'The chosen are those who have conscience; the reprobate are those
who have no conscience.' That agrees with Socrates' definition of
a man as a being possessing both modesty and conscience. In another
place Swedenborg thus explains temptations: 'Evil spirits arouse in
the memory of a man all the evil and falsity which he has thought and
practised since childhood; but the angels who accompany him produce his
goodness and truth, and in this manner defend him. It is this conflict
which causes pangs of conscience.
"'When a man is tried with respect to his understanding, evil spirits
summon up only the evil deeds which he has committed. These are
symbolised by unclean animals. The evil spirits accuse and condemn by
distorting the truth in a thousand ways.'
"Swedenborg also mentions a kind of spirits who raise scruples about
trifles, and thus trouble the consciences of the unwary. Their presence
arouses a feeling of discomfort at the pit of the stomach, and they
take delight in burdening the conscience. Finally there are some
pagans from the countries inhabited by black men, who bring with them
from their earthly life the wish to be treated hardly, under the idea
that no one can enter heaven without having suffered punishments and
torments. _Because they have this belief_, they are at first treated
hardly by some whom they call devils.
"In another place Swedenborg says: 'There are no devils except bad
men.' One word more. The Master met some in a state of despair, who
believed that pain would be everlasting. 'But it was given me to
comfort them.' These are good words for you."
=Severe and not Severe.=--The pupil objected: "But Swedenborg is
in general too severe."
The teacher answered: "No! it is not he, but life which is severe, and
life's laws are severe for the unrighteous. The Master says: 'Women
who attain to power and wealth from the lower ranks often become
furies; but women who are born to power and wealth, and do not uplift
themselves, are happy.' 'To renounce the pleasures of life,' he says,
'and wealth and power, with the idea of earning heaven by asceticism,
is a false view.'
"We know that Swedenborg was temperate in everyday life, but went
willingly into society, and then he allowed himself a _poculum
hilaritatus,_ a cup of cheer. He declares himself decisively against
those who retreat from the world: 'Many think it is hard to lead a
life which conducts to heaven, because they have heard that, for this
object, one must renounce the world and live to the spirit. By this
they understand that one must cut oneself off from all that is earthly,
and devotes one's whole life to spiritual contemplation and devotion.
But that it is not really so, I have learned through long experience.
He who thus separates from the world in order to live to the spirit,
enters a gloomy life, which is irreceptive of the joy of heaven. In
order to prepare for heaven one must live in the world in activity and
employment.... I have spoken with some who had withdrawn from their
occupations in order to live a spiritual life, and also with some
who had tormented themselves in various ways, because they believed
they ought to suppress the desires of the flesh.... As a rule they
are puffed up with pride, and regard heavenly joy as a reward without
knowing what heaven and heavenly joy is.'"
The pupil interrupted: "This seems to be the case with the pietists."
"Not with all. There are among them penitents, or those who really
prepare for death. Leave the pietists in peace, and don't try to sever
the wheat from the chaff.... Religion should not merely be a Sunday
suit, but a gentle accompaniment to mitigate the ponderous tones of
everyday life. But one must not be cowardly or indifferent, as so many
modern Christians are. When they hear the big words 'Development,'
'Modern Thought,' 'Science,' they think at once that Christianity is a
thing of the past. If they read in the papers that the Lice-King has
overcome the Christians, they believe at once that God has forsaken His
own. They forget that the Egyptian bondage was an education for Canaan,
and that the Philistines were employed as goads to spur on the lazy.
"Unbelief, superstition, deliberate falsehood, error--all serve the
Truth, for all things serve. And to him who loves God, all things turn
out for good."
=Yeast and Bread.=--"The neo-pagans who have now rushed forward
on the stage, and believe they are the lords of the world because they
serve the Prince of the World, seem to be a sediment of savage races
which by marriage and immigration have penetrated the old nations of
Europe like yeast. Yeast fulfils its function in the warmth of the
oven, but is itself changed into gases and disappears, leaving bubbles
and holes behind. The dough remains, changed into mellow, low, crisp,
white, fragrant, warm bread. Yeast is a kind of mould produced by
corruption, yet it must be present in order to make white bread.
