{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_31354/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_31354","id":"gutenberg_31354","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/31354","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Death","Nobel Prizes in Literature"],"text":"E-text prepared by D Alexander, Juliet Sutherland, and the Project\nGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustration and decorations.\n      See 31354-h.htm or 31354-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/31354/pg31354-images.html)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/31354/31354-h.zip)\n\n\n\n\n\nDEATH\n\nby\n\nMAURICE MAETERLINCK\n\nTranslated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNew York\nDodd, Mead & Company\n1912\n\nCopyright, 1911\nBy Maurice Maeterlinck\nPublished, January, 1912\n\nAll rights reserved\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\nTHE WORKS OF MAURICE MAETERLINCK IN\nUNIFORM STYLE AND BINDING\n\n ESSAYS\n\n THE TREASURE OF THE HUMBLE\n WISDOM AND DESTINY\n THE LIFE OF THE BEE\n THE BURIED TEMPLE\n THE DOUBLE GARDEN\n THE MEASURE OF THE HOURS\n DEATH\n\n PLAYS\n\n SISTER BEATRICE AND ARDIANE AND BARBE BLEUE\n JOYZELLE AND MONNA VANNA\n THE BLUE BIRD, A FAIRY PLAY\n MARY MAGDALENE\n PELLEAS AND MELISANDE, AND OTHER PLAYS\n PRINCESS MALEINE\n THE INTRUDER, AND OTHER PLAYS\n AGLAVAINE AND SELYSETTE\n\n HOLIDAY EDITIONS\n\n The text in each case is an extract from one of the above mentioned\n books.\n\n OUR FRIEND THE DOG\n OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS\n THE SWARM\n THE INTELLIGENCE OF THE FLOWERS\n CHRYSANTHEMUMS\n THE LEAF OF OLIVE\n THOUGHTS FROM MAETERLINCK\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n[Illustration: Camera Portrait by E. O. Hoppe, London]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAP.                                           PAGE\n\n      I OUR IDEA OF DEATH                           3\n\n     II A PRIMITIVE IDEA                            5\n\n    III WE MUST ENLIGHTEN AND ESTABLISH OUR\n          IDEA OF DEATH                            10\n\n     IV WE MUST RID DEATH OF THAT WHICH\n          GOES BEFORE                              12\n\n      V THE PANGS OF DEATH MUST BE ATTRIBUTED\n          TO MAN ALONE                             14\n\n     VI THE MISTAKE OF THE DOCTORS IN PROLONGING\n          THE PANGS OF DEATH                       17\n\n    VII THEIR ARGUMENTS                            19\n\n   VIII THAT WHICH DOES NOT BELONG TO DEATH        21\n\n     IX THE HORRORS OF THE GRAVE ALSO DO\n          NOT BELONG TO DEATH                      25\n\n      X WHEN CONTEMPLATING THE UNKNOWN INTO\n          WHICH DEATH HURLS US, LET US FIRST\n          PUT RELIGIOUS FEARS FROM OUR MINDS       29\n\n     XI ANNIHILATION IMPOSSIBLE                    33\n\n    XII THE SURVIVAL OF OUR CONSCIOUSNESS          37\n\n   XIII IT SEEMS IMPOSSIBLE                        39\n\n    XIV THE SAME, CONTINUED                        45\n\n     XV IF IT WERE POSSIBLE, IT WOULD NOT\n          BE DREADFUL                              48\n\n    XVI THE SURVIVAL WITHOUT CONSCIOUSNESS         51\n\n   XVII THE SAME, CONTINUED                        54\n\n  XVIII THE LIMITED EGO WOULD BECOME A\n         TORTURE                                   57\n\n    XIX A NEW EGO CAN FIND A NUCLEUS AND\n          DEVELOP ITSELF IN INFINITY               60\n\n     XX THE ONLY SORROW THAT CAN TOUCH\n          OUR MIND                                 65\n\n    XXI INFINITY AS CONCEIVED BY OUR REASON        68\n\n   XXII INFINITY AS PERCEIVED BY OUR SENSES        71\n\n  XXIII WHICH OF THE TWO SHALL WE KNOW?            74\n\n   XXIV THE INFINITY WHICH BOTH OUR REASON\n          AND OUR SENSES CAN ADMIT                 77\n\n    XXV OUR FAITH IN INFINITY                      81\n\n   XXVI THE SAME, CONTINUED                        84\n\n  XXVII SHALL WE BE UNHAPPY THERE?                 87\n\n XXVIII QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS?                 90\n\n   XXIX THE SAME, CONTINUED                        95\n\n    XXX IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO ANSWER\n          THEM                                     99\n\n   XXXI EVERYTHING MUST FINISH EXEMPT FROM\n          SUFFERING                               102\n\n\n\n\nDEATH\n\n\n\n\n I\n\n OUR IDEA OF DEATH\n\n\nIt has been well said:\n\n\"Death and death alone is what we must consult about life; and not\nsome vague future or survival, in which we shall not be present. It is\nour own end; and everything happens in the interval between death and\nnow. Do not talk to me of those imaginary prolongations which wield\nover us the childish spell of number; do not talk to me--to me who am\nto die outright--of societies and peoples! There is no reality, there\nis no true duration, save that between the cradle and the grave. The\nrest is mere bombast, show, delusion! They call me a master because of\nsome magic in my speech and thoughts; but I am a frightened child in\nthe presence of death!\"[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: Marie Leneru, _Les Affranchis_, Act III.,\nSc. iv.]\n\n\n\n\n II\n\n A PRIMITIVE IDEA\n\n\nThat is where we stand. For us, death is the one event that counts in\nour life and in our universe. It is the point whereat all that escapes\nour vigilance unites and conspires against our happiness. The more our\nthoughts struggle to turn away from it, the closer do they press\naround it. The more we dread it, the more dreadful it becomes, for it\nbattens but on our fears. He who seeks to forget it burdens his memory\nwith it; he who tries to shun it meets naught else. But, though we\nthink of death incessantly, we do so unconsciously, without learning\nto know death. We compel our attention to turn its back upon it,\ninstead of going to it with uplifted head. We exhaust all our forces,\nwhich ought to face death boldly, in distracting our will from it. We\ndeliver death into the dim hands of instinct and we grant it not one\nhour of our intelligence. Is it surprising that the idea of death,\nwhich should be the most perfect and the most luminous--being the most\npersistent and the most inevitable--remains the flimsiest of our ideas\nand the only one that is backward? How should we know the one power\nwhich we never looked in the face? How could it profit by flashes\nkindled only to help us escape it? To fathom its abysses, we wait\nuntil the most enfeebled, the most disordered moments of our life\narrive. We do not think of death until we have no longer the strength,\nI will not say, to think, but even to breathe. A man returning among\nus from another century would not recognize without difficulty, in the\ndepths of a present-day soul, the image of his gods, of his duty, of\nhis love or of his universe; but the figure of death, when everything\nhas changed around it and when even that which composes it and\nupon which it rests has vanished, he would find almost untouched,\nrough-drawn as it was by our fathers, hundreds, nay, thousands of\nyears ago. Our intelligence, grown so bold and active, has not worked\nupon this figure, has added no single touch to it. Though we may no\nlonger believe in the tortures of the damned, all the vital cells of\nthe most skeptical among us are still steeped in the appalling mystery\nof the Hebrew Sheol, the pagan Hades, or the Christian Hell. Though it\nmay no longer be lighted by very definite flames, the gulf still opens\nat the end of life, and, if less known, is all the more formidable.\nAnd, therefore, when the impending hour strikes to which we dared not\nraise our eyes, everything fails us at the same time. Those two or\nthree uncertain ideas whereon, without examining them, we had meant to\nlean, give way like rushes beneath the weight of the last moments. In\nvain we seek a refuge among reflections that rave or are strange to us\nand do not know the roads to our heart. No one awaits us on the last\nshore where all is unprepared, where naught remains afoot save terror.