The World as Will and Idea, Vol. II — Arthur Schopenhauer, trans. Haldane & Kemp

kernel of our nature, which does not lie in time. It is assumed that the identity of the person rests upon that of consciousness. But by this is understood merely the connected recollection of the course of life ; hence it is not sufficient We certainly know something more of our life than of a novel we have formerly read, yet only very little.

The principal events, the interesting scenes, have impressed themselves upon us ; in the remainder a thousand events are forgotten for one that has been retained. The older we become the more do things pass by us without leaving any trace. Great age, illness, injury of the brain, madness, may deprive us of memory altogether, but the identity of * the person is not thereby lost.

It rests upon the identical A will and the unalterable character of the person. It is it • , also which makes the expression of the glance unchangeable. In the lieart is the man, not in the head.

It is true that, in consequence of our relation to the external world, we are accustomed to regard as our real self the subject of knowledge, the knowing I, which wearies in the evening, vanishes in sleep, and in the morning shines brighter with renewed strength. This is, however, the mere function of the brain, and not our own self.

Our true self, the kernel of our nature, is what is behind that, and really knows nothing but willing and not willing, being content and not content, with all the modifications of this, which are called feelings, emotions, and passions. This is that which produces the other, does not sleep with it when it sleeps, and in the same way when it sinks in death remains uninjured.

Everything, on the contrary, that belongs to knowledge is exposed to oblivion ; even actions of moral significance can sometimes, after years, be only imperfectly recalled, and we no longer know accurately and in detail how we acted on a critical occasion. But the character itself, to which the actions only testify, cannot be forgotten by us ; it is now still quite the same as then.

The will itself, alone and for itself, is permanent, for it alone is unchangeable, indestructible, not growing old, not physical, but metaONp. 461

, physical, not belonging to the phenomenal appearance, but to that itself which so appears. How the identity of consciousness also, so far as it goes, depends upon it I have shown above in chapter 15, so I need not dwell upon it further here.

II. Aristotle says in passing, in his book on the comparison of the desirable, "To live well is better than to live " (fieXnov tov %-qv to ev fyjv, Top. iii. 2). From this we might infer, by double contraposition, not to live is better than to live badly. This is also evident to the intellect ; yet the great majority live very badly rather than not at all.

This clinging to life cannot therefore have its ground in the object of life, since life, as was shown in the fourth book, is really a constant suffering, or at the least, as will be shown further on in the 28th chapter, a business which does not cover its expenses ; thus that clinging to life can only be founded in the subject of it.

But it is not founded in the intellect, it is no result of reflection, and in general is not a matter of choice ; but this willing of life is something that is taken for granted : it is a prius of the intellect itself. We ourselves are the will to live, and therefore we must live, well or ill.

Only from the fact that this clinging to a life which is so little worth to them is entirely a priori and not a posteriori can we explain the excessive fear of death that dwells in every living thing, which Eochefoucauld has expressed in his last reflection, with rare frankness and naivete', and upon which the effect of all tragedies and heroic actions ultimately rest, for it would be lost if we prized life only according to its objective worth.

Upon this inexpressible horror mortis is also founded the favourite principle of all ordinary minds, that whosoever takes his own life must be mad ; yet not less the astonishment, mingled with a certain admiration, which this action always excites even in thinking minds, because it is so opposed to the nature of all living beings that in a certain sense we are forced to admire him who is able to perform it. For suicide proceeds from a purpose