ho perceives
the growth of the new knowledge as the
earliest dabblers in the experiments of the laboratory
saw the system of knowledge now
attained evolving itself out of nature for man's
use and benefit.

II

Doubtless many more would experiment in
suicide, as many now do, in order to escape
from the burden of life, if they could be convinced
that in that manner oblivion might be
found. But he who hesitates before drinking
the poison from the fear of only inviting
change of mode of existence, and perhaps a
more active form of misery, is a man of more
knowledge than the rash souls who fling themselves
wildly on the unknown, trusting to its
kindliness. The waters of oblivion are something
very different from the waters of death,
and the human race cannot become extinct by
means of death while the law of birth still
operates. Man returns to physical life as the
drunkard returns to the flagon of wine,--he
knows not why, except that he desires the sensation
produced by life as the drunkard desires
the sensation produced by wine. The true
waters of oblivion lie far behind our consciousness,
and can only be reached by ceasing
to exist in that consciousness,--by ceasing to
exert the will which makes us full of senses
and sensibilities.

Why does not the creature man return into
that great womb of silence whence he came,
and remain in peace, as the unborn child is at
peace before the impetus of life has reached
it? He does not do so because he hungers for
pleasure and pain, joy and grief, anger and
love. The unfortunate man will maintain that
he has no desire for life; and yet he proves
his words false by living. None can compel
him to live; the galley-slave may be chained to
his oar, but his life cannot be chained to his
body. The superb mechanism of the human
body is as useless as an engine whose fires are
not lit, if the will to live ceases,--that will
which we maintain resolutely and without
pause, and which enables us to perform the
tasks which otherwise would fill us with dismay,
as, for instance, the momently drawing
in and giving out of the breath. Such herculean
efforts as this we carry on without complaint,
and indeed with pleasure, in order that
we may exist in the midst of innumerable
sensations.

And more; we are content, for the most
part, to go on without object or aim, without
any idea of a goal or understanding of which
way we are going. When the man first becomes
aware of this