The author highlights the practical applications of philosophical poetry in the study of philosophy, morality, social issues, and psychology.
By Roberto Assagioli, (Doc. 18451 – Assagioli Archives – Florence). Original Title: Poesia e filosofia[i] Translated and Edited With Notes by Jan Kuniholm[ii]
Abstract: The text explores the relationship between poetry and philosophy, particularly focusing on the poetry of ideas. The author argues that poetry of ideas has artistic legitimacy and can be more effective in conveying aesthetic culture, intellectual enlightenment, and moral elevation than non-explicit poetic philosophy and non-philosophical art. The author also discusses the definitions of poetry and philosophy, drawing on Benedetto Croce’s work in aesthetics. The text emphasizes the importance of integrating aesthetics and philosophy, as well as the need for a deeper understanding of human nature and morality through the use of philosophical poetry. The author highlights the practical applications of philosophical poetry in the study of philosophy, morality, social issues, and psychology. The text concludes by calling for a greater appreciation and exploration of philosophical poetry to contribute to a wiser and better humanity.
The study of the relationships between these two most noble activities of the human spirit is one of the most important and appealing; it is, however, also difficult and complex as few others are. For to speak of philosophy and poetry one must first of all define exactly the concepts of philosophy and poetry, and such a definition presupposes among other things a profound study of the whole of aesthetics and theory of knowledge. Only this!
So I certainly do not presume to make an exhaustive treatment of my chosen topic with my little energy and in the short time allotted to me. My goal is more modest. I shall only try to dispel some unfair preconceptions and some harmful misunderstandings that currently exist about the poetry of ideas; showing, on the one hand, its perfect artistic legitimacy, and on the other hand, the most important reasons why the poetry of ideas can be an even more complete and effective medium of aesthetic culture, intellectual enlightenment and moral elevation than non-explicit poetic philosophy and non-philosophical art. But even narrowing my topic in this way, I cannot refrain from examining some issues in aesthetics and theory of knowledge.
First, what do we mean by poetry? The question is certainly not superfluous because — even if every intelligent person knows that by poetry we do not mean the collection of those writings that are divided into many small fragments of a certain number of syllables, with special accents or with a certain succession of long and short — there is certainly no such agreement for a “positive” definition of poetry. [iii]
Fortunately, the way through the complicated maze of aesthetics has now been facilitated for us by a wise guide: I want to allude to the masterful work of Benedetto Croce.[iv] Whatever one wishes to judge of the entire philosophy of Benedetto Croce (and I myself will have occasion shortly to tell you reasons why I do not seem to be able to admit certain limitations of human consciousness, as he does ) — it must be acknowledged that in the field of aesthetics his work has been valuable for having brought order and clarity where previously confusion and obscurity reigned, and even worse, false light. He has given us an analysis of the aesthetic fact[v] which, if not perhaps definitive, seems to me for the moment the most profound and rigorous that has been made.
According to Benedetto Croce, the aesthetic fact is essentially pure intuition, which for him is equivalent to pure expression, since by intuition he means “representation of a state of mind;” that is, representation of a “commotion,”[vi] of a feeling. Let us also remember that for him, of course, language is nothing but expression. There is no point in stopping to discuss Croce’s definitions; let us just accept his terminology and see what according to him is the relationship between aesthetic fact and intellectual fact, between art and philosophy. This relationship is for Croce that of a double degree. The first degree is the expression, the second the concept; the first can stand without the second, but the second cannot stand without the first; there is poetry without prose, but there is no prose without poetry.
This is certainly not to say everything about the complex relations between poetry and philosophy; but it provides an appropriate starting point, a solid foundation for the more particular and precise analysis we are about to attempt.
First of all we shall note how Croce’s ideas as set forth perfectly explain why we often find an aesthetic side in philosophy. Not only is there no disagreement between thought and art (as certain self-styled philosophers would have us believe, who then, perhaps in order to be consistent with themselves, write in the ugliest and most boring way possible!) — not only is there no disagreement between thought and art, but if a philosophical work is poorly written it means that the thoughts are expressed in a stunted, unclear and unattractive way, and this is a serious defect even from the strictly philosophical point of view.
Another fact is also clearly explained by Croce’s ideas: namely, that the philosophical writings that seem most highly poetic to us are those containing great metaphysical structures. In fact, the philosopher who expounds his synthetic vision of the universe is certainly animated by greater emotion and greater lyricism than his colleague who is spinning out syllogisms, so it is natural that in the work of the former we find a poetic breath that is missing in that of the latter.
Concerning the existence of poetry in philosophy I will limit myself to this quick mention, because it is obvious to anyone who is free from preconceptions and because it does not come up against any serious theoretical difficulties. That is, there are certain elevated philosophical themes which are naturally poetic and make poets of all who deal with them. A clear example of this is given to us by Kant. This philosopher, this great philosopher, was one of the people least endowed with poetic breath and whose manner of writing is anything but beautiful, yet when he touched on certain themes he too was illuminated by the light of poetry that radiates from them. Thus, speaking of the moral law, he wrote these magnificent words, which are justly famous:
Two things give me a sense of the sublime: the starry sky above my head and the moral law within my heart.
The matter is quite different, however, with regard to philosophy in poetry. Here we are faced with a series of serious problems that relate to the most intricate philosophical issues. Still it seems to me that certain misunderstandings, certain confusions of terminology, certain too-absolute and one-sided points of view can be got out of the way quite easily with a little serene analysis, and we can then at least arrive at a clear and precise presentation of the fundamental problems.
