THE ANDOVER REVIEW: A RELIGIOUS AND THEOLOGICAL MONTHLY. VOL. XII.-DECEMBER, 1889.-No. LXXII. THE OLD PESSIMISM AND THE NEW. THE publication of the recent work of Sir Monier Monier-Williams on Buddhism may remind one of the influx of Oriental ideas in various forms to be observed of late in Western thought. Signs of such movement are common enough just now, when many are turning in expectance, as in certain past ages mankind has turned, to the far East and its occult science; while recondite philosophies and esoteric theosophies are popularized, and adepts initiate eager disciples into the obscure terminology, mystic lore, and magic virtue of this and that imported cult. There is evidence besides in other and more remarkable phases of the intellectual history of our century. Conspicuous amidst this general tendency is the renaissance, in German philosophy, of Buddhism. Not unworthy of note is this revival of the essential principles of a system which had its origin under conditions so remote. It was in the fifth ceutury before the Christian era that Buddhism arose, as a humanitarian protest and reaction against Brahmanism. It was a not unnatural development of the latter system in its philosophical stage. In the Upanishads, the sacred books of that phase of Brahmanism, are found the Pantheistic conceptions of one universal and impersonal Spirit, man's personal individuality a delusion entailing misery, and deliverance therefrom in recognition of the delusion, and in final reabsorption in the Universal Spirit, as the river loses itself in the ocean. Buddhism, in its long history and wide extension, developed into varying and contradictory forms. At its origin, however, it was atheistic and nihilistic. It evaporated into naught that conception of the Universal Spirit or Brahman, and correspondingly transformed the doctrine of reunion with the One Spirit into negation and extinction, in its Nirvana and Pari-nirvana. A further modification was that the way of knowledge, so barred by the caste restrictions of the older system, was in the younger sys tem opened to all. No one was to be shut out from enlightenment. The Buddha founded a universal brotherhood of equality. His way of knowledge had its point of departure in a main doctrine of the older system, namely, that life was fast bound in misery, being only a link in a series of existences whereby sin continued itself in woe. All Indian philosophy had, for its aim, deliverance from the horrors of the weary round of metempsychosis, involving the perpetuation of the misery of existence. Buddhism was essentially little else than Brahmanism divested of its transcendentalism, broadened in its adaptation to mankind, and endowed with the potent spell of a central and most attractive personality. That which the older system, after laborious theorizing, had arrived at, Buddhism made its starting-point, namely, the illusion and evil of existence. The teaching of the Buddha had regard to the pain of life, its source, its cessation, and the means thereof. His "four noble truths," the ground of his whole doctrine, are stated by Sir Monier Monier-Williams substantially thus: (1.) Existence in any form, whether on earth or in heavenly spheres, necessarily involves pain and suffering. (2.) All suffering is caused by lust, craving, or desire, of three kinds, for sensual pleasure, for wealth, and for existence. (3.) Cessation of suffering is simultaneous with extinction of lust, craving, and desire. (4.) The way whereby to attain extinction of desire and cessation of suffering.1 From the evil of existence, Brahmanism sought deliverance through the soul's reunion with divinity in the Universal Spirit which was its source. Buddhism, expecting refuge only in negation and non-existence, was thorough and utter pessimism, remediless and hopeless. This root of bitterness, to be found at the base of both Brahmanism and Buddhism, and well-nigh constituting the very essence of the latter, bears its dark flower for the early portion of this century in the genius of Leopardi. This poet of pessimism, who wrote the melancholy lines 1 Buddhism, p. 43. the bitter And from that heart of poet, with no elaborate theory about source or outcome of life's trouble, is "Nostra vita a che val? Solo a spregiarla !" 3 wrung cry: The same noxious root bore its fruit in an imposing system of pessimistic philosophy. In the same year which saw Leopardi turn from Christian faith to the creed of despair was published the great work of Schopenhauer. Thus, at that time unknown to each other, they were both reviving the hopelessness of ancient Asia. In the later appendix to his chief work Schopenhauer asserts that, at the time of its appearance, he knew little of Buddhism, and was not under its influence. It may be noted, however, that in the first volume he had said, "Indian philosophy streams back to Europe, and will produce a fundamental change in our knowledge and thought." Certain it is that this philosophy of modern Germany is, to a large extent, a renaissance of the principles of Buddhism. It is to be observed that the personal element in the two systems respectively presents a striking contrast. German Pessimism has not its gentle Prince Gautama, lover and deliverer of mankind, and Buddhism had no Schopenhauer, scorner of women. and hater of men. The personality, however, of the reviver of philosophic pessimism is not to be ignored in considering his thought. There is no more original and striking figure in nineteenth century literature, from the time when, at Jena, the girls laughing at the saturnine youth were rebuked by Goethe with the prediction, “In time he will grow over all our heads," to those later days when the "Sage of Frankfort" was like a second Dr. Johnson, with Frauenstädt as his Boswell, amidst a circle of almost adoring admirers. 