576: Money Wins.

The concepts of Liberalism and Socialism are set in effective motion only by money. It was the Equites, the big-money party, which made Tiberius Gracchus’s popular movement possible at all; and as soon as that part of the reforms that was advantageous to themselves had been successfully legalized, they withdrew and the movement collapsed. Cæsar and Crassus financed the Catilinarian movement, and so directed it against the Senatorial party instead of against property. In England politicians of eminence laid it down as early as 1700 that “on ‘Change one deals in votes as well as in stocks, and the price of a vote is as well known as the price of an acre of land.” When the news of Waterloo reached Paris, the price of French government stock rose — the Jacobins had destroyed the old obligations of the blood and so had emancipated money; now it stepped forward as lord of the land. There is no proletarian, not even a Communist, movement that has not operated in the interest of money, in the directions indicated by money, and for the time permitted by money — and that, without the idealist amongst its leaders having the slightest suspicion of the fact. Intellect rejects, money directs.

(Oswald Spengler, The Decline of the West, Vol. II. London: George Allen and Unwin, 1918, p. 402).

576: Money Wins.

524: The Painful Slavery of Gratitude.

Very often resentment goes hand in hand with timidity. The strong man reacts directly and energetically to attack, and so automatically expels affront from his mind, as though it were some foreign body. This saving elasticity does not exist in the resentful man. Many a man who turns die other cheek after a buffet does so, not from virtue, but to cover up his cowardice; and his enforced humility afterwards turns into resentment.

But, if he should later happen to become strong, with that adventitious strength which is conferred by political power, his resentment, hitherto disguised as resignation, bursts forth in revenge. It is for this reason that weak men and resentful men when chance places them in a position of power, as often happens in time of revolution, are so much to be feared. Here, too, we find the reason why so many resentful men respond to revolutionary confusion and play so large a part in its development. The most cruel of leaders often have antecedents which betray their former timidity and show unequivocal symptoms of their present resentment.

Similarly, what is very typical of such men is not merely their incapacity for gratitude, but also the facility with which they transform the favours conferred upon them by others into fuel for their resentment. There is a sentence of Robespierre’s, that tragic example of a resentful man, which one cannot read without a shudder, so stark is the light which it sheds on the psychology of the French Revolution: “I experienced, from a very early age, the painful slavery of gratitude.”

Once he has done a favour to the resentful man, the benefactor remains inscribed on the black list of his dislike. As though moved by some obscure impulse, the resentful man hovers around the powerful man, who attracts and irritates him at one and the same time. This twofold feeling creates a bitter bond which makes him one of the leader’s retinue. It is for this reason that we so often find the resentful man at the courts of the mighty. Woe betide the mighty if they do not realize that within their shadow, infinitely more dangerous than envy, inevitably grows the resentment of the very men who live by their favour!

(Gregorio Marañón, Tiberius: A Study in Resentment. London: Hollis & Carter, 1956, pp. 12–13).

524: The Painful Slavery of Gratitude.

508: By Kindness.

If any fact was clear amid the bewildering confusion of the French Revolution, it was that the gentleness, the concessions, the morbid tenderness of Louis XVI had only tended to precipitate his own and his people’s doom, and aggravate the ferocity of those whom he tried by kindness to disarm.

(Lord Salisbury, “Lord Stanhope’s Life of Pitt,” The Quarterly Review, Vol. CXI, 1862, pp. 538–539).

508: By Kindness.

496: Dig Up Your Grandfather.

We teachers of classics, gentlemen, have long been in possession of the field — until recently, in almost exclusive possession of it. We train by means of subjects which lie at the very root of human culture in all those great departments of life without some knowledge of, and interest in, which, no one can be deemed to be educated at all. In studying Latin and Greek, the life and literature of ancient Greece and Rome, we are drawing from the fountain-heads of language, literature, art, philosophy, government, and law: and upon that foundation, whether the foundation be seen or not, the superstructure of our modern civilisation rests. Those foundations can never be disturbed; no country, no age, can ever turn its back upon its past, and ignore, or attempt to undo, as the French Revolution vainly attempted to undo, all that has gone to its own making. Any such attempt recalls the advice given to a patient who consulted an eminent doctor for chronic gout. ‘I can do nothing for you,’ said the doctor. ‘What! absolutely nothing?’ ‘Well, there is only one thing in the world that would do you any good. Dig up your grandfather and get a new one.’ We cannot, as a nation, dig up our intellectual grandfathers, and provide ourselves with new ones in language, history, or literature. Classical studies can never die; least of all in these days, when men are penetrating into the past history of our race with an enthusiasm and a wealth of results unknown before.

(G.G. Ramsay, Efficiency in Education. Glasgow: James MacLehose and Sons, 1902, pp. 8–9).

496: Dig Up Your Grandfather.