"Everything serves! But mould by itself can make no bread. One ought
therefore not to be angry with the pagans, for they know no better.
To enlighten them is difficult; one can locate a grey star, but not a
black one. One ought not to fear them, for then they bite. But they
must have their day. 'I have seen the wicked in great power, and
spreading himself like a green tree in its native soil; but I passed
by, and, lo, he was not; yea, I sought him, but he could not be found.'"
=The Man of Development.=--The pupil asked: "Can the pagans really
not be enlightened?"
"Experience has shown that it is almost impossible. For a blockhead
cannot understand the simplest things; he cannot see the self-evident
nature of an axiom. If he is systematically followed by misfortune,
he calls it 'bad-luck'; if he is prostrated with illness, he rises
as stupid as he was before; if he gets into prison, he sits there
and meditates new tricks; if he lies on the rack, he thinks he is
suffering for his faith, although he has not got any; from warnings
and trials he emerges as great a calf as he was before, for he has no
intelligence. All the denizens of the dunghill praise his firmness of
character, his strength of soul, his strong belief in his cause. He is
sixty years old, and he has worked for 'development,' but he has not
been able to develop himself. He hawks about the same rubbish as he
did forty years ago, when he discovered what he called 'the truth' in
the books of his teachers; he has never produced an original thought,
nor obtained a new view of an old subject. He has stood still, but the
world has gone forward; he believed he was leading the van, when he
was bringing up the rear. Christianity beckoned, but crab-like he went
backward to paganism. Such is the man of 'development.' Do you know
him?"
"I have known him, but renounced his acquaintance."
=Sins of Thought.=--The teacher said: "According to Luther, man
is a child till his fortieth year. I was a child till my fiftieth,
_i.e._ unintelligent, conceited. I believed that I was inaccessible and
irresponsible as regards my thoughts. But I was obliged to change my
opinion when I began to observe myself. I discovered, that is, that
when I had sinned, hated, killed, stolen, though only in thought, and
then came into the company of friends, they treated me ruthlessly,
as though I were a murderer or a thief. I could not explain, but
finally believed that my evil thoughts were legible in my face. And
when I observed that my friends began to touch on precisely the same
unpleasant subject which had occupied my secret thoughts, I saw that
so-called thought-reading is daily and hourly practised in social life.
"When subsequently I read Maeterlinck's fine book, _The Treasure of
the Humble_, my belief in this was strengthened, for he made the same
observation. When I finally took in hand my own spiritual education, I
found that this was the principal point, and by watching my thoughts
I prevented them breaking out into action. Now for the first time
I understood why I had so often in my life thought myself unjustly
accused and punished for offences which I had not committed. I confess
now that I had committed them in thought. But how did men know that?
Assuredly there is a hidden justice which punishes sins of thought,
and when men make each other accountable for suspicions, ugly looks or
feelings, they are right. That is a hard saying, but it is so."
=Sins of Will.=--The teacher continued: "There are also sins
of wish and volition. You know that one can hate and worry a man
dead. I was once in a watering-place in which the hotel proprietor
had introduced a sort of monopoly. He had arrogated to himself the
privilege of alone providing food for the boarders. He starved them by
cooking the goodness out of the meat before he roasted it, by making
soup of rye-meal, and so on. The boarders were patient, and no one
wished to make a disturbance. But their hatred of the man increased.
After a month I observed that the hotel proprietor began to look yellow
in the face and to pine away. As he sat at his bar he became the
object of glances full of hatred. At last, one day, the whole company,
a hundred in number, rose during the midday meal and departed. Then
the proprietor became ill of a liver disease. It seemed as though the
collected gall of all the guests had somehow transferred itself to his
liver, and curdled there. He vanished; they had killed him. But their
hatred was this time justified, or quite natural.
"When, however, we hate a man because he will not admire us or further
our selfish interests, we may become simply murderers. That, however,
depends on the behaviour of the other. If he is innocent in the
matter, he will be immune and irreceptive of the poison. I know a
person who hated me because she could not rob me. She was a servant to
whom I had shown nothing but kindness. Her hate did not affect me so
long as I was upright."
