He hoped and predicted that the world would grow tired of so many appearances that had become pointless, once they no longer serve to deceive, and once the comedy is no longer an entertainment, and all are actors; that it would harmonize substance and appearance, not indeed changing the substance, God preserve us, but leaving it intact, and changing the appearance, les bienséances [the proprieties], language, etc., that is to say, so that what is true appears and is spoken. And he noted that the world already seemed to be tending in this direction, not that deeds were harmonizing with words, but that words were beginning to adapt to, accord, and make peace with deeds; and that they were now negotiating with their enemies and asking them what their terms are. And that perhaps [666] now, too, the outside and the inside, words and deeds, are more in accord with each other than they have been for a long time. (16 Feb. 1821.)
“Je sentis que c’étoit quelque chose de bien douloureux, que de savoir ce que l’on aime attaché à quelque chose de parfait” [“I felt it to be a very painful thing to know that what one loved was attached to something perfect”]: (that is to say, the loved person to some other person who was perfect and worthy of that love: and this is what Mme. Lambert means) “mais loin que mon intérêt ait pris sur la justice que je devois à mon amie” [“but far from its being the case that my self-interest prevailed over the just treatment I owed my friend”], (loved by he who was loved by the person speaking, and it is a woman) “ma délicatesse et la crainte de lui manquer ont augmenté son mérite à mes yeux” [“my sense of delicacy and fear of failing her have increased her merit in my eyes”]. Mme. Lambert, in the work quoted above (p. 661, end), p. 265, end.
“Elle” (l’imagination) “nous donne de ces joies sérieuses qui ne font rire que l’esprit” [“It” (the imagination) “offers us those serious joys which cause the mind alone to laugh”] (that is to say, wit, originality). Mme. de Lambert, Réflexions nouvelles sur les femmes, [667] in her Oeuvres complètes quoted above (p. 633), p. 166. (16 Feb. 1821.)
What I have said in another thought [→Z 481–84] regarding the idea that children form of names should be extended somewhat, because ordinarily and generally it is from the first individual he sees that the child forms the idea of the whole species or genus, in every kind of thing: from the first soldier, the idea of all soldiers; from the first church, the idea of all churches, etc. And he forms it intensely and enduringly, unless other individuals of the same species appear frequently either in childhood itself or later, and annul the idea conceived on the basis of the first individual. Failing that, and especially if the ideas of other individuals do not replace that of the first during childhood, the idea of the first is preserved for a very long time, even during other stages of life, and in our mind serves as a type for all the other individuals of the same species of which we have to form an idea by association or something similar, and which are not present to our senses. For example, I saw a colonel when I was two years old, and the idea [668] I naturally form of the person of one colonel or another, whom I do not know by sight, and whom I know only in the abstract, is still modeled on that face, those gestures, etc. From this, too, we may infer just how important even the most fleeting impressions of childhood are, and just how large a part of life depends on that age; and just how probable it is that the characters of men, their inclinations, this or that action, etc., very often come from the tiniest circumstances of their childhood, and how it is that character, etc., and especially opinions (upon which actions, and almost the whole of life, depend) are very often differentiated by those tiny circumstances, and accidents, and differences that belong to childhood, while their cause and origin will be sought somewhere else altogether, even by the greatest connoisseurs of mankind. (16 Feb. 1821.) See p. 675, beginning.
The marvelous capacity that children [669] have to pass directly from deepest sorrow to joy, from weeping to laughter, etc., and vice versa, all for the smallest reason, that extreme volubility and versatility of temperament and imagination—must it not be the cause of much greater happiness, or far less wretchedness, than at any other age? (16 Feb. 1821.)
