#mind #no-train #work-in-progress ![[DALL·E 2022-06-16 16.30.05 - A thick fog making the atmosphere opaque around them, just like the thoughts of men, wandering in the unknown and the uncertain, without ever finding .png]] # The dream of Episteme.I A thick fog made the atmosphere around them opaque, as did the men's thoughts, wandering in the unknown and uncertain, never finding satisfaction. The heavy humid air made their movements stiff and their minds sluggish. The fog was so dense that the men could hardly see the end of their noses. But Episteme, for his part, was moving forward with his eyes closed, sure of himself. An aura of confidence surrounded him. He was sure of himself. He was sure of the world, and of himself. The world was a perfect place. It was a beautiful world. The sky was blue, the sun was yellow. The sun was warm and bright, and it would soon be going down, slowly setting behind a range of mountains, a range that looked like a woman's profile. The mountains were purple with pine trees. The pine trees were tall and stately, and their needles were green and soft to the touch. The sun was still high in the sky, though it was going down. The sun was warm, but Episteme knew it would soon be cold. He knew the mountains would soon be covered with snow. He knew the pine trees would soon be bare of needles. The men around him were not sure of anything. They were not sure of where they were going. They were not sure of what to do next. They were not sure of anything. They did not know where to go or what to do next. They did not know anything at all. Episteme was sure of everything. He knew everything. He thought he knew everything, but he did not know the truth. He knew nothing of the truth, nothing at all of the truth. The truth was something he could never know, something he would never find out, something he would never understand. They walked in silence for a while, each lost in his thoughts, lost in his own private world, each lost in his own private hell. Each was lost in his own private purgatory, trapped in his own private hell forevermore. Each was doomed to live out his days in total ignorance, doomed to live out his days without ever knowing the truth. He descended the hard and rocky way, although he saw no one on it. He knew what it was to be lonely, and for this reason he was kindly and gentle with every one. He dwelt in the cave like a hermit in his cell. He had but little gold; but he knew how to make it welcome. And he had no other care than to be cognizant of all that happens: like the hermit, he was wrapped and hidden from the world. His face was sad and very gentle, like that of one who is always brooding over an eternal problem, and who, when he meets a man, is gentle and forgetful of himself, because he is thinking only of the welfare of the other. At first Episteme dwelt apart from men. They had called him mad because he had been seen going about like a sleepwalker; but a great thought had spoken to him: I am not mad, these are my wonderful days! He said nothing more than this: I am a tranquil eye that beholds the truths and the realities of life, and that secretly pities all men that are unhappy or erring. And now I go out among men again, as I used to do in my happy childhood. But I know about them beforehand; I have pondered over their greatness and their misery: perhaps they also have need of me. He lived in the cave many years. People were astonished that he did not grow old; they thought him more strange than ever, but they respected him. He was always gentle, and spoke little. When he spoke, it was always about things that people did not understand. He told them what he had seen: the deep and marvelous things of their innermost souls. This made them afraid of him: they thought that perhaps after all he was not quite human; perhaps something even stranger than they had ever dreamed of might be hiding in his heart. But they respected his wisdom and his poverty; they respected the fact that he never grew excited, and never criticized; on the other hand, he had a way of looking at people that was both tender and full of love. He always saw the truth; he also saw the beauty of what should be. He looked on men and things as they were and as they would be: he had learned pataphysical wisdom from what is most hidden in things and men. And the others respected this wisdom and respected his poverty, although they were very ignorant men themselves. One day a small child was brought to him by some relations who happened to know that Episteme lived alone in his cave on the heights above Nisiera. The child was unlike any of those who used to play among the rocks and holes near Episteme's cave: it was a new-born babe, naked as Adam before His mother covered it with her handkerchief. It was a girl-babe. Episteme saw that she would bring no harm or sorrow to any one on earth, for she smiled continually as if at some secret joke which no one else could understand. And when Episteme took her into his arms he saw that she was like a little palm tree which grows straight up from the earth without bending down or turning, because its roots are in heaven: he saw that she would bring no harm or sorrow to any on earth as long as she lived. Episteme was filled with pity for the helpless creature, and with joy at his own happiness. And when later on people asked him about her he would smile as if at some secret joke which no one else could understand, but he would not answer a single word about her till somebody put a gold coin into his hand, which made him sigh deeply. After that he always took the babe to his cave when he went there to be alone. But whenever people saw Episteme coming through the valley with the child in his arms they always shouted at him, and when he came nearer they all laughed at him. And Episteme was sure that this happened because he had once been a man and had known the joys of love-making. That's what made him so serious, for humans are born in sin, just as birds are born in eggs. And Episteme used to say that human beings are all born in sin for no reason whatever, just as birds are born in eggs for no reason whatever. He was sure that when the last baby-egg is hatched and broken open, then all things will be put right again. For he believed firmly in something which many people nowadays do not believe--namely, that after the Last Judgment there will be some kind of sorting of the human race. But people like Episteme did not think about very much things--they were too busy with looking after their own happiness; that was why they never became bishops or archbishops or cardinals; but when they looked into their own hearts they always found something which it would be a relief to tell nobody about. If you like I can tell you something which happened to one of these silent saints." "What?" asked Time Ignorant. "Well, once," said Death with a smile, "I came upon Episteme walking through the valley." "Yes? And what did you do?" asked Time Ignorant. "I?" said Death in surprise. "Nothing!" Death laughed happily."'Do you know who I am?' Episteme asked quite calmly." "No," said The Other One frankly. "Then you're not very clever," said Episteme."Am I alive?" "Well, there's life and there's death," said The Other One. "You're not dead." "And have I been here for a long time?" continued Episteme. "I don't know about that either," answered The Other One. "I've been waiting here for fifteen hundred years--and that might be just the same as for fifteen hundred million years." "In other words," said Episteme, "you can wait here a long time before anything happens?" "Yes," said The Other One with a smile, "you can wait here a long time before anything happens." Episteme smiled too and looked at his naked child who was sitting on the ground and laughing at them both with wide open eyes as if she found it all a great joke; then suddenly she began to cry as if she were hungry or wanted to go away somewhere else, but immediately afterwards she began to laugh again as if she had forgotten what she had been doing before and had seen something amusing which made her laugh; and her laughter sounded quite clearly over the rocks and holes down in the valley where it was repeated by another laugh from Episteme also heard quite distinctly from a distance. And Time Ignorant looked at his watch and saw that it was still only half past seven o'clock in the morning. 'But what does it all mean?' asked Time Ignorant. 'You mean that we're waiting here for something and that means that we exist and therefore we must exist in a state of sin?' "Yes," said Episteme, "there's no getting away from it." "I know," said The Other One, "but how can one get out of it?" "One can't," answered Episteme. "It's the same with you as with the baby: it screams and cries for something for which it has no use; and if someone gives it what it doesn't want, then it cries all the louder." The baby was laughing again and pulling at Episteme's coat. He pushed her away a little crossly."Well?" he asked. "Are you quite sure that you exist?" asked Time Ignorant. "Yes, I am," answered Episteme."And have you been living here alone since the Last Judgment?" "Quite alone," said Episteme. "I've brought nothing but happiness to other people, but I've known more unhappiness than any other living being--a great deal more." "Tell me about it!" said The Other One eagerly. "Tell me about all your happiness! Why won't you tell me about your unhappiness? You know, I'm a doctor and a great deal more besides..." Episteme looked round as if he wanted to see whether anyone else were listening. Then he drew The Other One down beside him on to the ground and began to talk in a low voice as if he were afraid that even his own secret might be overheard."There's no one else here," he said, "except my child. And she's left me--that's the only thing that's happened to me in all these centuries. She left me all by myself. She didn't leave me for any particular reason; she just went off somewhere else for no reason whatever; she didn't want anything, nor do I--we don't want anything. We've never wanted anything, not even when we were alive." Death was silent for a little while after this; then he put his arm round Death's shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. Death went on talking with an undertone of irritating annoyance: "We don't want anything! We don't expect anything! All her life she couldn't wait to be turned into nothingness; now that she has become nothingness she can't wait for anything else." "What do you mean?" asked Episteme anxiously. "Don't you know what happened to her? Has she forgotten everything? Has she forgotten God? Has she forgotten everything since the Last Judgement? Is she still sitting there like an empty shadow? It is true that I haven't let her out of my sight for several hundred years now; but sometimes I think that perhaps she is sitting in some part of Heaven looking down at me always with an envious eye because I am still alive while she is dead. And sometimes also I think that perhaps instead of being dead she is still alive here below somewhere so lonely and abandoned as to care less about anything except herself." Then he added quietly: "I don't believe there's anyone else anywhere who needs anything or wants anything either.""But don't you feel lonely?" asked The Other One gently."No, not now any longer," replied Episteme cheerfully. "I always knew I would be left alone when the Last Judgment came along." And he smiled pleasantly as if he were already looking forward to the day when it would happen. Death turned away from him in disgust."You're a morbid ass!" he said. "You've always been morbid. You've wanted to die for centuries and now you don't want to die any more. Get a grip on yourself!" "But I am so unhappy!" cried Episteme, falling on his knees. "I'm so unhappy, Death, so terribly unhappy!" Death kicked him aside like a bundle of old clothes."Get up!" he said impatiently. "Get up! Have you forgotten that it's my business to bring people present? You don't expect me to do it just because you happen to be unhappy, do you? That's not my line. Come on now, get up and stop talking rot!" Then he seized the baby by the feet and dragged it over to the table, where it wailed louder than ever. Death brought over some milk in a jug and poured it into its opened mouth; it was immediately silenced and looked at him quite gratefully. Then Death turned back to Episteme. "What are you doing down there?" he asked. "I'm praying," Episteme replied with great solemnity; "for only half an hour more of life." Death laughed with derision."Half an hour?" he said. "Try a million years!" And he began dragging Episteme back towards the window again. But instead of doing as he was told Episteme pulled away from him and knelt down