Let us begin by examining the big question debated between the partisans of “art for art’s sake” and those of “morality in art.”[vii] Judging by the rivers of ink it has produced, the issue would seem exceptionally complex. I believe, however, that those who have the patience to proceed step by step and not allow themselves to be hypnotized by catchphrases and pretentious formulas will be surprised to find that a great deal of noise has been made about largely nonexistent problems. In truth, reading some of the polemics on this subject, one is made to wonder whether there is not some impertinent little spirit who amuses himself by leading the opponents through the dense thicket of arguments, counterfeiting now the voice of one, now that of the other, just as in A Midsummer Night’s Dream Robin Goodfellow[viii] has the two irate lovers Lysander and Demetrius running hither and thither through the forest near Athens, wanting to fight each other, but who, through Robin’s cunning, never manage to meet.
My assertion will perhaps seem presumptuous to you, and indeed it would be so if I did not immediately set out to prove it to you in such a way that each of you will be able to see whether or not it is well-founded. First of all, it will not be difficult for me to show how the positions of the intransigents on both sides are untenable.
Take those of the “art-for-art’s sake” party, who claim that the essence of art is formal beauty, that art is complete in itself, independent of any other activity, and that philosophy has nothing to do in it. Overlooking the other statements, which are also highly questionable, given the sense they give to them, as far as philosophy is concerned, it may be answered that, assuming an artistic side to philosophy, some relation between it and art must be there. And indeed, if art can creep into a philosophical work without explicit intention on the part of the author, all the more so philosophy cannot detract from the artistic qualities in an intentionally and predominantly poetic work.
But all such considerations are superfluous; in every age supreme poets have disproved by their creations what those gentlemen assert. From the sublime Upanishads to the philosophical sonnets of Campanella,[ix] from the winged Hymn of Cleanthes[x]to the Harmonious Order of the Universe,[xi]to the grand pantheistic visions of Walt Whitman, a numerous series of magnificent philosophical poems have settled the question once and for all.
But no less absurd on the other hand is the claim to subordinate art to morality. Aesthetic values and ethical values are completely distinct and heterogeneous from each other. For how could one judge the purity and intensity of an artistic intuition, a theoretical activity of the spirit, with the scale of values that serves for a practical activity, such as volition? It would be like wanting to measure the atmospheric pressure with the thermometer, or even to calculate the length of the captain’s nose from the height of his ship’s mast!
Yet at all times there have been people of uncommon genius who have persisted in talking about the relationships between art and morality. How can this be explained? Simply by the fact that even if there are no relationships between morality and art, there are important ones between morality and works of art.
This is precisely the substantial point that I wanted to make very clear, because it and it alone can give us an exact and lucid view of the relationships between poetry and philosophy. So it is very important to distinguish between art and a work of art; that is, between pure intuition (whatever its origin), and that particular intuition or series of intuitions of specific origin which goes to form this or that work of art, whether or not it is connected with certain philosophical concepts.
For intuitions can have different origins: they can come from sensations or concepts. (Later we will discuss the question of whether they can also have a third origin.) And while from the aesthetic point of view the origin of intuitions doesn’t matter, from other points of view, e.g. from the moral or ethical point of view, their origin is of the greatest importance.
This explains much of the confusion that exists and the discussions that have taken place and are taking place concerning form and content, moral art or immoral art, the superiority of the poetry of ideas, and many other issues. Abandoning all defective and ambiguous terminology, such as, for example, the distinction of form and content, it is worth mentioning first of all that the overall value of a work of art can never be expounded by a single judgment. For the sake of brevity, I will not speak of the historical, philological, scientific and psychological judgments that can be made of a work of art, about which there would be much to discuss, and will limit myself to saying something about the moral and ethical ones.
The moralist is one who studies the ethical importance of human activities, and as such he is justified in dealing with all these activities and all their products, thus also with works of art. On the other hand, however, as such he must study the work of art on a par with any other document, researching its ethical importance alone and neglecting any other aspects.
But there is no such thing as a “pure moralist,” and every moralist is at the same time a man who is capable also of making aesthetic, psychological, etc. judgments that are more or less right. Too often he cannot keep the various categories of his judgments clearly distinct, especially if he is endowed with an impetuous and passionate character. Then, out of the complicated “incestuous” connections between aesthetics, morals, psychology, etc. unfortunately there emerge not only ridiculous little monstrosities, such as so many artistic or literary criticisms that appear in newspapers or sectarian magazines, but also ferocious and culturally dangerous monsters, such as certain defamatory books by Max Nordau[xii] and Leo Tolstoy.[xiii]
By instead applying a rigorous distinction between the various judgments, many issues are resolved, I would say almost automatically, or at least with only the help of the simplest common sense. Let us consider, for example, the question that has been asked whether the poetry of ideas is superior to others. If by “superior” we mean “artistically superior,” it is clear that this is inadmissible, because as we have already said, the artistic value of aesthetic intuitions is independent of whether they are aroused by philosophical concepts or by sensations produced by external objects. It can be said, however, that it is easier for a grand philosophical idea about human destiny to be a source of more intense insight, and thus of greater poetry, than the visual sensation produced by the embroidered and perfumed handkerchief of an eighteenth-century lady.
If, on the other hand, by the superiority of a work of art we mean “overall, integral superiority,” counting not only its aesthetic merits but also its moral, psychological, etc. merits, then, between two poems of equal artistic value, the one that also contains some great moral truth is evidently “superior” to the other.
In the journey so far we have thus not only clarified some of the problems of aesthetics that were most pressing for us, but we have also recognized two important facts concerning the poetry of ideas, namely: first of all, its aesthetic legitimacy, then also its overall superiority, with equal artistic merit, over poetry endowed with only aesthetic merits. Now before continuing our examination of philosophical poetry we must mention a serious matter: namely, that of the limits of philosophy.
It is indeed great good fortune that philosophy is a theoretical concept and not a living, sentient being; because then it would have a bad time, surrounded as it is by a noisy and petulant crowd of doctors and surgeons, comedians and charlatans. There are those who would like to extirpate psychology from her, as if that were a ugly appendage; and those who, in order to strengthen her, would like to force the extract of all sciences down her throat; those who would like to make her work for utilitarian purposes; and those who would like to lock her up in an ivory tower contemplating the stars and weaving cobwebs!