\n\n\n\n\n III\n\n WE MUST ENLIGHTEN AND ESTABLISH\n OUR IDEA OF DEATH\n\n\nIt were a salutary thing for each of us to work out his idea of death\nin the light of his days and the strength of his intelligence and to\nlearn to stand by it. He would say to death:\n\n\"I know not who you are, or I would be your master; but, in days when\nmy eyes saw clearer than to-day, I learnt what you are not: that is\nenough to prevent you from becoming my master.\"\n\nHe would thus carry, imprinted on his memory, a tried image\nagainst which the last agony would not prevail and in which the\nphantom-stricken eyes would take fresh comfort. Instead of the\nterrible prayer of the dying, which is the prayer of the depths, he\nwould say his own prayer, that of the peaks of his life, where would\nbe gathered, like angels of peace, the most limpid, the most pellucid\nthoughts of his life. Is not that the prayer of prayers? After all,\nwhat is a true and worthy prayer, if not the most ardent and\ndisinterested effort to reach and grasp the unknown?\n\n\n\n\n IV\n\n WE MUST RID DEATH OF THAT\n WHICH GOES BEFORE\n\n\n\"The doctors and the priests,\" said Napoleon, \"have long been making\ndeath grievous.\"\n\nLet us, then, learn to look upon it as it is in itself, free from the\nhorrors of matter and stripped of the terrors of the imagination. Let\nus first get rid of all that goes before and does not belong to it.\nThus, we impute to it the tortures of the last illness; and that is\nnot right. Illnesses have nothing in common with that which ends them.\nThey form part of life and not of death. We easily forget the most\ncruel sufferings that restore us to health; and the first sun of\nconvalescence destroys the most unbearable memories of the chamber of\npain. But let death come; and at once we overwhelm it with all the\nevil done before it. Not a tear but is remembered and used as a\nreproach, not a cry of pain but becomes a cry of accusation. Death\nalone bears the weight of the errors of nature or the ignorance of\nscience that have uselessly prolonged torments in whose name we curse\ndeath because it puts an end to them.\n\n\n\n\n V\n\n THE PANGS OF DEATH MUST BE\n ATTRIBUTED TO MAN ALONE\n\n\nIn point of fact, whereas the sicknesses belong to nature or to life,\nthe agony, which seems peculiar to death, is wholly in the hands of\nmen. Now what we most dread is the awful struggle at the end and\nespecially the hateful moment of rupture which we shall perhaps see\napproaching during long hours of helplessness and which suddenly hurls\nus, disarmed, abandoned and stripped, into an unknown that is the home\nof the only invincible terrors which the human soul has ever felt.\n\nIt is twice unjust to impute the torments of that moment to death. We\nshall see presently in what manner a man of to-day, if he would remain\nfaithful to his ideas, should picture to himself the unknown into\nwhich death flings us. Let us confine ourselves here to the last\nstruggle. As science progresses, it prolongs the agony which is\nthe most dreadful moment and the sharpest peak of human pain and\nhorror, for the witnesses, at least; for, often, the sensibility\nof him who, in Bossuet's phrase, is \"at bay with death,\" is already\ngreatly blunted and perceives no more than the distant murmur of the\nsufferings which he seems to be enduring. All the doctors consider\nit their first duty to protract as long as possible even the most\nexcruciating convulsions of the most hopeless agony. Who has not, at\na bedside, twenty times wished and not once dared to throw himself at\ntheir feet and implore them to show mercy? They are filled with so\ngreat a certainty and the duty which they obey leaves so little room\nfor the least doubt that pity and reason, blinded by tears, curb their\nrevolt and shrink back before a law which all recognize and revere as\nthe highest law of human conscience.\n\n\n\n\n VI\n\n THE MISTAKE OF THE DOCTORS IN\n PROLONGING THE PANGS OF DEATH\n\n\nOne day, this prejudice will strike us as barbarian. Its roots go down\nto the unacknowledged fears left in the heart by religions that have\nlong since died out in the mind of men. That is why the doctors act\nas though they were convinced that there is no known torture but is\npreferable to those awaiting us in the unknown. They seem persuaded\nthat every minute gained amidst the most intolerable sufferings is\nsnatched from the incomparably more dreadful sufferings which the\nmysteries of the hereafter reserve for men; and, of two evils to\navoid that which they know to be imaginary, they choose the real one.\nBesides, in thus postponing the end of a torture, which, as good\nSeneca says, is the best part of that torture, they are only yielding\nto the unanimous error which daily strengthens the circle wherein it\nis confined: the prolongation of the agony increasing the horror of\ndeath; and the horror of death demanding the prolongation of the\nagony.\n\n\n\n\n VII\n\n THEIR ARGUMENTS\n\n\nThey, on their part, say or might say that, in the present stage of\nscience, two or three cases excepted, there is never a certainty of\ndeath. Not to support life to its last limits, even at the cost of\ninsupportable torments, were perhaps to kill. Doubtless there is not\none chance in a hundred thousand that the sufferer escape. No matter.\nIf that chance exist which, in the majority of cases, will give but a\nfew days, or, at the utmost, a few months of a life that will not\nbe the real life, but much rather, as the Latin said, \"an extended\ndeath,\" those hundred thousand torments will not have been in vain.\nA single hour snatched from death outweighs a whole existence of\ntortures.\n\nHere are, face to face, two values that cannot be compared; and, if we\nmean to weigh them in the same balance, we must heap the scale which\nwe see with all that remains to us, that is, with every imaginable\npain, for at the decisive hour this is the only weight which counts\nand which is heavy enough to raise by a few degrees the other scale\nthat dips into what we do not see and is loaded with the thick\ndarkness of another world.\n\n\n\n\n VIII\n\n THAT WHICH DOES NOT BELONG\n TO DEATH\n\n\nIncreased by so many adventitious horrors, the horror of death becomes\nsuch that, without reasoning, we accept the doctors' reasons. And yet\nthere is one point on which they are beginning to yield and to agree.\nThey are slowly consenting, when there is no hope left, if not to\ndeaden, at least to lull the last agonies. Formerly, none of them\nwould have dared to do so; and, even to-day, many of them hesitate\nand, like misers, measure out drop by drop the clemency and peace\nwhich they grudge and which they ought to lavish, dreading lest they\nshould weaken the last resistance, that is to say, the most useless\nand painful quiverings of life that does not wish to give place to the\ncoming quiet.\n\nIt is not for me to decide whether their pity might show greater\ndaring. It is enough to state once more that all this does not concern\ndeath. It happens before it and below it. It is not the arrival of\ndeath, but the departure of life that is appalling. It is not death,\nbut life that we must act upon. It is not death that attacks life; it\nis life that wrongfully resists death. Evils hasten up from every\nside at the approach of death, but not at its call; and, though they\ngather round it, they did not come with it. Do you accuse sleep of\nthe fatigue that oppresses you if you do not yield to it? All those\nstrugglings, those waitings, those tossings, those tragic cursings are\non this same side of the slope to which we cling and not on the other\nside. They are, for that matter, accidental and temporary and emanate\nonly from our ignorance. All our knowledge only helps us to die in\ngreater pain than the animals that know nothing. A day will come when\nscience will turn against its error and no longer hesitate to shorten\nour misfortunes. A day will come when it will dare and act with\ncertainty; when life, grown wiser, will depart silently at its hour,\nknowing that it has reached its term, even as it withdraws silently\nevery evening, knowing that its task is done. Once the doctor and\nthe sick man have learnt what they have to learn, there will be no\nphysical nor metaphysical reason why the advent of death should not be\nas salutary as that of sleep. Perhaps even, as there will be other\nthings to consider, it will be possible to surround death with deeper\ndelights and fairer dreams. Henceforth, in any case, once death is\nexonerated from all that goes before, it will be easier to face it\nwithout fear and to enlighten that which follows after.