III. ON THE KNOWLEDGE OF MEN
PERHAPS no one has ever seriously doubted that the ability to know and to pass an accurate judgment on men closely concerns our practical life; but whether a knowledge of human nature brings much happiness is a question on which opinions have always differed. While some declare that we really love men only so long as we do not know them, others (like the duke in Goethe’s “Tasso”) believe that it is only so long as we do not know men that we stand in fear of them; yet Goethe himself seems partly to retreat from this conception in another expression of his, where he says that while nothing is more interesting, indeed, than to learn to know men, yet one must take care not to know oneself.
For our part, we believe at the outset that all knowledge of human nature, even one’s own, can be but superficial, and that the real depths of the soul, and especially the limits of its possibilities for good and evil, God alone can fully know. But besides this, strange as it may sound at first, the knowledge of men rests upon a basis of pessimism joined with a considerable degree of love for human kind. If any one looks upon humanity as something great and superior (not so much in promise as in actual performance), he will, if he have some measure of wisdom, find himself in the end disillusioned by his life experiences. On the other hand, it is just as much a matter of experience, with those who have known mankind most perfectly, that they (Christ himself at the head) have always been friends to humanity; for though they do not look upon man as quite free and nobly born, yet they believe him destined to freedom and nobility of life. This gives them their power to love him, in spite of his faults; yes, we may go so far as to say, on account of his faults, just for the reason that love, in this world at least, feels within it an impelling necessity to pity, to save, to do good.
To understand men, therefore, we must first make sure that we love them, and we must be, to a very considerable degree, independent of them so far as our necessities go; for there must be as great an absence of self-interest as possible on our part. Whoever desires to get much out of men for his own advantage will always be blinded by his interests, and whoever finds men necessary to himself will always fear them. But the man who wishes to do something for them rather than receive something from them, can alone really learn to know what they are, and can tolerate that knowledge, even in its worst features, without hating men; every one else, who is not a weakling, easily falls into such a hatred of human kind. A thorough judge of men, without love, would in fact be intolerable; the aversion against such persons, who assert they are judges of men but who are at the same time haters of men, is a very natural one, for it is based on a law of self-defence. And so, you are not to use your knowledge of human nature as something on which to construct the edifice of your own happiness; but it is only in order that you may be the better able to further the happiness of others that you are to desire to learn how rightly to judge them. If you have any other purpose, you will never come to any considerable attainments in this art.
The first step in the knowledge of human nature, so far as it is at all attainable, is (quite contrary to Goethe’s view) self-knowledge and self-improvement; the second step is the resolve to learn to know men for their sake and not one’s own. But even so, we are not to expect a perfect knowledge of so complicated a being as man; he does not even succeed in understanding himself, or at the best gets only a partial insight late in life; and then, too, no one individual is quite like another. Rather, we must content ourselves with a certain number of the results of experience; some of these we will try, later on, to set before the reader.
The real secret of knowing human nature lies in possessing a pure heart innocent of self-conceit; such people gradually acquire a keenness of vision that pierces all the outer wrappings. The difficulty of understanding men does not spring from the subtleties of a science of “psychology,” but only from the difficulty of forgetting one’s own self. We do not get to know men from whom we have something to hope or to fear.
Even the prophetic gift is nothing else than a direct, intense insight into human affairs,—their causes and effects. Such power resides in every man who in large measure has set himself free from himself. But self-seeking is like a veil of mist to hinder this power of vision, which would otherwise be present.
An intercourse with men that rests upon a correct judgment of them is therefore learned, not so much by frequent association with the men themselves (as many believe), as through fellowship with God. If we have this, then for the first time we begin to look upon men, both the good and the evil, more with the just eyes of God; while, without trust in Him, we must always rely more or less on men and so suffer the disillusionments that will always follow.
In men, especially of the better sort, there is furthermore a necessity that they shall worship something. Those who are not able to worship anything transcendental throw a halo of fancy about certain men, and in this self-deception not only lose all ability really to understand men, but also work harm to those they reverence—if these are yet living and are themselves poor judges of men. Wherever belief in God is lacking, hero-worship, with all its detriments to the inner and outer freedom of humanity, is unavoidable.
Every one can test this for himself. Whenever he finds himself fully at peace with God, he at once becomes more indifferent toward men in that very particular in which men are ordinarily most valued; for he no longer cares for them for the sake of gaining some advantage. Indeed, if the desire of conferring advantage upon them did not remain, he feels that he could easily do without them altogether. For this reason all ancient and mediæval monachism, as well as all modern pessimism, are always somewhat suspicious in motive; for back of them lurks, for the most part, either chagrin at not receiving, or disinclination to give. Others, too, feel that this is so and are therefore, on the whole, none too well disposed to men who thus hold aloof.
For there is nothing that men have a more instinctive discernment and a greater aversion for than for self-seeking. Even the simplest, even little children, yes, even animals, quickly find the selfish out, in spite of all the pretence with which they surround themselves. Whoever would acquire a strong influence over men must give up thoughts of self-advantage. That is the surest way. For this reason children often like grandparents more than parents, because they feel that in their love is less of self; the parents are too much wrapped up in their own concerns. Even the worst pessimists seek love, and no egotist is earnest at bottom in his praise of egotism. But they despair of men’s ability to be other than selfish, and they may be taught otherwise only by repeated deeds; the mere phrases of love have long been familiar to them, and they estimate them at about their correct value. It does no good, therefore, to speak to them much of love; that will only be misunderstood. At the most, speak of friendliness and public benevolence; it seems to be less, yet is really more.
This spirit, then, is absolutely necessary if you would live in the world without disgust at it; therefore acquire this spirit at any cost.
