Phil.—My own experience proves in the strongest manner the immediate connection of sensibility with respiration; all that I can remember in my accident was a certain violent and painful sensation of oppression in the chest, which must have been immediately succeeded by loss of sense.
Eub.—I have no doubt that all your suffering was over at the moment you describe; as far as sensibility is concerned, you were inanimate when your friend raised you from the bottom. This distinct connection of sensibility with the absorption of air by the blood is, I think, in favour of the idea advanced by our friend, that some subtle and ethereal matter is supplied to the system in the elastic air which may be the cause of vitality.
The Unknown.—Softly, if you please; I must not allow you to mistake my view. I think it probable that some subtle matter is derived from the atmosphere connected with the functions of life; but nothing can be more remote from my opinion than to suppose it the cause of vitality.
Phil.—This might have been fully inferred from the whole tenor of your conversation, and particularly from that expression, “that which commands sensation will not be their subject.” I think I shall not mistake your views when I say that you do not consider vitality dependent upon any material cause or principle.
The Unknown.—You do not. We are entirely ignorant on this subject, and I confess in the utmost humility my ignorance. I know there have been distinguished physiologists who have imagined that by organisation powers not naturally possessed by matter were developed, and that sensibility was a property belonging to some unknown combination of unknown ethereal elements. But such notions appear to me unphilosophical, and the mere substitution of unknown words for unknown things. I can never