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PARERGA AND PARALIPOMENA: SHORT PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAYS |
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[b]CHAPTER 29: On Physiognomy[/b]
§ 377
That the outer man is a graphic reproduction of the inner and the face the expression and revelation of his whole nature, is an assumption whose a priori nature and hence certainty are shown by the universal desire, plainly evident on every occasion, to see a man who has distinguished himself in something good or bad, or has produced an extraordinary work; or, failing this, at least to learn from others what he looks like. Therefore, on the one hand, people rush to the places where they think he is; on the other, newspapers, especially the English, endeavour to give minute and striking descriptions of him. Thereafter, painters and engravers give us a graphic representation of him and finally Daguerre's invention, so highly valued on that account, affords the most complete satisfaction of that need. Likewise in ordinary life, we all test the physiognomy of everyone we meet and secretly try to know in advance from his features his moral and intellectual nature. Now all this could not be the case if, as some foolish people imagine, a man's appearance were of no importance; if, in fact, the soul were one thing and the body another, the body being related to the soul as the coat to the man himself.
On the contrary, every human face is a hieroglyphic which can certainly be deciphered, in fact whose alphabet we carry about ready-made. As a rule, a man's face says more of interest than does his tongue; for it is the compendium of all that he will ever say, since it is the monogram of all this man's thoughts and aspirations. The tongue also expresses only the thoughts of one man, but the face expresses a thought of nature herself. Everyone is, therefore, worth attentive observation, although he may not be worth talking to. Now if every individual is worth looking at as a particular thought or idea of nature, so is beauty in the highest degree; for it is a higher and more general concept of nature, her idea of the species. This is why beauty so powerfully catches the eye; it is nature's principal and fundamental thought, whereas the individual is only a subordinate idea, a corollary.
All tacitly start from the principle that everyone is what he looks like. This principle is correct, but the difficulty lies in its application. The ability to apply it is partly innate and partly to be gained from experience; yet no one is master of it and even the most practised are caught unawares. However, whatever Figaro may say, the face does not lie; it is we who read from it what is not there. To decipher the face is certainly a great and difficult art and its principles can never be learnt in abstracto. The first condition is for us to look at our man with a purely objective eye, which is not so easy. Thus as soon as the slightest trace of dislike or affection, fear or hope, or even the thought of the impression we ourselves are making on him, in short, anything subjective, is mixed up with our view of him, the hieroglyphic becomes confused and false. Just as the sound of a language is heard only by the man who does not understand it, since otherwise the thing described would at once displace from consciousness the sign describing it, so a man's physiognomy is seen only by one who is still a stranger to him, in other words, has not become accustomed to his face by frequently seeing or even speaking to him. Accordingly, it is, strictly speaking, only at the first glance that we have the purely objective impression of a face and thus the possibility of deciphering it. Just as odours affect us only when they first occur and we obtain the taste of a wine really only with the first glass, so faces make their full impression on us only the first time. We should, therefore, pay careful attention to such impression and should make a note of it and even write it down in the case of those who are personally of importance to us, that is, if we can trust our own sense of physiognomy. Subsequent acquaintance and intercourse will obliterate that impression, but the sequel will one day confirm it.
Meanwhile, we will not conceal from ourselves the fact that that first sight is usually extremely unpleasant. But then how worthless the majority are! With the exception of beautiful, good-natured, and intellectual faces and thus of the exceedingly few and rare, I believe there will often be stirred in those of fine feelings a sensation akin to a shock at the sight of a new face, since it presents something unpleasant in a new and surprising combination. Actually it is, as a rule, a sorry sight. Indeed, there are some whose faces bear the stamp of so naIve a vulgarity and baseness of character, as well as such animal limitation of intelligence, that one wonders how they like to go about with such a face and not prefer to wear a mask. In fact, there are faces the mere sight of which makes us feel defiled. And so we cannot blame those whose privileged position permits them to withdraw and cut themselves off so that they are entirely removed from the painful sensation of 'seeing new faces'. With the metaphysical explanation of the matter, one must also take into account the fact that everyone's individuality is precisely that whereby he is to be reclaimed and corrected through his existence itself. On the other hand, if we wish to be satisfied with the psychological explanation, let us ask ourselves what kind of physiognomy we are to expect from those in whose hearts there has very rarely arisen throughout their lives anything but petty, mean, and miserable thoughts, and vulgar, selfish, envious, wicked, and malicious desires. Each of these has set its mark on the face during the time that it lasted. Through much repetition, all these marks have in the course of time become deeply wrinkled and furrowed, so to speak. Therefore the sight of most men is such that they startle us when we first see them and only gradually do we become accustomed to such faces, that is, so dead to their impression, that it no longer has any effect on us.
