Love Always Young
February 14, 2020![]() |
Blaise Pascal |
Blaise
Pascal (1623–1662). Minor Works.
Pascal - an original
genius - purposed to master everything that was new in art and
science. He was a mathematician and scientist as well as a religious
enthusiast and moralist, and he shows a decidedly human side of his
nature in this superb essay on Love.
Vol. 48, pp. 411-421
Discourse
on the Passion of Love
MAN 1 is
born for thought; therefore he is not a moment without it; but the
pure thoughts that would render him happy, if he could always
maintain them, weary and oppress him. They make a uniform life to
which he cannot adapt himself; he must have excitement and action,
that is, it is necessary that he should sometimes be agitated by
those passions the deep and vivid sources of which he feels within
his heart.
The
passions which are the best suited to man and include many others,
are love and ambition: they have little connec-tion with each other;
nevertheless they are often allied; but they mutually weaken, not to
say destroy, each other.
Whatever
compass of mind one may have, he is capable of only one great
passion; hence, when love and ambition are found together, they are
only half as great as they would be if only one of them existed. The
time of life determines neither the beginning nor the end of these
two passions; they spring up in the earliest years and subsist very
often unto the tomb. Nevertheless, as they require much warmth, young
persons are best fitted for them, and it seems that they abate with
years: this however is very rare.
The life of
man is miserably brief. It is usually computed from his first
entrance into the world; for my part, I would only compute it from
the birth of reason and from the time that man begins to be
influenced by it, which does not ordinarily happen before twenty
years of age. Before this time, we are children, and a child is not a
man.
How happy
is a life that begins with love and ends with ambition! If I had to
choose, this is the one I should take. So long as we have ardor we
are amiable; but this ardor dies out, is lost; then what a fine and
noble place is left for ambition! A tumultuous life is pleasing to
great minds, but those who are mediocre have no pleasure in it; they
are machines everywhere. Hence when love and ambition begin and end
life, we are in the happiest condition of which human nature is
capable.
The more
mind we have the greater the passions are, since the passions being
only sentiments and thoughts that belong purely to the mind although
they are occasioned by the body, it is obvious that they are no
longer any thing but the mind itself, and that thus they fill up its
entire capacity. I speak here only of the ardent passions, for the
others are often mingled together and cause a very annoying
confusion; but this is never the case in those who have mind.
In a great
soul everything is great.
It is asked
whether it is necessary to love? This should not be asked, it should
be felt. We do not deliberate upon it, we are forced to it, and take
pleasure in deceiving ourselves when we discuss it.
Definiteness
of mind causes definiteness of passion; this is why a great and
definite mind loves with ardor, and sees distinctly what it loves.
There are
two kinds of mind: the one geometrical, and the other what may be
called the imaginative (de finesse).
The former
is slow, rigid, and inflexible in its views, but the latter has a
suppleness of thought which fastens at once upon the various pleasing
qualities of what it loves. From the eyes it goes to the heart
itself, and from the expression without it knows what is passing
within.
When we
have both kinds of mind combined, how much pleasure is given by love!
For we possess at the same time the strength and the flexibility of
mind essentially necessary for the eloquence of two persons.
We are born
with a disposition to love in our hearts, which is developed in
proportion as the mind is perfected, and impels us to love what
appears to us beautiful without ever having been told what this is.
Who can doubt after this whether we are in the world for anything
else than to love? In fact, we conceal in vain, we always love. In
the very things from which love seems to have been separated, it is
found secretly and under seal, and man could not live a moment
without this.
Man does
not like to dwell with himself; nevertheless he loves; it is
necessary then that he seek elsewhere something to love. He can find
it only in beauty; but as he is himself the most beautiful creature
that God has ever formed, he must find in himself the model of this
beauty which he seeks without. Every one can perceive in himself the
first glimmerings of it; and according as we observe that what is
without agrees or disagrees with these, we form our ideas of beauty
or deformity in all things. Nevertheless, although man seeks
wherewith to fill up the great void he makes in going out of himself,
he cannot however be satisfied with every kind of object. His heart
is too large; it is necessary at least that it should be something
that resembles him and approaches him as near as may be. Hence the
beauty that can satisfy man consists not only in fitness, but also in
resemblance; it is restricted and confined to the difference of sex.
Nature has
so well impressed this truth on our souls, that we find a
predisposition to all this; neither art nor study is required; it
even seems that we have a place to fill in our hearts which is thus
filled effectively. But we feel this better than we can express it.
