Schopenhauer on intellectual vanity

Arthur Schopenhauer on the perils of exhibiting intelligence [1]:

Was für ein Neuling ist doch Der, welcher wähnt, Geist und Verstand zu zeigen wäre ein Mittel, sich in Gesellschaft beliebt zu machen! Vielmehr erregen sie, bei der unberechenbar überwiegenden Mehrzahl, einen Haß und Groll, der um so bitterer ist, als der ihn Fühlende die Ursache desselben anzuklagen nicht berechtigt ist, ja, sie vor sich selbst verhehlet.

You can take a look at the original in [1]. I find the Gothic font rather hard to read and, therefore, I cannot guarantee that I made no mistakes while copying.

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Here is T. Bailey Saunders’ translation [2]:

A man must be still a greenhorn in the ways of the world, if he imagines that he can make himself popular in society by exhibiting intelligence and discernment. With the immense majority of people, such qualities excite hatred and resentment, which are rendered all the harder to bear by the fact that people are obliged to suppress–even from themselves–the real reason of their anger.

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It would most certainly be instructive to post a longer passage from Saunders’ translation in [3]:

A man must be still a greenhorn in the ways of the world, if he imagines that he can make himself popular in society by exhibiting intelligence and discernment. With the immense majority of people, such qualities excite hatred and resentment, which are rendered all the harder to bear by the fact that people are obliged to suppress—even from themselves—the real reason of their anger.

What actually takes place is this. A man feels and perceives that the person with whom he is conversing is intellectually very much his superior.

He thereupon secretly and half unconsciously concludes that his interlocutor must form a proportionately low and limited estimate of his abilities. That is a method of reasoning—an enthymeme—which rouses the bitterest feelings of sullen and rancorous hatred. And so Gracian is quite right in saying that the only way to win affection from people is to show the most animal-like simplicity of demeanor—para ser bien quisto, el unico medio vestirse la piel del mas simple de los brutos.

To show your intelligence and discernment is only an indirect way of reproaching other people for being dull and incapable. And besides, it is natural for a vulgar man to be violently agitated by the sight of opposition in any form; and in this case envy comes in as the secret cause of his hostility. For it is a matter of daily observation that people take the greatest pleasure in that which satisfies their vanity; and vanity cannot be satisfied without comparison with others. Now, there is nothing of which a man is prouder than of intellectual ability, for it is this that gives him his commanding place in the animal world. It is an exceedingly rash thing to let any one see that you are decidedly superior to him in this respect, and to let other people see it too; because he will then thirst for vengeance, and generally look about for an opportunity of taking it by means of insult, because this is to pass from the sphere of intellect to that of will—and there, all are on an equal footing as regards the feeling of hostility. Hence, while rank and riches may always reckon upon deferential treatment in society, that is something which intellectual ability can never expect; to be ignored is the greatest favor shown to it; and if people notice it at all, it is because they regard it as a piece of impertinence, or else as something to which its possessor has no legitimate right, and upon which he dares to pride himself; and in retaliation and revenge for his conduct, people secretly try and humiliate him in some other way; and if they wait to do this, it is only for a fitting opportunity. A man may be as humble as possible in his demeanor, and yet hardly ever get people to overlook his crime in standing intellectually above them. In the Garden of Roses, Sadi makes the remark:—You should know that foolish people are a hundredfold more averse to meeting the wise than the wise are indisposed for the company of the foolish.

I wonder if “Sadi” refers to the medieval Persian poet Saadi, and if “Garden of Roses” refers to Gulistan.

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References

[1] Arthur Schopenhauer, Parerga und Paralipomena: kleine philosophische Schriften, Berlin, 1851.

[2] Arthur Schopenhauer, T. Bailey Saunders (translator), Counsels and Maxims by Arthur Schopenhauer, The Echo Library, 2006.

[3] Arthur Schopenhauer, T. Bailey Saunders (translator), Counsels and Maxims from the Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer, Project Gutenberg, 2004.

Those empty, foolish dreams!

A sobering passage from Dostoevsky’s White Nights (Белые ночи):

Чувствуешь, что она наконец устает, истощается в вечном напряжении, эта неистощимая фантазия, потому что ведь мужаешь, выживаешь из прежних своих идеалов: они разбиваются в пыль, в обломки; если ж нет другой жизни, так приходится строить ее из этих же обломков. А между тем чего-то другого просит и хочет душа! И напрасно мечтатель роется, как в золе, в своих старых мечтаниях, ища в этой золе хоть какой-нибудь искорки, чтоб раздуть ее, возобновленным огнем пригреть похолодевшее сердце и воскресить в нем снова все, что было прежде так мило, что трогало душу, что кипятило кровь, что вырывало слезы из глаз и так роскошно обманывало! Знаете ли, Настенька, до чего я дошел? знаете ли, что я уже принужден справлять годовщину своих ощущений, годовщину того, что было прежде так мило, чего в сущности никогда не бывало, – потому что эта годовщина справляется все по тем же глупым, бесплотным мечтаниям, – и делать это, потому что и этих-то глупых мечтаний нет, затем, что нечем их выжить: ведь и мечты выживаются!

