Amiel's Journal: The Journal Intime of Henri-Frédéric AmielAmiel, Henri Frédéric
Philosophy
Amiel's Journal: The Journal Intime of Henri-Frédéric Amiel
Amiel, Henri Frédéric
Amiel, Henri Frédéric, 1821-1881 -- Diaries; Authors, Swiss -- 19th century -- Diairies
October 28, 1870.--It is strange to see how completely justice is
forgotten in the presence of great international struggles. Even the
great majority of the spectators are no longer capable of judging except
as their own personal tastes, dislikes, fears, desires, interests, or
passions may dictate--that is to say, their judgment is not a judgment
at all. How many people are capable of delivering a fair verdict on the
struggle now going on? Very few! This horror of equity, this antipathy
to justice, this rage against a merciful neutrality, represents a kind
of eruption of animal passion in man, a blind fierce passion, which
is absurd enough to call itself a reason, whereas it is nothing but a
force.
November 16, 1870.--We are struck by something bewildering and ineffable
when we look down into the depths of an abyss; and every soul is an
abyss, a mystery of love and piety. A sort of sacred emotion descends
upon me whenever I penetrate the recesses of this sanctuary of man, and
hear the gentle murmur of the prayers, hymns, and supplications which
rise from the hidden depths of the heart. These involuntary confidences
fill me with a tender piety and a religious awe and shyness. The whole
experience seems to me as wonderful as poetry, and divine with the
divineness of birth and dawn. Speech fails me, I bow myself and adore.
And, whenever I am able, I strive also to console and fortify.
December 6, 1870.--“Dauer im Wechsel”--“Persistence in change.” This
title of a poem by Goethe is the summing up of nature. Everything
changes, but with such unequal rapidity that one existence appears
eternal to another. A geological age, for instance, compared to the
duration of any living being, the duration of a planet compared to
a geological age, appear eternities--our life, too, compared to the
thousand impressions which pass across us in an hour. Wherever one
looks, one feels one’s self overwhelmed by the infinity of infinites.
The universe, seriously studied, rouses one’s terror. Everything seems
so relative that it is scarcely possible to distinguish whether anything
has a real value.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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