A philosopher worthy of the name has never said more than a single thing: and even then it is something he has tried to say, rather than actually said. And he has said only one thing because he has seen only one point: and at that it was not so much a vision as a contact: this contact has furnished an impulse, this impulse a movement, and if this movement, which is as it were a kind of swirling of dust taking a particular form, becomes visible to our eyes only through what it has collected along its way, it is no less true that other bits of dust might as well have been raised and that it would still have been the same whirlwind. Thus a thought which brings something new into the world is of course obliged to manifest itself through the ready-made ideas it comes across and draws into its movement; it seems thus, as it were, relative to the epoch in which the philosopher lived; but that is frequently merely an appearance. The philosopher might have come several centuries earlier; he would have had to deal with another philosophy and another science; he would have given himself other problems; he would have expressed himself by other formulas; not one chapter perhaps of the books he wrote would have been what it is; and nevertheless he would have said the same thing.

understanding, whose role is to operate on stable elements, can seek stability either in relations or in things. In so far as it works on relational concepts, it ends in scientific symbolism. In so far as it operates on concepts of things, it ends in metaphysical symbolism. But in either case the arrangement comes from it. It would willingly believe itself independent. Rather than recognizing at once what it owes to the deep intuition, of reality, it is exposed to what is only seen in all its work, to an artificial arrangement of symbols. With the result that if one keeps to the letter of what metaphysicians and scholars say, as well as to the content of what they do, one might believe that the first have dug a deep tunnel under reality, while the others have thrown over it an elegant bridge, but that the moving river of things passes between these two works of art without touching them.

If my views were generally judged to be paradoxical when they made their appearance, some of them are commonplace today; others bid fair to become so. Let us admit that they could not at first be accepted. It would have meant tearing oneself away from deeply-rooted habits, veritable extensions of nature. All our ways of speaking, thinking, perceiving imply in effect that immobility and immutability are there by right, that movement and change are superadded, like accidents, to things which, by themselves, do not move and, in themselves, do not change. The representation of change is that of qualities or states, which supposedly follow one another in a substance. Each of these qualities, each of these states would be something stable, change being made of their succession: as for substance, whose role is to support the states and qualities which succeed one another, it would be stability itself. Such is the logic immanent in our languages and formulated once and for all by Aristotle: the intelligence has as its essence to judge, and judgment operates by the attribution of a predicate to a subject. The subject, by the sole fact of being named, is defined as invariable; the variation will reside in the diversity of the states that one will affirm concerning it, one after another.

Contudo, a sociedade exige algo mais ainda. Não basta viver; importa viver bem. Agora o que ela tem a temer é que cada um de nós, satisfeito em atentar para o que respeita ao essencial da vida, se deixe ir quanto ao mais pelo automatismo fácil dos hábitos adquiridos. O que também deve recear é que os membros de que ela se compõe, em vez de terem por alvo um equilíbrio cada vez mais delicado de vontades a inserir-se cada vez com maior exatidão umas nas outras, se contentem com o respeitar as condições fundamentais desse equilíbrio: um acordo prévio entre as pessoas não lhe basta, mas a sociedade há de querer um esforço constante de adaptação recíproca. Toda rigidez do caráter, do espírito e mesmo do corpo, será, pois, suspeita à sociedade, por constituir indício possível de uma atividade que adormece, e também de uma atividade que se isola, tendendo a se afastar do centro comum em torno do qual a sociedade gravita; em suma, indício de uma excentricidade.