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A possible translation:

For, after all, you do grow up, you do outgrow your ideals, which turn to dust and ashes, which are shattered into fragments; and if you have no other life, you just have to build one up out of these fragments. And meanwhile your soul is all the time craving and longing for something else. And in vain does the dreamer rummage about in his old dreams, raking them over as though they were a heap of cinders, looking in these cinders for some spark, however tiny, to fan it into a flame so as to warm his chilled blood by it and revive in it all that he held so dear before, all that touched his heart, that made his blood course through his veins, that drew tears from his eyes, and that so splendidly deceived him! Do you realise, Nastenka, how far things have gone with me? Do you know that I’m forced now to celebrate the anniversary of my own sensations, the anniversary of that which was once so dear to me, but which never really existed? For I keep this anniversary in memory of those empty, foolish dreams! I keep it because even those foolish dreams are no longer there, because I have nothing left with which to replace them, for even dreams, Nastenka, have to be replaced by something!

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Source:

Федор Михайлович Достоевский, Белые ночи, 1848.

The former are the happier

A delightfully trenchant passage from Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Idiot (part IV, ch. I):

В самом деле, нет ничего досаднее, как быть, например, богатым, порядочной фамилии, приличной наружности, недурно образованным, неглупым, даже добрым, и в то же время не иметь никакого таланта, никакой особенности, никакого даже чудачества, ни одной своей собственной идеи, быть решительно «как и все». Богатство есть, но не Ротшильдово; фамилия честная, но ничем никогда себя не ознаменовавшая; наружность приличная, но очень мало выражающая; образование порядочное, но не знаешь, на что его употребить; ум есть, но без своих идей; сердце есть, но без великодушия, и т. д., и т. д. во всех отношениях. Таких людей на свете чрезвычайное множество и даже гораздо более, чем кажется; они разделяются, как и все люди, на два главные разряда: одни ограниченные, другие «гораздо поумнее». Первые счастливее. Ограниченному «обыкновенному» человеку нет, например, ничего легче, как вообразить себя человеком необыкновенным и оригинальным и усладиться тем без всяких колебаний.

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Here’s Julius Katzer’s translation (1985):

Indeed, nothing is more vexing than to be, for instance, wealthy, of good family, passable in looks, fairly well educated and intelligent, and even kindly, and yet to possess no talent, no outstanding feature or even quirk, not a single idea of one’s own, and to be positively “just like anybody else”. There is wealth, but far less than the Rothschilds possess; the family is an honorable one, but has never won the least distinction; one’s looks are pleasant enough, but express nothing in particular; one’s education is quite sound, but one has no idea of what to direct it towards; one has intelligence but no ideas of one’s own; one has a kind heart but no magnanimity, and so and so forth, on all counts. There is a vast multitude of such people in the world, and even far more than may seem. Like all other people, they fall into two categories: those of limited intelligence, and those that are “far cleverer than most”. The former are the happier. To the “common-place” man of limited intelligence, for instance, nothing is easier than to imagine that he is exceptional and original, and to derive the utmost enjoyment therefrom, without the least hesitation.

And here’s another translation (1913):

There is, indeed, nothing more annoying than to be, for instance, wealthy, of good family, nice-looking, fairly intelligent, and even good-natured, and yet to have no talents, no special faculty, no peculiarity even, not one idea of one’s own, to be precisely “like other people.” To have a fortune, but not the wealth of the Rothschild; to be of an honorable family, but one which has never distinguished itself in any way; to have a decent intelligence, but no ideas of one’s own; to have a good heart, but without any greatness of soul; and so and so on. There is an extraordinary multitude of such people in the world, far more than it appears. They may, like all other people, be divided into two classes: some of limited intelligence; others much cleverer. The first are happier. Nothing is easier for “ordinary” people of limited intelligence than to imagine themselves exceptional and original and revel in that delusion without the slightest misgiving.

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Source:

Федор Михайлович Достоевский, Идиот, 1868.

Ein blutiger Schleier vor den Augen

A passage from Ernst Jünger‘s brutal In Stahlgewittern:

Andererseits muß ein Verteidiger, der dem Angreifer bis auf fünf Schritt seine Geschosse durch den Leib jagt, die Konsequenzen tragen. Der Kämpfer, dem während des Anlaufs ein blutiger Schleier vor den Augen wallte, kann seine Gefühle nicht mehr umstellen. Er will nicht gefangennehmen; er will töten. Er hat jedes Ziel aus den Augen verloren und steht im Banne gewaltiger Urtriebe. Erst, wenn Blut geflossen ist, weichen die Nebel aus seinem Hirn; er sieht sich um wie aus schwerem Traum erwachend. Erst dann ist er wieder moderner Soldat, imstande, eine neue taktische Aufgabe zu lösen.

A possible translation:

The defending force, after driving their bullets into the attacking one at five paces’ distance, must take the consequences. A man cannot change his feelings with a veil of blood before his eyes. He does not want to take prisoners but to kill. He has no scruples left; only the spell of primeval instinct remains. It is not till blood has flowed that the mist gives way to his soul. Only then is he once again a modern soldier able to solve a new tactical task.

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Source:

Ernst Jünger, In Stahlgewittern, Berlin 1922.