heart: [28] Rousseau, a strange, original and
superior man, who, from his infancy, harbored within
him a germ of insanity, and who finally became wholly
insane; a wonderful, ill-balanced mind in which sensations,
emotions and images are too powerful: at once
blind and perspicacious, a veritable poet and a morbid
poet, who, instead of things and events beheld reveries,
living in a romance and dying in a nightmare of his
own creation; incapable of controlling and of behaving
himself, confounding resolution with action, vague
desire with resolution, and the role he assumed with
the character he thought he possessed ; wholly disproportionate
to the ordinary ways of society, hitting, wounding
and soiling himself against every hindrance on his
way; at times extravagant, mean and criminal, yet
preserving up to the end a delicate and profound sensibility,
a humanity, pity, the gift of tears, the faculty of
living, the passion for justice, the sentiment of religion
and of enthusiasm, like so many vigorous roots in
which generous sap is always fermenting, whilst the
stem and the branches prove abortive and become deformed
or wither under the inclemency of the atmosphere.
How explain such a contrast? How did Rousseau
himself account for it? A critic, a psychologist
would merely regard him as a singular case, the effect
of an extraordinarily discordant mental formation,
analogous to that of Hamlet, Chatterton, René or Werther,
adopted to poetic spheres, but unsuitable for real
life. Rousseau generalizes; occupied with himself,
even to infatuation, and, seeing only himself, he
imagines mankind to be like himself, and “describes
it as the feels it inside himself”. His
pride, moreover, finds this profitable; he is gratified
at considering himself the prototype of humanity ;
the statue he erects of himself becomes more important;
he rises in his own estimation when, in confessing
to himself, he thinks he is confessing the human species.
Rousseau convokes the assembly of generations with
the trumpet of the day of judgment, and boldly stands
up in the eyes of all men and of the Supreme Judge,
exclaiming, “Let anyone say, if he dares:
‘I was a better man than Thou!’ “[29]
All his blemishes must be the fault of society; his
vices and his baseness must be attributed to circumstances:
“If I had fallen into the hands of a better master....I should have been a good Christian, a good father, a good friend, a good workman, a good man in all things.”
The wrong is thus all on the side of society. — In the same way, with Man in general, his nature is good.