To understand the nature of any individual it is important to know his derivation. Women in especial follow, almost without exception, the character of their family, sons as a rule that of the mother or the mother’s father, daughters oftener the paternal side. The proverb that “the apple falls not far from its stem” indicates, therefore, a strong presumption. Only, we often do not know the derivation sufficiently well, and besides, with God’s mercy, a man can even break away from a bad ancestry. As a matter of fact, there are no “hereditary encumbrances” that can not be shaken off by God’s mercy and man’s will. The assumption of such an unalterable fate is one of the greatest sacrileges a man can make himself guilty of. On the other hand, in the same limited sense, a certain aristocratic tendency is warranted. Noteworthy individual characteristics, such as courage, proper self-confidence, a natural fearlessness of men, fineness of taste in all the matters of life, do not develop, as a rule, in the first generation after breaking the yoke of slavery and oppression; for these are largely transmitted qualities. For this reason the great pioneers of political and spiritual freedom rarely spring from the lowest stratum of the people, but from a middle stratum already trained in these things, or even, often enough, from aristocracy itself. It is, therefore, a great misfortune, almost a transgression against one’s posterity, when a highly cultured man marries below his plane of culture; for thus he takes a step back again.
In this connection, there is due to oneself and to others a certain right which parents and teachers often forget. No one can easily change his whole natural disposition; one can much more easily bring that disposition to a higher perfection in its own kind. That is to say, the phlegmatic man can attain to the noble calm of wisdom, the sanguine man to a self-sacrificing activity for others, the choleric man to a strong championship for whatever is great. A false estimate of this natural temperament, or attempts to break it, usually lead to deplorable half-results, where something complete might have been attained.
We rightly learn to understand people only in their activities, the men at their work, the women in their house affairs; best in their difficulties and sorrows, least in social intercourse, especially at hotels and summer resorts. The acquaintances made there often turn out disappointing afterward. It is, generally speaking, an unwholesome feature of human intercourse nowadays. People become acquainted with one another, and yet not acquainted, when they live and eat together day after day. One can not keep aloof altogether without appearing supercilious, and one can not be too intimate without the risk of making connections that would otherwise have been avoided.
It is easiest to know people by what they regard as their real aim in life; if this aim is power or pleasure, they are not wholly to be trusted.
In his later years, the outlines of a man’s character ordinarily come out much more clearly than in his earlier. Real piety reveals itself in the patient bearing of the manifold burdens of age, fictitious piety in impatience and in a religion that becomes more and more formal. Avarice, envy, covetousness, anger, the love of honor and praise, and even, at times, the desire of secret, sensual pleasure, come with elementary, unmistakable force to light as the ruling passions of life; and the man pronounces his own judgment in the sight of his fellows. Rarely does any one, like Augustus, carry a rôle through to the end, and even this great actor was not successful. On the other hand, no one can read Cromwell’s last prayer and think him a hypocrite, unless he is one himself.
And finally, sorrows play their part in revealing human nature. In any great sorrow the thoughts of men are disclosed. Envy comes to light to rejoice; generosity, to help; and indifference, to pass by on the other side. Whoever has had no thorough experience of this in person, does not know men. In the first part of life, when experience is still small, the greatest danger in one’s attitude to men is that of considering them of too much importance; in the second, that of becoming too indifferent to them.
There is yet another and quite different source of the knowledge of human nature, but a source not to be desired for any one not already acquainted with it; I mean the power possessed by the nervously disordered. In such cases there is a very clear physical intuition as to the kind of nature there is in other people, of whom the one may have as quieting and refreshing an influence upon the sick man as clear, cool water, while the other only excites and frets. Such is the knowledge of men the Bible ascribes to those “possessed of evil spirits.” But these are diseased conditions which ought not to be, and which should not be needlessly meddled with.
Experience has established some of the following principles in the art of reading men:
As with courtesy, so it is with a man’s probity; if it is genuine, it shows itself in his conduct in the small things. Probity in small matters springs from a moral foundation, while probity on the large scale is often only habit or prudence and gives no clew as to a man’s real character.
Vanity and the lust for honors are always a bad symptom, for both rest at bottom upon a self-condemnation which tries to supply the missing inner contentment by outward show or the approving judgment of others. Thoroughgoing pessimists are always vain. By their pessimism they give us to understand more or less clearly that they themselves would really be an exception to this base human rabble if they could count on understanding their nature.
An overmodest nature, especially if given to self-irony, is never to be trusted; in most cases a strong dose of vanity and the love of praise hides behind. Truly modest men usually speak neither good nor bad of themselves, and do not want people to concern themselves about them. Vain persons, on the other hand, by the apparently modest method of self-depreciation, often seek to draw attention to themselves, or to catch out-and-out compliments.
A kind-hearted readiness to help is the sure sign of a good character, while cruelty to animals and ridicule of men is a sure sign of a bad character.
One of the best tests of real kind-heartedness is the conduct of men in the presence of long-persisting or altogether hopeless misfortune: those who possess but little of that quality grow weary and soon abandon the unfortunate one to his fate, perhaps with the fine sentiment, “one must leave him alone with his God”; others, who with a true sympathy persevere, stand the highest test of the unselfish love of humanity. Such are ordinarily simple, poor people, while the cultured and the rich far more rarely show themselves equal to the test. This natural nobility of character, the most valuable of all the natural endowments of men, is far more generally found in the lower classes, and the “noblest of the nations” are to be sought elsewhere than where we are wont, in the usual manner of speaking, to assume them to be.
The basest human characteristic is innate faithlessness. When this is present, all the other so-called good qualities do not countervail; they but make the man the more dangerous, while faithfulness makes some expiation for the worst failings.
A sure mark of an essentially mean man is ingratitude. It sets him below the nobler animals, all of which are grateful. An especially hateful form of ingratitude is that which, in order to escape the necessity of showing gratitude, treats the acceptance of benefits as a favor shown by the receiver and therefore an honor conferred upon the giver for which he must feel under obligation. Benefits received generally make only the noble-minded thankful. Others as soon as possible seek a pretext to avoid this feeling, to them oppressive. The paying back of borrowed money, particularly, is regarded as a merit on their part for which the creditor owes them lifelong gratitude.
