). Even good friends sometimes vent their ill-humour
in a spiteful word; and would they be our friends if they knew us
rightly? The judgments of the indifferent wound us deeply, because
they sound so impartial, so objective almost. But when we see that some
one hostile to us knows us in a concealed point as well as we know
ourselves, how great is then our vexation!
353.
THE TYRANNY OF THE PORTRAIT.--Artists and statesmen, who out of
particular features quickly construct the whole picture of a man or an
event, are mostly unjust in demanding that the event or person should
afterwards be actually as they have painted it; they demand straightway
that a man should be just as gifted, cunning, and unjust as he is in
their representation of him.
354.
RELATIVES AS THE BEST FRIENDS.--The Greeks, who knew so well what a
friend was, they alone of all peoples have a profound and largely
philosophical discussion of friendship; so that it is by them firstly
(and as yet lastly) that the problem of the friend has been recognised
as worthy of solution,--these same Greeks have designated _relatives_
by an expression which is the superlative of the word "friend." This is
inexplicable to me.
355.
MISUNDERSTOOD HONESTY.--When any one quotes himself in conversation
("I then said," "I am accustomed to say"), it gives the impression of
presumption; whereas it often proceeds from quite an opposite source;
or at least from honesty, which does not wish to deck and adorn the
present moment with wit which belongs to an earlier moment.
356.
THE PARASITE.--It denotes entire absence of a noble disposition when a
person prefers to live in dependence at the expense of others, usually
with a secret bitterness against them, in order only that he may not be
obliged to work. Such a disposition is far more frequent in women than
in men, also far more pardonable (for historical reasons).
357.
ON THE ALTAR OF RECONCILIATION.--There are circumstances under which
one can only gain a point from a person by wounding him and becoming
hostile; the feeling of having a foe torments him so much that he
gladly seizes the first indication of a milder disposition to effect a
reconciliation, and offers on the altar of this reconciliation what was
formerly of such importance to him that he would not give it up at any
price.
358.
PRESUMPTION IN DEMANDING PITY.--There are people who, when they have
been in a rage and have insulted others, demand, firstly, that it shall
all be taken in good part; and, secondly, that they shall be pitied
because they are subject to such violent paroxysms. So far does human
presumption extend.
359.
BAIT.--"Every man has his price"--that is not true. But perhaps
every one can be found a bait of one kind or other at which he will
snap. Thus, in order to gain some supporters for a cause, it is only
necessary to give it the glamour of being philanthropic, noble,
charitable, and self-denying--and to what cause could this glamour not
be given! It is the sweetmeat and dainty of _their_ soul; others have
different ones.
360.
THE ATTITUDE IN PRAISING.--When good friends praise a gifted person he
often appears to be delighted with them out of politeness and goodwill,
but in reality he feels indifferent. His real nature is quite unmoved
towards them, and will not budge a step on that account out of the sun
or shade in which it lies; but people wish to please by praise, and it
would grieve them if one did not rejoice when they praise a person.
361.
THE EXPERIENCE OF SOCRATES.--If one has become a master in one thing,
one has generally remained, precisely thereby, a complete dunce in most
other things; but one forms the very reverse opinion, as was already
experienced by Socrates. This is the annoyance which makes association
with masters disagreeable.
362.
A MEANS OF DEFENCE.--In warring against stupidity, the most just and
gentle of men at last become brutal. They are thereby, perhaps, taking
the proper course for defence; for the most appropriate argument for
a stupid brain is the clenched fist. But because, as has been said,
their character is just and gentle, they suffer more by this means of
protection than they injure their opponents by it.
363.
CURIOSITY.--If curiosity did not exist, very little would be done for
the good of our neighbour. But curiosity creeps into the houses of the
unfortunate and the needy under the name of duty or of pity. Perhaps
there is a good deal of curiosity even in the much-vaunted maternal
love.
364.
