Alfred.       Sophia.     Felix.     Hermann.

Sophia. Here we are all assembled again this evening, which is so fine that it seems to invite us to pursue our conversation of last night.

Hermann. We all participate in your wish. You said yesterday, dear Alfred, that you were both a Spiritualist and a Materialist. As I know that you did not assert this in a spirit of mere dogmatism, or from idle wish to be peculiar. I should like to hear you explain yourself.

Alfred. We must touch upon one of the great questions of philosophy; but I will, to the best of my power, endeavour to prove the justice of my conceptions.

Sophia. I may appear presumptuous, but I cannot refrain from saying how much I wish to comprehend these things, and therefore I beg, Alfred that you will, if possible, so express yourself that the unlearned, such as I am, may be able to understand you.

Alfred. I will endeavour to do so. But lest I should omit anything which, were I speaking to my friend Hermann alone, I should conclude he already knew, I will address myself to you , Sophia, and beg him to object whenever we assume anything as settled which he considers erroneous.

Hermann. I willingly comply.

Sophia. My earnest wish will then be fulfilled.

Alfred. I must therefore begin with a question, which you will perhaps think somewhat irrelevant to the subject. How do we gain a knowledge of external things?

Sophia. Through the senses, I imagine.

Alfred. And do the senses enable us to comprehend an entire object at once?

Sophia. I have not considered that.

Alfred. When I lay my hand on this book, do I feel the whole book, or only an effect of the book, namely, a resistance against the motion by which my hand would force itself into space occupied by the book?

Sophia. The latter is certainly the true state of the case; but do I not see the whole book?

Alfred. Surely not the whole at once?

Sophia. Certainly not; some parts are concealed by other parts.

Alfred We are very often deceived by our eyesight: under particular circumstance the reflection in a looking- glass, or a faithful likeness, may deceive the eye into the belief that it sees a material object.

Sophia. That is true.

Alfred. We therefore recognise the existence of a material object, not from a single impression made upon the senses, but from our mental capacity having combined many sensible impressions together.

Sophia. Yet a single look often convinces me of the reality of a thing.

Alfred. I am far from denying that; and would even allow that it is generally the case. But when a single look convinces you that it is a book which you see, innumerable previous impressions, in conformity with the contrivance of our being, are renewed within you; so that the object appears entire, though a very small portion of it may have been at that time impressed on your senses.

Sophia. I might therefore be deceived if it were not surrounded by all which usually accompanies it. Indeed, I now remember much that might have satisfied me of this before. I once saw those delusive images which are called Fata Morgana, or reflections in the air, and for a long time felt convinced that what I saw before me were real houses, trees and water. I remember also a remarkable experiment made with a concave mirror, by means of which a flower appeared suspended in such a manner over a flower pot, as to lead one to mistake the image for reality.

Alfred. Thus we do not immediately perceive objects, such as a tree, a house, or a book; that which we actually grasp is the impression produced upon us. But this impression is certainly an effect which could not be produced without an active power in the things themselves. We have therefore this only to recognise.

Sophia. I do not see how I can deny this; and yet when I think of a lump of metal, a stone, or a log of wood, so far from imagining anything active, it appears to me as if everything about them were dead; they are so immovable and so entirely opposed to all activity; that the nature of matter seems to consist much more in passive existence than in constant action.

Alfred. But that view of the subject will not stand the test of experience. If you lay one stone upon another, does not the lower one support that which rests upon it?

Sophia. Of course; but does this proceed from an active power?

Alfred. How can it be otherwise? When anything is effected, there must be some effecting power at work. In the case above mentioned, the effect produced is this, that the upper stone is interrupted in its constant endeavour to fall.

Sophia I have nothing to say in reply; yet it appears to me that there must be passive resistance.

Alfred. You are quite right to mention your doubts. There is no such thing as passive resistance, though we have more frequently been deceived into that idea than we could conceive possible. But do not be deterred by a philosophical dogma; the explanation of the phenomenon must proceed from a consideration of the thing itself. Let us therefore re-examine our case. Do you not believe that the upper stone presses upon the one beneath?

Sophia  Certainly.

Alfred. And that the one beneath is pressed upon?

Sophia. Of course.

Alfred. But is not that which is pressed upon, also pressed together?

Sophia. Yes, very often; but does it always happen? It does not appear to me that a stone is pressed together when anything is laid upon it.

Alfred. A stone is only slightly compressed; but it has been ascertained by means of very delicate measurements, that all bodies are capable of being compressed.

Sophia. But an enormous weight would be required to compress a stone.

Alfred. To press it together, so as to make it only a thousandth part smaller, would require an immense force; but should the pressure be less, the diminution would be in the same proportion lessened, though, at the same time, ever so slight a pressure corresponds with a certain compression.

Sophia. Well, if this is proved by experiment, I am far from wishing to contradict it, as it appears to me very probable.

Alfred As soon as the pressure ceases to act upon the stone, it will return to its original size.

Sophia. Is this always the case?

Alfred. Yes, if the pressure be not so great as to crush it internally.

Sophia. I therefore understand that there is a constant counter pressure from the body which is pressed upon, against that which is pressing, and that it consequently opposes an effectual resistance to the body which endeavours to force itself into its space.

Alfred. Bodies, therefore, posses an inward power of acting by means of

Which they occupy space. Thus, when you feel the presence of this table with your hand, you are really made aware of it by the active power it possesses of filling up space; and every other impression which you receive from material things is also only a notification of an inherent power of acting which they possess. You would see nothing, if objects did not possess the power either to evolve light, or to reflect back some of that which falls upon them, that your eye may be able to catch part of it. But I need not bring forward any more examples; I do not doubt that you perceive with me that every impression implies an active power.

