“I cannot do that, the thought but floats in my mind; still it is always good to embody. Something of this sort. When we observe any object we always attribute to it a certain power. Everything has its own powers of resistence, of moving, of affecting us in certain ways. Thus whatever we apprehend, we apprehend as powerful. Now since this quality of powerful comes in with regard to everything, it is probably introduced by the mind, and is rather a part of the mental action in giving an idea of reality than a quality of reality. If so, when we suppose a being to have the quality of ‘all powerful,’ we are not supposing anything at all about the being, but are only extending a quality quite barren of any correspondence with the absolute nature of things. We have left off talking about the being, and are extending a conception which springs solely from the only way in which we can perceive.”
“Surely you would say that this being was powerful.”
“Of course, if we think of him at all, we must conceive of him as powerful; the nature of our mental action demands this. But to dwell on the notion of his powerfulness is quite barren, the only subject of thought which has content is to inquire what kind of power he has. There has been a tendency on the part of those who have thought about this being to represent his greatness in every respect. But they have not always been judicious in so doing, because being unable to separate his real qualities from those which they attribute to him in virtue of their own mode of perception, they have come to lay stress on descriptions which on the one hand correspond to nothing in reality, and on the other hand fail to move those whom they are intended to impress. A cloak has been woven. The nature of this being is hidden. His nature has been connected with introspective questions about the origin—of, of all things, the way in which we perceive. All this must be dashed aside. This being is the cause of all our life, and yet he needs your help as you understand help.”
“I should like to accompany you to your friend and hear what he has to say.”
“Come, certainly.”
So they went together to the town. On the way the clerk felt a brightness of existence such as he had not enjoyed for a long time. They talked together, and confided in one another. At length they came near the town where the student’s friend lived. They separated, the clerk going into the town, the student to the house of his friend. On his way there the path led through a small wood of very thick growth. Passing along, he found that he had left the path. Pausing to reflect in which direction he ought to go, he thought he heard a sound. It was repeated. Penetrating deep into the obscurest part of the wood, he searched till at length he found—carefully concealed—a child, a mere infant.
The child was nearly perished with exposure. He took it up and warmed it. When the child was a little better the cause of its having been hidden away was apparent. Its breathing was distressed and laboured. It suffered under some affection of the lungs, which made it gasp at every breath. Still in other respects the child was well developed and seemed strongly made. It seemed to have been left too long without care to recover. The pain of exhaustion from the neglect, and added to this the pain of its breathing, was too much for it, it was sinking.
“If I could bear the pain of its breathing,” thought the student, “it might not sink till I could get some nourishment for it.”
He looked up, for it seemed to him as if some one struck him in the chest. There was no one there. The pain continued. He did not drop the child but continued on his way to the house of his friend. When he got there he noticed a stillness unusual in the houses of the inhabitants. He entered, and was met by his friend’s sister. He saw at once that something must have happened. She took him into a dimly lighted room, where he saw his friend lying motionless and his face quite white.
“He has been suffering great pain for long,” she said; “it was hoped that if he could bear up the pain would have run its course and he would not sink. But all we could do was no use.” The room was full of all things accounted pleasurable, and she looked round as she spoke. “It was no good.” Taking the child from his arms she left him with the form of her brother.