Part 5

=Under the Prince of this World.=--The teacher wandered in Qualheim and came to a town. In the midst of the chief market-place there stood a bronze image of the destroyer of his country. The youth of the place came out in holiday attire in order to celebrate the hero's memory. The teacher asked his guide: "Why do they celebrate the destroyer of the fatherland?"

"I do not know," answered the guide.

"Are they mad?"

"Probably. Here below everything is topsy-turvy. This hero[1] was considered mad, and certainly he was so. He carried on mad wars, fled when defeated, and cast the blame on others. When misfortune came he collapsed like a weakling, took to his bed, and pretended to be ill. In his leisure hours he plotted, but always ill. At last he made false coins, but managed to procure a scapegoat, who was broken on the wheel. The country was ruined and could never recover its former prestige."

"And this is the man they celebrate?"

"Yes! but they have other statues besides. There back in the park stands one, crowned with a laurel-wreath. He was the wickedest man of his time. And there by the harbour is a third statue--of a perjurer..."

"That is just as it is with us," said the teacher.

"Yes, it is about the same."

"Where are we then?"

"Under the Prince of this World, the Lord of Dung. 'But be of good courage! I have overcome the world!'"

[Footnote 1; He probably refers to Charles XII of Sweden.]

=The Idea of Hell.=--The pupil asked: "When I read Swedenborg's _Hell_, I often believed he was describing our life on earth. Is it possible that we are already there? As a Christian, I have learnt that there was a Fall followed by a curse. Certainly life seems to me rather an Inferno than a school and a prison, for nothing keeps what it promises. The most beautiful things seem only made in order to become ugly, the good in order to become bad."

"Have you never seen anything permanently beautiful here below?"

"Yes, Nature at all seasons is so beautiful, that I exclaim with a feeling of pain, 'How super-naturally beautiful! And we are so hideous!' Life may also seem beautiful in a well-ordered family where there is peace and happiness and festival. I have seen it so, but only for two minutes at a time, and perhaps it was my way of looking at it."

"Yet there are people who can thrive down here."

"He who can thrive here is a pig. I know fellows who think they are in Paradise when they are on a summer holiday, have a well-spread table lit up by Chinese lanterns, and let off rockets. But 'Woe to the man who is born sensitive!' says Rousseau. Either he goes under, or he must arm himself with brutality. In the last case it may happen that he cannot divest himself of the armour, which has become a second nature. There are some extremely sensitive natures who cannot come to terms with life nor touch reality. These unfortunates finally lose the power of looking after themselves, and end in asylums."

=Self-Knowledge.=--The teacher said: "One may have already lived a long time, consider oneself a respectable man, and, as such, have enjoyed the esteem of others. Then there comes a day when one awakes as out of slumber, sees oneself as a spectre, is alarmed, and asks, 'Am I _that_' One discovers that one has done things which now appear inexcusable. And one asks oneself, 'How could I?' On one occasion one has even committed a crime; on another, one has been dragged, so to speak, by the hair; on a third, one fell into a trap.

"But there are men who are so sleepy that they never awake; and so wanting in intelligence that they cannot see how black they are. Once I had a friend who was sixty years old. On one occasion, with an outbreak of stupid astonishment, he exclaimed, 'Why are people so prejudiced against me? I seem to myself an excellent fellow!' And this man was a tyrant who trampled men underfoot, a hired executioner, a murderer who betrayed the innocent, took bribes, and practised simony and all kinds of wickedness. I did not wish to condemn him, but tried to defend him. Perhaps he felt justified in becoming an executioner, for there must be such officials; so he adopted it as a profession. He had an evil nature, and found it therefore natural or right when he acted in accordance with it. He lived in complete harmony with himself, and those who resembled him pronounced him a 'fine fellow'--'healthy, naïve, and, therefore, excellent society.'

"When he died, I drew a picture of his character for an acquaintance. The latter was himself a black sheep, and answered quite naïvely, 'You are unfair to him; I think he was a fine fellow.'"

