What I found myself compelled to assume in order to account for the gradual origin and the changes of those determinations, was an active power, peculiar to the object, and constituting its essential nature.

And how, then, do I conceive of this power?—what is its nature, and the modes of its manifestation? This only,—that under these definite conditions it produces by its own energy, certainly and infallibly, this definite effect, and no other.

This principle of activity, of independent arisingand becoming, dwells in itself alone, and in nothing beyond itself, as surely as it is a power;—a power is not impelled or set in motion; it sets itself in motion. The cause of its having developed itself precisely in this manner and no other, lies partly in itself, because it is this particular power and no other; and partly in the circumstances under which it developes itself. Both these,—the inward determination of a power by itself, and its outward determination by circumstances,—must be united in order to produce a change. The latter,—the circumstances, the passive condition of things,—can of itself produce no change, for it contains within it the opposite of all change,—inert existence. The former,—the power,—is wholly determined, for only on this condition is it conceivable; but its determination is completed only through the circumstances under which it is developed. I can conceive of a power, it can have an existence for me, only in so far as I can perceive an effect proceeding from it; an inactive power,—which should yet be a powerand not an inert thing,—is wholly inconceivable. Every affect, however, is determined,—and since the effect is but the expression, but another mode of the activity itself,—the active power is determined in its activity, and the ground of this determination lies partly in itself, because it can only be conceived of as a particular and definite power; partly out of itself, because its own determination can only be conceived of as conditioned by something else.

A flower has sprung out of the earth, and I infer from thence a formative power in Nature. Such a formative power exists for me only so far as this flower and others, plants, and animals exist for me:—I can describe this power only through its effects, and it is to me no more than the producing cause of such effects,—the generative principle of flowers, plants, animals, and organic forms in general. I will go further, and maintain that a flower, and this particular flower, could arise in this place only in so far as all other circumstances united to make it possible. But by the union of all these circumstances for its possibility, the actual existence of the flower is in no measure explained to me; and for this I am still compelled to assume a particular, spontaneous, and original power in Nature, and indeed a flower-producingpower; for another power of Nature might, under the same circumstances, have produced something entirely different.—I have thus attained to the following view of the Universe.

When I contemplate all things as one whole, one Nature, there is but one power,—when I regard them as separate existences, there are many powers—which develope themselves according to their inward laws, and pass through all the possible forms of which they are capable; and all objects in Nature are but those powers under certain determinate forms. The manifestations of every individual power of Nature are determined, become what they are, partly by its own essential character, and partly through the manifestations of all the other powers of Nature with which it is connected; but it is connected with them all—for Nature is one connected whole. They are, therefore, unalterably determined,—while its essential character remains what it is, and while it continues to manifest itself under these particular circumstances, its manifestations must necessarily be what they are,—and it is absolutely impossible that they should be in the smallest degree different from what they are.

In every moment of her duration Nature is one connected whole; in every moment each individual part must be what it is, because all the others are what they are; and you could not remove a single grain of sand from its place, without thereby, although perhaps imperceptibly to you, altering something throughout all parts of the immeasurable whole. But every moment of this duration is determined by all past moments, and will determine all future moments; and you cannot conceive even the position of a grain of sand other than it is in the Present, without being compelled to conceive the whole indefinite Past to have been other than what it has been, and the whole indefinite Future other than what it will be. Make the experiment, for instance, with this grain of quick-sand.

Topics