But that slow process of forming the permanent facial expression through innumerable, fleeting, and characteristic strainings and contractions of the features is the very reason why intellectual countenances are only of gradual formation. Only in old age do men of intellect attain their exalted expression, whereas the portraits of them in their youth show only the first traces of this. On the other hand, what I have just said about the first shock is in keeping with the previous remark that only the first time does a face make its true and full impression. Thus to get a purely objective and genuine impression, we must not yet stand in any relation to the person; in fact, where possible, we must not yet have spoken to him. For every conversation puts us to some extent on a friendly footing, introduces a certain rapport, a mutual subjective relation, and this has at once a detrimental effect on the objective nature of our perception. Moreover, as everyone is anxious to gain for himself esteem or friendship, so will the man to be observed at once apply all the different arts of dissimulation already familiar to him. With his airs he will play the hypocrite, flatter us, and thereby so corrupt us that soon we shall no longer see what the first glance had clearly shown us. Accordingly, it is then said that' most people gain on closer acquaintance', yet it should be 'delude on closer acquaintance'. But when serious instances later occur, the judgement of our first glance is often justified and scornfully vindicates itself. If, on the other hand, the' closer acquaintance' is at once hostile, it will not be found that men have gained thereby. Another cause of the so-called gain on closer acquaintance is that, as soon as we converse with the man whose first sight warned us of him, he no longer shows us merely his own true nature and character, but also his education, that is, not merely what he really is by nature, but also what he has appropriated to himself from the common property of the whole of mankind. Three-quarters of what he says do not belong to him, but have come to him from without. We are then often surprised to hear such a Minotaur speak so humanly. But if we come to an even 'closer acquaintance', his 'bestiality', promised by his face, will soon 'make a brilliant revelation'.[1] Whoever is gifted with a keen sense of physiognomy must, therefore, carefully note its utterances which preceded all closer acquaintance and were thus pure and genuine. For a man's face states exactly what he is, and if it deceives us, the fault is ours not his. On the other hand, a man's words say merely what he thinks, more often only what he has learnt, or even what he merely pretends to think. There is also the fact that, when we speak to him, or merely hear him speak to others, we disregard his real physiognomy since we ignore it as the substratum, as that which is positively given, and note merely its pathognomical side, the play of his features when he is speaking; but he so arranges this aspect that the good side is always turned outwards.
Now when Socrates said to a young man who was introduced to him for the purpose of having his abilities tested: 'Speak so that I may see you', he was indeed right (assuming that by 'seeing' he understood not merely 'hearing'), in so far as, only when a man speaks, do his features especially his eyes become animated and his intellectual resources and abilities set their mark on the play of his countenance. In this way, we are then in a position to make a provisional estimate of the degree and capacity of his intelligence, which was precisely the aim of Socrates. On the other hand, it must be emphasized first that this does not extend to the man's moral qualities which lie deeper, and secondly that what we gain objectively in the clearer development of his countenance through the play of his features when we speak to him, we again lose subjectively through the personal relation into which he at once enters with us and which produces a slight fascination; and this, as I have already explained, does not leave us dispassionate and unprejudiced. Therefore from this last point of view, it might be more correct to say: 'Do not speak so that I may see you.'
For to get a pure and fundamental conception of a man's physiognomy, we must observe him when he is alone and left to himself. Society of every kind and conversation with others cast on him a reflection which is not his own and is often to his advantage, since he is set going by action and reaction and thereby becomes flushed. On the other hand, alone and left to himself, plunged in the depths of his own thoughts and sensations, only then is he entirely and absolutely himself. A penetrating eye for physiognomy can then take in at a glance a general view of his entire inner nature. For in and by itself, his face bears the stamp of the fundamental tone of all his thoughts and aspirations, the arret irrevocable [2] of what he has to be and of which he is wholly aware only when he is alone.
The study of physiognomy is, therefore, one of the principal means to a knowledge of mankind, since in the narrower sense it is the only thing wherein the arts of dissimulation are not enough; for only mimicry, the pathognomical, lies within their province. For this reason, I recommend that we observe everyone when he is alone and is given up to his own thoughts and before anyone has spoken to him. One of the reasons for this is that only then do we have before us, pure and unalloyed, the physiognomical element, since in conversation the pathognomical at once slips in, and he then applies all the arts of dissimulation he has learnt by heart. Another reason is that every personal relation, even the most fleeting, makes us biased and thus subjectively vitiates our judgement.
