If the sorrow and the character are truly great, the result is silence. The tongue is never allowed to articulate a word about the wound: this is nothing but respect for oneself and one’s past. The mind, however, which makes use of ethics only when it is convenient, tries to eternalize the hurt by regular evocations. And so, unable to stop it, the spirit has to get used to this double reality, always careful not to betray itself by allowing what should remain hidden to escape. It takes a lot of practice and patience to deal with this dark area independent of the will.
Tag: philosophy
It Is Impossible for a Moralist Not to Look Bitter
It is impossible for a moralist not to look bitter to ordinary minds, because the conclusions he reaches are extremely bitter when the moral sense that pulsates through him is set against worldly reality. Being a moralist necessarily entails this predisposition to unpleasant remarks. All his work is an effort to face and scrutinize that which an ordinary mind avoids; and if he advances, he does so only out of a desire for clarification and a duty of sincerity. This is why, if one day he finally slows down, if his lines exhibit an almost beatific serenity, he deserves our admiration and recognition: this will never happen unless he has conquered the problems on which he has focused.
It Is in the Moments When the Spirit Gives in…
It is in the moments when the spirit gives in and lowers itself that the motivation that characterizes it is impetuously reborn: ceasing to be itself makes evident, by contrast, the true value of that which it is. Then, once again, the guidelines and priorities are drawn with renewed stimulus, which is followed by the conduct that again proves ideal. Already at home, it returns to satisfaction. And from this it seems reasonable to conclude that sporadic falls are necessary to restore the humility that is the enemy of inertia, the humility eager to mold itself and which, in the act of molding, gradually becomes better.
Vigny and Kafka
Vigny lines:
Dans cette prison nommée la vie, d’où nous partons les uns après les autres pour aller à la mort, il ne faut compter sur aucune promenade, ni aucune fleur. Dès lors, le moindre bouquet, la plus petite feuille, réjouit la vue et le coeur, on en sait gré à la puissance qui a permis qu’elle se rencontrât sous vos pas.
Il est vrai que vous ne savez pas pourquoi vous êtes prisonnier et de quoi puni ; mais vous savez à n’en pas douter quelle sera votre peine : souffrance en prison, mort après.
Ne pensez pas au juge, ni au procès que vous ignorerez toujours, mais seulement à remercier le geôlier inconnu qui vous permet souvent des joies dignes du ciel.
It is curious how Vigny and Kafka, starting from similar premises, come to completely different conclusions. The analogy between life and prison, the absurdity of unjustified punishment, the certainty of condemnation… all of these factors, in both, are like obsessions from which they cannot divert themselves. The recognition of their own conditions seems to them an imposition of conscience. In Kafka’s hands, the plot culminates in despair; in Vigny’s, therein lies a recommendation that would sound strange to many of his critics: “remercier le geôlier inconnu qui vous permet souvent des joies dignes du ciel.” “Joies dignes du ciel”: this, from the pen of the “pessimist” Alfred de Vigny! It is true, it is true: not all critics have ignored this face of him…. But it is possible to go further and say that, perhaps, Kafka himself would be the target of hasty judgments. Would such a look be impossible in Kafka? I mean: the last act of Kafka’s life, his testament, leaves us reticence. But it would not be a bad hypothesis to conjecture Kafka’s astonishing resolution as simple regret of his conclusions or, at least, regret that his work does not leave the outline of a different conclusion…