ZONES OF THE SPIRIT
A BOOK OF THOUGHTS
BY
AUGUST STRINDBERG
AUTHOR OF "THE INFERNO," "THE SON OF A SERVANT," ETC.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
ARTHUR BABILLOTTE
TRANSLATED BY
CLAUD FIELD, M.A.
G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker press
1913
INTRODUCTION
Seldom has a man gone through such profound religious changes as this
Swede, who died last May. The demonic element in him, which spurred
him on restlessly, made him scale heaven and fathom hell, gave him
glimpses of bliss and damnation. He bore the Cain's mark on his brow:
"A fugitive and a wanderer shalt thou be."
He was fundamentally religious, for everyone who searches after God
is so,--a commonplace truth certainly, but one which needs to be
constantly reiterated. And Strindberg's search was more painful,
exact, and persevering than that of most people. He was never content
with superficial formulas, but pressed to the heart of the matter,
and followed each winding of the labyrinthine problem with endless
patience. Too often the Divinity which he thought he had discovered
turned out a delusion, to be scornfully rejected the moment afterwards.
Until he found _the_ God, whom he worshipped to the end of his days,
and whose existence he resolutely maintained against deniers.
As a child he had been brought up in devout belief in God, in
submission to the injustice of life, and in faith in a better
hereafter. He regarded God as a Father, to Whom he made known his
little wants and anxieties. But a youth with hard experiences followed
his childhood. The struggle for daily bread began, and his heavenly
Father seemed to fail him. He appeared to regard unmoved, from some
Olympian height, the desperate struggles of humanity below. Then the
defiant element which slumbered in Strindberg wrathfully awoke, and he
gradually developed into a free-thinker. It fared with him as it often
does with young and independent characters who think. Beginning with
dissent from this and that ecclesiastical dogma, his criticism embraced
an ever-widening range, and became keener and more unsparing. At last
every barrier of respect and reverence fell, the defiant spirit of
youth broke like a flood over all religious dogmas, swept them away,
and did not stop short of criticising God Himself.
Meanwhile his daily life, with its hard experiences, went on. Books
written from every conceivable point of view came into his hands.
Greedy for knowledge as he was, he read them all. Those of the
free-thinkers supported his freshly aroused incredulity, which as yet
needed support. His study of philosophical and scientific works made a
clean sweep of what relics of faith remained. Anxiety about his daily
bread, attacks from all sides, the alienation of his friends, all
contributed towards making the free-thinker into an atheist. How can
there be a God when the world is so full of ugliness, of deceit, of
dishonour, of vulgarity? This question was bound to be raised at last.
About this time he wrote the _New Kingdom_, full of sharp criticisms of
society and Christianity.
As an atheist Strindberg made various attempts to come to terms with
the existing state of things. But being a genius out of harmony with
his contemporaries, and always longing for some vaster, fairer future,
this was impossible for him. When he found that he came to no goal,
a perpetual unrest tortured him. His earlier autobiographic writings
appeared, marked by a strong misanthropy, and composed with an obscure
consciousness of the curse: "A fugitive and a wanderer shalt thou be."
At last his consciousness becomes clear and defined. He recognises
that he is a lost soul in hell already, though outwardly on earth.
This was the most extraordinary period in Strindberg's life. He
lived in the Quartier Latin in Paris, in a barely furnished room,
with retorts and chemical apparatus, like a second Faust at the end
of the nineteenth century. By experiments he discovered the presence
of carbon in sulphur, and considered that by doing so he "had solved
a great problem, upset the ruling systems of chemistry, and gained
for himself the only immortality allowed to mortals." He came to the
conclusion that the reason why he had gradually become an atheist was
that "the Unknown Powers had left the world so long without a sign of
themselves." The discovery made him thankful, and he lamented that he
had no one to thank. From that time the belief in "unknown powers" grew
stronger and stronger in him. It seems to have been the result of an
almost complete, long, and painful solitude.
At this time his brain worked more feverishly, and his nerves were
more sensitive than usual. At last he reached the (for an atheist)
astounding conclusion: "When I think over my lot, I recognise that
invisible Hand which disciplines and chastens me, without my knowing
its purpose. Must I be humbled in order to be lifted up, lowered in
order to be raised? The thought continually recurs to me, 'Providence
is planning something with thee, and this is the beginning of thy
education.'"[1]
Soon after this he gave up his chemical experiments and took up
alchemy, with a conviction, almost pathetic in its intensity, that
he would succeed in making gold. Although his dramas had already
been performed in Paris, a success which had fallen to the lot of no
other Swedish dramatist, he forgot all his successes as an author,
and devoted himself solely to this new pursuit, to meet again with
disappointment.
On March 29, 1897, he began the study of Swedenborg, the Northern
Seer. A feeling of home-sickness after heaven laid hold of him, and he
began to believe that he was being prepared for a higher existence. "I
despise the earth," he writes, "this unclean world, these men and their
works. I seem to myself a righteous man, like Job, whom the Eternal is
putting to the test, and whom the purgatorial fires of this world will
soon make worthy of a speedy deliverance."
More and more he seemed to approach Catholicism. One day he, the former
socialist and atheist, bought a rosary. "It is pretty," he said,
"and the evil spirits fear the cross." At the same time, it must be
confessed that this transition to the Christian point of view did not
subdue his egotism and independence of character. "It is my duty," he
said, "to fight for the maintenance of my ego against all influences
which a sect or party, from love of proselytising, might bring to
bear upon it. The conscience, which the grace of my Divine protector
has given me, tells me that." And then comes a sentence full of joy
and sorrow alike, which seems to obliterate his whole past. "Born
with a home-sick longing after heaven, as a child I wept over the
squalor of existence and felt myself strange and homeless among men.