Sophia. I ought not to have been so long in comprehending this, as it is self evident.

Alfred. What we most directly know of bodies accordingly, is , that they are spaces filled with active powers.

Sophia. Then matter is more nearly related to spirit than we generally imagine. But now that one difficultly is removed, I here encounter another. I see that matter is resolved into mist and vapour, which I cannot reconcile with the evidence of my senses.

Alfred. You appear to imagine it to be an extravagant idea thus to resolve material bodies into mere phantoms of clouds and vapour. But what will you say when I assure you that the possibility of this has been proven by innumerable investigations on matter.

Sophia. How so ?

Alfred. It has been affected by chemistry.

Sophia. Alas! I understand nothing of this branch of science.

Alfred. That will not prevent me from giving you some instances derived from it. Ice, as you will allow, is a solid body, but if it is penetrated by a certain amount of heat it becomes water, and this same water, submitted to a still greater amount of heat, becomes invisible steam. Now the actual amount of matter which is determined by its weight, remains throughout these different conditions unchanged and the same. This, however, holds good not only in regard to water, but to all other bodies. I need not tell you that hard iron becomes fluid when exposed to heat; but perhaps you may not have heard that at a certain degree of heat iron may also be converted into vapour. I cite this example, because it so strikingly contradicts the common ideas which are entertained concerning matter. There is one universal law, as has been already said, namely, that all bodies exist, either as solid, liquid, or aeriform; and I may casually remark, that vapour and air do not essentially differ. But I do not stop here. The most simple bodies seem to have the strongest tendency towards an aeriform or gaseous condition. Water, which was so long considered to be an element, can be separated by the aid of chemistry into two component parts, each of which is in itself a peculiar kind of gas, and which, reunited, forms water, without the change having any influence on the quantity of the whole. That I may not name objects beyond the sphere of common life, I shall only mention that sugar, wood, horn, and many other solid bodies in the animal and vegetable kingdoms, may also be decomposed into gaseous parts; indeed, it is very probable that one day it will appear that all bodies are composed of gaseous elements; that is to say, of matter, which in some bodies is able to maintain its gaseous condition at a lower degree of heat than in other bodies.

Sophia. I am willing to believe this; but still it has not cleared up my difficulty, although it may appear to have done so.

Alfred. I did not really expect that it would. You have hardly discovered the right expression for your doubt.

Sophia Why did you not warn me of this?

Alfred  Because I supposed that the difficulty which I have just noticed formed the chief part of your doubt, though you had not yourself taken it into account.

Sophia. I believe you are right; but in what else do my doubts consist?

Alfred. You miss, in my representation of things, the consistency to which you are accustomed in the material world. To what I have besides said you will reply: it is not only density and solidity which I miss when I imagine material objects are merely occupants of space, but I cannot also at the same time conceive the possibility of the existence of such various defined and enduring forms as I everywhere behold in the material world.

 Sophia. I confess that this does appear to me a great difficulty.

Alfred. Then I would beg you to join with me in a still closer observation on that which is the perishable part of the material world, that we may more surely seek the Imperishable where it is found. The perpetual mutability of the human and of all animal bodies need hardly be mentioned. Daily experience proves to us they are born , grow, decline, and perish and that one generation replaces another. This phenomenon is no less manifest in the vegetable kingdom. Flowers and grass, especially those plants which have but a year’s existence, have at all times served as examples of mortality. Even mighty trees, which have endured for centuries, are subject to the same mortality, although longer deferred. Even our globe, which, according to the vulgar notion, bears all things on its firm basis, is subject to change: it revolves, as you know, daily on its axis, and annually completes its course around the sun. But the sun itself describes an orbit as yet undetermined by us, and now is advancing in a vast journey, in which the earth and all her sister planets must necessarily accompany him; but the centre around which the sun describes its apparently immeasurable course, may also, with the greatest certainty, be regarded as moving; in short, all the heavenly bodies are incessantly in motion and none are at rest.

Sophia. Although I have never so pictured these things to myself, they are nevertheless not strange to me; but does it, therefore, follow, that inanimate nature is just as changeable as the rest? Surely there exists something which is invariable.

Alfred. Very true! The Invariable does exist, but we must not seek it here. The earth has not always been as it is now; its internal structure testifies that for thousands of years it has been developing from one condition to another, and the attentive inquirer must be aware that it continues constantly to develop itself, and that now, as formerly, it is passing from one state to another. We may easily conceive that the same is taking place with all the other heavenly bodies, which are therefore not only in constant motion, but, at the same time, are in an unceasing state of development. Inaction or repose exists not in the universe.

Sophia. Well, I shall see what you say when you come to speak of inanimate objects; for our earth and the heavenly bodies appear to bear a strong resemblance to animate nature, however much they may differ from them in many respects.

Alfred. But we must take into consideration, that these inanimate objects upon the earth are only portions of the earth itself, and , consequently, develop themselves and , moreover, will continue to be developed with it. The sea-shore, spread out so beautifully before us, has not been always there; on the contrary, there was a time when it had not risen above the surface of the water. Even the hardest rock has had its period of formation, since which it has suffered continual changes by the influence of the air, water, heat, and cold. The plants which grow on the surface of the rock help to consume it; and who can tell how many other forces may co-operate in the work! Subterranean forces are constantly striving to raise or sink the rock, which, when apparently in a condition of repose themselves are by no means in active. When they really effect any elevations or depressions, it takes place so slowly, that it would escape observation, if one century did not assist another. Amidst materials out of which it is compounded, are also formed and transformed, for these materials are not distinct from the earth, but belong to it as much as bones, flesh, and blood, belong to the bodies of animals.

