I now had what I needed:  to the Church was added the Nature-Temple; to the religious Christian life, the life of Nature; to the passionate discord of human life the tranquil peace of the life of plants.  From that time it was as if I held the clue of Ariadne to guide me through the labyrinth of life.  An intimate communion with Nature for more than thirty years (although, indeed, often interrupted, sometimes for long intervals) has taught me that plants, especially trees, are a mirror, or rather a symbol, of human life in its highest spiritual relations; and I think one of the grandest and deepest fore-feelings that have ever emanated from the human soul, is before us when we read, in the Holy Scriptures, of a tree of knowledge of good and evil.  The whole of Nature teaches us to distinguish good from evil; even the world of crystals and stones—­though not so vividly, calmly, clearly, and manifestly as the world of plants and flowers.  I said my hazel buds gave me the clue of Ariadne.  Many things grew clear to me:  for instance, the earliest life and actions of our first parents in Paradise, and much connected therewith.

There are yet three points touching my inner life up to my tenth year, which, before I resume the narrative of my outer life, I should like to mention here.

The folly, superstition, and ignorance of men had dared to assume then, as they have done lately, that the world would soon come to an end.  My mind, however, remained perfectly tranquil, because I reasoned thus with myself firmly and definitely:—­Mankind will not pass from the world, nor will the world itself pass away, until the human race has attained to that degree of perfection of which it is capable on earth.  The earth, Nature in its narrowest sense, will not pass away, moreover, until men have attained a perfect insight into its essence.  This idea has returned to me during my life in many a varied guise, and I have often been indebted to its influence for peace, firmness, perseverance, and courage.

Towards the end of this epoch, my eldest brother, already spoken of, was at the university, and studied theology.[8] Philosophic criticism was then beginning to elucidate certain Church dogmas.  It was therefore not very surprising that father and son often differed in opinion.  I remember that one day they had a violent dispute about religion and Church matters.  My father stormed, and absolutely declined to yield; my brother, though naturally of a mild disposition, flushed deep-red with excitement; and he, too, could not abandon what he had recognised as true.  I was present also on this as on many other occasions, an unobserved witness, and can still see father and son standing face to face in the conflict of opinion.  I almost thought I understood something of the subject in dispute; I felt as if I must side with my brother, but there seemed at the same time something in my father’s view which indicated the possibility of a mutual understanding.  Already I felt in a dim way that every illusion has a true side, which often leads men to cling to it with a desperate firmness.  This conviction has become more and more confirmed in me the longer I have lived; and when at any time I have heard two men disputing for the truth’s sake, I have found that the truth is usually to be learnt from both sides.  Therefore I have never liked to take sides; a fortunate thing for me.[9]