“L’orgueil nous sépare de la société: notre amour-propre nous donne un rang à part qui nous est toujours disputé: l’estime de soi-même qui se fait trop sentir est presque toujours punie par le mépris universel” [“Pride separates us from society: our self-love gives us a rank apart, and one that is always contested: a self-esteem that makes itself too much felt is almost always punished by universal contempt”]. Mme. de Lambert, Avis d’une mère à sa fille, in her Oeuvres complètes quoted above (p. 633), p. 99, end. So it is naturally in society, that is the nature of this human institution, which, being designed to further the common good and pleasure, does not truly exist if the individual does not to a greater or a lesser degree combine [670] his esteem, his interests, his goals, thoughts, opinions, sentiments and emotions, inclinations, and actions with those of others, and if all the above is designed simply to further himself. The more of a himself there is in the individual, the less society truly exists. Thus, if egoism is complete, society exists only in name. Because when each individual has only himself as a goal, and pays no heed at all to the common good, and when no thought or action of his is designed to further the good or pleasure of others, each individual by himself forms a society apart, complete and utterly distinct, since his goal is wholly distinct; and thus the world reverts to what it was at the beginning, and before the origin of society, which is left dissolved in fact and in substance, and in its reason and essence. Consequently, egoism has always been the scourge of society, and the greater it is, the worse [671] the condition of society has been; and hence so much the worse in essence those institutions which particularly further egoism either directly or indirectly, as despotism does above all. (Under that regime France became the homeland of the most pestilential egoism, greatly mitigated by the revolution, notwithstanding the immense harm it caused, as all the philosophers have noted.) Egoism, that is to say, self-love, is inseparable from man, but by egoism is meant more particularly an ill-directed, ill-employed self-love, designed to further one’s own real advantages and not those which derive from heroism, from sacrifices, from virtues, from honor, from friendship, etc. When, therefore, this egoism reaches its peak, in intensity and in universality; and when, on account of both its intensity and, more especially, its universality, the mask has been lifted (which no longer serves to conceal it, because it is too vigorous, and because all are inspired by the same sentiment), the nature of social dealings (whether in relation to conversation [672] or generally in relation to life) changes almost entirely. Because, with each thinking only of himself (as much because that is his actual inclination as because no one any longer has a thought for the other, and the good of each is entrusted to himself alone), all respect is set aside, and one seizes the prey from the mouth and talons of another; the individuals in what is termed society are in a state of more or less open war with one another, and with all at once; the strongest in every respect wins; and surrendering anything whatsoever, whether through politeness or through virtue, honor, etc., is pointless, harmful, and crazy, because others will not thank you or give you anything in return, and your surrendering to them, and putting up less resistance to them, simply works to their advantage, and hence to your detriment. And so, to take an example from the passage by Mme. de Lambert quoted above, we see, in fact, that today contempt for others, and open and ostentatious self-esteem, is not only no longer as harmful as [673] it once was but is very often necessary, and someone who does not know how to make use of it wins nothing in the world as it is at present. Because others are not disposed to grant you anything spontaneously, on the strength of truth and merit, not even, by the same token, esteem, therefore you must win it as if by force, in open war, and in a spirit of hostility, showing that you are altogether persuaded of your own merit, in spite of anyone else, despising and trampling others underfoot, deriding them, profiting from their slightest shortcomings, casting
these back in their faces, forgiving them nothing, striving, in short, to humble them and to render them inferior to you, either in conversation or otherwise, and by the most effective means available. So that today if you wish to earn the esteem of others by showing respect, by treating them courteously, by flattering their self-love, by disregarding their faults, etc., and, as far as you’re concerned, by behaving modestly and by maintaining a decorous silence, etc., precisely the opposite will occur. They will take advantage of you and of the respect you accord them to elevate themselves, and of your faint show of resistance to crush you. What you concede [674] to them they simply use to their own advantage, and to your detriment; what you do not appropriate or lay claim to, or the merit that you disguise, they deny you and seize, in order to view you as inferior, etc. Thus, in the way I have said, savage customs—or customs of that first age, when, since society did not exist, each was friend to himself alone, and enemy to all other beings, whether like or unlike himself, insofar as they opposed his slightest interest or desire, or insofar as he could enjoy things at their expense—do indeed come back into the world, customs that in the social state are barbarous, because destructive of society, and directly contrary to its essence, reason, and purpose. Hence it may be seen just how true it is that the present state of the world is really and truly barbarism, or as close to barbarism as anything ever was. Every so-called society that is dominated by individual egoism is barbarous, and barbarous with the utmost barbarism. (17 Feb. 1821.)