In the correct estimation of men, the most important consideration is the caliber they possess. But caliber can not be given a man even by the best of education and the highest of culture. Caliber is a gift of nature; a baby cat will never become a lion, similar as they may at first appear to be. The caliber present in a man can be but enlarged, not changed, through the great happenings of life, through severe sorrows, or through a very good environment, particularly if one have faithful and very well-disposed friends, or if one make the right marriage. We must, therefore, be careful not to wrong men by rating them too high and so requiring too much of them; it is not in their power to do it, but after their fashion, perhaps, they may be good, faithful men, on whom we may count for something, and who often accomplish more than they would if they imagined themselves to be of more consequence than they are.
We must never seek for an intimate personal knowledge of the people to whom we want to surrender ourselves unconditionally, or to whom we intend to remain unconditionally hostile; for in both instances we shall become easily disconcerted by finding characteristics in them which will contradict our preconceived opinions. For a like reason, one ought to learn to know one’s enemies in person, and on the other hand, not to see one’s friends too often.
A man’s reputation is not absolutely determinative in forming an estimate of him. Men of note, especially, are often different from what we had fancied them to be. On the whole, however, the public judgment passed on a man seldom goes altogether astray and is a very important factor in making up our estimate. In particular, there is no such thing as a complete misappreciation of a good man all his life through. The public judgment as to men who are much exposed to such judgment is generally subject, indeed, to continual fluctuation, like the surface of water, but it, nevertheless, has the tendency (not to be deflected) of ever returning again to its proper level. In the case of all good men, we can count on their having an aristocratic nature. Democracy is correct, as a political conviction, but as an ingrained characteristic it has no worth.
Men who are fundamentally good we learn best to know in their time of trouble, for then the possibilities that lie within them come more clearly to light; but men of mediocre worth we learn best to know in their time of prosperity and by their manner of enjoying pleasures.
All who hate men on principle are themselves egotists. On the other hand, it is certainly a matter of experience that we do have disillusionments even as to the best men, and as to educated people even more than simple folk. As a general thing, one should not put absolute trust in men, and the best and most trustworthy friendships are those which have either sprung from a previous enmity, or have been once (but not twice) broken off. For then alone does one see the shadow side of his friend, and so can henceforth discount it. On the other hand, a frequent vacillation between friendship and hostility is a mark of a weak character.
That we learn to know our real friends only in time of need, and that we should quietly let those go who are then unfaithful, is a truth almost too trifling to be once more expressed.
Why it is that, when misfortune comes, we suddenly possess friends so startlingly few, is to be explained psychologically thus: the less generous natures are afraid they will be obliged to give actual help, while the more generous often think they see the impossibility of rendering any help at all and are ashamed, wrongly, to offer only sympathy. In many cases even very well-wishing men fall into the mistake of Job’s friends and involuntarily assume that every misfortune is more or less one’s own fault, so that pity must be tempered by censure and admonitions. Then the more thoughtless ones speak out their mind, while men of finer feelings rather draw back, so as not to be obliged to do it.
And all this is still oftener true in the case of relatives.
To be envied is a very disagreeable thing to have accompany one through life, and it usually ceases only toward life’s end. But it is, for all persons of real consequence, a very necessary protection against too great a veneration on the part of others. Such veneration would do much more harm if it were unmixed with envy. And it is generally of little value. A dram of real friendship is worth much more than a whole wagon-load of veneration.
One great rule for finding out men is this: give yourself out to be frankly just what you are; above all, frankly hate wrong things on principle, and let no opportunity of showing it pass by. Then men will show their own cards more openly to you. Public personages, in particular, must in their whole life be clear as glass and transparent as crystal, so that men may see everything without reserve.
In general, as to good qualities, men like best to speak of those they do not possess; while, as to evil qualities, the proverb speaks truly: “With what the heart is full, with that the mouth runs over.” People who take pleasure in speaking often of impure things and the dangers of the world in this regard, although they may do so with the most earnest show of disapprobation, always feel a strong secret inclination thereto. Others, whose every third word is “benevolence” and “good works,” have to struggle with a disposition toward avarice or covetousness. The worst are those who are forever talking of “uprightness” and “loyalty.”
Most fanatics for some specialty have become such because they knew very well in the beginning that without such a heightening of their feeling they would not persevere in it. In most cases, therefore, they are not wholly sincere.
It is one of the best signs for a man if humble people feel confidence and good-will toward him—little children, above all, but also simple-hearted poor folks, and even animals. The man whom children and animals can not endure is not to be trusted. Women, too, are good judges—that is, if they themselves are good; otherwise they are just the opposite. To be much with unpretending people contributes greatly to one’s contentment with life. All great pessimists have despised them, yet have found no satisfaction in the people of more importance whose companionship they have sought.
Pessimism and the detestation of one’s fellow-men, when displayed by young people, point (if they are not merely talking for effect) to irregular habits of living. But they who keep their youth clean have a source of unfailing delight in life.
We are not upright because men praise us; we are upright if we receive the praise of God. Any one who has ever experienced this will also know that, however unreliable and cheap the praise of men may be, it always makes us a little proud and leads us away from the truth, but the praise of God never has any such result. Of pious people who are proud the assertion can quite safely be made that God has never praised them; they praise themselves and let others praise them.
Pride is always mixed with a portion of stupidity. Vanity makes us ridiculous to people, but not odious; pride, on the other hand, so works upon others as to call out defiance mingled with contempt. As the proverb says, pride always goes immediately before a fall. When a man becomes proud, he has lost his game, and it may be safely counted on that he is approaching a downfall. As soon as God forsakes us, our own heart is lifted up.
On the other hand, the faults which have become clear to ourselves and which have bred humility within us are often not so very perceptible to others. They no longer put themselves so noticeably in evidence as do the faults we will not or can not yet see. This is the first striking reward of battling against oneself.
Every one stands in need of straight-forward but kindly criticism. This is the reason progress is made by the simple people who, when they make a mistake, are censured and admonished by everybody, without any beating around the bush; while people of higher standing, after their school years are over, seldom have the advantage of being judiciously censured. Even their critics often only wish to show them how important and indispensable they are to them, and attack some minor defeat of little moment one way or the other.