But let us leave the joke aside. We will limit ourselves to talking about only one problem, the examination of which is indispensable to our purpose. When I spoke to you about the origin of intuitions I told you that they can come either from sensations or from concepts, but I left in doubt whether they can also have a third source. This is precisely the point on which we must now pause, and which involves a serious question of the theory of knowledge. For to answer the question we have been asking, we must first resolve the more general question: is reason, conceptual knowledge, the ultimate form of the spirit’s theoretical activity, or are there others?
Here we find a profound disagreement between rationalists and intellectualists of all gradations: the absolute idealists like Hegel[xiv] on the one hand and, on the other hand, the so-called spiritual and mystical philosophers of every time and every civilization. First of all, I will note that one should always pay close attention to the different meaning that absolute idealists give to the word spirit from that which mystics give to it; and this is to avoid needless confusion and entanglements.
The question seems to me to be most simply and objectively set out in the following terms: On the one hand all the philosophers, whom, for lack of a better expression, we shall call by the name of mystics, unanimously tell us that above conceptual knowledge there is so-called spiritual knowledge or spiritual vision, the marvelous properties of which we shall examine in a moment. On the other side are the absolute idealists and rationalists of all sorts, who deny its existence.[xv] Let us first see the reasons of the latter.
It is evident that the various attempts that have been made to logically prove the non-existence of this higher knowledge are a continual contradiction in terms, since one of the essential properties of that knowledge is precisely that of transcending, surpassing, or if nothing else, differing qualitatively from rational [and logical] knowledge. So just as aesthetic judgments cannot tell us anything about the truth of a logical proposition, so reasoning cannot at all decide on the legitimacy of spiritual vision. So the only possible conclusion of intellectualists should be: we do not directly know this faculty so we cannot say anything about it.
But if it is human for them to have a certain skepticism toward those who claim its existence, it seems to me that they can be reproached for not showing enough good will, indeed for often refusing to even study the question for themselves. On the part of narrow-minded and short-sighted rationalists this should not come as a surprise; it is surprising, on the other hand, that absolute idealists, who are of all people the least distant from spiritualists and have the most open minds and are the freest from prejudice — I repeat: it is surprising — that absolute idealists do not show more good will. Here is how Croce concludes, not without a hint of irony, after mentioning the faculty we are talking about:
We are very sorry, because it would be a truly admirable and pleasant faculty to possess: but we, who do not possess it, have no way of ascertaining its existence. [xvi]
To this it can be answered that there are two great methods that can be used by philosophers of good will who wish to ascertain the existence of spiritual consciousness: The first consists in the systematic study of the writings of all those who have claimed to possess that faculty. This method is strictly scientific and has already yielded important results to the few who have used it: among them I will mention the psychologist William James, who with his study Varieties of Religious Experience[xvii]was a true pioneer in this vast field, which the presumptuous ignorance of the so-called “learned” has left so long unexplored. I will also mention the Canadian R. Maurice Bucke, who, after having had a brief period of intense spiritual consciousness, studied its manifestations in others for many years and presented the results of his research in a book entitled Cosmic Consciousness,[xviii] which (although containing several questionable ideas) is full of valuable documents and suggestive observations.
The second method by which the faculty we are talking about can be studied is far more difficult, and requires many special external and internal conditions that are not easy to find together. On the other hand, this method has the great advantage of being not only scientific, but completely experimental. This will certainly surprise all those who know of no experiment without retorts and stoves, scalpels, or smoked and rotating cylinders; but every philosophical mind must recognize, for a series of reasons which it would be too long to examine on this occasion, that the facts of consciousness are . . . facts — facts [or phenomena] that are similar to external facts, and which, as such, lend themselves to the application of the most rigorous experimental method.[xix]
It is true that the phenomena of consciousness with their plasticity and enormous complexity require very different scientific and philosophical gifts [or skills] than those needed to examine a sediment, or to rehash an ideological system and reduce it to pills! It is also true that the psychological methods recommended by mystics are often expounded in a way that is anything but clear and perfect, and that certain limitations and fanaticisms of these writers sometimes make one doubt the value of everything they say. Finally, it is true that the artificial and absurd life of modern cities, and even more so the bad mental habits that result from such a life, create great obstacles to the application of those methods.
But all these difficulties and many others which I have omitted for the sake of brevity, however serious, are not insurmountable, and the achievement of some partial results already has so much scientific and practical importance in the field of pure philosophy, psychology, pedagogy, etc., that the deplorable disregard for these studies should stop as soon as possible. (I am glad to be able to add that quite a few recent signs offer good hope).
The most evident characteristics of spiritual knowledge are its being integral, direct and intimate. Its consistent process is the identification of subject and object, the knower with what is known. This identification is not merely ideal, theoretical; it is actual, practical, and actual. If he who possesses that faculty observes nature, he enters into intimate communion with it; not only does he forget his ordinary personality altogether but he becomes one with nature. He feels in himself the purity of water, the hardness of granite, the fruitfulness of the harvests; he feels in himself circulating the life-giving sap of the trees, in himself the swirling violence of the high winds.