From childhood upwards I have looked for God and found the Devil." He
becomes actually humble, and recognises that God, on account of his
pride, his conceit, his ὕβρις, had sent him for a time to
hell. "Happy is he whom God punishes."
The return to Christ is complete. All his faith, all his hope now rest
solely on the Crucified, whom he had once demoniacally hated.
He now devoted himself entirely to the study of Swedenborg. He felt
that in some way the life of this strange man had foreshadowed his
own. Just as Swedenborg (1688-1772) had passed from the profession
of a mathematician to that of a theologian, a mystic, and finally a
ghost-seer and theosoph, so Strindberg passed from the worldly calling
of a romance-writer to that of a preacher of Christian patience and
reconciliation. He had occasional relapses into his old perverse moods,
but the attacks of the rebellious spirit were weaker and weaker. He
told a friend who asked his opinion regarding the theosophical concept
of Karma, that it was impossible for him to belong to a party which
denied a personal God, "Who alone could satisfy his religious needs."
In a life so full of intellectual activity as his had been, Strindberg
had amassed an enormous amount of miscellaneous knowledge. When he was
nearly sixty he began to collect and arrange all his experiences and
investigations from the point of view he had then attained. Thus was
composed his last important work, _Das Blau Buch_, a book of amazing
copiousness and originality. Regarding it, the Norwegian author Nils
Kjaer writes in the periodical _Verdens Gang_: "More comprehensive than
any modern collection of aphorisms, chaotic as the Koran, wrathful as
Isaiah, as full of occult things as the Bible, more entertaining than
any romance, keener-edged than most pamphlets, mystical as the Cabbala,
subtle as the scholastic theology, sincere as Rousseau's confession,
stamped with the impress of incomparable originality, every sentence
shining like luminous letters in the darkness--such is this book in
which the remarkable writer makes a final reckoning with his time and
proclaims his faith, as pugnaciously as though he were a descendant
of the hero of Lutzen." The book, in truth, forms a world apart, from
which all lying, hypocrisy, and conventional contentment is banished;
in it is heard the stormy laughter of a genius who has freed himself
from the fetters of earth, the proclamation of the creed of a strange
Christian who interprets and reveres Christ in his own fashion, the
challenge of an original and creative mind which believes in its own
continuance, the expression of the yearning of a lonely soul to place
itself in harmonious relations with the universe.
An especially interesting feature of the _Blau Buch_ is the expression
of Strindberg's views regarding the great poets, artists, and thinkers
of the past and present. He speaks of Wagner and Nietzsche, the two
antipodes; of Horace, who, after many wanderings, recognised the hand
of God; of Shakespeare, who had lived through the experience of every
character he created; of Goethe, regarding whom he remarks, with
evident satisfaction, "In old age, when he grew wise, he became a
mystic, _i.e._ he recognised that there are things in heaven and earth
of which the Philistines never dream." Of Maeterlinck, he says, "He
knows how to caricature his own fairest creations"; and accuses Oscar
Wilde of want of originality. Regarding Hegel, he notes with pleasure
that at the end of his life he returned to Christianity. With deep
satisfaction he writes, "Hegel, after having gone very roundabout ways,
died in 1831, of cholera, as a simple, believing Christian, putting
aside all philosophy and praying penitential psalms." In Rousseau he
recognises a kindred spirit, in so far as the Frenchman, like himself,
hated all that was unnatural. "One can agree with Rousseau when he
says, 'All that comes from the Creator's hand is perfect, but when it
falls into the hands of man it is spoilt.'"
The _Blau Buch_ marks the summit of Strindberg's chequered sixty years'
pilgrimage. Beneath him lies the varicoloured landscape of his past
life, now lit up with gleams of sunshine, now draped in dark mists,
now drowned in storms of rain. But Strindberg, the poet and thinker,
has escaped from both dark and bright days alike; he stands peacefully
on the summit, above the trivialities, the cares, and bitternesses of
life, a free man. He is like Prometheus, fettered to the rock for
having bestowed on men the gift of fire, but liberated after he has
learnt his lesson. In his calm is something resembling the dignity of
Goethe's old age. As the latter sat on the Kickelhahn, looking down
on Thuringia, and saw the panorama of his life pass before him, so
Strindberg takes a retrospect in his _Blau Buch_. It is the canticle of
his life, a hymn of thankfulness for the recovered faith in which he
has found peace. At its conclusion he thus sums up:
"Rousseau's early doctrine regarding the curse of mere learning should
be repondered."
"A new Descartes should arise and teach the men to doubt the untruths
of the sciences."
"Another Kant should write a new Critique of Pure Reason and
re-establish the doctrine of the Categorical Imperative, which,
however, is already to be found in the Ten Commandments and the
Gospels."
"A prophet should be born to teach men the simple meaning of life in a
few words. It has already been so well summed up: 'Fear God, and keep
His commandments,' or 'Pray and work.'"
"All the errors and mistakes which we have made should serve to instil
into us a lively hatred of evil, and to impart a fresh impulse to good;
these we can take with us to the other side, where they will bloom and
bear fruit. That is the true meaning of life, at which the obstinate
and impenitent cavil, in order to save themselves trouble."