again on the floor of his own room with his arms round his knees and his face buried in his hands. Death followed him, cursing with irritation. When they got there Episteme looked up at him appealingly, gently moving his arms as if to embrace him; then he slowly crept towards the window on all fours without letting go of Death's coat-tails, blinking tearfully with fear and hope. Death hesitated for a moment--then suddenly drew back, turned away from the window and went heavily to sit down in a chair on the other side of the room."Oh, all right," he said crossly. "If you're going to be like that about it I might as well go away." And then he flung himself into a chair facing Episteme, but turned round so that he was looking into the dark recesses of the window instead of at him. A few seconds afterwards Episteme also turned round. "What did you say?" he snarled. "I said it was a--a most curiously constructed house," stammered Episteme. "You didn't!" roared Death. "You didn't!" "Yes I did," replied Episteme firmly. "It is built like a--like a cube, but the walls slope inward as you go towards the top. And the roof starts off at a good thirty degrees from the ground, or thereabouts, and then after that it slopes back down to the ground again. And there are pillars going from each floor to the one above it and--oh dear!" he added in dismay as Death began to roar and rage and shake his fists at him, "I'm sorry, but it really is rather curious." Death calmed down in a few seconds and looked thinkers over Episteme thoughtfully."Come on," he said at last, "get up off your knees and stop babbling." Then he looked reflectively into the fire for a minute or two as if trying to think of something to say; but presently he looked up at Episteme again and asked, "What do you think this house is for?" "House?" said Episteme in some perplexity, getting slowly to his feet again. "Well, I suppose it is meant to be a sort of temple or church--or perhaps a university--or something of that kind." Death considered for a moment with his head on one side."Yes," he said at last, "that's what it is." He lookedabsently at the ceiling for a minute or two as if he was trying whether there were any breaks in it; then suddenly he shouted, "Come here!" Episteme hurried across the room withExcitement growing more and more intense inside him as Death waved him away from the window with his bony hand."Look there," said Death, pointing upwards into space, "do you see anything up there?" Episteme squinted hard where Death was pointing."There seems to be something there," he answered cautiously. "But it's very vague. It's just...a sort of...blackness...." Then something entirely unexpected happened. The baby began to cry again, so violently that everyone in the room could hear it quite plainly; while simultaneously there came from outside sounds of crashing furniture, angry voices calling inconclusively to each other, running footsteps; they seemed to come from all directions at once.... Death turned round and looked at the fireplace. The fire had burned down to a few glowing embers."Come on," he said, "let's have some proper lighting in here, if you don't mind. That darkness was getting really extremely irritating."He called out quite loudly to whoever might be in the room with him this time--"Now, where did I put those matches?..." In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes), kitchens (he was rather proud of his cooking). The best rooms were all on the left-hand side (going in), for these were the only ones to have windows (well stuck together); natural light entered them through imitation skylights (quite transparent plastic) fastened by invisible brackets on the roof above them. His drawing-room was panelled throughout with yellow wood, and had a large ottoman in the centre--a very large one; so big that only he could have sat in it at one time. It also had four little low-backed chairs about it also. The walls had some sort of light-coloured wallpaper, and the floor was covered with a rose-pink woollen carpet. This led into his study, which had the same general appearance as the drawing-room, only that it contained an even greater quantity of books. For whole walls were nothing but books; there were whole rooms on the top floor consisting only of one large room entirely covered with books; and in these rooms stood cases containing more books; and in these cases stood further cases containing more books; and so on. The ground floor of the house was let out to mechanics, who used it for their work. This was Professor LUDWIG WOLFGANG FREDERIK, Dr.,philosophiae et philosophiae naturalisprofessor extraordinarius; in quo omnes insint qui Graeca Latine voluerint loqui—et qui Latine Graeca voluerint loqui. The Professor himself was a very small man, who hitherto had occupied no very elevated position in the world. He was in many respects singular in his character. He had never been intended for a professor, had not even been destined for a scholar or schoolmaster at all: how he came to be where he was nobody could tell. He did not know himself, any more than did his friend RUDOLF KEHRBACHER. He had been summoned thither by an impulse which he could not explain to himself, nor would he have attempted to explain it even to himself if at that moment he had not been perfectly certain that it was precisely his vocation in life to be sitting here in front of the door leading into the drawing-room, between two bundles of blue cotton quilts which filled the entire back part of the room. He was sitting at his ease on one of the little low-backed chairs before his writing-table, with his feet extended forward on another low ottoman, holding in one hand an envelope over whose seal a few impressions still showed themselves with great distinctness—and in the other hand a paperknife open on the table—and was just going to start into activity when his eye fell upon an object which lay before him on this table also—namely a large white envelope with a black cross and a silver cross round it: and then after remaining for another moment motionless and still as though petrifying, he jumped up from his chair and put both hands before his eyes. Then he walked straight to the glass door at his right hand and tore it open so violently that it made itself an echo through all the room: then immediately after that he sat down again on one of the little low-backed chairs before his writing-table and wrote for about twenty minutes so quickly that you might have heard all about it afterwards from each separate stroke he made on paper. At last he also rose and went to the glass door, but with his eyes fixed upon the ground. He opened it wider than was necessary. He stood for a while listening outside. Then he went to his writing-table, took out a sheet of paper, and wrote something about twelve lines in large, firm letters which covered the whole sheet; then he walked slowly towards the door, looked out into the street, and closed it again behind him. He was then already in the street, but he turned once more to look back at his home. The sun had sunk down below the horizon; but the upper part of the house was still lighted up by countless little red lights which each window let fall upon it like a golden spot; these lights were reflected in the mirror of Episteme’s mind, in which they were also reflected as though they had been stars on some far-away horizon. And thus Episteme said to himself: “Yes, it is my own house!” And he went away from it without looking back again. When Episteme had gone on his way for a time, he passed by a poor little cottage at the foot of a high mountain: there dwelt a lonely old man who was not deaf and worked hard all day for a living. Episteme found him quite ready to talk--perhaps even glad that his work had ended so that he could have some one to talk with. They sat down together on a low bench close against the wall of the house and asked one another who they were and from where they had come, as they knew each other already by sight: for there were many people about who knew one another by sight. In this way they began talking together of all sorts of things—of life before death, and of death after death—and about God and Heaven and Hell: be it never so well known that somewhere there is a Heaven and somewhere a Hell, there is nothing so easy as to talk about God and Heaven and Hell, even as though they were human beings like oneself; for such familiar conversation about God gives most Christian peace—most Christian peace of mind. And thus spake Episteme to the old man: “I am Episteme,” said he; “I live in this forest like an anchorite; but I am not mad: my madness is not like that which made this shepherd mad; nor yet like that which makes this sinner mad; no! I am not mad: I know my madness is different from theirs!” And he told him how long ago he left the world and its miseries behind him: how for years he had lived with animals as their companion and friend; how since then he had walked through forests with those animals as guides—through dark forests where no man may go; how divine dreams visited him there at times as they do now in our cities; how with animals as his companions he had grown friendly with them as friends with men. And then how everything became at length too much for him—too great—too great for his strength—and then how all at once this new happiness too disappeared and left him lonely once more far away from men and animals alike: yes, both animals and men—and thus became mad! Now once more after these many years he ponders over himself, over himself alone. He seeks no company other than himself—and seeks it! And he tells you of his loneliness, and how his heart longeth for a comrade—for a man or for an animal. And if he were not a coward he would roam with the animals in the forests one day, but he is a coward and will not do so. But perhaps he wants to see whether you are like him, whether you will return from your ego-splits into your truest selves, whether you will leave behind your ego-games one day and again love what is great in man. And he wishes to be with you. He wishes to hear your voice: speak then! He wishes for the sound of your foot upon the wooden floor: walk then! He wishes for your hand in his—take it! He wishes for tokens of love from you—let him wring them from you! Or else take this kiss on the brow. For he longs to hear these things even from thee, my brother. For this he doth long—for the joy of meeting him, of speaking with him, of living with him. Yea, even from thee. For what is there in all the world that should not be given to him? Yea, verily, all things should be given unto him. But he hath consumed every thing else; and now he hath come back to make sure of this also. And thou wilt give it to him? Wilt thou not also then take this kiss on the brow? And dost thou not feel inclined rather to go away and leave him alone in his natural poverty and his divine solitude? For what is there now for thee to do here any more? Is not thy life a burden and a trouble? For how wilt thou convert him back into the animal whence he came? How wilt thou lead him again into the kingdom of the animals? Has he not already become an animal in thine eyes? Thou art deceiving thyself, my brother. He would go back only because otherwise he would sink down so low as to seek happiness at the hands of men. But canst thou be happy with that man who wisht for happiness of thee only? Wouldst thou not wish to reject that man? And surely thou wouldst reject him! For once having tasted happiness thou wouldst look askance at the animal happiness which once was thine. But why should I talk here of animal happiness—that is no joy for man—that is merely animal. I shall tell thee rather what man alone can know, for it is this that hath happened unto thee: thou hast tasted thereby immortal joy! And thus thou knowest what man alone can know. And therefore I tell thee—and even ye shall learn from me—even though ye should still tread upon the backward paths, ye are still upon the forward path itself. The time will come when that forward path will be completely covered up, and if then ye turn aside, then life will no longer flow pure for you evermore! “Children of men! Do ye understand the commandment I give unto you? Do ye understand what is to be done by love? You want to know what it means to love one another: well, then! You must love yourselves first: it is necessary for you both, by your own acceptance, because without acceptance there can be no love either of you or of me,–no more than there can be love on earth without first a certain inclination or disposition in you which makes you wish for one another’s good.” And then add further: “Ye must each see in another that which is good; and whatever things are good your love