If he then reads an ancient story or a recent chronicle he does not limit himself to the pale and reflected representation that we all routinely make of it; he relives with the original intensity all the episodes recounted, empathizes with all the characters, suffers, rejoices, curses, loves with them. But there is more still. This intimate interpenetration causes him to intuit the hidden essence of every phenomenon beneath the deceptive appearance. Thus he discovers marvelous correspondences between people, events, things; the universe is no longer a chaotic plurality for him; a dense network of spiritual bonds reconnects all objects and all creatures in it, in a present living Unity. All ordinary scales of values no longer make sense; everything is transfigured by a new light. Maya[xx]has disappeared, and with it space and time. There is only the ineffable presence of the Spirit. [xxi]
At this point I am sure that the following remark would arise spontaneously from each of the many skeptics: “All this, after all, is nothing but the rather exaggerated description of the visions and fantasies of poets.” To me this would be a valuable confession. It is, however, superfluous, for you all certainly noticed that many of the things I said now were not new to you, because you had found them in the verses of some poet who is dear to you. This immediately suggests that there are close relations between the spiritual intuition of the mystic and the aesthetic intuition that we have admitted to be the essence of art.
Continuing the comparison between these two intuitions and remembering that according to Croce’s terminology, (artistic) intuition is synonymous with “state of mind,” with lyricism, then it seems to me that we must come to the conclusion that aesthetic intuition and mystical intuition are two different degrees of the same spiritual form.
Let us examine on the other hand the relationships that exist between spiritual intuition and the concept. First of all, there is nothing in the latter that is not also found in the former. For can there be any knowledge outside or above spiritual knowledge? Is not the interpenetration, the identification of the subject with the object the most complete possible form of knowledge — true, absolute knowledge?[xxii] And after what we have said, does not the essential characteristic of concrete universality, which Croce attributes to “the concept,” then seem to be admirably suited to spiritual knowledge?[xxiii]
Moreover, according to Croce, every concept is necessarily united with an intuition, a state of mind, insofar as it is expressed. But is not this fusion of knowledge and lyricism found perfectly in spiritual vision, in which knowledge, feeling, and life form an inseparable whole?
This is not the time to develop further this attempt to harmonize Croce’s philosophy with mysticism. What matters to us now is to have recognized the substantial identity between spiritual consciousness and poetic vision, and to have confirmed in an indubitable way the very close relations between poetry and philosophy. Now therefore you will understand why I say that all mystics are philosophical poets, and that they constitute indeed the vanguard and advanced sentinels of the noble ranks of philosophical poets.
With this we have emerged from the sea of theory, which nevertheless it was necessary to cross in order to be able to travel, as we shall do from now on, along the pleasant shore of the many very noble services of philosophical poetry in the lives of men, but not without some glance at the perilous waters.
From the moment at which I discovered with delight the inexhaustible treasures that I could find in philosophical poetry I felt a painful amazement when I thought how little people take advantage of it in general, and with how much trouble we seek in other ways what philosophical poetry offers in abundance, beautiful and right at hand. Such blindness seemed to me at first inexplicable; but then, on reflection, I recognized that this is only a part of a wider flaw in our culture.
Just as the skillful use of analysis is the great strength and glory of Western civilization, its excessive and indiscriminate use is its greatest and most harmful flaw. Analysis is a most useful, indeed necessary tool, but it cannot be an end in itself. In fact, the function of analysis is to enable the transition from a lower synthesis to a higher synthesis. It liberates elements which are associated in a given way so that they can, by combining with others, or recombining in a different way, compose a new synthesis, richer, more organic, more harmonious than the previous one. And life is essentially synthesis. Analysis is the necessary principle of destruction, by which life can renew itself and progress; but which, if it prevails over other [principles], produces only death and desolation.
One of the most regrettable effects of our abuse of analysis has been the practical dissociation between intellectual and artistic activities. Even if it were entirely legitimate to make the absolute theoretical distinction between concept and artistic intuition, to carry this distinction into practice seems to me a serious psychological error. Why deprive “the concept” of the life-giving force of feeling? Why deprive art of the intelligent guidance of thought? Many of the defects of modern education come from this fundamental error of method.
Already many courageous voices have arisen to combat the absurd systems now in use. These overload the mind with an enormous conglomeration of largely useless facts,[xxiv] and attempt to stifle feeling in every way — forgetting that feeling is a force, and, as such, is indestructible. Therefore, if the natural expression of feeling is obstructed, it breaks out violently, in abnormal and dangerous ways. That force, on the other hand, could produce magnificent results if it were intelligently channeled and utilized. Let us hope that the truth will break through and that this incalculable destruction of the most precious energies of thousands and thousands of young people will eventually cease.
From the quick review we are going to make of the various practical applications of philosophical poetry it will become clear how many and what important services it can render in a truly rational pedagogy, based upon a deep knowledge of human nature. Let us first examine what may be the function of poetry of ideas in the study of philosophy. To study much of philosophy by reading poems and lyrical excerpts from thinkers and mystics will seem to many to be a daring enterprise of doubtful success. But why should it be so?
We have already seen that an aesthetic element is often present to a remarkable degree in philosophical works. In poetry of ideas this aesthetic element is found in an even greater degree, so as to give a particular form to the writing: the metrical form or at least, if it is lyrical prose, to produce an unusual abundance of metaphors, allegories, and images. Well, does all this diminish the value of the ideas set forth in those writings? Or rather do not the ideas have everything to gain in being expressed in eloquent, imaginative, harmonious — in short, poetic form, instead of in unadorned, cold, schematic form?
Anyone who has turned his or her attention to this issue will certainly have observed that lyrical expression gives ideas certain qualities that the clearest and precise prose is incapable of expressing. It is surprising how much more easily lyrically expressed ideas are understood, assimilated and remembered — what indefinable charm, what exciting and suggestive power they acquire for the intelligence.