"Pray, _but_ work; suffer, _but_ hope; keeping both the earth and the
stars in view. Do not try and settle permanently, for it is a place of
pilgrimage; not a home, but a halting-place. Seek the truth, for it is
to be found, but only in one place, with the One who Himself is the
Way, the Truth, and the Life."
ARTHUR BABILLOTTE.
[Footnote 1: Strindberg's _Inferno_.]
CONTENTS
THE HISTORY OF THE BLUE BOOK
A BLUE BOOK--
The Thirteenth Axiom
The Rustic Intelligence of the "Beans"
The Hoopoo, or An Unusual Occurrence
Bad Digestion
The Song of the Sawyers
Al Mansur in the Gymnasium
The Nightingale in the Vineyard
The Miracle of the Corn-crakes
Corollaries
Phantasms which are Real
Crex, Crex!
The Electric Battery and the Earth Circuit
Improper and Unanswerable Questions
Superstition and Non-Superstition
Through Faith to Knowledge
The Enchanted Room
Concerning Correspondences
The Green Island
Swedenborg's Hell
Preliminary Knowledge Necessary
Perverse Science
Truth in Error
Accumulators
Eternal Punishment
"Desolation"
A World of Delusion
The Conversion of the Cheerful Pagan, Horace
Cheerful Paganism and its Doctrine of Hell
Faith the Chief Thing
Penitents
Paying for Others
The Lice-King
The Art of Life
The Mitigation of Destiny
The Good and the Evil
Modesty and the Sense of Justice
Derelicts
Human Fate
Dark Rays
Blind and Deaf
The Disrobing Chamber
The Character Mask
Youth and Folly
When I was Young and Stupid
Constant Illusions
The Merits of the Multiplication-Table
Under the Prince of this World
The Idea of Hell
Self-Knowledge
Somnambulism and Clairvoyance in Everyday Life
Practical Measures against Enemies
The Goddess of Reason
Stars Seen by Daylight
The Right to Remorse
A Religious Theatre
Through Constraint to Freedom
The Praise of Folly
The Inevitable
The Poet's Sacrifice
The Function of the Philistines
World-Religion
The Return of Christ
Correspondences
Good Words
Severe and not Severe
Yeast and Bread
The Man of Development
Sins of Thought
Sins of Will
The Study of Mankind
Friend Zero
Affable Men
Cringing before the Beast
_Ecclesia Triumphans_
Logic in Neurasthenia
My Caricature
The Inexplicable
Old-time Religion
The Seduced become Seducers
Large-hearted Christianity
Reconnection with the Aërial Wire
The Art of Conversion
The Superman
To be a Christian is not to be a Pietist
Strength and Value of Words
The Black Illuminati
Anthropomorphism
Fury-worship as a Penal Hallucination
Amerigo or Columbus
A Circumnavigator of the Globe
The Poet's Children
Faithful in Little Things
The Unpracticalness of Husk-eating
A Youthful Dream for Seven Shillings
Envy Nobody!
The Galley-slaves of Ambition
Hard to Disentangle
The Art of Settling Accounts
Growing Old Gracefully
The Eight Wild Beasts
Deaf and Blind
Recollections
Children are Wonder-Children
Men-resembling Men
Christ is Risen
Revolution-Sheep
"Life Woven of the Same Stuff as our Dreams"
The Gospel of the Pagans
Punished by the Imagination
Bankruptcy of Philosophy
A Whole Life in an Hour
The After-Odour
Peaches and Turnips
The Web of Lies
Lethe
A Suffering God
The Atonement
When Nations Go Mad
The Poison of Lies
Murderous Lies
Innocent Guilt
The Charm of Old Age
The Ring-System
Lust, Hate, and Fear, or the Religion of the Heathen
"Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy"
The Slavery of the Prophet
Absurd Problems
The Crooked Rib
White Slavery
Noodles
Inextricable Confusion
Phantoms
Mirage Pictures
Trifle not with Love
A "Taking" Religion
The Sixth Sense
Exteriorisation of Sensibility
Telepathic Perception
Morse Telepathy
_Nisus Formativus_, or Unconscious Sculpture
Projections
Apparitions
The Reactionary Type
The Hate of Parasites
A Letter from the Dead
A Letter from Hell
An Unconscious Medium
The Revenant
The Meeting in the Convent
Correspondences
Portents
The Difficult Art of Lying
Religion and Scientific Intuition
The Freed Thinker
_Primus inter pares_
Heathen Imaginations
Thought Bound by Law
_Credo quia (et-si) absurdum_
The Fear of Heaven
The Goat-god Pan and the Fear of the Pan-pipe
Their Gospel
The Deposition of the Apes
The Secret of the Cross
Examination and Summer Holidays
Veering and Tacking
Attraction and Repulsion
The Double
Paw or Hand
The Thousand-Years' Night of the Apes
The Favourite
Scientific Villainies
Necrobiosis, _i.e._ Death and Resurrection
Secret Judgment
Hammurabi's Inspired Laws Received from the Sun-God
Strauss's Life of Christ
Christianity and Radicalism
Where are We?
Hegel's Christianity
"Men of God's Hand"
Night-Owls
Apotheosis
Painting Things Black
The Thorn in the Flesh
Despair and Grace
The Last Act
Consequences of Learning
Rousseau
Rousseau Again
Materialised Apparitions
The Art of Dying
Can Philosophy Bring any Blessing to Mankind?