Sophia. But are there not substances which endure for whole centuries unchanged? I have seen antiquities of glass, stone, and gold, which had lain an immense time underground.

Alfred. But during that time they have not been in a complete state of rest; they have undoubtedly been subject to the universal laws of matter; and I must previously remark that, whatever we may think of this apparent repose, it is only an oscillation between equally great antagonistic powers.

Sophia. How is that ?

Alfred. Urged by gravity to fall bodies are only prevented by an antagonistic force in those which oppose them, as we have already seen.  All bodies lying upon them will endeavour to press them down, and they in turn will press still stronger downwards, but will meet with a still greater reaction from below. By means of their own power of extension they will resist all compressing forces. Rest, in a body, is not an inactive state of existence. In the state which we call rest, each body receives , in addition, its proportionate share ( however small), of the impression of those forces which set the earth in motion, and retain it in its orbit. In this way it participates, to a certain degree, in the union of those active powers which sustain the world in that motion, which is also the most perfect equilibrium. But this is not all. Each separate body, in whatever part of the universe it may exist, is affected by a number of surrounding forces, which tend to produce internal changes. An incessant alternation is maintained between it and rest of the universe by means of heat, electricity, and magnetism. A constantly renewed giving and taking of influences is inseparable from material existence. But we should not limit our observations here. We do not know all mundane forces, but it is easy to perceive that many of those powers which act on matter, endeavour to disturb and arrest its present condition, whilst others seek to preserve it. We know, in many cases, the conditions under which substances preserve or change their state; or, on the other hand, are decomposed into their constituent parts, or are obliged to form new combinations. Can we reasonably doubt that such conditions do exist even where we are unconscious of them?

Sophia. Certainly not; we may rather assume, that all bodies are subject to the same conditions.

Alfred.  Well ; there is, then, no body, or part of a body, whose existence can be called invariable. Wherever, in the material world, anything seems to be unchanged, whether it is in reference to its situation or its internal condition, this inaction is only apparent, as the hour- hands of a clock appear to be stationary, when we take a cursory glance at them. This is, however, but a feeble simile, when we speak of changes which are hardly perceptible in the course of many thousands of years. Imagine a clock with a hand which took ten thousand years to pass over the space which the hour-hand does in one hour, and the simile will be more impressive.

Sophia. I confess I feel myself not only unable to contradict you, but nearly convinced of the justice of your argument; but now think you must show us the Invariable, which, as you yourself say, reveals itself in existence.

Alfred.  You mentioned to-day in our walk, that you had twice visited the waterfall of Sarpen , in Norway; did you each time see the same water?

Sophia. Certainly not. The water rushes down with furious impetuosity, and is constantly replaced by a fresh supply.

Alfred. And yet it was the same waterfall that you saw both times.

Sophia. I understand you. The material parts were not the invariable. But now assist me in naming what is the invariable in it, as I cannot at this moment express it.

Alfred. In the first place we may say that the invariable consists in a number of effects which always remain essentially the same. You here receive an impression of the fall of a great mass of water, which every time comes from the same enormous height, and always encounters the same obstacles. The dispersion of the drops, the foam, the sound occasioned by the fall as well as by the roaring and foaming of the water, which always arise from the same causes, ever remain the same. In the impression which all these things produce upon us we feel a variety, but at the same time a totality; or in other words, we feel the variety of the single impressions as the effect of one great action of nature produced by the peculiar conditions of the locality. Perhaps the invariable in this phenomenon might be superficially termed the thought of nature inherent to it.

Sophia.  You mean by that, the thought which we connect with it?

Alfred. Let us be satisfied with that at present; I have not yet earned the right to assert more.

Sophia. Will you ever be able to obtain such a right?

Alfred. I shall endeavour to do so, with your approval. You have already acknowledged that nothing material can be called invariable.

Sophia. And I will not withdraw my assent.

Alfred. Whereas the laws of nature are constant.

Sophia. That is everywhere acknowledged; but how does that agree with what I have heard and read, that the earth , before it was in its present condition, produced a different race of animals and plants?

Alfred. If we follow the same principles under different circumstances, must not the actions themselves differ, and will they not do so in a still higher degree, the more completely the principles are developed and understood?

Sophia. This must indeed be true, for when following a particular principle of education, we feel ourselves obliged to treat an older child differently from a younger one, a sick child differently from a healthy one, the active differently from the idle. I understand you now. You mean that the animal and vegetable creations of a former world were brought forth according to the same laws , but not under the same circumstances.

Alfred. Such is the case. The earth which appears neither to have become warmer nor colder since man was created, presents indisputable proofs, from the remains of still older inhabitants, that in an earlier age of development it was warmer, had a more humid atmosphere, and was covered to a greater extent with sea; and notwithstanding all these discrepancies, the animal and vegetable kingdoms of that period bear so strong a resemblance to our own, that they appear but different emanations from the same great Thought.

Sophia. But are not the different conditions which then existed, a proof that nature was formerly governed by other laws?

Alfred. If it is one of the principles of nature that everything develops itself in the course of time, different conditions must necessarily succeed one another, or I would rather say, proceed out of one another; otherwise the connection would be wanting. We will select one great example. As our earth has gradually developed itself, so also have all the other planets. But is it probable that they were all the formed at the same time? And if they were ( which we must however deny), can we believe that those planets which are very distant from the sun , and which require many years to complete their orbits, would be developed in the same manner, and in the same space of time, as those which approach the sun, or would there not rather arise great differences from the similarity of the laws acting under such dissimilar conditions?

Sophia. I acknowledge the invalidity of my objection. But how do you proceed?

Alfred. The next proposition which I shall appeal to, is to this purport- the laws of nature are founded on Reason.

