First Conversation

Don't be alarmed, my reader, if I seem to take a somewhat long route. I am anxious to make very clear to you certain conceptions which will be of importance in future, not for the sake of these conceptions themselves, which are but common and trivial, but for the sake of the results I propose to derive from them. Nor shall I analyze these conceptions further than is absolutely necessary for my purpose, as you may tell the book critic, who will perhaps expect here an analytical art work.

To begin, you surely know how to distinguish the really actual, that which is the true fact of your present experience and life, or that which you actually liveand experience, from the non-actual, the merely imagined. For instance, you at this moment sit in your room, hold this book in your hand, see its letters, and read its words. This is doubtless the actual event and determinedness of your present life-moment. In thus sitting and continuing to hold this book, you doubtless can remember yesterday's conversation with a friend, can represent this friend to yourself as if he actually stood before you, can hear him speak, can make him repeat what he said yesterday, &c, &c. Tell me, is this latter, this appearance of your friend, equally the actual and true event of your present life-moment, with your sitting in your room and holding this book?

The Reader. By no means.

The Author. But I should think something at least, even in this latter state, is an actual and real event of your life; for tell me, do you not in the meanwhile continue to live—does not your life pass away in the meanwhile—is it not filled up with something?

R. I see; you are right. The true event of my life in the latter state is precisely my placingmy friend before me, my making him speak, not his actual being with me. This placing him before me is that wherewith I fill up the time which I live in the meanwhile.

A. Hence, there must be a common somewhat in your sitting there and holding the bookand in your placingyour friend before you, recallinghis conversation, &c, by means of which common character you judge of both cases, that they are actually real events of your life. On the other hand, that yesterday's actualconversation and presence of your friend must also not have this common character—which would warrant you to consider it as actually occurring—in the connection of time wherein you place it to-day by recalling it. Nay, it has, probably, an opposite to this common character, which causes you to-day to declare it to be not actually occurring.

R. It certainly must be so. My judgment must have a ground; a similar judgment must have a similar ground; an opposite judgment an opposite ground, or the absence of the former ground.

A. What may this ground be?

R. I do not know.

A. But you judge every moment of your life concerning actuality and non-actuality, and judge correctly, in conformity with other rational beings. Hence, the ground of those judgments must be always present to you; you only do not become clearly conscious of it in your judgment. As for the rest, your answer, "I do not know," signifies only: "Nobody has yet told me." But even if it were told you, it would avail you nothing; you must find it yourself.

R. However much I revolve the matter in my mind, I cannot get at it.

A. Nor is it the right way to be guessing at it and looking around for it. It is in this way that those systems arise which are purely imaginary. Neither can you get at it by drawing conclusions. But try to become thoroughly conscious of your procedure in this judgment concerning actuality and non actuality; look into yourself, and you will at once become conscious of the ground of your procedure, and will internally contemplate it. All that can be done to assist you is to guide you in the right direction, and this guidance is indeed all that can be obtained from philosophical teaching. The presupposition must always be that you have within yourself, and contemplate and observe, that towards which the teacher guides you.

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