It is an important thing to acquire the art of speaking of one’s own doings in a quiet and matter-of-fact manner, if, indeed, they have to be spoken of at all. It usually happens that some men show themselves too vain of their accomplishments, and thereby arouse open or secret opposition; while others speak of them with a certain off-hand disparagement, as much as to say that they have plenty more in stock. It is the best way to speak of one’s performances as little as possible, and, in any case, never to introduce the subject oneself. Vanity is always recognized, even by the simplest. The only sure means of not passing for a vain man is—not to be vain.
If a young man is forward or even only very confident, if there is not a little of shyness about him, he has a defective character and little real merit; or at least he has ripened very early and will develop no further. The widespread prepossession that, without plenty of assurance, one can not get through the world is incorrect, unless one is thinking of momentary success.
A very suspicious, at any rate imprudent, propensity of many people is that of being the bearers of bad news. The motives, indeed, may be very different; but in most cases there is mingled with it a kind of self-elevation which takes pleasure in seeing others deeply shaken and humbled, an ungenerous feeling that often comes very near to being malice. This is instinctively felt on the other side, and something of the unpleasant remembrance is ever afterward associated with the one who caused it.
Those persons are of no worth who have never been broken by a great sorrow or by a thorough humiliation of their self-esteem. They retain something small, or arrogantly self-righteous, or unkind about them which, in spite of their probity (which they ordinarily think a great deal of), makes them disagreeable to God and man.
One must always be on one’s guard before people who do not have a kindly nature. A natural disposition to maliciousness is very hard to be overcome. It shows itself most easily in a tendency to making sport of others.
It is an uncommonly pleasant thing, on the other hand, to have to do with people who make their fellow-men feel comfortable in their presence, who are always even-tempered, always friendly and ready to help, never nervously unquiet or intrusive, rejoicing in the welfare of others, sympathetic and consolatory in trouble. This does not necessitate a clever mind; on the contrary, the very clever people often lack just this quality, which, for the first time, would make all their other qualities really useful and valuable.
At ordinary times it is very difficult to recognize real bravery. Yet there is one unfailing sign. Brave people never enter a fight with arrogance and are less afraid after a defeat than after a victory, since every victory works some injustice to the opposing side; while cowards show themselves arrogant after every victory. As to this characteristic, a man best learns to know himself in his dreams. There he sees himself as he is, being beyond the control of a better will that does not depend upon merely physical and mental emotions.
A crafty shrewdness always lowers a man in our regard. We think of the possibility of its being used against us. Therefore, as a proverb says, “all foxes come to be skinned at last.” No one likes them, and in the long run they lose their game.
Every man should perfect his own national type. When a man no longer knows to which nation he belongs, he becomes an unedifying phenomenon. Therefore dwellers on the border are often vacillating in their nature, and polyglot speech is, as a rule, a mark neither of genius nor of character. The most questionable people are those who mingle different languages in a single sentence and who lack education besides.
Not very much, on the whole, is to be learned from the external features of a man; the science of physiognomy is a deceptive one, generally speaking. Yet a strong development of the lower part of the face as contrasted with the upper, an insignificant chin, expressionless eyes, an ever uneasy glance of the eye, and a habit of speaking very loud in the case of women, portend nothing favorable. Happily, these latter are never able to imitate the expression of innocence.
The wide diffusion of photography has been very injurious for the knowledge of human nature, since they usually make the photograph a deceptive portrait, and one who sees it is, therefore, favorably prepossessed.
As to human efficiency, it mostly depends upon a certain confidence a man has with his contemporaries. God alone can give this, and, as a rule, it appears late, in the case of men of real note. All the stones must first be rejected by the builders before they can become the head of the corner. This is the only right course for a man’s life to take, and no sort of exertion can supply its place.
With men of original qualities one usually goes through three stages of acquaintanceship. In the first stage, they please one absolutely; in the second, they rather repel, on account of the angularities and singularities of all sorts in their nature; in the third, however, the whole man again pleases. But in the case of more ordinary men, one’s first impression is slight, the second is often better, on account of various good individual qualities, but the final impression, again, is unsatisfying. Take it all in all, one may perhaps say that the first impression one has of a man, provided one is himself quite unprejudiced, is the right one.
Hardest of all it is to read human nature from the point of view of religion. It is easiest to do so along the lines of the first epistle of John, the first six verses of the fourth chapter, and the first five verses of the fifth chapter. But, along with this, we must not exclude a certain human excellence which rests upon philosophical culture, or upon great sagacity and experience of life. All piety must make one more friendly, or it is not genuine.
Who are to be preferred, the nice people who are not religious, or the religious people (and there are really such) who are not (at least not always) nice? I am afraid this is the point where our view does not always coincide with God’s. (Luke v. 32.)
To do things on generous lines often seems, especially to the man still young, easier than to do things along the lines of duty. Well, then, do so at first. But when you can once do the one, then you must learn to do the other also, else your life remains beautiful—but incomplete.
The visitation of sins unto the third and fourth generation may be regarded from this point of view: that for so long a period God is yet laboring with these generations. The worst that can happen to men is not this visitation, but that God may leave them henceforth quite to their own way and will. For the wicked, visitation is, therefore, always a tender of amnesty, but lasting good fortune means rejection.
A temperament always equable, somewhat cool but not selfish, and sympathetic and friendly to every one, is perhaps the happiest if one wishes to be generally liked. Such men pass for especially amiable people and are universally esteemed, without their often contributing anything important and solid to the advance of the world. There are actually people, therefore, who assume this manner from policy. But whether these amiable people have not, after all, buried their talent, is another question.
That intercourse with men which is the art of life is necessarily based, if it is to be brought under rational rules at all, upon a correct knowledge of men. For whoever voluntarily seeks the companionship of men whom he knows to be bad or false is, with all his knowledge of human nature, a fool and a suicide besides. In this point we have departed widely from the conceptions of our grandfathers; human intercourse has to-day become much less sentimental and much more serious than a hundred years ago. In this matter the ever-recurring question whether the men are by nature good or bad is beside the mark. As a matter of fact, men have the disposition to be both, and it is our concern, therefore, as Paul says, not to be overcome of the evil we can not avoid meeting, but to overcome evil with good.
