"
That the joys thus produced had no real objective existence, man was not
long in finding out, and it soon appeared that for each subjective
pleasure which had no foundation in action, there was a subjective
sorrow, likewise unrelated to external things.
But that the pains more than balanced the joys, and that the indulgence
in unearned deceptions destroyed sooner or later all capacity for
enjoyment, man learned more slowly.
The joys of wine, of opium, of tobacco and of all kindred drugs are mere
tricks upon the nervous system. In greater or less degree they destroy
its power to tell the truth, and in proportion as they have seemed to
bring subjective happiness, so do they bring at last subjective horror
and disgust. And this utter soul-weariness of drugs has found its way
into literature as the expression of Pessimism.
"The City of the Dreadful Night," for example, does not find its
inspiration in the misery of selfish, rushing, crowded London. It is the
effect of brandy on the sensitive mind of an exquisitive poet. Not the
world, but the poet, lies in the "dreadful night" of self-inflicted
insomnia. Wherever these subjective nerve influences find expression in
literature it is either in an infinite sadness, or in hopeless gloom.
James Thompson says in the "City of the Dreadful Night":
"The city is of night but not of sleep;
There sweet sleep is not for the weary brain.
The pitiless hours like years and ages creep -
A night seems termless hell.
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