A CONFESSION [9]
had they found nothing, but they had plainly acknowledged that the
very thing which made me despair -- namely the senselessness of
life -- is the one indubitable thing man can know.
I sought everywhere; and thanks to a life spent in learning,
and thanks also to my relations with the scholarly world, I had
access to scientists and scholars in all branches of knowledge, and
they readily showed me all their knowledge, not only in books but
also in conversation, so that I had at my disposal all that science
has to say on this question of life.
I was long unable to believe that it gives no other reply to
life's questions than that which it actually does give. It long
seemed to me, when I saw the important and serious air with which
science announces its conclusions which have nothing in common with
the real questions of human life, that there was something I had
not understood. I long was timid before science, and it seemed to
me that the lack of conformity between the answers and my questions
arose not by the fault of science but from my ignorance, but the
matter was for me not a game or an amusement but one of life and
death, and I was involuntarily brought to the conviction that my
questions were the only legitimate ones, forming the basis of all
knowledge, and that I with my questions was not to blame, but
science if it pretends to reply to those questions.
My question -- that which at the age of fifty brought me to
the verge of suicide -- was the simplest of questions, lying in the
soul of every man from the foolish child to the wisest elder: it
was a question without an answer to which one cannot live, as I had
found by experience. It was: "What will come of what I am doing
today or shall do tomorrow? What will come of my whole life?"
Differently expressed, the question is: "Why should I live,
why wish for anything, or do anything?" It can also be expressed
thus: "Is there any meaning in my life that the inevitable death
awaiting me does not destroy?"
To this one question, variously expressed, I sought an answer
in science. And I found that in relation to that question all
human knowledge is divided as it were into tow opposite hemispheres
at the ends of which are two poles: the one a negative and the
other a positive; but that neither at the one nor the other pole is
there an answer to life's questions.
The one series of sciences seems not to recognize the
question, but replies clearly and exactly to its own independent
questions: that is the series of experimental sciences, and at the
extreme end of it stands mathematics. The other series of sciences
recognizes the question, but does not answer it; that is the series
of abstract sciences, and at the extreme end of it stands
metaphysics.
From early youth I had been interested in the abstract
sciences, but later the mathematical and natural sciences attracted
me, and until I put my question definitely to myself, until that
question had itself grown up within me urgently demanding a
decision, I contented myself with those counterfeit answers which
science gives.
Now in the experimental sphere I said to myself: "Everything
develops and differentiates itself, moving towards complexity and
perfection, and there are laws directing this movement. You are a
part of the whole. Having learnt as far as possible the whole, and
having learnt the law of evolution, you will understand also your
place in the whole and will know yourself." Ashamed as I am to
confess it, there wa a time when I seemed satisfied with that. It
was just the time when I was myself becoming more complex and was
developing. My muscles were growing and strengthening, my memory
was being enriched, my capacity to think and understand was
increasing, I was growing and developing; and feeling this growth
in myself it was natural for me to think that such was the
universal law in which I should find the solution of the question
of my life. But a time came when