If one does not always keep this before his eyes as a fundamental rule of life, then all intercourse with the bad and weak (which is never to be wholly evaded) will be, for men of the better sort, an evil that may lead at last to a contempt for humanity and a desire for isolation, or else to an indifference toward all true principles. Here, also, there are a number of maxims taught by experience, whose observation will make one’s intercourse with men at least more easy. They are as follows:
One gets into the best relations with men, on the whole, if he feels a simple, natural, sincere friendliness toward every one he meets, in much the same manner as unspoiled children do before they have experienced the meanness of men. This manner, after many painful experiences, can be again acquired,—at least at a certain period in later life which may then be called, in this good sense, a second childhood. When one has this attitude, it may even happen that he treats evil men as if good, as they could be if they would, and as, in their better moments, they would really like to be. And the result is that these men forget their evil nature for a time and feel better and happier. That, and not “the destruction of the wicked,” is a true man’s greatest victory in this world.
At the same time it must not be forgotten that one should not put too great stress upon a man’s behavior at the moment; for every one can tell from his own experience how easily our moods alter, and how changeable and uncertain our judgments of others are, so long as the heart has not yet become constant in kindness.
All lasting human relationships rest upon reciprocity. We must never be willing only to receive, nor must we ever be willing only to give; that always ends in dissatisfaction.
The opportunity of rendering great favors to men is not very frequent. On the other hand, one can quietly do any one some small pleasure, though it be nothing more than a friendly greeting to light up, like a sunbeam, some lonely and joyless existence. We should not begin a day of our life without proposing to ourselves to make use of every opportunity in this way. This friendliness is merely a matter of habit that even men essentially kind-hearted now and then do not have, to their great loss.
Quite ordinary natures, of course, understand only fear, not love. As soon as they no longer fear, they become forward and intractable. For these the proverb holds good: “Be always kind, yet not too kindly; else the wolves will quickly grow bold.” For others, however, the proverb is not true. On the other hand, real kindness is the ripest fruit of a well-lived life.
Many men, by doing things in a large style, wish to compel their fellow-men to recognize it. But they seldom succeed, since the other man marks this purpose; and after all, egotism (though of a somewhat different kind than usual) hides behind. They would attain their goal far better if they paid less heed to outward show and did things more quietly.
Many people who are really good-hearted at bottom have a way of always finding something to blame or demur to even in matters that fall in with their wishes. Thus they bring it about that other persons, hearing only their “No, no,” prefer the company of more easy-going, if also more unprincipled, people of the world. Nor should one always be contradicting men, even where they are in the wrong; silence often accomplishes more and does not embitter. Now and then their assertions are not wholly in earnest, but if they experience opposition, then they become fortified in their notions and say something that they can no longer retract. But if one ought to contradict for the truth’s sake, then a single contradiction is enough; when opinions are once acknowledged and firmly fixed, continued disputation about them is entirely fruitless.
“Whoever wishes to have his opinion find approval should express it coldly and without passion,” says Schopenhauer, if I am not mistaken. The word “coldly” is somewhat too strong; but to parler sans accent, that is, to speak in the positive and not always in the superlative degree, is a good custom.
Of one’s neighbor one should—so St. Maddalena dei Pazzi tells us—“speak as little as possible, for one begins with good things, but usually ends up with bad things. Our neighbor is a glass that easily breaks if we take it into our hands too often.”
It is a great art in human intercourse to be able to show friendly opposition on occasion. We should, among other things, give our reasons—not merely for convenience simply say No, but try to convince the other with good arguments rather than be dictatorial. All men see, in such an appeal to their understanding, a proof of respect which gratifies them and often quite reconciles them to the negative outcome.
A suspension of judgment is often very useful. With a “We will consider it,” or “Let us think it over,” good-will is shown for the time being, while the decision is put off; and with that, often enough, the whole matter is discharged. The other man will in the mean time change his mind; or the matter will seem to him of less importance; while, at the moment, his desire was his very kingdom of heaven.
But all this does not apply in things indubitably wrong. Then we must not give rise to the conception that we might finally be able to come to an agreement in the matter or regard it as at least feasible; but on the contrary, we must “resist the beginnings.”
The most unfortunate method of all is to yield in an unfriendly spirit; by so doing we lose the game twice over. But with weak men this is the usual course; they wish to hide their weakness by a little blustering and scolding.
In matters of indifference (and they are infinitely many), we must always do the will of others; that makes living easy and brings good friends without any attending difficulties.
With dependent people it is best to be short, but always friendly and good-mannered, if they themselves know their place; otherwise “parcere subjectis et debellare superbos.”
It is always difficult to know how to conduct oneself rightly toward very wealthy or very distinguished people; for to be with them means either a kind of dependent relationship, or a constant watchfulness against receiving favors that is inconsistent with real friendship. Real friendship gladly gives and gladly receives, without keeping any account. Besides, wealth and distinction very often make men insensible to life’s true riches, and limit them in their views of men and life.
It is not pleasant to have to do with people who do not think out their own problems, but are always seeking advice and never following it. One should especially avoid lightly advising one to marry or not to marry, nor should one ever express his opinion to authors about their yet unpublished works. It is very hard, too, to fellowship with those who are “persecuted by fate,” and have no conception of their own failings. Christ himself on one occasion curtly dismissed such a man, who wished to make him a “judge and a divider.”
Those who are always reflecting over themselves or others, likewise make companions in whom is no reliance nor peace. They are always vain, besides weak and forever vacillating in their judgment of others, as well as in their estimation of themselves. They love no one, not always themselves even, and are loved by no one. Shun them.
Against naïvely shameless people there are three kinds of self-defence: roughness, which, however, is somewhat lowering; coldness, which is not human and leaves a reproach on the conscience; and humor. The last alone shows true superiority.
