The cause of the latter is partly a certain incapacity of
life, partly the inheritance of my race and the disease of the times
in which I live, and finally that over-analysis which does not permit
me to follow the first, simple impulses of nature, but criticises
until it reduces the soul to utter impotence. When a child I used to
amuse myself by piling up coin upon coin until the column, bending
under its own weight, tumbled down into one chaotic heap. I am doing
now exactly the same with my thoughts and intentions, until they
collapse and roll over each other in a disorderly confusion. For this
very reason it has always been easier for me to play a passive part
than an active one. It appears to me that many cultured people are
attacked by the same disease. Criticism of ourselves and everything
else is corroding our active power; we have no stable basis, no point
of issue, no faith in life. Therein lies the reason why I do not care
so much to win Aniela as I am afraid of losing her. In speaking of a
disease common to our time, I will not confine myself exclusively to
my own case. That somebody takes to his bed when an epidemic disease
is raging is a very common occurrence; nowadays criticism of
everything is the epidemic spreading all over the world. The result
is that various roofs that sheltered men collapse over their heads.
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