ruled over by the gloomy asperity of their own passion; but of what advantage is music to the present little souls of the vanishing age, souls too versatile, too little developed, half personal, inquisitive, which hanker after everything?
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The panegyrists of scork.—In the glorification of work, in the incessant chatter about the “blessings of work," I discover the same secret thought as in the praise of the benevolent, impersonal actious, namely, the dread of the individual. At the sight of work—which always implies that severe toil from morning till night—we really feel that such work is the best police, that it keeps everybody in bounds, and effectually checks the development of reason, of covetousness, of a desire after independence. For it consumes an enormous amount of nervous force, withdrawing it from reflection, brooding, dreaming, care, love, hatred; it always dangles a small object before the eye, affording easy and regular gratifications. Thus a society in which hard work is constantly being performed will enjoy greater security, and security is now worshipped as the supreme deity. And now! Oh horror! the very “workman" has grown dangerous! the work is swarming with “dangerous individuals"! And in their train follows the danger of all dangers—the individual.
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Moral fashion of a commercial society.—"Moral actions