Selfish men who have quite lost the sense of shame have a way, when they want something of another man, of insinuating to him that it will be for his own advantage, so that they may be exempt from showing gratitude or from resting under any other obligation in return. This is something one must not, even tacitly, ignore, but first set the matter quietly upon its proper footing, if he intends to respond to the request.
Should one always give to those who beg? I believe, generally speaking, yes; the commands of Christianity in this regard are too positive; in most cases the question is rather “How much?” and this depends upon the good-will of the giver. One should at least turn beggars away in a friendly spirit; a kind word is also a gift and many a time of more real value than a small bit of money. But that is something to be learnt, and is really a very great art.
To give cheerfully is, on the other hand, partly a habit. Children ought to be accustomed to it from childhood, instead of being one-sidedly trained to mere frugality, as more commonly happens. They should be frugal as regards themselves, but not as regards others.
An outward expedient is to carry no purse; it is easier to thrust the hand into the pocket than to open a purse.
Very much that is not the proper thing in human intercourse springs from simple inertness toward the good, or from a desire for personal comfort.
Many men, whom everybody knows by sight and praises, are quiet and tolerably dutiful—egotists,—whose ways one must not follow.
The really noble men, the aristocracy of the spirit as opposed to this mere bourgeoisie, have always, on the other hand, found enemies.
Perhaps the most useful, though by no means the pleasantest, intercourse is with our enemies; not only because they are often future friends, but especially because we receive from them, more than from any other, a candid disclosure as to our own faults and a strong impulse to amend them; because, too, they possess, on the whole, the truest judgment as to the weak points of a man’s nature. Finally, we also learn, simply by living under their sharp eyes, how to know and practise the important virtues of self-control, of a strict love for the right, and of a constant attention to oneself.
That is, therefore, a foolish expression (which is often used with intent to praise) when it is said of a man, perhaps in an obituary notice, that “he had no enemies.” A man of the right sort does not go through life without making enemies; but it is a fine thing, of course, if at the end of his life he no longer has any.
By this I do not mean to imply that this intercourse with enemies is an easy matter; on the contrary, it belongs to the most difficult tasks of a rightly conducted life. It is particularly hard to endure a long series of injustices which seem to have success on their side. Here comes the need of faith in a just God, who can employ even the wicked as his instruments, but can hold them so firmly in hand that they may go no farther than he wills. Otherwise we should not go through these things without harm. Surely no one who has learned to know himself will make the assertion that he is already a past-master in this art.
Trust in God is the first essential; after that, the best means for acquiring this art is seriously to resolve that we will, as much as possible, avoid useless anger, and take care not to judge our opponents unjustly; and in any case never to allow real hatred to settle in the soul. This can easily be done at the very first moment of the affront; it is harder later, when hate is once established in the heart. It is very helpful, besides, to fix clearly in mind, from the beginning, that we absolutely must forgive, even to “seventy times seven.” This thought makes it much easier to determine from the outset to keep collected, and thus we are better disposed to shut out hatred from the start.
Here are some other helpful considerations:
The truth is not always victorious on this earth; that is, not the truth as it is embodied in a man, mixed with all his weaknesses and errors; for which very reason it is impossible for it always to conquer. But God is victorious, and nothing happens against his will; this alone is the true consolation when enemies assault us.
The enemies God sends a man he also takes away, as soon as they have fulfilled their purpose. “When a man’s ways please the Lord, then he sets even his enemies at peace with him.” That is a very sure sign that one stands in God’s grace.
It is much better to forget the evil one receives than to forgive it. It is easy for a remnant of bitterness to cling about forgiveness, or a kind of haughtiness, a kind of holding oneself superior to offenders “beneath one’s notice.”
Bearing a grudge, feeling resentment, taking things ill is always a mark of a rather small nature. Better take revenge; impotent hate is quite worthless and injures only yourself, not your adversary.
In the criticisms made by one’s enemies there is in most cases a grain of truth, though put in a light too sharp and one-sided. Therefore it is always well to listen to an enemy’s criticisms, but not to rate them too high nor to feel them too keenly. Above all, one should never let them impose upon him; that is always a mistake.
That men speak evil of us is hard, but it preserves us, as Thomas à Kempis says, “from the magic mist of vainglory,” and compels us to seek God, who knows our innermost heart, as our witness and judge. Then for the first time he becomes indispensable and fast bound to us.
Such a passage through ignominy is therefore especially needful for men who afterward are to bear great honors without harm.
One may accordingly be induced not to hate his enemies, not merely through motives of religion, but also through motives of prudence; for enemies not only often become friends later, but one is likewise indebted to them for very many correct views; on the other hand, those who at first are very amiable often speak a different language later on. Those who oppose one in important matters are always particularly easy to come to terms with; for they are people who have serious scruples and are open to reason. The indifferent, who interpose no objections, but also do not listen, are far more dangerous opponents.
The right programme for one’s demeanor toward enemies is not, generally speaking, that they must be crushed (as would be quite impossible in most cases), but that they are to be reconciled. Whoever keeps this constantly before his eyes will never hate too violently and will suffer much to pass by in silence that discussion would make only worse.
Wherever possible, then, we must deal with our enemies in our best and calmest frame of mind; for if we are inwardly ruffled, we are also much more inclined to an unfavorable and unjust judgment of others. Nor should we lower ourselves before them in order to gain their good-will; that seldom succeeds. Many men, many nations in fact, will not at all tolerate too much kindness.
Thus it is a great point of prudence not to come frequently, and never unnecessarily, into the company of those who are radically opposed to our conception of life. For we either suffer some loss in character, or there results a widening of the chasm.
But what, then, is there left for us to hate? or are we to explain everything away? I am far from asserting that. There is still enough left in the world worth hating, and with this, war can and must be waged. Above all, there is the spirit of being bad on principle, the spirit that purposely contends against the spirit of God, and that persecutes the good because it is good and endeavors to overthrow it. To this spirit give your vigorous and outspoken hate, wherever and in whatever form it appears; but in most cases it dies out in the men who embody it, in the third or fourth generation at the very latest. Very often it changes, in their descendants, to the opposite spirit of good.
