I was despite everything an optimist. Nevertheless he was right in my opinion about many things; in particular, about the Western mind's thirst for the infinite. And so in retrospect I derived some comfort from him, because he seemed to confirm my own belief that if new life and enthusiasm were to rise out of the ashes of the old in the Western mind, it could only be by transferring this thirst for the infinite to goals inside human relations, from the old goals which were outside them. The old goals, like conquest, glory, scientific knowledge, or technical achievement. In other words, an inner communion which demanded absolute trust was along the right lines. Any fudging would never satisfy the thirst of the Western mind or soul, and would therefore lead to no solution. Spengler provided comfort afterwards, not assistance beforehand.
The book which follows, and I move now from the world of conflict to the world of reconciliation, describes the scenery on my journey, how the world of the mind looked to me at the time. But it does more. It records accurately how the vision slipped from me by inches. That was how, and why, I was able to write it when I did. Had I succeeded from the start, I would never have contemplated writing a book about it; I would have enjoyed my success. Had I delayed writing, nothing would have been written at all. It is obvious enough in the text when the vision finally left me, because inspiration failed; and I continued my winter journey with frozen feet. The epilogue is simply an attempt to write a hymn of praise at the journey's end.
Of course to all appearances I failed. I expected before I started that I should. But I learned on my adventure that the spiritual world was real enough; every bit as real as the dangers of avalanche and stonefall in the Alps. I learned too that if I escaped disaster, it was due, as on my early Alpine adventures, more to luck and a kindly providence, than to anything I had done.