Sophia. Do you found this upon the divine wisdom which is revealed in nature?

Alfred. I would, if I could venture to build upon my own convictions, but I have too great a dread of self- deception, by which so many have been already deceived.

Sophia. But how will you then prove your proposition?

Alfred. By a great fact in the history of science.

Hermann. By a fact ! That is indeed wonderful.

Alfred. Yes, by a fact, or rather a collection of facts, which reveals the connection that subsists between nature and our minds.

Hermann. Let us hear it.

Alfred. Naturalists have frequently deduced natural laws from a process of reasoning, and afterwards discovered them really existing in nature.

Hermann. I thought that we could hardly ever arrive at natural laws by purely speculative path, since they must be confirmed by experience.

Alfred. We are at least not yet prepared to deduce the natural laws from the highest source of all knowledge. But that is not now the question. I am here considering the manner in which scientific men usually proceed. They direct their attention to such objects as are most familiar to us, and which are at the same time beacon- lights in the entire range of our knowledge; and they search for laws to account for them. Thus the remarkable laws of uniformly- increasing velocity have been deduced from the nature of motion. From the nature of space, the law has been deduced that an effect proceeding from one point becomes weaker in proportion as the square of the distance increases. These two conclusions

And the idea that all bodies at equal distances equally attract one another, are almost the only sources from which the doctrine of the planetary laws of motion- this great mechanism of the heavens- has been derived.

Hermann. But were they not essentially supported by experience?

Alfred. Certainly! We should hardly have discovered all that is at present known of the motion of the heavenly bodies, if we had not been led to it by experience; but afterwards, in the mechanism of the heavens , one truth was elicited from another, without deriving more from experience than some individual points of connection. This deduction of truth arose from indisputable conclusions; and experience has confirmed many peculiar laws of nature , which have thus been discovered.

Hermann. But are there such examples in other sciences besides astronomy?

Alfred. Many, although none on so grand a scale. The properties of light are so connected that they may generally be deduced from one another, and although we start from separate points of experience, any one acquainted with science is aware that most facts are united by the undoubted conclusions of Reason, so that we can almost everywhere calculate from the known to the unknown, and thence draw conclusions, and afterwards find our discoveries again confirmed by experience. We do not indeed always obtain this satisfaction; but that which we encounter of an unsatisfactory nature will disappear with a further development of knowledge, as has happened to many defects which have been removed in the course of the last two centuries.

Hermann. Such examples surely are only met with in mathematical sciences.

Alfred. And even if it were so, it would be sufficient for my purpose, for mathematics, and its application to nature is certainly an act of Reason. Moreover mathematics must be an element of all perfect knowledge, since we cannot possibly comprehend anything essentially without knowing its magnitudes and proportions. Even the simplest knowledge contains a natural mathematics dwelling in every reasoning mind; but the predictions which we have mentioned here are by no means limited to the science of mathematics. I need only remind you of the celebrated discoveries of the lighting conductor, the air balloon, the voltaic battery, and the metallic bases of the earths. It is well known that they were not brought to light by chance for although the last was casually discovered, it had been long prophesied by Lavoisier. I may also add, that each of these discoveries in itself has again often given a spur to anticipations which have been afterwards justified by experience. We may here apply Schiller’s words and say, “ What the Spirit promises nature performs” ( Was der Geist versprecht leistet die Natur”.)

Hermann.  But it frequently happens that nature does not corroborate the conclusions at which man arrives.

Alfred. That is certainly the case, but we always discover where the mistakes lies; indeed, I maintain we can never fail in so doing if we are able to survey the passage from error to truth.

Hermann. This applies to the speculative sciences, and indeed must necessarily do so.

Alfred. You will say that I have here spoken what is self evident. A tautology which expresses nothing, but if so, you would have easily perceived how much stress was laid upon the idea that our reason does not only test the work of our own reason, but that we here test the agreement of our reason with a work which we are certain our reason did not produce.

Hermann.  Is this certain? Is it not possible that what we consider as something totally separate from ourselves, is only the effect of an active power at work in our own minds, of which we are unconscious?

Alfred. So you are an Idealist?

Hermann. At this moment I am one, in opposition to your dualistic assertion.

Alfred. You, therefore, suppose , that I conceive our understanding is such as to believe that the Internal and External which meet there, are two different things; you will presently see how much you mistake me. We  are conscious, that in the arrangement of the exterior world , there is something which is quite independent of our model of comprehension. The world began its path of creation before man existed, and many times does its course run counter to our preconceived ideas. You would hear no contradictions from me, if your thoughts produced mine.

Hermann. Do we not often contradict ourselves in our dreamy imaginations?

Alfred. True; but if you wished to follow out this idea in earnest, you would convert our whole existence into a dream, and I , at least, would decline continuing this dream.

Hermann. Well, I myself did not wish to pursue this unnatural train of thought, but you cannot deny, that what we discern in the laws of nature is our own Reason. Am I not justified in the idea, that in the outer world there is something that makes an impression upon us, but which may be; and that what we call natural laws, are only in reality the laws of our own mode of perception?

Alfred. I must separate two points which are included in your question: the one is what in our sensational perceptions constitutes sensibility, the feeling which is roused in us by external objects; the other is that which, by the united comprehension of our senses and our reason, we learn to know of the reciprocal effect of one thing upon another. That sensation is not the same in all sentient beings, although influenced by similar exterior causes, we have already learnt by that which we have imparted to one another about these impressions, as well as by the comparison of our own impressions in different circumstances. An illness has power to alter the transparent part of the eye, so that everything is seen through a yellow medium, but, as the illness departs, the natural perception of colour returns again. There are some who cannot distinguish between red and blue, although, in other respects, they see correctly. How much greater must be the variety, if we imagine the inhabitants of another globe, whose organs of sense are probably constructed on an entirely different plan.

