In their form and in the riddle they present, Lichtenberg’s Waste Books may perhaps be compared to Pascal’s Pensées. They invite, at any rate, similar questions: Are these aphoristic fragments and observations finished pieces as they stand or mere notes toward a work never completed? Is there an inner logic in their arrangement? And do they present us with the honest, considered (if sometimes contradictory) thoughts of their author or are they acts of ventriloquism, utterances of unwritten characters, illustrations of competing philosophical positions?
Both men died before their major works saw the printed page. One might also point out that both Pascal and Lichtenberg made names for themselves, in their own day, in the so-called “STEM” fields: Pascal as a mathematician and an inventor, Lichtenberg as a physicist. This, however, is probably where their likenesses end. Pascal is focused, persistent, and devout. Lichtenberg is, by comparison, all over the place, and as one progresses through the Waste Books Lichtenberg becomes more and more enamored of the spirit of his age – the era of the Enlightenment and the French Revolution – and so more and more a heathen. He indulges an anti-Catholic bigotry at the end that seems pathologically obsessive.
That said, there’s a great deal of worthy and fascinating stuff in the Waste Books. It’s the kind of book you set by the bed and read from a bit at a time before sleep, with a pencil in your hand to mark up the pages. The better passages will have you re-reading them in the morning.
A selection:
Nothing can contribute more to peace of soul than the lack of any opinion whatever.
It makes a great difference by what path we come to a knowledge of certain things.
To do the opposite of something is also a form of imitation.
Most of the expressions we use are metaphorical: they contain the philosophy of our ancestors.
When a book and a head collide and a hollow sound is heard, must it always have come from the book?
It requires no especially great talent to write in such a way that another will be very hard put to understand what you have written.
The actual possession of something sometimes affords us no greater pleasure than the mere idea that we possess it.
If people should ever start to do only what is necessary millions would die of hunger.
Something moving from one end of a grain of sand to the other with the speed of lightning or of light will seem to us to be at rest.
Food probably has a very great influence on the condition of men. Wine exercises a more visible influence, food does it more slowly but perhaps just as surely. Who knows if a well-prepared soup was not responsible for the pneumatic pump or a poor one for a war.
Nature creates, not genera and species, but individua, and our short-sightedness has to seek our similarities so as to be able to retain in mind many things at the same time. These conceptions become more and more inaccurate the larger the families we invent for ourselves are.