=Somnambulism and Clairvoyance in Everyday Life.=---The teacher said: "I am now fifty-eight years old, and have seen four generations. I have not been pure-hearted, for all black blood streams into the heart, but I have had moments in which I was transported into a childlike, unconscious mood, and took delight in intercourse with men. I knew that they hated me, laughed at my misfortune, and waited for my fall. But I was immune against their malice. I saw in them only poor men, who liked my company and were sympathetic with me. Even when they made ill-natured jests against me, I did not understand them; and when they gave vent to an open rudeness, I took it as a meaningless joke. That is a kind of pleasant somnambulism.

"Often, however, I can be wide-awake; then I see society naked; I see their dirty linen beneath their clothes, their deformities, their unwashed feet. But, worst of all, I hear the thoughts behind their words; I see their gestures, which do not harmonise with what they say; I intercept a side-glance; I notice a foot-stamp under the table, a nose turning itself up over my wine, or a fork critically passing by a dish.... Then life seems ghastly! I had a friend, who once in society had an attack of this clairvoyance; he sat down on the middle of the table, declared all he had seen in the course of the evening, and stripped his friends bare. The result was, he was pronounced mad and taken to an asylum.

"There are many kinds of madness. Let us confess that!"

=Practical Measures against Enemies.=--The pupil asked: "How can I love my neighbour as myself? In the first place, I ought not to love myself; secondly, I feel so out of sympathy with men, that it is difficult to regard them as objects of love."

The teacher answered: "The verb ἀγάπαω generally means only 'treating kindly,' and that you can manage to do."

"But to love one's enemies is suicide."

"You think so! But have you tried this method? It is very practical, and I have tested it. Once against my worst enemy, who attacked my honour and means of livelihood, I established a wholesome hatred like a bulwark, as I thought. But my hatred became a conductor by which I received the currents of his. They surprised me in my weak moments, and his wickedness passed over to me. He grew to gigantic proportions, and became a Frankenstein which I had myself produced.

"Then I resolved to break the conductor. I avoided seeing him, and never mentioned his name, for that is a kind of incantation. When people spoke of him in society, I was silent, or threw in a friendly word on his behalf. My Frankenstein pined away for want of nourishment, and disappeared out of my thoughts. Finally information reached my enemy that I had spoken good of him. He was struck with amazement, dwindled down, felt ashamed of himself, and believed he had made a mistake. Therefore, never speak ill of your enemy; that only rouses people in his defence, and procures him friends. You see, therefore, what deep wisdom lies in the simplest teaching of the Gospel, which you believed yourself competent to criticise."

=The Goddess of Reason.=--The teacher continued: "The fact that our intelligence finds so many contradictions and difficulties in the great truths of religion is due not only to defects in our understanding but to an evil will. The presumption of wishing to understand God and His purposes is as though one attempted to steer a frigate with an oar. Every Greek tragedy closes with a warning against insolence and [Greek: hubris] Nothing is so displeasing to the gods.

"Swedenborg says: 'As soon as we break our connection with what is higher, our understanding is darkened. At the same time we are punished by being allowed to imagine ourselves more illuminated than others.'

"All the philosophers of the 'Illumination' grope in darkness. That period of history which is jestingly called the 'Illumination' is the darkest we have had. The goddess of reason, Mademoiselle Maillard, was adored only by madmen. The truths of religion never contradict reason until the latter has been clouded by an evil will. But then the discoveries begin, and then every religious truth 'contradicts reason,' such as the simple truth that God exists, that the Almighty can employ unknown laws or suspend laws which He Himself has given, that He can impart spiritual blessings by means of material symbols, and so on.

"All 'free-thinking' is foolishness, for thought is not free, but bound by the laws of thought, by logic, just as nature is bound by the laws of nature. The evil will seeks freedom in order to do evil, and the evil mind seeks freedom in order to think perversely."

