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Homework answers / question archive / I am a sick man

I am a sick man

Sociology

I am a sick man.... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a doc- tor for it, and never have, though I have a 6 | respect for medicine and doctors. Besides, I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to respect medicine, anyway (I am well-edu- cated enough not to be superstitious, but I am superstitious). No, I refuse to consult a doctor from spite. That you probably will not understand. Well, I understand it, though. Of course, I can't explain who it is precisely that I am mortifying in this case by my spite: I am perfectly well aware that I cannot "pay out" the doctors by not consulting them; I know better than anyone that by all this I am only injuring myself and no one else. But still, if I don't consult a doctor it is from spite. My liver is bad, well--let it get worse! I have been going on like that for a long time--twenty years. Now I am forty. I used to be in the government service, but am no longer. I was a spiteful official. I was rude and took pleasure in being so. I did not take bribes, you see, so I was bound to find a rec- mpense in that, at least. (A poor jest, but I will not scratch it out. I wrote it thinking it would sound very witty; but now that I have seen myself that I only wanted to show off in a despicable way, I will not scratch it out on purpose!) When petitioners used to come for in- formation to the table at which I sat, I used to grind my teeth at them, and felt intense enjoyment when I succeeded in making any- body unhappy. I almost did succeed. For the most part they were all timid people--of course, they were petitioners. But of the up- pish ones there was one officer in particular I could not endure. He simply would not be humble, and clanked his sword in a disgust- ing way. I carried on a feud with him for eighteen months over that sword. At last I got the better of him. He left off clanking it. That happened in my youth, though. But do you know, gentlemen, what was the chief point about my spite? Why, the whole point, the real sting of it lay in the fact that continually, even in the moment of the acutest spleen, I was inwardly conscious with shame that I was not only not a spite- ful but not even an embittered man, that I was simply scaring sparrows at random and amusing myself by it. I might foam at the mouth, but bring me a doll to play with, give me a cup of tea with sugar in it, and maybe I should be appeased. I might even be genu- inely touched, though probably I should grind my teeth at myself afterwards and lie awake at night with shame for months after. That was my way. I was lying when I said just now that I was a spiteful official. I was lying from spite. I was simply amusing myself with the peti- tioners and with the officer, and in reality I never could become spiteful. I was conscious every moment in myself of many, very many elements absolutely opposite to that. I felt them positively swarming in me, these op- posite elements. I knew that they had been swarming in me all my life and craving some outlet from me, but I would not let them, would not let them, purposely would not let them come out. They tormented me till I was ashamed: they drove me to convulsions and--sickened me, at last, how they sickened me! Now, are not you fancying, gentlemen, that I am expressing remorse for some- thing now, that I am asking your forgiveness for something? I am sure you are fancying that ... However, I assure you I do not care if you are.... It was not only that I could not become spiteful, I did not know how to become any- thing; neither spiteful nor kind, neither a 7 8. 8 Answer: Of himself. Well, so I will talk about myself. rascal nor an honest man, neither a hero nor an insect. Now, I am living out my life in my corner, taunting myself with the spiteful and useless consolation that an intelligent man cannot become anything seriously, and it is only the fool who becomes anything. Yes, a man in the nineteenth century must and morally ought to be pre-eminently a char- acterless creature; a man of character, an active man is pre-eminently a limited crea- ture. That is my conviction of forty years. I am forty years old now, and you know forty years is a whole lifetime; you know it is extreme old age. To live longer than forty years is bad manners, is vulgar, immoral. Who does live beyond forty? Answer that, sincerely and honestly I will tell you who do: fools and worthless fellows. I tell all old men that to their face, all these venerable old men, all these silver-haired and reverend se- niors! I tell the whole world that to its face! I have a right to say so, for I shall go on living to sixty myself. To seventy! To eighty! ... Stay, let me take breath ... You imagine no doubt, gentlemen, that I want to amuse you. You are mistaken in that, too. I am by no means such a mirthful person as you imagine, or as you may imagine; how- ever, irritated by all this babble (and I feel that you are irritated) you think fit to ask me who I am--then my answer is, I am a collegi- ate assessor. I was in the service that I might have something to eat (and solely for that reason), and when last year a distant relation left me six thousand roubles in his will I im- mediately retired from the service and set- tled down in my corner. I used to live in this corner before, but now I have settled down in it. My room is a wretched, horrid one in the outskirts of the town. My servant is an old country-woman, ill-natured from stu- pidity, and, moreover, there is always a nasty smell about her. I am told that the Petersburg climate is bad for me, and that with my small means it is very expensive to live in Peters- burg. I know all that better than all these sage and experienced counsellors and moni- tors.... But I am remaining in Petersburg; I am not going away from Petersburg! I am not going away because ... ech! Why, it is abso- lutely no matter whether I am going away or not going away. But what can a decent man speak of with most pleasure? II I want now to tell you, gentlemen, whether you care to hear it or not, why I could not even become an insect. I tell you solemnly, that I have many times tried to be- come an insect. But I was not equal even to that. I swear, gentlemen, that to be too con- scious is an illness--a real thorough-going illness. For man's everyday needs, it would have been quite enough to have the ordinary human consciousness, that is, half or a quar- ter of the amount which falls to the lot of a cultivated man of our unhappy nineteenth century, especially one who has the fatal ill-luck to inhabit Petersburg, the most the- oretical and intentional town on the whole terrestrial globe. (There are intentional and unintentional towns.) It would have been quite enough, for instance, to have the con- sciousness by which all so-called direct per- sons and men of action live. I bet you think I am writing all this from affectation, to be witty at the expense of men of action, and 9 ????? ?????? Welcom al clanking sword like my officer. But pride inseamna ORO Whether other people cel such enjoyment? I will explain the enjoy mentals us from Detergenom a man in the nineteenth century must and morally ought to be pre-eminently a char- acterless creature; a man of character, an active man is pre-eminently a limited crea- ture. That is my conviction of forty years. I am forty years old now, and you know forty years is a whole lifetime; you know it is extreme old age. To live longer than forty years is bad manners, is vulgar, immoral. Who does live beyond forty? Answer that, sincerely and honestly I will tell you who do: fools and worthless fellows. I tell all old men that to their face, all these venerable old men, all these silver-haired and reverend se- niors! I tell the whole world that to its face! I have a right to say so, for I shall go on living to sixty myself. To seventy! To eighty! ... Stay, let me take breath ... You imagine no doubt, gentlemen, that I want to amuse you. You are mistaken in that, too. I am by no means such a mirthful person reason), and when last year a distant relation left me six thousand roubles in his will I im- mediately retired from the service and set- tled down in my corner. I used to live in this corner before, but now I have settled down in it. My room is a wretched, horrid one in the outskirts of the town. My servant is an old country-womu-natured from stu- pidit nasty smel burg clim mall meal tain events in his life- ters- AUTHOR'S NOTE hese sage honi- tors.. irg; 1 amn h not goin abso- lutel ay or actual notes of this person concerning cer whether you care to hear it or not, why I could not even become an insect. I tell you solemnly, that I have many times tried to be- come an insect. But I was not equal even to that. I swear, gentlemen, that to be too con- scious is an illness--a real thorough-going illness. For man's everyday needs, it would have been quite enough to have the ordinary human consciousness, that is, half or a quar- ter of the amount which falls to the lot of a cultivated man of our unhappy nineteenth century, especially one who has the fatal ill-luck to inhabit Petersburg, the most the- oretical and intentional town on the whole terrestrial globe. (There are intentional and unintentional towns.) It would have been quite enough, for instance, to have the con- sciousness by which all so-called direct per- sons and men of action live. I bet you think I am writing all this from affectation, to be witty at the expense of men of action; and burg note with most 1 I am a sick man... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a doc 9 Back to 6 9 II what is more, that from ill-bred affectation, I am clanking a sword like my officer. But, gentlemen, whoever can pride himself on his diseases and even swagger over them? Though, after all, everyone does do that; people do pride themselves on their diseases, and I do, may be, more than anyone. We will not dispute it; my contention was absurd. But yet I am firmly persuaded that a great deal of consciousness, every sort of con- sciousness, in fact, is a disease. I stick to that. Let us leave that, too, for a minute. Tell me this: why does it happen that at the very, yes, at the very moments when I am most cap- able of feeling every refinement of all that is "sublime and beautiful," as they used to say at one time, it would, as though of design, happen to me not only to feel but to do such ugly things, such that ... Well, in short, ac- tions that all, perhaps, commit; but which, as though purposely, occurred to me at the very time when I was most conscious that they ought not to be committed. The more con- scious I was of goodness and of all that was "sublime and beautiful," the more deeply I sank into my mire and the more ready I was to sink in it altogether. But the chief point was that all this was, as it were, not acciden- tal in me, but as though it were bound to be so. It was as though it were my most normal condition, and not in the least disease or de- pravity, so that at last all desire in me to struggle against this depravity passed. It ended by my almost believing (perhaps actu- ally believing) that this was perhaps my nor- mal condition. But at first, in the beginning, what agonies I endured in that struggle! I did not believe it was the same with other people, and all my life I hid this fact about myself as a secret. I was ashamed (even now, perhaps, I am ashamed): I got to the point of feeling a sort of secret abnormal, despicable enjoyment in returning home to my corner some disgusting Petersburg night, acutely conscious that that day I had com- mitted a loathsome action again, that what was done could never be undone, and se- cretly, inwardly gnawing, gnawing at myself for it, tearing and consuming myself till at last the bitterness turned into a sort of shameful accursed sweetness, and at last- into positive real enjoyment! Yes, into enjoy- ment, into enjoyment! I insist upon that. I have spoken of this because I keep wanting to know for a fact whether other people feel such enjoyment? I will explain; the enjoy- ment was just from the too intense con- sciousness of one's own degradation; it was from feeling oneself that one had reached the last barrier, that it was horrible, but that it could not be otherwise; that there was no escape for you; that you never could become a different man; that even if time and faith were still left you to change into something different you would most likely not wish to change; or if you did wish to, even then you would do nothing; because perhaps in reality there was nothing for you to change into. And the worst of it was, and the root of it all, that it was all in accord with the normal fundamental laws of over-acute conscious- ness, and with the inertia that was the direct result of those laws, and that consequently one was not only unable to change but could do absolutely nothing. Thus it would follow, as the result of acute consciousness, that one is not to blame in being a scoundrel; as though that were any consolation to the scoundrel once he has come to realise that he actually is a scoundrel. But enough.... Ech, I have talked a lot of nonsense, but what have on 10 11 11 III I explained? How is enjoyment in this to be explained? But I will explain it. I will get to the bottom of it! That is why I have taken up my pen.... I, for instance, have a great deal of AMOUR PROPRE. I am as suspicious and prone to take offence as a humpback or a dwarf. But upon my word I sometimes have had moments when if I had happened to be slapped in the face I should, perhaps, have been positively glad of it. I say, in earnest, that I should probably have been able to discover even in that a peculiar sort of enjoyment--the enjoyment, of course, of despair; but in despair there are the most intense enjoyments, especially when one is very acutely conscious of the hopelessness of one's position. And when one is slapped in the face--why then the consciousness of being rubbed into a pulp would positively overwhelm one. The worst of it is, look at it which way one will, it still turns out that I was always the most to blame in every- thing. And what is most humiliating of all, to blame for no fault of my own but, so to say, through the laws of nature. In the first place, to blame because I am cleverer than any of the people surrounding me. (I have always considered myself cleverer than any of the people surrounding me, and some- times, would you believe it, have been posi- tively ashamed of it. At any rate, I have all my life, as it were, turned my eyes away and never could look people straight in the face.) To blame, finally, because even if I had had magnanimity, I should only have had more suffering from the sense of its useless- ness. I should certainly have never been able to do anything from being magnanimous- neither to forgive, for my assailant would perhaps have slapped me from the laws of nature, and one cannot forgive the laws of nature; nor to forget, for even if it were owing to the laws of nature, it is insulting all the same. Finally, even if I had wanted to be anything but magnanimous, had desired on the contrary to revenge myself on my assail- ant, I could not have revenged myself on any one for anything because I should certainly never have made up my mind to do any- thing, even if I had been able to. Why should I not have made up my mind? About that in particular I want to say a few words. With people who know how to revenge themselves and to stand up for themselves in general, how is it done? Why, when they are possessed, let us suppose, by the feeling of revenge, then for the time there is nothing else but that feeling left in their whole being. Such a gentleman simply dashes straight for his object like an infuriated bull with its horns down, and nothing but a wall will stop him. (By the way: facing the wall, such gentlemen--that is, the "direct" persons and men of action--are genuinely nonplussed. For them a wall is not an evasion, as for us people who think and consequently do noth- ing; it is not an excuse for turning aside, an excuse for which we are always very glad, though we scarcely believe in it ourselves, as a rule. No, they are nonplussed in all sincer- ity. The wall has for them something tran- 11 12 13 ????? ?????? GUSTOMERS eve SOTED health TRONG THI?T Laugh the healthy sides ache On COSE the only the fort to dismiss all that with a wave of its paw, and with a les se contempo does not even itself believe, creep ignominious Well earnest, that I should probably have been able to discover even in that a peculiar sort of enjoyment--the enjoyment, of course, of despair; but in despair there are the most intense enjoyments, especially when one is very acutely conscious of the hopelessness of one's position. And when one is slapped in the face--why then the consciousness of being rubbed into a pulp would positively overwhelm one. The worst of it is, look at it which way one will, it still turns out that I was always the most to blame in every- thing. And what is most humiliating of all, to blame for no fault of my own but, so to say, through the laws of nature. In the first place, to blame because I am cleverer than to do anything from being magnanimous-- neither to forgive, for my assailant would perhaps have slapped me from the laws of nature, and one cannot forgive the laws of nature; nor to forget, for even if it were owing to the laws of nature, it is insulting all the same. Finally, even if I had wanted to be anything but magna nous, had desired on the c ssail- ant, any one 1 ainly actual notes of this person concerning cer- neve tain events in his life. any- thing AUTHOR'S NOTE ould I not lat in general, now wry, wien uley are possessed, let us suppose, by the feeling of revenge, then for the time there is nothing else but that feeling left in their whole being. Such a gentleman simply dashes straight for his object like an infuriated bull with its horns down, and nothing but a wall will stop him. (By the way: facing the wall, such gentlemen--that is, the "direct" persons and men of action--are genuinely nonplussed. For them a wall is not an evasion, as for us people who think and consequently do noth- ing; it is not an excuse for turning aside, an excuse for which we are always very glad, though we scarcely believe in it ourselves, as a rule. No, they are nonplussed in all sincer- ity. The wall has for them something tran- parti 11 1 13 I am a sick man.... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a doc Back to 6 quillising, morally soothing, final--maybe even something mysterious ... but of the wall later.) Well, such a direct person I regard as the real normal man, as his tender mother na- ture wished to see him when she graciously brought him into being on the earth. I envy such a man till I am green in the face. He is stupid. I am not disputing that, but perhaps the normal man should be stupid, how do you know? Perhaps it is very beautiful, in fact. And I am the more persuaded of that suspicion, if one can call it so, by the fact that if you take, for instance, the antithesis of the normal man, that is, the man of acute con- sciousness, who has come, of course, not out of the lap of nature but out of a retort (this is almost mysticism, gentlemen, but I suspect this, too), this retort-made man is some- times so nonplussed in the presence of his antithesis that with all his exaggerated con- sciousness he genuinely thinks of himself as a mouse and not a man. It may be an acutely conscious mouse, yet it is a mouse, while the other is a man, and therefore, et caetera, et caetera. And the worst of it is, he himself, his very own self, looks on himself as a mouse; no one asks him to do so; and that is an im- portant point. Now let us look at this mouse in action. Let us suppose, for instance, that it feels insulted, too (and it almost always does feel insulted), and wants to revenge itself, too. There may even be a greater accumula- tion of spite in it than in L'HOMME DE LA NATURE ET DE LA VERITE. The base and nasty desire to vent that spite on its assailant rankles perhaps even more nastily in it than in L'HOMME DE LA NATURE ET DE LA VER- ITE. For through his innate stupidity the lat- ter looks upon his revenge as justice pure and simple; while in consequence of his acute consciousness the mouse does not believe in the justice of it. To come at last to the deed it- self, to the very act of revenge. Apart from the one fundamental nastiness the luckless mouse succeeds in creating around it so many other nastinesses in the form of doubts and questions, adds to the one ques- tion so many unsettled questions that there inevitably works up around it a sort of fatal brew, a stinking mess, made up of its doubts, emotions, and of the contempt spat upon it by the direct men of action who stand sol- emnly about it as judges and arbitrators, laughing at it till their healthy sides ache. Of course the only thing left for it is to dismiss all that with a wave of its paw, and, with a smile of assumed contempt in which it does not even itself believe, creep ignominiously into its mouse-hole. There in its nasty, stink- ing, underground home our insulted, crushed and ridiculed mouse promptly be- comes absorbed in cold, malignant and, above all, everlasting spite. For forty years together it will remember its injury down to the smallest, most ignominious details, and every time will add, of itself, details still more ignominious, spitefully teasing and tormenting itself with its own imagination. It will itself be ashamed of its imaginings, but yet it will recall it all, it will go over and over every detail, it will invent unheard of things against itself, pretending that those things might happen, and will forgive noth- ing. Maybe it will begin to revenge itself, too, but, as it were, piecemeal, in trivial ways, from behind the stove, incognito, without believing either in its own right to ven- geance, or in the success of its revenge, knowing that from all its efforts at revenge it will suffer a hundred times more than he on 13 14 14 whom it revenges itself, while he, I daresay, will not even scratch himself. On its death- bed it will recall it all over again, with inter- est accumulated over all the years and... But it is just in that cold, abominable half despair, half belief, in that conscious bury- ing oneself alive for grief in the underworld for forty years, in that acutely recognised and yet partly doubtful hopelessness of one's position, in that hell of unsatisfied desires turned inward, in that fever of oscillations, of resolutions determined for ever and re- pented of again a minute later--that the sa- vour of that strange enjoyment of which I have spoken lies. It is so subtle, so difficult of analysis, that persons who are a little limited, or even simply persons of strong nerves, will not understand a single atom of it. "Possibly," you will add on your own ac- count with a grin, "people will not under- stand it either who have never received a slap in the face," and in that way you will politely hint to me that I, too, perhaps, have had the experience of a slap in the face in my life, and so I speak as one who knows. I bet that you are thinking that. But set your minds at rest, gentlemen, I have not received a slap in the face, though it is absolutely a matter of in- difference to me what you may think about it. Possibly, I even regret, myself, that I have given so few slaps in the face during my life. But enough ... not another word on that sub- ject of such extreme interest to you. I will continue calmly concerning per- sons with strong nerves who do not under- stand a certain refinement of enjoyment. Though in certain circumstances these gentlemen bellow their loudest like bulls, though this, let us suppose, does them the greatest credit, yet, as I have said already, confronted with the impossible they sub- side at once. The impossible means the stone wall! What stone wall? Why, of course, the laws of nature, the deductions of natural sci- ence, mathematics. As soon as they prove to you, for instance, that you are descended from a monkey, then it is no use scowling, accept it for a fact. When they prove to you that in reality one drop of your own fat must be dearer to you than a hundred thousand of your fellow-creatures, and that this conclu- sion is the final solution of all so-called vir- tues and duties and all such prejudices and fancies, then you have just to accept it, there is no help for it, for twice two is a law of mathematics. Just try refuting it. "Upon my word, they will shout at you, it is no use protesting: it is a case of twice two makes four! Nature does not ask your permission, she has nothing to do with your wishes, and whether you like her laws or dis- like them, you are bound to accept her as she is, and consequently all her conclusions. A wall, you see, is a wall ... and so on, and so on." Merciful Heavens! but what do I care for the laws of nature and arithmetic, when, for some reason I dislike those laws and the fact that twice two makes four? Of course I cannot break through the wall by batter- ing my head against it if I really have not the strength to knock it down, but I am not going to be reconciled to it simply because it is a stone wall and I have not the strength. As though such a stone wall really were a consolation, and really did contain some word of conciliation, simply because it is as true as twice two makes four. Oh, absurd- ity of absurdities! How much better it is to understand it all, to recognise it all, all the impossibilities and the stone wall; not to 15 15 16 be reconciled to one of those impossibilities and stone walls if it disgusts you to be rec- ????? IIIII ?????? MORE ble through agent Leand then det th is as clear as day you are not to blame in the least, and therefore grinding your teeth in silent impotence to sink into luxurious iner- tia, brooding on the fact that there is no one even for you to feel vindictive against, that you have not, and perhaps never will have, an object for your spite, that it is a sleight of hand, a bit of juggling, a card-sharper's trick, that it is simply a mess, no knowing what and no knowing who, but in spite of all these uncertainties and jugglings, still there is an ache in you, and the more you do not know, the worse the ache. actual notes of this person concerning cer- tain events in his life- AUTHOR'S NOTE IV "Ha, ha, ha! You will be finding enjoy- ment in toothache next," you cry, with a laugh. "Well, even in toothache there is enjoy- ment," I answer. I had toothache for a whole 1 I am a sick man.... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a doc 16 Back to 6 IV month and I know there is. In that case, of course, people are not spiteful in silence, but moan; but they are not candid moans, they are malignant moans, and the malignancy is the whole point. The enjoyment of the sufferer finds expression in those moans; if he did not feel enjoyment in them he would not moan. It is a good example, gentlemen, and I will develop it. Those moans express in the first place all the aimlessness of your pain, which is so humiliating to your con- sciousness; the whole legal system of nature on which you spit disdainfully, of course, but from which you suffer all the same while she does not. They express the consciousness that you have no enemy to punish, but that you have pain; the consciousness that in spite of all possible Wagenheims you are in complete slavery to your teeth; that if some- one wishes it, your teeth will leave off ach- ing, and if he does not, they will go on aching another three months, and that finally if you are still contumacious and still protest, all that is left you for your own gratification is to thrash yourself or beat your wall with your fist as hard as you can, and absolutely nothing more. Well, these mortal insults, these jeers on the part of someone unknown, end at last in an enjoyment which some- times reaches the highest degree of voluptu- ousness. I ask you, gentlemen, listen some- times to the moans of an educated man of the nineteenth century suffering from toothache, on the second or third day of the attack, when he is beginning to moan, not as he moaned on the first day, that is, not sim- ply because he has toothache, not just as any coarse peasant, but as a man affected by pro- gress and European civilisation, a man who is "divorced from the soil and the national elements," as they express it now-a-days. His moans become nasty, disgustingly malig- nant, and go on for whole days and nights. And of course he knows himself that he is doing himself no sort of good with his moans; he knows better than anyone that he is only lacerating and harassing himself and others for nothing; he knows that even the audience before whom he is making his efforts, and his whole