The blind side of the heart

You have to separate body and mind, said Leontine, if she didn’t then she couldn’t work.
Separating the affect from the thing it relates to would probably favour the thing. Because an affect without a cause and the thing to which it relates, well, said Carl, filling his small pipe and lighting it, he couldn’t imagine them as separate. His new horn-rimmed glasses disappeared in the smoke; he didn’t yet have an older man’s practised elegance in smoking his pipe. When he spoke in an animated conversation like this, his words came so fast that he swallowed them now and then, and you had to concentrate to work out just what he had said. How could a thing still exist in its own right without anyone looking at it? Even an inanimate object has its appearance, consistency and temperature, and not least a function.
Leontine glanced at Helene, who was lying on the chaise longue and had closed her eyes.
That, I suppose, is the challenge of my own craft: separation. Dissecting the body itself separates single parts from a whole. We can look at the liver, we can look at a tumour on it. We can separate the tumour from the liver and the liver from the body.
But not from a human being, and it will always be that human being’s liver. Removing it from its place, the functional interruption of its symbiosis, robs neither the liver of the human being nor the human being of his liver.
Let’s take the example of a leg. Carl still wasn’t sure whether his ideas agreed with Leontine’s or contradicted them. How many of our fathers’ generation have one of their limbs missing these days? They can live without an arm, without a finger.
Martha groaned ostentatiously. She was getting tired of this conversation between Leontine and Carl; it was some while since she and Leontine had managed to get a day off at the same time like this. It was in the middle of the week, and they were planning to go and visit a couple of friends in Friedenau. Martha put her arm round Leontine’s neck as if to throttle her.
If you two can’t leave each other alone our hosts will have eaten all the cakes before we get there.
Leontine removed Martha’s arm from her neck. The word cognition in itself can undergo a certain change of nature. The husk remains, but what was the cognition of God and his omnipotence yesterday is an incision into the tumour today.
Carl was smoking; he held his head upright – he was careful about the way he carried himself, careful not to shake his head yet, not until he had a clear idea of his train of thought and had found the right words to argue against her.
Meanwhile Leontine used the opportunity to develop her objections. Carl, it’s not just medicine that has added so many new attributes to cognition that we can no longer speak of its having the same character. A glance at the sky, the technology of aviation, the lethal use of poison gas at the end of the war, all those are arguments against God.
No. Carl lowered his head. No, that’s the wrong way to look at it; technology and science are the immediate offspring of divine cognition. It’s only logical for human beings not to separate themselves from the light, the light of cognition. They’re indissoluble. Human beings learn lessons. I don’t know myself whether praying to God does any good. I wouldn’t give God human features, he doesn’t speak in the way the Scriptures suggest, he doesn’t judge. I would deny God’s part in every moral capacity, everything that’s human. God can be better described as a principle, the world principle. Only humans, with their emotional approach, can be accused of believing in God as the metamorphosis of a person. Carl drew on his pipe.
Human beings cause catastrophes today, just look at the war and its heroes. Could we recover from it? And what would be worse, material losses, the loss of human life, or injury to the feelings? Leontine rose and went over to the large samovar, the only object still standing on the long coffee table, and turned the tap. The heroes of the war were different. The water was too hot; she just touched the little glass to her lips without being able to drink. She went on talking over the rim of the hot glass: It’s not ten years ago and see how people have been waiting by the news-stands for days ready to snatch the Vossische Zeitung hot off the press from the vendors. When they devour Remarque’s accounts of the war, they’re looking at their own botched work. We are sufficient unto ourselves.
No, no, if they were sufficient unto themselves they wouldn’t feel either intellectual or physical hunger. Carl’s voice lost its light note and his words, usually just uttered fast, were only half voiced now. I’d like to correct myself, I didn’t mean to claim that we ought to accuse human beings and their passions of anything at all. Instead we ought to look askance at the divine principle which in my view, as I said, is not a moral one. Let’s stop waiting to detect good and evil in man, let’s feel some sympathy for his existence.
You’re crazy, said Helene in a kindly but uncertain way; she wasn’t at all sure of his assumption. She sat up, stretched on the chaise longue and arched her back like a cat. Then she spread out her arms and gave a groan of relief.
To me as a doctor, the extent of sympathy is the deciding factor. I want to help people to live in as healthy a condition as possible. Pain is bad, so I watch my patients, I investigate the cause of the pain, I want to relieve it. Leontine took a small sip of black tea and sat down again. She ran her hand through her short black hair. Then, moving forward, she sat on the edge of the cushions and planted her legs on the floor just as she had done when she was a young girl. It was a mystery where she had found that divided skirt in a coarse-weave fabric; it suggested the culottes that Helene knew only from old fashion magazines. Leontine leaned one outstretched arm on her knee and held her tea glass in the hand of the other arm, elbow crooked. There was a challenge in the way she sat there, in an attitude that Helene found as provocative today as ever, but for the first time it looked to her unfeminine.
