It may well be that within our experience there is nothing which will serve. But let us suppose that that which in material terms we represent as an infinite series is a will—a will in contact with all existence, as shown by the properties it had when we conceived it as an ultimate medium. For, regarding it as an ultimate substance, we found that it would be affected by pulsations infinitely quicker than light and electricity; considered as a substance, it was such that distance to it tended to be annihilated. Hence as a will we must say of it that to it all that is is present—a will which by a fiat that to our notions is being acted on rather than acting, accepting pain rather than taking pleasure, sets the course of the world in motion, which holds all in one system, which creates all activities. For although we apprehend this will relatively to the appearances which we suppose we know, mechanical energy and feeling, still we see that both are caused by it, and that the sum of both is nothing, save for that which this will is in them.
Is there any other way of apprehending this will than through the external world?
We have two apprehensions of nature—one of external things, the other of our own wills.
Does this will not exist in those who are true personalities, and not mere pleasure-led creatures?—have they not some of this power, the power of accepting, suffering, of determining absolutely what shall be?—a creative power which, given to each who possesses it, makes him a true personality, distinct, and not to be merged in any other—a power which determines the chain of mechanical actions, of material sequences—which creates it in the very same way in which it seems to be coming to an end—by that which, represented in material terms, is the absorption of energy into an ultimate medium; which, represented in terms of sensation, is suffering; but which in itself is absolute being, though only to be known by us as a negation of negations.
CHAPTER VII.
In conclusion let us remark that we have supposed two different worlds—one of sensation in the first part, one of motion in the second part. And these have been treated as distinct from one another. And especially in the first part, by this avoidance of questions of movement, an appearance of artificiality was produced, and occasionally inconsistencies, for sometimes sensations were treated as independent of actions, sometimes as connected with them. But it remains to be decided if these inconsistencies are in themselves permanent, or whether, when we remove the artificial separation, and let the world of sensation and the world of motion coalesce, the inconsistencies will not disappear, thereby showing that their origin was merely in the treatment, not in the fact; that they came from the particular plan adopted of writing about the subject and are not inherent in the arguments themselves.
The king in the first part was supposed to have all the material problems of existence solved. There was a complete mechanism of nature. He took up the problem of the sentient life. But this problem can only artificially be separated from that of the material world. The gap between our sensations and matter can never be bridged, because they are really identical.
Let us then allow this separation to fall aside. Let us suppose the king to have all the reins of power in his own hands. Let us moreover suppose that he imparts his rays to the inhabitants so that they have each a portion of his power. And let us suppose that the inhabitants have arrived at a state of knowledge about their external world corresponding to that which we have about the world which we know.
Let us listen to a conversation between two of them.
A. The energy of the whole state of things is running down.