To give help to evil men of this stripe, or to stand “impartially” between them and good men, instead of standing by the latter in every such conflict, is a serious fault that will be avenged on every one who is guilty of it.
A very difficult chapter to write is that on companionship with women, for they are the instruments of both the best and the worst that can be awakened in a man: on the one hand, unbridled self-gratification and alienation from all that is higher and nobler, qualities which they awaken especially in young people and which are the chief cause of the downfall of entire nations; on the other hand, a most efficacious uplift away from a man’s natural tendencies, to a wholly different, freer, and better conception of life. Most critics of women accordingly err in speaking of them as of a uniform mass similar in character, while, on the contrary, in this part of humanity there is a far more marked division into two distinct classes, and a much more constant retention and transmission of good as well as bad characteristics.
In a very peculiar passage of the Old Testament the same distinction is made, even in that very early stage of humanity, between the “sons of God” and the “daughters of men,” who are not lacking in outward charm, indeed, but through their very charms become a curse.
This difference in women is still to be found in our day, and so the first counsel is this: Have no unnecessary association with the “daughters of men” and guard against every closer alliance with them, no matter what may be sung by the poets, for they themselves are often led astray by just this peculiar charm of women.
In other respects, however, the difference between women and men would not be so great if their education and especially their legal position were more alike, and toward this the politics and pedagogy of to-day are striving. Christianity at any rate makes no distinction, and even the Old Testament already knows of women (even married ones) who filled the highest state offices, not of hereditary right as to-day, forsooth, but solely by virtue of their own worth, of the spirit which dwelt within. The “spirit of God” can surely dwell in every human being, and this is the thing that decides, and not the structure of the body.
Women are in general more easy to understand than men. They deceive no man for long, in the sense that he really holds the bad in them for good, but only in the sense that he prefers the bad to the good because of its sensual charm, in the false hope that this charm may be a lasting and happy one. For women, therefore, there is surely but one means of lastingly appearing to be something that they desire; and that is, to be it. Yet it is harder, though by so much the more meritorious, for them to be spiritual, good, and noble, since, instead of reaping recognition for it, they are often obliged to see exactly the opposite qualities valued and sought. A truly noble woman, therefore, stands on a higher level of moral perfection than the best man.
Furthermore, what is generally true of humanity is especially applicable to women, that those who have not experienced trouble, but have only been fed upon the pleasures of life, remain superficial and mediocre. With women the latter experience is found in even special measure, because their whole present training, in the so-called cultured circles, tends to give them the impression that a finer enjoyment of life is the real aim of their existence.
From this conception of life there results a naïve and thoughtless egotism which conceives the whole world to be only a beautiful meadow, where the women have all the flowers to gather to adorn themselves with and to please themselves with. In this egotism they often far surpass men in selfishness; the more amiable outer side of this naïveté may not blind us to this.
The character of women can very well be judged from their treatment of flowers. A girl that on her walk pulls as many flowers as possible for herself and has no desire to leave any behind for others has a tendency to greediness and pleasure-seeking. A lady who, after looking at a beautiful flower or bouquet for a short time, will permit it to lie and wither, instead of putting it in water or of making some poor child happy with it, has no warm heart. But if she pulls flowers quite to pieces, she will some day no less unconcernedly deal with men who have put their trust in her.
It is naturally still worse with the hearts of those tender creatures who with their fingers crush a harmless gnat sunning itself at the window, or purposely tread upon a little worm or beetle crawling over their path. It is well to keep oneself at a good distance from them. Likewise from all those who wear conspicuous dresses; the clothing of a true lady should never attract attention, either by being too striking or too plain.
Women do rightly, on the whole, when they act with warmth and feeling; they are rarely fitted for a merely intellectual companionship, and those who are, are not very lovable, as a rule, and have no inward peace. Even a very clever woman brings unqualified happiness only to a man at least as clever, and she is herself never happy if she has the constant feeling that she far surpasses the man. Ardent feminine natures are a great happiness for him who understands how to enjoy their companionship without blame; otherwise they are like a fire that diffuses light and warmth indeed, but may consume their own house and the houses of others. Very quiet women, on the other hand, easily grow to be somewhat insipid.
What women value most in men is power, whose complete absence they never pardon. Therefore adorers like poor Brackenburg, in Goethe’s “Egmont,” never get their deserts from them; they actually think more of the men who slight them or treat them badly than they do of men who are weak.
Most unhappy are the feelings of a noble woman when, through her own bad choice, or through the folly of her relations, she has fallen to a weakling who seeks compensation for his unmanliness in the outer world by a constant and petty mastery in the house. Dante would have had to invent yet another special punishment for these house-tyrants, against whom it is just the best women that are defenceless, and who may be governed only by a woman of strong egotism.
With this, we have come to the question of marriage. The best relationship with women not already in the family is marriage, and it is one of the chief causes of the deterioration of our age that (and in large measure on account of the pleasure-seeking and the false education of the women themselves) marriage is made difficult to a large proportion of educated men, so that they do not marry at all, or do not marry at the right age. Indeed, among the “civilized” nations, it has actually resulted in the circumstance, unfavorable for the position of women, that they are no longer valued for their own sake, but only for what they “bring along” with them.
Who in fact could wish to torment himself with cares his life long, just to support a vain creature fond of dress and pleasure, while he might, with the same means, procure a far pleasanter mode of life? This is the word pretty generally current now among the younger lords of creation, who have none too much of the spirit of sacrifice.
It is often rather doubtful whether marriage always deserves to be called a “divine” institution under present-day conditions, when the husband very commonly seeks in this way a betterment of his financial situation, or, if he belongs to the less “cultured” classes, seeks a slave to do his work without pay, while the parents of the wife wish to secure, in marriage, a life-insurance policy for their daughter, however wretched a one it may prove to be, and the daughter herself, in the momentary triumph of this social promotion, forgets the sad ensuing loss of her rights. It is one of the saddest yet commonest tragedies to see a fine, highly educated girl in the almost unlimited power of a mediocre young man, solely because many mothers still regard it as a kind of shame to keep their daughters unmarried.
