intoxication very often enhances the remembrance of past times and
scenes, whereby all the circumstances connected with them are recalled
more distinctly than they could be in a state of sobriety; on the other
hand, the recollection of what one said or did while in a state of
intoxication is less clear than usual, nay, one does not recollect at
all if one has been very drunk. Therefore, intoxication enhances one's
recollection of the past, while, on the other hand, one remembers little
of the present, while in that state.
* * * * *
That arithmetic is the basest of all mental activities is proved by the
fact that it is the only one that can be accomplished by means of a
machine. Take, for instance, the reckoning machines that are so commonly
used in England at the present time, and solely for the sake of
convenience. But all _analysis finitorum et infinitorum_ is
fundamentally based on calculation. Therefore we may gauge the "profound
sense of the mathematician," of whom Lichtenberg has made fun, in that
he says: "These so-called professors of mathematics have taken advantage
of the ingenuousness of other people, have attained the credit of
possessing profound sense, which strongly resembles the theologians'
profound sense of their own holiness."
* * * * *
As a rule, people of very great capacities will get on better with a man
of extremely limited intelligence than with a man of ordinary
intelligence; and it is for the same reason that the despot and the
plebeians, the grandparents and the grandchildren, are natural allies.
* * * * *
I am not surprised that people are bored when they are alone; they
cannot laugh when they are alone, for such a thing seems foolish to
them. Is laughter, then, to be regarded as merely a signal for others, a
mere sign, like a word? It is a want of imagination and dulness of mind
generally (ἀναισθησια και βραδυτης ψυχης), as Theophrastus puts it, that
prevents people from laughing when they are alone. The lower animals
neither laugh when they are alone nor in company.
Nyson, the misanthropist, was surprised as he was laughing to himself by
one of these people, who asked him why he laughed when he was alone.
"That is just why I was laughing," was the answer.
* * * * *
People who do not go to the theatre are like those who make their toilet
without a looking-glass;--but it is still worse to come to a decision
without seeking the advice of a friend. For a man may have the most
correct and excellent judgment in everything else but in his own
affairs; because here the will at once deranges the intellect. Therefore
a man should seek counsel. A doctor can cure every one but himself; this
is why he calls in a colleague when he is ill.
* * * * *
The natural gesticulation of everyday life, such as accompanies any kind
of lively conversation, is a language of its own, and, moreover, is much
more universal than the language of words; so far as it is independent
of words, and the same in all nations; although each nation makes use of
gesticulation in proportion to its vivacity, and in individual nations,
the Italian, for instance, it is supplemented by some few gesticulations
which are merely conventional, and have therefore only local value.
Its universal use is analogous to logic and grammar, since it expresses
the form and not the matter of conversation. However, it is to be
distinguished from them since it has not only an intellectual relation
but also a moral--that is, it defines the movements of the will. And so
it accompanies conversation, just as a correctly progressive bass
accompanies a melody, and serves in the same way to enhance the effect.
The most interesting fact about gesticulation is that as soon as
conversation assumes the same _form_ there is a repetition of the same
gesture. This is the case, however varied the _matter_, that is to say,
the subject-matter, may be. So that I am able to understand quite well
the general nature of a conversation--in other words, the mere form and
type of it, while looking out of a window--without hearing a word
spoken. It is unmistakably evident that the speaker is arguing,
advancing his reasons, then modifying them, then urging them, and
drawing his conclusion in triumph; or it may be he is relating some
wrong that he has suffered, plainly depicting in strong and condemnatory
language the stupidity and stubbornness of his opponents; or he is
speaking of the splendid plan he has thought out and put in execution,
explaining how it became a success, or perhaps failed because fate was
unfavourable; or perhaps he is confessing that he was powerless to act
in the matter in question; or recounting that he noticed and saw
through, in good time, the evil schemes that had been organised against
him, and by asserting his rights or using force frustrated them and
punished their author; and a hundred other things of a similar kind. But
what gesticulation alone really conveys to me is the essential
matter--be it of a moral or intellectual nature--of the whole
conversation _in abstracto_. That is to say the quintessence, the true
substance of the conversation, remains identical whatever has brought
about the conversation, and consequently whatever the subject-matter of
it may be.
