y root of life, and
destroys the object of his own existence. And
that must apply, so far as our present reasoning
or intuitive powers can show us, to every
state, even to that of the Oriental's longed-for
Nirvana. This condition can only be one of
infinitely subtiler and more exquisite sensation,
if it is a state at all, and not annihilation; and
according to the experience of life from which
we are at present able to judge, increased
subtility of sensation means increased vividness,--as,
for instance, a man of sensibility
and imagination feels more in consequence of
the unfaithfulness or faithfulness of a friend
than can a man of even the grossest physical
nature feel through the medium of the senses.
Thus it is clear that the philosopher who
refuses to feel, leaves himself no place to
retreat to, not even the distant and unattainable
Nirvanic goal. He can only deny himself
his heritage of life, which is in other words
the right of sensation. If he chooses to sacrifice
that which makes him man, he must be
content with mere idleness of consciousness,--a
condition compared to which the oyster's
is a life of excitement.

But no man is able to accomplish such a
feat. The fact of his continued existence proves
plainly that he still desires sensation, and
desires it in such positive and active form that
the desire must be gratified in physical life. It
would seem more practical not to deceive one's
self by the sham of stoicism, not to attempt
renunciation of that with which nothing would
induce one to part. Would it not be a bolder
policy, a more promising mode of solving the
great enigma of existence, to grasp it, to take
hold firmly and to demand of it the mystery
of itself? If men will but pause and consider
what lessons they have learned from pleasure
and pain, much might be guessed of that
strange thing which causes these effects. But
men are prone to turn away hastily from self-study,
or from any close analysis of human
nature. Yet there must be a science of life as
intelligible as any of the methods of the
schools. The science is unknown, it is true,
and its existence is merely guessed, merely
hinted at, by one or two of our more advanced
thinkers. The development of a science is only
the discovery of what is already in existence;
and chemistry is as magical and incredible now
to the ploughboy as the science of life is to
the man of ordinary perceptions. Yet there
may be, and there must be, a seer w