Goethe on the Bible
"Now we Can Fly Too! Hurrah"
The Fall and Original Sin
The Gospel
Religious Heathen
The Pleasure-Garden
The Happiness of Love
Our Best Feelings
Blood-Fraternity
The Power of Love
The Box on the Ear
Saul, afterwards Called Paul
A Scene from Hell
The Jewel-Casket or his Better Half
The Mummy-Coffin
In the Attic
The Sculptor
On the Threshold at Five Years of Age
Goethe on Christianity and Science
_Summa Summarum_
Zones of the Spirit
THE HISTORY OF THE BLUE BOOK
(_Prefixed to the Third Swedish Edition_)
I had read how Goethe had once intended to write a _Breviarium
Universale_, a book of edification for the adherents of all religions.
In my _Historical Miniatures_ I have attempted to trace God's ways
in the history of the world; I included Christianity in my survey by
commencing with Israel, but perhaps I made the mistake of ranging other
religions by the side of Christianity, while they ought to have stood
below it.
A year passed. I felt myself constrained by inward impulses to write
a fairly unsectarian breviary; a word of wisdom for each day in the
year. For that purpose I collected the sacred books of all religions,
in order to extract from them "sayings" on which to write. But the
books did not open themselves to me! The Vedas and Zend-Avesta were
sealed, and did not yield a single saying; only the Koran gave one, but
that was a lion! (see "Faith the Chief Thing, ff.). Then I determined
to alter my design. I formed the plan of writing apothegms of simply
worldly wisdom regarding men, and of calling the book _Herbarium
Humane._ But I postponed the work since I trembled at the greatness of
the task and the crudity of my plan. Then came June 15, 1906. As I took
my morning walk, the first thing I saw was a tramcar with the number
365. I was struck by this number, and thought of the 365 pages which I
intended to write.
As I went on, I entered a narrow street. A cart went along by my side
carrying a red flag; it was a powder-flag. The cart kept parallel
with me and began to disturb me. In order to escape the sight of the
powder-flag, I looked up in the air, and there an enormous red flag
(the English one) flaunted conspicuously before my eyes. I looked down
again, and a lady dressed in black, with a fiery-red hat, was crossing
the street in a slanting direction.
I hastened my steps. Immediately my eyes fell on the window of a
stationer's shop; in it a piece of cardboard was displayed, bearing the
word "Herbarium."
It was natural that all this should make an impression on me. My
resolution was now taken; I laid down the plan of my powder-chamber,
which was to become the _Blue Book_. A year passed, slowly, painfully.
The most remarkable thing that happened was this. They began to
rehearse my drama, the _Dream Play_, in the theatre; simultaneously,
a change took place in my daily life. My servant left me; my domestic
arrangements were upset; within forty days I had six changes of
servants--one worse than the other. At last I had to serve myself, lay
the table and light the stove. I ate black broken victuals out of a
basket. In short, I had to taste the whole bitterness of life without
knowing why.
One morning during this fasting period I passed by a shop window in
which I saw a piece of tapestry which attracted and delighted me. I
thought I saw my dream-play in the design woven on the tapestry. Above
was the "growing castle," and underneath the green island over-arched
by a rainbow, and with Alpine summits illumined by the sun. Round it
was the sea reflecting the stars and a great green sea-snake partly
visible; low down in the border was a row of fylfots--the symbol
_Swastika_, signifying good-luck. That was, at any rate, my meaning;
the artist had intended something else which does not belong here.
Then came the dress-rehearsal of the _Dream Play_. This drama I wrote
seven years ago, after a period of forty days' suffering which were
among the worst which I had ever undergone. And now again exactly forty
days of fasting and pain had passed. There seems, therefore, to be
a secret legislature which promulgates clearly defined sentences. I
thought of the forty days of the flood, the forty years of wandering in
the desert, the forty days' fast kept by Moses, Elijah, and Christ.
My journal thus records my impressions:
"The sun shines. A certain quiet resigned uncertainty reigns within me.
I ask myself whether a catastrophe will not prevent the performance
of the piece, which perhaps ought not to be played. In it I have, at
any rate, spoken men fair, but to advise the Ruler of the Universe
is presumption, perhaps blasphemy. The fact that I have laid bare
the comparative nothingness of life (with Buddhism), its irrational
contradictions, its wickedness and lawlessness, may be praiseworthy if
it teaches men resignation. That I have shown the comparative innocence
of men in this life, which of itself involves guilt, is not indeed
wrong, but...."
Just now comes a telephone message from the theatre: "The result of
this is in God's hand." "Exactly what I think," I answer, and ask
myself again whether the piece ought to be played. (I believe it is
already determined by the higher powers what the issue of the first
performance will prove.)
I feel as though it were Sunday. The "White Shape" appears outside on
the balcony of the "growing castle."
My thoughts have lately been occupied with death and with the life
after this. Yesterday I read Plato's _Timæus_ and _Phædo_. At present
I write a work called _The Island of the Dead_. In it I describe
the awakening after death, and what follows. But I hesitate, for I
am frightened at the boundless misery of mere life. Lately I burned
a drama; it was so sincere, that I shuddered at it. What I do not
understand is this: ought one to hide the misery, and flatter men?
I _wish_ to write cheerfully and beautifully, but ought not, and
cannot. I conceive it as a terrible duty to be truthful, and life is
indescribably hideous.
Now the clock strikes eleven, and at twelve o'clock is the rehearsal.
The same day at 8 P.M. I have seen the rehearsal of the _Dream Play_,
and suffered greatly. I received the impression that this piece ought
not to be played. It is presumptuous, and certainly blasphemous (?). I
am disturbed and alarmed.