=The Study of Mankind.=--The teacher said: "One ought not to
attempt to study men. Partly because they do not lay themselves open
to be studied, partly because they are aware when they became objects
of deliberate investigation. He who does not give himself, receives
nothing. He who does not approach men in a spirit of sympathy, finds
no point of contact with them. When I regard them as companions in
misfortune, fellow-wanderers in the wilderness, they open themselves to
me. If I expose myself, I show a confidence in them, which meets with
a response. If I approach them with suspicion, they show suspicion.
If anyone visits me, in order to examine me, I let him sit for his
portrait to me.
"When I have had frank intercourse for a considerable time with a man,
and then sum up his characteristics in my recollection, I get a fair
idea of him, but never quite a correct one. Men have a right to hide
their secrets. When I was young and unintelligent, I believed that, as
an author, I had a right to investigate the past of others; but I soon
discovered that it is not allowed. They seemed to be guarded.
"He who says one ought to be so on guard in one's intercourse with a
friend, as though he might some day become an enemy, has had little
pleasure in friendship. I have always behaved to men as though they
were going to be my friends for life, and therefore I have received
something in return. When they have disappointed me, I have said to
myself. 'What matters it? Nothing for nothing!'"
=Friend Zero.=--The teacher continued: "There are people who
seem friendly, harmless, considerate; they leave others in peace,
never pry into their affairs, never say evil behind people's backs,
nor allow evil to be said. I have admired and envied them for their
good natural qualities. But among such persons I have found some who
keep remote from unpleasantnesses out of pure selfishness, and who out
of love for ease and comfort wish to know nothing of other people's
affairs in order not to be drawn into them. These are those who will
not give evidence in court, even for the sake of defending a friend.
They are silent when they ought to speak. They avoid recommending a
relative on the plea that 'they do not know him.' When their names
are mentioned as authorities for such and such a report, they have
'lost their memories.' They will not lend money to anyone who needs
it, because 'they do not wish to have a disagreement with him.' They
have no positive virtues, and no positive faults. Consequently they
are colourless, unreliable, characterless, formless; they can not be
classified under any system.
"I once knew one of these for ten years; then I forgot him. Twenty
years later I found some of my old letters in an attic; among them were
hundreds of letters from my formless friend. I was astonished to find
that I had had such a lengthy correspondence with him. And I looked
to see what he had had to say. I read five-and-twenty letters. They
contained nothing. I read fifty; the result was the same--nothing.
They consisted solely of handwriting, ink, paper, envelopes, and
postage-stamps. I burnt them and forgot Friend Zero henceforth. He did
not even leave a memory behind him."
=Affable Men.=--The teacher said: "When I have seen a
character-drama, I have always asked myself, 'Are men really so simple
and transparent?' There is a kind of men about whom one can never be
certain. They are so disposed by nature that they adapt themselves to
their companions out of pure affability. Such a man once came into my
circle; I found him sympathetic, lovable, good-natured. On one occasion
I imparted to a third person my opinion of my affable friend. He
answered, 'You don't know him! He is a malicious man; he has only put
on an air of affability with you.'
"Then there came a fourth: 'He! He is the falsest man in existence!'
Finally his wife came: 'No! he is neither malicious nor false; he only
wants to be on good terms with people.'
"At the beginning of our acquaintance (he confessed it himself later
on), he had determined to win me by affability, and to preserve my
affection by doing everything, or nearly everything, that I wished. He
also abstained from contradicting me. During a whole year I never heard
him express a view of his own; he only repeated my thoughts. I believed
he had no will, no views, not even feelings. He seemed to me to be a
mirror in which I was reflected; I never found him, only myself. Then I
became tired of him, did not know how to hold myself in, and asked him
to do something wrong. Then at last I discovered the man himself. With
an unparalleled strength of character, he left wife, child, and home!
In order 'to save his soul,' as he said. 'Have you then got a soul?' I
asked. 'Judge for yourself,' he answered, and departed.
"It is dangerous to be affable, and it is dangerous to consider men
simple."
