§ 22.—_Physiognomy of Sensations._
It is just this close correspondence between the two natures which is
the basis of the whole science of physiognomy. By means of this nervous
connection (which, as we have seen, lies at the bottom of the
communication of feelings) the most secret movements of the soul are
revealed on the exterior of the body, and passion penetrates even
through the veil of the hypocrite. Each passion has its specific
expressions, its peculiar dialect, so to speak, by which one knows it.
And, indeed, it is an admirable law of Supreme Wisdom, that every
passion which is noble and generous beautifies the body, while those
that are mean and hateful distort it into animal forms. The more the
mind departs from the likeness of the Deity, the nearer does the outward
form seem to approach the animal, and always that animal which has a
kindred proclivity. Thus, the mild expression of the philanthropist
attracts the needy, whom the insolent look of the angry man repels. This
is an indispensable guide in social life. It is astonishing what an
accordance bodily appearance has with the passions; heroism and
fearlessness pour life and strength through the veins and muscles, the
eyes sparkle, the breast heaves, all the limbs arm themselves alike for
combat—the man has the appearance of a war-horse. Fright and fear
extinguish the fire in the eyes, the limbs sink powerless and heavy, the
marrow in the bones seems frozen, the blood falls back on the heart like
a stone, a general weakness cripples the powers of life.
A great, bold, lofty thought compels us to stand on tiptoe, to hold up
the head, to expand the mouth and nose. The feeling of eternity, the
outlook on a wide open horizon, the sea, etc., make us stretch out our
arms—_we_ would merge ourselves into the eternal: with the mountains, we
would grow towards the heavens, rush thither on storms and waves:
yawning abysses throw us down in giddiness. In like manner, hate is
expressed in the body by a repelling force; while, on the contrary, in
every pressure of the hand, in every embrace, our body will merge into
that of our friend, in the same manner as the souls are in harmonious
combination. Pride makes the body erect as the soul rises; pettiness
bends the head, the limbs hang down; servile fear is expressed in the
cringing walk; the thought of pain distorts our face, if pleasurable
aspects spread a grace over the whole body; anger, on the other hand,
will break through every strong opposing cord, and need will almost
overcome the impossible. I would now ask through what mechanism it
happens that exactly these movements result from these feelings, that
just these organs are affected by these passions? Might I not just as
well want to know why a certain wounding of the ligament should stiffen
the lower jaw?
If the passion which sympathetically awakened these movements of the
frame be often renewed, if this sensation of soul become habitual, then
these movements of the body will become so also. If this matured passion
be of a lasting character, then these constitutional features of the
frame become deeply engraved: they become, if I may borrow the
pathologist’s word, “deuteropathetic,” and are at last organic. Thus, at
last, the firm perennial physiognomy of man is formed, so that it is
almost easier afterwards to change the soul than the form. In this
sense, one may also say, without being a “Stahlian,” that the soul forms
the body; and perhaps the earliest years of youth decide the features of
a man for life, as they certainly are the foundation of his moral
character. An inert and weak soul, which never overflows in passions,
has no physiognomy at all; and want of expression is the leading
characteristic of the countenance of the imbecile. The original features
which nature gave him continue unaltered; the face is smooth, for no
soul has played upon it; the eyebrows retain a perfect arch, for no wild
passion has distorted them; the whole form retains its roundness, for
the fat reposes in its cells; the face is regular, perhaps even
beautiful, but I pity the soul of it!
A physiognomy of (perfect) organic parts, _e.g._, as to the form and
size of the nose, eyes, mouth, ears, etc., the color of the hair, the
height of the neck, and such like, may perhaps possibly be found, but
certainly not very easily, however much Lavater should continue to rave
about it through ten quarto volumes. He who would reduce to order the
capricious play of nature, and classify the forms which she has punished
like a stepmother, or endowed as a mother, would venture more than
Linnæus, and should be very careful lest he become one with the original
presented to him, through its monstrous sportive variety.
Yet one more kind of sympathy deserves to be noticed, since it is of
great importance in physiology. I mean the sympathy of certain
sensations for the organs from which they sprang. A certain cramp in the
stomach causes a feeling of disgust; the reproduction of this sensation
brings back the cramp. How is this?
§ 23.—_The Remains of the Animal Nature is also a Source of Perfection._
Although the animal part of man preserves for him the many great
advantages of which we have already spoken, still, one may say that, in
another aspect, it remains always despicable; viz., the soul thus
depends, slave-like, on the activity of its tools; the periodical
relaxation of these prescribes to the soul an inactive pause and
annihilation at periods. I mean sleep, which, one cannot deny, robs us
at least of the third part of our life. Further, our mind is completely
dependent on the laws of the body, so that the cessation of the latter
puts a sudden stop to the continuance of thoughts, even though we be on
the straight, open path towards truth. If the reason have ever so little
fixed upon an idea, when the lazy matter refuses to carry it out, the
strings of the thinking organs grow weary, if they have been but
slightly strained; the body fails us where we need it most. What
astonishing steps, one may infer, would man make in the use of his
powers if he could continue to think in a state of unbroken intensity!
How he would unravel every idea to its final elements; how he would
trace every appearance to its most hidden sources, if he could keep them
uninterruptedly before his mind! But, alas! it is not thus. Why is it
not so?
§ 24.—_Necessity for Relaxation._