[675] For p. 668, end. And this is perhaps not the least of the reasons behind the truth “Quot homines, tot sententiae” [“There are as many opinions as there are men”], Terence’s dictum (Phormio, Act 2, scene 4, line 14): “Quot homines, tot sententiae: suus cuique mos” [“There are as many opinions as there are men: and each has his own customs”]. (In the adages of Manutius, this proverb is recorded thus, quot homines [as there are men], not capita [heads].)1 And likewise Horace (Satires, bk. 2, satire 1, ll. 27–28). “Quot capitum vivunt, totidem studiorum / Millia” [“For every thousand souls there are as many thousand inclinations”]. And Euripides (in Phoenissis):
Εἰ πᾶσι ταὐτὸ καλὸν ἔφυ, σοφόν θ’ ἅμα,
Οὐκ ἦν ἂν ἀμφίλεκτος ἀνθρώποις ἔρις.
Νῦν δ’ οὔθ’ ὅμοιον οὐδὲν οὔτ’ ἴσον βροτοῖς
Πλὴν ὀνομάσαι· τὸ δ’ ἔργον οὐκ ἔστι τόδε.
[If everyone defined what was beautiful and wise in the same way,
There would be no quarreling or strife among men.
As things are, nothing is similar or equal among mortals
Save their use of words; the reality they refer to is not the same.]2
Cunctis idem si pulchrum, et egregium foret,
Nulla esset anceps hominibus contentio.
At nunc simile nil, nil idem mortalibus:
Nisi verba forsan inter istos concinunt,
At re tamen, factisque convenit nihil.
[676] And Cicero (De finibus bonorum et malorum, ch. 5, toward the end): “sed quot homines, tot sententiae: falli igitur possumus” [but there are as many opinions as there are men: we may therefore be wrong]. A passage omitted by Manutius.1
Relate the above sayings to the common opinion, that there is such a thing as absolute truth, even among men. (17 Feb. 1821.)
Are we born, then, only to feel what happiness it would be had we not been born?2 (18 Feb. 1821.)
“Enfin elles aiment l’amour, et non pas l’amant. Ces personnes se livrent à toutes les passions les plus ardentes. Vous les voyez occupées du jeu, de la table: tout ce qui porte la livrée du plaisir est bien reçu” [“In the end they love love, and not the lover. These persons indulge in all the most ardent passions. You see them taken up with gambling, with the pleasures of the table: everything that wears the livery of pleasure is made welcome”]. She refers here to those gallant ladies “qui ne cherchent et ne veulent que les plaisirs de l’amour” [“who seek and wish for only the pleasures of love”], of those who “ne cherchent dans l’amour que les plaisirs des sens” [“in love seek only the pleasures of the senses”] (or of seduction, ambition, etc.), “que celui d’être fortement occupées et entraînées, et que celui d’être aimées” [“and that of being deeply preoccupied and carried away, and that of being loved”]; to those who [677] are able to “associer d’autres passions à l’amour” [“associate other passions with love”], and to leave “du vide dans” (leur) “son coeur” [“a void in their heart(s)”], and who “après avoir tout donné” [“after having given everything”] are able to not be “uniquement” (occupées) “occupé de ce qu’on aime” [“solely preoccupied with the person whom they love”]; to those who “se font une habitude de galanterie,” “et ne savent point joindre la qualité d’amie à celle d’amant” [“make a habit of gallantry, and do not know how to combine the role of friend with that of lover”]; to those who “ne cherchent que les plaisirs, et non pas l’union des coeurs” [“seek only pleasures, and not the union of hearts”], and consequently “échappent à tous les devoirs de l’amitié” [“evade all the duties of friendship”]: in short to all women of today, and in fact although she divides women who are lovers into three kinds, she concludes her discourse on this one thus: “Voilà l’amour d’usage et d’à-présent, et où les conduit une vie frivole e dissipée” [“There you have the love that is in fashion, the love of the present day, whither they are led by a frivolous and dissipated life”]. Mme. de Lambert, Réflexions nouvelles sur les femmes, in her Oeuvres complètes, quoted above (p. 633), p. 179. (18 Feb. 1821.)