I have had no midday meal; at seven o'clock I ate some cold food out of
the basket in the kitchen.
During the religious broodings of my last forty days I read the Book
of Job, saying to myself certainly at the same time that I was no
righteous man like him. Then I came to the 22nd chapter, in which
Eliphaz the Temanite unmasks Job: "Thou hast taken pledges of thy
brother for nought, and stripped the naked of their clothing; thou hast
not given water to the weary to drink, and thou hast withholden bread
from the hungry.... Is not thy wickedness great and thine iniquities
infinite?"
Then the whole comfort of the Book of Job vanished, and I stood again
forlorn and irresolute. What shall a poor man hold on to? What shall I
believe? How can he help thinking perversely?
Yesterday I read Plato's _Timæus_ and _Phædo._ There I found so much
self-contradictory wisdom, that in the evening I threw my devotional
books away and prayed to God out of a full heart. "What will happen
now? God help me! Amen."
The stage-manager visited me yesterday evening. We both felt, in
despair.... The night was quiet.
_April 16, 1907_.--Read the proof of the _Black Flags_,[1] which I
wrote in 1904. I asked myself whether the book was a crime, and whether
it ought to be published. I opened the Bible, and came on the prophet
Jonah, who was compelled to prophesy although he hid himself. That
quieted me. But it is a terrible book!
_April 17_.--To-day the _Dream Play_ will be performed for the first
time. A gentle fall of snow in the morning. Read the last chapter of
Job: God punishes Job because he presumed to wish to understand His
work. Job prays for pardon, and is forgiven.
Quiet grey weather till 3 P.M. Then G. came with a piece of good news.
Spent the evening alone at home. At eight o'clock there was a ring at
the door. A messenger brought a laurel-wreath with the inscription:
"Truth, Light, Liberation." I took the wreath at once to the bust of
Beethoven on the tiled stove and placed it on his head, since I had so
much to thank him for, especially just now for the music accompanying
my drama.
At eleven o'clock a telephone from the theatre announces that
everything has gone well.
_May 29_.--The _Black Flags_ come out to-day. I make very satisfactory
terms with the publisher regarding the _Blue Book_ (and I had thought
it would not be printed at all). So I determined to remain in my house,
which I had determined to leave on account of poverty.
_August 20_.--I read this evening the proofs of the _Blue Book_. Then
the sky grew coal-black with towering dark clouds. A storm of rain
fell; then it cleared up, and a great rainbow stood round the church,
which was lit up by the sun.
_August 22_.--I am reading now the proofs of the _Blue Book_, and I
feel now as though my mission in life were ended. I have been able to
say all I had to say.
I dreamt that I was in the home of my childhood at Sabbatsberg, and saw
that the great pond was dried up. This pond had always been dangerous
to children because it was surrounded by a swamp; it had an evil smell,
and was full of frogs, hedgehogs, and lizards. Now in my dream I walked
about on the dry ground, and was astonished to find it so clean. I
thought now that I have broken with the _Black Flags_ the frog-swamp is
done with.
_September 1_.--Read the last proofs of the _Blue Book_.
_September 2_.--Came across tramcar 365, which I had not seen since I
began to write the _Blue Book_ on June 15, 1906.
_September 12_.--The _Blue Book_ appears to-day. It is the first clear
day in summer. I dreamt I found myself in a stone-quarry, and could
neither go up nor down. I thought quite quietly, "Well, I must cry for
help!"
The German motto to-day on the tear-off calendar is: "What is to be
clarified must first ferment."
To-day I got new clothes which fitted. My old ones had been too tight
to the point of torture.
My little daughter visited me. I took her home again in a chaise.
_September 14_.--The whole day clear. Towards evening, however, about
a quarter to six, the sky became covered with most portentous-looking
clouds, with black outlines like obliquely hanging theatre-flies.
Afterwards these were driven out by a storm over the sea.
This evening my _Crown Bride_ was performed. Thus, then, the _Blue
Book_ had appeared. It looked well with its blue and red binding, which
resembled that of my first book, the _Red Room_, but in its contents
differed as much from it as red from blue. In the first I had, like
Jeremiah, to pluck up, break down, and destroy; but in this book I was
able to build and to plant. And I will conclude with Hezekiah's song of
praise:
"I said, in the noontide of my days, I shall go to the gates of the
grave:
"My age is departed, and is removed from me as a shepherd's tent:
"I have rolled up like a weaver my life; he will cut me off from the
loom.
"From day even to night wilt thou make an end of me.
"Like a swallow or a crane, so did I chatter; I did mourn as a dove:
mine eyes fail with looking upward.
"Lord, I am oppressed; undertake for me.
"What shall I say? He hath both spoken unto me, and himself hath done
it.
"Behold, it was for my peace that I had great bitterness;
"Thou hast in love to my soul delivered it from the pit of corruption.
"The living, the living, he shall praise thee, as I do this day.
"The father to the children shall make known thy truth."
* * * * *
I saw beforehand what awaited me if I broke with the _Black Flags_. But
I placed my soul in God's hands, and went forwards. I affix as a motto
to the following book, "He who departeth from evil, maketh himself a
prey."
The strangest thing, however, is that from this moment my own Karma
began to complete itself. I was protected, things went well with me,
I found better friends than those I had lost. Now I am inclined to
ascribe all my former mischances to the fact that I served the _Black
Flags_. There was no blessing with them!
[Footnote 1: A _roman à clef_ in which Strindberg fiercely attacks the
Bohemians and emancipated women of Stockholm.]
