Thrasymachos: Tell me now, in one word, what shall I be
after my death? And mind you be clear and precise.
Philalethes: All and nothing!
Thrasymachos: I thought so! I gave you a problem, and you
solve it by a contradiction. That’s a very stale trick.
Philalethes: Yes, but you raise transcendental questions, and
you expect me to answer them in language that is only made
for immanent knowledge. It’s no wonder that a contradiction
ensues.
Thrasymachos: What do you mean by transcendental questions
and immanent knowledge? I’ve heard these expressions
before, of course; they are not new to me. The Professor was
fond of using them, but only as predicates of the Deity, and
he never talked of anything else; which was all quite right
and proper. He argued thus: if the Deity was in the world
itself, he was immanent; if he was somewhere outside it, he
was transcendent. Nothing could be clearer and more obvious!
You knew where you were. But this Kantian rigmarole
won’t do any more: it’s antiquated and no longer applicable
to modern ideas. Why, we’ve had a whole row of eminent
men in the metropolis of German learning—
Philalethes: (Aside.) German humbug, he means.
Thrasymachos: The mighty Schleiermacher, for instance, and
that gigantic intellect, Hegel; and at this time of day we’ve
abandoned that nonsense. I should rather say we’re so far
beyond it that we can’t put up with it any more. What’s the
use of it then? What does it all mean?
Philalethes: Transcendental knowledge is knowledge which
passes beyond the bounds of possible experience, and strives
to determine the nature of things as they are in themselves.
Immanent knowledge, on the other hand, is knowledge which
confines itself entirely with those bounds; so that it cannot
apply to anything but actual phenomena. As far as you are
an individual, death will be the end of you. But your individuality
is not your true and inmost being: it is only the
outward manifestation of it. It is not the thing-in-itself, but
only the phenomenon presented in the form of time; and
therefore with a beginning and an end. But your real being
knows neither time, nor beginning, nor end, nor yet the limits
of any given individual. It is everywhere present in every
individual; and no individual can exist apart from it. So when
death comes, on the one hand you are annihilated as an individual;
on the other, you are and remain everything. That is
what I meant when I said that after your death you would
be all and nothing. It is difficult to find a more precise answer
to your question and at the same time be brief. The
answer is contradictory, I admit; but it is so simply because
your life is in time, and the immortal part of you in eternity.
You may put the matter thus: Your immortal part is something
that does not last in time and yet is indestructible; but
there you have another contradiction! You see what happens
by trying to bring the transcendental within the limits of
immanent knowledge. It is in some sort doing violence to
the latter by misusing it for ends it was never meant to serve.
Thrasymachos: Look here, I shan’t give twopence for your
immortality unless I’m to remain an individual.
Philalethes: Well, perhaps I may be able to satisfy you on
this point. Suppose I guarantee that after death you shall
remain an individual, but only on condition that you first
spend three months of complete unconsciousness.
Thrasymachos. I shall have no objection to that.
Philalethes. But remember, if people are completely unconscious,
they take no account of time. So, when you are dead,
it’s all the same to you whether three months pass in the
world of consciousness, or ten thousand years. In the one
case as in the other, it is simply a matter of believing what is
told you when you awake. So far, then, you can afford to be
indifferent whether it is three months or ten thousand years
that pass before you recover your individuality.
Thrasymachos. Yes, if it comes to that, I suppose you’re right.
Philalethes. And if by chance, after those ten thousand years
have gone by, no one ever thinks of awakening you, I fancy it
would be no great misfortune. You would have become quite
accustomed to non-existence after so long a spell of it—following
upon such a very few years of life. At any rate you may
be sure you would be perfectly ignorant of the whole thing.
Further, if you knew that the mysterious power which keeps
you in your present state of life had never once ceased in those
ten thousand years to bring forth other phenomena like yourself,
and to endow them with life, it would fully console you.
Thrasymachos. Indeed! So you think you’re quietly going to
do me out of my individuality with all this fine talk. But I’m
up to your tricks. I tell you I won’t exist unless I can have my
individuality. I’m not going to be put off with ‘mysterious
powers,’ and what you call ‘phenomena.’ I can’t do without
my individuality, and I won’t give it up.
Philalethes. You mean, I suppose, that your individuality is
such a delightful thing, so splendid, so perfect, and beyond
compare—that you can’t imagine anything better. Aren’t you
ready to exchange your present state for one which, if we can
judge by what is told us, may possibly be superior and more
endurable?
Thrasymachos. Don’t you see that my individuality, be it what
it may, is my very self? To me it is the most important thing
in the world.
For God is God and I am I.
I want to exist, I, I. That’s the main thing. I don’t care about
an existence which has to be proved to be mine, before I can
believe it.
Philalethes. Think what you’re doing! When you say I, I, I
want to exist, it is not you alone that says this. Everything
says it, absolutely everything that has the faintest trace of
consciousness. It follows, then, that this desire of yours is
just the part of you that is not individual—the part that is
common to all things without distinction. It is the cry, not
of the individual, but of existence itself; it is the intrinsic
element in everything that exists, nay, it is the cause of anything
existing at all. This desire craves for, and so is satisfied
with, nothing less than existence in general—not any definite
individual existence. No! that is not its aim. It seems to
be so only because this desire—this Will—attains consciousness
only in the individual, and therefore looks as though it
were concerned with nothing but the individual. There lies
the illusion—an illusion, it is true, in which the individual is
held fast: but, if he reflects, he can break the fetters and set
himself free. It is only indirectly, I say, that the individual
has this violent craving for existence. It is the Will to Live
which is the real and direct aspirant—alike and identical in
all things. Since, then, existence is the free work, nay, the
mere reflection of the will, where existence is, there, too,
must be will; and for the moment the will finds its satisfaction
in existence itself; so far, I mean, as that which never
rests, but presses forward eternally, can ever find any satisfaction
at all. The will is careless of the individual: the individual
is not its business; although, as I have said, this seems
to be the case, because the individual has no direct consciousness
of will except in himself. The effect of this is to make
the individual careful to maintain his own existence; and if
this were not so, there would be no surety for the preservation
of the species. From all this it is clear that individuality
is not a form of perfection, but rather of limitation; and so
to be freed from it is not loss but gain. Trouble yourself no
more about the matter. Once thoroughly recognize what you
are, what your existence really is, namely, the universal will
to live, and the whole question will seem to you childish,
and most ridiculous!
Thrasymachos. You’re childish yourself and most ridiculous,
like all philosophers! and if a man of my age lets himself in
for a quarter-of-an-hour’s talk with such fools, it is only because
it amuses me and passes the time. I’ve more important
business to attend to, so Good-bye.
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This is Schopenhauer's take on the matter, thought it might be useful.