\n\n\n\n\n IX\n\n THE HORRORS OF THE GRAVE ALSO\n DO NOT BELONG TO DEATH\n\n\nDeath, as we usually picture it, has two terrors looming behind it.\nThe first has neither face nor shape and overshadows the whole region\nof our mind; the other is more definite, more explicit, but almost as\npowerful and strikes all our senses. Let us first examine the latter.\n\nEven as we impute to death all the evils that precede it, so do we add\nto the dread which it inspires all that happens beyond it, thus doing\nit the same injustice at its going as at its coming. Is it death that\ndigs our graves and orders us to keep there that which was made to\ndisappear? If we cannot think without horror of the fate of the\nbeloved in the grave, is it death or we that placed him there? Because\ndeath carries the spirit to some place unknown, shall we reproach it\nwith our bestowal of the body which it leaves with us? Death descends\nupon us to take away a life or change its form: let us judge it by\nwhat it does and not by what we do before it comes and after it is\ngone. And it is already far away when we begin the frightful work\nwhich we try hard to prolong as much as we possibly can, as though we\nwere persuaded that it is our only security against forgetfulness. I\nam well aware that, from any other than the human point of view, this\nproceeding is very innoxious. Looked upon from a sufficient height,\ndecomposing flesh is no more repulsive than a fading flower or a\ncrumbling stone. But, when all is said, it offends our senses, shocks\nour memory, daunts our courage, whereas it would be so easy for us to\navoid the hateful test. Purified by fire, the memory lives in the\nheights as a beautiful idea; and death is naught but an immortal birth\ncradled in flames. This has been well understood by the wisest and\nhappiest nations in history. What happens in our graves poisons our\nthoughts together with our bodies. The figure of death, in the\nimagination of men, depends before all upon the form of burial; and\nthe funeral rites govern not only the fate of those who depart, but\nalso the happiness of those who stay, for they raise in the very\nbackground of life the great image upon which their eyes linger in\nconsolation or despair.\n\n\n\n\n X\n\n WHEN CONTEMPLATING THE UNKNOWN\n INTO WHICH DEATH HURLS US,\n LET US FIRST PUT RELIGIOUS\n FEARS FROM OUR MINDS\n\n\nThere is, therefore, but one terror particular to death: that of the\nunknown into which it hurls us. In facing it, let us not delay in\nputting from our minds all that the positive religions have left\nthere. Let us remember only that it is not for us to prove that they\nare not proved, but for them to establish that they are true. Now not\none of them brings us a proof before which a candid intelligence can\nbow. Nor would it suffice if that intelligence were able to bow; for\nman lawfully to believe and thus to limit his endless seeking, the\nproof would need to be irresistible. The God offered to us by the best\nand strongest proof has given us our reason to employ loyally and\nfully, that is to say, to try to attain, before all and in all things,\nthat which appears to be the truth. Can He exact that we should\naccept, in spite of it, a belief of which the wisest and the most\nardent do not, from the human point of view, deny the uncertainty?\nHe proposes for our consideration a very doubtful story which, even\nif scientifically established, would prove nothing and which is\nbuttressed by prophecies and miracles no less uncertain. If not by\nour reason, by what then would He have us decide? By usage? By the\naccidents of race or birth, by some aesthetic or sentimental hazard? Or\nhas He set within us another higher and surer faculty before which the\nunderstanding must yield? If so, where is it? What is its name? If\nthat God punishes us for not having blindly followed a faith that\ndoes not force itself irresistibly upon the intelligence which He\ngave us; if He chastises us for not having made, in the presence of\nthe great enigma with which He confronts us, a choice which condemns\nthe best and most divine part of that which He has placed in us,\nwe have nothing left to reply: we are the dupes of a cruel and\nincomprehensible sport, we are the victims of a terrible snare and an\nimmense injustice; and, whatever the torments wherewith the latter\nloads us, they will be less intolerable than the eternal presence of\nits Author.\n\n\n\n\n XI\n\n ANNIHILATION IMPOSSIBLE\n\n\nHere we stand before the abyss. It is void of all the dreams with\nwhich our fathers peopled it. They thought that they knew what was\nthere; we know only what is not there. It has enlarged itself with all\nthat we have learnt to know nothing of. While waiting for a scientific\ncertainty to break through its darkness--for man has the right to hope\nfor that which he does not yet conceive--the only point that interests\nus, because it is situated in the little circle which our actual\nintelligence traces in the thickest blackness of the night, is to know\nwhether the unknown for which we are bound will be dreadful or not.\n\nOutside the religions, there are four imaginable solutions and no\nmore: total annihilation; survival with our consciousness of to-day;\nsurvival without any sort of consciousness; lastly, survival with\nuniversal consciousness different from that which we possess in this\nworld.\n\nTotal annihilation is impossible. We are the prisoners of an infinity\nwithout outlet, wherein nothing perishes, wherein everything is\ndispersed, but nothing lost. Neither a body nor a thought can drop out\nof the universe, out of time and space. Not an atom of our flesh, not\na quiver of our nerves will go where they will cease to be, for there\nis no place where anything ceases to be. The brightness of a star\nextinguished millions of years ago still wanders in the ether where\nour eyes will perhaps behold it this very night, pursuing its endless\nroad. It is the same with all that we see, as with all that we do not\nsee. To be able to do away with a thing, that is to say, to fling it\ninto nothingness, nothingness would have to exist; and, if it exist,\nunder whatever form, it is no longer nothingness. As soon as we\ntry to analyze it, to define it, or to understand it, thoughts and\nexpressions fail us, or create that which they are struggling to deny.\nIt is as contrary to the nature of our reason and probably of all\nimaginable reason to conceive nothingness as to conceive limits to\ninfinity. Nothingness, besides, is but a negative infinity, a sort of\ninfinity of darkness opposed to that which our intelligence strives to\nenlighten, or rather it is but a child-name or nickname which our mind\nhas bestowed upon that which it has not attempted to embrace, for we\ncall nothingness all that which escapes our senses or our reason and\nexists without our knowledge. The more that human thought rises and\nincreases, the less comprehensible does nothingness become. In any\ncase--and this is what matters here--if nothingness were possible,\nsince it could not be anything whatever, it could not be dreadful.