“Recognition, Herr Haber.  What sort of word is that?  One does what one does, not because one wills, but because one must; not on account of an operation aimed at, but because of a compelling cause.  He who reckons on any kind of reward for his works is on the same footing as a silly woman who claims men’s approbation because she is pretty or an unreasoning child, who wants to be praised and petted because he has eaten his dinner.  A mature perception arrives at this idea of the duty which one must fulfill, and in no hope of the gratification of individual vanity or self-seeking.  Recognition!  Does the wind hope for recognition from the ships it helps to sail?  Is it blamed if it dashes the ship to pieces?  It blows, as it must, and is perfectly indifferent about what men say, and as to its effect on trees, and chimney-pots, and ships.  My brain is now thinking just as the wind blows.  There is no difference between my organism and what goes on in the atmosphere.  Both obey the laws of nature, and I merely fulfill these when I write a book.”

“I quite agree with you,” said Wilhelm.

The oysters had been eaten, and some wonderful Markobrunner drunk.  The waiter now brought some Printaniere soup.  The conversation halted, as everyone had involuntarily opened his copy of the book, some of them perhaps really curious to read, the others out of sympathy for the writer.

“Please don’t read it now,” said Dorfling, “the book will be just the same to-morrow, but the soup will be cold.”

“That is the remark of a philosopher,” said Barinskoi, and poked his pointed red nose in the savory steam from his soup.

“It is difficult to tear oneself away,” said Schrotter; “it would be very friendly of you to give an idea of the thoughts at the foundation of your thesis.”

“How could I explain a whole system intelligibly in a few words?” said Dorfling.

“You could leave out all the proofs and the development, we can read those presently in your book.  You need only just give us the main ideas of your ‘Philosophy of Deliverance.’”

All the guests joined in Schrotter’s request, Paul the most eagerly, for the idea of having to read through that thick, dry book had frightened him, and now he saw the possibility of knowing its contents in an agreeable and comfortable way.

Dorfling objected at first, but as his friends insisted he began.

“The phenomenal world, in my opinion, is the foundation of a single spiritual principle which you can call what you like—­strength, final cause, will, consciousness, God.  This eternal principle separates part of itself from its own being—­and this is the soul of mankind.  Every soul perceives clearly that it is a part of an eternal whole; it feels itself unhappy and uneasy in its fragmentary existence, and yearns to go back again to the whole from whence it came.  Individual life means removal from that all-embracing whole; individual death is the complete union of finite parts with the infinite whole.  Thus, although life is a necessity, it is a continual pain, and ceaseless yearning; death is the freedom from pain and the fulfillment of that yearning.  The only aim of life is death at the end of it, and death is the goal toward which every activity of the living organism eagerly strives.”