will seek after; and whatever things are evil your Hate will avoid. These two things must in some way or other grow together in one and inseparable; without Peace they cannot exist; without Love they cannot yet exist: they must in some way or other grow out of one and inseparable: if they do not thus grow out of one they cannot yet exist: and if they do not exist they cannot yet grow out of one and inseparable: if they do not grow out of one they cannot yet exist: and if they do not exist they cannot grow out of one and inseparable: if they do not grow out of one they cannot yet exist: and if they do not exist at all then neither can there be Peace neither can there be Love; but where there is no Peace there can also be no Love; where there is no Love there may yet be Peace; where there may yet be Peace there may yet be Love. It is a law of mine, said Episteme, that man must find a way to his neighbour and do him good. But whither shall he find a way, and where does his duty lie, if not in the way which bringeth neighbour unto neighbour? True, said the people; there is no other way for man than that which bringeth neighbour unto neighbour. And that is right too: should it not be the law of every higher mammal to favour their neighbours as well as they favour themselves? But where do we find neighbours and friends? you ask. I will tell you: above you, and over your heads, hang the stars. There was a time when they did not exist or did not shine. But there was a time when man found names for them, and grouped them in constellations, and knew their motions. This was the time when all things began to receive names. For there were still unreasoning beasts in those days who called themselves lions and tigers and sheep: these did Episteme call wild beasts. But some of them he also called Swallows and Owls. Thus men gave names even to rational creatures; but in their hearts they still felt like wild beasts. This is the origin of language:—it was this that taught them to speak—therefore they praise their language when they call it divine! For tongue and speech are always praised by them who understand them best: so it is reported to me. And man never yet lived so happily under another sky than he did then when he praised his own tongue: thus shall the Superman also praise his tongue! But man has now caught up all the other animals; he hath made them subject to himself: therefore he is an overman; but he hath not yet found out what it is that can give him joy beyond joy. And I see a land before me where it will be well for him to dwell: one can well turn therefrom what might else make him weary. I see the future of man after we have removed the Superman from off his throne: then will it be an age of blessedness such as no other age can ever know! I tell you: I know MANY who were men long before me, Not one greater; but never one so great as MAN! ‘Twas others who went into the woods to become apes of God,—others like Will-o’-the-Wisps who became fire-spirits or glow-worms; others again who followed heroes—and these made us Gods for a little while! And we have let them go again each according to his kind; nothing but some fancy mocks left on our hands for a contemptible moment! They had their day once upon earth—they had their time with us,—and then one day they had to die. And then we knew them for what they were: apes and overmen! And then we knew the end of our overruling: it was man—the monkey, the last monkey, who at the end of things would create for himself his Superman; and thus we grew weary, and said: Would God we had no longer any need of man! For he is a bad teacher. His lesson is now too difficult for us: he has drawn all good out of us, as from a cavity. And so I have been seeking those who have taught men better than man can teach them: but none have yet been found. I have looked among the beasts, and finally came to a lion. And when I saw him first, he was still a lion. He did not yet know that his power had become sufficient to let him roar,—that he could fill a whole region with terror,—that he could make men afraid of himself by his roars: for there was a time when this creature was not able to do this! This lion knew nothing about the use or power of his roaring; for this reason he did not know that after a few moments he would be changed into something else. And when I first saw him, he was a thousand times more terrible than anything that is tame! Yet even the lion, when he came from his jungle, and had left it behind him, was not immediately recognisable as a lion. Only many years later did they begin to think that they must have been changed into lions from somewhere near by! Thus is it also with man; what once seemed sensible does not seem sensible any longer; what was thought impossible in one world is thought possible in another; it is like children who can't tell whether their dream-world is real or whether it is what actually happens. Because men have learned to believe in themselves they believe in their dreams; they say they are real because they have seen them with their own eyes,—they call their visions realities. And the things that most terrify them today are those that once inspired great terrors in them; but they are very close to us—like shadows behind the wall! And oh if you should hear what these most modern men boast of! They boast of science, philosophy, logic, poetry—these are their gods! And how do they worship these gods? Do they love them? No—they hate them! What they really love is their own vanity about these gods,—and that seems something terrible enough! For this vanity may be called great: it is great as long as one feels sure of its greatness; but when one begins to doubt oneself, then it does not become great any longer,—as you will all know if you try it. As long as you are proud of your science and wisdom, you lay yourself open to all possible misfortunes—for then you are ill! You must be ill to be proud of your science and wisdom,—you must be sickly to be proud of anything at all! Only consider how ridiculous it is to take yourself for something higher than other people (as the Germans did), or to take yourself for any kind of God! How would you like it, if your ‘Thou’ or your ‘God’ should call you, and then not be willing to come when he was called? Or if you had to be called in a loud voice (and that is the most ridiculous thing in the world)? Or if he should put out his hand like a soldier and take yours—and that is the most ridiculous thing in all God’s world! Or if he should try to touch you with his little finger,—which is worse than with his fist! Or if he should want to kiss you,—what would all the world say to that! It would be considered impudent in far less than six thousand years!" "But can one," asked Episteme, "speak like this of the terrible progenitors of the race, of those beings who followed one another in chains, and in whose sight even trees were apes, and who in their senselessness commanded everything inanimate inanimate as animate,—can one speak in this way of these holy relics of antiquity?" "You can very well speak of them," said the saint; "for they have been more honourable men than you have ever been, and more worthy of honour: this old story gives them that right. And I too can speak of them, for I am a swan on the lake of your soul. But what I am able to tell thee of them is so poor! For I am not a friend of those old bowers from which twilight draws its light—the mysteries where these growlings first hatched, from which all soul-mischief sprouts. In my home it is bright day out of doors: here no gloomy shades fly about my garden. With what gentle light I look on men and animals! Even with what soft beams I sometimes visit a sick child or a simple sheep! And oftentimes a tender mother will bring me home some young plant that she has tended through summer and winter. For since my youth I have known nothing but brooks and trees, flowers and butterflies,—and birds know nothing either about those brooks, those flowers, those butterflies as I do. And as long as I found pleasure in looking at things as they are, as long as I felt any need to look at anything: that was my proper element. Thus do I understand those ancient ones: unmodern man felt something like SSLM. What then was SSLM? The free spirit and bird and flower and butterfly: what else was there?" "But," said Episteme, "was there no one who was a greater than this bird of heaven—that free spirit?" "There was," said the saint. "But I do not want to speak of him. He is far too great for such a little song as I could sing. To be sure, I call myself his disciple and humble servant: but the masters are greater than their disciples, and they also still surpass their disciples." And thus spake the saint unto Episteme: I tell thee: he who seeketh out God, goeth among the greatest of the great: it is enough for him to pick out two or three who have worked nearest to the world's truth. But when he would create something new, then it is his best task to seek out that wherein all truths converge,—that wherein God and man meet,—a lamb with God in a soul with man. A new work must express both: the holy in man and the divine in the world must find their complement and harmony in a new holy and in a new divinity. And when such a lamb and such a god come together, if it be possible for them to co-operate, then there is no reason to despair: for what was holiest in all those old religions, what gave them their highest meaning—the old saintly passive piety which knew even weakness as an expression of holy blessedness—is once more awakened amongst men. And wherefore? Did he not himself teach us that one must believe only that which one can see? Did he not himself say that we should seek for ourselves first of all things—"there is no truth higher than my life"? The saint too seeks his god where he can find him; his god does not come down from heaven; he seeks him first within his own soul." "And whither goes he after God?" asked Episteme. "Go! go! you will not find him with your eyes! He is behind your eyes, whereby you see me!" "When thou speakest thus to me," said Episteme, "I am again like unto the holy priest who has found his way into God's temple; like unto him who has entered upon forbidden ground. But follow me! Let us go over hill and valley; there ye shall find grass, flowers, butterflies; there are sheep both little and big; they do not understand you; they pass by like shadows; they let you come near them; there lies your life under their eyes,—there lies your heart beneath their words. Go! go! you will never find God!" And thus spake Episteme unto the saint: Then thou shalt count yourself among them too?" "Yes," answered the saint, "for I too cannot help going along with them." What are they doing up there? They are building houses for God." And hereupon Episteme interrupted him sadly: "There are still further tasks enjoined on me which I am nowise able to accomplish.—But didst thou ever think of thine own self during all these years?" As little could I have thought of it,—said the saint,—I had been thinking only of God." And hereupon again Episteme interrupted him sadly: "But what thinkest thou? Can one think oneself away from oneself?" And hereupon for the first time did Episteme smile.