Hermann. You seem inclined to grant all that I require.

Alfred. By no means, if I have rightly understood you. The reciprocal impression of one thing upon another, reveals much that cannot depend upon our natural perceptions. Suppose, for instance, I put some grains of salt into one glass of water, and some grains of gold into another, the salt vanishes before our eyes and unites with the water, but the grains of gold remain as they were at first. Is it possible, that a being with differently constructed senses, could see the opposite effect? Could he see the grains of gold dissolve in the water, and the grains of salt remain unaltered? A  being endowed with finer senses, might continue to distinguish, in the solution, between the particles of salt and water, when our eyes, even though mechanically assisted , might not detect a single grain: on the other hand, failing in the sense of colour, he might be unable to distinguish the coloured gold from the colourless salt; but the law that water absorbs salt and leaves gold untouched, must remain the same to such a being as much as to ourselves.

Felix. I think that Hermann will allow this is an important example.

Alfred. Still it is not sufficient to explain the matter fully. Let us suppose that an inhabitant of the planet Jupiter were able to come to us, and saw two stones fall, one from the height of sixty feet, the other from fifteen feet, would he not see clearly as we do, that the first takes twice as long to fall as the second?

Sophia.  Are you not mistaken when you say, the stone which fell sixty feet only took twice as long to fall as that which fell fifteen feet? I should have thought it would have taken four times as long.

Alfred. What I said appears at first sight wrong, but it is not so in reality. The stone which continues to fall , after it has passed fifteen feet, has already received a considerable velocity, which enables it to pass through the remainder of its way much quicker than it would have done, if it had begun to fall during the latter portion of the way. By strict calculation it can be proved, that a body falls four times in two seconds, nine in three seconds, sixteen times in four seconds, as far as it did in the first second.

Sophia. I must, therefore multiply the seconds into themselves, twice two, three times three, four times four, in order to find out the space which has been traversed?

Alfred. Exactly so. I selected this somewhat difficult example, in order to point out, that we frequently find the reasonable laws of nature have been followed, where, before we had thoroughly investigated the subject, we should have considered the occurrence a contradiction of reason. This alone ought to incline us to seek the cause without, and not within our being; but I perceive that our friend would oppose this assertion of mine, by observing that objects follow laws of our nature which are unknown to the very nature itself. At all events, I require him to conclude our metaphysical experiment by declaring whether he is not also of opinion, that our visitor from Jupiter must find one of the two periods twice as long as the other.

Hermann. This question would fall to the ground, if time and space, were not sensible forms to him, as they are to us.

Alfred. And still more so if his reason obeyed different laws from ours.

Hermann. No, there exists but one reason. It may be more or less impeded by sensationalism: but reason in one planet is essentially the same as in another.

Alfred. But surely our inhabitant of Jupiter cannot be a purely rational being, and at the same time definite.

Hermann. Certainly not.

Alfred. But if the relation which is founded on reasonable grounds between cause and effect, between a mental action and its repetition, between one thing and another, and between more or less really exists, and reveals itself in a finite manner, there must be a form in which this comes to pass. I do not, therefore, see how we can escape the inference, that space and time are necessary forms of the Finite, if we may call them such terms. But even if we should attempt to conceive different forms of the Finite, there must be something in them that answers to the laws of reason, and hence would arise a close connection between the impressions which the same thing will produce on an inhabitant of Jupiter and an inhabitant of this earth. In the mean time, I believe that this semi- evasion, which is neither a complete retreat for myself nor my opponent, will be removed in the end.

Hermann . I should like to see this effected.

Alfred.  If I premise that my experience is not merely the production of the mental activity of my own nature; in other words, not merely a dream, in which you are my vision as I am yours, but in which the external as well as the internal has its share in my experience, then everything that is alike in our experience must bear a corresponding similitude in external circumstances.

Hermann. But beyond that, Reality may be very different from what we imagine it to be.

Alfred I require no more. Let us only cite a few examples as a proof., but in order that we may with greater facility reach a more comprehensive truth. I  therefore observe, in the first place, that we find the same laws in all the planets. They each of them enjoy day and night by revolving on their axis, and have years through their revolution round their sun. Those planets which have moons are encircled by them in conformity with the same laws which regulate our earth and moon, and these laws are again the same as those obeyed by every object on the surface of our earth. The manner in which the planets are illuminated and reflect their borrowed light on us, is the the same as we observe in terrestrial bodies. Only consider that in the powerful light which we receive from all parts of the universe, we cannot perceive any essential effect which may not be referred to the very same laws which our terrestrial light is subjected.

Hermann. Well, I do not think that you need proceed further; neither I , nor any one else, can easily deny that everything ( so far as our powers of comprehension reach ) is subject to the same laws; but consider that perhaps it is the nature of our faculties which creates these laws.

Alfred. But you must not forget that a resemblance must exist between objects alike upon similarly constituted beings.

Hermann. And suppose I should grant this?

Alfred. The natural consequence would be that all other planets must bear a close resemblance to our earth in their properties and laws, as we have comprehended and developed them with the same powers which we use in the examination of earthly things, and that the beings inhabiting them cannot be so essentially different from us that we need suppose it necessary to seek in them for an imaginary and entirely different species of being from ourselves, with a different apprehension of time and space.