family, listen to him with loathing, do not put a ha'porth of faith in him, and inwardly understand that he might moan differently, more simply, with- out trills and flourishes, and that he is only amusing himself like that from ill-humour, from malignancy. Well, in all these recogni- tions and disgraces it is that there lies a vo- luptuous pleasure. As though he would say: "I am worrying you, I am lacerating your hearts, I am keeping everyone in the house awake. Well, stay awake then, you, too, feel every minute that I have toothache. I am not a hero to you now, as I tried to seem before, but simply a nasty person, an impostor. Well, so be it, then! I am very glad that you see through me. It is nasty for you to hear my de- spicable moans: well, let it be nasty; here I will let you have a nastier flourish in a minute...." You do not understand even now, gentlemen? No, it seems our development and our consciousness must go further to understand all the intricacies of this pleas- ure. You laugh? Delighted. My jests, gentle- men, are of course in bad taste, jerky, in- volved, lacking self-confidence. But of course that is because I do not respect myself. Can a man of perception respect himself at all? V Come, can a man who attempts to find enjoyment in the very feeling of his own 17 17 18. V degradation possibly have a spark of respect for himself? I am not saying this now from any mawkish kind of remorse. And, indeed, I could never endure saying, "Forgive me, Papa, I won't do it again," not because I am incapable of saying that--on the contrary, perhaps just because I have been too capable of it, and in what a way, too. As though of de- sign I used to get into trouble in cases when I was not to blame in any way. That was the nastiest part of it. At the same time I was genuinely touched and penitent, I used to shed tears and, of course, deceived myself, though I was not acting in the least and there was a sick feeling in my heart at the time.... For that one could not blame even the laws of nature, though the laws of nature have con- tinually all my life offended me more than anything. It is loathsome to remember it all, but it was loathsome even then. Of course, a minute or so later I would realise wrathfully that it was all a lie, a revolting lie, an affected lie, that is, all this penitence, this emotion, these vows of reform. You will ask why did I worry myself with such antics: answer, be- cause it was very dull to sit with one's hands folded, and so one began cutting capers. That is really it. Observe yourselves more care- fully, gentlemen, then you will understand that it is so. I invented adventures for myself and made up a life, so as at least to live in some way. How many times it has happened to me--well, for instance, to take offence sim- ply on purpose, for nothing; and one knows oneself, of course, that one is offended at nothing; that one is putting it on, but yet one brings oneself at last to the point of being really offended. All my life I have had an im- pulse to play such pranks, so that in the end I could not control it in myself. Another time, twice, in fact, I tried hard to be in love. I suffered, too, gentlemen, I assure you. In the depth of my heart there was no faith in my suffering, only a faint stir of mockery, but yet I did suffer, and in the real, orthodox way; I was jealous, beside myself ... and it was all from ENNUI, gentlemen, all from ENNUI; in- ertia overcame me. You know the direct, le- gitimate fruit of consciousness is inertia, that is, conscious sitting-with-the-hands- folded. I have referred to this already. I re- peat, I repeat with emphasis: all "direct" per- sons and men of action are active just be- cause they are stupid and limited. How ex- plain that? I will tell you: in consequence of their limitation they take immediate and secondary causes for primary ones, and in that way persuade themselves more quickly and easily than other people do that they have found an infallible foundation for their activity, and their minds are at ease and you know that is the chief thing. To begin to act, you know, you must first have your mind completely at ease and no trace of doubt left in it. Why, how am I, for example, to set my mind at rest? Where are the primary causes on which I am to build? Where are my foun- dations? Where am I to get them from? I ex- ercise myself in reflection, and consequently with me every primary cause at once draws after itself another still more primary, and so on to infinity. That is just the essence of every sort of consciousness and reflection. It must be a case of the laws of nature again. What is the result of it in the end? Why, just the same. Remember I spoke just now of ven- geance. (I am sure you did not take it in.) I said that a man revenges himself because he sees justice in it. Therefore he has found a primary cause, that is, justice. And so he is at rest on all sides, and consequently he carries 18 19 19 ????? ?????? Ohi Temeng eliminando esse lily ES clay after tomorrow at the latest Will cose temple to revenge myseller SC in my way, AS tous sign I used to get into trouble in cases when I was not to blame in any way. That was the nastiest part of it. At the same time I was genuinely touched and penitent, I used to shed tears and, of course, deceived myself, though I was not acting in the least and there was a sick feeling in my heart at the time.... For that one could not blame even the laws of nature, though the laws of nature have con- tinually all my life offended me more than anything. It is loathsome to remember it all, but it was loathsome even then. Of course, a minute or so later I would realise wrathfully that it was all a lie, a revolting lie, an affected lie, that is, all this penitence, this emotion, these vows of reform. You will ask why did I worry myself with such antics: answer, be- cause it was very dull to sit with one's hands folded, and so one began cutting capers. That nothing; that one is putting it on, but yet one brings oneself at last to the point of being really offended. All my life I have had an im- pulse to play such pranks, so that in the end I could not control it in myself. Another time, twice, in fact, I tried hard to be in love. I suffered, too, gentleman, I assure you. In the dept) suffe it yet I did ray; 1 was is all from AUTHOR'S NOTE 1; in- ertia t, le- gitin ertia, that Inds- folde I re- peat, per- sons t be- caus v ex- you know, you must first have your mind completely at ease and no trace of doubt left in it. Why, how am I, for example, to set my mind at rest? Where are the primary causes on which I am to build? Where are my foun- dations? Where am I to get them from? I ex- ercise myself in reflection, and consequently with me every primary cause at once draws after itself another still more primary, and so on to infinity. That is just the essence of every sort of consciousness and reflection. It must be a case of the laws of nature again. What is the result of it in the end? Why, just the same. Remember I spoke just now of ven- geance. (I am sure you did not take it in.) I said that a man revenges himself because he sees justice in it. Therefore he has found a primary cause, that is, justice. And so he is at rest on all sides, and consequently he carries actual notes of this person concerning cer tain events in his life.- 1 I am a sick man... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a doc 18 19 Back to 6 only not to sit with your hands folded. The day after tomorrow, at the latest, you will begin despising yourself for having know- ingly deceived yourself. Result: a soap-bub- ble and inertia. Oh, gentlemen, do you know, perhaps I consider myself an intelligent man, only because all my life I have been able neither to begin nor to finish anything. Granted I am a babbler, a harmless vexatious babbler, like all of us. But what is to be done if the direct and sole vocation of every intelli- gent man is babble, that is, the intentional pouring of water through a sieve? out his revenge calmly and successfully, being persuaded that he is doing a just and honest thing. But I see no justice in it, I find no sort of virtue in it either, and conse- quently if I attempt to revenge myself, it is only out of spite. Spite, of course, might over- come everything, all my doubts, and so might serve quite successfully in place of a primary cause, precisely because it is not a cause. But what is to be done if I have not even spite (I began with that just now, you know). In consequence again of those accur- sed laws of consciousness, anger in me is subject to chemical disintegration. You look into it, the object flies off into air, your reasons evaporate, the criminal is not to be found, the wrong becomes not a wrong but a phantom, something like the toothache, for which no one is to blame, and consequently there is only the same outlet left again--that is, to beat the wall as hard as you can. So you give it up with a wave of the hand because you have not found a fundamental cause. And try letting yourself be carried away by your feelings, blindly, without reflection, without a primary cause, repelling con- sciousness at least for a time; hate or love, if VI Oh, if I had done nothing simply from laziness! Heavens, how I should have re- spected myself, then. I should have respected myself because I should at least have been capable of being lazy; there would at least have been one quality, as it were, positive in me, in which I could have believed myself. Question: What is he? Answer: A sluggard; how very pleasant it would have been to hear that of oneself! It would mean that I was positively defined, it would mean