Edmond de Goncourt relates in his diary that at his réunions of literary celebrities (Zola, Daudet, and Tourgéneff), the conversation turned most frequently upon the subjects of love, life and women. “Death or love, strangely enough,” says Edmond de Goncourt, “are always what we talk about after dinner.”[158] Old age was even then knocking at the doors of the distinguished writers mentioned, and so it is quite natural that their interest should have been wholly absorbed by the two instincts which exhibit such enigmatic and paradoxical tenacity. We saw in the preceding chapter how disharmonious is the sexual instinct which often only develops at, and nearly always persists until, a period of life when its normal and regular functional activity is no longer possible. We saw, too, the ill resulting from this disharmony in the reproductive apparatus. The ill, however, although serious, only amounts in that case to an inconvenience which can be endured. Far worse is the disharmony of the instinctive love of life which manifests itself when death is felt to be near at hand. It is then incomprehensible and particularly terrible, and humanity, from time immemorial, has sought the key to the tragic puzzle, and tried by all the means in its power to unravel the mystery. The religions of all times have been concerned with the problem. “Religion,” says Guyau,[159] “consists for the most part of meditation upon death. If we had not to die there would probably be still more superstitions among men, but there would probably be no systematised superstitions nor religions.” Philosophy also has tried to solve the question of death. Some ancient philosophers held the opinion that philosophy is only a meditation upon death. Socrates and Cicero[160] have well said that “the life of a philosopher is a continual meditation upon death.” In our own day Schopenhauer developed the same theory. “Death,” he said,[161] “is the real inspiring genius of philosophy.... Without death it is doubtful if philosophy would exist at all. It is therefore quite natural that a special essay on Death should preface the last, the most serious, and the most important of my books.” Judging from the facts set forth in the last three chapters, there can be no doubt but that the human constitution, although in many ways perfect and sublime, exhibits numerous and serious disharmonies, which are the source of all our troubles. Not being so well adapted to the conditions of life as orchids are, for example, in the matter of their fertilisation by the mediation of insects, or the burrowing wasps for the protection of their young, humanity resembles rather those insects the instinct of which guides them towards the flame which burns their wings.