[678] “Il faut convenir que les femmes sont plus délicates que les hommes en fait d’attachement. Il n’appartient qu’à elles de faire sentir par un seul mot, par un seul regard, tout un sentiment” [“One must grant that in their attachments women display more delicacy than do men. Only they are capable of expressing an entire sentiment with just a word or a look”]. Mme. de Lambert, the work quoted above, p. 187.
“The physical exercises that he did in the company of these gentlemen were then the cause of the strength and vigor not only of his body but also of his mind”—Jacopo Nardi says this of Antonio Giacomini Tebalducci Malespini, a famous Florentine military man, when he was still a youth, in Vita d’Antonio Giacomini Tebalducci Malespini, Lucca, Francesco Bertini, 1818, 8°, p. 19.1 (18 Feb. 1821.)
“Nous n’avons qu’une portion d’attention et de sentiment; dès que nous nous livrons aux objets extérieurs, le sentiment dominant s’affoiblit: nos desirs ne sont-ils pas plus vifs et plus forts dans la retraite?” [“We have only limited amounts of attention and of feeling; no sooner do we surrender ourselves to external objects than the dominant feeling weakens: are our desires not more vigorous and stronger when we withdraw from the world?”]. Mme. de Lambert, the work quoted above (p. 677, end), p. 188. [679] Solitude is the natural state of a great many, or rather of most, animals, and probably of man, too. Hence it’s no wonder if in the natural state he used to find his greatest happiness in solitude, and if indeed we find some comfort in it now, since the greatest good for men comes from obeying nature and promoting our earliest destiny as far as we can today. But there is yet another reason that today solitude is a comfort in the social state to which man is reduced. Not because of the knowledge of truth as truth. The latter will never be a source of happiness. It is not so today, nor was it in the past, when primitive man spent his days in solitude, far removed from philosophical meditations; nor in the case of animals does the happiness of solitude come from knowledge of the truth. Rather, on the contrary, the consolation of solitude comes to man today, as it did in the earliest times, from illusions. I have already explained several times how that was the case originally, in a life taken up either by constant [680] if solitary activity or by constant inner activity and a succession of images, plans, etc. etc., and how it is the same with children. This is the form it takes in men today. So
ciety in fact lacks the resources to realize illusions, insofar as they are realizable. That is not how it was in the past, and in the past solitary life either did not exist in the civilized nations or was very rare. And note that the tales told of famous Christian hermits1 occur precisely in the age in which the life, energy, strength, and variety arising from the ancient forms of government and public life, and in short of society, had vanished or greatly faded, after the world had succumbed to despotism. Thus, what was characteristic of primitive man came for another reason to be characteristic of corrupt states and peoples, I mean, man’s tendency to solitude, a tendency that had been interrupted by the first energy of social life. For that is how it is today. The presence and action of society extinguishes illusions now, [681] whereas in the past it used to foster them and kindle them; and solitude now fosters them or rouses them, whereas not originally but in the past it used to lull them. The youth who has not yet left hearth and home, or who boards at a school, or who is subject to others’ orders, is happy in his solitude, on account of the illusions, plans, and hopes for those things that will later prove to be vain or turn sour: and this even though he is of discriminating intelligence, and educated, and even, where reason is concerned, convinced of the worthlessness of the world. The man who is disillusioned, worn, and weary, whose desires are all exhausted, in solitude gradually recovers, recuperates, gains what is almost a new lease on life, and, more or less vigorously, does in any case revive, even if he is a man of the most discriminating intelligence and assailed by the most terrible misfortune. How can this be? perhaps through the knowledge of what is true? On the contrary, it is through the forgetting of what is true, through the different and vaguer aspect that things already seen and experienced and now distant from the senses and the intellect assume when they return and pass through his imagination and are thereby made beautiful. And he once again comes to hope [682] and to desire, and to live, only to lose everything all over again, and to die again, but somewhat more quickly than before, if he goes back into the world.
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