=Stars Seen by Daylight.=--The teacher said: "The fool lives only for the present, for the moment, in the last fashionable error of the day, in the diving-bell of his daily paper, in dependence on public opinion, in the slavery of partisanship. The wise man lives in all times. For him there is neither time nor space. He is present always and everywhere; on this side and that side of the grave. He ranges over the world's history and fathoms the depths of himself; he regards himself as an inhabitant of the Universe, and not merely of the earth. He feels himself related to Plato and Aristotle; holds converse with the great spirits of the past in their writings. Sometimes he lives in his childhood; sometimes in his mature age. He lives in the past, as though it were present. He can 'think himself' into the lives of others; he rejoices with the joyful, mourns with the sorrowful, sympathises with the suffering. He feels on behalf of humanity; has no age, no nation. He sees the record of to-day's conflict laid up in historical archives, often without any other result. On the morrow, to-day's wisdom is only straw, in which something else grows; even errors are useful as manure. Everything serves. He bears everything, for he hopes; and hope is a virtue; it means believing good of God.

"Ephemeral flies get excited about trifles, and believe one can discover new truths among the telegrams in the breakfast-table newspaper. If a new star is discovered, they believe the others are extinguished. But hitherto the new have all been extinguished. The new star in Perseus appeared only for two years, and then it vanished. The Chinese Y-King says, 'If one goes into one's tent, and makes it dark about one, one can see the star Mei in the Archer in broad daylight.'

"Retire then sometimes to your tent in the wilderness, and you will see the stars by day."

=The Right to Remorse.=--The pupil asked: "Is one right in feeling remorseful for one's past, after discovering one's errors?"

"If you mean by 'feeling remorse,' wishing the past undone, you are not right, for in every man's life there is a rectifying element; every error by being refuted becomes an involuntary occasion for the triumph of truth. But if you mean by 'remorse,' hating yourself as a purveyor of falsity, you are right. But say something in your own defence."

"I can say this much: I was the child of an evil time; I was misled by the seducers of my youth; I mention none of them. My understanding was stronger than my divine reason. My flesh ruled over my spirit. My inborn defiance of authority, my inherited sensitiveness of nature received impressions, without stopping to criticise them. In a word, I might call myself a victim of my seducers, of heredity, of my natural weakness, and sensitiveness. The final awakening of my reason, however, I reckon not as a merit of my own, but as a grace conferred upon me. The fact that I have had sufficient time in which to refute my former errors, I count as the greatest good-fortune which has ever befallen me. Therefore I do not wish my past undone, although I abominate it."

=A Religious Theatre.=--"It looks as though men did not think very highly of themselves. If they see a maliciously satirical piece represented, they enjoy it without applying it to themselves. They take it as intended only for others.

"In my youth there was a dramatist, who was at first a satirist, but finally came to feel sympathy with men. After his feelings had become modified by his living a steady and fairly happy life, he saw men in a more cheerful light. Accordingly, he wrote a piece portraying only noble characters with fine feelings and warm hearts.

"What happened? The public believed at first it was irony. But during the second act they discovered their mistake. A voice exclaimed from the stalls: 'Deuce take it! It is meant seriously!' The further the piece progressed, the greater was the disgust! The audience felt ashamed before each other, and for the author. Some hurried out, and those who remained ended by laughing. They laughed at the goodness, self-sacrifice, renunciation, forgiveness depicted in the piece. They did not know themselves any more, and regarded the descriptions as unnatural; real life, they said, was not like that; men were not angels. It may therefore be risky to speak well of men. But one must not forget that religious people do not visit the theatre, because the theatre is godless. Greek tragedies used to commence with a sacrifice to the gods, and all tragedies deal with the powerlessness of men in conflict with deities. Why do not our religious leaders build a theatre in which one might see the evil unmasked and put to shame?"

=Through Constraint to Freedom.=--The teacher continued: "This world is governed by constraint. All men are dependent on one another and press upon one another like the stones in a vaulted building--from above, from below, from the sides. They watch and spy on one another. There is therefore no freedom, and there can be none, in this edifice which is called Government and Society.