At this point the following objection could be addressed to me, “That’s all well and good, but doesn’t all this come at the expense of lucidity, order and precision, and aren’t these the essential qualities of thought?” This can be answered in many ways. First of all, I think I am not exaggerating by saying that a very considerable part of the mistakes made by philosophers has been produced by an excessive eagerness for clarity and precision. How many times has reality been mutilated in order for it to fit the Procrustean bed[xxv] of a very clear system! How many times has the illusory clarity of a formula caused us to lose sight of the complex reality! But precision is not always desirable even in the sciences! Indeed, hear what William James writes in his treatise on psychology: “At a certain stage in the development of every science a degree of vagueness is what best consists with fertility.” [xxvi]
After all, precision and clarity can very well coexist with lyrical expression. It is as difficult to give a rigorous theoretical demonstration of this and my other previous statements as it is easy to provide persuasive demonstrations by means of practical examples. Therefore, I think it appropriate to quote two passages from two French poets in which clarity and suggestiveness are united.
You are familiar with the ideas expounded by Schopenhauer in his Metaphysics of Love: for him love is the trap set for the individual by the species, the nefarious perpetuator of human miseries, which will cease only when the annihilation of desire makes the whole race extinct. Well, hear now these three stanzas of Sully Prudhomme [xxvii] (taken from Voeu)
* * *
[First we present these French verses quoted by Assagioli, and following is a very literal English to give reader some sense of the topic, knowing that of all writing poetry is the most un-translatable. We ask the reader’s forgiveness for the translation of the second, third and fourth stanzas of Prudhomme’s poem, which envisioned “an age without battles,” but we wanted to give some “idea” of what was being written. We are unaware of any published English version of the poem.—Ed.]de Voeu by Prudhomme
Du plus aveugle instinct je veux me rendre maître,
Hélas’ non par vertu, mais par compassion;
Dans l’invincible essaim des condamnés à naître,
Je fais grâce à celui dont je sens l’aiguillon.
Demeure dans l’empire innomé du possible,
O fils le plus aimé qui ne naîtra jamais!
Mieux sauvé que les morts et plus inaccessible,
Tu ne sortiras pas de l’ombre où tu dormais!
Le zélé recruteur des larmes par la joie,
L’amour, guette en mon sang une postérité.
Je fais vœu d’arracher au malheur cette proie;
Nul n’aura de mon cœur faible et sombre hérité.
from Vow by Prudhomme
Of the blindest instinct I want to make myself master,
Alas! Not out of virtue, but from compassion.
In the invisible swarm of those condemned to be born,
I give thanks to the one whose sting I feel.
Remain in the unnamed empire of the possible,
O most beloved son who will never be born!
Better saved than the dead and more inaccessible,
You will not emerge from the shadows where you slept!
Zealous recruiter of tears through joy,
Love watches for a posterity in my blood.
I vow to save this prey from misfortune:
No one shall inherit my weak and dark heart.
* * *
I believe that it would be difficult to set forth Schopenhauer’s idea more clearly, more succinctly, and more poetically.
The second example I have chosen is by Victor Hugo,[xxviii] whose philosophical poems, many of which are little known, contain profound insights that show the unfairness and shallowness of so many of that poet’s facile detractors. (— A new example of the usual simplistic prejudice that the highest qualities cannot exist alongside serious defects in the same writer. Those who wish to read a thorough and penetrating examination of Hugo’s philosophical poetry will find it in the book by J.M. Guyau, himself a philosophical poet, entitled L’art au point de vue sociologique.) [xxix]
The verses I am about to read to you expound the grand Indian doctrine of Karma, the law of the moral world whereby every act of man would inevitably, automatically bring with it its own reward or punishment. I do not know by what route Victor Hugo came to know this doctrine, and it is not impossible that he came to it himself, intuitively. Here are the verses, from Chapter XXVI of Les Contemplations:
* * *
[Again we present these French verses quoted by Assagioli, and with our apologies follows is a very literal English version to give the reader some sense of the topic.—Ed.]from Chapter XXVI of Les Contemplations by Hugo
L’être créé se meut dans la lumière immense.
Libre, il sait où le bien cesse, où le mal commence;
Il a ses actions pour juges.
Il suffit
Qu’il soit méchant ou bon; tout est dit. Ce qu’on fit,
Crime, est notre geôlier, ou, vertu, nous délivre;
L’être ouvre à son insu de lui même le livre;
Sa conscience calme y marque avec le doigt
Ce que l’ombre lui garde ou ce que Dieu lui doit.
On agit, et l’on gagne ou l’on perd à mesure;
On peut être étincelle ou bien éclaboussure;
. . .
On s’alourdit, immonde, au poids croissant du mal,
Dans la vie infinie on monte et l’on s’élance,
Ou l’on tombe, et tout être est son propre balance.
Dieu ne nous juge point. Vivant tous à la fois,
Nous pesons, et chacun descend selon son poids.
. . .
Toute faute qu’on fait est un cachot qu’on s’ouvre.
Les mauvais, ignorant quel mystère les couvre,
Les êtres de fureur, de sang, de trahison,
Avec leurs actions bâtissent leur prison.
. . .
L’homme marche sans voir ce qu’il fait dans l’abime.
L’assassin pâlirait s’il voyait sa victime; C’est lui.
* * *
from Chapter XXVI of Les Contemplations by Hugo
The created being moves in the immense light.
Free, he knows where good ends and evil begins;
He has his actions as judges.
It is enough
Whether evil or good, all is spoken. What we did,
Crime is our jailer, or, virtue frees us;
The being unknowingly opens the book;
His calm conscience marks with his finger
What the shadow keeps for him, or what God owes him.
We act, and gain or lose as we go;
You can be a spark or a splash;
. . .
We grow heavier, filthy, with the growing weight of evil,
In infinite life we rise and soar,
Or fall, and every being is its own scale.
God does not judge us. Living all at once,
We have a weight, and each goes down according it.
. . .
Every wrong we do make is a dungeon we open.
The wicked, unaware of the mystery that covers them,
Beings of fury, of blood, of treason,
With their actions build their prison.
. . .
Man walks blindly into the abyss.
The assassin would turn pale if he saw his victim: It is himself.
