30 August 2008

The Wonderful Efficiency

One stood and watched, and little by little caught the drift of the tide, as it set in the direction of the packing houses. There were groups of cattle being driven to the chutes, which were roadways about fifteen feet wide, raised high above the pens. In these chutes the stream of animals was continuous; it was uncanny to watch them, pressing on to their fate, all unsuspicious --- a very river of death. Our friends were not poetical, and the sight suggested to them no metaphors of human destiny; they thought only of the wonderful efficiency of it all.

Upton Sinclair, The Jungle, Ch. 3 (2006: 36)

12 August 2008

The invention of the unconscious

Thus, the cause of the disease chorea lasciva is a mere opinion and idea, assumed by imagination, affecting those who believe in such a thing. This opinion and idea are the origin of the disease both in children and adults. In children the case is also imagination, based not on thinking but on perceiving, because they have heard or seen something. The reason is this: their sight and hearing are so strong that unconsciously they have fantasies about what they have seen or heard.

Paracelsus, Von den Krankeiten, 1567

10 August 2008

Breathe freely

She is sacred to me. All desire is silenced in her presence; I don't know what I feel when I'm near her. It is as if my soul beat in every nerve of my body. There is a melody she plays on the piano with the touch of an angel - so simple it is, and yet so lofty! It's her favourite song, and when she strikes the first note all my worry and sorrow disappear in a moment.

I believe every word that is said of the ancient magic of music. How her simple song enchants me! and how she knows when to play it! Sometimes, when I feel like shooting a bullet into my head, she begins to sing. The gloom and madness are dispersed, and I breathe freely again.

Quit this prison

May 22.
When I consider the narrow limits within which our active and our cognitive faculties are confined; when I see how all our energies are directed at little more than providing for mere necessities, which again have no further end than to prolong our wretched existence; and then realize that all our satisfaction concerning certain subjects of investigation amounts to nothing more than passive resignation, in which we paint our prison walls with bright figures and brilliant prospects; all this ... strikes me silent. I turn within myself and find there a world, but one of imagination and dim desires rather than of distinctness and living power. Everything swims before my senses, and I smile and dream my way through the world.

All learned teachers and tutors agree that children do not understand the cause of their desires; but no one likes to think that adults too wander about this earth like children, not knowing where they come from or where they are going, not acting in accord with genuine motives, but ruled like children by biscuits, sugarplums, and the rod - and yet it seems to me so obvious!

I know what you will say in reply, and I am ready to admit it, that those are happiest who, like children, live for the day, amuse themselves with their dolls, dress and undress them, and eagerly watch the cupboard where Mother has locked up her sweets; and when at last they get what they want, eat it greedily and exclaim, "More!" These are certainly happy creatures; and so are those others who dignify their paltry employments, and sometimes even their passions, with high-sounding phrases, representing them to mankind as gigantic achievements performed for their welfare and glory. Happy the man who can be like this! But he who humbly realizes what all this means, who sees with what pleasure the cheerful citizen converts his little garden into a paradise, and how patiently even the unhappy people pursue their weary way beneath their burden, and how all alike wish to behold the light of the sun just a minute longer; yes, such a man is at peace, and creates his world out of his own soul - happy, because he is a human being. And then, however confined he may be, he still preserves in his heart the sweet feeling of liberty, and knows that he can quit this prison whenever he likes.

Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther Lange trns.

04 August 2008

Already possessed

Silently she admired him. His complexion was reddish and weather-burned, so was his short hair – a light growth of it rolled down his arms and hands. His eyes were of a bright, hard blue. His nose was somewhat pointed and there was never any doubt at whom he was looking or talking – and this is a flattering attention, for who looks at us? – glances fall upon us, curious or disinterested, nothing more. His voice, with some faint Irish melody running through it, wooed the world, yet she felt the layer of hardness in him, of self-control and of self-discipline, her own virtues. Oh, she chose him, and Nicole, lifting her head saw her choose him, heard the little sigh at the fact that he was already possessed.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night, Chapter 4