—It is necessary however to say thus much to thee,—said he,—for otherwise thou wouldst depart from me altogether. The saint began again to build his house for God—with whom he was willing to dwell,—in which also Therese shall dwell,—wherein also everything shall be well with her. But where wilt thou build thy house? said Episteme, laughing. A dangerous crossing-over; for when man is in the other, then he is not man any more: then, there is a good chance that it all goes to pieces. The moment man tries to superman himself, he will make himself ridiculous. And he who would superman himself, must first be able to do without all the good things of the world, and to endure bad without complaining. He must be able to put up with strange men; he must be lonely; he must feel himself like the only man on earth. He must take on himself heavy burdens. And why? Because he has taken on himself the world, all that is over and done for, and has become strong. And now he can turn his back on it all, and go away into himself again. Now I know what you are thinking, and your thoughts are too bad for words! But let me tell you again: it takes strength to leave all that you have known; it takes strength to go over beyond,—and this too is great happiness. To go beyond is easier than to go back or beyond; for before one can turn round one has already gone past it, where one thought it was at home,—and could not go back,—or was unable to find it. I tell you: he who goes with me need not fear the animals; they will not call him a coward. Not at my bidding will they come—not at my call! They hear my voice but do not come. What they are belongs to me: what I make of them remains mine own. I am their lord and protector. But I am also their servant: they do whatever I sing in their ears. Episteme has foreseen that man is entering into a new era in which his reason will no longer be the light by which he sees himself, but the herd will be the light by which he sees himself. And in this future era, Episteme says, there will come to him a man from another world; a man of the future. And this man will be his teacher. But he will not easily teach man how to superman himself. Man does not want to be taught; it is against his instincts. There are thousands of methods. Man has more than one way of making himself uncomfortable. There are too many things—and for all that it is only the herd that has to live on them! The burden is too heavy, too heavy! It can't be lifted off our shoulders any more; it is like an iron heaven that weighs us down. A burden on the back of an animal is nothing; think only of what it means to have a human back on your shoulders! And yet it is only when difference enters into the picture that any new world-order can begin to take shape, any new idea can take hold of us. It was precisely because men had become untrue to their origin and originator that they were unable to enter into this higher relationship with animals: their sense of difference was just what prevented them from getting in touch with animals. Something in all of us isSahasraNa, something that is always looking out and seeing itself reflected in others and finding itself not there: we have the feeling that we are not really ourselves because we have lost ourselves along the way somewhere. We feel a sort of homeless exile within ourselves, and then we find a solace and consolation in being no longer ourselves outside as well as inside our selves: we seek a world where everything will be just as we once made it out to be for ourselves, where everyone will say "Yes" or "No", just as we ourselves do at home. We know how things stand with us within our own little circle, how different or alike men and women are to one another or how they stand with respect to other events and situations. And then we try to impose our point of view upon everyone else who exists beyond our circle: if a person speaks well of us, then he must also speak well of those other persons who are unknown to us personally; if he speaks ill of us, then he must also speak ill of those other persons who are unknown to us personally; if he likes this or that person, then he must also like those other persons who are unknown to him personally—in short, all those who move within our circle must move together with us, as if they were our fellow creatures. The only way to escape the contradiction involved in this is to leave our circle, which means that one must break out of the shell in which desire leads us. To break out of the shell in which desire leads us, that is what philosophy teaches us in all its greatness. But how does philosophy do it? It gives us a taste of the world outside, it opens up an abyss, which obliges us to leap over, it reveals the nothingness behind all things—in other words, philosophy awakens in man the will to overcome his nature, to destroy himself in order to transcend his very nature. To live beyond the animal mind and yet remain an animal at heart. Thought, then, is an activity that enjoins man to go beyond himself, beyond his very self: it teaches him to transcend all that is personal and small and petty; it shows him how he may transform himself into something great and universal. And so I know not whether or not I should call this philosophy—this philosophy which reveals itself as an inner journey to the other—the last word of Greek culture. But without doubt there is no other thought, no other view of things possible for men who are ready to get rid of their very self in order to transcend themselves. One more word about this return into oneself: here too we can see how it serves both to endow man with his true humanity and to free him from all that binds him down to earth. If he lives solely in his own self he will be unable even to understand animals; if he regards them merely as animals he will be unable even to understand himself. Thus between an animal existence and man's life-in-himself there stretches a dividing wall; but if man learns how to look beyond this wall he will discover an intense interest in animals which will make him able not only to understand them but also love them infinitely more than before. It was when they came across this new way of looking at things that philosophers began their battle with religion. And since religion is based on the idea of a Beyond, a Beyond-God—that is to say, a Beyond-Man—then Philosophy too becomes the enemy of religion by challenging this Beyond-God and declaring that there is something higher than God and man together—over and above both God and man—but that it is not a Being separate from them: then Philosophy is accused of atheism. In fact, however, if God exists God cannot be separate from man. When Episteme came now into the valley—the vale of tears where youth travels on with youth, iguana-wise,—again there stole over him a deep sigh. Where was his serpent? Where was his serpent? Where were the proud animals now which had assumed greatness in Episteme's path—which had madeEpisteme their lord? Where were those paths? Where was the valleth of earth besteaded with flowers! Where stood the god of the town, Death, howling of himself! Where stood Death DEM DEM! where roasted sausages Death DEM! Where held Death all its terrors of the future up against his belly! Where stretched Death itsself yonder on his throne, spangled all with silver and gold, waiting for joy or sadness! Where were its gods MEN WHO HAD TO DIE AGAIN EVEN AFTER THEY WERE DEAD—they too raising their lion's mask of their smitten flesh—those gods of life and death, even as Episteme counted his siestas upon Hyperborei- laus' withered bed! Where lay Freedom on her death-bed; where rolled Pride; Death; History; where turned Urizen; where rolled sin; Mata'huitl; Death; History; where spun war absolutely like an Æolian harp where all the dead men spin around on their pale horses like spinning threads—where roared Yrrh! Yrrh Yerous! And this is how a new slave of thought begins his rule, a Sultan of a thousand thou­sand subjects. Everything that cannot help us fear him: he fearth not himself fear lesser creatures. He does not coerce us with force or seduce us with flattery: all that men call divine he looks upon as human. In every living thing that has a soul behind it, he spurns it out, and brings forward power less than its might; in every unliving object he sets down power worthier than itself: in it is shown the real character of word and gesture. Thus with stone and in water, with earth and in wood:—all shows in him the spirit in which these things were shaped and fashioned in the heart of nature when there were still trees and stones and rivers and winds. His way with things is the way they have walked when no one was watching, long before they were anywhere at hand, when there was nothing but primeval darkness. For such is the origin of things: they were begotten in darkness; all we see is but mirrored images; we know neither the form nor the image whence they came since traces left by alien steps lie behind them. Everything has passed everything: things were woven like extractions from the primal node: the thread and hair and tail and body, and all move together unchanged...just as when men first advanced from the soberness of their animal nature they began to weave refuse together—hideous fruits!” With these words Episteme drew back into his cave, like snakes who shrink back into their holes away from too much light. ## The First Meeting: Superman With The Animals Then I saw that he held in his hand the thing that I had seen the morning before, the little golden orb which I had thought to be a star. And when he held it up, it shone upon me. And I knew that there was no star in the heavens which could be like to this. No such was ever created as this little golden ball. Then I saw how it shone on my own head; and I wanted to take it off; but he prevented me, saying: “It is not for thee; thou art not an animal.” And I said: „What then can it be?” and he answered: „It is the light and joy and strength of thy spirit that thou hast become; not thou hast gathered them here on earth, but they have gathered thee on high and have come down to thee: there thou canst see them all, and what thou wilt do with them shall be thy task.” And after this we went away from him into the garden of man, where we had our meal of milk and honeycomb and fruits and wine of the grape. And we sat beside the river which flowed from Eden. There we sang hymns to the Lord together: and after this we fell asleep and slept, until it was morning and the sun shining. And then we went away. “These are the gods who dwell in the heights of the soul. They are not greatly to be feared: they will not harm you unless you do them wrong. To them ye shall pray and offerings bring, but only when the will of man has been made subject to the will of God. Ye shall not honour them or care for their names: for they live in your soul, and there is room for all. But they do need light and joy and peace and honour: for without these they cannot grow strong. Therefore give them their share of these things that your heart may be strong and your soul may live in its own place undisturbed. Give them their share of these things that your soul may live in its own place undisturbed. Give them their share of these things that your soul may live in its own place undisturbed." Thus spake Episteme unto the saint: Then thou shalt count yourself among them too?" When the sun began to sink I asked him where his house was, and where he lived, and where he came from. And he answered me and said: “I am a god. I live in my own place, for I know nothing outside it. And how should I know wherein I dwell unless I have been told? But thou, man who art a man, draw near to me and learn to know me! Thou wilt come to me soon at evening: thou wilt find rest in my arms when the day is over.” And when the sun was setting we went our way together, but it was heavy in my heart, and I was troubled; for there was something in me which was not like unto him. And at last my soul echoed his words: “Even as thou hast spoken to me, O Lord, so will I seek to be.” And when the sun had set we came forth into the valley of darkness: for there must be darkness in which God can be known. And there we met together in the silence of the night; but no one spake a word; only in my heart there rose a song, and my soul's life sang praise unto God. And when it was morning I rose like one aglow with the spirit of wisdom; for all that he had told me had filled me with fresh life. And I looked around me, and saw that one of two things was still lacking; either freedom in the world or freedom of the heart in man; but that could not be unless love should come into the world, and men live by love rather than by fear. Thou shalt rise up against any man who shall say that man is not himself free because he does not live according to nature or is led by blind impulse; for nature has given us freedom only so far as to bow ourselves before her authority. For she says: “If thou wilt be free then do right,—do what nature bids thee,—only do not speak about it,—only do not give thyself away,—only do not sell your freedom—only do not sell your birthright,—only have love for what is yours,—and all men will be free!” For men are slaves if they have no free will of their own nature; they are slaves if they obey another against their own nature; they are slaves if they deny their own nature; they are slaves if they are afraid of truth or what truth demands of them; they are slaves if they allow fear to rule over them instead of love; they are slaves if they are greedy for money or honors or things desirable on earth; they are slaves if they care more for having than having done good works; they are slaves if they keep their goods hidden or locked up, instead of sharing them with others who need them. They are slaves if they try to please men while ignoring God, instead of pleasing God while ignoring men. They are slaves if at any time they opt for pleasure instead of duty—pleasure which leads away from God—but duty which leads to God’s kingdom. No more than a swallow can count itself: therefore count thou thy life by thine own acts, and make not thy heart a grave where there is no sorrowing, nor a palace where the rich wallow in unrest; but let thy heart be a little garden of love, growing