* * *
This example also seems eloquent to me. But, some might say, there are numerous parts of philosophy that do not lend themselves at all to such poetic elaborations. I admit that certain very technical matters can hardly be the subject of poetry, but I assert that one must go very slowly before declaring that an idea and a problem do not lend themselves to being expressed poetically. I can immediately give you a convincing example of this, too, taken from the poems of Victor Hugo.
You know that Manichaeism is the doctrine that asserts there are in the world two irreconcilable and relentlessly struggling principles: the principle of good and the principle of evil. This conception comes from Persian Mazdaism, in which the two principles are symbolized by Ormuzd and Ahriman.[xxx]
The following objection has been raised to this doctrine. Given the relativity of human knowledge, it has been said, we cannot affirm the existence of this irreconcilable dualism; instead, it could be that what seems to us to be an evil principle is a different manifestation of one and the same beneficent principle. Well, this objection does not seem at first sight to contain much poetic fabric. Hear instead with what grace, wit, and limpid simplicity it was expressed in a short apologue by Victor Hugo.
[Again we present these French verses quoted by Assagioli, and with our apologies follows is a very literal English version to give reader some sense of the topic.—Ed.]de Religions et religion (des Voix), p. 112. by Hugo
Le cheval doit être manichéen;
Arimane lui fait du mal, Ormus du bien.
Tout le jour, sous le fouet il est comme un cible;
Il sent derrière lui l’affreux maitre invisible,
Le démon inconnu qui l’accable de coups;
Le soir, il voit un être empressé, bon et doux,
Qui lui donne à manger et qui lui donne à boire,
Met de la paille fraiche en son litière noire,
Et tache d’effacer le mal par le calmant,
Et le rude travail par le repos clément;
Quelqu’un le persécute hélas! mais quelqu’un l’aime.
Et le cheval se dit: “Ils sont deux.” C’est le même.”
* * *
from Religions et religion (des Voix), p. 112. byHugo
The horse must be Manichean;
Ahriman harms him, Ormuzd does him good.
All day long, under the whip, he is like a target;
He feels behind him the awful invisible master,
The unknown demon who pummels him with blows;
In the evening, he sees an eager being, kind and gentle,
Who gives him food and drink,
Puts fresh straw in his black litter,
And tries to erase the pain by soothing,
And hard work by merciful rest;
Someone persecutes him, alas! but someone loves him.
And the horse says to himself,
“There are two of them. They’re one and the same.”
* * *
I take this opportunity to mention that apologies, parables, allegories, and myths lend themselves admirably to expounding the most abstruse philosophical concepts in suggestive, witty, and supremely poetic form. The Orientals and the ancient Greeks wisely made extensive use of them. Indeed, I believe that one of the most important reasons for the increasing popularity of Eastern studies is precisely the attraction exercised by this genre of philosophical poetry that is so unjustly neglected among us. I do, however, want to point out a fine exception. In Paris lives a man whose soul has not been stifled by the thousand prosaic cares of modern life. Han Ryner[xxxi] has long been nourished on the purest and most precious juices of Greek philosophy, and this, combined with the natural genius of his mind, has enabled him to express some of the great truths which all men ought to know, in magnificent parables and powerful myths.
But if the study of philosophy in philosophical poems presents far fewer theoretical difficulties than is generally believed, it comes up against serious practical difficulties for the time being, owing to the absolute lack of suitable works. Not only is there no history of philosophical poetry, but so far as I know, not even an anthology, not even a comprehensive, wide-ranging and non-superficial treatment of the relationships between philosophy and poetry. These deficiencies should be eliminated as soon as possible. Therefore I make a warm appeal to scholars of good will to set about the work. Think how useful to culture would be even a modest anthology of poems, lyrical passages, myths, and philosophical apologies.
But there is one part of philosophy whose relationship with poetry demands special examination because of its extraordinary importance: this part is morality. I even dare to say that the neglect of the relations between ethics and poetry has been one of the most important causes of today’s moral crisis. In fact, such carelessness has caused moralists to commit a series of major psychological “blunders.” They have allowed every poetic breath to escape from morality, which they have reduced to an oppressive catalog of duties and stripped it of all beautiful boldness, all brilliance, all warmth, until they have gone so far — and this has been the climax — as to make morality ridiculous and grotesque.
What wonder that young people turned their backs in disgust on that unworthy caricature of morality, and have sought that breath of life which was missing in the free rein of instincts or in the fascinating theories of brilliant immoralists? But what is left of what is truly moral in the rinses and nursery rhymes of the so-called moralists? Where sentiment, ideal, strength, spirit are lacking, can there be anything but blind sheepishness, or petty calculation, or despicable hypocrisy?
A prompt instauratio ab imis fundamentis [xxxii]is needed. It is necessary to return to the pure sources of morality, to recall the luminous figures of the supreme masters of humanity, and, forgetting the treacherous glosses of commentators, to warm our souls in the fire of their original sayings. Morality must again become great, beautiful, heroic, and — in short, poetic in the highest sense. Only thus can the unhealthy fascination with evil — this psychological absurdity created largely by the short-sightedness and narrow-mindedness of moralists — be destroyed. And this fascination, which ordinary morality is powerless to overcome, will be dispelled by heroic morality as easily as the glorious light of the sun makes the electric light, which seemed to us so dazzlingly bright behind with closed shutters, appear miserable and dull.
But with the moral question is intimately connected the social question. Here, too, poetry has a most noble and most important role. If lack of time did not prevent me, I would love to speak to you at length about the great social poetry which arose in America and England through the work of Walt Whitman[xxxiii] and Edward Carpenter,[xxxiv] and which already has numerous other devotees, among whom I shall only mention the Englishman Binns,[xxxv] author also of a fine biography of Whitman, and George D. Herron,[xxxvi] a valiant American poet and sociologist who lives in our city.