1 Better I believe it were Never to see the light. 2 Enough hast thou throbbed, nothing is worth Bitterness and vexation is life, nor ever aught besides. 3 Our life is worth what? Save to be despised! Arthur Schopenhauer was born February 22, 1788, in Dantzig. He was nurtured in wealth, and traveled early and extensively. Having tried, at Hamburg, business life to his great disgust, he resumed his studies, entering the University of Göttingen, and later that of Berlin, taking the degree of Ph. D. at Jena at the age of twenty-five, when he presented an original and masterly thesis on "The Fourfold Root of the Sufficient Reason." Meanwhile, at the age of seventeen, he had lost his father. To him he always ascribed the credit of all that he was, while through him were probably inherited certain morbid tendencies of mind. Between himself and his mother, who was a popular romance writer, and a friend of Goethe's, there was no sympathy whatsoever. She writes him from Weimar: "I could tell you things that would make your hair stand on end, but I refrain, for I know how you love to brood over human misery in any case." Later she refused to have him live with her. "Your laments over the stupid world and human misery give me bad nights and unpleasant dreams." Receiving his Doctor's thesis, already mentioned, which he had filially dedicated to her, she said, "The Fourfold Root. Ah! a book for apothecaries!" His relations to his mother serve to reveal his character and disposition thus early, and also largely account, in the glimpses afforded of her, for his bitterness toward women. Indeed, with such a mother, it could not be said of him that "faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him." At Dresden he composed his great work, "Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung," The World as Will and Idea, which was published in 1818, and was at the time, and for many years, a dead failure. There was no second edition until 1844, nor a third one until 1859, and this in a land where the press was teeming with philosophical treatises. After travel and study in Italy, he spent two years in Berlin, where he was unsuccessful in his attempt to obtain pupils. Here he had an unfortunate encounter with a friend of his landlady. For injuries sustained at his hands she recovered damages in the shape of a life annuity, a burden which rested on him for over twenty years. At last on her death certificate he was able to write, " Obit anus, abit onus." At Frankfort, whither he removed from Berlin, he lived many years, and died in 1860. The evening of his life was brightened by the late splendor of his fame. It was an article in the "Westminster Review," in 1853, that first called attention to him as one of the thinkers of the world, and he was introduced to public favor by Frauenstädt in 1854. Notwithstanding this delay of nearly forty years in the world's recognition of him, Schopenhauer had decidedly literary and æsthetic genius. His style is not only brilliant and vividly picturesque, but is characterized by incisive force, and by a frequent play of wit. La Rochefoucauld was not more cynical, nor Swift more caustic. His thought is original and suggestive. His reflections upon art have undeniable interest and value. He was the father of the modern philosophy of music, and under his influence has been composed the greatest music of this century. If his philosophy was late in attracting attention, its influence is wide and extending to-day. Once it was unregarded, a cloud, no larger than a man's hand, rising out of the sea of speculation. Later it gathered volume and blackness, until it has darkened much of German thought, and threatens a cyclone in the nihilism of Russia. Now, portentous anywhere, it appears in our sky. Schopenhauer's chief work was published in English in 1883, a translation of his essays having appeared in America in 1881. His writings are finding here circulation, interpreters, and disciples. In considering his system, it is foreign to our purpose to discuss Schopenhauer's modifications of the position of Kant. The latter's critical writings are pronounced "the most important phenomenon that has appeared in philosophy for two thousand years." Their effect on a receptive mind having been compared to that of the operation for cataract on a blind man, Schopenhauer declares it to be his own purpose to "put into the hands of those upon whom that operation has been successfully performed, a pair of spectacles suitable to eyes that have recovered their sight." He follows Kant's subjective idealism, and opens his great work with the words, "The world is my idea." What one knows is not a sun and an earth, but only an eye that sees a sun, a hand that feels an earth. He knows the world only as an object of perception. The world he knows is thus phenomenal, and has merely a relative existence. Science is only systematized knowledge under the guidance of the principle of sufficient reason, the principle, that is, of the connection of things and relativity of knowledge, under the forms of time and space and causality. To that principle the world as idea is subject. We know only the relations of things to each other. It is as if we knew that a large company |