\n\n\n\n\n XII\n\n THE SURVIVAL OF OUR CONSCIOUSNESS\n\n\nNext comes survival with our consciousness of to-day. I have broached\nthis question in an essay on _Immortality_,[2] of which I will only\nreproduce an essential passage, contenting myself with supporting it\nwith a few new considerations.\n\n[Footnote 2: This essay forms part of the volume published under the\ntitle of _The Measure of the Hours_.--TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.]\n\nWhat composes this sense of the ego which turns each of us into\nthe centre of the universe, the only point that matters in space\nand time? Is it formed of sensations of our body, or of thoughts\nindependent of our body? Would our body be conscious of itself without\nour mind? And, on the other hand, what would our mind be without our\nbody? We know bodies without mind, but no mind without a body. It is\nalmost certain that an intellect devoid of senses, devoid of organs to\ncreate and nourish it, exists; but it is impossible to imagine that\nours could thus exist and yet remain similar to that which derived\nfrom our sensibility all that gave it life.\n\n\n\n\n XIII\n\n IT SEEMS IMPOSSIBLE\n\n\nThis ego, as we conceive it when we reflect upon the consequences of\nits destruction, this ego is neither our mind nor our body, since\nwe recognize that both are waves that flow away and are renewed\nincessantly. Is it an immovable point, which could not be form or\nsubstance, for these are always in evolution, nor life, which is the\ncause or effect of form and substance? In truth, it is impossible for\nus to apprehend or define it, to tell where it dwells. When we try to\ngo back to its last source, we find hardly more than a succession of\nmemories, a series of ideas, confused, for that matter, and unsettled,\nattached to the one instinct of living: a series of habits of our\nsensibility and of conscious or unconscious reactions against the\nsurrounding phenomena. When all is said, the most steadfast point of\nthat nebula is our memory, which seems, on the other hand, to be a\nsomewhat external, a somewhat accessory faculty and, in any case, one\nof the frailest faculties of our brain, one of those which disappear\nthe most promptly at the least disturbance of our health. \"As an\nEnglish poet has very truly said, that which clamours aloud for\neternity is the very part of me that will perish.\"\n\nIt matters not: that uncertain, indiscernible, fleeting and precarious\nego is so much the centre of our being, interests us so exclusively,\nthat every reality of our life disappears before this phantom. It is a\nmatter of utter indifference to us that throughout eternity our body\nor its substance should know every joy and every glory, undergo the\nmost splendid and delightful transformations, become flower, perfume,\nbeauty, light, air, star; it is likewise indifferent to us that our\nintellect should expand until it mixes with the life of the worlds,\nunderstands and governs it. We are persuaded that all this will not\naffect us, will give us no pleasure, will not happen to ourselves,\nunless that memory of a few almost always insignificant facts\naccompany us and witness those unimaginable joys.\n\n\"I care not,\" says this narrow ego, in its firm resolve to understand\nnothing. \"I care not if the loftiest, the freest, the fairest portions\nof my mind be eternally living and radiant in the supreme gladnesses:\nthey are no longer mine; I do not know them. Death has cut the network\nof nerves or memories that connected them with I know not what centre\nwherein lies the sensitive point which I feel to be all myself. They\nare now set loose, floating in space and time, and their fate is as\nunknown to me as that of the most distant constellations. Anything\nthat occurs exists for me only upon condition that I be able to\nrecall it within that mysterious being which is I know not where and\nprecisely nowhere, which I turn like a mirror about this world whose\nphenomena take shape only in so far as they are reflected in it.\"\n\nLet us then consider that all that composes our consciousness comes\nfirst of all from our body. Our mind does but organize that which\nis supplied by our senses; and even the images and words--which in\nreality are but images--by the aid of which it strives to tear itself\nfrom those senses and deny their sway are borrowed from them. How\ncould that mind remain what it was when there is nothing left to it of\nthat which formed it? When our mind no longer has a body, what shall\nit carry with it into infinity whereby to recognize itself, seeing\nthat it knows itself only by grace of that body? A few memories of a\nlife in common? Will those memories, which were already fading in this\nworld, suffice to separate it for ever from the rest of the universe,\nin boundless space and in unlimited time?\n\n\n\n\n XIV\n\n THE SAME, CONTINUED\n\n\n\"But,\" I shall be told, \"there is more in us than the intellect\ndiscovers. We have many things within us which our senses have not\nplaced there; we contain a being superior to the one we know.\"\n\nThat is probable, nay, certain: the share occupied by unconsciousness,\nthat is to say, by that which represents the universe, is enormous and\npreponderant. But how shall the ego which we know and whose destiny\nalone concerns us recognize all those things and that superior being\nwhom it has never known? What will it do in the presence of that\nstranger? If I be told that stranger is myself, I will readily agree;\nbut was that which upon earth felt and measured my joys and sorrows\nand gave birth to the few memories and thoughts that remain to me,\nwas that this unmoved, unseen stranger who existed in me without my\ncognizance, even as I am probably about to live in him without his\nconcerning himself with a presence that will bring him but the pitiful\nrecollection of a thing that is no more? Now that he has taken my\nplace, while destroying, in order to acquire a greater consciousness,\nall that formed my small consciousness here below, is it not another\nlife commencing, a life whose joys and sorrows will pass above my\nhead, not even brushing with their new wings that which I feel myself\nto be to-day?\n\n\n\n\n XV\n\n IF IT WERE POSSIBLE, IT WOULD\n NOT BE DREADFUL\n\n\nIt seems, therefore, that a survival with our present consciousness is\nas impossible and as incomprehensible as total annihilation. Moreover,\neven if it were admissible, it would not be dreadful. It is certain\nthat, when the body disappears, all physical sufferings will disappear\nat the same time; for we cannot imagine a soul suffering in a body\nwhich it no longer possesses. With them will vanish simultaneously all\nthat we call mental or moral sufferings, seeing that all of them, if\nwe examine them well, spring from the ties and habits of our senses.\nOur soul feels the reaction of the sufferings of our body, or of\nthe bodies that surround it; it cannot suffer in itself or through\nitself. Slighted affection, shattered love, disappointments, failures,\ndespair, treachery, personal humiliations, as well as the afflictions\nand the loss of those whom it loves, acquire the sting that hurts it\nonly by passing through the body which it animates. Outside its own\nsorrow, which is the sorrow of not knowing, the soul, once delivered\nfrom its body, could suffer only at the recollection of that body. It\nis possible that it still grieves over the troubles of those whom it\nhas left behind on earth. But, in the eyes of that which no longer\ncounts the days, those troubles will seem so brief that it will not\ngrasp their duration; and, knowing what they are and whither they\nlead, it will not behold their severity.\n\nThe soul is insensible to all that is not happiness. It is made only\nfor infinite joy, which is the joy of knowing and understanding. It\ncan grieve only at perceiving its own limits; but to perceive those\nlimits, when one is no longer bound by space and time, is already to\ntranscend them.