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Updated: May 7, 2025
His sensuality has fallen away from him because women are dull sterile to him beside that perfect picture of the woman lost. Lost! he may recover her! He doesn't know. The thought of death obsesses him. What is there in it? Is she behind there or no? Is she behind there, maddening thought, with her Englishman? "He must know. He must know. He calls to her she won't come to him. What is he to do?
Further still, in most if not all of his main characters, we can trace the dominant passion which is their whole being to a mere variety of the one and only passion which obsesses Unamuno himself, the hunger for life, a full life, here and after. Here is, for instance, Abel Sánchez, a sombre study of hatred, a modern paraphrase of the story of Cain.
It is a problem which in some form and in some dialect confronts every generation of reformers. We are the creatures of our own environment, but in some degree we are ourselves a force which can modify that environment. We inherit a past which weighs upon us and obsesses us, but in some degree each generation is born anew.
That Koupriane makes himself important with his police-agents and obsesses us all. I am convinced that the affair of the bouquet was the work of his police." "Mademoiselle," said Rouletabille, "I have just had them all sent away, all of them because I think very much the same as you do." "Well, then, you will be my friend, Monsieur Rouletabille I promise you, since you have done that.
There are times when the French, the most brilliant people in the world as a nation, seem to lack mental brakes when the idea so obsesses them, that they become fanatics, not the emotional, English type of fanatic, but a cold, hard-headed, intellectual Latin type. The radical Frenchman says, "Are the Gospels true?" "Presumably no, according to modern science and historical research."
If we examine the apparent extroverts, like the flaunting Italian, we shall see the same thing. It is his own sex which obsesses him. And to-day what have we but this? Almost inevitably we find in a child now an intense, precocious, secret sexual preoccupation. The upper self is rabidly engaged in exploiting the lower self.
But it should be under another name. They envy us millionaires. Why, we are the lonesomest duffers going. We distrust every one; we fly when a woman approaches; we become monomaniacs; one thing obsesses us, everybody is after our money. We want friends, we want wives, but we want them to be attracted to us and not to our money-bags. Oh, pshaw! What plans have you made in regard to the search?"
I doubt if women will ever be regarded quite as human beings so long as they paint, wear fantastic coiffures, hobble along on foolish heels, and are clad in over tight short skirts. Similarly with the literature of the period. The so-called sex story, the sex problem, obsesses the writers. Nor are these frank, free discussions of the essential difficulties in the relation between man and woman.
Presently, however, I must either voice it or put it from my mind completely, lest it dominate my consciousness overlong and rule out the other concerns which should engage us in a meeting for worship. It is good when a message possesses us. Our meetings need compelling utterances. But it is not good when a message obsesses us to the exclusion of all else.
Are they dancing grotesque spectres a fantastic minuet in the moonlight, amid the cypresses of a cemetery, along the pathways bordered by graves? Their memory haunts me, obsesses me, torments me, remains with me like a wound. Why? I do not know. No doubt you think that very absurd? The two old friends were walking in the garden in bloom, where spring was bringing everything to life.
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