DISAPPOINTMENT IN SOCIETY.--One man wishes to be interesting for
his opinions, another for his likes and dislikes, a third for his
acquaintances, and a fourth for his solitariness--and they all meet
with disappointment. For he before whom the play is performed thinks
himself the only play that is to be taken into account.
365.
THE DUEL.--It may be said in favour of duels and all affairs of honour
that if a man has such susceptible feelings that he does not care to
live when So-and-so says or thinks this or that about him; he has a
right to make it a question of the death of the one or the other. With
regard to the fact that he is so susceptible, it is not at all to be
remonstrated with, in that matter we are the heirs of the past, of its
greatness as well as of its exaggerations, without which no greatness
ever existed. So when there exists a code of honour which lets blood
stand in place of death, so that the mind is relieved after a regular
duel it is a great blessing, because otherwise many human lives would
be in danger. Such an institution, moreover, teaches men to be cautious
in their utterances and makes intercourse with them possible.
366.
NOBLENESS AND GRATITUDE.--A noble soul will be pleased to owe
gratitude, and will not anxiously avoid opportunities of coming under
obligation; it will also be moderate afterwards in the expression of
its gratitude: baser souls, on the other hand, are unwilling to be
under any obligation, or are afterwards immoderate in their expressions
of thanks and altogether too devoted. The latter is, moreover, also the
case with persons of mean origin or depressed circumstances; to show
_them_ a favour seems to them a miracle of grace.
367.
OCCASIONS OF ELOQUENCE.--In order to talk well one man needs a person
who is decidedly and avowedly his superior to talk to, while another
can only find absolute freedom of speech and happy turns of eloquence
before one who is his inferior. In both cases the cause is the same;
each of them talks well only when he talks _sans gêne_--the one because
in the presence of something higher he does not feel the impulse of
rivalry and competition, the other because he also lacks the same
impulse in the presence of something lower. Now there is quite another
type of men, who talk well only when debating, with the intention of
conquering. Which of the two types is the more aspiring: the one that
talks well from excited ambition, or the one that talks badly or not at
all from precisely the same motive?
368.
THE TALENT FOR FRIENDSHIP.--Two types are distinguished amongst
people who have a special faculty for friendship. The one is ever
on the ascent, and for every phase of his development he finds a
friend exactly suited to him. The series of friends which he thus
acquires is seldom a consistent one, and is sometimes at variance
and in contradiction, entirely in accordance with the fact that the
later phases of his development neutralise or prejudice the earlier
phases. Such a man may jestingly be called a _ladder._ The other type
is represented by him who exercises an attractive influence on very
different characters and endowments, so that he wins a whole circle of
friends; these, however, are thereby brought voluntarily into friendly
relations with one another in spite of all differences. Such a man
may be called a _circle,_ for this homogeneousness of such different
temperaments and natures must somehow be typified in him. Furthermore,
the faculty for having good friends is greater in many people than the
faculty for being a good friend.
369.
TACTICS IN CONVERSATION.--After a conversation with a person one is
best pleased with him I when one has had an opportunity of exhibiting
one's intelligence and amiability in all its glory. Shrewd people who
wish to impress a person favourably make use of this circumstance,
they provide him with the best opportunities for making a good I
joke, and so on in conversation. An amusing conversation might be
imagined between two very shrewd persons, each wishing to impress the
other favourably, and therefore each throwing to the other the finest
chances in conversation, which neither of them accepted, so that the
conversation on the whole might turn out spiritless and unattractive
because each assigned to the other the opportunity of being witty and
charming.
370.
DISCHARGE OF INDIGNATION.--The man who meets with a failure
attributes this failure rather to the ill-will of another than to
fate. His irritated feelings are alleviated by thinking that a person
and not a thing is the cause of his failure; for he can revenge himself
on persons, but is obliged to swallow down the injuries of fate.
Therefore when anything has miscarried with a prince, those about him
are accustomed to point out some individual as the ostensible cause,
who is sacrificed in the interests of all the courtiers; for otherwise
the prince's indignation would vent itself on them all, as he can take
no revenge on the Goddess of Destiny herself.