The most interesting and amusing part of the matter, as has been said,
is the complete identity of the gestures for denoting the same kind of
circumstances, even if they are used by most diverse people; just as the
words of a language are alike for every one and liable to such
modifications as are brought about by a slight difference in accent or
education. And yet these standing forms of gesticulation which are
universally observed are certainly the outcome of no convention; they
are natural and original, a true language of nature, which may have been
strengthened by imitation and custom. It is incumbent on an actor, as is
well known, and on a public speaker, to a less extent, to make a careful
study of gesture--a study which must principally consist in the
observation and imitation of others, for the matter cannot very well be
based on abstract rules; with the exception of some quite general
leading principles--as, for instance, that the gesture must not follow
the word, but rather immediately precede it, in order to announce it and
thereby rouse attention.
The English have a peculiar contempt for gesticulation, and regard it as
something undignified and common; this seems to me to be only one of
those silly prejudices of English fastidiousness. For it is a language
which nature has given to every one and which every one understands;
therefore to abolish and forbid it for no other reason than to gratify
that so much extolled, gentlemanly feeling, is a very dubious thing to
do.
* * * * *
The state of human happiness, for the most part, is like certain groups
of trees, which seen from a distance look wonderfully fine; but if we go
up to them and among them, their beauty disappears; we do not know
wherein it lay, for it is only trees that surround us. And so it happens
that we often envy the position of others.
FOOTNOTES:
[14] _Grundpr. der Ethik_, p. 48; _Welt als Wille und Vorstellung_, vol.
i. p. 338.
[15] _Vierfache Wurzel_, § 21.
[16] _Pererga_, vol. ii. § 311.
METAPHYSICS OF LOVE.
We are accustomed to see poets principally occupied with describing the
love of the sexes. This, as a rule, is the leading idea of every
dramatic work, be it tragic or comic, romantic or classic, Indian or
European. It in no less degree constitutes the greater part of both
lyric and epic poetry, especially if in these we include the host of
romances which have been produced every year for centuries in every
civilised country in Europe as regularly as the fruits of the earth. All
these works are nothing more than many-sided, short, or long
descriptions of the passion in question. Moreover, the most successful
delineations of love, such, for example, as _Romeo and Juliet, La
Nouvelle Héloise_, and _Werther_, have attained immortal fame.
Rochefoucauld says that love may be compared to a ghost since it is
something we talk about but have never seen, and Lichtenberg, in his
essay _Ueber die Macht der Liebe_, disputes and denies its reality and
naturalness--but both are in the wrong. For if it were foreign to and
contradicted human nature--in other words, if it were merely an
imaginary caricature, it would not have been depicted with such zeal by
the poets of all ages, or accepted by mankind with an unaltered
interest; for anything artistically beautiful cannot exist without
truth.
"_Rien n'est beau que le vrai; le vrai seul est aimable_."--BOIL.
Experience, although not that of everyday, verifies that that which as a
rule begins only as a strong and yet controllable inclination, may
develop, under certain conditions, into a passion, the ardour of which
surpasses that of every other. It will ignore all considerations,
overcome all kinds of obstacles with incredible strength and
persistence. A man, in order to have his love gratified, will
unhesitatingly risk his life; in fact, if his love is absolutely
rejected, he will sacrifice his life into the bargain. The Werthers and
Jacopo Ortis do not only exist in romances; Europe produces every year
at least half-a-dozen like them: _sed ignotis perierunt mortibus illi_:
for their sufferings are chronicled by the writer of official registers
or by the reporters of newspapers. Indeed, readers of the police news in
English and French newspapers will confirm what I have said.
Love drives a still greater number of people into the lunatic asylum.
There is a case of some sort every year of two lovers committing suicide
together because material circumstances happen to be unfavourable to
their union. By the way, I cannot understand how it is that such people,
who are confident of each other's love, and expect to find their
greatest happiness in the enjoyment of it, do not avoid taking extreme
steps, and prefer suffering every discomfort to sacrificing with their
lives a happiness which is greater than any other they can conceive. As
far as lesser phases and passages of love are concerned, all of us have
them daily before our eyes, and, if we are not old, the most of us in
our hearts.
After what has been brought to mind, one cannot doubt either the reality
or importance of love. Instead, therefore, of wondering why a
philosopher for once in a way writes on this subject, which has been
constantly the theme of poets, rather should one be surprised that love,
which always plays such an important _rôle_ in a man's life, has
scarcely ever been considered at all by philosophers, and that it still
stands as material for them to make use of.