Felix Both your ideas, my friends, appear to me very unnatural. Were we to seek everything in our powers of apprehension alone, no community between man and man could subsist; each would be a world for himself; even if we admitted that an outward and entirely independent world contributes to our experience, it would still be incomprehensible were we to meet only with a system of laws. If we were not able to understand the nature of independent objects, we should be forced to acknowledge them by the continual interruption of those laws which our reason requires. To seek for the source of our experience only out of ourselves is, we are aware, equally vain. Are we not following very impracticable paths?

Alfred. I see the same difficulties as you do, but I thought it better to let them be expressed in words: besides they appear to vanish, if we admit that the world, and the human mind, were created according to the same laws. If  the laws of our reason did not exist in Nature, we should vainly attempt to force them upon her; if the laws of nature did not exist in our reason, we should not be able to comprehend them.

Felix. It is true that the above- mentioned difficulties are thus removed, but this preconceived Harmony appears to me unnatural.

Alfred. If that word has the same signification here as in the history of philosophy, I must guard myself against it; but in the meanwhile I maintain that a Harmony does here exist, for man is a production of Nature, therefore the same laws must rule in both.

Felix. The only thing that offends me here, is to be obliged to regard man as a mere production of nature.

Alfred. I cannot express myself differently, unless I were to interrupt the whole course of ideas we have hitherto pursed, but in our researches I have acquired the right to say, that our spiritual nature and the world were both created by God, and it will thus appear that both propositions denote the same things, only in different ways.

Felix. But are not the difficulties best removed by those who start from the Idea of God, the original Reasoner and Designer of all things, and who conceive the universe to be his thoughts? We then are self- animated, self- conscious thoughts of divinity, imbued from our birth with the divine thought which lies concealed in the unconscious departments of nature.

Alfred. This appears to me the truth, when viewed from the side whence we seek the source of existence in the thinking principle; but every direction by which we reach the truth, only shows it us on one side. If we give precedence to the thinking principle, the image which we form of the external world becomes faint and shadowy, somewhat like a landscape hidden by a cloud; if we begin with the sensible world, our freedom retreats too far back. We must approach truth from more one side in order to comprehend it in that totality and completeness which it is possible for us to reach.

Felix. But you seem to lay too much stress upon the external world. Let it appear to us as a shadow, and the spirit will see it in its true bearing; let it lie before us in a cloud of light, and we shall be reminded that its light is borrowed from the world of soul. Or, not to speak in metaphors, what we can learn from irrational existence, which is not to be found in our own rational inner nature? And further, I must ask, what can the living soul learn from soulless nature? Shall life go to school with death?

Alfred. Alas ! if it is not so.

Felix . You certainly misunderstand me.

Alfred. Pardon me, if I have intentionally allowed the conversation to become somewhat involved, in order to prolong your eloquent attack. In the meanwhile it is my real opinion that our understanding is wrongly constituted if our living spirit does not learn something from Nature, by us called lifeless. That very freedom which is the highest privilege of our Reason carries with it the possibility of  erring; and the profound depth, which leaves there so much to be discovered, causes it to be to a certain degree a riddle to itself, which not unfrequently misleads it. The Reason which is manifest in involuntary nature is of itself infallible, and in general is less easily understood. How much man is inclined to consider himself the centre of everything! The heavens must turn round him alone; the stars must foretell his fate; for him the whole is created. Do you believe that man would have relinquished these ideas without a study of nature? Or do you suppose that a theory of the world with which these ideas are intermingled would ever have become clear and distinct? Man is naturally inclined to ascribe to spirits with human passions events which are beyond his power of comprehension, or he attributes to God himself human intentions. Does not natural science banish such conceptions of the arbitrary arrangements of the Divinity, which have too often defiled religion itself?

Felix. Have there never been any reasoning minds who have relinquished such ideas without the aid of natural science?

Alfred  Certainly, but very few; and I should suppose it only occurred because, turning away from nature, they gave her but little of their attention, and absorbed themselves in their own thoughts.

Felix. Consequently the others were led wrong by their observations of nature.

Alfred. Do not say” by their observation of Nature”; for it was the rough impression of Nature which led them wrong, and not a scientific knowledge of it. Besides, the view of the world taken by the best philosophers, has been prejudiced by their want of natural science. No proof is necessary to show that a contemplation of the world is a fundamental element of philosophy, but it is no less certain that this must be either fruitless, or in many respects false, if it does not possess in itself the most essential truths enjoined by nature. Even if the philosophers of the present day are not  unacquainted with the results of the natural sciences, they generally pay so little attention to them, that it exercises little influence into their inquiries.

Felix. So it appears to me; but we ought to return to our subject. Has Sophia anything else to ask on what we have just been discussing?

Sophia. Nothing of importance; though indeed I had one question on my lips when the conversion took the last turn. When you alluded to the idea, that the Reason manifested in Nature is infallible, while ours is fallible, should you not rather have said, that our Reason accords with that of Nature, as that in the voice of Nature with ours?

Alfred. Each of these interpretations may be justified by the idea to which it applies, whether we start from ourselves or external nature. There are yet other ways of expressing it; for instance, the laws of Nature are the thoughts of  Nature.

Sophia. Then these thoughts of Nature are also thoughts of God.

Alfred. Undoubtedly so, but however valuable the expression may be, I would rather that we should not make use of it till we are convinced that our investigation leads to a view of Nature, which is also the contemplation of God. We shall then feel justified by a different and more perfect knowledge to call the thoughts of Nature those of God; I therefore beg you will not proceed to fast.

Sophia. Willingly, for I feel most strongly that we are still distant from our goal. Among other things, I wish to ask you whether these thoughts of Nature are , like ours, reciprocally connected?

Alfred. This is an important question, and we must go through a series of considerations that we may arrive at a correct answer.

Sophia. Will it be in the affirmative?

