Quotes from Beautiful Thoughts from German and Spanish Authors — Wilhelm von Humboldt

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We often find that religion is not understood in its true greatness, but that man looks at it from a lower point of view. He who worships God only on selfish principles, that he may receive protection, aid, and blessing in return, and who demands, as it were, that he should concern himself about the petty fate of every individual, such a one makes himself the central point of the whole universe; whereas he who thoroughly comprehends the greatness and fatherly goodness of God, receiving the idea with admiring devotion and deep thankfulness, so that he removes from his mind everything that does not accord with the purest and noblest conceptions; as, for instance, the thought that what duty and virtue require of him is at the same time the will of the Most High, and necessary for the proper regulation of the affairs of the world; such a man possesses a truly religious and virtuous mind.

We must now simply regard education as a direct guide to propriety of conduct, a good character, and a pretty fair amount of knowledge. It effects often much more by the bringing together a number of influences, the intended result of which may indeed be frustrated, but which produces by the conflict with the individuality of the person being educated, that which the direct influences could never have brought about; for the result of any system of education depends entirely upon the power that a man possesses of applying the influences brought to bear upon him to the ends of self-culture, or whether he allows himself to be moulded by them.

Man is, above all, the central point of human action, and each man remains at last alone, so that what was in him and went forth from him is alone important. Man, during his life on earth, sympathising and active, is ever associated in his feelings with others; yet he treads alone the more important path, which leads over the confines of the earthly state: no one can accompany him there, though in every man there is the presentiment, that beyond the grave he will find again those who have gone before him, and will there gather around him again those whom he leaves behind. No man of affectionate feeling can be without this anticipation, yea, this firm belief, without giving up a large portion of his happiness, and that the purest and noblest.

Everything that regards statesmanship and the interest of the world is in all outward respects of the greatest importance; it creates and destroys in a moment the happiness, even the very existence, of thousands, but when the wave of the moment has rushed past, and the storm has abated, its influence is lost, and even frequently disappears without leaving a trace behind. Many other things that are noiselessly influencing the thoughts and feelings often make far deeper and more lasting impressions on us. Man can for the most part keep himself very independent of all that does not trench on his private life — a very wise arrangement of Providence, since it gives a much greater security to human happiness.

We cannot get rid of the idea that life must be regarded as an ocean, through which we are to conduct our bark more or less successfully, and then it is a natural feeling that we should contemplate with more satisfaction the short distance than the long voyage. This idea of viewing life as a whole, as a work to be got through, has ever appeared to me to be a powerful reason why we should regard death with indifference. On the other hand, if we look at life in detached portions, we have only to strive to associate one happy day with another, as if this would continue for an eternity; and then nothing can be more void of a comfortable feeling than to find ourselves standing on the brink of that bourn at which the thread of life must be at once snapped.

Many terrors are in a great measure only in the imagination. Even in many real illnesses it adds much when people are timid and of anxious minds. The restlessness which certain diseases bring with them is lessened if we are able to counteract them by peace of mind. With positive pain it is otherwise, but even with it much may be done. Above all, much is gained if we regard sickness not as a state of suffering, but as a labour which must be got over. For no one can doubt but that the patient can contribute much to the restoration of his strength and to his own recovery.

It is often found that those feelings which are best, noblest, and most self-denying, are exactly those which lead to a disastrous issue. It is as if, by the command of a higher and wiser Power, man’s fate were intentionally brought into variance with his inner feelings, in order that the latter might acquire a higher value, shine with greater purity, and thus become more precious by the very privations and sufferings to him who cherishes such feelings. However benevolent may be the intentions of Providence, they do not always advance the happiness of the individual. Providence has always higher ends in view, and works in a pre-eminent degree on the inner feelings and disposition.

The men most to be pitied are those who have no command over themselves, who cannot do what they would, and who, even whilst they are performing virtuous deeds, do so from mean motives, from regard to happiness and mental satisfaction, fear of the reproaches of conscience, or else of future punishment. This is all very well and useful, supposing that man cannot be kept in the straight path by any other motives, but he who looks inwardly to the heart and soul can derive no satisfaction from such conduct. True nobility only exists when the good is sought for its own sake, either as a recognised law of pure duty, or from the feeling of the lofty dignity and constraining beauty of virtue. It is only these motives that show the disposition to be great and noble, and these alone react upon the character.