that there 20 20 VI was something to say about me. "Sluggard"-- why, it is a calling and vocation, it is a career. Do not jest, it is so. I should then be a mem- ber of the best club by right, and should find my occupation in continually respecting my- self. I knew a gentleman who prided himself all his life on being a connoisseur of Lafitte. He considered this as his positive virtue, and never doubted himself. He died, not simply with a tranquil, but with a triumphant con- science, and he was quite right, too. Then I should have chosen a career for myself, I should have been a sluggard and a glut- ton, not a simple one, but, for instance, one with sympathies for everything sublime and beautiful. How do you like that? I have long had visions of it. That "sublime and beauti- ful" weighs heavily on my mind at forty But that is at forty; then--oh, then it would have been different! I should have found for my- self a form of activity in keeping with it, to be precise, drinking to the health of every- thing "sublime and beautiful." I should have snatched at every opportunity to drop a tear into my glass and then to drain it to all that is "sublime and beautiful." I should then have turned everything into the sublime and the beautiful; in the nastiest, unquestionable trash, I should have sought out the sublime and the beautiful. I should have exuded tears like a wet ponge. An artist, for instance, paints a picture worthy of Gay. At once I drink to the health of the artist who painted the picture worthy of Gay, because I love all that is "sublime and beautiful." An author has written AS YOU WILL: at once I drink to the health of "anyone you will" because I love all that is "sublime and beautiful." I should claim respect for doing so. I should persecute anyone who would not show me respect. I should live at ease, I should die with dignity, why, it is charming, perfectly charming! And what a good round belly I should have grown, what a treble chin I should have established, what a ruby nose I should have coloured for myself, so that everyone would have said, looking at me: "Here is an asset! Here is something real and solid!" And, say what you like, it is very agreeable to hear such remarks about oneself in this negative age. VII 21 21 VII ????? ?????? Selbst all golden dreams oli telli me who was nec Wie weet Desde Weetenes SUCHE knowingly in opposition to all that list would to your thinking and indeed mine, LOCO Dean obscuras con abso so eyes were opened to his ea normal science, and he was quite right, too. Then I should have chosen a career for myself, I should have been a sluggard and a glut- ton, not a simple one, but, for instance, one with sympathies for everything sublime and beautiful. How do you like that? I have long had visions of it. That "sublime and beauti- ful" weighs heavily on my mind at forty But that is at forty; then--oh, then it would have been different! I should have found for my- self a form of activity in keeping with it, to be precise, drinking to the health of every- thing "sublime and beautiful." I should have snatched at every opportunity to drop a tear into my glass and then to drain it to all that is "sublime and beautiful." I should then have turned everything into the sublime and all that is "sublime and beautiful." I should claim respect for doing so. I should persecute anyone who would not show me respect. I should live at ease, I should die with dignity, why, it is charming, perfectly charming! And what a good round belly I should have grown, what a treble chin I should have lished, what a ruby nose If, so that ag at me: and very AUTHOR'S NOTE agree eself in th real actual notes of this person concerning cer- tain events in his life.- VII 1 21 I am a sick man.... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a doc Back to 6 But these are all golden dreams. Oh, tell me, who was it first announced, who was it first proclaimed, that man only does nasty things because he does not know his own interests; and that if he were enlightened, if his eyes were opened to his real normal interests, man would at once cease to do nasty things, at once become good and noble because, being enlightened and understanding his real advantage, he would see his own advantage in the good and noth- ing else, and we all know that not one man can, consciously, act against his own inter- ests, consequently, so to say, through neces- sity, he would begin doing good? Oh, the babe! Oh, the pure, innocent child! Why, in the first place, when in all these thousands of years has there been a time when man has acted only from his own interest? What is to be done with the millions of facts that bear witness that men, CONSCIOUSLY, that is fully understanding their real interests, have left them in the background and have rushed headlong on another path, to meet peril and danger, compelled to this course by nobody and by nothing, but, as it were, simply dislik- ing the beaten track, and have obstinately, wilfully, struck out another difficult, absurd way, seeking it almost in the darkness. So, I suppose, this obstinacy and perversity were pleasanter to them than any advantage.... Advantage! What is advantage? And will you take it upon yourself to define with perfect accuracy in what the advantage of man con- ists? And what if it so happens that a man's advantage, SOMETIMES, not only may, but even must, consist in his desiring in certain cases what is harmful to himself and not ad- vantageous. And if so, if there can be such a case, the whole principle falls into dust. What do you think--are there such cases? You laugh; laugh away, gentlemen, but only answer me: have man's advantages been reckoned up with perfect certainty? Are there not some which not only have not been included but cannot possibly be included under any classification? You see, you gentle- men have, to the best of my knowledge, taken your whole register of human advan- tages from the averages of statistical figures and politico-economical formulas. Your ad- vantages are prosperity, wealth, freedom, peace--and so on, and so on. So that the man who should, for instance, go openly and knowingly in opposition to all that list would to your thinking, and indeed mine, too, of course, be an obscurantist or an abso- lute madman: would not he? But, you know, this is what is surprising: why does it so hap- pen that all these statisticians, sages and lovers of humanity, when they reckon up human advantages invariably leave out one? They don't even take it into their reckoning in the form in which it should be taken, and the whole reckoning depends upon that. It would be no greater matter, they would sim- ply have to take it, this advantage, and add it to the list. But the trouble is, that this strange advantage does not fall under any classifica- tion and is not in place in any list. I have a friend for instance ... Ech! gentlemen, but of course he is your friend, too; and indeed there is no one, no one to whom he is not a friend! When he prepares for any undertak- ing this gentleman immediately explains to you, elegantly and clearly, exactly how he must act in accordance with the laws of reason and truth. What is more, he will talk to you with excitement and passion of the true normal interests of man; with irony he will upbraid the short-sighted fools who do 22 22 23 not understand their own interests, nor the true significance of virtue; and, within a quarter of an hour, without any sudden out- side provocation, but simply through some- thing inside him which is stronger than all his interests, he will go off on quite a differ- ent tack--that is, act in direct opposition to what he has just been saying about himself, in opposition to the laws of reason, in oppos- ition to his own advantage, in fact in oppos- ition to everything ... I warn you that my friend is a compound personality and there- fore it is difficult to blame him as an individ- ual. The fact is, gentlemen, it seems there must really exist something that is dearer to almost every man than his greatest advan- tages, or (not to be illogical) there is a most advantageous advantage (the very one omit- ted of which we spoke just now) which is more important and more advantageous than all other advantages, for the sake of which a man if necessary is ready to act in opposition to all laws; that is, in opposition to reason, honour, peace, prosperity--in fact, in opposition to all those excellent and use- ful things if he attain that funda- mental, most advantageous advantage which is dearer to him than all. "Yes, but it's advantage all the same," you will retort. But excuse me, I'll make the point clear, and it is not a case of playing upon words. What mat- ters is, that this advantage is remarkable from the very fact that it breaks down all our classifications, and continually shatters every system constructed by lovers of man- kind for the benefit of mankind. In fact, it upsets everything. But before I mention this advantage to you, I want to compromise my- self personally, and therefore I boldly declare that all these fine systems, all these theories for explaining to mankind their real normal interests, in order that inevitably striving to pursue these interests they may at once be- come good and noble--are, in my opinion, so far, mere logical exercises! Yes, logical exer- cises. Why, to maintain this theory of the re- generation of mankind by means of the pur- suit of his own advantage is to my mind al- most the same thing ... as to affirm, for in- stance, following Buckle, that through civil- isation mankind becomes softer, and conse- quently less bloodthirsty and less fitted for warfare. Logically does to follow from his arguments. But man has such a pre- dilection for systems and abstract deduc- tions that he is ready to distort the truth in- tentionally, he is ready to deny the evidence of his senses only to justify his logic. I take this example because it is the most glaring instance of it. Only look about you: blood is being spilt in streams, and in the merriest way, as though it were champagne. Take the whole of the nineteenth century in which Buckle lived. Take Napoleon--the Great and also the present one. Take North America - the eternal union. Take the farce of Schles- wig-Holstein.... And what is it that civilisa- tion softens in us? The only gain of civilisa- tion for mankind is the greater capacity for variety of sensations--and absolutely noth- ing more. And through the development of this many-sidedness man may come to find- ing enjoyment in bloodshed. In fact, this has already happened to him. Have you noticed that it is the most civilised gentlemen who have been the subtlest slaughterers, to whom the Attilas and Stenka Razins could not hold a candle, and if they are not so con- spicuous as the Attilas and Stenka Razins it is simply beca they are often met with, are so ordinary and have become so familiar 23 24. 