A BLUE BOOK
=The Thirteenth Axiom=.--Euclid's twelfth axiom, as is well known,
runs thus: When one straight line cuts two other straight lines so that
the interior angles on the same side are together less than two right
angles, these two lines, being produced, will at length meet on that
side on which are the two angles, which are together less than two
right angles.
If that is a self-evident proposition, which can neither be proved, nor
needs to be proved, how much clearer is the axiom of the existence of
God!
Anyone who tries to prove an axiom, loses himself in absurdity;
therefore, we should not attempt to prove the existence of God. He who
cannot understand what is self-evident in an axiom belongs to the class
of people of a lower degree of intelligence. One should be sorry for
such dullards, but not blame them.
The first point in the definition of God, is that He is Almighty.
Thence it follows that He can abrogate His own laws. But since we do
not know all His laws, we do not know when He employs a law which is
unknown to us, or suspends a law which is known to us.
What we call miracles, may happen according to strict laws which we do
not know. We must therefore take care, when confronted by unusual or
inexplicable occurrences, to see that we make no mistakes. These draw
down upon us the contempt of our fellow-mortals who are gifted with
keener intelligence.
=The Rustic Intelligence of the "Beans."=--The miller turns
his mill and the seaman trims his sails according to the force and
direction of the wind. They do not see the wind, but they believe in
its existence, since they observe the results produced by it. They are
wise people who use their intelligence.
Intelligence ("ratio"), or rustic intelligence, is an excellent faculty
whereby to grasp what is perceptible by the senses, even when it is
invisible. Reason is a higher faculty wherewith one may grasp what is
not perceptible by sense. But when the rationalists try to comprehend
the highest things with their rustic intelligence, then they see light
as darkness, good as evil, the eternal as temporal. In a word, they see
distortedly, for they see by the light of nature. Just as the rustic
intelligence is indispensable when one goes to market, deals with
coffee and sugar, or draws up promissory-notes, even so is the use of
reason necessary when one wishes to approach what is above nature.
Voltaire and Heine are counted among the greatest rationalists because
they judged of spiritual things by rustic intelligence. Their arguments
are therefore interesting, but worthless.
And the most interesting fact about both these men is, that they
discovered their errors, declared themselves bankrupt, and finally used
their reason. But there the "Beans" can no longer follow them.
"Beans" is a classical name for the Philistines who worshipped Dagon,
the fish-god, and Beelzebub, the god of dung.
=The Hoopoo, or An Unusual Occurrence.=--Johann was one day on
his travels, and came to a wood. In an old tree he found a bird's nest
with seven eggs, which resembled the eggs of the common swift. But the
latter bird only lays three eggs, so the nest could not belong to it.
Since Johann was a great connoisseur in eggs, he soon perceived that
they were the eggs of the hoopoo. Accordingly, he said to himself,
"There must be a hoopoo somewhere in the neighbourhood, although the
natural history books assert that it does not appear here."
After a time he heard quite distinctly the well-known cry of the
hoopoo. Then he knew that the bird was there. He hid himself behind
a rock, and he soon saw the speckled bird with its yellow comb. When
Johann returned home after three days, he told his teacher that he had
seen the hoopoo on the island. His teacher did not believe it, but
demanded proof.
"Proof!" said Johann. "Do you mean two witnesses?"
"Yes!"
"Good! I have twice two witnesses, and they all agree: my two ears
heard it, and my two eyes saw it."
"Maybe. But _I_ have not seen it," answered the teacher.
Johann was called a liar because he could not prove that he had seen
the hoopoo in such and such a spot. However, it was a fact that the
hoopoo appeared there, although it was an unusual occurrence in this
neighbourhood.
=Bad Digestion.=--When one adds up several large numbers, one owes
it to oneself to doubt the correctness of the calculation. In order to
test it, one generally adds the figures up again, but from the bottom
to the top. That is wholesome doubt.
But there is an unwholesome kind of doubt, which consists in denying
everything which one has not seen and heard oneself. To treat one's
fellow-men as liars is not humane, and diminishes our knowledge to a
considerable degree.
There is a morbid kind of doubt, which resembles a weak stomach.
Everything is swallowed, but nothing retained; everything is received,
but nothing digested. The consequence is emaciation, exhaustion,
consumption, and premature death.
Johann Damascenus[1] had passed through several years of wholesome
doubt, proving the truths of faith by systematic denial. But when,
after minutely checking his calculation, he had become sure of their
asserted values, he believed. Since then, neither fear of men, love
of gain, contempt, or threats could cause him to abandon his dearly
purchased faith. And in that he was right.
=The Song of the Sawyers.=--As Damascenus wandered in Qualheim,
he came to a saw-mill. Outside it, on the edge of a stream, sat two
men, and sawed a steel rail with a double saw. They accompanied their
sawing with a rhythmic chant in two voices, and somewhat resembled two
drinkers quarrelling.
"What are you singing about?" asked Damascenus.
"About faith and knowledge," answered one. And then they recommenced.
"What I know, that I believe; therefore knowledge is under faith, and
faith stands above it."
"What do you know then? What you have seen with your eye?"
"My eye sees nothing of itself. If you were to take it out, and lay it
down here, it would see nothing. Therefore, it is my inner eye which
sees."
"Can I then see your inner eye?"
"It is not to be seen. But you see with that which is itself invisible.
Therefore, you must believe on the invisible! Now you know."
"Yes, yes, yes, but, but, but.... Have you seen God?"