371.
ASSUMING THE COLOURS OF THE ENVIRONMENT.--Why are likes and dislikes
so contagious that we can hardly live near a very sensitive person
without being filled, like a hogshead, with his _fors_ and _againsts_?
In the first place, complete forbearance of judgment is very difficult,
and sometimes absolutely intolerable to our vanity; it has the same
appearance as poverty of thought and sentiment, or as timidity and
unmanliness; and so we are, at least, driven on to take a side, perhaps
contrary to our environment, if this attitude gives greater pleasure
to our pride. As a rule, however,--and this is the second point,--we
are not conscious of the transition from indifference to liking or
disliking, but we gradually accustom ourselves to the sentiments of
our environment, and because sympathetic agreement and acquiescence
are so agreeable, we soon wear all the signs and party-colours of our
surroundings.
372.
IRONY.--Irony is only permissible as a pedagogic expedient, on the part
of a teacher when dealing with his pupils; its purpose is to humble
and to shame, but in the wholesome way that causes good resolutions
to spring up and teaches people to show honour and gratitude, as they
would to a doctor, to him who has so treated them. The ironical man
pretends to be ignorant, and does it so well that the pupils conversing
with him are deceived, and in their firm belief in their own superior
knowledge they grow bold and expose all their weak points; they lose
their cautiousness and reveal themselves as they are,--until all of
a sudden the light which they have held up to the teacher's face
casts its rays back very humiliatingly upon themselves. Where such a
relation, as that between teacher and pupil, does not exist, irony is a
rudeness and a vulgar conceit. All ironical writers count on the silly
species of human beings, who like to feel Ithemselves superior to all
others in common with the author himself, whom they look upon as the
?mouthpiece of their arrogance. Moreover, the habit of irony, like that
of sarcasm, spoils the character; lit gradually fosters the quality of
a malicious superiority; one finally grows like a snappy dog, that has
learnt to laugh as well as to bite.
373.
ARROGANCE.--There is nothing one should so guard against as the growth
of the weed called arrogance, which spoils all one's good harvest;
for there is arrogance in cordiality, in showing honour, in kindly
familiarity, in caressing, in friendly counsel, in acknowledgment of
faults, in sympathy for others,--and all these fine things arouse
aversion when the weed in question grows up among them. The arrogant
man--that is to say, he who desires to appear more than he is _or
passes for_--always miscalculates. It is true that he obtains a
momentary success, inasmuch as those with whom he is' arrogant
generally give him the amount of honour that he demands, owing to fear
or for the sake of convenience; but they take a bad revenge for it,
inasmuch as they subtract from the value which they hitherto attached
to him just as much as he demands above that amount. There is nothing
for which men ask to be paid dearer than for humiliation. The arrogant
man can make his really great merit so suspicious and small in the eyes
of others that they tread on it with dusty feet. If at all, we should
only allow ourselves a _proud_ manner where we are quite sure of not
being misunderstood and considered as arrogant; as, for instance, with
friends and wives. For in social intercourse there is no greater folly
than to acquire a reputation for arrogance; it is still worse than not
having learnt to deceive politely.
374.
_TÊTE-À-TÊTE_--Private conversation is the perfect conversation,
because everything the one' person says receives its particular
colouring, its tone, and its accompanying gestures _out of strict
consideration for the other person_ engaged in the conversation, it
therefore corresponds to what takes place in intercourse by letter,
viz., that one and the same person exhibits ten kinds of psychical
expression, according as he writes now to this individual and now to
that one. In duologue there is only a single refraction of thought;
the person conversed with produces it, as the mirror in whom we want
to behold our thoughts anew in their finest form. But how is it when
there are two or three, or even more persons conversing with one?