24. TIONAL error and trillen to eav he com. pelled not to want to see his will against his normall interests that made and worked out with mathematical exelente Ossible on Williams ????? tone In any cace civilieation hae made man. more blood sales dinle Blood and the Those we do blood ?????? Elces will be my mind superfluous try that he news really Caprice on Wis abomina norteam clere guarantee als The three Weber Standel EEEEEEEEEE Selene Stande om palita excuse and story) was fondi Culated and tabula ent tack--that is, act in direct opposition to what he has just been saying about himself, in opposition to the laws of reason, in oppos- ition to his own advantage, in fact in oppos- ition to everything ... I warn you that my friend is a compound personality and there- fore it is difficult to blame him as an individ- ual. The fact is, gentlemen, it seems there must really exist something that is dearer to almost every man than his greatest advan- tages, or (not to be illogical) there is a most advantageous advantage (the very one omit- ted of which we spoke just now) which is more important and more advantageous than all other advantages, for the sake of which a man if necessary is ready to act in opposition to all laws; that is, in opposition to reason, honour, peace, prosperity--in fact, in opposition to all those excellent and use- ful things if only he can attain that funda- mental, most advantageous advantage classifications, and continually shatters every system constructed by lovers of man- kind for the benefit of mankind. In fact, it upsets everything. But before I mention this advantage to you, I want to compromise my- self personally, and therefore I boldly declare that all these fine systems, all these theories for explaining to m d their real normal inter ng to purs e be- come actual notes of this person concerning cer- n, so far, tain events in his life. exer- AUTHOR'S NOTE cises le re- gene pur- suit Id al- most Ir in- stand civil- isati bnse- quen d for warf Sllow from pre- being spilt in streams, and in the merriest way, as though it were champagne. Take the whole of the nineteenth century in which Buckle lived. Take Napoleon--the Great and also the present one. Take North America -- the eternal union. Take the farce of Schles- wig-Holstein.... And what is it that civilisa- tion softens in us? The only gain of civilisa- tion for mankind is the greater capacity for variety of sensations--and absolutely noth- ing more. And through the development of this many-sidedness man may come to find- ing enjoyment in bloodshed. In fact, this has already happened to him. Have you noticed that it is the most civilised gentlemen who have been the subtlest slaughterers, to whom the Attilas and Stenka Razins could not hold a candle, and if they are not so con- spicuous as the Attilas and Stenka Razins it is simply because they are so often met with, are so ordinary and have become so familiar 1 I am a sick man... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a doc 23 Back to 6 24 to us. In any case civilisation has made man- kind if not more bloodthirsty, at least more vilely, more loathsomely bloodthirsty. In old days he saw justice in bloodshed and with his conscience at peace exterminated those he thought proper. Now we do think blood- shed abominable and yet we engage in this abomination, and with more energy than ever. Which is worse? Decide that for your- selves. They say that Cleopatra (excuse an in- stance from Roman history) was fond of sticking gold pins into her slave-girls' breasts and derived gratification from their screams and writhings. You will say that that was in the comparatively barbarous times; that these are barbarous times too, because also, comparatively speaking, pins are stuck in even now; that though man has now learned to see more clearly than in barbarous ages, he is still far from having learnt to act as reason and science would dictate. But yet you are fully convinced that he will be sure to learn when he gets rid of certain old bad habits, and when common sense and science have completely re-educated human nature and turned it in a normal direction. You are con- fident that then man will cease from INTEN- TIONAL error and will, so to say, be com- pelled not to want to set his will against his normal interests. That is not all; then, you say, science itself will teach man (though to my mind it's a superfluous luxury) that he never has really had any caprice or will of his own, and that he himself is something of the nature of a piano-key or the stop of an organ, and that there are, besides, things called the laws of nature; so that everything he does is not done by his willing it, but is done of it- self, by the laws of nature. Consequently we have only to discover these laws of nature, and man will no longer have to answer for his actions and life will become exceedingly easy for him. All human actions will then, of course, be tabulated according to these laws, mathematically, like tables of logarithms up to 108,000, and entered in an index; or, bet- ter still, there would be published certain edifying works of the nature of encyclopae- dic lexicons, in which everything will be so clearly calculated and explained that there will be no more incidents or adventures in the world. Then--this is all what you say--new eco- nomic relations will be established, all ready- made and worked out with mathematical exactitude, so that every possible question will vanish in the twinkling of an eye, simply because every possible answer to it will be provided. Then the "Palace of Crystal" will be built. Then ... In fact, those will be halcyon days. Of course there is no guaranteeing (this is my comment) that it will not be, for in- stance, frightfully dull then (for what will one have to do when everything will be cal- culated and tabulated), but on the other hand everything will be extraordinarily ra- tional. Of course boredom may lead you to anything. It is boredom sets one sticking golden pins into people, but all that would not matter. What is bad (this is my comment again) is that I dare say people will be thank- ful for the gold pins then. Man is stupid, you know, phenomenally stupid; or rather he is not at all stupid, but he is so ungrateful that you could not find another like him in all cre- ation. I, for instance, would not be in the least surprised if all of a sudden, A PROPOS of nothing, in the midst of general prosperity a gentleman with an ignoble, or rather with a reactionary and ironical, countenance were to arise and, putting his arms akimbo, say to 25 25 26 advantageous choice? What man wants is simply INDEPENDENT choice, whatever that independence may cost and wherever it may lead. And choice, of course, the devil only knows what choice. us all: "I say, gentleman, hadn't we better kick over the whole show and scatter ration- alism to the winds, simply to send these logarithms to the devil, and to enable us to live once more at our own sweet foolish will!" 