=Cringing before the Beast.=--The teacher said: "When a man once
yields to desire, the ceasing of a certain restraint carries with it a
feeling of freedom and deliverance. This pleasurable feeling we almost
regard as a reward, and conclude that we have acted rightly when we
have thrown a bone to the barking dog. But had we forborne to do so,
the dog would not have formed the habit of barking, and we might have
gone our way in the proud consciousness of not having cringed before
the beast, by bribing it to silence. The feeling of pleasure would have
been changed into a consciousness of victory and power, which is far
superior to sensuality.
"Never cringe before the beast; then it will not get the better of
you. The suppression of an unlawful desire is like winding up a watch;
the mainspring contracts till it creaks, but it does not do its work
properly till then. Preserve your strength for yourself; then you will
conquer your foes in the battles of life. Waste not your virile energy,
or the woman will get the better of you.
"You know very well what I mean by 'desire': I do not mean moderate
eating and drinking; and you know very well what 'waste' means. You
must also not believe that desire decreases with age. It is not so; but
the intelligence and will-power increase, and therefore the victory is
proportionably easier. I make you a present of this explanation: keep
it, and show that you are intelligent enough to be able to receive a
real one."
=Ecclesia Triumphans.=--The teacher said: "The world is full of
lies, but there are also errors and misunderstandings. No two men give
words the same meaning. But there are persistent lies which circulate
like coins. There are lies of the lower classes, and lies of the upper
classes; lies of the Catholics and of the Protestants. But those of
the pagans are the worst of all. They believe they have the right to
lie, because it profits them or their friends. One of the greatest
lies of the pagans which misled me for a long time is the false
assertion that Japan has accepted the material culture of Europe, but
rejected Christianity. Two Japanese professors, who lately visited our
land, declared on the contrary that there was a Christian church in
each of the larger towns of Japan. There are Christians in the army,
parliament, and universities. Their number is great--five-and-forty
thousand Protestants, eight-and-fifty thousand Catholics, and
five-and-twenty thousand adherents of the Greek Church. In the Second
Chamber of the Japanese parliament two of the presidents have become
Christians. And all that has taken place in thirty-five years. A
thousand years pass by like nothing, and the future seems to belong to
Christianity, since we have already seen that the chief powers of the
world, Europe and America, are Christian.
"There is certainly no obligation to be a Christian, but some day
it may be a disgrace not to be one, when one is born in a Christian
country. It may come to be thought retrograde and conservative, and a
failure to keep pace with development. The pagans celebrated the end of
the eighteenth century as marking the overthrow of Christianity, but in
1802 appeared the finest book which has been written on Christianity,
_Le Génie du Christianisme_, by Chateaubriand, and by its means the
Church triumphed again."
=Logic in Neurasthenia.=--As the Teacher wandered in Qualheim, he
came into a mountainous region, and saw a castle which was of dreamlike
beauty. "Who is the enviable man who lives in such a palace?" he
asked. His guide answered: "He is an unhappy, helpless hermit, without
peace, and without a home. He was born with great artistic gifts, but
employed them on rubbish. He drew nonsensical and trifling caricatures,
distorted all that was beautiful into ugliness, and all that was great
into pettiness."
"How does he occupy himself now?"
"Shall I say it? He sits from morning till evening, making balls out of
dung."
"You mean to say, he continues as he began. Is that his punishment?"
"Yes! Isn't it logical? He obtained the castle, but cannot use it."
Then they went further and came into a garden, where they found a man
grafting peaches on turnips. "What has he done?" asked the teacher. "In
life he was especially fond of turnips, and now he wishes to inoculate
peaches, which he finds insipid, with the fine flavour of turnips. He
was, moreover, an author, and wished to rejuvenate poetry with bawdy
peasant songs." "Why, that is symbolism!" "Yes, and logical most of
all."
Then they came to a cottage, where they found a man lying on a bed,
surrounded by piles of books. The man had read himself ill; he lay
there exhausted by hunger and thirst, and could hardly breathe.
"What is he reading?" asked the teacher.
"Only theology, exegetics, dogmatics, isogogy, eschatology. During
lifetime he denied the existence of God. Now he seeks Him in theology,
but has not yet found Him."
"Will he find Him?"
"Yes, certainly he will. But he must first seek!"
"Why, it is just like that in our lunatic asylums."
"And there is logic in neurasthenia, here as there."