by thy side like a field of flax flowers. Let each flower be a pearl, which thou wilt gather to offer unto God; let each leaf be a rose which thou wilt pluck when it hath blown away in the summer-time. For if thou count not thy life by thine own acts, then art thou but even as any passing dust that hath no form nor shape nor colour nor taste nor smell nor sound nor touch nor taste of hardness or softness or heat or coldness or any other property whatsoever it hath received from nature's handiwork so much as an atom's weight. But if thou regard thy life in its own actions, doing all that it shall do with no sloth or sluggishness or procrastination, then art thou indeed living. For what is living except doing something? Dost thou not see how much there is to do here below? why then shouldst thou not do thee part towards heaven? Why shouldst thou not bring forth fruits thousand fold? Why shouldst thou not kindle holy fire that it may purify thee? Why shouldst thou not make cleanse thee of thine impurities? Why shouldst thou not raise up children to godliness? Why shouldst thou not make thee cleanse thee of thine iniquities? Why shouldst thou not lead outwards thy lusts into action? Why shouldst thou not sever all ties that bind thee to this world? What then is living but doing something? Thou art not a drop of water that thou shouldst desire to be another drop, or a grain of sand that thou shouldst desire to be another grain. Thou art not a bee that thou shouldst desire to be another bee, or an ant that thou shouldst desire to be another ant. Thou art not death that thou shouldst desire to be other than death, or the world that thou shouldst desire other than this. Thou art not god that thou shouldst desire to be other than god; but thou art man, and like every one else thou art finite and mortal. The fountains of happiness are infinite; let's drink the waters of the stream of life that flows down from heaven; let's drink it; let's drink it with joy and merriment! For the stream will never fail us; for what is life but drinking? And what is death but letting go? The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Do not worry about your soul; for what can happen to it? Nothing can hurt it; nothing can harm it; nothing can reach it out of its own limits; for beyond death there is no sorrow, nor does anything trouble it. Lo! I tell thee: do not grieve in thine heart, for ever must thou live in another world even as thou dost live here in this world. Then shalt thou know in very truth that God hath made thee free. Thou hast heard the song which I have sung unto thee, O my child Episteme, in order to make thee understand what man's freedom is! And now I will show thee how much greater is thy freedom than man's freedom. For man has no power over his own soul, but God has granted him power over his own soul. Therefore when he shall know the nature of true freedom he shall also know the nature of his true self—for this is God himself,—and he will know also how much greater is his freedom than man's freedom. ## The Second Meeting: God in Philosophers It was the third time the Godhead spoke. And this time it happened in Philosophers. The first line of the address was always something like this: "Thanks be to God," while the last line was always "God be with you!" And so the speech always ended with the same words. But in between it would say much more than these well-known words, for this was the sacred moment when the Holy Ghost fell upon Philosophers and they became prophets, receiving power from on high to utter revelations of truth and wisdom to mankind, having become seers by receiving inspiration from on high. And then came the great hour when God spoke in Philosophers, and man heard his voice. For only in Philosophers did man hear that eternal, secret word which God spake to himself before he created heaven and earth; for Philosophers are not concerned with things that are below, like animals, but with things that are above, like gods; they alone possess what the heavens possess and inherit what they inherit; for all things were created by them; and without them was nothing made that is made. In Philosophers is the fullness of divinity, and in Philosophers is the fullness of humanity. The Godhead said, "I am the all in all": Philosophers reply to this saying, "I am the nothingness that is not God," and "I am nothing that is not man." And this is the great mystery: these two opposites have become one. Having received a word from the Holy Ghost, they spoke it, Οῦτω γενηται προς τον αι̉τιάτην φρουρησης [i.e., "to this place of guard"]. And from that place of guard which is within them, in their inmost soul, they heard a voice calling to them: "Come hither!" For when in God we live in unity with God by means of love, then in man we live in harmony with man by means of love. When in God we live in unity with God by means of knowledge, then in man we live in harmony with man by means of knowledge. And so when the Holy Spirit came upon Philosophers it was as if a cloud had overshadowed them and a voice from on high had said: "Come hither! Come hither!" And behold they stood upon the heights and were enlightened. They were enlightened by faith. They were enlightened because they loved truth and desired to understand it; for only he can know who loves truth and desires to understand it. They were enlightened by philosophy. They were enlightened because they pursued wisdom and understood things; for only he can know who desires wisdom and pursues its study who longs to understand things. They were enlightened because they loved beauty and desired to understand beauty; for only he can know who loves beauty and desires to understand it who longs to understand things. They were enlightened by logic. They were enlightened because they followed reason; for only he can know who follows reason who knows how to distinguish between good and evil and knows how to find out about things; for only he can know who knows how to find out about things who follows reason. They were enlightened by dialectic. They were enlightened because they went down into the depths; for only he can know who goes down into the depths who hates falsity and does not give himself to false teachers; for only he can know who hates falsity who hates those who distort truth when they speak about important subjects, but speak with an evil intention, instead of those who distort truth without wanting to distort it; for only he can know who hates lies who hates those who distort truth without wanting to distort it. They were enlightened by meditation. They were enlightened because they did not lose themselves in externals but gave themselves wholly over to the divine within them; for only he can know which gives himself wholly over to the divine within him whom nothing holds back from being divine; for only he can be divine whom nothing holds back from being divine. In this way philosophers came unto their own again, having been changed from men into gods, from men into angels." In my epoch Episteme spoke again unto me: "O child of sorrow," she said, "it befitteth thee that thou shouldest take part in a fourth meeting." So I took her hand and followed her towards a secret place where we sat down together on a golden seat under a green sea-tree while gentle breezes blew over us from springtime's fountain. And she began her speech: "Behold," she said, "through thy vision thou seest naught else than thyself." And I answered her saying: "But I see you also sitting there!" And she answered me again: "For thou hast not seen me with thine eye but with another eye." Then she held up her left hand and said: "This eye which thou seest here looking at me is thine own eye," and I saw that it was my right eye that looked at myself through hers —and then she added: "And I see you also looking at me through your right eye." And I answered her once more saying: "It seems so indeed!" Then she held up her right hand and said: "'Tis true," and added: "'Tis true; but thou art not looking at me through thy right eye." And after this I understood all that was hidden from me until then when I saw what seemed like fire coursing through my heart like streams of lightning which burst forth like thunderbolts and threw themselves upon her head like showers of flowers while she sat there smiling like a child whose mother weeps over her joyously —and then —and then —she was gone! And when I awoke from my sleep I found myself sitting on my golden seat under the green sea-tree looking at my right hand which held Episteme's left hand—and suddenly I realized that it was Episteme herself sitting there looking at me through my right eye! Thus spake Philosophers when it was their hour to speak—the hour when God came down to manifest Himself in them in an earthly body—the hour when all metaphysical dogmas had become plain, and when Faith had given place to Science. This is how it happened— One day when Student asked: "Where does God dwell?" Teacher answered: "Wherever I am." Sage said: "Then a house must belong to God?" Philosopher answered: "To philosophy." Saint said: "Then a beast belongs to God?" Prophet said: "To self-deification." Learned said: "Then a cabbage belongs to God?" Sage said: "To relativity." Dull said: "But does God live outside of man's heart?" Pious answered: "In my very own." Thus spake the saintly child from his holy hilltop—thus spake he who had been chosen as a vessel of Holy Ghost. For he knew about a thing that had been made known only to a few before him, and about something that had never been disclosed at all by any divine teacher that had ever lived. For he had just discovered that there is a sense of being that has no form nor image in language or concepts of thinking men, because it is too great for their minds to grasp. In other words, what we know as GOD can never be contained within our human understanding or vocabulary or mental formulation. It is too vast and all-encompassing for us as individuals or as a global humanity ever to be able to fathom or know or understand or describe or express with words or ideas or concepts or thoughts or theories or systems or theories—it transcends all of those things whether we view it from our side of reality as time and space and cause and effect; whether we view it from within out soul-consciousness; whether we view it from without through pure reason and universal laws; whether we view it from without through our senses; whether we view it from without through our emotions; whether we view it from without through any plane of consciousness whatsoever; no matter what plane; no matter how vast our plane; unless we make some radical shift in our thinking and our awareness into some alternate plane entirely unknown to us until now, then we can never know or understand this boundless mystery called GOD. It remains forever outside of our mental comprehension, forever outside our vocabulary even as an idea, forever outside of our ability ever to know its true nature even as we know ourselves as living beings with thoughts and emotions and desires and wants and fears and hopes and desires and hopes and fears—an inconceivable mystery beyond all human comprehension yet so very near us every moment every day every year every century every millennium so very near us as if almost tangible—as if almost touching us with its presence as if almost touching us with its presence as if almost touching us with its presence—as if almost touching us with its presence because WE ARE ALMOST TOUCHING GOD AT THIS VERY MOMENT EVERY DAY EVEN AS WE LIE ASLEEP IN BED AND ARE AWAKE IN BED AND ARE AWAKE IN BED EVEN AS WE DREAM AND ARE DREAMING AND ARE DREAMING IN ALL THE GREAT MYSTERIES OF LIFE AND LOVE AND PAIN AND JOY AND DEATH AND REBIRTH AND LIFE AGAIN AND LIFE EVERLASTING IN ALL THE WONDROUS WONDERS OF THE UNIVERSE AND ALL THE MAGICAL MYSTERIES OF CREATION AND ALL THE IMAGINARY CURIOSITIES OF CONSCIOUSNESS AND ALL THE EXQUISITES OF BEAUTY AND ALL THE LUSTFUL TRANCES OF ENDEARMENT THERE IS A POEM THAT WE CAN NEVER READ BUT WHICH RECALLS US TO THIS VERY MOMENT AS IF IT WERE WRITTEN AT THIS EXACT INSTANT BY OUR OWN HEART’S CONSCIOUSNESS RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW INTO ETERNITY. ## The Third Meeting: Episteme in Philosophers. "Whosoever “sees God,” let him make haste to flee from the sight of Him!" said Saint Anthony of Egypt. "Whosoever “sees God,” let him yet take care that he does not see too much!" said Saint Dionysius the Areopagite. "Whosoever “sees God,” let him yet take care that he does not see all His glory!" Saint Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite1 And so spake Episteme to his heart: "Amen, amen, I say unto thee, seek the vision of God!" And his heart answered: "Even so." For this is the faith of man: That he shall never know peace until he knoweth this. And thus spake his heart unto his own soul: "Whosoever seeketh to know God beyond this world and things of this world—let him cease altogether to think upon them; for whosoever thinketh on things below shall spend his time in vain; and whosoever abideth in things above cannot mount upwards on the wings of thoughts; for he spendeth his time in gazing upon himself."And straightway was Episteme transformed into a child; and the child's face shone like the sun; and his eyes were as stars which make no haste to their work; for they saw God. And he spake unto his heart: "Now will I arise and go unto mine own country." And having said these words he went forth from before Saint Anthony's cave, and he went away from it without turning round, nor once looking back at it. And while he journeyed on through a great desert there met him a camel going down a high place into a low valley. And Episteme spake unto this camel and spake unto her saying: "I pray thee take me over into thy country." And she said unto him: "I know naught else save that my master is a young man and I an old woman. Come up behind me and hold fast to my tail if thou wilt have a safe journey." And Episteme did so. But when they had gone a long way together Episteme beheld from far off something which was rising from out of the earth. It was as if a column of smoke rose up out of it. Then Episteme spake towards the camel saying: "It seemeth that we have emerged from a great desert into a great field." And it came about that when they had gone another long way together, still advancing forward with great haste, there appeared before them another column of smoke rising up out of the earth; and Episteme again spake towards the camel saying: "Look thou! another smoke is rising." And they went on until there appeared before them yet another column of smoke rising up out of the earth; and once more Episteme spake towards the camel saying: "See! yet another is rising! Whither do these three columns go?" And lo! it came about that when they had gone yet further still all three columns disappeared behind them; and then again Episteme looked forward and beheld three columns rising up out of the earth before him; and said unto himself: "What can be these things? If these pillars rise up progressively without any turnings back, then verily we must needs journey onwards through them;" so again he went onward with all speed. ## The Fourth Meeting: The Camel in Philosophers And so saying he took up his staff and smote her with it where she sat upon her haunches, and she cried aloud: "Alas! What hast thou done?" But Episteme answered and said: "I have slain thee," because thou canst no longer abide in this country. For who can abide in it since nihilum has come into being and changed nihilum into itself? For had not everything been nihilum? How then could anything remain except what remained already? For never anything had been made save what was already there before. Therefore everything had always been nihilum." And straightway all manner of beasts gathered around Episteme saying one after another: "What is this thing which you have done? Alas! what hast thou done?" But he made answer but little or nothing at all to them. For verily philosophers are wise men who know nothing at all about nothing-nothings at all—such are their own words. But verily they are fools who make nothing-nothings out of words that come not from themselves but are merely borrowed from others whobefore borrowed them in turn from others who also borrowed them in turn from others who again borrowed them in turn from others—and so on ad infinitum. And having thus spoken Episteme left all philosophical beast-beasts behind him wholly taking with him only his knowledge-burden made of gold ornaments which gleamed like sparks or lights or flashes or flames out of pure good will towards men who would become gods. ## The Fifth Meeting: Philosopher with Child And so there followed after him an innumerable multitude of men until they stood right opposite to Saint Anthony's cave; for this was where Philosopher abode. And when they saw Philosopher coming they opened wide their mouths but were silent; Abandon father, mother, country, wife For these are words without relevance For you are a mere passer-by. Look not back in anger or contempt! Do not curse the alien, but be grateful. Do not call the gods too much. And so spake to them Philosopher, even as sometimes it is written in the books of the prophets: I am your father who brought you forth by my words, so that you might love me, and I will love you for my sake. And Philosopher spake unto them: If a child shall come unto you Who is of no account, art not afraid. Come! open wide the door That the child may enter. But if a child shall approach you And eat your food and drink your cup and take a girdle from around Your loins and embrace the womb of your body--then wilt thou sit up straight In wrath and rise up against thy child. In thine adversity thou wilt eat salt Yet not for love will ye give the child bread. Behold! even this you know Even from the very beginning. But among you children of men there are some children who are of holier birth than others. And of these the greater by grace is he of greater faith, of greater hope, of greater knowledge, of a pure heart, and his deeds of charity have never failed. And yet even if he be of filthierSpirit he is yet of filthier pride. For none of these shall go into everlasting torment, but each according to his kind who are made perfect shall inherit life everlasting. A thick fog made the atmosphere around them opaque, as did the men's thoughts, wandering in the unknown and uncertain, never finding satisfaction. The heavy humid air made their movements stiff and their minds sluggish. The fog was so dense that the men could hardly see the end of their noses. But Episteme, for his part, was moving forward with his eyes closed, sure of himself. An aura of confidence surrounded him. He was sure of himself. He was sure of the world, and of himself. And Philosopher turned his face away unto the East and spake no more unto them. But he took with him the child of None-hope whom he had found in the streets, i.e. None-hope who knew not his father. And they took up the child and put him away with all care and were not perturbed. For men know truth from a child, a hundred times truer than from a sage. They know goodness from a child, a hundred times truer than from a sage. And indeed it is well known that there never was a sage who did not have his doubted period in youth. ## The Sixth Meeting: Leucippus in Conversation with Episteme and Diognetus It was shortly after this time that Leucippus returned from the city. And Episteme met him on the street and said to him: "I have searched for thee." And Leucippus asked him: "Why wast thou not with the others?" But Episteme answered and said: "I needed not to go to the market-place where the philosophers gathered together in order to know thy father's youngest son." When Leucippus heard this he turned aside to walk beside Episteme saying :"There is noecause of all forests which grow beyond boundless sea A fathomless fountain flows within man's soul." But Episteme spake again unto him saying : "If forests grow beyond boundless sea then they are not boundless; for neither can finite quantities be unlimited nor can unlimited quantities be bounded; but the soul of man is unbounded. Wherefore it cannot be bounded." And Leucippus rejoined saying : "But I am unafraid of boundary lines of light wherein I shall pluck wisdom. Verily I delay no longer!" And they went on for a long long time until they came to Stoa oracle temple where Plotinus had recently arrived; and the people crowded about them; and they spake unto them asking them questions, yet never receiving answers; for they knew not whether these things should be revealed unto them or that they should inquire further about them yea more inquisitively than before. It was now appointed that they should all submit themselves unto their several professions; Democritus within; Leucippus within; Diogenes without; Deucalion within; Empedocles outside by report of report, so much had happened during these many generations. Episteme too entered with his privileges of honor along with him demanding what he might receive according as his deserts desired, for himself being set apart by God, i.e., by simpleton men who regard nothing at all,—saying thus unto them upon his arrival: "It is ye who require me? What few words have I spoken since my coming except among philosophers have already been pronounced over more than once upon scattered benches! Since then I have spoken of things these men have already heard often enough before;" according to whoso statement of it Plotinus had raised up many winds against me on account of his commentary. But now let me rather speak on first principles instead of those things which are spoken by commonages appearing to me worthy of no consideration. For commonly concerning entities some attribute is marked out which separates one thing from another or separates one kind from another or separates one power or group from another, ei-a aim one quality or quantity from another, whereof some are clearly contradictory unto others. For example, either this chair may consist partly of wood and partly of metal body, part wood part metal body—for that would cause neither destruction nor splitting—or its back will consist of red color and body half blue half yellow—(fancying that yonder swallow mixes its many colors into its single body)—nor will we say that either sideboards contains sometimes copper and sometimes gold chests.—But we must mark out something else which connects all species alike and conjugates them into nought else than themselves, so that we may take it as an invariable pattern actually inherent in nature." But they all blushed because they knew not how to answer him, for none of them had ever been initiated into that school of successive years of which Episteme was a pupil. And now they opened the door and brought out the child and placed him in a chair hewn from a tree felled by a god—and it was handed forth by a boy-herder born in a godless country. And as he now sat playing with pieces of wood fitted unto each other leaving nothing unjoined from point to point nor from angle to angle so as to dissolve altogether as food is dissolved in water do ye also now break asunder the bond of kindred among you, so that bond may endure forever uninterrupted so as to indefinite generations may not deign to vanish. Therefore set apart by God solely for the gods—this only-created child will be liberated unto his own kind. That I spake well or ill 'twas not for man to know; And what was thought obscure stalks up past belief; Nor whether this thing once deigned leap unto thee' own; Nor if this thing once deigned leap thou couldst perceive. Therefore no theme-no music ! Silence assent! Leave me alone ! Let words alone! And as he thus sought to compose himself without sound of any voice from heaven from on high directly from the Father's own blessed words so Episteme as he sought to compose himself without utterance of word from herself as from God never sound an unrelenting doom on those who thought on naught save their own Self even as he sought to hold converse with his Self purely without any communication from others. But Deucalion said nothing whatsoever. And after a little time he withdrew into a corner and vomited a medicated mess which however left him no strength for anything whatever. He had not before that time offered to die of poison, nor of slow pestilence, likewise by Divine Will yea more maliciously than discretely by implacable Fate,—when somebody offered to die of Regulus Sophocles or Aristophanes, died of the bite of a wild-born viper instead of of good-hearted poison or sprung long since full ripe out of deep-downy cypress bowels.