\n\n\n\n\n XVI\n\n THE SURVIVAL WITHOUT\n CONSCIOUSNESS\n\n\nThere remains but the survival without consciousness, or survival with\na consciousness different from that of to-day.\n\nA survival without consciousness seems at first sight the most\nprobable. From the point of view of the good or ill awaiting us on the\nother side of the grave, it amounts to annihilation. It is lawful,\ntherefore, for those who prefer the easiest solution and that most\nconsistent with the present state of human thought, to set that limit\nto their anxiety there. They have nothing to dread; for every fear, if\nany remain, would, if we look into it carefully, deck itself with\nhopes. The body disintegrates and can no longer suffer; the mind,\nseparated from the source of pleasure and pain, is extinguished,\nscattered and lost in a boundless darkness; and what comes is the\ngreat peace so often prayed for, the sleep without measure, without\ndreams and without awakening.\n\nBut this is only a solution that flatters indolence. If we press those\nwho speak of a survival without consciousness, we perceive that they\nmean only their present consciousness, for man conceives no other; and\nwe have just seen that it is almost impossible for that manner of\nconsciousness to persist in infinity.\n\nUnless, indeed, they would deny every sort of consciousness, even that\nof the universe into which their own will fall. But that means solving\nvery quickly and very blindly, with a stroke of the sword in the\nnight, the greatest and most mysterious question that can arise in a\nman's brain.\n\n\n\n\n XVII\n\n THE SAME, CONTINUED\n\n\nThis question is closely allied to our modified consciousness. There\nis for the moment no hope of solving it; but we are free to grope in\nits darkness, which is not perhaps equally dense at all points.\n\nHere begins the open sea. Here begins the glorious adventure, the only\none abreast with human curiosity, the only one that soars as high as\nits highest longing. Let us accustom ourselves to regard death as a\nform of life which we do not yet understand; let us learn to look\nupon it with the same eye that looks upon birth; and soon our mind\nwill be accompanied to the steps of the tomb with the same glad\nexpectation that greets a birth. If, before being born, we were\npermitted to choose between the great peace of non-existence and\na life that should not be completed by the magnificent hour of\ndeath, which of us, knowing what we ought to know, would accept\nthe disquieting problem of an existence that would not end in the\nreassuring mystery of its conclusion? Which of us would care to come\ninto a world where there is so little to learn, if he did not know\nthat he must enter it if he would leave it and learn more? The best\npart of life is that it prepares this hour for us, that it is the one\nand only road leading to the magic gateway and into that incomparable\nmystery where misfortunes and sufferings will no longer be possible,\nbecause we shall have lost the body that produced them; where the\nworst that can befall us is the dreamless sleep which we count among\nthe number of the greatest boons on earth; where, lastly, it is almost\nunimaginable that a thought can survive to mingle with the substance\nof the universe, that is to say, with infinity, which, if it be not a\nwaste of indifference, can be nothing but a sea of joy.\n\n\n\n\n XVIII\n\n THE LIMITED EGO WOULD BECOME\n A TORTURE\n\n\nBefore fathoming that sea, let us remark to those who aspire to\nmaintain their ego that they are calling down the sufferings which\nthey dread. The ego implies limits. The ego cannot subsist except in\nso far as it is separated from that which surrounds it. The stronger\nthe ego, the narrower its limits and the clearer the separation. The\nmore painful too; for the mind, if it remain as we know it--and we are\nnot able to imagine it different--will no sooner have seen its limits\nthan it will wish to overstep them: and, the more separated it feels,\nthe greater will be its longing to unite with that which lies outside.\nThere will therefore be an eternal struggle between its being and its\naspirations. And really there were no object in being born and dying\nonly for the purpose of these endless contests. Have we not here yet\none more proof that our ego, as we conceive it, could never subsist in\nthe infinity where it must needs go, since it cannot go elsewhere? It\nbehooves us therefore to get rid of imaginations that emanate only\nfrom our body, even as the mists that veil the daylight from our sight\nemanate only from low places. Pascal has said, once and for all: \"The\nnarrow limits of our being conceal infinity from our view.\"\n\n\n\n\n XIX\n\n A NEW EGO CAN FIND A NUCLEUS AND\n DEVELOP ITSELF IN INFINITY\n\n\nOn the other hand--for we must be honest, probe the conflicting\ndarkness which we believe nearest to the truth and show no bias--on\nthe other hand, we can grant to those who are wedded to the thought\nof remaining as they are that the survival of a mere particle of\nthemselves would suffice to renew them again in the heart of an\ninfinity wherefrom their body no longer separates them. If it seems\nimpossible that anything--a movement, a vibration, a radiation--should\nstop or disappear, why then should thought be lost? There will, no\ndoubt, subsist more than one idea powerful enough to allure the new\nego, which will nourish itself and thrive on all that it will find in\nthat new and endless environment, just as the other ego, on this\nearth, nourished itself and throve on all that it met there. Since we\nhave been able to acquire our present consciousness, why should it be\nimpossible for us to acquire another? For that ego which is so dear to\nus and which we believe ourselves to possess was not made in a day;\nit is not at present what it was at the hour of our birth. Much\nmore chance than purpose has entered into it; and much more foreign\nsubstance than any inborn substance which it contained. It is but a\nlong series of acquisitions and transformations, of which we do not\nbecome aware until the awakening of our memory; and its nucleus, of\nwhich we do not know the nature, is perhaps more immaterial and less\nconcrete than a thought. If the new environment which we enter on\nleaving our mother's womb transforms us to such a point that there is,\nso to speak, no connexion between the embryo that we were and the man\nthat we have become, is it not right to think that the much newer,\nmore unknown, wider and more fertile environment which we enter on\nquitting life will transform us even more? One can see in what happens\nto us here a figure of that which awaits us elsewhere and readily\nadmit that our spiritual being, liberated from its body, if it does\nnot mingle at the first onset with the infinite, will develop itself\nthere gradually, will choose itself a substance and, no longer\ntrammelled by space and time, will grow without end. It is very\npossible that our loftiest wishes of to-day will become the law of our\nfuture development. It is very possible that our best thoughts will\nwelcome us on the other bank and that the quality of our intellect\nwill determine that of the infinite that crystallizes around it. Every\nhypothesis is permissible and every question, provided it be addressed\nto happiness; for unhappiness is no longer able to answer us. It\nfinds no place in the human imagination that explores the future\nmethodically. And, whatever be the force that survives us and presides\nover our existence in the other world, this existence, to presume the\nworst, could be no less great, no less happy than that of to-day. It\nwill have no other career than infinity; and infinity is nothing if it\nbe not felicity. In any case, it seems fairly certain that we spend in\nthis world the only narrow, grudging, obscure and sorrowful moment of\nour destiny.