Olof. The owl is an ancient symbol of wisdom.
Christine. I think that's stupid! Wise people don't love the darkness.
Olof. The wise man hates the darkness and the night, but his keen eye turns night into day.
Christine. Why are you always right, Olof? Can you tell me?
Olof. Because I know it pleases you, my dear, to let me be in the right.
Christine. Now, you are right again.--What is that you are writing?
Olof. I don't think you could understand it.
Christine. Why shouldn't I? Is it not in Swedish?
Olof. Yes, but it is too abstract for you.
Christine. Abstract? What does that mean?
Olof. You wouldn't understand if I told you, but if you don't understand what I read to you, then you understand what is meant by "abstract."
Christine (picking up a piece of half-finished embroidery). Go on and read while I work at this.
Olof. Listen carefully, then, and forgive me if you find it tedious.
Christine. I shall understand because I want to.
Olof (reading). "Matter when considered separate from form is something wholly without predictability, indeterminable and indistinguishable. For nothing can originate out of pure non-being, but only out of the non-being of reality, which is synonymous with being as a possibility. Being in its possibility is no more non-being than is reality. For that reason every existence is a realized possibility. Thus matter is to Aristotle a much more positive substratum than to Plato, who declares it to be pure non-being. And thereby it becomes plain how Aristotle could conceive of matter in its opposition to form as a positive negativity."
Christine (throwing aside her work). Stop! Why is it that I cannot understand that? Have I not the same mental faculties as you? I am ashamed, Olof, because you have such a poor creature of a wife that she cannot understand what you say. No, I will stick to my embroidery, I will clean and dust your study, I will at least learn to read your wishes in your eyes. I may become your slave, but never, never shall I be able to understand you. Oh, Olof, I am not worthy of you! Why did you make me your wife? You must have over-valued me in a moment of intoxication. Now you will regret it, and we shall both be unhappy.
Olof. Christine! Don't take it like that, dear! Come and sit here by me. (He picks up the embroidery.) Will you believe me if I tell you that I couldn't possibly do a thing like this? Never in my life could I do it. Are you not then cleverer than I, and am I not the lesser of us two?