Or consider Time instead of Space. In a single second how many waves of light are supposed to enter the eye? About 500 billions I believe. And of these waves some 500 would not exceed the breadth of a hair. Now any being to whom these tiny waves were as slow as the ripples on a pond are to us would live our human life of three score years and ten in the hundredth part of _his_ second, while a being on one of those great worlds of space revolving but once in long æons around its centre would live--if his life were measured as ours--millions of our years. Here again, in our dazzlement, we have recourse to metaphor and theory: we lay the spectre of Time by explaining it away as merely a 'mode' and as therefore of no objective reality. In other words, dazed and outworn by the incomprehensible infinities of Time and Space we console ourselves with the theory that it is all a mere phenomenon, a projection of our own mind, and with Faust we exclaim What wondrous vision! yet a vision only! and in the words of a still greater master of magic than Faust himself we despairingly add that like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea all that it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made of. From the cipher of the vast material universe, the Macrocosm, we turn away, as Faust did, with unsatisfied yearnings. Whither then shall we turn? Where shall we grasp Nature--not the empty vision, but the warm living form? It is in our own heart that we find a refuge from the infinities of Space and Time--in that human heart by which we live, in its tenderness, its joys, its fears. Here, and here alone, we find those ultimate facts of existence which need no explanation, and which we accept just as they are, without any questionings. Here we find an infinite universe--no less infinite than that of Space and Time--the universe of feeling. From the cipher of the Macrocosm Faust turns to that of the Earth-spirit, the spirit of human life and feeling. He is filled with a sudden, passionate yearning to share in the joys and the sorrows and the aspirations and the strivings of humanity: Thou, Spirit of the Earth, art nearer. I feel my powers loftier, clearer, I glow, as drunk with new-made wine; New strength I feel out in the world to dare, The woes of earth, the bliss of earth to bear, To fight my way, though storms around me lash, Nor know dismay amid the shipwreck's crash.