'hat again would not matter, but what is an- noying is that he would be sure to find fol- lowers--such is the nature of man. And all that for the most foolish reason, which, one would think, was hardly worth mentioning: that is, that man everywhere and at all times, whoever he may be, has preferred to act as he chose and not in the least as his reason and advantage dictated. And one may choose what is contrary to one's own interests, and sometimes one POSITIVELY OUGHT (that is my idea). One's own free unfettered choice, one's own caprice, however wild it may be, one's own fancy worked up at times to frenzy--is that very "most advantageous ad- vantage" which we have overlooked, which comes under no classification and against which all systems and theories are continu- ally being shattered to atoms. And how do these wiseacres know that man wants a nor- mal, a virtuous choice? What has made them conceive that man must want a rationally VIII "Ha! ha! ha! But you know there is no such thing as choice in reality, say what you like," you will interpose with a chuckle. "Sci- ence has succeeded in so far analysing man that we know already that choice and what is called freedom of will is nothing else than--" Stay, gentlemen, I meant to begin with that myself I confess, I was rather fright- ened. I was just going to say that the devil only knows what choice depends on, and that perhaps that was a very good thing, but I remembered the teaching of science ... and pulled myself up. And here you have begun upon it. Indeed, if there really is some day discovered a formula for all our desires and caprices--that is, an explanation of what they depend upon, by what laws they arise, how they develop, what they are aiming at in one case and in another and so on, that is a real mathematical formula--then, most 26 26. VIII ????? ?????? de Pere desire tot Oseballen Besides the wall from human being One olet for whe hotel Stethoschodiete stopine als homeendeals online can be really calculated because there come dan be Gliscovered the son os called there Wie het be menos eXCUSE ME OP Den over philosophically the result for cars underground Allow me to indulgelaney Meet TESO helistes nothing but reason Selle die Welt ik, Was natury wo onung: that is, that man everywhere and at all times, whoever he may be, has preferred to act as he chose and not in the least as his reason and advantage dictated. And one may choose what is contrary to one's own interests, and sometimes one POSITIVELY OUGHT (that is my idea). One's own free unfettered choice, one's own caprice, however wild it may be, one's own fancy worked up at times to frenzy--is that very "most advantageous ad- vantage which we have overlooked, which comes under no classification and against which all systems and theories are continu- ally being shattered to atoms. And how do these wiseacres know that man wants a nor- mal, a virtuous choice? What has made them conceive that man must want a rationally like," you will interpose with a chuckle. "Sci- ence has succeeded in so far analysing man that we know already that choice and what is called freedom of will is nothing else than--" Stay, gentlemen, I meant to begin with that myself I confess, I was rather fright- ened. I was just going to say that the devil only knows what cice depends on, and that ning, but I and have ice ... begu actual notes of this person concerning cer- tain events in his life. AUTHOR'S NOTE. some day and they how in or is a sires what arise, ng at that most 1 26. I am a sick man.... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a doc Back to 6 likely, man will at once cease to feel desire, indeed, he will be certain to. For who would want to choose by rule? Besides, he will at once be transformed from a human being into an organ-stop or something of the sort; for what is a man without desires, without free will and without choice, if not a stop in an organ? What do you think? Let us reckon the chances--can such a thing happen or not? "H'm!" you decide. "Our choice is usually mistaken from a false view of our advan- tage. We sometimes choose absolute non- sense because in our foolishness we see in that nonsense the easiest means for attain- ing a supposed advantage. But when all that is explained and worked out on paper (which is perfectly possible, for it is contemptible and senseless to suppose that some laws of nature man will never understand), then certainly so-called desires will no longer exist. For if a desire should come into conflict with reason we shall then reason and not desire, because it will be impossible retain- ing our reason to be SENSELESS in our de- sires, and in that way knowingly act against reason and desire to injure ourselves. And as all choice and reasoning can be really calculated--because there will some day be discovered the laws of our so-called free will--so, joking apart, there may one day be something like a table constructed of them, so that we really shall choose in accordance with it. If, for instance, some day they calcu- late and prove to me that I made a long nose at someone because I could not help making a long nose at him and that I had to do it in that particular way, what FREEDOM is left me, especially if I am a learned man and have taken my degree somewhere? Then I should be able to calculate my whole life for thirty years beforehand. In short, if this could be arranged there would be nothing left for us to do; anyway, we should have to understand that. And, in fact, we ought unwearyingly to repeat to ourselves that at such and such a time and in such and such circumstances na- ture does not ask our leave; that we have got to take her as she is and not fashion her to suit our fancy, and if we really aspire to for- mulas and tables of rules, and well, even ... to the chemical retort, there's no help for it, we must accept the retort too, or else it will be accepted without our consent...." Yes, but here I come to a stop! Gentle- men, you must excuse me for being over- philosophical; it's the result of forty years underground! Allow me to indulge my fancy. You see, gentlemen, reason is an excellent thing, there's no disputing that, but reason is nothing but reason and satisfies only the ra- tional side of man's nature, while will is a manifestation of the whole life, that is, of the whole human life including reason and all the impulses. And although our life, in this manifestation of it, is often worthless, yet it is life and not simply extracting square roots. Here I, for instance, quite naturally want to live, in order to satisfy all my capacities for life, and not simply my capacity for reason- ing, that is, not simply one twentieth of my capacity for life. What does reason know? Reason only knows what it has succeeded in learning (some things, perhaps, it will never learn; this is a poor comfort, but why not say so frankly?) and human nature acts as a whole, with everything that is in it, con- sciously or unconsciously, and, even if it goes wrong, it lives. I suspect, gentlemen, that you are looking at me with compassion; you tell me again that an enlightened and de- 27 27 28. veloped man, such, in short, as the future man will be, cannot consciously desire any- thing disadvantageous to himself, that that can be proved mathematically. I thoroughly agree, it can--by mathematics. But I repeat for the hundredth time, there is one case, one only, when man may consciously, purposely, desire what is injurious to himself, what is stupid, very stupid--simply in order to have the right to desire for himself even what is very stupid and not to be bound by an obliga- tion to desire only what is sensible. Of course, this very stupid thing, this caprice of ours, may be in reality, gentlemen, more ad- vantageous for us than anything else on earth, especially in certain cases. And in par- ticular it may be more advantageous than any advantage even when it does us obvious harm, and contradicts the soundest conclu- sions of our reason concerning our advan- tage--for in any circumstances it preserves for us what is most precious and most im- portant--that is, our personality, our indi- viduality. Some, you see, maintain that this really is the most precious thing for man- kind; choice can, of course, if it chooses, be in agreement with reason; and especially if this be not abused but kept within bounds. It is profitable and sometimes even praise- worthy. But very often, and even most often, choice is utterly and stubbornly opposed to reason ... and ... and ... do you know that that, too, is profitable, sometimes even praise- worthy? Gentlemen, let us suppose that man is not stupid. (Indeed one cannot refuse to suppose that, if only from the one consider- ation, that, if man is stupid, then who is wise?) But if he is not stupid, he is mon- strously ungrateful! Phenomenally ungrate- ful. In fact, I believe that the best definition of man is the ungrateful biped. But that is not all, that is not his worst defect; his worst defect is his perpetual moral obliquity, per- petual--from the days of the Flood to the Schleswig-Holstein period. Moral obliquity and consequently lack of good sense; for it has long been accepted that lack of good sense is due to no other cause than moral ob- liquity. Put it to the test and cast your eyes upon the history of mankind. What will you see? Is it a grand spectacle? Grand, if you like. Take the Colossus of Rhodes, for instance, that's worth something. With good reason Mr. Anaevsky testifies of it that some say that it is the work of man's hands, while others maintain that it has been created by nature herself. Is it many-coloured? May be it is many-coloured, too: if one takes the dress uniforms, military and civilian, of all peoples all ages--that alone is worth something, and if you take the undress uniforms you will never get to the end of it; no historian would be equal to the job. Is it monotonous? May be it's monotonous too: it's fighting and fighting; they are fighting now, they fought first and they fought last--you will admit, that it is almost too monotonous. In short, one may say anything about the history of the world--anything that might enter the most disordered imagination. The only thing one can't say is that it's rational. The very word sticks in one's throat. And, indeed, this is the odd thing that is continually hap- pening: there are continually turning up in life moral and rational persons, sages and lovers of humanity who make it their object to live all their lives as morally and rationally as possible, to be, so to speak, a light to their neighbours simply in order to show them that it is possible to live morally and ration- ally in this world. And yet we all know that 28 29 29 Conero later have been playing some queer ????? LIITT Verhit Wet Pevec to by natural science and mathematics Wen then he would not become reasonable but We do of simple ingratitude simply to all this Doe he doe contrived Selle less Verantiesing brown happiness to mohin bn bubbles o bisedarbe beton has the desire to pends on something we