Happiness: Essays on the meaning of life

by Karl Hilty

Such is the essence of that worldly wisdom which is the creed of many cultivated people to-day. With it disappears, of course, any need of moral or religious education. Such instruction in schools might as well be abandoned. Indeed, Saint-Just made the original suggestion that instead of such instruction there should be substituted the daily study of the placards posted on the street corners which announce the police regulations of the government as to the conduct of life. Under such a theory of education, young people would grow immensely clever and practical. They would be trained to get and to keep. They would be free from every sentiment of honor which might be a hindrance in their path. Most of them, it must be confessed, would, early in life, lose physical, intellectual, and moral vigor, and others would lament, perhaps too late, that their youth had been sacrificed to that which was not worth their seeking. At the best, they would acquire but uncertain possessions to be defended daily against a thousand competitors, and these possessions would bring bitterness along with them, both to those who have them and to those who have them not. Peace and happiness would be secured to no one. Such seems to be the issue of this view of life which is now so common among us, and which we call the view of the “practical” man.

But what is idealism? It is, as I understand it, a form of faith, an inward conviction. It is absolutely necessary for the permanence of the world; yet it never can be proved true, and indeed for him who has it needs no proof. Further, no one becomes an idealist by being taught about it or by reasoning concerning it. Nor is this so strange as it might seem, for the very trustworthiness of the human reason itself is proved to us only by experience. The very truths of religion remain unproved unless the moral power which issues from them provides their proof. That which has power must have reality. No other proof of reality is final. Even our senses could not convince us, if our experience and the experience of all other men did not assure us that we could—not unconditionally, but under normal conditions—trust them not to deceive. That which brings conviction to one is his experience, and that which rouses in him the desire and the inward disposition to believe in his own experience is the testimony of others who have had that experience themselves.

There is a short treatise, written by one who in his youth was a friend of Goethe’s,—the Russian General von Klinger,—which gives its testimony in a few words concerning this idealism in practical life. It may be found in von Klinger’s rarely opened works, under the title: “How it is possible without deceit, and even in constant conflict with evil, to overcome the world.” Its contents are simply a series of weighty aphorisms, of which I select a few:

“First of all,” says von Klinger, “one who would overcome the world must give up thinking of what people call happiness, and must with all his might, without indirectness, or fear, or self-seeking, simply do his duty. He must, that is to say, be pure in mind and heart, so that none of his actions shall be stained by selfishness. Where justice and right-dealing are called for, there must be in him no distinction of great or small, of significant or insignificant....

“Secondly, for the protection of his own strength and his purity of conduct, he must be free from the desire to shine, free from the shallowness of vanity and the restless search for fame and power. Most human follies proceed from the restlessness of ambition. Ambition demoralizes both those whom it masters and those through whom it accomplishes its ends. The boldest and most candid criticism does not wound so deeply as does the foolish longing for praise....

“Again, one who is thus pure in motive will permit himself to be conspicuous only when and where his duty demands it. For the rest, he will live a life of seclusion in his family, with few friends, among his books, and in the world of the spirit. Thus he avoids that conflict with others about trifles which to many persons are of such absorbing concern. One may be pardoned for eccentricity in such affairs by having no place at all among them. His life does not touch the circle of society, and he asks of society only to let him do his duty, and then to be permitted to live in peace. It may be that he will thus stir others to envy or to hate, but it will be an envy and hate too petty for expression, or at any rate ineffective for harm. He who has thus withdrawn from trifles gets much out of life. Indeed, he gets more than he expects and more than he has intended; for he finally gains that which men in its coarser sense call happiness....

“To all this,” says von Klinger, “I add another point: that one must withhold himself from all ambition to pose as a reformer and from all signs of that desire. He must not enter into controversy about opinions with people who have nothing but opinions. He must speak of himself only to himself and think of himself only in himself.... I have developed,” concludes von Klinger, “my own character and my own inner experience as my power and disposition have permitted; and so far as I have done this seriously and honestly, so far has come to me of itself what men call happiness and prosperity. I have observed myself more deeply than others and dealt with myself more unsparingly than with others. I have never played a part, never felt inclined thereto, and have ever expressed the convictions I have reached without fear, and have held them fast, so that I now no more fear the possibility of being or doing other than my convictions demand. One is safe from the temptations of others only when one can no more tempt himself. I have borne many responsibilities, but at the conclusion of each I have passed the rest of my time in the profoundest solitude and the most complete obscurity.”[1]

The author of these weighty aphorisms was dealing especially with political life. He does not seek for them any philosophical basis. He offers them simply as the result of his stirring and often adventurous career, and as such his testimony is far more valuable than if it had issued from the closet of a philosopher or a theologian who had slight contact with practical affairs. It is not my intention to translate these suggestions into abstract form and make them less real and persuasive. I only desire to annotate them with a few practical comments.

I. Concerning von Klinger’s first proposition, it is to be said that true idealism is not the deceiving of oneself concerning reality, or the intentional ignoring of reality, or the hiding from reality, or the creating for oneself a world of unreality. Idealism, on the contrary, is reached by a deeper interpretation of the world, by victory over it and especially by victory over oneself. For we, too, are an integral part of the world and we cannot conquer the whole unless, first of all, we conquer our own part of it, by strength of principles and force of habit. Hence issues that right judgment of success which von Klinger lays down. One of our own contemporaries, Thiers, a man who had in high degree attained success, and who at certain points in his life pursued it with excessive zeal, once made this striking remark: “Men of principle need not succeed. Success is necessary only to schemers.” In other words, a genuine victory over the world is not to be achieved through that kind of success which the French call succès and which for many men makes the end of effort. He who plays this game of ambition may as well abandon the hope of peace of mind or of peace with others, and in most cases he must forfeit outright his self-respect.

Real success in life, then, the attainment of the highest human perfection and of true and fruitful activity, necessarily and repeatedly involves outward failure. Success, to von Klinger, means an honorable career with victory at its close. The work of life is regarded in its wholeness, as a brave and honorable man should wish and hope it to be. Unbroken success is necessary only for cowards. Indeed, one may go further and say that the secret of the highest success in important affairs often lies in failure. The men who have most completely commanded the admiration of the world, and who are most conspicuous in history, are not those who have reached the goal of life through success alone. Cæsar and Napoleon would have been remembered only as examples of tyranny if it had not been for Brutus, Waterloo and St. Helena. The Maid of Orléans would be recalled as a masterful woman like many others had it not been for her martyrdom. Hannibal would be no noble example if Carthage had conquered. A traitor like Charles I. of England is still held in high honor by many persons who cannot endure the memory of the most heroic character in modern history,—Cromwell. Had Cromwell died on the scaffold and Charles on the throne, this estimate of them would have been reversed. The life of the Emperor Frederick III. is another example and will be a still more impressive one as the better future looks back on it. The greatest example of all, the cross, the gallows of its time, became for all the world a sign of honor and subdued to itself the power of Rome. Looking at Christianity in a wholly human and untheological way, one may believe that its unexampled success would not have been possible if the scholars and scribes of that day had welcomed it. Something of such failure comes with all right ways of life. Without it, life sinks in the rut of commonplace. This kind of failure should not bear the common reproach of misfortune. It is, on the contrary, the crown of thorns which marks the way of the cross, and proves to be the true crown after all.