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
French philosopher (1859–1941)
Henri-Louis Bergson (18 October 1859 – 4 January 1941) was a major French philosopher, influential in the first half of the 20th century. He was awarded the 1927 Nobel Prize in Literature.
From: Wikiquote (CC BY-SA 4.0)
Alternative Names:
Henri-Louis Bergson
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H. Bergson
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Henry Bergson
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Henri Louis Bergson
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Berxon
From Wikidata (CC0)
The role of the body was thus to reproduce in action the life of the mind, to emphasize its motor articulations as the orchestra conductor does for a musical score; the brain did not have thinking as its function but that of hindering the thought from becoming lost in dream; it was the organ of attention to life. Such was the conclusion to which I was led by the specially detailed study of normal and pathological facts, more generally through external observation. But only then did I become aware of the fact that inward experience in the pure state, in giving us a “substance” whose very essence is to endure and consequently continually to prolong into the present an indestructible past, would have relieved me from seeking, and would even have forbidden me to seek, where memories are preserved. They preserve themselves, as we admit, for example, when we pronounce a word. In order to pronounce it we have to remember the first half of it while we are articulating the second. But no one will think that the first has been immediately deposited in a drawer, cerebral or otherwise, so that consciousness may come for it a moment later. But if that is the case for the first half of the word, it will be the same for the preceding word, which is an integral part of it as far as sound and meaning are concerned; it will be the same from the beginning of the sentence, and the preceding sentence, and the whole discourse that we could have made very long, indefinitely long had we wished. Now, our whole life, from the time of our first awakening to consciousness, is something like this indefinitely prolonged discourse. Its duration is substantial, indivisible insofar as it is pure duration.
Solo empezamos a ser imitables ahí donde dejamos de ser nosotros mismos. Quiero decir que solo de puede imitar de nuestros gestos aquello que tienen de mecánicamente uniforme y, por eso mismo, de extraño a nuestra viva personalidad. Imitar a alguien es extraer la parte de automatismo que este ha dejado introducirse en su persona.
So science and art introduce us into the intimacy of a matter which the one thinks and the other manipulates. From this standpoint the intellect would, in principle, finally reach an absolute. It would then be completely itself. Vague at the outset because it was only a presentiment of matter, it takes shape more clearly the more precisely it knows matter. But precise or vague, it is the attention that mind gives to matter. How then could mind still be intellect when it turns upon itself? We can give things whatever names we choose and I see no great objection, I repeat, to knowledge of the mind by the mind still being called intelligence, if one insists. But then it will be necessary to specify that there are two intellectual functions, the one the inverse of the other, for mind thinks mind only in climbing back up the slope of habits acquired in contact with matter, and these habits are what one currently calls intellectual tendencies. Is it not better to designate by another name a function which certainly is not what one ordinarily calls intelligence? I call it intuition. It represents the attention that the mind gives to itself, over and above, while it is fixed upon matter, its object. This supplementary attention can be methodically cultivated and developed.
Well, what nature does from time to time, by distraction, for certain privileged individuals, could not philosophy on such a matter attempt, in another sense and another way, for everyone? Would not the role of philosophy under such circumstances be to lead us to a completer perception of reality by means of a certain displacement of our attention? It would be a question of turning this attention aside from the part of the universe which interests us from a practical viewpoint and turning it back toward what serves no practical purpose. This conversion of the attention would be philosophy itself. At first glance it would seem that this has long since been done. More than one philosopher has in fact said that in order to philosophize he had to be detached, and that speculation was the reverse of action. We were speaking a few moments ago of the Greek philosophers: not one of them expressed the idea more forcefully than Plotinus. “All action,” he said (and he even added “all fabrication”) “weakens contemplation.
Lidský intelekt, tak, jak si jej my představujeme, není nikterak onen, který nám líčil Platón v alegorii o jeskyni. Není právě tak jeho úlohou, aby pozoroval jak míjejí prázdné stíny, jako aby zřel, ohlížeje se za sebe, hvězdu zrak oslňující. Má dělati něco jiného. Zapřaženi jako voli oráčovi do těžké práce, cítíme hru svých svalů a kloubů, tíhu pluhu a odpor půdy: jednati a věděti o sobě, že jednáme, vstupovati ve styk se skutečností a dokonce ji žíti, avšak jen v mezích jejího významu pro dílo, které se dokonává, a pro brázdu, která se táhne, takový jest úkol lidského intelektu. A přece koupeme se v blahodárném fluidu, z něhož čerpáme samu sílu k práci a životu. Z tohoto oceánu života, do něhož jsme ponořeni, vdechujeme ustavičně něco a cítíme, že naše bytost, nebo alespoň intelekt, který ji vede, vytvořil se tu jakýmsi místním ztužením. Filosofie může být jen úsilím, jak znovu rozplynouti se v celku. A intelekt, resorbuje-li se ve svém principu, prožije zas naruby svou vlastní genesi. Avšak takový podnik nebude již moci dovršiti se na ráz; bude nutně hromadný a postupný. Bude záležeti na výměně dojmů, které opravujíce se vzájemně a též na sebe se kladouce, posléze rozšíří v nás lidství a dosáhnou toho, že půjde nad sebe samo.
To sum up, whatever be the doctrine to which our reason assents, our imagination has a very clear-cut philosophy of its own: in every human form it sees the effort of a soul which is shaping matter, a soul which is infinitely supple and perpetually in motion, subject to no law of gravitation, for it is not the earth that attracts it. This soul imparts a portion of its winged lightness to the body it animates: the immateriality which thus passes into matter is what is called gracefulness. Matter, however, is obstinate and resists.
You have sought the meaning of a poem in the form of the letters which make it up, you have thought that in considering an increasing number of letters you would finally embrace the constantly fleeting meaning, and as a last resource, seeing that it was no use to seek a part of the meaning in each letter, you have assumed that between each letter and the one following was lodged the missing fragment of the mysterious meaning! But the letters, once more, are not parts of the thing, they are the elements of the symbol. The positions of the mobile are not parts of the movement: they are points of the space which is thought to subtend the movement. This empty and immobile space, simply conceived, never perceived, has exactly the value of a symbol. By manipulating symbols, how are you going to manufacture reality?