Plato has devoted himself more than any one else to the subject of love,
especially in the _Symposium_ and the _Phaedrus_; what he has said about
it, however, comes within the sphere of myth, fable, and raillery, and
only applies for the most part to the love of a Greek youth. The little
that Rousseau says in his _Discours sur l'inégalité_ is neither true nor
satisfactory. Kant's disquisition on love in the third part of his
treatise, _Ueber das Gefühl des Schönen und Erhabenen_, is very
superficial; it shows that he has not thoroughly gone into the subject,
and therefore it is somewhat untrue. Finally, Platner's treatment of it
in his _Anthropology_ will be found by every one to be insipid and
shallow.
To amuse the reader, on the other hand, Spinoza's definition deserves to
be quoted because of its exuberant naïveté: _Amor est titillatio,
concomitante idea causae externae_ (_Eth._ iv., prop. 44). It is not my
intention to be either influenced or to contradict what has been written
by my predecessors; the subject has forced itself upon me objectively,
and has of itself become inseparable from my consideration of the world.
Moreover, I shall expect least approval from those people who are for
the moment enchained by this passion, and in consequence try to express
their exuberant feelings in the most sublime and ethereal images. My
view will seem to them too physical, too material, however metaphysical,
nay, transcendent it is fundamentally.
First of all let them take into consideration that the creature whom
they are idealising to-day in madrigals and sonnets would have been
ignored almost entirely by them if she had been born eighteen years
previously.
Every kind of love, however ethereal it may seem to be, springs entirely
from the instinct of sex; indeed, it is absolutely this instinct, only
in a more definite, specialised, and perhaps, strictly speaking, more
individualised form. If, bearing this in mind, one considers the
important _rôle_ which love plays in all its phases and degrees, not
only in dramas and novels, but also in the real world, where next to
one's love of life it shows itself as the strongest and most active of
all motives; if one considers that it constantly occupies half the
capacities and thoughts of the younger part of humanity, and is the
final goal of almost every human effort; that it influences adversely
the most important affairs; that it hourly disturbs the most earnest
occupations; that it sometimes deranges even the greatest intellects for
a time; that it is not afraid of interrupting the transactions of
statesmen or the investigations of men of learning; that it knows how to
leave its love-letters and locks of hair in ministerial portfolios and
philosophical manuscripts; that it knows equally well how to plan the
most complicated and wicked affairs, to dissolve the most important
relations, to break the strongest ties; that life, health, riches, rank,
and happiness are sometimes sacrificed for its sake; that it makes the
otherwise honest, perfidious, and a man who has been hitherto faithful a
betrayer, and, altogether, appears as a hostile demon whose object is to
overthrow, confuse, and upset everything it comes across: if all this is
taken into consideration one will have reason to ask--"Why is there all
this noise? Why all this crowding, blustering, anguish, and want? Why
should such a trifle play so important a part and create disturbance and
confusion in the well-regulated life of mankind?" But to the earnest
investigator the spirit of truth gradually unfolds the answer: it is not
a trifle one is dealing with; the importance of love is absolutely in
keeping with the seriousness and zeal with which it is prosecuted. The
ultimate aim of all love-affairs, whether they be of a tragic or comic
nature, is really more important than all other aims in human life, and
therefore is perfectly deserving of that profound seriousness with which
it is pursued.
As a matter of fact, love determines nothing less than the
_establishment of the next generation_. The existence and nature of the
_dramatis personae_ who come on to the scene when we have made our exit
have been determined by some frivolous love-affair. As the being, the
_existentia_ of these future people is conditioned by our instinct of
sex in general, so is the nature, the _essentia_, of these same people
conditioned by the selection that the individual makes for his
satisfaction, that is to say, by love, and is thereby in every respect
irrevocably established. This is the key of the problem. In applying it,
we shall understand it more fully if we analyse the various degrees of
love, from the most fleeting sensation to the most ardent passion; we
shall then see that the difference arises from the degree of
individualisation of the choice. All the love-affairs of the present
generation taken altogether are accordingly the _meditatio compositionis
generationis futurae, e qua iterum pendent innumerae generationes_ of
mankind. Love is of such high import, because it has nothing to do with
the weal or woe of the present individual, as every other matter has; it
has to secure the existence and special nature of the human race in
future times; hence the will of the individual appears in a higher
aspect as the will of the species; and this it is that gives a pathetic
and sublime import to love-affairs, and makes their raptures and
troubles transcendent, emotions which poets for centuries have not tired
of depicting in a variety of ways. There is no subject that can rouse
the same interest as love, since it concerns both the weal and woe of
the species, and is related to every other which only concerns the
welfare of the individual as body to surface.
This is why it is so difficult to make a drama interesting if it
possesses no love motive; on the other hand, the subject is never
exhausted, although it is constantly being utilised.
