For us, who happen to live while the World–Phoenix¹ is burning herself, and burning so slowly that, as Teufelsdrockh calculates, it were a handsome bargain would she engage to have done “within two centuries,” there seems to lie but an ashy prospect². Not altogether so, however, does the Professor figure it. “In the living subject,” says he, “change is wont³ to be gradual: thus, while the serpent sheds its old skin, the new is already formed beneath. Little knowest thou of the burning of a World–Phoenix, who fanciest that she must first burn out, and lie as a dead cinereous heap; and therefrom the young one start up by miracle, and fly heavenward. Far otherwise! In that Fire-whirlwind, Creation and Destruction proceed together; ever as the ashes of the Old are blown about, do organic filaments⁴ of the New mysteriously spin themselves: and amid the rushing and the waving of the Whirlwind element come tones of a melodious⁵ Death-song, which end not but in tones of a more melodious Birth-song. Nay⁶, look into the Fire-whirlwind with thy own eyes, and thou wilt⁷ see.” Let us actually look, then: to poor individuals, who cannot expect to live two centuries, those same organic filaments, mysteriously spinning themselves, will be the best part of the spectacle. First, therefore, this of Mankind in general:—

“In vain thou deniest it,” says the Professor; “thou art my Brother. Thy very Hatred⁸, thy very Envy, those foolish Lies thou tellest of me in thy splenetic humor: what is all this but an inverted⁹ Sympathy? Were I a Steam-engine, wouldst thou take the trouble to tell lies of me? Not thou! I should grind all unheeded, whether badly or well.

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