Part 4 (2/2)
Hence, the code of knightly honor prescribes that, when the lie is given, an appeal to arms follows as a matter of course. So much, then, for the theory of insult.
[Footnote 1: See C.G. von Waehter's _Beitrage zur deutschen Geschichte_, especially the chapter on criminal law.]
[Footnote 2: _Translator's Note_.--It is true that this expression has another special meaning in the technical terminology of Chivalry, but it is the nearest English equivalent which I can find for the German--_ein Bescholtener_]
But there is something even worse than insult, something so dreadful that I must beg pardon of all _honorable people_ for so much as mentioning it in this code of knightly honor; for I know they will s.h.i.+ver, and their hair will stand on end, at the very thought of it--the _summum malum_, the greatest evil on earth, worse than death and d.a.m.nation. A man may give another--_horrible dictu_!--a slap or a blow. This is such an awful thing, and so utterly fatal to all honor, that, while any other species of insult may be healed by blood-letting, this can be cured only by the _coup-de-grace_.
(3.) In the third place, this kind of honor has absolutely nothing to do with what a man may be in and for himself; or, again, with the question whether his moral character can ever become better or worse, and all such pedantic inquiries. If your honor happens to be attacked, or to all appearances gone, it can very soon be restored in its entirety if you are only quick enough in having recourse to the one universal remedy--_a duel_. But if the aggressor does not belong to the cla.s.ses which recognize the code of knightly honor, or has himself once offended against it, there is a safer way of meeting any attack upon your honor, whether it consists in blows, or merely in words.
If you are armed, you can strike down your opponent on the spot, or perhaps an hour later. This will restore your honor.
But if you wish to avoid such an extreme step, from fear of any unpleasant consequences arising therefrom, or from uncertainty as to whether the aggressor is subject to the laws of knightly honor or not, there is another means of making your position good, namely, the _Avantage_. This consists in returning rudeness with still greater rudeness; and if insults are no use, you can try a blow, which forms a sort of climax in the redemption of your honor; for instance, a box on the ear may be cured by a blow with a stick, and a blow with a stick by a thras.h.i.+ng with a horsewhip; and, as the approved remedy for this last, some people recommend you to spit at your opponent.[1] If all these means are of no avail, you must not shrink from drawing blood.
And the reason for these methods of wiping out insult is, in this code, as follows:
[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. It must be remembered that Schopenhauer is here describing, or perhaps caricaturing the manners and customs of the German aristocracy of half a century ago. Now, of course, _nous avons change tout cela_!]
(4.) To receive an insult is disgraceful; to give one, honorable. Let me take an example. My opponent has truth, right and reason on his side. Very well. I insult him. Thereupon right and honor leave him and come to me, and, for the time being, he has lost them--until he gets them back, not by the exercise of right or reason, but by shooting and sticking me. Accordingly, rudeness is a quality which, in point of honor, is a subst.i.tute for any other and outweighs them all. The rudest is always right. What more do you want? However stupid, bad or wicked a man may have been, if he is only rude into the bargain, he condones and legitimizes all his faults. If in any discussion or conversation, another man shows more knowledge, greater love of truth, a sounder judgment, better understanding than we, or generally exhibits intellectual qualities which cast ours into the shade, we can at once annul his superiority and our own shallowness, and in our turn be superior to him, by being insulting and offensive. For rudeness is better than any argument; it totally eclipses intellect. If our opponent does not care for our mode of attack, and will not answer still more rudely, so as to plunge us into the ign.o.ble rivalry of the _Avantage_, we are the victors and honor is on our side. Truth, knowledge, understanding, intellect, wit, must beat a retreat and leave the field to this almighty insolence.
_Honorable people_ immediately make a show of mounting their war-horse, if anyone utters an opinion adverse to theirs, or shows more intelligence than they can muster; and if in any controversy they are at a loss for a reply, they look about for some weapon of rudeness, which will serve as well and come readier to hand; so they retire masters of the position. It must now be obvious that people are quite right in applauding this principle of honor as having enn.o.bled the tone of society. This principle springs from another, which forms the heart and soul of the entire code.
(5.) Fifthly, the code implies that the highest court to which a man can appeal in any differences he may have with another on a point of honor is the court of physical force, that is, of brutality. Every piece of rudeness is, strictly speaking, an appeal to brutality; for it is a declaration that intellectual strength and moral insight are incompetent to decide, and that the battle must be fought out by physical force--a struggle which, in the case of man, whom Franklin defines as _a tool-making animal_, is decided by the weapons peculiar to the species; and the decision is irrevocable. This is the well-known principle of _right of might_--irony, of course, like _the wit of a fool_, a parallel phrase. The honor of a knight may be called the glory of might.
(6.) Lastly, if, as we saw above, civic honor is very scrupulous in the matter of _meum_ and _tuum_, paying great respect to obligations and a promise once made, the code we are here discussing displays, on the other hand, the n.o.blest liberality. There is only one word which may not be broken, _the word of honor_--upon my _honor_, as people say--the presumption being, of course, that every other form of promise may be broken. Nay, if the worst comes to the worst, it is easy to break even one's word of honor, and still remain honorable--again by adopting that universal remedy, the duel, and fighting with those who maintain that we pledged our word. Further, there is one debt, and one alone, that under no circ.u.mstances must be left unpaid--a gambling debt, which has accordingly been called _a debt of honor_. In all other kinds of debt you may cheat Jews and Christians as much as you like; and your knightly honor remains without a stain.