As the sea in its sublime uniformity ever brings manifold images before the soul, and calls up a variety of thoughts, it became quite evident to me, from violent continuous storms, what flattering gentleness the sea has in its greatest terrors. The sea, which swallows up what it seizes, advances with playfulness and covers the deep abyss with white foam. The sea has been called deceitful and treacherous, but there lies in this trait only the character of a great natural power which, to speak according to our own feelings, renews its strength, and, without reference to joy or sorrow, follows eternal laws which are imposed by a higher Power.

Women are in this respect more fortunate, and yet more unfortunate, than men — that most of their employments are of such a nature that they may at the same time be thinking of quite different things. I would pronounce this to be a lucky circumstance, for one may almost the whole day continue a train of deep thought without the slightest interruption to work, or being in any way distracted in our labours. This is no doubt one of the chief reasons why many women surpass men in everything which requires deep thought and a more subtle knowledge of ourselves and others. But when, on the other hand, these inner thoughts are not of a pleasant nature, or at least not in a pure and unmixed degree, but partly depressing and disquieting, then the danger is certainly greater, and more likely to destroy the inward peace; whereas men, in their business itself, and even against their will, find distraction and relief from inward troubles and vexations.

Happiness passes away, leaving hardly the slightest trace behind, indeed can scarcely be called happiness, since nothing lasting is gained. Unhappiness also passes away (and that is a great comfort), but leaves deep traces behind; and if we know how to improve them, of a most wholesome nature, and is often the cause of the highest happiness, as it purifies and strengthens the character. Then, again, in life it is worthy of special remark, that when we are not too anxious about happiness and unhappiness, but devote ourselves to the strict and unsparing performance of duty, then happiness comes of itself — nay, even springs from the midst of a life of troubles, and anxieties, and privations. This I have often observed in the case of women who have been married unhappily, but who would rather sink into the grave than abandon the position in which fate has placed them.

Your expression that "it appears as if God would only pour his blessings into pure vessels," pleases me exceedingly. If a man be without this blessing, he cannot charm it towards him. I agree with you in thinking that this blessing is given to man in a mysterious way which we cannot see. But the ideas attached to the words happiness and unhappiness are of so vague and undetermined a nature, even in the minds of those who usually entertain correct views and opinions, that I have from early youth endeavoured to get clear conceptions upon this subject ; and the conclusion at which I have arrived is, that man is ever sure to enjoy a certain amount of happiness at least, if he render himself independent of external circumstances — if he learn to draw happiness from every event of a pleasing nature, whether relating to man or things, at the same time maintaining his independence of both sources.

Those who go along the path of life together must separate at some point; it is well when the interval at which they follow each other is very short. But every period of years is short in comparison of eternity. As for myself, I care now for nothing else except that my inward being, simple and undisguised, without being led by prejudices or maxims, yielding only to its feelings, should place itself in unison with that period of life on which I have unluckily entered sooner than the usual course of life might have led me to expect. Such a state, in my opinion, no man need fear to attain, but there must be much striving after it. It is, indeed, often attained only after much physical and moral suffering, but in this there is a lesson of humility under the hand of God, which I have ever regarded as the best and highest duty of man.

To be happy and to feel inward happiness is not the gift of fate, and comes not from the circumstances in which we are placed. We must reach it by our own exertions if it is to remain. But then it is comforting to think that it is always within our own power. God himself cannot make a man happy in his external circumstances, or at least only to a certain extent, nor yet can he make him always prosperous and successful in his aims; for God has with supreme wisdom placed men in the midst of ever-changing events, and these do not admit of men being always happy. But inwardly happy he can always make him, for he has given us this power in our heart — the yearning for him, the admiration, love, and trust in him; in fact, all those feelings by which his peace comes to us.

