Aphorism 4
What gives those bright stormy friends such power over us? The ones whom we dote on; our tribe seems a lonely, motley assortment without them. I have such a friend who is always going through some crisis : he quit his job in a frenzy; shoes stolen right off his feet, asleep in a park; something. Certainly he is handsome, buoyant, quick-witted, with some exploit ever at his fingertips, but I suspect that without his crises he would not be such a natural aristocrat: you see, he is always asking for money. Bus fare, alcohol, tickets — this is how he makes his power felt; makes our need for him felt. Without this, his charms would be as natural and thankless as the tides. These bright friends always need a glaring fault to set off their virtues. We must submit to it; make a sacrifice on their altar. (Is this why the right is so trusted with the treasury? Because we measure their worth by what they would have us endure? But I cannot believe this — that we are masochists at heart — that would be fascism!)