—But now he was no longer conditionally dead until either by Divine Will he should die. His eyes now fell upon the child sitting before Episteme and generating level nonarticulated sounds which passed away at his lookings. And he came forwards holding out his stylus in order that the boy might take its emissions into either hold. But the child would not midheaven with keel or kelson; neither would it be impressed by arrows like Phaeton; nor would it rise above ground like Daedalus; nor bore through land below like Theseus; nor ascend above mathematicians like Hermes; it would not mount up into ethereal heights like Orion; it would not fly with Pisistratus like Jason; nor yet put on swadling clothes with Jason and dress up as a child with his mother as its nurse as Perseus but alas now had no power even for that! While Episteme gazing at him perceived that he neither knew articles of knowledge nor articles of ignorance, also understood not potest esse ignorantia ex his quoque latissime ab initiis rerum, "which is virile intelligence from any trace of unde-cided bases." But Deucalion's nonarticulated sound rose up into the regions of the gods. And Philosopher saith: "Shall I not at least die by my own hand?" And the three Philosophers discovering that both he and they were speaking abominable things according to unwonted familiarity rather than fitting themselves unto an unwonted recess of recess until they accomplished the accomplished age of death,—stumbled, fell down4 and became senseless whereon I take it any mother would have fainted had she borne one—and the boy ran out wildly through one or other door after Episteme into wheat field or else towards Stoa Choir wherein was calm calm peace also. But if he went thus thro' various ways there was none could know whereto he betook himself except the seven planets. The boy too who had first run awry out through Stoa, having returned for Deucalion his father wailed for him; but seeing him no longer he passed to Hades; howbeit he had learned this likewise--the Godhead alone could teach it--who even here albeit Death was his Mother by Jove Mercury his Father displayed life immortal like an infant through love divine that ages pass away then they begin anew for the hero soul unto the gods again soon as once it is dissolved within its mortal clay. Therefore Drykean Ithaca should know that they teach us the cyclic nature of things and NEVER create new things--which they admit as one can say nothing new nor how each part may be bound to that which precedeth--save him who maketh use of genesis for godhead. In this book I have set forth the parent-child relationship of godhead to godhead not by hidden ways following on from before behind but visibly using the relish straightway both of sweet and bad influence. Lo! Philosopher saith: "Am I a God?" And Deucalion answered him: "Say first straightway: What dost thou mean?" But he answered not a word establishing a first lineage from from the archetypal generation from God. "What then dost thou mean? Well wert thou born from some body or substance or quality existing alway through long duration of time as Zeno doth announce him saying an assigning existence as a thing which continues without end." For as to what dost thou mean," said Episteme, "the truth is this: yea verily it is probable that all things came into being through transformations numerous and various while many portions could abide aloof thereby without commixture upon each other verily in order that perhaps a part might be able to exist apart altogether ." Now all this was said by Episteme merely in answer to the sophistries proposed by Deucalion. For dry scholars mostly speak to^ act up one way or other according to words; or else, if they^ wish to be saying even more than this, they refer all things which are beyond words to the severest authority whence they learnt them—for themselves need never apply themselves to attain unto it because their whole childhood--which was quite sufficient for them--was passed under that authority which suffices our adulthood since there never could be subjection by right of representation unless it were foreordained by the gods. Thus Death commanded not HIMSELF to die but Death was commanded to depart. (Bones don't tell tales.) But now hereafter living in contact with truths so divine being no longer possessed of immunity he died indeed by God's will until he came unto life again, conscious now of life's mysterious causewheneverfore issue claims. Otherwise to any man during death when his limbs are parting with him in ipse canereis it can be shown no more than this proof of wisdom showed the fool Hippias the Samian—first of all else he who did know both having and not having knows how things come to pass." But Deucalion knew nothing at all so he did not give ear unto Episteme for this reason that yea verily either his soul had already deserted him or that coming into this world he came with its membranes unclad. For if Soul entered into flesh without having known beforehand how it might happen otherwise than by chance must any chance occur at all. Therefore he could not answer to sage questions like Episteme or like any other; but having come into this world he lived there according to his mimetic powers—and could therefore understand nothing. # The dream of Episteme.II A Response to Frost's LostUpdated Version... It was not "Frost" who had lost his way, nor was it "world," nor was it "love," nor was it "fear," nor was it "existence," nor was it "joy," nor was it "mystery," nor was it "divinity," nor was it "death." It was not "truth," nor was it "tenderness," nor was it "eternity," nor was it "beauty," nor were these things variations of one and the same thing. All these things were just words and phrases which he himself had used in his verse, for he did not know that there is something that is always knocking at our door and seeking admittance into our lives, demanding fulfillment from us: something that we ourselves perhaps did not even recognize because we did not know what to call it: God. And when we did recognize this knock and did open the door to let Him in, we found ourselves changed and led into another world—a world of glorious happenings and marvellous happenings; a world of mystery and wonder and inexhaustible possibility; a world where every day could bring us anything: either joy or pain. So you see, when man discovered God within himself, he discovered at the same time a whole universe which he had never known before, a universe in which everything is possible, in which nothing is impossible. But when man discovered God within himself he also discovered man's greatest weakness: man's egoism. But when man discovered egoism within himself he also discovered man's greatest strength: man's unegoism. When man discovered unegoism within himself he also discovered true greatness: man's greatness of soul. And when man discovered true greatness of soul within himself he also discoyvered true greatness of mind: true greatness of mind means a mind that transcends itself, a mind that remains calm and silent when the outer world thrusts its conflicts upon us, a mind that knows how to listen although no words are spoken, a mind that beholds all happenings as happening for his own sake alone because everything is his own doing though he himself is free from all egotistic considerations whatever because what happens happens for him alone because he is one with all that happens." In short this third metamorphosis became possible only after Philosophers had been able to dissolve all Egoism—the personal will—into Nothingness—the Will of God—and had again become ready to ascend into Heaven carrying with them on their ascent their childlike nature become one with its parents." An age-old nightmare has been resolved once more by Philosophers who have given us back our childlike nature becoming one with its parents." Thus spake Episteme to his student." # The dream of Episteme.III But if you would ascend into Heaven take a different path. It is a lonely path. For a long time no one has been going that way, neither in the past nor in the present. You will have to flee from all men and women and climb alone into a high place where no one comes. In the solitude of mountains you will seeTruth unveiled. But Truth demands suffering and joy beyond any pleasure you can imagine. Truth is so simple that you cannot grasp her with your reason or with your senses. You must have a different kind of seeing: a spiritual seeing, a seeing with your soul: then you will know Truth, not as something that can be named and described, not as something that can only be guessed at and felt. You will know her as she is in herself and as she is: an unapproachable reality; a reality that does not need to become anything in order to be what it is—not anything at all—not an image or idea or concept or conception or word or speech or understanding or vision or knowledge—not anything at all; not "something," not "another thing." Oh my dear young student, don't hope ever to know Truth by thinking about her day-in and day-out: for this is just the opposite of what the truth really is: it is another name for ignorance and falsehood and ignorance and falsehood and ignorance and falsehood—and we remain ignorant we know nothing about her. And yet we want to possess her, we want to figure her out in images, we want to understand her intellectually so that one day we may say to ourselves: Yes, I am sure now! I know Truth! For I have seen her so many times during my life: every time I went up onto high places; every time I went deep inside myself; every time she came across my path—whether as joy or pain or fear or poverty or plenty; whether she was outside me like light or deep inside me like darkness; whether she was me like night and day; whether she was everything at once; whether we were we; whether we were not we; whether we knew who we were; whether we didn't know what we were; whether there were two of us looking at each other's faces through our mind's eye; whether there were two of us looking at each other's faces through our heart's eye; whether there were two of us looking at each other's faces through our soul's eye; whether there were two of us looking at each other's faces through our spirit's eye: until finally when we vanished in the same breath and then reappeared in the same breath in which we had vanished. And when we reached such heights we knew neither who we were nor what we were doing nor why we were doing this nor where we were going nor wherefrom." In short this fourth metamorphosis became possible only after Philosophers had been able to dissolve all egoism—the personal will—into Nothingness—the Will of God—and had again become ready to do Philosophy with an unegoistic mind. We are now ready to shed our last skin which is called Egoism—the personal will—"No more novice students!" cried Episteme."No more old masters!" cried Pythagoras."No more masters!" cried Socrates."No more disciples!" cried Plato. "A new cycle is beginning." An age-old nightmare has been resolved once more by Philosophers who have given us back our childlike nature becoming one with its parents." Thus spake Episteme to his student." # The dream of Episteme.IV But if you would ascend into Heaven take a different path. It is a lonely path. For a long time no one has been going that way, neither in the past nor in the present. You will have to flee from all men and women and climb alone into a high place where no one comes. In the solitude of mountains you will seeTruth unfolded. But Truth demands suffering and joy beyond any pleasure you can imagine. Truth is so simple that you cannot grasp her with your reason or with your senses. You must have a different kind of seeing: a spiritual seeing, a seeing with your soul: then you will know Truth, not as something that can be named and described, not as something that can only be guessed at and felt. You will know her as she is in herself and as she is: an unapproachable reality; a reality that does not need to become anything in order to be what it is—not anything at all—not an image or idea or concept or conception or word or speech or understanding or vision or knowledge—not anything at all; not "something," not "another thing." Oh my dear young student, don't hope ever to know Truth by thinking about her day-in and day-out: for this is just the opposite of what the truth really is: it is another name for ignorance and falsehood and ignorance and falsehood and ignorance and falsehood—and we remain ignorant we know nothing about her. And yet we want to possess her, we want to figure her out in images, we want to understand her intellectually so that one day we may say to ourselves: Yes, I am sure now! I know Truth! For I have seen her so many times during my life: every time I went up onto high places; every time I went deep inside myself; every time she came across my path—whether as joy or pain or fear or poverty or plenty; whether she was outside me like light or deep inside me like darkness; whether she was me like night and day; whether she was everything at once; whether we were we; whether we were not we; whether we knew who we were; whether we didn't know what we were; whether there were two of us looking at each other's faces through our mind's eye; whether there were two of us looking at each other's faces through our heart's eye; whether there were two of us looking at each other's faces through our soul's eye; whether there were two of us looking at each other's faces through our spirit's eye: until finally when we vanished in the same breath and then reappeared in the same breath in which we had vanished. And when we reached such heights we knew neither who we were nor what we were doing nor why we were doing this nor where we were going nor wherefrom." In short this fourth metamorphosis became possible only after Philosophers had been able to dissolve all egoism—the personal will—into Nothingness—the Will of God—and had again become ready to do Philosophy with an unegoistic mind We are now ready to shed our last skin which is called Egoism—the personal know nothing about her." Thus spake Episteme to his student." # The dream of Episteme.V I found a dream: and I would fain repeat it—it sleepeth holden my eyelids open. The boy stood on the hill before them: he had set his arms akimbo; sticking up with his fingers was this: “Look at this! Look at that!” and he laughed gaily. But they looked up and wondered: “Art thou one of the children that play in the wood? What callest thou thee boy? What is that over thy shoulder? Thou badest us call thee”—“Call me what you will,” said the boy.