But of course that is

because I do not respect myself. Can a man of perception respect himself

at all?

V

Come, can a man who attempts to find enjoyment in the very feeling of

his own degradation possibly have a spark of respect for himself? I am not

saying this now from any mawkish kind of remorse. And, indeed, I could

never endure saying, "Forgive me, Papa, I won't do it again," not because

I am incapable of saying that--on the contrary, perhaps just because I

have been too capable of it, and in what a way, too. As though of design I

used to get into trouble in cases when I was not to blame in any way. That

was the nastiest part of it. At the same time I was genuinely touched and

penitent, I used to shed tears and, of course, deceived myself, though I

was not acting in the least and there was a sick feeling in my heart at the

time. ... For that one could not blame even the laws of nature, though

the laws of nature have continually all my life offended me more than

anything. It is loathsome to remember it all, but it was loathsome even

then. Of course, a minute or so later I would realise wrathfully that it was

all a lie, a revolting lie, an affected lie, that is, all this penitence, this

emotion, these vows of reform. You will ask why did I worry myself with

such antics: answer, because it was very dull to sit with one's hands

folded, and so one began cutting capers. That is really it. Observe

yourselves more carefully, gentlemen, then you will understand that it is

so. I invented adventures for myself and made up a life, so as at least to

live in some way. How many times it has happened to me--well, for

instance, to take offence simply on purpose, for nothing; and one knows

oneself, of course, that one is offended at nothing; that one is putting it

on, but yet one brings oneself at last to the point of being really offended.

All my life I have had an impulse to play such pranks, so that in the end I

could not control it in myself. Another time, twice, in fact, I tried hard to

be in love. I suffered, too, gentlemen, I assure you. In the depth of my

heart there was no faith in my suffering, only a faint stir of mockery, but

yet I did suffer, and in the real, orthodox way; I was jealous, beside myself

... and it was all from ENNUI, gentlemen, all from ENNUI; inertia overcame

me. You know the direct, legitimate fruit of consciousness is

inertia, that is, conscious sitting-with-the-hands-folded. I have referred

to this already. I repeat, I repeat with emphasis: all "direct" persons and men of action are active just because they are stupid and limited. How

explain that? I will tell you: in consequence of their limitation they take

immediate and secondary causes for primary ones, and in that way

persuade themselves more quickly and easily than other people do that

they have found an infallible foundation for their activity, and their

minds are at ease and you know that is the chief thing. To begin to act,

you know, you must first have your mind completely at ease and no trace

of doubt left in it. Why, how am I, for example, to set my mind at rest?

Where are the primary causes on which I am to build? Where are my

foundations? Where am I to get them from? I exercise myself in reflection,

and consequently with me every primary cause at once draws after

itself another still more primary, and so on to infinity. That is just the

essence of every sort of consciousness and reflection. It must be a case of

the laws of nature again. What is the result of it in the end? Why, just the

same. Remember I spoke just now of vengeance.