It is only those who know how to confuse and contemn their ideas who
do not see it.
Although
this general idea of beauty may be engraven in the innermost part of
our souls with ineffaceable characters, it does not prevent us from
being susceptible of great differences in its individual application;
but this is only in the manner of regarding what pleases us. For we
do not wish for beauty alone, but desire in connection with it a
thousand circumstances that depend on the disposition in which it is
found, and it is in this sense that it may be said that each one
possesses the original of his beauty, the copy of which he is seeking
externally. Nevertheless, women often determine this original. As
they have an absolute empire over the minds of men, they paint on
them either the qualities of the beauties which they possess or those
which they esteem, and by this means add what pleases them to this
radical beauty. Hence there is one epoch for blondes, another for
brunettes, and the division there is among women in respect to esteem
for the one or the other makes at the same time the difference among
men in this regard.
Fashion
even and country often regulate what is called beauty. It is a
strange thing that custom should mingle so strongly with our
passions. This does not hinder each one from having his idea of
beauty by which he judges others and with which he compares them; it
is on this principle that a lover finds his mistress the most
beautiful and proposes her as a model.
Beauty is
divided in a thousand different ways. The most proper object to
sustain it is a woman. When she has intellect, she enlivens it and
sets it off marvellously. If a woman wishes to please, and possesses
the advantages of beauty or a portion of them at least, she will
succeed; and even though men take ever so little heed of it, although
she does not strive for it, she will make herself loved. There is an
accessible point in their hearts; she will take up her abode there.
Man is born
for pleasure; he feels it; no other proof of it is needed. He
therefore follows his reason in giving himself to pleasure. But very
often he feels passion in his heart without knowing in what it
originated.
A true or
false pleasure can equally fill the mind. For what matters it that
this pleasure is false, if we are persuaded that it is true?
By force of
speaking of love we become enamored. There is nothing so easy. It is
the passion most natural to man.
Love has no
age; it is always young. So the poets tell us; it is for this that
they represent it to us under the figure of a child. But without
asking any thing of it, we feel it.
Love gives
intellect and is sustained by intellect. Address is needed in order
to love. We daily exhaust the methods of pleasing; nevertheless it is
necessary to please and we please.
We have a
fountain of self-love which represents us to ourselves as being able
to fill several places outside of ourselves; this is what makes us
happy to be loved. As we desire it with ardor, we quickly remark it
and perceive it in the eyes of the person who loves. For the eyes are
the interpreters of the heart; but he alone who is interested in them
can understand their language.
Man by
himself is something imperfect; he must find a second in order to be
happy. He oftenest seeks it in equality of condition, because in that
the liberty and the opportunity of manifesting his wishes are most
easily found. Yet he sometimes rises above this, and feels the
kindling flame although he dares not tell it to the one who has
caused it.
When we
love a woman of unequal condition, ambition may accompany the
beginning of the love; but in a little time the latter becomes
master. It is a tyrant that will suffer no companion; it wishes to be
alone; all the other passions must bend to it and obey it.
An elevated
attachment fills the heart of man much better than a common and equal
one; and little things float in his capacity; none but great ones
lodge and dwell therein.
We often
write things which we only prove by obliging every one to reflect
upon himself, and find the truth of which we are speaking. In this
consists the force of the proofs of what I assert.
When a man
is fastidious in any quality of his mind, he is so in love. For as he
must be moved by every object that is outside of himself, if there is
any thing that is repugnant to his ideas, he perceives and shuns it;
the rule of this fastidiousness depends on a pure, noble, and sublime
reason. Thus we can believe ourselves fastidious without actually
being so, and others have the right to condemn us; whilst for beauty
each one has his rule, sovereign and independent of that of others.
Yet between being fastidious and not being so at all, it must be
granted that when one desires to be fastidious he is not far from
actually being so. Women like to perceive fastidiousness in men, and
this is, it seems to me, the most vulnerable point whereby to gain
them: we are pleased to see that a thousand others are contemned and
that we alone are esteemed.
Qualities
of mind are not acquired by habit; they are only perfected. Whence it
is easy to see that fastidiousness is a gift of nature and not an
acquisition of art.
In
proportion as we have more intellect, we find more original beauties;
but this is not necessary in order to be in love; for when love, we
find but one.
Does it not
seem that as often as a woman goes out of herself to impress the
hearts of others, she makes a place void for others in her own? Yet,
I know some who affirm that this is not true. Dare we call this
injustice? It is natural to give back as much as we have taken.