What manifests itself in the individual consciousness as instinct of sex
in general, without being concentrated on any particular individual, is
very plainly in itself, in its generalised form, the will to live. On
the other hand, that which appears as instinct of sex directed to a
certain individual, is in itself the will to live as a definitely
determined individual. In this case the instinct of sex very cleverly
wears the mask of objective admiration, although in itself it is a
subjective necessity, and is, thereby, deceptive. Nature needs these
stratagems in order to accomplish her ends. The purpose of every man in
love, however objective and sublime his admiration may appear to be, is
to beget a being of a definite nature, and that this is so, is verified
by the fact that it is not mutual love but possession that is the
essential. Without possession it is no consolation to a man to know that
his love is requited. In fact, many a man has shot himself on finding
himself in such a position. On the other hand, take a man who is very
much in love; if he cannot have his love returned he is content simply
with possession. Compulsory marriages and cases of seduction corroborate
this, for a man whose love is not returned frequently finds consolation
in giving handsome presents to a woman, in spite of her dislike, or
making other sacrifices, so that he may buy her favour.
The real aim of the whole of love's romance, although the persons
concerned are unconscious of the fact, is that a particular being may
come into the world; and the way and manner in which it is accomplished
is a secondary consideration. However much those of lofty sentiments,
and especially of those in love, may refute the gross realism of my
argument, they are nevertheless in the wrong. For is not the aim of
definitely determining the individualities of the next generation a much
higher and nobler aim than that other, with its exuberant sensations and
transcendental soap-bubbles? Among all earthly aims is there one that is
either more important or greater? It alone is in keeping with that
deep-rooted feeling inseparable from passionate love, with that
earnestness with which it appears, and the importance which it attaches
to the trifles that come within its sphere. It is only in so far as we
regard _this_ end as the real one that the difficulties encountered, the
endless troubles and vexations endured, in order to attain the object we
love, appear to be in keeping with the matter. For it is the future
generation in its entire individual determination which forces itself
into existence through the medium of all this strife and trouble.
Indeed, the future generation itself is already stirring in the careful,
definite, and apparently capricious selection for the satisfaction of
the instinct of sex which we call love. That growing affection of two
lovers for each other is in reality the will to live of the new being,
of which they shall become the parents; indeed, in the meeting of their
yearning glances the life of a new being is kindled, and manifests
itself as a well-organised individuality of the future. The lovers have
a longing to be really united and made one being, and to live as such
for the rest of their lives; and this longing is fulfilled in the
children born to them, in whom the qualities inherited from both, but
combined and united in one being, are perpetuated. Contrarily, if a man
and woman mutually, persistently, and decidedly dislike each other, it
indicates that they could only bring into the world a badly organised,
discordant, and unhappy being. Therefore much must be attached to
Calderon's words, when he calls the horrible Semiramis a daughter of the
air, yet introduces her as a daughter of seduction, after which follows
the murder of the husband.
Finally, it is the will to live presenting itself in the whole species,
which so forcibly and exclusively attracts two individuals of different
sex towards each other. This will anticipates in the being, of which
they shall become the parents, an objectivation of its nature
corresponding to its aims. This individual will inherit the father's
will and character, the mother's intellect, and the constitution of
both. As a rule, however, an individual takes more after the father in
shape and the mother in stature, corresponding to the law which applies
to the offspring of animals.... It is impossible to explain the
individuality of each man, which is quite exceptional and peculiar to
him alone; and it is just as impossible to explain the passion of two
people for each other, for it is equally individual and uncommon in
character; indeed, fundamentally both are one and the same. The former
is _explicite_ what the latter was _implicite_.
We must consider as the origin of a new individual and true _punctum
saliens_ of its life the moment when the parents begin to love each
other--_to fancy each other_, as the English appropriately express it.
And, as has been said, in the meeting of their longing glances
originates the first germ of a new being, which, indeed, like all germs,
is generally crushed out. This new individual is to a certain extent a
new (Platonic) Idea; now, as all Ideas strive with the greatest
vehemence to enter the phenomenal sphere, and to do this, ardently seize
upon the matter which the law of causality distributes among them all,
so this particular Idea of a human individuality struggles with the
greatest eagerness and vehemence for its realisation in the phenomenal.
It is precisely this vehement desire which is the passion of the future
parents for one another. Love has countless degrees, and its two
extremes may be indicated as Ἀφροδιτη πανδημος and οὐρανια;
nevertheless, in essentials it is the same everywhere.