"Yes, with my inner eye. Therefore, I believe on Him. But it is not
necessary for you to see Him, in order for me to believe on Him."
"But knowledge is the highest."
"Yes, but faith is the highest of all."
"Do you know what you believe?"
"Yes, although you don't know it."
"Prove it."
"By two concurring witnesses? Here in this district alone I can collect
two million witnesses. That must be sufficient proof for you."
"But, but, but, but" ... And so on.
[Footnote 1: Strindberg gives himself this name, probably in allusion
to his mystery-play, _To Damascus_ (1900).]
=Al Mansur in the Gymnasium.=--Damascenus came into a large
gymnasium, which at first he thought was empty. But presently he
noticed that men stood along the walls with their backs turned towards
him, so that he only saw their perukes and red ears. "Why do they stand
and look at the wall, and why do they have such red ears?" he asked his
teacher.
"They are ashamed of themselves," answered the teacher. "During their
lifetime they were regarded as very clever fellows, but now they have
discovered their stupidity."
"What is stupidity?"
"He is stupid, in the first place, who is unpractical. These have
practised gymnastics all their lives, but never used the strength which
they have gained. Furthermore, he is stupid who finds it difficult to
comprehend simple propositions, self-evident propositions or axioms;
for instance, the axiom of the existence of God. He is also stupid who
cannot understand a logical proof; he who cannot accept reasonable
premises, can draw no correct inferences. But the height of stupidity
is, not to be able to accept an explanation founded on fact. When the
Apostles told Thomas that Christ, the Son of God, was risen from the
dead, he could not receive the new truth, because it was beyond his
horizon. Such a man is usually called thick-headed, is he not?"
Damascenus did not answer, but his ears grew red, for he saw behind on
the spring-board a man whom he thought he recognised by his broad neck
and small ears.
"What are you looking at?" asked the teacher.
"Who is the man there?"
"He was, or was called Al Mansur, the Victorious, because he lost all
battles but one--the battle with himself. By the Greeks he is called
Chrysoroas, or 'Golden Stream'; by the Romans, John of Damascus."
=The Nightingale in the Vineyard.=--Johann went with his teacher
through a vineyard, at the season when the vines were flourishing
and exhaling their delicious perfume, which resembles that of the
mignonette. "Do you notice the fine scent?" asked the teacher. "Oh yes;
it is the scent of the vines." "Can you see it?" "No, it is invisible."
"Then you can believe in what is invisible, as well as enjoy it. You
are, then, on the way."
A nightingale was singing in a pomegranate tree. "Can you see her
notes?" asked the teacher. "But you are delighted by them. Similarly,
I delight in the invisible God through His way of revealing Himself in
beauty, goodness, and righteousness. Do you think God cannot reveal
Himself, like the nightingale, by invisible but audible tones?" "Yes,
certainly." "Then you believe in revelations?" "Yes, I am obliged
to." "You believe that God is a Spirit?" "Yes." "Then you believe in
spirits?" "That is an incorrect inference. I believe in one Spirit."
"Have not men spirits or souls in their bodies?" "Certainly." "Then
you believe in spirits, _i.e._ in the existence of spirits?" "You are
right; I believe in spirits." "Don't forget that the next time one asks
you. And don't be afraid when the Lord of Dung comes and threatens you
with the loss of bread, honour, wife, and child."
=The Miracle of the Corn-crakes.=--One summer evening the teacher
went with Johann through the clover-fields. There they heard a sound,
"Crex! crex!" "What is that?" asked the teacher. "The corn-crake, of
course." "Have you seen the corn-crake?" "No." "Do you know a man who
has seen it?" "No." "How do you know, then, that it is it?" "Everyone
says so." "Look! If I throw a stone at it, will it fly up?" "No, for it
cannot fly, or flies very badly." "But in autumn, it always flies to
Italy! How does that happen?" "I don't know." "What do the zoologists
say?" "Nothing." "Do you believe that it flies over the Sound, runs
through Germany, and wanders over the Alps or through the St. Gothard
Tunnel?" "They say nothing about it." "Well! Brehm calculates there
are a pair of larks to every acre of field and meadow; if we reckon
that there are a pair of corn-crakes to every two acres, then there
are in our country in spring five million corn-crakes. The female lays
from seven to twelve eggs during the summer, so that in autumn in our
country there are five-and-thirty million corn-crakes. Ought they not
to be visible when they fly over the Sound?" "I cannot explain it. A
bad flyer cannot fly over the Sound. Is it possible that they go round
by the Gulf of Bothnia?" "No, for they have rivers to cross, and one
would see their flight like that of the lemmings. Besides, in England
there are seventy million corn-crakes every autumn, and they cannot
go by land." "Then a miracle happens." "What is a miracle?" "What one
cannot explain, but has no right to deny." "Then the flight of the
corn-crakes is a miracle; it must take place according to unknown
natural laws or be supernatural?"
=Corollaries.=--The teacher said: "The bee is a little creature,
but gives plenty of honey. The corn-crake is a little bird, but it has
shown us that some of the most ordinary natural occurrences cannot be
explained by known natural laws, and must therefore be regarded, for
the present, as supernatural, and for the rest, be taken on faith.
"You have never seen the corn-crake in fields or meadows, but you
believe that it is there. If now a sportsman came, who had shot the
bird, you would be more quickly convinced that the bird does appear in
the district, even though the sportsman were a liar.
"But the fact that millions of birds not accustomed to flying cannot
fly over great spaces of water or Alpine glaciers, does not explain the
autumn flight of the corn-crakes.
