Kabanata Kabanata 8 · 第8章

“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. “Science 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 frightened. 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 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 advantage. We sometimes choose absolute nonsense because in our

foolishness we see in that nonsense the easiest means for attaining 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 retaining our reason to

be _senseless_ in our desires, 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 calculate

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 nature 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 formulas 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! Gentlemen, 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 rational 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 reasoning, 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, consciously 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 developed man, such, in short, as the

future man will be, cannot consciously desire anything 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 obligation to desire only what is sensible. Of

course, this very stupid thing, this caprice of ours, may be in

reality, gentlemen, more advantageous for us than anything else on

earth, especially in certain cases. And in particular it may be more

advantageous than any advantage even when it does us obvious harm, and

contradicts the soundest conclusions of our reason concerning our

advantage—for in any circumstances it preserves for us what is most

precious and most important—that is, our personality, our

individuality. Some, you see, maintain that this really is the most

precious thing for mankind; 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 praiseworthy. 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 praiseworthy? Gentlemen, let us suppose that

man is not stupid. (Indeed one cannot refuse to suppose that, if only

from the one consideration, that, if man is stupid, then who is wise?)

But if he is not stupid, he is monstrously ungrateful! Phenomenally

ungrateful. 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, perpetual—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 obliquity. 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

in 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 happening: 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 rationally in this world. And yet we all know 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 deliberately desire the most fatal rubbish, the most uneconomical

absurdity, simply to introduce 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 purposely 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 has not yet come off, and that desire still

depends on something we don’t know?

You will scream at me (that is, if you condescend 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!