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Full text of "I And Thou"

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that is even worthy of belief. So this man
says to his thought, " You see this thing stretched out
here with the cruel eyes—was it not my playfellow once ?
You know how it laughed at me then with these very
eyes, and they had good in them, then ? And you see
my wretched I—I will confess to you, it is empty, and
whatever I do in myself, as a result of experiencing
and using, does not fathom its emptiness. Will you
make it up between me and it, so that it leaves off and I
recover ? " And thought, ready with its service and its
art, paints with its well-known speed one—no, two
rows of pictures, on the right wall and on the left. On
the one there is (or rather, there takes place, for the
world-pictures of thought are reliable cinematography)
the universe. The tiny earth plunges from the whirling
stars, tiny man from the teeming earth, and now history
bears him further through the ages, to rebuild per-
sistently the ant-hill of the cultures which history
crushes underfoot. Beneath the row of pictures is
written: " One and all." On the other wall there
takes place the soul. A spinner is spinning the orbits
of all stars and the life of all creation and the history
of the universe; everything is woven on one thread,
and is no longer called stars and creation and universe,
but sensations and imaginings, or even experiences, and
conditions of the soul. And beneath the row of pictures
is written : " One and all.*'
Thenceforth, if ever the man shudders at the aliena-
tion, and the world strikes terror in his heart, he looks
up (to right or left, just as it may chance) and sees a
picture. There he sees that the I is embedded in the
world and that there is really no I at all—so the world