Alfred. As certainly as Nature is an entire and not an imperfect work. The first step in our investigation will be to convince us that the laws of Nature , by which every individual thing is governed, not only forms a variety but a totality, a unity, and a whole. Would it fatigue you, if we were to repeat once more what we said about the waterfall of Sarpen, in order to point out this inward and necessary unity?

Sophia. I assure you that such momentous considerations never tire me, if I can only comprehend what they mean.

Alfred. The fundamental idea, so far as a fundamental idea can be expressed in such a natural object, is a river falling from a height .The water constantly renewed by the incessant stream, falls from a considerable elevation. It obeys the same laws of falling as all other bodies, and thus , during its fall, receives an ever increasing velocity. As  water, the parts naturally roll over one another and disperse, and thus form separate floating drops. By the constant increase in the velocity, the parts which first fell gain a start, which again separates them from those that follow, and this causes a violent dispersion; every obstacle scatters innumerable drops in all directions; if I may so express myself a world of moving drops is created, which , in spite of all the changing circumstances around them, still preserve a degree of individuality. The air mingling with the rushing water, makes foam, which is composed of numerous air-bubbles, surrounded by little skins of water, whose remarkable ever varying and irregular white surface is well known. The height of the tone produced by each individual part, is determined by the height of the fall, but its force is not only decided by that, but also by the number of falling parts. The impression which the united sound produces may indeed, in some degree, vary, but it always remains essentially the same. The noisy roar of the foaming fall testifies its destructive power, which appears when anything fragile comes its way. All this, as well as much that I may have forgotten, and still more which occurs unknown to me, forms a most intimately connected whole, in which each individual part is formed according to the laws of nature, or, in other words, all of the thoughts of nature which it contains are inseparable from the primary idea. Its distinguishing peculiarity among other waterfalls, arises from its natural situation which is quite peculiar to it. The various changes which this phenomenon assumes, in spite of its individual peculiarity, are derived from changes in external circumstances; differences in the velocity of the falling stream, in its direction in the velocity of the falling stream, in its direction and power, the light, the movement of the atmosphere, the heat, &c. Thus it stands before us in its peculiar character, almost like an animated being, filling our imaginations with the image of a powerful although an unconscious giant, a slave of nature, with almost unbridled power.

Sophia. All this seems very clear, but it is very horrible. I feel almost dizzy when looking into the empty nothingness of existence, which you unfold before my eyes, than if I looked down into the deep gulf of water.

Alfred. But you would not wish to remain here forsaken, nor do you believe that I should leave you in this waste.

Sophia. Then pray come to my assistance.

Alfred. My assistance will principally consist in this, that I shall encourage you to help yourself. It was undoubtedly the apparent unsubstantiality of the object we were considering that alarmed you, but reflect that, without a knowledge of science, you must have regarded the same object as equally unsubstantial.

Sophia. I see you are right, but I feared that every other existing object might in the same way be resolved into mere thought.

Alfred. Not into mere thought; for all existing objects are active forces of nature, which represent to us a unity of thought; the grounds of fear lay else where.

Sophia.  I believe so , but tell me where?

Alfred The unity of thought here is not represented to us as a small and exclusive world of thought, but as a fragment of a greater unity of thought.

Sophia. Yes , I believe that is the case.

Alfred. But you must expect to find something similar to this, if not in the same degree, in every existing thing, since every object which is not complete in itself is only a part of the great whole.

Sophia. But I fear the substantiality of objects will thus disappear.

Alfred. Your anxiety is not without cause, and yet, if we continue our reflections, I do not fear for you.

Sophia. You have great confidence in me.

Alfred. I must banish fear from our reflections to its true home.

Sophia. Where does it lie?

Alfred. In existence itself. Take any individual object you please from the whole and survey it thoroughly, and you will everywhere meet with dependence and mortality. This complaint is as you know, as old as the race of man; if there is anything imperishable, it will not be found in the material portion of existence.

Sophia. I perceive that I was heedlessly on the point of requiring what was impossible. But you must pardon me.

Alfred. I should not have thought of it, had I not feared you might be tempted to reproach us for investigations, and say that the view of existence we have taken is less powerful and lively than it really is. We must have it deeply impressed upon us, that every question bearing on the Invariable in nature, if we do not raise ourselves above the standard of sensible experience, is apt to lead to a desponding feeling of nothingness. We therefore only discover the Invariable by means of conclusions founded on reason.

Sophia. But what is to become of him who does not know how to make a reasonable conclusion?

Alfred. He is supported by the light of Reason which religion bestows.

Sophia. That is true; and now let us proceed.

Alfred. I will now try to give some little idea of those views which we must next endeavour to appropriate. We are all agreed that, except the fundamental forces in Nature, the creating forces, there is nothing constant, but those laws by which everything constant but those laws by which everything is regulated, and that these Laws in Nature may be justly be called Thoughts in Nature. The fundamental forces themselves exist in all bodies; their difference only depends upon the natural laws by which they are governed. That from which an object derives its enduring peculiarity, its peculiar essence, is, therefore, as we have already admitted , that, combination of Nature’s laws by which it was produced and is sustained. But the Laws of Nature are the Thoughts of Nature, and the essence of things depends upon the Thoughts that are expressed in them. In so far as any thing is said to be a distinct essence, all the Thoughts of Nature expressed in it must combine in one essential Thought, which we call the Idea of the thing. The essence of a thing is therefore the living Idea.

Sophia. Then the essence of a thing becomes a mere thought.

Alfred. Do not let us forget, that I said it’s a living idea, and I mean by that the idea realized by the forces of nature.

Sophia. But I have so often heard and read that the idea can never be realized.