I should also speak at length about the great services poetry can render to psychological studies, but I will limit myself to a few observations. Even in the field of psychology, the methods that are in vogue are just as deplorable as those we have found infesting morality. The use of the most precious energies of the soul and the most pressing theoretical and practical questions are all neglected, because they have the “defect” of requiring too much thought, too much solid and varied culture, too much human experience. Certainly it is more convenient to fiddle with instruments, to make a few thousand observations, to compile complicated statistics and meticulously draw diagrams; in short, to use all the paraphernalia, or rather, the nuts and bolts of so-called experimental psychology. But what does all this have to do with true psychology, with the study of the human soul? What are these petty peddlers of factoids doing in the august temple of the spirit?
A powerful breath of life is needed here, too; the most difficult and complex questions need to be tackled. It is necessary to fervently plumb the fearful abysses of the self; to move boldly to the ascent of the loftiest spiritual peaks. And all this not out of mere theoretical curiosity, but in order to give man practical teachings and methods that will enable him to develop new powers, to use the marvelous latent energies that he does not know he possesses; in short, to cooperate in every way with his inner perfecting.
The valuable aids that poetry can give to this great work are too obvious for me to dwell on them at length. How many mysteries of the human heart, how many psychological laws are revealed to us by the works of a Dante or a Shakespeare! And for the study of the soul what method can be better than that proper to the poet and the mystic; namely, the use of spiritual intuition, which by merging subject and object [even] for an instant, constitutes the most perfect kind of knowledge?
This examination, however incomplete, of the relations between poetry and philosophy will, I hope, suffice to draw your attention to the manifold and very important merits of philosophical poetry. I hope, therefore, that you will welcome the series of readings of philosophical poems and lectures on philosophical poets that the Philosophical Library is offering to the Florentine public. (Thus in the current month of January [1909], Giovanni Papini[xxxvii] will read to you the beautiful and little-known philosophical sonnets of Tommaso Campanella, illustrating them appropriately; Guido Ferrando[xxxviii] and Pierre Koszy will talk to you about the philosopher-poets Coleridge[xxxix] and Guyon,[xl] and read to you some of their best poems.)
But I would like to say that this attempt, however modest and imperfect, has not been made only for the purpose of pleasantly passing a few hours with you. We seek to instill in all of you a love of philosophical poetry, to encourage you to spread this love more and more; we aim above all to find young people (I mean people young in spirit, not in years) who will understand us, who will fight by our side in the battles for the establishment of a higher culture, who will collaborate with us in the attempt to enliven psychology and morality with richer and more spiritual nourishment, with a new poetic breath.
If we find that we have aroused some noble energy, freed some minds from the tyranny of vicious prejudices, brought some light into some souls, our spirits will sing a hosanna of gladness, for we will know that we have fulfilled our supreme aspiration: that of making our small contribution to the advent of a wiser, better, greater humanity.
Appendix:
In the middle of this manuscript of the notes for the written talk, Assagioli had included a typed copy of the following poem by Tommaso Campanella (see Note 9 above), which was apparently not used in the talk itself, but which he quoted in later essays on various topics.—Ed.
Gli uomini son giuoco di Dio e degli angeli
— Tommaso Campanella
Nel teatro del mondo ammascherate
l’alme da’ corpi e dagli affetti loro,
spettacolo al supremo consistoro
da natura, divina arte, apprestate,
fan gli atti e detti tutte a chi son nate;
di scena in scena van, di coro in coro;
si veston di letizia e di martoro,
dal comico fatal libro ordinate.
Né san, né ponno, né vogliono fare,
né patir altro che ‘l gran Senno scrisse,
di tutte lieto, per tutte allegrare,
quando, rendendo, al fin di giuochi e risse,
le maschere alla terra, al cielo, al mare,
in Dio vedrem chi meglio fece e disse.
* * *
Human Beings are the Plaything of God and the Angels
by Tommaso Campanella – translated by Sherry Roush
In the theater of the world, souls,
masked by bodies and by their passions,
and set in nature—divine art—
prepare a spectacle for the Supreme Consistory.
All are born to do their acts and lines;
they go from scene to scene, from chorus to chorus;
they dress in joy or in martyrdom
as ordained by the fated book of the Comic.
They neither know, nor are able, nor want,
nor suffer other than what the great Intellect wrote,
Who is delighted by all, rejoices in all;
When at the end of the games and brawls,
rendering the masks to earth, sky, and sea,
in God we will see who best did and said.
[i] The original document is a set of hand-written (and copiously revised and corrected) notes. The list of writings at the Istituto di psicosintesi lists it as notes for “Poetry and Philosophy. Introduction to a Course of Readings from Philosophical Poems” (Lecture given in the Philosophical Library [Florence] on January 3, 1909), in Bulletin of the Philosophical Library, I, 3, 1909, pp. 21-23” —Ed.
[ii] Interpolations by the editor are shown in [brackets]. —Ed.
[iii] Assagioli is here perhaps getting in a little humorous dig at “positive” philosophy which only recognizes the exterior measurable dimensions or qualities of whatever it studies. —Ed.
[iv] Benedetto Croce (1866-1952) was an Italian philosopher, historian, politician and writer who was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature 16 times. —Ed.
[v] It appears that Assagioli is using the term “fact” (Italian fatto) here as a synonym for “experience” or “act of creation.” The term is used with alternate meanings further on. —Ed.
[vi] Assagioli (and Croce) uses the Italian word commozione (commotion) rather than emozione (emotion), which suggests that the intention is to convey a different kind of inner “motion” than a purely emotive one. —Ed.
[vii] “Morality” here refers to “ideals of right human behavior or conduct,” which in a philosophical context is often referred to as ethics. —Ed.
[viii] Also called “Puck,” he is a character in English folklore known for mischievous pranks, who livened up Shakespeare’s play.—Ed.
