Essays of Schopenhauer
of smell with memory, as we see in the present case. Touch and taste are
something real, and dependent on contact; they have no ideal side.
* * * * *
Memory has also this peculiarity attached to it, that a slight state of
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,