Herodotus And William Cowper: On Certain Customs Of Thrace

Herodotus relates the following anecdote about the Trausi, who were one of the tribes of Thrace:

"The Trausi in all else resemble the other Thracians, but have customs at births and deaths which I will now describe.  When a child is born all its kindred sit round about it in a circle and weep for the woes it will have to undergo now that it is come into the world, making mention of every ill that falls to the lot of human kind; when, on the other hand, a man has died, they bury him with laughter and rejoicings, and say that now he is free from a host of sufferings, and enjoys the completest happiness."

Herodotus, The Histories, Book V, Chapter 4 (translated by George Rawlinson) (1859).  When I came across this passage, I realized that the Trausi may have anticipated the gloomy conclusion arrived at centuries later by Arthur Schopenhauer and Giacomo Leopardi:  that humans would be better off if they had never been born.  (As I said, gloomy.)

                                               Caspar David Friedrich
                                        "Graveyard under Snow" (1826)

I had not thought about the passage for a while, but recently I came across a poem titled "The Thracian." The poem is a translation by William Cowper of the Latin original, which was written by Vincent Bourne.  Bourne (1695-1747) was an Englishman who wrote poetry in Latin.  Cowper was a pupil of Bourne's at Westminster School.  Later in his life, Cowper translated a number of Bourne's poems.

               The Thracian

Thracian parents, at his birth,
   Mourn their babe with many a tear,
But with undissembled mirth
   Place him breathless on his bier.

Greece and Rome with equal scorn,
   "O the savages!" exclaim,
"Whether they rejoice or mourn,
   "Well entitled to the name!"

But the cause of this concern,
   And this pleasure, would they trace,
Even they might somewhat learn
   From the savages of Thrace.

                                                  Frans Francken
                   "Death Invites the Old Man for a Last Dance" (1635)

Schopenhauer: Dogs Are Preferable To Humans

Arthur Schopenhauer is my favorite pessimist.  (Although Giacomo Leopardi and Philip Larkin are definitely in the running.)  I say this subject to the proviso (as I have noted before) that one person's "pessimism" is another person's "realism."  However, I do not intend to urge Schopenhauer's view of the world upon the rest of you.

But, for those of you who may shy away from pessimism, please bear in mind that Schopenhauer's pessimism (and his accompanying misanthropy) sometimes reach such heights (or is it depths?) that you can only break out in laughter at his antics.  Thus, I give you Arthur's following piece of wisdom about dogs.

First comes the not uncommon apostrophe upon the deficiencies of the average human being:  "There are few who have even a small surplus of intellectual powers. . . .with the others, it is better not to enter into any relations . . . what they have to say will not be worth listening to.  What we say to them will seldom be properly grasped and understood."  Arthur then comes to this conclusion (in the form of a bit of advice):

"To anyone who needs lively entertainment for the purpose of banishing the dreariness of solitude, I recommend a dog, in whose moral and intellectual qualities he will almost always experience delight and satisfaction."

"Ideas Concerning the Intellect Generally and In All Respects," in Parerga and Paralipomena, Volume II (translated by E. F. J. Payne), page 82.

Appallingly misanthropic?  Yes.  Arrogant and supercilious?  Yes, of course.  Entertaining?  Yes.  (At least for some of us.)  But don't you get the feeling that Arthur is perhaps pulling our leg -- having a bit of fun with us?  (I have always suspected that Philip Larkin was wont to do the same thing, particularly when he sat down for interviews.)

A final note:  in connection with Arthur's advice, one should be aware that he was devoted to his beloved poodles, who lived with him in his rooms, and accompanied him on his daily walks among the burghers of Frankfurt-am-Main.

Leopardi: Life As A Voyage (But Not A Pleasant One)

A preliminary point:  one person's "pessimism" is another person's "realism."  (Or, put differently:  one person's "pessimism" is another person's "truth.")  With that, I will dispense with the scare quotes around  pessimism.  On to Leopardi. 

When it comes to pessimism (or, realism and truth, if you will), you cannot beat Leopardi. Compared to him, Arthur Schopenhauer (often thought of as the king of pessimism) is a rank amateur.  (It comes as no surprise that Schopenhauer greatly admired Leopardi.)  

We have all heard the old saw that "life is a journey, not a destination."  Well, here is what Leopardi has to say about that journey:

"What is life?  The voyage of a crippled, sick man who, with a very heavy burden on his back, walks over steep mountains and extremely harsh, fatiguing, difficult places through snow, ice, rain, wind, under the burning sun, without rest day and night for many days in order to reach a precipice or ditch into which he must inevitably fall."

(Giacomo Leopardi, Zibaldone, entry written in Bologna on January 17, 1826.) 

                                               Leopardi's Death Mask