On the Manufacture of
Ideas
while we speak
by Heinrich von
Kleist (1811)
|
Well so say it man, instead
of this “says he, says she” and no end; when are you going to come to
the point?
|
Heinrich
von Kleist, The
broken Jar
|
If we think of something and can’t
figure it out on our own, I suggest we talk about it to the person
sitting next
to us. It doesn’t matter whether this is a person of intellect, I also
don’t
mean to say we should ask for an opinion;
not at all!
What I mean us to do, is talk while we make
up our
mind. The French have a saying “l’apptite vient en mangeant”
– with
the eating comes the appetite – and this is very true even in matters
of
the mind; one could say: “With the talking
come ideas.”
When
in search for the proper vantage point, I peruse the files of a
difficult civil
case, or the problem is a matter of reckoning, requiring an algebraic
approach
with all the variables slotted in, in order to achieve an easy
solution, I
often talk about it to my sister, who uses to sit in the chair behind
me doing
her crochet, and lo and behold I actually accomplish in minutes what on
my own would
have cost me hours of aimless brooding. Not, as if my sister somehow
would have
told me: she neither knows the civil code nor has studied Euler or Kästner. Nor is it as if she is directing
me to the crucial
point with leading questions, although this actually does happen quite
often.
But because I do have a vague idea, which is remotely connected to the
task at
hand, my mind, in the course of this conversation, is pressed to find a
conclusion by the need of completing my sentence. To my own amazement,
things
become clear and I know the solution the moment I am done with my
phrase.
I
throw in plenty of inarticulate hawing and hemming, stretch the length
of the
connectives, may use an apposition where it isn’t really needed and by
fishing
for every trick in the book that can help me to stretch my sentence, I
gain the
necessary time for milling my idea on the grindstone of reasoning. And
nothing
is more effective for this process than a sudden move of my sister, as
if she
is about to interrupt. By this attempt to seize from me the possession
of the
word, my already stressed mind, like a commanding general in the heat
of
battle, is put on maximum alert. I do indeed believe, that many of the
most distinguished
public speakers open their mouth without any idea yet what they are
going to
say next. But full of confidence that circumstance will supply them
with all
the ideas they need, and alerted by their lack of preparation, they
boldly
trust good fortune and venture a beginning.
I
recall the “thunderbolt” of Mirabeau, with which he dismissed the
King’s demand
on June 23, when the Speaker of the King ordered the assembly to
disband and
leave the premises.
The
deputies tarried to leave and the Speaker of the King asked whether
they had
heard the King’s command? “Yes,” said
Mirabeau, “we have heard the King’s
command,” I am sure, that he had not the slightest idea yet of the
bayonets, when he made this still humble reply “yes, Sir,”
he repeats, “we
have heard it,” one can sense, he still has not a clue of what he
is going
to say, “yet, what gives you the right,”
he continues, and suddenly it opens a fountain of immense ideas, “to communicate orders to us? We are the
representatives of the nation!” Now he had what he needed! “The nation issues orders, it does not take
orders” he said emphatically, and after a deep breath, bringing the
insolence to a head, he said: “And to
make myself perfectly clear,” and only now the words float to the
surface
that truly express the sense of defiance filling his soul, “tell
your king, that we will not leave our
station here other than on the point of bayonets.” After which,
satisfied
with himself, Mirabeau fell back on his chair.
If,
for a moment, we step into the shoes of the King’s Speaker, we can
imagine him
being utterly dumbfounded, not dissimilar to the law of electricity,
according
to which a body without charge in the state of zero suddenly is charged
when
brought in touch with the field of a magnet. And, very much like the
charge
that amplifies in the electrified body, our speaker’s courage, when
seeing his
opponent’s devastation, turned to the most reckless enthusiasm.
In
the final analysis, the twitch of the upper lip on the Speaker’s face,
or an
indecisive fiddling with the sleeve cuff may have been the cause for
the French
Revolution.
We
read, that, after the Speaker of the King had departed, Mirabeau again
rose
from his chair and moved for two resolutions: firstly to institute the
assembly
as the Nation’s Chamber of Deputies, and secondly to establish its
constitutional immunity. Since he had released his charge like an
electrical
conductor, Mirabeau had returned to his natural state, and, awaking
from the
spirit of the moment, suddenly was intimidated by the prospect of
imprisonment
and yielded to the voice of prudence. This is a curious coincidence
between the
events in the world of physics and in the world of morals, which, if we
put our
mind to it, can be discovered everywhere even in the mere
circumstantial.
© - 10/18/2005 –
translated and edited by michael sympson,
950 words, all rights reserved