Conversation then necessarily loses something of its individualising
subtlety, different considerations thwart and neutralise each other;
the style which pleases one does not suit the taste of another. In
intercourse with several individuals a person is therefore to withdraw
within himself and represent facts as they are; but he has also to
remove from the subjects the pulsating ether of humanity which makes
conversation one of the pleasantest things in the world. Listen only
to the tone in which those who mingle with whole groups of men are in
the habit of speaking; it is as if the fundamental base of all speech
were, "It is _myself_; I say this, so make what you will of it!" That
is the reason why clever ladies usually leave a singular, painful, and
forbidding impression on those who have met them in society; it is
the talking to many people, before many people, that robs them of all
intellectual amiability and shows only their conscious dependence on
themselves, their tactics, and their intention of gaining a public
victory in full light; whilst in a private conversation the same ladies
become womanly again, and recover their intellectual grace and charm.
375.
POSTHUMOUS FAME.--There is sense in hoping for recognition in a distant
future only when we take it for granted that mankind will remain
essentially unchanged, and that whatever is great is not for one age
only but will be looked upon as great for all time. But this is an
error. In all their sentiments and judgments concerning what is good
and beautiful mankind have greatly changed; it is mere fantasy to
imagine one's self to be a mile ahead, and that the whole of mankind is
coming _our_ way. Besides, a scholar who is misjudged may at present
reckon with certainty that his discovery will be made by others, and
that, at best, it will be allowed to him later on by some historian
that he also already knew this or that but was not in a position to
secure the recognition of his knowledge. Not to be recognised, is
always interpreted by posterity as lack of power. In short, one should
not so readily speak in favour of haughty solitude. There are, however,
exceptional cases; but it is chiefly our faults, weakness, and follies
that hinder the recognition of our great qualities.
376.
OF FRIENDS.--Just consider with thyself how different are the feelings,
how divided are the opinions of even the nearest acquaintances; how
even the same opinions in thy friend's mind have quite a different
aspect and strength from what they have in thine own; and how manifold
are the occasions which arise for misunderstanding and hostile
severance. After all this thou wilt say to thyself, "How insecure
is the ground upon which all our alliances and friendships rest,
how liable to cold downpours and bad weather, how lonely is every
creature!" When a person recognises this fact, and, in addition, that
all opinions and the nature and strength of them in his fellow-men
are just as necessary and irresponsible as their actions; when his
eye learns to see this internal necessity of opinions, owing to the
indissoluble interweaving of character, occupation, talent, and
environment,--he will perhaps get rid of the bitterness and sharpness
of the feeling with which the sage exclaimed, "Friends, there are no
friends!" Much rather will he make the confession to himself:--Yes,
there are friends, but they were drawn towards thee by error and
deception concerning thy character; and they must have learnt to be
silent in order to remain thy friends; for such human relationships
almost always rest on the fact that some few things are never said,
are never, indeed, alluded to; but if these pebbles are set rolling
friendship follows afterwards and is broken. Are there any who would
not be mortally injured if they were to learn what their most intimate
friends really knew about them? By getting a knowledge of ourselves,
and by looking upon our nature as a changing sphere of opinions and
moods, and thereby learning to despise ourselves a little, we recover
once more our equilibrium with the rest of mankind. It is true that
we have good reason to despise each of our acquaintances, even the
greatest of them; but just as good reason to turn this feeling against
ourselves. And so we will bear with each other, since we bear with
ourselves; and perhaps there will come to each a happier hour, when he
will exclaim:
"Friends, there are really no friends!" thus cried
th' expiring old sophist;
"Foes, there is really no foe!"--thus shout I,
the incarnate fool.
SEVENTH DIVISION.
WIFE AND CHILD.
377.
THE PERFECT WOMAN.--The perfect woman is a higher type of humanity than
the perfect man, and also something much rarer. The natural history of
animals furnishes grounds in support of this theory.
378.
FRIENDSHIP AND MARRIAGE.--The best friend will probably get the best
wife, because a good marriage is based on talent for friendship.
379.
THE SURVIVAL OF THE PARENTS.--The undissolved dissonances in the
relation of the character and sentiments of the parents survive in the
nature of the child and make up the history of its inner sufferings.
380.