\n\n\n\n\n XX\n\n THE ONLY SORROW THAT CAN TOUCH\n OUR MIND\n\n\nWe have said that the one sorrow of the mind is the sorrow of\nnot knowing or not understanding, which contains the sorrow of\npowerlessness; for he who knows the supreme causes, being no longer\nparalyzed by matter, becomes one with them and acts with them; and he\nwho understands ends by approving, or else the universe would be a\nmistake, which is not possible. I do not believe that another sorrow\nof the sheer mind can be imagined. The only one which, before\nreflection, might seem admissible and which, in any case, could be\nbut ephemeral would arise from the sight of the pain and misery that\nremain on the earth which we have left. But this sorrow, after all,\nwould be but one side and an insignificant phase of the sorrow of\npowerlessness and of not understanding. As for the latter, though it\nis not only beyond the domain of our intelligence, but even at an\ninsuperable distance from our imagination, we may say that it would be\nintolerable only if it were without hope. But, in order to be without\nhope, the universe would have to abandon any attempt to understand\nitself, or admit within itself an object that remained for ever\nforeign to it. Either the mind will not perceive its limits and,\nconsequently, will not suffer from them, or else it will overstep them\nas it perceives them; for how could the universe have parts eternally\ncondemned to form no part of itself and of its knowledge? Hence we\ncannot understand that the torture of not understanding, supposing it\nto exist for a moment, should not end by mingling with the state of\ninfinity, which, if it be not happiness as we comprehend it, could be\nnaught but an indifference higher and purer than joy.\n\n\n\n\n XXI\n\n INFINITY AS CONCEIVED BY OUR\n REASON\n\n\nLet us turn our thoughts towards it. The problem extends beyond\nhumanity and embraces all things. It is possible, I think, to view\ninfinity under two distinct aspects and try to foresee our fate\ntherein. Let us contemplate the first of these aspects. We are plunged\ninto a universe that has no limits in space or time. It never began,\nnor will it ever end. It could not have an aim, for, if it had one,\nit would have attained it in the infinity of years that preceded\nus. It is not making for anywhere, for it would have arrived there;\nconsequently, all that the worlds within its pale, all that we\nourselves do can have no influence upon it. If it have no thought,\nit will never have one. If it have one, that thought has been at its\nclimax since all time and will remain there, changeless and immovable.\nIt is as young as it has ever been and as old as it will ever be. It\nhas made in the past all the efforts and all the experiments which it\nwill make in the future; and, as all the possible combinations have\nbeen exhausted since all time, it does not seem as if that which has\nnot taken place in the eternity that extends before our birth can\nhappen in that which will follow after our death. If it have not\nbecome conscious, it will never become so; if it know not what it\nwishes, it will continue in ignorance, hopelessly, knowing all or\nknowing nothing and remaining as near its end as its beginning.\n\n\n\n\n XXII\n\n INFINITY AS PERCEIVED BY OUR\n SENSES\n\n\nAll this would be, if not intelligible, at least acceptable to our\nreason; but in that universe float thousands of millions of worlds\nlimited by space and time. They are born, they die and they are born\nagain. They form part of the whole; and we see, therefore, that parts\nof that which has neither beginning nor end themselves begin and end.\nWe, in fact, know only those parts; and they are of a number so\ninfinite that in our eyes they fill all infinity. That which is going\nnowhere teems with that which appears to be going somewhere. That\nwhich has always known what it wants, or will never learn, seems\neternally to be making more or less unfortunate experiments. What\nis that which has already attained perfection trying to achieve?\nEverything that we discover in that which could not possibly have an\naim looks as though it were pursuing one with inconceivable ardour;\nand the spirit that animates what we see in that which should know\neverything and possess itself seems to know nothing and to seek itself\nwithout intermission. Thus all that is apparent to our senses in\ninfinity gainsays that which our reason is compelled to ascribe to\nit. According as we fathom it, we understand better the depth of our\nwant of understanding; and, the more we strive to penetrate the two\nincomprehensibilities that stand face to face, the more they\ncontradict each other.\n\n\n\n\n XXIII\n\n WHICH OF THE TWO SHALL WE\n KNOW?\n\n\nWhat will become of us amid all this obscurity? Shall we leave the\nfinite wherein we dwell to be swallowed up in this or the other\ninfinite? In other words, shall we end by mingling with the infinite\nwhich our reason conceives, or shall we remain eternally in that which\nour eyes behold, that is to say, in numberless changing and ephemeral\nworlds? Shall we never leave those worlds which seem doomed to die and\nto be reborn eternally, to enter at last into that which, since all\neternity, can neither have been born nor have died and which exists\nwithout either future or past? Shall we one day escape, with all that\nsurrounds us, from the unhappy experiments, to find our way at last\ninto peace, wisdom, the changeless and boundless consciousness, or\ninto the hopeless unconsciousness? Shall we have the fate which our\nsenses foretell, or that which our intelligence demands? Or are both\nsenses and intelligence illusions, puny implements, vain weapons of\na brief hour that were never intended to probe or contend with the\nuniverse? If there really be a contradiction, is it wise to accept it\nand to deem impossible that which we do not understand, seeing that we\nunderstand almost nothing? Is truth not at an immeasurable distance\nfrom those inconsistencies which appear to us enormous and irreducible\nand which, doubtless, are of no more importance than the rain that\nfalls upon the sea?\n\n\n\n\n XXIV\n\n THE INFINITY WHICH BOTH OUR REASON\n AND OUR SENSES CAN ADMIT\n\n\nBut, even to our poor understanding of to-day, the discrepancy between\nthe infinity conceived by our reason and that perceived by our senses\nis perhaps more apparent than real. When we say that, in a universe\nthat has existed since all eternity, every experiment, every possible\ncombination has been made; when we declare that there is not a chance\nthat that which has not taken place in the uncountable past can take\nplace in the uncountable future, our imagination attributes to the\ninfinity of time a preponderance which it cannot possess. In truth,\nall that infinity contains must be as infinite as the time at its\ndisposal; and the chances, encounters and combinations that lie\ntherein have not been exhausted in the eternity that goes before us\nany more than they could be in the eternity that comes after us. There\nis, therefore, no climax, no changelessness, no immovability. It is\nprobable that the universe is seeking and finding itself every day,\nthat it has not become entirely conscious and does not yet know what\nit wants. It is almost certain that its ideal is still veiled by the\nshadow of its immensity and almost evident that the experiments and\nchances are following one upon the other in unimaginable worlds,\ncompared wherewith all those which we see on starry nights are no more\nthan a pinch of gold-dust in the ocean depths. Lastly, it is very\nnearly sure that we ourselves, or whatever remains of us--it matters\nnot--will profit one day by those experiments and those chances. That\nwhich has not yet happened may suddenly supervene; and the best state,\nas well as the supreme wisdom which will recognize and establish it,\nis perhaps ready to arise from the clash of circumstance. It were not\nat all astonishing if the consciousness of the universe, in the\nendeavour to form itself, had not yet met with the aid of the\nnecessary chances and if human thought were seconding one of those\ndecisive chances. Here there is a hope. Small as man and his thought\nmay appear, he has exactly the value of the most enormous forces that\nhe is able to conceive, since there is neither great nor small in the\nimmeasurable; and, if our body equalled the dimensions of all the\nworlds which our eyes can see, it would have exactly the same weight\nand the same importance with regard to the universe that it has\nto-day. The mind alone perhaps occupies in infinity a space which\ncomparisons do not reduce to nothing.