S 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 Linnaeus, 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?
S 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?
S 24.--Necessity for Relaxation.