“Life places gentleness within us originally. We would think to grasp it from the source—a child sleeping soundly, the sweet taste of its mother’s breast milk, voices that soothe, chant, caress—we guess it to be elsewhere, in the movement of an animal, the rise of darkness in the summer, the truce of a battle, the meeting of a gaze. We recognize it from the bedside of the dying, their gaze that calmly passes through their feverless agony, but even there it won’t let itself be grasped. It comes to calm the fever of lovers and to oppose the executioner with a final breath, against which he can do nothing.” -p.8
“So close to animality that it sometimes mergers with it, gentleness is experienced to the point of making possible the hypothesis of an instinct that it would call its own. It would be the trait of a primal ‘gentleness drive’ of protection, of compassion—even of goodness itself. An instinct closest to the being that would be devoted not only to self-preservation but also relationships.” -p.11
“Is gentleness sufficient to heal? It equips itself with no power, no knowledge. Embracing the other’s vulnerability means that the subjects cannot avoid recognizing his own fragility. This acceptance is a force; it makes gentleness a higher degree of compassion than simple care. To empathize, to ‘suffer with’ is to experience with the other what he feels, without giving in to it. It means being able to open yourself up to others, their grief or suffering, and to contain that pain by carrying it elsewhere.” -p.13
“Gentleness is primarily an intelligence, one that carries life, that saves and enhances it. Because it demonstrates a relationship to the world that sublimates astonishment, possible violence, capture, and pure compliance out of fear, it may alter everything and every being. It is an understanding of the relationship with the other, and tenderness is the epitome of this relationship.” -p.14
“Being gentle with objects and beings means understanding them in their insufficiency, their precariousness, their immaturity, their stupidity. It means not wanting to add to suffering, to exclusion, to cruelty and inventing space for a sensitive humanity, for a relation to the other that accepts his weakness or how he could disappoint us. And this profound understanding engages a truth.” -p.15
“Svadhishthana is the name of the second chakra or sacral chakra. In Sanskrit it signifies ‘gentleness’; its element is water and its sense, taste. It is situated above the sexual organs. On a physical level, it acts upon the genitals, the sacrum. On an emotional level, the appetite, sexuality, consciousness of self, creativity, procreation, joie de vivre—or, once it is fulfilled: jealousy, guilt, dependency. That is the chakra of our genetic inheritance. Here gentleness is just as spiritual as it is carnal. The Eastern world has everything to teach us about a certain relationship to gentleness without sentimentality. In a civilization where Eros was not stigmatized, there was no rivalry between moral courage and self-denying behavior. Gentleness was neither infantilized nor politicized; it was first an art of refinement.” -p.37
“We must recognize the central role that Chinese culture gives to transitions, to invisible germinations, and to sentient life. In the West changes are recognized according to the criterion of events, which are quickly categorized. We are blind to the imperceptible. In a culture of results, the discontinuous is a mirage. Yet in each instant everything changes. But how has this happened? Do we still perceive the moment of the event when we linger over every detail of an emerging process? Gentleness is cut from the same cloth because it is not perceivable categorically, but only existentially. As sensation and as passage, or as power of metamorphosis.“ -p.38
“Gentleness is a formidable ethic because it has made a pact with the truth. It cannot betray unless it is falsified. The threat of death itself is not enough to ward it off. Gentleness is political. It does not bend; it grants no prolonging, no excuse. It is a verb: we perform acts of gentleness. It aligns with the present and concerns all the possibilities of the human. From animality it takes instinct; from childhood, enigma; from prayer, calming; from nature, unpredictability; from light, light.” -p.47
“Most often this ‘pure’ gentleness finds its source in the areas of trauma. ‘Pure’ gentleness cannot access what Freud defines as constitutive hatred of the subject, which normally gives the baby the strength it needs to access language and to differentiate itself from the parental sphere. For if aggression is the divisive instance, it also allows survival, lest everything return to the same dead end. Gentleness, like foolishness, doesn’t speak well.” -p.52
“We cannot possess gentleness. We offer it hospitality. It is there, as discreet and necessary and vital as a heartbeat. Its carnal power goes from sensuousness to the lightest pressure of the hand; it is thought when it touches and touched when it is intelligence.“ -p.55
“Its power distills itself in the senses. It is erotic in all possible ways. Because the intention containing it is a taming of savagery of humors and body that also allows for the negative, shadow and darkness are part of the states of the desiring body. No gentleness without desire transmuting itself into caress, into play, and not bending itself upon possession.” -p.56
“In today’s age, it has become intolerable to ‘withdraw ourselves,’ or else this withdrawal must be announced, scheduled, and registered. The secret garden is identified by a sign, which means that it is no longer secret. Gentleness is in this withdrawal, which is accompanied by its secondary virtues: tact, subtlety, reserve, discretion. To not show ourselves, to set ourselves aside, and to guard ourselves are crowned by the last mystery that allows thinking, a suspension of identity.” -p.59
“Gentleness is what turns traumatic intrusion into creation. It is what, during the haunted night, offers light; during mourning, a beloved face; during the collapse of exile, the promise of a shore on which to stand. So this is how light enters, making a stronger imprint than the desire to return, stronger than the lost object of melancholy or renunciation.” -p.85
“Gentleness comes into the garden by night. Darkness, like blindness, reveals touch. Where the hand becomes entirely thinking, gentleness begins there too, secretly.” -p.89
“A perfume, an instant. A bathroom cupboard left ajar by a curious child. A bottle knocked over. Cinnamon, Amber, and something else; no one is unaffected by such a memory. You think of all the possible lives suddenly made present by a smell. Round, tender. It restores the contour to things, since they only exist through this colorless density. All at once, a perfume evoking a skin, an atmosphere, freeing in the memory what moves through us but doesn’t belong to us.” -p.92
“Gentleness is calm. It radiates from the eye of the storm, witnessing its unchained forces and remaining untouched itself. Calm is a supreme power.” -p.93
“The sweet life [douceur de vivre] left its mark on the Renaissance and found its apogee in the eighteenth century with the art of conversation, the sharing of ideas, the secret of carnal celebration, the desire for liberty. It was a way of thinking about the world, being friendly with the erotic and theorized body; this was an art of the garden, of architecture, of light. Wonder was not only a fantasy, but also a way of experiencing reality.” -p.101
”Gentleness is a return to self that invents future in the image of the spiral. An open revolution. It is a ‘repetition’ in the sense intended by Kierkegaard: reviving the past with a view to a possible opening to the unexpected. If one believes in working with the unconscious, returning to self is not merely remembering. Because memory concerns a past self that no longer exists in the form of a still indeterminate present self. The repetition will be, like the Nietzschean amor fati, a consented return to the past that, by this acquiescence, would find the extent of its secret power. To understand or hear oneself is not without effect. Gentleness is one of the names of this reconciliation with what has been repressed, exiled in the past and therefore ‘repeated’ with indulgence and the courage that it takes to admit that we were there, in conscience.” -p.104
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8.5/10. Poetic philosophizing on an abstract idea that is hard to define or grasp. More concrete examples to crystallize the abstractions would have greatly strengthen this book. The ending anecdote (of a soldier demonstrating gentleness to an enemy) left a stronger imprint than the theorizing.