Our fundamental feeling is our longing not to lose the sense of the continuity of our consciousness, not to break the concatenation of our memories, the feeling of our own personal concrete identity, even though we may be gradually being absorbed in God, enriching Him.  Who at eighty years of age remembers the child that he was at eight, conscious though he may be of the unbroken chain connecting the two?  And it may be said that the problem for feeling resolves itself into the question as to whether there is a God, whether there is a human finality to the Universe.  But what is finality?  For just as it is always possible to ask the why of every why, so it is also always possible to ask the wherefore of every wherefore.  Supposing that there is a God, then wherefore God?  For Himself, it will be said.  And someone is sure to reply:  What is the difference between this consciousness and no-consciousness?  But it will always be true, as Plotinus has said (Enn., ii., ix., 8), that to ask why God made the world is the same as to ask why there is a soul.  Or rather, not why, but wherefore (dia ti).

For him who places himself outside himself, in an objective hypothetical position—­which is as much as to say in an inhuman position—­the ultimate wherefore is as inaccessible—­and strictly, as absurd—­as the ultimate why.  What difference in effect does it make if there is not any finality?  What logical contradiction is involved in the Universe not being destined to any finality, either human or superhuman?  What objection is there in reason to there being no other purpose in the sum of things save only to exist and happen as it does exist and happen?  For him who places himself outside himself, none; but for him who lives and suffers and desires within himself—­for him it is a question of life or death.  Seek, therefore, thyself!  But in finding oneself, does not one find one’s own nothingness?  “Having become a sinner in seeking himself, man has become wretched in finding himself,” said Bossuet (Traite de la Concupiscence, chap. xi.).  “Seek thyself” begins with “Know thyself.”  To which Carlyle answers (Past and Present, book iii., chap. xi.):  “The latest Gospel in this world is, Know thy work and do it.  ’Know thyself’:  long enough has that poor ‘self’ of thine tormented thee; thou wilt never get to ‘know’ it, I believe!  Think it not thy business, this of knowing thyself; thou art an unknowable individual:  know what thou canst work at; and work at it, like a Hercules.  That will be thy better plan.”

Yes, but what I work at, will not that too be lost in the end?  And if it be lost, wherefore should I work at it?  Yes, yes, it may be that to accomplish my work—­and what is my work?—­without thinking about myself, is to love God.  And what is it to love God?

And on the other hand, in loving God in myself, am I not loving myself more than God, am I not loving myself in God?