Attachment
to the same thought wearies and destroys the mind of man. Hence for
the solidity and permanence of the pleasure of love, it is sometimes
necessary not to know that we love; and this is not to be guilty of
an infidelity, for we do not therefore love another; it is to regain
strength in order to love the better. This happens without our
thinking of it; the mind is borne hither of itself; nature wills it,
commands it. It must however be confessed that this is a miserable
consequence of human weakness, and that we should be happier of we
were not forced to change of thought; but there is no remedy.
The
pleasure of loving without daring to tell it, has its pains, but it
has its joys also. What transport do we not feel in moulding all our
actions in view of pleasing the person whom we infinitely esteem! We
study each day to find the means of revealing ourselves, and thus
employ as much time as if we were holding converse with the one whom
we love. The eyes kindle and grow dim at the same moment, and
although we do not see plainly that the one who causes this disorder
takes heed of it, we still have the satisfaction of feeling all these
emotions for a person who deserves them so well. We would gladly have
a hundred tongues to make it known; for as we cannot make use of
words, we are obliged to confine ourselves to the eloquence of
action.
Up to this
point we have constant delight and sufficient occupation. Thus we are
happy; for the secret of keeping a passion constantly alive is to
suffer no void to spring up in the mind, by obliging it to apply
itself without ceasing to what moves it so agreeably. But when it is
in the state that I have just described, it cannot last long, because
being sole actor in a passion in which there must necessarily be two,
it is difficult to hinder it from soon exhausting all the emotions by
which it is agitated.
Although
the passion may be the same, novelty is needed; the mind takes
delight in it, and he who knows how to procure it, knows how to make
himself loved.
After
having gone thus far, this plenitude sometimes diminishes, and
receiving no assistance from the side of its source, we decline
miserably, and hostile passions take possession of a heart which they
rend into a thousand pieces. Yet a ray of hope, however faint it may
be, exalts us as high as we were before. This is sometimes a play in
which women delight; but sometimes in feigning to have compassion,
they have it in reality. How happy we are when this is the case!
A firm and
solid love always begins with the eloquence of action; the eyes have
the best share in it. Nevertheless it is necessary to conjecture, but
to conjecture rightly.
When two
persons are of the same sentiments, they do not conjecture, or at
least one conjectures what the other means to say without the other
understanding it or daring to understand.
When we
love, we appear to ourselves quite different from what we were
before. Thus we imagine that every one perceives it; yet nothing is
more false. But because the per-ception of reason is bounded by
passion, we cannot assure ourselves and are always suspicious.
When we
love, we are persuaded that we shall discover the passion of another:
thus we are afraid.
The longer
the way is in love, the greater is the pleasure that a sensitive mind
feels in it.
There are
certain minds to which hopes must long be given, and these are minds
of refinement. There are others which cannot long resist
difficulties, and these are the grossest. The former love longer and
with more enjoyment; the latter love quicker, with more freedom, and
sooner end.
The first
effect of love is to inspire a profound respect; we have veneration
for what we love. It is very just; we see nothing in the world so
great as this.
Authors
cannot tell us much of the love of their heroes; it is necessary that
they should have been the heroes themselves.
Wandering
in love is an monstrous as injustice in the mind.
In love,
silence is of more avail than speech. It is good to be abashed; there
is an eloquence in silence that penetrates more deeply than language
can. How well a lover persuades his mistress when he is abashed
before her, who elsewhere has so much presence of mind! Whatever
vivacity we may have, it is well that in certain junctures it should
be extinguished. All this takes place without rule or reflection, and
when the mind acts, it is without thinking of it beforehand. This
happens through necessity.
We often
adore one that is unconscious of it, and do not fail to preserve an
inviolable fidelity, although its object knows nothing of it. But
this love must be very refined or very pure.
We know the
minds of me, and consequently their passions, by the comparison that
we make between ourselves and others.
I am of the
opinion of him who said that in love one forgets his fortune, his
relatives, and his friends; the most elevated attachments go as far
as this. What causes us to go so far in love is that we do not think
we have need of anything else than the object of our love: the mind
is full; there is no longer any room for care or solicitude. Passion
cannot exist without excess: thence it comes that we care no longer
for what the world says, as we know already that our conduct ought
not to be condemned, since it comes from reason. There is fulness of
passion, and can be no beginning of reflection.
It is not
an effect of custom, it is an obligation of nature, that men make the
advances to gain the attachment of women.