dont know that the Glesne free will then they are concerned with is that my will should of itself of its own free WS Welcome Good heavens, emblemen. What sort of Bree Wischen we come to tabulalom Sure that the should have more else to do be sleepikes and bussell C desire what is injurious to himself, what is stupid, very stupid--simply in order to have the right to desire for himself even what is very stupid and not to be bound by an obliga- tion to desire only what is sensible. Of course, this very stupid thing, this caprice of ours, may be in reality, gentlemen, more ad- vantageous for us than anything else on earth, especially in certain cases. And in par- ticular it may be more advantageous than any advantage even when it does us obvious harm, and contradicts the soundest conclu- sions of our reason concerning our advan- tage--for in any circumstances it preserves for us what is most precious and most im- portant--that is, our personality, our indi- viduality. Some, you see, maintain that this really is the most precious thing for man- kind; choice can, of course, if it chooses, be in agreement with reason; and especially if this is not stupid. (Indeed one cannot refuse to suppose that, if only from the one consider- ation, that, if man is stupid, then who is wise?) But if he is not stupid, he is mon- strously ungrateful! Phenomenally ungrate- ful. In fact, I believe that the best definition of man is the ungrateful biped. But that is not all, that is not his worst defect; his worst defe per- petu the Schle quity and tain events in his life- for it has AUTHOR'S NOTE good sens al ob- liqui eyes upor 1 you see? like. Take ance, that' ason Mr. will never get to the end of it; no historian would be equal to the job. Is it monotonous? May be it's monotonous too: it's fighting and fighting; they are fighting now, they fought first and they fought last--you will admit, that it is almost too monotonous. In short, one may say anything about the history of the world--anything that might enter the most disordered imagination. The only thing one can't say is that it's rational. The very word sticks in one's throat. And, indeed, this is the odd thing that is continually hap- pening: there are continually turning up in life moral and rational persons, sages and lovers of humanity who make it their object to live all their lives as morally and rationally as possible, to be, so to speak, a light to their neighbours simply in order to show them that it is possible to live morally and ration- ally in this world. And yet we all know that actual notes of this person concerning cer say 1 I am a sick man.... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a doc 28. 29 Back to 6 has not yet come off, and that desire still de- pends on something we don't know? You will scream at me (that is, if you con- descend to do so) that no one is touching my free will, that all they are concerned with is that my will should of itself, of its own free will, coincide with my own normal interests, with the laws of nature and arithmetic. Good heavens, gentlemen, what sort of free will is left when we come to tabulation and arithmetic, when it will all be a case of twice two make four? Twice two makes four without my will. As if free will meant that! those very people sooner or later have been false to themselves, playing some queer trick, often a most unseemly one. Now I ask you: what can be expected of man since he is a being endowed with strange qualities? Shower upon him every earthly blessing, drown him in a sea of happiness, so that nothing but bubbles of bliss can be seen on the surface; give him economic prosperity, such that he should have nothing else to do but sleep, eat cakes and busy himself with the continuation of his species, and even then out of sheer ingratitude, sheer spite, man would play you some nasty trick. He would even risk his cakes and would deliber- ately desire the most fatal rubbish, the most uneconomical absurdity, simply to intro- duce into all this positive good sense his fatal fantastic element. It is just his fantastic dreams, his vulgar folly that he will desire to retain, simply in order to prove to himself-- as though that were so necessary--that men still are men and not the keys of a piano, which the laws of nature threaten to control so completely that soon one will be able to desire nothing but by the calendar. And that is not all: even if man really were nothing but a piano-key, even if this were proved to him by natural science and mathematics, even then he would not become reasonable, but would purposely do something perverse out of simple ingratitude, simply to gain his point. And if he does not find means he will contrive destruction and chaos, will contrive sufferings of all sorts, only to gain his point! He will launch a curse upon the world, and as only man can curse (it is his privilege, the primary distinction between him and other animals), may be by his curse alone he will attain his object--that is, convince himself that he is a man and not a piano-key! If you say that all this, too, can be calculated and tabulated --chaos and darkness and curses, so that the mere possibility of calculating it all beforehand would stop it all, and reason would reassert itself, then man would pur- posely go mad in order to be rid of reason and gain his point! I believe in it, I answer for it, for the whole work of man really seems to consist in nothing but proving to himself every minute that he is a man and not a piano-key! It may be at the cost of his skin, it may be by cannibalism! And this being so, can one help being tempted to rejoice that it IX Gentlemen, I am joking, and I know my- self that my jokes are not brilliant, but you know one can take everything as a joke. I am, perhaps, jesting against the grain. Gentle- men, I am tormented by questions; answer 30 30 31 IX them for me. You, for instance, want to cure men of their old habits and reform their will in accordance with science and good sense. But how do you know, not only that it is pos- sible, but also that it is DESIRABLE to reform man in that way? And what leads you to the conclusion that man's inclinations NEED re- forming? In short, how do you know that such a reformation will be a benefit to man? And to go to the root of the matter, why are you so positively convinced that not to act against his real normal interests guaranteed by the conclusions of reason and arithmetic is certainly always advantageous for man and must always be a law for mankind? So far, you know, this is only your supposition. It may be the law of logic, but not the law of humanity. You think, gentlemen, perhaps that I am mad? Allow me to defend myself. I agree that man is pre-eminently a creative animal, predestined to strive consciously for an object and to engage in engineering--that is, incessantly and eternally to make new roads, WHEREVER THEY MAY LEAD. But the reason why he wants sometimes to go off at a tangent may just be that he is PREDESTINED to make the road, and perhaps, too, that however stupid the "direct" practical man may be, the thought sometimes will occur to him that the road almost always does lead SOMEWHERE, and that the destination it leads to is less important than the process of making it, and that the chief thing is to save the well-conducted child from despising en- gineering, and so giving way to the fatal idle- ness, which, as we all know, is the mother of all the vices. Man likes to make roads and to create, that is a fact beyond dispute. But why has he such a passionate love for destruction and chaos also? Tell me that! But on that point I want to say a couple of words myself. May it not be that he loves chaos and de- struction (there can be no disputing that he does sometimes love it) because he is in- stinctively afraid of attaining his object and completing the edifice he is constructing? Who knows, perhaps he only loves that edifice from a distance, and is by no means in love with it at close quarters; perhaps he only loves building it and does not want to live in it, but will leave it, when completed, for the use of LES ANIMAUX DOMESTIQUES--such as the ants, the sheep, and so on. Now the ants have quite a different taste. They have a marvellous edifice of that pattern which en- dures for ever--the ant-heap. With the ant-heap the respectable race of ants began and with the ant-heap they will probably end, which does the greatest credit to their perseverance and good sense. But man is a frivolous and incongruous crea- ture, and perhaps, like a chess player, loves the process of the game, not the end of it. And who knows (there is no saying with certainty), perhaps the only goal on earth to which mankind is striving lies in this inces- sant process of attaining, in other words, in life itself, and not in the thing to be attained, which must always be expressed as a for- mula, as positive as twice two makes four, and such positiveness is not life, gentlemen, but is the beginning of death. Anyway, man has always been afraid of this mathematical certainty, and I am afraid of it now. Granted that man does nothing but seek that math- ematical certainty, he traverses oceans, sac- rifices his life in the quest, but to succeed, really to find it, dreads, I assure you. He feels that when he has found it there will be noth- ing for him to look for. When workmen have finished their work they do at least receive 32. 33 33 Till LIITU go to the travel then they Salones just well Mais comme les externePass Eltelin love with sulitering and that sa makes our One Tove Thathematical Cette en understand. 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