"The foundation-stones have the most to bear; therefore they must be of granite, while the upper ones are of light brick. For there are fancy-bricks, which support nothing, but are merely ornamental; they are supported by others, feel themselves in the way and dispensable; but they serve as ornaments, and of that they are aware.

"He who demands more freedom than the rest, is a thief and tyrant; if he withdraws himself from his burden, he lays it upon others. This perpetual longing for freedom, which figures in biographies as a virtue and a distinction, is really only a weakness. More strength is required to bear than to be home. The only justifiable striving after relative freedom is, not to have to bear more than one ought. Therefore it is the business of rulers to apportion the burdens precisely. But for that, adequate knowledge, a mathematical gift, and a nice sense of justice are necessary.

"But behind this common longing after freedom lies another deeper one, which is confused with the former. That is the sighing of creation for deliverance from the bondage of the flesh. This has found its strongest expression in St. Paul's exclamation: 'Oh, wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?' But this freedom can only be won by patiently bearing the constraint of this world. Through constraint is the way to freedom therefore!"

=The Praise of Folly.=--"In this world of foolishness one sees constantly how fools smile even when their views are ratified by time. That is, in truth, a silly smile. The fool says, 'We are here in order to develop ourselves.' When they see a man who, in the course of years, has grown wiser and more righteous, they should be glad that their assertion is established. Instead of that they make a malicious grimace, and say scornfully, 'Yes, now you have grown old!' Yet we both started with the assumption that wisdom should come with years. Let us rejoice together that it is so. If the Devil really becomes a monk when he is old, what a happiness and blessing for mankind that there is one evil spirit the less. Is it not so? Why should they make a grimace at it?

"Voltaire was a scoffer and a bit of a knave up to old age. Finally, however, he recovered his reason, just like lunatics shortly before they die. And then he wrote of human life:

"'Pleasure, in the freshness of youth, I sought thy deliciousness;

"'Finally, in the winter of old age, I discover thy vanity;

"'The thirst for reputation and honour makes men enemies to one another. What was it that I thirsted for? Reputation is but vanity.

"'Genius in its pride roams through realms of knowledge.

"'But my knowledge only plagues me; knowledge is but vanity.'

"But the fools make grimaces, when one of them recovers his reason. Then they say, 'He has gone mad.'"

=The Inevitable.=--The teacher said: "The question, 'What has one a right to feel remorse for?' is very complicated. I once followed the career of a foreign writer. I read his works, which seemed to belong to another world, with great admiration. His dramas all appeared to breathe a melancholy fear of some unknown terror that was bound to come. His philosophy was that of a saint. His landscapes seemed to be bathed not in common air but in pure æther. He was then about forty years old, and I expected every day to hear that he had gone into a convent.

"But afterwards I heard he had married an actress, with whom he went about, and who appeared as a 'living statue' in one of his pieces. He also wrote new dramas for her, and now, when they became cynical and brutal, he achieved a greater popularity than he had ever been able to gain before. He degraded his person, his genius, his wife; and as he sank, I wept inwardly. One day I read in the paper that she had deserted him, but that may have been false. The thought of his fate tormented me; it seemed to have been predetermined. All his dramas written while he was still unmarried treated of this terrible thing which he foresaw and feared. It seemed to me as though he were compelled to take a mud-bath, and obliged to let himself be besmirched by life precisely in this way. It seemed as though he had not the right to ante-date heaven; as though he were not allowed to lead a pure, saintly life. It is terrible, because it is inexplicable."

=The Poet's Sacrifice.=--The teacher continued: "This man's destiny reminds me of the Indian drama, _Urvasi_. A penitent who withdraws to solitude in order to purify his soul by renunciation, may finally attain such lofty spiritual heights that his power may become dangerous to the lower deities. In order to hinder such a penitent in his spiritual development, the god Indra sent an Apsara, a sort of celestial courtesan, in order to distract and seduce him.