Enjoyment arises from activity of mind; both are ever united. There is indeed also an enjoyment which streams in upon us as a pure gift of Heaven. Such, however, we should not seek after; it is to be regretted when an anxious longing for this arises. But the great enjoyment, the great happiness, that which cannot be torn from us by any power, lies in the past and in the thought that happiness is indeed a great and precious good, but yet the improvement of the soul by joys and griefs, the development of noble feelings, is the true and only end of existence; whereas everything else in the world is ever changing, and in its nature transient. According to this view, life in the past sinks not into a stupid brooding over past pleasures or sorrows that have been felt, but is united closely with the mental activity which employs itself on the present.

Time is only an empty space, first acquiring meaning from the events, thoughts, and feelings with which we fill it. But as we know that this meaning has come fraught with joy and sorrow to many sensitive natures, our own hearts cannot but be affected by it. Its quiet, secret power, too, has a magical charm. The day on which a great misfortune has befallen us is, after a long course of years, passed unnoticed, and then, too, unknown to us is the approach of one on which a calamity inevitably awaits us. If we reflect deeply on the consequences of time, we lose ourselves as in an abyss. There is neither beginning nor end. A great comfort lies, however, in contemplating the course of life, as it ever reminds us of a sublime law — an eternal controlling power — an immutable order. There is something very tranquillising in the knowledge of this order in all the affairs of the world, in the frailty of human nature, and in the apparently uncontrolled destructive power of the elements.

As time advances more things appear, which enable the world to judge of the characters of remarkable men. In our judgments of them at first we are influenced by the opinions which their contemporaries held respecting them, but gradually another opinion arises, on which at last what is called posthumous fame is built up. Men in this way become in a certain degree like phantoms. Much which belongs to them vanishes, and what remains assumes quite a different aspect. Therefore what we know of them will be received according to the spirit of the existing time. So uncertain is the image which even the greatest men leave behind them in history.

There is an important law of nature which should never be lost sight of, I mean that of our maturity for death. Death is not a cutting off of being, but a transition, a passing from one form of being to another. Both conditions, here and hereafter, so depend on each other, and are so inseparably connected, that the first moment there can only commence with the last moment here, when the perfect development of the being is completed. No human wisdom can calculate, no inward feeling can show, the moment of this maturity for death, or the impossibility of advancing farther; to attempt this would be the vain presumption of human pride. He only who is in a position to penetrate and understand our whole being can do this ; and it is the dictate alike of duty and of wisdom to commit the hour to Him, and never to oppose our impatient wishes to his will.

There is nothing so selfish and heartless as the displeasure, or at least the kind of contemptuous aversion, with which men of distinction and wealth sometimes regard Sundays and holidays. Even the choice of the seventh day is certainly the wisest which could have been made. However it may seem to lie, and in one respect really may lie, within the power of the will to shorten or lengthen the usual period of labour, I am thoroughly convinced that the six days are the really true, fit, and adequate measure of time for work, whether as regards the physical strength of man or his perseverance in a uniform occupation. There is also something humane in the arrangement, by which those animals which assist man in his work rest along with him.

The complaint about the weather is to me specially strange, and I cannot endure it well in others. I like to look upon Nature as a mighty power, imparting the purest joy, when we live tranquilly with her in all her developments, and consider the sum of all these as one great whole, in which we are not to think whether any individual portion is pleasing if only the great general ends are accomplished. For me the peculiar charm of a country life in the society of Nature consists in this, that we see the different seasons of the year roll past our eyes. It is just the same with life; and it has therefore always appeared to me an idle question, to say nothing more, what period of life has the greatest attractions — youth or manhood, or any other portion of time. It is ever only self-deception when we imagine that we would really wish to continue in any one particular period. The charm of youth just consists in the joyous and unrestrained anticipations of life, and all these would vanish whenever it was evident to any one that he was ever striving and never advancing a step, very much like people condemned to the treadmill. With age it is just the same; when clearly and powerfully understood, it is nothing else than a looking beyond this life, a stage in our course, a feeling that we must leave all things without being able to dispense with them, loving meanwhile, and looking with cheerfulness on all we are leaving, as a scene in which we are interested, and on which our thoughts still love to linger.

Attribution

Quotes and notes from Wikiquote: Wilhelm von Humboldt (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0.