Se a realidade viesse atingir diretamente nossos sentidos e nossa consciência, se pudéssemos entrar em comunicação imediata com as coisas e com nós mesmos, estou certo de que a arte seria inútil, ou antes, que seríamos todos artistas, porque nossa alma vibraria então continuamente em uníssono com a natureza. Nossos olhos, ajudados pela
memória, recortariam no espaço e fixariam no tempo quadros inimitáveis. Nosso olhar captaria de passagem, esculpidos no mármore vivo do corpo humano, fragmentos de estátua tão belos como os da estatuária antiga. Ouviríamos cantar no fundo de nossas almas, como música por vezes alegre, o mais das vezes lamentosa, sempre original, a melodia ininterrupta de nossa vida interior. Tudo isso está em torno de nós, tudo isso está em nós, e no entanto nada de tudo isso é percebido por nós distintamente. Entre a natureza e nós, apenas? Entre nós e nossa própria consciência um véu se interpõe, espesso para o comum dos homens, leve e quase transparente para o artista e o poeta. Que fada teceu esse véu? Terá sido por malícia ou amizade? Impunha-se viver, e a vida exige que apreendamos as coisas na relação que elas mantêm com nossas necessidades. Viver consiste em agir. Viver é aceitar dos objetos só a impressão útil para a eles reagir de modo adequado: as demais impressões devem se obscurecer ou só nos chegarem confusamente. Enxergo o que creio ver, escuto o que creio ouvir, analiso-me e creio ler no fundo do meu peito. Mas o que vejo e o que ouço do mundo exterior é simplesmente o que meus sentidos extraem dele para esclarecer minha conduta; o que conheço de mim mesmo é o que aflora à superfície, o que toma parte na ação. Meus sentidos e minha consciência só me proporcionam da realidade uma simplificação prática. Na visão que me dão das coisas e de mim mesmo, as diferenças inúteis ao homem são apagadas, as semelhanças úteis ao homem são acentuadas, as vias me são traçadas de antemão por onde minha ação enveredará. Essas são as mesmas pelas quais t

By the sole fact of being accomplished, reality casts its shadow behind it into the indefinitely distant past: it thus seems to have been pre-existent to its own realization, in the form of a possible. From this results an error which vitiates our conception of the past; from this arises our claim to anticipate the future on every occasion

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All the living hold together, and all yield to the same tremendous push. The animal takes its stand on the plant, man bestrides animality, and the whole of humanity, in space and in time, is one immense army galloping beside and before and behind each of us in an overwhelming charge able to beat down every resistance and clear the most formidable obstacles, perhaps even death.

Memory, imagination, conception and perception, generalization in short, are not there “for nothing, for pleasure.” It really seems, to listen to certain theorists, that the mind fell from heaven with a subdivision into psychological functions whose existence simply needs to be recognized: because these functions are such, they will no doubt be used in such a manner. I believe on the contrary that it is because they are useful, because they are necessary to life, that they are what they are: one must refer to the fundamental exigencies of life to explain their presence and to justify it if need be, I mean in order to know if the ordinary subdivision into such or such faculties is artificial or natural, and if in consequence we should maintain it or modify it. All our observations on the mechanism of function will be warped if we have badly cut it out of the continuity of the psychological tissue.

"Il n'y a pas de comique en dehors de ce qui est proprement humain. Un paysage pourra être beau, gracieux, sublime, insignifiant ou laid ; il ne sera jamais risible. On rira d'un animal, mais parce qu'on aura surpris chez lui une attitude d'homme ou une expression humaine. On rira d'un chapeau; mais ce qu'on raille alors, ce n'est pas le morceau de feutre ou de paille, c'est la forme que les hommes lui ont donnée, c'est le caprice humain dont il a pris le moule. Comment un fait aussi important, dans sa simplicité, n'a-t-il pas fixé davantage l'attention des philosophes? Plusieurs ont défini l'homme "un animal qui sait rire". Ils auraient aussi bien pu le définir un animal qui fait rire, car si quelque autre animal y parvient, ou quelque objet inanimé, c'est par une ressemblance avec l'homme, par la marque que l'homme y imprime ou par l'usage que l'homme en fait."

...Men do not sufficiently realize
that their future is in their own hands.
Theirs is the task of determining first of all whether they want to go on living or not.
Theirs is the responsibility, then, for deciding if they want merely to live,
or intend to make just the extra effort required
for fulfilling, even on this refractory planet,
the essential function of the universe,
which is a machine for the making of gods.