Symbols, as being things actualized, belong to the domain of the extended. They are become and not becoming (although they may stand for a becoming) and they are therefore rigidly limited and subject to the laws of space. There are _only_ sensible-spatial symbols. The very word “form” designates something extended in the extended,—even the inner forms of music are no exception, as we shall see. But extension is the hall-mark of the fact “waking consciousness,” and this constitutes only one side of the individual existence and is intimately bound up with that existence’s destinies. Consequently, every trait of the actual waking-consciousness, whether it be feeling or understanding, is in the moment of our becoming aware of it, already _past_. We can only _reflect_ upon impressions, “think them over” as our happy phrase goes, but that which for the sensuous life of the animals is _past_, is for the grammatical (wortgebundene) understanding of man _passing_, _transient_. That which happens is, of course, transient, for a happening is irrevocable, but every kind of significance is also transient. Follow out the destiny of the Column, from the Egyptian tomb- temple in which columns are ranked to mark the path for the traveller, through the Doric peripteros in which they are held together by the body of the building, and the Early-Arabian basilica where they support the interior, to the façades of the Renaissance in which they provide the upward-striving element. As we see, an old significance never returns; that which has entered the domain of extension has begun and ended at once. A deep relation, and one which is early felt, exists _between space and death_. Man is the only being that knows death; all others become old, but with a consciousness wholly limited to the moment which must seem to them eternal. They live, but like children in those first years in which Christianity regards them as still “innocent,” they know nothing of life, and they die and they see death without knowing anything about it. Only fully-awakened man, man proper, whose understanding has been emancipated by the habit of language from dependence on sight, comes to possess (besides sensibility) the _notion_ of transience, that is, a memory of the past as past and an experiential conviction of irrevocability. We _are_ Time,[178] but we _possess_ also an image of history and in this image death, and with death birth, appear as the two riddles. For all other beings life pursues its course without suspecting its limits, i.e., without conscious knowledge of task, meaning, duration and object. It is because there is this deep and significant identity that we so often find the awakening of the inner life in a child associated with the death of some relation. The child _suddenly_ grasps the lifeless corpse for what it is, something that has become wholly matter, wholly space, and at the same moment it feels itself as an individual _being_ in an alien extended world. “From the