"Since this cannot be explained on natural grounds, it is
supernatural. We must accordingly admit that we believe sometimes on
the supernatural, or on miracles.
"From this proved thesis you can deduce the corollaries for yourself if
you possess the faculty of drawing inferences."
=Phantasms which Are Real.=--The teacher asked: "Can one see a
phantasm?"
"What is a phantasm?"
"There are in optics real images which can be caught on a screen. An
image reflected in a flat mirror cannot be caught upon a screen, and is
therefore a phantasm. Can you see your image in a flat mirror?"
"Yes."
"Then you can see a phantasm, or an unreal image. The eye, therefore,
is a skilful instrument, which can make the unreal real. One might thus
be tempted to believe in ghosts."
"What are ghosts?"
"They are phantasms, or unreal images which the eye can take in at
certain distances. Great and credible men, such as Luther, Swedenborg,
and Goethe, have seen ghosts."
"Goethe?"
"Yes; in the eleventh book of _Aus meinem Leben_ he relates how he met
the image of himself upon a country road. 'I saw, that is to say, not
with the eye of the body, but of the spirit,' he adds. Do you consider
Goethe's testimony credible?"
"Yes."
"Well, such sights are not seen every day, just as the hoopoo is not
seen every day. But that does not give one any right to doubt that they
are seen."
=Crex, crex!=--The pupil asked: "What is chance?"
"It means something accidental, irregular, illogical in the occurrence
of an event. But the word is often misused by those who see, but do not
understand. For instance, if after an evil deed you are systematically
persecuted by misfortune, that is no chance. Firstly, because the
misfortunes appear regularly, but chance is irregular. Secondly,
because the punishment follows logically on the evil deed, and chance
is illogical. It is therefore something else."
"Yes, it must be so. But what is it that causes me to fail in all my
undertakings, to meet in the streets only enemies, to be cheated in all
the shops, to get the worst eatables in the market, to read only of
wickedness in the papers, not to receive pleasant letters though they
have been posted, to miss my train, to see the last cab engaged under
my nose, to be given the only room in the hotel where a suicide has
been committed, not to meet the person I have taken a special journey
to see; to have the money I earn immediately snatched away, to have to
remain in a strange town from which all my acquaintances have gone?
Then at last, when I have no food, and am on the point of drowning
myself, I find a shilling in the street. That cannot be chance? What is
it then?"
"It is something else, but how it happens we don't know, since we know
so little about the most ordinary phenomena."
"That's only twaddle."
"Crex, crex!"
"That's the corn-crake."
"Yes, it is."
=The Electric Battery and the Earth Circuit.=--The pupil feigned
ignorance, and asked: "What is religion?"
"If you do not know from experience or intuition, I cannot explain it
to you; in that case it would only seem to you folly. But if you know
beforehand, you will be able to receive my explanations, which are
many. Religion is connected with the Source or the head station. But in
order to carry on a conversation one must have an earth-current."
"What is that?"
"That is the draining off of superfluous earthliness to the earth. As
one advances in technical knowledge, one learns to speak without a
wire. But for that there are necessary strong streams of electricity,
clean instruments, and clear air. The electric battery is Faith, which
is not merely credence, but an apparatus for receiving and arousing the
divine electricity. Unless you believe in the possibility of success in
an undertaking, you will not set to work, and accordingly you acquire
no energy. With faith and a good will all is possible."
"But Faith is a gift for all that."
"Yes; but if, from pride or obstinacy, you refuse to receive it, it is
no gift for you. Is that clear?"
=Improper and Unanswerable Questions.=--The pupil asked: "If God
is one, why are there several religions?"
"Since the existence of God is an axiom, you should say, '_Since_ God
is one, why are there several religions?' I answer: I do not know,
and, strictly speaking, it does not concern me. All agree in the chief
point--that there is a God, and that the soul is immortal."
"If the soul is immortal, how is it that there are men who regard their
souls as mortal, and speak of the present life as their only one?"
"Their feelings may be perverted, like a man's who believes he has a
snake in his stomach. Perhaps they have committed soul-suicide. Perhaps
they think the doctrine of immortality foolish, or their souls are
really so rudimentary that they can be buried and dissolved. If that
is the case, one cannot argue with them, for they are right as regards
themselves. Either theirs is an abnormal case, or their perceptions
are perverse; I cannot say which. I am inclined to regard the question
as among those which are unanswerable, or which have not yet been
answered, or which should not be asked."
=Superstition and Non-Superstition.=--The pupil asked: "What is
superstition?"
"I don't know; but a sterile intellect calls the highest axioms
superstitions, _e.g._ God, the religious life, conscience. The
believing fertile intelligence, on the other hand, calls it
superstition when an unbeliever avoids a squirrel, spits when he sees
an old woman or when one wishes him luck, or dares not begin a journey
on the thirteenth of the month."
"What is witchcraft?"
"When bad men misemploy their psychic forces on weaker minds, dazzle
them, or torment them from a distance, and so on. You have seen all
this at hypnotic seances. In them, for example, the medium's eyesight
can be so perverted as to take a raw potato for an apple."
"Are there then witches?"
"Yes; certainly there are. An ugly and evil woman, who so dazzles the
eyes of a man that he sees her as the most beautiful and best, is a
witch."
"Should she be burnt?"
"No, for she burns herself through her wickedness when she meets a man
who is mail-clad with the love of God. Then the missiles of the witch
rebound and strike herself. But one should not talk of such. He who
touches pitch is defiled."