I have still to observe that, on the path of physiognomy generally, it is much easier to discover a man's intellectual abilities than his moral character. Thus they tend to have a much more outward direction and have their expression not only in the face and the play of its features, but also in the gait, in every movement in fact, however slight. It might be possible to distinguish from behind a blockhead, a fool, and a man of intellect. The blockhead would be characterized by a leaden sluggishness of all his movements; folly is stamped on every gesture; so too are intellect and a studious nature. The words of La Bruyere are based on this: Il n'y a rien de si delie, de si simple, et de si imperceptible, ou ils n'y entrent des manieres qui nous dicelent: un sot ni n' entre, ni ne sort, ni ne s' assied, ni ne se leve, ni ne se tait, ni n'est sur ses jambes, comme un homme d'esprit. [3] This, incidentally, is the explanation of that instinct sur et prompt [4] which, according to Helvetius, commonplace minds have for the purpose of recog!lizing and running away from men of intellect. But the matter itself rests primarily on the fact that the larger and more developed the brain and the thinner in relation thereto the spinal cord and nerves, the greater are the intelligence and also at the same time the mobility and suppleness of all the limbs. For these are then controlled by the brain more directly and definitely, and consequently everything is drawn more on a single thread whereby the purpose of every movement is precisely expressed therein. The whole thing is analogous to, and indeed connected with, the fact that, the higher an animal stands in the scale of beings, the more easily it can be killed by injury to a single spot. Take for example the batrachia and see how sluggish, lethargic, and slow they are in their movements; they are also unintelligent and at the same time extremely tenacious of life. All this is explained from the fact that in spite of a very small brain, they have very thick spinal cord and nerves. Generally speaking, gait and movement of the arms are mainly a function of the brain because, by means of the nerves of the spinal cord, the external limbs obtain their movement, and even the smallest modification thereof, from the brain. This is why voluntary and arbitrary movements fatigue us and like the pain, such fatigue has its seat in the brain, not, as we imagine, in the limbs themselves; and it therefore induces sleep. On the other hand, movements of organic life, of the heart, lungs, and so on, which are not stimulated by the brain and are, therefore, spontaneous and involuntary, proceed without causing fatigue. Now as the one brain is concerned with both thinking and controlling the limbs, the character of its activity is expressed in the one as in the other, according to the individual's constitution; stupid people move like automata, whereas in those of intellect every joint is eloquent. Mental qualities, however, are not nearly so well recognized from gestures and movements as they are from the face, the shape and size of the brow, the contraction and mobility of the features, and above all the eye, ranging from the small, dull, lustreless pig's eye through all gradations up to the radiant and flashing eye of the genius. The look of sagacity and prudence, even of the most acute, differs from that of genius in that the former bears the stamp of service to the will, whereas the latter is free therefrom. One can accordingly well believe the anecdote which is narrated by Squarzafichi in his life of Petrarch and is taken from Joseph Brivius, a contemporary of the poet. Once at the court of the Visconti when Petrarch was present with many noblemen and gentlemen, Galeazzo Visconti told his son who was then still a boy and later became the first Duke of Milan, to pick out the wisest of those present. The boy looked at them all for a while, then seized Petrarch by the hand, and led him to his father, to the great admiration of all present. For so clearly does nature set the seal of her dignity on the privileged of mankind, that a child recognizes it. I would, therefore, like to advise my discriminating countrymen that, when they again feel inclined to trumpet abroad for thirty years a commonplace head as a great mind, they will not choose for the purpose such a publican's physiognomy as Hegel's, on whose countenance nature had written in her most legible handwriting the words 'commonplace fellow', so familiar to her.
Now the question concerning the intellectual is different from that of the moral, the man's character, which physiognomically is much more difficult to recognize. Being metaphysical, it lies incomparably deeper and, indeed, is connected with the constitution and the organism, yet not so directly with a definite part and system thereof as is the intellect. There is also the fact that, whereas everyone openly exhibits and endeavours on every occasion to show his intellect as something with which he is generally satisfied, moral qualities are rarely exposed quite freely to the light of day, but are often intentionally concealed. Long practice in this makes a man a great master of the art. But, as I have explained, evil thoughts and unworthy aspirations gradually leave their mark on the face, especially in the eyes. Accordingly, if we judge by physiognomy, we can easily guarantee that a man will never produce an immortal work, but not that he will never commit a serious crime.
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[b]Notes:[/b]
1 [From Goethe's Faust, Pt. I.] 2 ['Irrevocable decree' (Legal term).]
3 ['There is nothing so subtle, so simple, and so imperceptible wherein manners and demean our are not to be found which reveal and betray us. A blockhead cannot enter, go out, sit down, get up, be quiet, or stand on his feet as can a man of intelligence.']
4 ['Sure and prompt instinct'.]
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