This
forgetfulness that is caused by love, and this attachment to the
object of our love, make qualities spring up that we had not before.
We become magnificent, without ever having been so.
The miser
himself who loves becomes liberal, and does not remember ever to have
had a contrary disposition; we see the reason of this in considering
that there are some passions which contract the soul and render it
stagnant, and that there are others which expand it and cause it to
overflow.
We have
unaptly taken away the name of reason from love and have opposed them
to each other without good foundation, for love and reason are but
the same thing. It is a precipitation of thought which is impelled to
a side before fully examining every thing, but it is still a reason,
and we should not and cannot wish that it were otherwise, for we
would then be very disagreeable machines. Let us not therefore
exclude reason from love, since they are inseparable. The poets were
not right in painting Love blind; we must take off his bandage and
restore to him henceforth the enjoyment of his eyes.
Souls
fitted for love demand a life of action which becomes brilliant in
new events. The external excitement must correspond with the
internal, and this manner of living is a marvellous road to passion.
Thence it is that courtiers are more successful in love than
citizens, since the former are all fire and the latter lead a life in
the uniformity of which there is nothing striking: a tempestuous life
surprises, strikes, and penetrates.
It seems as
though we had quite another soul when we love than when we do not
love; we are exalted by this passion and become all greatness; the
rest therefore must have proportion, otherwise this does not
harmonize and is consequently disagreeable.
The
pleasing and the beautiful are only the same thing; every one has his
idea of it. It is of a moral beauty that I mean to speak, which
consists in external words and actions. We have a rule indeed for
becoming agreeable; yet the disposition of the body is necessary to
it, but this cannot be acquired.
Men have
taken pleasure in forming for themselves so elevated a standard of
the pleasing that no one can attain it. Let us judge of it better,
and say that this is simply nature with surprising facility and
vivacity of mind. In love these two qualities are necessary. There
must be nothing of force, and yet there must be nothing of slowness:
habit gives the rest.
Respect and
love should be so well proportioned as to sustain each other without
love being stifled by respect.
Great souls
are not those that love oftenest; it is a violent love of which I
speak; an inundation of passion is needed to move them and fill them.
But when they begin to love, they love much more strongly.
It is said
that there are some nations more amorous than others; this is not
speaking rightly, or at least it is not true in every sense.
Love
consisting only in an attachment of thought, it is certain that it
must be the same over all the earth. It is true that, considering it
otherwise than in the thought, the climate may add something, but
this is only in the body.
It is with
love as with good sense; as one man believes himself to have as much
mind as another, he also believes that he loves the same. Yet, they
who have the most perception, love even to the most trifling things,
which is not possible for others. It is necessary to be very subtle
to remark this difference.
One cannot
feign to love unless he is very near being a lover, or at least
unless he loves in some direction; for the mind and the thoughts of
love are requisite for this seeming, and how shall we find means of
speaking well without this? The truth of passion is not so easily
disguised as serious truth.
We must
have ardor, activity, and prompt and natural warmth of mind for the
former; the latter we conceal by slowness and pliancy, which it is
easier to do.
When we are
at a distance from the object of our love, we resolve to do or to say
many things; but when we are near, we are irresolute. Whence comes
this? It is because when we are at a distance reason is not so much
perturbed, but is strangely so in the presence of the object: now for
resolution, firmness is needed, which is destroyed by perturbation.
In love we
dare not hazard, because we fear to lose every thing; it is
necessary, however, to advance, but who can say how far? We tremble
constantly until we have found this point. Prudence does nothing
towards maintaining it when it is found.
There is
nothing so embarrassing as to be a lover, and to see something in our
favor without daring to believe it; we are alike opposed by hope and
fear. But finally the latter becomes victorious over the other.
When we
love ardently, it is always a novelty to see the person beloved.
After a moment’s absence, he finds a void in his heart. What
happiness is it to find her again! he feels at once a cessation of
anxiety.
It is
necessary, however, that this love should be already far advanced;
for when it is budding, and has made no progress, we feel indeed a
cessation of anxiety, but others supervene.
Although
troubles thus succeed each other, one is not hindered from desiring
the presence of his mistress by the hope of suffering less; yet, when
he sees her, he fancies that he suffers more than before. Past
troubles no longer move him, the present touch him, and it is of
those that touch him that he judges.
Is not a
lover in this state worthy of compassion?
Note
1. The authenticity of this fragment is disputed.
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