1. Pleasant sensation was necessary to lead man to perfection, and he
can only be perfect when he feels comfortable.
2. The nature of a mortal being makes unpleasant feeling unavoidable.
Evil does not shut man out from the best world, and the worldly-wise
find their perfection therein.
3. Thus pain and pleasure are necessary. It seems harder, but it is no
less true.
4. Every pain, as every pleasure, grows according to its nature, and
would continue to do so.
5. Every pain and every pleasure of a mixed being tend to their own
dissolution.
§ 25.—_Explanation._
It is a well-known law of the connection between ideas that every
sensation, of whatever kind, immediately seizes another of its kind, and
enlarges itself through this addition. The larger and more manifold it
becomes, so much the more does it awaken similar sensations in all
directions through the organs of thought, until, by degrees, it becomes
universally predominant, and occupies the whole soul. Consequently,
every sensation grows through itself; every present condition of the
feeling power contains the root of a feeling to follow, similar, but
more intense. This is evident. Now, every mental sensation is, as we
know, allied to a similar animal one; in other words, each one is
connected with more or less movement of the nerves, which take a
direction according to the measure of their strength and extension.
Thus, as mental sensations grow, must the movements in the nervous
system increase also. This is no less clear. Now, pathology teaches us
that a nerve never suffers alone: and to say, “Here is a superfluity of
strength,” is as much as to say, “There is want of strength.” Thus,
every nervous movement grows through itself. Now, we have remarked that
the movements of the nervous system react upon the mind, and strengthen
the mental sensations;[26] _vice versa_, the strengthened sensation of
the mind increase and strengthen the motions of the nerves. Thus we have
a circle, in which sensation must always increase, and nervous movements
every moment become more powerful and universal.
Now, we know that the movements of the bodily frame which cause the
feeling of pain run counter to the harmony by which it would exist in
well-being; that is, that they are diseased. But disease cannot grow
unceasingly, therefore they end in the total destruction of the frame.
In relation to pain, it is thus proved that it aims at the death of the
subject.
But, the motions of the nerves under pleasant sensations being so
harmonious to the continuance of the machinery that the condition of
mind which constitutes pleasure is that of the greatest bodily
well-being, should not rather, then, pleasant sensation prolong the
bloom of the body eternally? This inference is too hasty. In a certain
stage of moderation, these nervous motions are wholesome, and really a
sign of health. But if they outgrow this stage, they may be the highest
activity, the highest momentary perfection; but, thus, they are excess
of health, no longer health itself.
We only call that condition of the natural motions health in which the
root of similar ones for the future lies, viz., those which confirm the
perfection of succeeding motions; thus, the destiny of continuance is
essentially contained in the idea of health. Thus, for example, the body
of the most debilitated profligate attains to its greatest harmony at
the moment of excess; but it is only momentarily, and a so much deeper
abatement shows sufficiently that overstraining was not health.
Therefore one may justly accept that an overstrained vigor of physical
action hastens death as much as the greatest disorder or the worst
illness. Both pain and pleasure draw us towards an unavoidable death,
unless something be present which limits their advance.
§ 26.—_Excellence of this Abatement._
It is just this (the limit to their growth) which the abatement of the
animal nature causes. It must be no other than this limitation of our
fragile frame (that appeared to have lent to our opponents so strong a
proof against its perfection) which ameliorates all the evil
consequences that the mechanism otherwise makes unavoidable. It is
exactly this sinking, this lassitude of the organs, over which tinkers
complain so much, that prevents our own strength destroying us in a
short time; that does not permit our positions to be always increasing
towards our destruction. This limitation shows each passion the period
of its growth, its height and decline (if indeed the passion does not
die out in a total relaxation of the body), which leaves the excited
spirits time to resume their harmony, and the organs to recover. Hence,
the highest pitch of rapture, of fear, and of anger, are the same as
weariness, weakness, or fainting. But sleep vouchsafes more, for as
Shakspeare says:—
Sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great Nature’s sweet restorer.
—_Macbeth._
During sleep, the vital forces restore themselves to that healthy
balance which the continuance of our being so much requires; all the
cramped ideas and feelings, the overstrained actions which have troubled
us through the day, are solved in the entire relaxation of the
sensorium; the harmony of the motions of the mind are resumed, and the
newly-awakened man greets the coming day more calmly.
In relation to the arrangement of the whole, also, we cannot
sufficiently admire the worth and importance of this limitation. The
arrangement necessarily causes many, who should be no less happy, to be
sacrificed to the general order and to bear the lot of oppression.
Likewise, many, whom we perhaps unjustly envy, must expend their mental
and bodily strength in restless exertion, so that the repose of the
whole be preserved. The same with sick persons, the same with
unreasoning animals. Sleep seals the eye of care, takes from the prince
and statesman the heavy weight of governing; pours new force into the
veins of the sick man, and rest into his harassed soul; the day-laborer
no longer hears the voice of the oppressor, and the ill-used beast
escapes from the tyranny of man. Sleep buries all cares and troubles,
balances everything, equips every one with new-born powers to bear the
joys and sorrows of the next day.
§ 27.—_Severing of the Connection._
At length arrived at the point in the circle where the mind has
fulfilled the aim of its being, an internal, unaccountable mechanism
has, at the same time, made the body incapable of being any longer its
instrument. All care for the well-being of the bodily state seems to
reach but to this epoch. It appears to me that, in the formation of our
physical nature, wisdom has shown such parsimony, that notwithstanding
constant compensations, decline must always keep in the ascendancy, so
that freedom misuses the mechanism, and death is germinated in life as
out of its seed. Matter dissolves again into its last elements, which
travel through the kingdom of nature in other forms and relations, to
serve other purposes. The mind continues to practise its thinking powers
in other circles, and to observe the universe from other sides.
We may truly say that it has not by any means exhausted this actual
sphere, that it might have left this sphere itself more perfect; but do
we know that this sphere is lost to it? We lay many a book aside which
we do not understand, but perhaps in a few years we shall understand it
better.