\n\n\n\n\n XXV\n\n OUR FATE IN INFINITY\n\n\nWhatever the ultimate truth may be, whether we admit the abstract,\nabsolute and perfect infinity--the changeless, immovable infinity\nwhich has attained perfection and which knows everything, to which our\nreason tends--or whether we prefer that offered to us by the evidence,\nhere below undeniable, of our senses--the infinity which seeks itself,\nwhich is still evolving and not yet established--it behoves us above\nall to foresee in it our fate, which, in any case, must end by\nabsorption in that very infinity.\n\nThe first infinity, the ideal infinity, is so strangely contrary to\nall that we see that it is best not to attack it until we have tried\nto explore the second. Moreover, it is quite possible that it may\nsucceed the other. As we have said, that which has not taken place in\nthe eternity before may happen in the eternity after us; and nothing\nsave innumerous accidents is opposed to the prospect that the universe\nmay at last acquire the integral consciousness that will establish it\nat its climax. After giving a glance, useless, for that matter, and\nimpotent, at all that may perhaps arise, we shall try to interrogate,\nwithout hope of answer, the mystery of the boundless peace into which\nit is possible that we may sink with the other worlds.\n\n\n\n\n XXVI\n\n THE SAME, CONTINUED\n\n\nBehold us, then, in the infinity of those worlds, the stellar\ninfinity, the infinity of the heavens, which assuredly veils other\nthings from our eyes, but could never be a total illusion. It seems to\nus to be peopled only with objects--planets, suns, stars, nebulae,\natoms, imponderous fluids--which move, unite and separate, repel and\nattract one another, which shrink and expand, displace one another\nincessantly and never arrive, which measure space in that which has\nno limit and number the hours in that which has no term. In a word,\nwe are in an infinity that seems to have almost the same character,\nthe same habits as that power in the midst of which we breathe and\nwhich, upon our earth, we call nature or life.\n\nWhat will be our fate in that infinity? It is not vain to ask one's\nself the question, even if we should mingle with it after losing all\nconsciousness, all notion of the ego, even if our existence should be\nno more than a little substance without name, soul or matter--one\ncannot tell--suspended in the equally nameless abyss that replaces\ntime and space. It is not vain to ask one's self the question, for we\nare concerned with the history of the worlds or of the universe; and\nthis history, far more than that of our petty existence, is our own\ngreat history, in which perhaps something of ourselves or something\nincomparably better and vaster will end by finding us again some day.\n\n\n\n\n XXVII\n\n SHALL WE BE UNHAPPY THERE?\n\n\nShall we be unhappy there? It is hardly reassuring when we consider\nthe habits of our nature and remember that we form part of a universe\nthat has not yet collected its wisdom. We have seen, it is true, that\ngood and bad fortune exist only in so far as regards our body and\nthat, when we have lost the agent of our sufferings, we shall not meet\nany of the earthly sorrows again. But our anxiety does not end here;\nand will not our mind, lingering upon our erstwhile sorrows, drifting\nderelict from world to world, unknown to itself in the unknowable that\nseeks itself hopelessly; will not our mind know here the frightful\ntorture of which we have already spoken and which is doubtless the\nlast which the imagination can touch with its wing? Lastly, if there\nwere nothing left of our body and our mind, there would still remain\nthe matter and the spirit (or, at least, the obviously single force to\nwhich we give that double name) which composed them and whose fate\nmust be no more indifferent to us than our own fate; for, let us\nrepeat, from our death onwards, the adventure of the universe becomes\nour own adventure. Let us not, therefore, say to ourselves:\n\n\"What can it matter? We shall not be there.\"\n\nWe shall be there always, because everything will be there.\n\n\n\n\n XXVIII\n\n QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS\n\n\nWill all this to which we shall belong, in a world ever seeking\nitself, continue a prey to new, unceasing and perhaps painful\nexperiments? Since the part that we were was unhappy, why should the\npart that we shall be enjoy a better fortune? Who can assure us that\nthose unending combinations and endeavours will not be more sorrowful,\nmore awkward and more baneful than those which we are leaving; and how\nshall we explain that these have come about after so many millions of\nothers which should have opened the eyes of the genius of infinity? It\nis idle to persuade ourselves, as Hindu wisdom would, that our sorrows\nare but illusions and appearances: it is none the less true that they\nmake us very really unhappy. Has the universe elsewhere a more\ncomplete consciousness, a more just and serene principle of thought\nthan on this earth and in the worlds which we perceive? And, if it be\ntrue that it has somewhere attained that better thought, why does the\nthought that presides over the destinies of our earth not profit by\nit? Could no communication be possible between worlds which must have\nbeen born of the same idea and are steeped in it? What would be the\nmystery of that isolation? Are we to believe that the earth marks the\nmost advanced stage and the most favoured experiment? What, then, can\nthe thought of the universe have done and against what darkness must\nit have struggled, to have come no farther than this? But, on the\nother hand, can it have been stayed by that darkness or by those\nobstacles which, being unable to arise from any elsewhere, can but\nhave sprung from itself? Who then could have set those insoluble\nproblems to infinity and from what more remote and profound region\nthan itself would they have issued? Some one, after all, must know\nwhat they ask; and, as behind infinity there can be none that is not\ninfinity itself, it is impossible to imagine a malignant will in a\nwill that leaves no point around it but what it fills entirely. Or are\nthe experiments begun in the stars continued mechanically, by virtue\nof the force acquired, without regard to their uselessness and to\ntheir pitiful consequences, according to the custom of nature, which\nknows nothing of our parsimony and squanders the suns in space as it\ndoes the seed on earth, knowing that nothing can be lost? Or, again,\nis the whole question of our peace and happiness, like that of the\nfate of the worlds, reduced to knowing whether or not the infinity of\nendeavours and combinations be equal to that of eternity? Or, lastly,\nto come to the greatest probability, is it we who deceive ourselves,\nwho know nothing, who see nothing and who consider imperfect that\nwhich is perhaps faultless, we, who are but an infinitesimal fragment\nof the intelligence which we judge with the aid of the little shreds\nof thought which it has vouchsafed to lend us?