[ix] Tommaso Campanella (1568-1639) was an Italian Dominican friar, philosopher, theologian, astrologer and poet. See the appendix at the end of this essay for one of Campanella’s poems.—Ed.
[x] The Hymn to Zeus, a poem by Greek Stoic philosopher Cleanthes (330 BC – 230 BC), one of the most important documents showing the interaction of religion and philosophy in the Hellenistic period. —Ed.
[xi] The work and author referred to here are unknown, but it could be a reference to Dante’s La Divina Commedia. —Ed.
[xii] Max Nordau (1849-1923) was a physician, author, social critic and Zionist leader whose 1890s bestseller Degeneration attempted to explain all modern art, music and literature by pointing out the degenerate characteristics of the artists involved. In this fashion a whole biological explanation for social problems was developed. —Ed.
[xiii] Leo Tolstoy was a Russian novelist, Christian anarchist, pacifist, vegetarian, philosopher and advocate of non-violence who inspired Gandhi. He held and propagated many controversial viewpoints. —Ed.
[xiv] Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770-1831), German philosopher and one of the most influential figures of German idealism and 19th century philosophy. —Ed.
[xv] In terms of recognized currents in philosophy, “rationalists of all sorts” as used by Assagioli here includes all thinkers for whom the reasoning mind is paramount, and this will include philosophers who are called “empiricists,” “positivists,” “phenomenologists” and several others as well as those who are in the history of philosophy called “rationalists.” —Ed.
[xvi] Benedetto Croce, Aesthetics p. 168 1st ed. —Author’s Note. Aesthetic as Science of Expression and General Linguistic was published in the English translation of Douglas Ainslie by the Noonday Press, 1920. A more recent translation by Colin Lyas was published in 1992. —Ed.
[xvii] New York and London, Longmans, Green, 1902. —Ed.
[xviii] Philadelphia, Innes, 1901. —Ed.
[xix] In contrast to the use of the Italian word fatto mentioned previously (see note 5 above), the meaning of the word “fact” here is clearly synonymous with the English word “phenomenon,” indicated some thing or occurrence or event that exists or has happened. —Ed.
[xx] Maya in the Vedic texts connotes “a magic show where things are not what they seem,” and in Hindu philosophy is a powerful force that creates the illusion that the phenomenal world has ultimate reality. It also connotes “that which is constantly changing, and thus conceals the true character of spiritual reality.” In Buddhism it is a mental factor that conceals the illusionary nature of things. —Ed.
[xxi] From the language it appears that Roberto Assagioli wrote about this subject from first-hand experience. —Ed.
[xxii] Some may see here an possible omission, in that Assagioli might be suggesting that “subjective knowledge” is more complete than “objective knowledge.” But the larger context of this essay makes it clear that both what are called “subjective” and “objective” are subsumed by the term “absolute,” which is why he asserts this kind of knowledge to be the most complete that is possible. —Ed.
[xxiii] Paolo Euron writes, “According to Croce, the four forms of the spirit: philosophy, art, economy and ethics are distinct and irreducible to each other. For example, art is the form of knowledge of the particular (in the individual work) whereas philosophy is the form of knowledge of the universal (in the concept).” Chapter 19, titled “Benedetto Croce: Art and Intuition,” in Aesthetics, Theory and Interpretation of the Literary Work. Amsterdam, Brill, 2019. —Ed.
[xxiv] Here again the author uses the Italian word fatto, which in this case means “data.” —Ed.
[xxv] In a Greek mythological story, Procrustes was a robber who made his victims lie on an iron bed and would force them to fit the bed by either cutting off the parts that hung off the ends, or by stretching those people who were too short. —Ed.
[xxvi] Quote taken from the original English in James, William, The Principles of Psychology, Vol.1, Ch.1, p. 8. Global Gray eBooks edition. —Ed.
[xxvii] René François Armand “Sully” Prudhomme (1839-1907) was a French Poet and essayist, winner of the first Nobel Prize in Literature in 1901. —Ed.
[xxviii] Victor-Marie Hugo (1802-1885) was a French writer, poet, diarist, artist, and politician. He was perhaps the first French writer of the so-called Romantic school. —Ed.
[xxix] This posthumous work of French poet and philosopher Jean-Marie Guyau (1854-1888), [Art from a Sociological Point of View], was first published in 1889. —Ed.
[xxx] This refers to Zoroastrianism, the Iranian religion that was based upon the teachings of the prophet Zoroaster. Ormuzd is a variant of the name Ahura Mazda. —Ed.
[xxxi] Jacques Élie Henri Ambroise Ner (1861 – 1938), also known by the pseudonym Han Ryner, was a French individualist, anarchist, philosopher, activist and novelist. —Ed.
[xxxii] Latin: [re]establishment from the bottom foundations. —Tr.
[xxxiii] Walt Whitman (1819-1892), American poet. —Ed.
[xxxiv] Edward Carpenter (1844-1929), English utopian socialist, poet, and philosopher. —Ed.
[xxxv] Henry Bryan Binns (1873-1923), British author and poet. —Ed.
[xxxvi] George D. Herron (1862-1925) was an American clergyman, lecturer, writer, and Christian socialist activist who emigrated from the US to Florence, Italy. —Ed.
[xxxvii] Giovanni Papini (1881-1956) was an Italian journalist, essayist, novelist, poet, critic and philosopher. He collaborated with Assagioli in several matters and was the founder of the magazine Leonardo, to which Assagioli was a contributor. —Ed.
[xxxviii] Guido Ferrando (1883-1969) was an Italian philosopher, theosophist, and director of the Philosophical Library in Florence. —Ed.
[xxxix] Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834) was an English poet. —Ed.
[xl] Jeanne-Marie Bouvier de la Motte Guyon, a.k.a. Madame Guyon (1648-1717) was a French Chistian writer and poet. —Ed.
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