We can understand why most women are glad to marry, because it is only in a good marriage that they have the opportunity of independently unfolding all the powers that lie within them. But that the selfish ones, who know how to put themselves at the right time upon a proper footing of defence, have often a better lot than the good wives, who lavish a vast amount of love, fidelity, self-sacrifice, thought, and vitality upon a questionable man of whom they have made for themselves an incorrect picture in their fancy—this is one of life’s most melancholy experiences, and one that might most make us doubt God’s justice. A woman, therefore, should never marry entirely below her station, never marry a man who is morally not entirely above suspicion, or is pettily egotistic, or is not a man of thoroughly good disposition; nor, as a rule, should she marry out of her country and nationality. But for men who are seriously struggling upward, an alliance with a high-minded woman from the better ranks of life is the method best of all suited to get quickly forward.
It will always be disputed whether it is better, in a good marriage, to seek and to find ardent love, or quiet esteem and friendship. I would decide for the latter, as a general rule; but—he who does not know the former knows not what life is.
The true and unselfish companionship of a man with a worthy woman of his home circle—wife, mother, sister, daughter, and not least, grandmother and granddaughter—undoubtedly belongs to the highest, the tenderest, the purest joys of this life, and brings out qualities in him that otherwise would always lie fallow. A marriage is not by a long way always to be called a stroke of good fortune, but an old bachelor, too, is never the man that could and should be made of him.
On the whole do not seek to know men by relying overmuch on theories. The greater part of that knowledge is attained through one’s own experiences, mostly sad ones. Only, resolve to experience nothing twice over. They who do so are the truly wise; not those, if there are any such, who make no mistakes.
Besides, our knowledge of men must not serve merely to help us separate the goats from the sheep and henceforth concern ourselves only with the latter; but it should serve to keep us from being deceived, and to enable us to work for the improvement of ourselves and of all with whom our lot brings us in touch, with a better understanding of their character. For when a man once abandons the belief that every single human soul has an infinite value and that it is worth any trouble taken to save it, then he finds himself upon an inclined plane on which he gradually slips back again into complete selfishness.
The final word as to the knowledge of men must be—love to all. Love alone enables us to know a man exactly as he is, and yet not to flee him. To know men, without love, has always been a misfortune and the cause of the profound melancholy of many wise men in all ages; it has driven them to renounce the society of their fellows, or to take refuge in the theory of absolute government. For there are only two ways of dealing with men, when one has once learned to know them—through fear, or through love. All intermediate methods are delusions.
But if any one appeals to fear, or if love is to any one only lip-service, let him hear Brother Jacopone da Todi: “That I love my neighbor I really know only when, after he has injured me, I love him no less than before. For if I then loved him less, I should thereby prove that, before, it was not he I loved, but myself.”
IV. WHAT IS CULTURE?
IV. WHAT IS CULTURE?[1]
A PROPHET of Israel of the latter days of the Kings, who himself seems to have been, in a way, self-taught, announces to his nation the oncoming of a new era in about the following words: “Behold, the days come, saith the Lord God, that I will send a famine in the land, not a famine of bread, but of the hearing of the truth. In that day shall the fair youths and maidens faint, who now are relying upon the god at Dan and the way of Beer-sheba. For they shall so fall therewith that they shall not be able to rise again.” What Amos meant by the god at Dan and the “way of Beer-sheba” is hardly to be discovered now with exactness, and indeed, for our purposes, we may leave it undetermined. Only thus much is clear from the context, that they were for the time elements of culture whose insufficiency should later come to light—as actually happened at the beginning of the Christian era.
Widely recognized phenomena of our own days fittingly remind us again of these ancient, half-forgotten words.
On the other hand, a struggle that may almost be called violent is passing through the broad masses of the nations. They are striving to win culture for themselves as quickly as possible, so that they may elevate themselves to the power which, in their view, goes hand in hand with this culture, or, as they mostly conceive it, with the acquisition of certain kinds of knowledge.
On the other hand, the upper circles of the classes hitherto known as cultured are being gripped with a kind of despair over the already attained and still attainable results of this search for knowledge for its own sake, as a renowned scientist has already plainly expressed with his well-known saying, “Ignoramus, ignorabimus,” and as is becoming actually manifest in the ever-growing specializing of the sciences. For this specializing means, at bottom, nothing less than that there is no universal knowledge any more, still less a universal culture which comprehends all that men have achieved and thought; it means that there are only isolated departments of knowledge, behind which the abyss of ignorance yawns, for the most learned specialist, no less than for the most commonplace layman.
In the young generation of the civilized nations which is growing up under such auspices, there is prevailing a certain physical and mental weariness, which makes one seriously doubt whether the whole of modern education must not be on the wrong track if, instead of producing mental and physical power and joy in the lifelong acquisition of new and newer knowledge, it only prematurely dulls and destroys all these capacities, and if it is bringing on a too weakly organized and nervous race which would as little prove a match for the onset of some horde of healthy barbarians as did, once upon a time, the Roman or Greek cosmopolitan culture, outwardly brilliant, but likewise undermined by just such over-civilization as ours.
With this, we have arrived at once at the heart of our question. By culture we must understand something greater, something other than knowledge, or learnedness in special subjects, if it is at all to be something beneficial and desirable. Relatively speaking, the most striking result of general culture must be the healthy and vigorous development of every man’s personality into a full and rounded human life, inwardly at peace. Otherwise it will be of no very definite value, either to himself or to his state.
If it does not effect this it does not justify the hopes that have, for so long a time, been set upon it, and there may stand before us a time such as humanity has already more than once experienced, when the most highly civilized peoples have been overpowered by barbarians, simply by virtue of greater physical strength and greater mental freshness and originality, and when too delicately constituted republics have not been in a condition to withstand the momentum of such onslaughts, directed by some single powerful will.
Therefore the question “What is Culture?” is a question of the life of our whole present race, as well as, in a special degree, of our native land and the nature of its government.