"Does not that resemble the case which I mentioned just now? How can the one who has been seduced feel guilty in such a case, or have the right to repent a wrong he did not do? Now a poet is something different to a recluse, and in order to be able to describe life in all its aspects and dangers he must first have lived it. What sort of a poet would Shakespeare have been if he had lived as a steady young fellow, continued in his father's honourable profession, and in leisure hours written about his little affairs? Although one does not know much about the great Englishman, one sees from his works what a stormy life he must have led. There is hardly a misfortune which he has not experienced, hardly a passion which he has not felt. Hate and love, revenge and lust, murder and fire, all seem to have come within the circle of his experience as a poet. A real poet must sacrifice his person for his work. I can conceive of a symbolical monument to Shakespeare under the figure of Hercules kindling his own pyre on Mount Oeta, sacrificing his opulent life as an offering for mankind. That is a good idea, is it not?"

The pupil answered: "Truly you have the power of binding and loosing; now you have loosed me."

=The Function of the Philistines.=--The teacher said: "Israel had some unpleasant neighbours called Philistines, who guarded the coast-line along the sea. They worshipped weird gods, such as Dagon the Fish-god, Beelzebub the Lord of Dung, and Astarte. But unpleasant though they were, they seemed to have had a part to play in the life of Israel. As soon as the chosen people abandoned the temple, the Philistines came and closed the sanctuary, set the Lord of Dung upon the altar, and burned incense before the Fish-god. As often as the children of Israel quarrelled among themselves, the Philistines advanced irresistibly. The hand of the Lord was with them, so that they punished and chastised their enemies. Once they took possession of the Ark of the Covenant.

"We have our Philistines on the Bosphorus; they are called Turks. When the Christians were unfaithful to their Lord, the Turk took possession of Christ's grave, and St. Sophia became a mosque. Whenever the Christians fought with each other, the Turk appeared. After the Thirty Years' War, when the Christians had tom each other like bloodhounds, the Turk came as far as Vienna, and the Crescent surmounted the Cross in Hungary."

The pupil asked: "Why do not the great powers recapture the Holy Sepulchre and the Church of St. Sophia? They could do it in a moment!"

"I do not know. Perhaps they cannot. We need our Philistine, the bogie-man with whom one frightens children. In France the churches were shut by the pagans when people ceased to attend Mass. Now they set up the Lord of Dung on the altar. Marat, in his time, was buried in the Pantheon; but when Christ reentered, Marat was thrown into the sewer. The last to obtain apotheosis in the Pantheon was an engineer, who had a single merit--that of being murdered by a friend of freedom. When we become Christians again, we shall receive back both the Holy Sepulchre and Santa Sophia. We do not need to take them. Such is the great function of the Philistines in the spiritual economy of nature."

=World-Religion.=--The teacher continued: "Goethe wrote in his youth a treatise maintaining that the religion imposed by the State was the most favourable for the maintenance of the State."

The pupil objected: "But how will it fare with the individual conscience?"

"As it has done hitherto. The State determines the views of the individual in geometry, botany, history, and religion, by instruction in the schools, by religious services in the colleges, and prayers in camps and barracks."

"But what about freedom of belief and thought?"

"We have already agreed that there is no freedom, but that all is dependence and compulsion enforced by mutual pressure. Therefore misuse not the sacred name of freedom. During the course of my long life, I have often thought I could interpret the intention of Providence thus: If all religious forms fell off like husks, and only the kernels remained, they might grow together like botanical cells, and form a single plant--a world-tree, under whose shadow all nations might rest in devotion and in unity." The teacher continued: "I had also believed that I had noticed there is a special purpose in the intermingling of races which is now proceeding. This has already gone so far, that in my insignificant family, which is registered as Scandinavian, we find traces of all the five quarters of the world."

"But do you really believe it?"

"I do not know."

"And do you think that all nations will be united in a common Christianity?"