\n\n\n\n\n XXIX\n\n THE SAME, CONTINUED\n\n\nHow could we reply, how could our thoughts and glances penetrate the\ninfinite and the invisible, we who neither understand nor even see the\nthing by which we see and which is the source of all our thoughts? In\nfact, as has been very justly observed, man does not see light itself.\nHe sees only matter, or rather the small part of the great worlds\nwhich he knows by the name of matter, touched by light. He does not\nperceive the immense rays that cross the heavens save at the moment\nwhen they are stopped by an object of the nature of those which his\neye is accustomed to see upon this earth: were it otherwise, the whole\nspace filled with innumerable suns and boundless forces, instead of\nbeing an abyss of absolute darkness which absorbs and extinguishes the\nclusters of beams that shoot across it from every side, would be but a\nprodigious, untenable ocean of flashes. Shakespeare's famous lines:\n\n     \"There are more things in heaven and earth,\n           Horatio,\n     Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.\"\n\nhave long since become utterly inadequate. There are no longer\nmore things than our philosophy can dream of or imagine: there is\nnone but things which it cannot dream of, there is nothing but the\nunimaginable; and, if we do not even see the light, which is the only\nthing that we believed we saw, it may be said that there is nothing\nall around us but the invisible.\n\nWe move in the illusion of seeing and knowing that which is strictly\nindispensable to our little lives. As for all the rest, which is\nwell-nigh everything, our organs not only debar us from reaching,\nseeing or feeling it, but even restrain us from suspecting what it\nis, just as they would prevent us from understanding it, if an\nintelligence of a different order were to bethink itself of revealing\nor explaining it to us. It is impossible for us, therefore, to\nappreciate in any degree whatsoever, in the smallest conceivable\nrespect, the present state of the universe and to say, as long as we\nare men, whether it follows a straight line or describes an immense\ncircle, whether it is growing wiser or madder, whether it is advancing\ntowards the eternity which has no end or retracing its steps towards\nthat which had no beginning. Our sole privilege within our tiny\nconfines is to struggle towards that which appears to us the best and\nto remain heroically persuaded that no part of what we do within those\nconfines can ever be wholly lost.\n\n\n\n\n XXX\n\n IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO ANSWER\n THEM\n\n\nBut let not all these insoluble questions drive us towards fear. From\nthe point of view of our future beyond the grave, it is in no way\nnecessary that we should have an answer to everything. Whether the\nuniverse have already found its consciousness, whether it find it one\nday or see it everlastingly, it could not exist for the purpose of\nbeing unhappy and of suffering, neither in its entirety, nor in any\none of its parts; and it matters little if the latter be invisible or\nincommensurable, considering that the smallest is as great as the\ngreatest in what has neither limit nor measure. To torture a point\nis the same thing as to torture the worlds; and, if it torture the\nworlds, it is its own substance that it tortures. Its very destiny, in\nwhich we are placed, protects us. Our sufferings there could be but\nephemeral; and nothing matters that is not eternal. It is possible,\nalthough somewhat incomprehensible, that parts should err and go\nastray; but it is impossible that sorrow should be one of its lasting\nand necessary laws; for it would have brought that law to bear against\nitself. In like manner, the universe is and must be its own law and\nits sole master; if not, the law or the master whom it must obey\nwould then be the universe; and the centre of a word which we\npronounce without being able to grasp its scope would be simply\ndisplaced. If it be unhappy, that means that it wills its own\nunhappiness; if it will its unhappiness, it is mad; and, if it appear\nto us mad, that means that our reason works contrary to everything and\nto the only laws possible, seeing that they are eternal, or, to speak\nmore humbly, that it judges what it wholly fails to understand.\n\n\n\n\n XXXI\n\n EVERYTHING MUST FINISH EXEMPT\n FROM SUFFERING\n\n\nEverything, therefore, must finish, or perhaps everything already is,\nif not in a state of happiness, at least in a state exempt from all\nsuffering, all anxiety, all lasting unhappiness; and what, after all,\nis our happiness upon this earth, if it be not the absence of sorrow,\nanxiety and unhappiness?\n\nBut it is childish to talk of happiness and unhappiness where\ninfinity is in question. The idea which we entertain of happiness and\nunhappiness is something so special, so human, so fragile that it\ndoes not exceed our stature and falls to dust as soon as we go beyond\nits little sphere. It proceeds entirely from a few accidents of our\nnerves, which are made to appreciate very slight happenings, but which\ncould as easily have felt everything the reverse way and taken\npleasure in that which is now pain. We believe that we see nothing\nhanging over us but catastrophes, deaths, torments and disasters; we\nshiver at the mere thought of the great interplanetary spaces, with\ntheir cold and formidable and gloomy solitudes; and we imagine that\nthe revolving worlds are as unhappy as ourselves because they freeze,\nor clash together, or are consumed in unutterable flames. We infer\nfrom this that the genius of the universe is an outrageous tyrant,\nseized with a monstrous madness, and that it delights only in the\ntorture of itself and all that it contains. To millions of stars, each\nmany thousand times larger than our sun, to nebulae whose nature and\ndimensions no figure, no word in our languages is able to express, we\nattribute our momentary sensibility, the little ephemeral and chance\nworking of our nerves; and we are convinced that life there must be\nimpossible or appalling, because we should feel too hot or too\ncold. It were much wiser to say to ourselves that it would need but\na trifle, a few papillae more or less to our skin, the slightest\nmodification of our eyes and ears, to turn the temperature, the\nsilence and the darkness of space into a delicious spring-time, an\nunequalled music, a divine light. It were much more reasonable to\npersuade ourselves that the catastrophes which we think that we behold\nare life itself, the joy and one or other of those immense festivals\nof mind and matter in which death, thrusting aside at last our two\nenemies, time and space, will soon permit us to take part. Each\nworld dissolving, extinguished, crumbling, burnt or colliding with\nanother world and pulverized means the commencement of a magnificent\nexperiment, the dawn of a marvellous hope and perhaps an unexpected\nhappiness drawn direct from the inexhaustible unknown. What though\nthey freeze or flame, collect or disperse, pursue or flee one\nanother: mind and matter, no longer united by the same pitiful hazard\nthat joined them in us, must rejoice at all that happens; for all is\nbut birth and re-birth, a departure into an unknown filled with\nwonderful promises and maybe an anticipation of some unutterable\nevent....\n\nAnd, should they stand still one day, become fixed and remain\nmotionless, it will not be that they have encountered calamity,\nnullity or death; but they will have entered into a thing so fair, so\ngreat, so happy and bathed in such certainties that they will for ever\nprefer it to all the prodigious chances of an infinity which nothing\ncan impoverish.\n\n\n\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nMinor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise\nevery effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and\nintent.","title":"Death","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":10828}