The unprejudiced reader will see at once that such a strange, savage and ridiculous code of honor as this has no foundation in human nature, nor any warrant in a healthy view of human affairs. The extremely narrow sphere of its operation serves only to intensify the feeling, which is exclusively confined to Europe since the Middle Age, and then only to the upper cla.s.ses, officers and soldiers, and people who imitate them. Neither Greeks nor Romans knew anything of this code of honor or of its principles; nor the highly civilized nations of Asia, ancient or modern. Amongst them no other kind of honor is recognized but that which I discussed first, in virtue of which a man is what he shows himself to be by his actions, not what any wagging tongue is pleased to say of him. They thought that what a man said or did might perhaps affect his own honor, but not any other man's. To them, a blow was but a blow--and any horse or donkey could give a harder one--a blow which under certain circ.u.mstances might make a man angry and demand immediate vengeance; but it had nothing to do with honor. No one kept account of blows or insulting words, or of the _satisfaction_ which was demanded or omitted to be demanded. Yet in personal bravery and contempt of death, the ancients were certainly not inferior to the nations of Christian Europe. The Greeks and Romans were thorough heroes, if you like; but they knew nothing about _point d'honneur_. If _they_ had any idea of a duel, it was totally unconnected with the life of the n.o.bles; it was merely the exhibition of mercenary gladiators, slaves devoted to slaughter, condemned criminals, who, alternately with wild beasts, were set to butcher one another to make a Roman holiday. When Christianity was introduced, gladiatorial shows were done away with, and their place taken, in Christian times, by the duel, which was a way of settling difficulties by _the Judgment of G.o.d_.
If the gladiatorial fight was a cruel sacrifice to the prevailing desire for great spectacles, dueling is a cruel sacrifice to existing prejudices--a sacrifice, not of criminals, slaves and prisoners, but of the n.o.ble and the free.[1]
[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_. These and other remarks on dueling will no doubt wear a belated look to English readers; but they are hardly yet antiquated for most parts of the Continent.]
There are a great many traits in the character of the ancients which show that they were entirely free from these prejudices. When, for instance, Marius was summoned to a duel by a Teutonic chief, he returned answer to the effect that, if the chief were tired of his life, he might go and hang himself; at the same time he offered him a veteran gladiator for a round or two. Plutarch relates in his life of Themistocles that Eurybiades, who was in command of the fleet, once raised his stick to strike him; whereupon Themistocles, instead of drawing his sword, simply said: _Strike, but hear me_. How sorry the reader must be, if he is an _honorable_ man, to find that we have no information that the Athenian officers refused in a body to serve any longer under Themistocles, if he acted like that! There is a modern French writer who declares that if anyone considers Demosthenes a man of honor, his ignorance will excite a smile of pity; and that Cicero was not a man of honor either![1] In a certain pa.s.sage in Plato's _Laws_[2] the philosopher speaks at length of [Greek: aikia] or _a.s.sault_, showing us clearly enough that the ancients had no notion of any feeling of honor in connection with such matters. Socrates'
frequent discussions were often followed by his being severely handled, and he bore it all mildly. Once, for instance, when somebody kicked him, the patience with which he took the insult surprised one of his friends. _Do you think_, said Socrates, _that if an a.s.s happened to kick me, I should resent it_?[3] On another occasion, when he was asked, _Has not that fellow abused and insulted you? No_, was his answer, _what he says is not addressed to me_[4] Stobaeus has preserved a long pa.s.sage from Musonius, from which we can see how the ancients treated insults. They knew no other form of satisfaction than that which the law provided, and wise people despised even this. If a Greek received a box on the ear, he could get satisfaction by the aid of the law; as is evident from Plato's _Gorgias_, where Socrates'
opinion may be found. The same thing may be seen in the account given by Gellius of one Lucius Veratius, who had the audacity to give some Roman citizens whom he met on the road a box on the ear, without any provocation whatever; but to avoid any ulterior consequences, he told a slave to bring a bag of small money, and on the spot paid the trivial legal penalty to the men whom he had astonished by his conduct.
[Footnote 1:_litteraires_: par C. Durand. Rouen, 1828.]
[Footnote 2: Bk. IX.].
[Footnote 3: Diogenes Laertius, ii., 21.]
[Footnote 4: _Ibid_ 36.]
Crates, the celebrated Cynic philosopher, got such a box on the ear from Nicodromus, the musician, that his face swelled up and became black and blue; whereupon he put a label on his forehead, with the inscription, _Nicodromus fecit_, which brought much disgrace to the fluteplayer who had committed such a piece of brutality upon the man whom all Athens honored as a household G.o.d.[1] And in a letter to Melesippus, Diogenes of Sinope tells us that he got a beating from the drunken sons of the Athenians; but he adds that it was a matter of no importance.[2] And Seneca devotes the last few chapters of his _De Constantia_ to a lengthy discussion on insult--_contumelia_; in order to show that a wise man will take no notice of it. In Chapter XIV, he says, _What shall a wise man do, if he is given a blow? What Cato did, when some one struck him on the mouth;--not fire up or avenge the insult, or even return the blow, but simply ignore it_.
[Footnote 1: Diogenes Laertius, vi. 87, and Apul: Flor: p. 126.]
[Footnote 2: Cf. Casaubon's Note, Diog. Laert., vi. 33.]
_Yes_, you say, _but these men were philosophers_.--And you are fools, eh? Precisely.
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