Alfred. In the strictest sense of the world this is perfectly true. In each individual the idea is only realized in certain directions and with certain peculiar distinctions. This also happens in Art. The sculptor never attempts to represent in a statue the idea of the complete man, but in every individual work he represents him with some one prominent feature. Jupiter with power and substantiality; Apollo with youthful animation and inspiration; Venus with the charms of loveliness, Minerva with the stamp of power and thought, but united to maidenly dignity. Do not believe that what I have said has nearly exhausted the subject. I only wish to point out that an idea, or if you will, a fundamental idea, may adopt various peculiar forms, which we may regard as the expressions of many ideas more accurately defined.

Sophia. But are ideas as perfectly realized in nature as in Art?

Alfred. If we consider the collected works of the artist as a world of Art, I may venture to say that the world of Nature is not inferior to it; but we will not draw the comparison too closely. Nature executes all her ideas with unnumbered variations, and in works whose production occupies an immeasurable space of time. The complete idea is expressed in the totality of all things. As a philosopher brings out one idea in the most varied forms, or a musician does so when he makes variations to a theme, so does Nature, though with greater variety. Each individual is thus a peculiar realization of the fundamental Idea of the Thing. But fertile Nature does not limit herself to exhibit performances of which the ideas are isolated; she appears to us in innumerable alterations of finite relations, which a prejudiced observer would designate as the most manifest imperfection, but which must appear to one who follows out the course of nature to the highest point to which it should be developed in the human race, as separate acts by which the ideas of objects are revealed in their whole force to a powerful and penetrating understanding. But also in the present state of things, where even the most powerful intellect has not reached such a height, the scientific man may gain the same insight, though by a less wearisome path.

Sophia. Your views are now perfectly clear; but allow me to put one more question, which occurred to me before, though I did not like to interrupt your conversation. You said that the peculiarity of things only depend on the laws of Nature, but from my own experience, the material which composes the thing induces also varieties; the rose, as I have heard, receives its smell from an oil in the plant, the grapes their taste from the sugar and different acids they contain, and you are better acquainted than I am with innumerable examples of a similar kind.

Alfred. All these materials are only combinations of more simple materials, and there union is the results of natural laws. At the same time, you touched there a point which might entangle us in researches, which have yet been solved. Allow me, therefore , to point out how science has shown the same elements to exist in very different plants, and parts of plants, so that poisonous plants, and those which can afford us nourishment, do not receive their essential qualities from the elements out of which they are composed, but from the manner in which these elements are arranged, i.e. by the natural thoughts, which in them are realized.

Sophia. By this means this doubt is removed.

Alfred. All things are accordingly realized ideas, but each idea is expressed in a very limited form, whereas, when a number of natural occurrences happen under one idea, it becomes most completely realized; meanwhile, every idea, it becomes most completely realized; meanwhile, every idea in the finite world, which is realized in this manner, is again only a part of a higher and more enlarged idea. Therefore, the idea of each species of animal is only a part of the idea of the whole animal kingdom, and this again only a part of a still more enlarged idea, which comprises in itself both the animal and vegetable kingdom; this again is a part of the whole idea of the earth, which appears to us as an exclusive world in itself, but , notwithstanding, is only a part of a still higher system.

Hermann. But is this connection a reality, or only a conception of our own brain?

Alfred. Nature herself shows us that it is her work. Our researches, with respect to the formation of the earth, have taught us, as I have already said, that it has been developed in a long period of time; that at each new stage of development, new kinds of plants and animals were formed, which as much resembled in structure and form the productions of the present period of the earth, as different realizations of the same fundamental Idea must resemble one another. It is besides of great importance to consider the progress of its development. Nature  commenced with the lowest organized animals and plants, and ascended by degrees through successive periods to higher forms, which, at the same constituted in the earlier formations, a less highly developed kingdom of creation than what now covers the surface of the earth. We must also add, that the higher species of animals in their embryo conditions, proceed from lower stages of development, which are connected with those on which the inferior animals remain, and thence they transverse successive stages before they reach the end they were intended for.

Hermann. You need say no more; I acknowledge the importance of your principles.

Alfred. I shall, therefore, continue to build upon what you have conceded. Our globe is a part of our solar system, with which it has developed itself, and is in constant reciprocal action. The idea of the globe is consequently included in that of the solar system, but in the same way this is again a part of the system above it, that system of suns, revealed to us by the milky way, and in which, by means of our ingenious optical instruments, and the inferences we have drawn from the laws of Nature, we have been enabled to behold what must always remain hidden to the unassisted senses of men. This system, which appears so enormous to us, is a part of a more distant and higher system, and thus it continues through unbounded space. Even so an eternal Whole is created in infinite space, which embraces all the ideas realized in existence; but this infinity of ideas is, at the same time, included in one operating idea, in an infinite living reason.

Hermann. I can now trust myself to predict the answer which you will give to the question which was the cause of our conversation. The material and the spiritual are inseparably united in the living idea of the Almighty Power by whom all things are created.

Sophia. But, according to this view, man appears to be only the most distinguished among the animals, not a free agent, nor a reasonable being.

Alfred. It may appear so at first sight, but we must consider that man is distinguished above all other creatures by this; viz, that Reason, which all-other animals unconsciously obey, in him is awakened into self consciousness. He is thus a free agent; but remember, only so far as is possible to a finite being.

Sophia. But I still encounter a fearful difficulty ; I do not see how our immortality is secured.

Alfred. You will meet with no system in which immortality is proved. In each it must be left to faith, as it is here; but if you ask how this faith can be reconciled with our views, and can be justified by them, I limit myself to the answer, that, in my opinion, this may be effected here, at least as strongly, if not in a more satisfactory manner, than in any other system; but it requires separate investigation, which must be reserved for another occasion.

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