Helene swung her feet to the floor and bent down in search of her shoes. Carl, she said, particularly if you think morality is a distinguishing feature of humanity, we ought not to despise what were originally human standards.
I don’t despise them, I’m only suggesting we ignore them.
Head down on the floor to get a better view, Helene reached her arm far under the chaise longue. Face twisted with effort, she looked up at Carl: Oh, let’s go to the cinema instead of this. I’m working until six tomorrow and the evening classes go on till ten. Helene had found her boots, put them on and tied the laces. November made the city grey; you had to wear warm clothing and if possible you went to the theatre or cinema several times a week to make those colourless days tolerable. Carl stayed in his chair and went on smoking. It was hard to tell whether he had even heard Helene’s suggestion.
I admire you, Leontine, so let me tell you something else. In my opinion pain is the only condition that we can’t equate with ordinary passions. It’s pain that makes people imagine a future, whether Utopia or Paradise. If you, as a doctor, relieve the pain of human beings, that’s good for the individual but bad for God. The God principle is built on pain. Only if pain were obliterated from the world could we speak of the death of God.
What about it, do we or don’t we want to get to Friedenau before night falls? Martha was already standing in the doorway, hoping that Leontine would break off her conversation with Carl at long last.
Leontine looked at Carl, who was over ten years her junior, and a touch of sadness and resignation crept into her expression. Her voice was both firm and clear as she said: That’s cruel. She paused and seemed to have to think. Your view is a cruel one, Carl. Yes, this is the right moment to leave. There was a certain harsh, almost bitter note in Leontine’s voice. Listening to you, anyone might think that our priests – I don’t know enough about your rabbis – that our priests were the first heretics, with their promise of relief from pain. Christians as an organized gang? Leontine shook her head. An expression of contempt came to her face. She looked away, looked at Martha, who was still standing by the open double door. Leontine stood up, put her hand on Martha’s arm. Come along, Martha, let’s be off.
The two women left the room. They could be heard in the corridor, speaking a few soft words, short sentences. Then the front door of the apartment closed behind them. Helene dared not look at Carl. The silence between them lengthened. Carl was smoking as he sat there, and in the light from behind it his thin face looked like a little old man’s. He wasn’t used to being left high and dry in mid-conversation. Helene crossed her arms. She wondered what she could say to cheer him up, and felt at the same time that she wouldn’t be able to. He had simply ignored her protest just now; very likely he hadn’t even been ignoring her on purpose.
We could see Pat and Patachon at six, we’d make it to the cinema in time. Helene spoke almost casually. She too had now gone to the door, and hoped that he would finally stand up and follow her.
Leontine mentioned injury to the feelings, said Carl, now speaking slowly, pausing in mid-sentence. His eyes went to the chair where Leontine had been sitting. She spoke of the wish for heroes or at least heroism. I don’t like the ideas of Germanic heroism propounded by people like Arthur Trebitsch. There’s no such thing as either redemption of a Nordic race or a Jewish conspiracy. What’s tragic is that with the end of personal suffering, let’s say at the moment of death, certain ideas are never lost, perhaps we can say not one of them is lost. They go on developing independently of the individual who thought about them during the tiny span of his lifetime. It’s impossible to say who first thought of such an idea because something thought up by the human mind, moulded and impregnated by suffering, doubting itself, has no beginning and no end. Such an absence of boundaries makes me feel quite weak. There’s no limit to mankind. Man drives God off his earth, that belongs in the glowing brazier, as Kurt Schwitters says.
Carl had been talking to himself, still answering Leontine, who had gone a long time ago. Exhausted, he dropped his hands to his thighs.
How about Charlie Chaplin in The Circus? Helene crossed her arms and learned against the door frame.
Carl looked at her in surprise. It was a moment before he could answer. The cinema, he said abruptly, sobered up, yes, let’s go to the cinema. Isn’t that boxing film on? Everyone’s making movies about boxing, we ought to see one. Combat de Boxe, it’s that young avant-garde Belgian director with the unpronounceable name. Dekeukeleire. Even the name is enough for a film, don’t you think? Or that Englishman, his film is called The Ring – the local movie buffs have said it’s the world champion. Isn’t that comical? Carl was trying to convince himself of the humorous nature of his remark.
A film about boxing? Helene wasn’t sure, but she was ready to do anything to get Carl out of that chair and through the door with her at long last.
The street shimmered dark grey; cold moisture hung in the air between the buildings. The street lights were already on, and the evening paper was on sale at street corners.
Were you in love with Leontine?
Leontine? Carl dug his hands into his coat pockets. All right, I admit it. He didn’t look at Helene and she didn’t want to ask exactly what he meant by that.