=My Caricature.=--The teacher said: "Men often appear in our lives
as though they were sent; we do not know why they interfere with our
destiny; they themselves perhaps do not know. When I was a young man
who gave promise of a future, which I had not fulfilled, I received as
a colleague in my work a man whom I at once felt to be antipathetic to
me, and who hated me. But he sought me, drew me out, and compelled me
to drink, although I was not exactly difficult to persuade. He drank
himself terribly, and often I thought he wished to make me drink myself
to death. When half-intoxicated, he always made personal remarks on
me, both flattering and critical. He also appeared as a charlatan,
professing to know and prophesy my destiny. This sometimes attracted
me, and sometimes repelled me.
"Finally, on one occasion when intoxicated, he attacked me before
others, and called me 'a humbug who would come to nothing.' I was at
that time fully conscious of my vocation as author; excited by the
attack, and being partially in liquor, I made a presumptuous assertion
that I would be 'great.' Then the man fell in a rage and swore by
h--l that I should not be great. After this our ways divided. My
friends noticed it, and asked, 'Do you not go about any more with your
caricature?' 'What do you mean by that?' I asked. 'His face was really
a caricature of yours.' And so it was.
"Two years afterwards I emerged from the ruck, and remember that my
thoughts turned back to the mysterious person who had interested
himself in my destiny. Somewhat later I heard that the man had died
at twenty-seven years of age under peculiar circumstances. He was
standing on a mountain in the evening of Midsummer Day when he had
a stroke. 'He flew asunder like a goblin in the sunlight,' I said
jocosely.
"This man looked like a Hun or a death's-head. He was born in the
seventh month, and preserved by being wrapped in wadding and laid in a
corner of the tiled stove. But that explains nothing perhaps?"
=The Inexplicable.=--The teacher continued: "He had, however, a
peculiar influence over people, and that not only because he flattered
them. I saw him when he was twenty-five years old talking with our
foremost statesman, who was then fifty. The widely experienced,
sceptical politician listened to the ill-dressed unwashed man,
flushed with wine, who almost monopolised the talk. He claimed an
authoritative knowledge of all subjects, teemed with facts and
figures, alluded to all prominent men as old acquaintances, was well
versed in family chronicles and political intrigues. 'Where did he
get all that?' I asked someone. 'I don't know, but he is a remarkable
man with great influence,' was the answer. In addition to his other
characteristics I can mention this: with all his coarseness he had
traits of sensitiveness. He wept when he read of the cruelties in
the Russo-Turkish war. He loved beautiful poetry. He had a chivalrous
enthusiasm for women. He gave out his money generously, but when he
was tipsy he was stingy. Demons plagued him, and he used to roam in
the woods alone; but he always smashed his top-hat first. One could
see into his nostrils, and, when he laughed, all his back teeth could
be counted. He always wore too long trousers on which he trod, for he
was in the habit of walking on his heels. He was beardless like Attila,
because his cheeks simply consisted of nerves.
"But what had he to do with my destiny, and whence sprang his boundless
hatred for me? It is inexplicable, like so much else."
=Old-time Religion.=--The pupil said: "I have heard, I
have thought; now I will speak. I believe in Christianity as a
world-historical fact, with which a new era has begun and proceeds. I
believe that all nations will one day bow the knee in the name of Jesus
Christ. Every time that the pagans gain the upper hand, I will regard
it as a test, and not immediately believe that God is with them against
His own.
"But let us have a simple, cheerful Christianity which gathers all
to the Sunday festival. Regard it as a misuse of God's name to have
religious services every day. Simplify the dogmas and keep them
flexible so that all may find a place in them. Shorten the services;
let praise, thanks, and worship predominate, and let the sermon, which
should be only twenty minutes long, be subordinate. The preacher should
stick to his text, and not make personal allusions like a journalist.
Not till that is done will one be able to talk of 'assemblies,' of
national festivals like the Pan-Athenæan and Olympian games.
"But it is madness to put pagans at the head of a Christian State
as teachers, educators, or officials. That is not tolerance, but
tomfoolery. That is making the goat the gardener, setting the foe
in the fortress, playing the coward before public opinion, and mere
weakness.