Not only a man’s life, but his intellect too, may be possessed of a clear and definite character, so far as his intellect is applied to matters of theory.  It is not every man, however, who has an intellect of this kind; for any such definite individuality as I mean is genius—­an original view of the world, which presupposes an absolutely exceptional individuality, which is the essence of genius.  A man’s intellectual character is the theme on which all his works are variations.  In an essay which I wrote in Weimar I called it the knack by which every genius produces his works, however various.  This intellectual character determines the physiognomy of men of genius—­what I might call the theoretical physiognomy—­and gives it that distinguished expression which is chiefly seen in the eyes and the forehead.  In the case of ordinary men the physiognomy presents no more than a weak analogy with the physiognomy of genius.  On the other hand, all men possess the practical physiognomy, the stamp of will, of practical character, of moral disposition; and it shows itself chiefly in the mouth.

Since character, so far as we understand its nature, is above and beyond time, it cannot undergo any change under the influence of life.  But although it must necessarily remain the same always, it requires time to unfold itself and show the very diverse aspects which it may possess.  For character consists of two factors:  one, the will-to-live itself, blind impulse, so-called impetuosity; the other, the restraint which the will acquires when it comes to understand the world; and the world, again, is itself will.  A man may begin by following the craving of desire, until he comes to see how hollow and unreal a thing is life, how deceitful are its pleasures, what horrible aspects it possesses; and this it is that makes people hermits, penitents, Magdalenes.  Nevertheless it is to be observed that no such change from a life of great indulgence in pleasure to one of resignation is possible, except to the man who of his own accord renounces pleasure.  A really bad life cannot be changed into a virtuous one.  The most beautiful soul, before it comes to know life from its horrible side, may eagerly drink the sweets of life and remain innocent.  But it cannot commit a bad action; it cannot cause others suffering to do a pleasure to itself, for in that case it would see clearly what it would be doing; and whatever be its youth and inexperience it perceives the sufferings of others as clearly as its own pleasures.  That is why one bad action is a guarantee that numberless others will be committed as soon as circumstances give occasion for them.  Somebody once remarked to me, with entire justice, that every man had something very good and humane in his disposition, and also something very bad and malignant; and that according as he was moved one or the other of them made its appearance.  The sight of others’ suffering arouses, not only in different men, but in one and the same man, at one moment an inexhaustible sympathy, at another a certain satisfaction; and this satisfaction may increase until it becomes the cruellest delight in pain.  I observe in myself that at one moment I regard all mankind with heartfelt pity, at another with the greatest indifference, on occasion with hatred, nay, with a positive enjoyment of their pain.