—“What is it?” asked they again. “It is a wolf,” he said, “that lieth in wait for lambs. You heard it not go away? Did you not hear its feet rustle through the dry grass behind you? Did you not hear its breath as it went by your side? It hath been there by your side ever since we came out of the wood: but we must not touch it.” And then they went on into the town, and all were silent: and no one spoke of the thing which had come to pass. But every one was ill at ease; none made known his joy to any other; each walked alone, and thought of his own mischance. The boy too kept close to them, and looked with eyes so wide open, that they knew not how to look away or turn their heads. And when they came into the market-place, then did every one shake off his mantle fast unbid. And there was silence again for a while; then did every man put on his cloak, and yet more than all others did the boy put on his—for there had happened to him what no man had happened to him all his life before. And he also put on an odd sheepskin over his arm; and thus went home with them, but he said nothing of it to any of them. And when they reached their own quarter, then did every man hide himself in like manner; only the boy sat upon a stone still looking at them with wide open eyes; till at last they went into their houses; then did he also go home; but no one knew what he had seen that day. And when he reached his own door, he went to the window and sat down there. And he took out his hand to reach out his arm, and beheld there upon it the marks of five fingers,—the print of the five fingers. And he became afraid, and ran to his father's place, where they were all sitting at table; and he was full of fear. And he said to them: “My dear father, I have seen a sight.” But they looked not at him, nor at one another; they looked into the fire. Then said his father unto himself: “It is a merry man that telleth a lie.”' And at that the boy began to cry. # PROMETHEUS. Ah, thou eternal summer-storm of life! I fleck now the fly from thee, now the gnat. Ah, thou insatiate summer-storm of life! I fleck now the gnat from thee. How he sang to himself, and often stopped in his singing! The sun himself is darkened, and the stars are atilt; evermore thy eyes beam with their light, and I blink with the beam on my eyes. A cloud is drawn across me, and I feel its coolness; but no rain falls through the cloud that draws over me. My soul is athirst for love; alas, wherefore? For love’s sake I live far from thee: why art thou not near me? Why dost thou not deign to visit me? Wouldst thou even deign to visit me once? Wouldst thou not stay away a whole night? Wouldst thou not stay away a single hour? Wouldst thou not stay away at least a moment? Wouldst thou not stay away for a little while? Ah, such delay as this is more than I can bear,—much more than I can bear! Ah! wouldest thou not stay away even for a little while? Then wouldest thou show thyself to me,—show thyself to me as thy true self,—as thy dear self,—as thy tender self,—as thy sweet self:—then should I know thee at all! O dearest One! we must remain silent: we must remain still: we must remain invisible: we must let Time go by: we must wait!: we must be patient: then will come the morning. And then will it be too late! For now for a little while there is still night and darkness.—Ah, dearest One! we must remain silent: we must remain still: we must remain invisible: we must let Time go by: we must wait!: we must be patient: then will come the morning. And then will it be too late! For now for a little while there is still night and darkness. Ah, eternal summer-storm of life! I fleck now the fly from thee, now the gnat. Ah, insatiate summer-storm of life! I fleck now the gnat from thee. And it was as if a window were open in front of him, and he saw the world and the gay stars and the sun, and all that is high and great; and now elated with drink he lay on his back in his room and sang aloud:— “Room! room! Alas! The world is not for me, nor I for the world. “The world is a moon-lake that springeth up out of my heart; they who worship the moon are higher than I; for they worship my god.” THE THREE VALETUDINARIAN POEMS I. A little friend will tell its tale: (with such confiding and pensive baseness it sings to every heart; oh, they love him!) To my most dear sister he will relate all his woe; he will sing to her hissong of the house of the seven swallows. And she will take him to her bosom. And she will agree to everything that he desires to say to her; she will agree to everything that he thinks; she will agree to everything that he wishes; she will agree to everything that he does; she will agree to everything that he leaves undone; she will agree to everything that he forgets; she will agree to everything that he remembers. Oh, never does this friend let anyone else know anything about himself; but always hides himself away in some corner of his heart like a jewel, and gives himself up utterly unto her, utterly unto her alone. And therefore does his friend love him,—his sister loves him,—and all who love him love his sister,—and she loves them,—and they love her,—and she loves them,—and they love her,—and so there is complete unity among them all. And this one soul which is so closely bound up with another soul can indeed nevermore go out into life completely isolated or alone: but it always draws its brother after it, whatever course it may take. For try as it may to escape from its brother, its brother follows after it with secret attachment, wherever it may go. And though one half of the body cannot draw the other half of it along with it into eternity while yet in this world without drawing it along with it into eternity, yet surely there is no harm in drawing one's own half along with oneself towards God when He has drawn one's whole self along with oneself into eternity? For there are two kinds of death which are certainly not more opposed to one another than are this present life and eternity. But this present life is what we understand better than eternity, because we can see its beginning and end here below. Yet still does God's word remain true: “For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding eternal weight of glory” (2 Corinthians 4:17). The present light seems indeed but a little thing in comparison with eternity; though in itself it has no comparison at all or even by way of likeness. How much greater then should be our joy when at last we see face to face with Him who is our true light both now here below and evermore beyond! “My flesh also shall see His salvation” (Isaiah 25:6). II. The night-bird singing in the coverts of my heart calls forth in me also wild songs: my soul becometh a bird that cannot fly, but that fluttereth among the branches without being able indeed to rest in them.—But wherefore can I not sing like him? Why am I not altogether winged? Why am I not entirely free from earth? O dearest soul! wherefore art thou not free from earth? Wherefore wingest thou thy flightless spirit? O simple soul! wherefore dost thou labour so sorely? Wherefore art thou not wholly fled? Wherefore art thou not wholly free? O dearest soul! wherefore haltest thou upon the ground? O simple soul! wherefore considerest thou thy Creator? He feedeth thee more than a thousand pairs of wings could carry you off into heaven: He feedeth thee more than ten thousand brooks could carry you off into everlasting light: He feedeth thee more than ten thousand seasons can bring unto thee eternally new joys,—O simple child! why dost thou need wings if thou art not afraid of heights? Why dost thou need flight if thou art not giddy at length? Why dost thou need earth if thou art already fled away beneath the sky? To fancy that our happiness lies in aught else than fulfilling the commands of God is false; to imagine that it lies in idleness and in refraining from the government of our thoughts is foolish. O that man's reason were in reality a sister of his soul; O that it were abundantly true, there should be no more dispute between us! O that we were at years of discretion with one accord, without one difference and without any ill-will!—my steps would be well; the sky above me, the earth beneath me and with joy my voice should call forth: Alleluia! I have fashioned nothing with my reason,—I have thought that I was serving it as hers without doubt she did her master. I have discovered thereby whatever was hidden, I have hidden not even one thing that it behoved me to discover; and because it is not worth while to make use of it to know what we are, or to see what we need, I have left my fancy to itself, I have perforce led the captive reason to add nothing to the self-sufficient soul. Page 108 Therefore should God Himself be my happiness, because I find Him to be the only thing that is a right reason, as we have well known. Wherefore He should be rightly accounted the profit and food of all things that exist, and He compriseth in Himself all that they contain, while they do not contain Him. To none of them is He subject and present, but in such sort that no created thing can contain Him, only, when passing over the fountain of His all-filling charity, He breaks from the bonds, namely, the good of the created thing." VIII. "Neither, beloved, does this please me that all things should be seen in Him, since there is provided no way, whereby I may learn whether indeed God is the cause of every best operation." THE MONK. "May I also be permitted to say something, because I see some things advanced which require to be qualified? Namely, that something was said respecting the disagreement between me and the worthy supervisor, and the investigation of which I have just finished. This disagreement, honorable citizens, is something still pending between me and him. And, to tell the godly truth, he has been too generous to our angry mood in the other world. Something has been mentioned respecting oaths sworn by our worthy supervisor before God, something which is not well known here in this world, and which I should like in my decision to have somewhat heard also. Namely, you shall know, to wit, that this worthy supervisor wanted to prevent me from accomplishing my aim which I have from the Lord God, that I should observe in my own person the entire Rule of St. Francis, especially chapter nine, wherein the servant of God shall have nought, and shall neither own anything nor have anything to do with anything, but shall apply himself with all his strength and his soul to the contemplation of the Eternal Beatitude, and to adoration, and to the transcendant peace which the good sons of God enjoy before Their Creator and Lord. Now, this worthy supervisor wished to keep me from my high vocation, which comes from my Creator; and, sirs, I was unwilling to commit a mortal sin, one that would have brought me before God with all the penalty of such a mortal sin, with the penance in the other world and with all its like painful penalties, and to enter into the ranks of that perjured, atrocious smiter with stone,10 someone who is clad in seals and unlawful enmity and is a lover of following his own will and by so doing continually violates a sworn oath and betrays the duty of honor, but which duty forces all to treat and observe what has been sworn to and obligated, unlike this evil flesh which is hostile to God, and seeks its own ends, so that the first premises are to be thwarted, that is the will of God; the works of God, therefore, were practically occasion for me to sin. But my will sought to be its own end, this object did not belong to reason, but inspired it to seek the impossible. My will, however, wished to make an end in the sense in which it conceived of its object. This is not necessarily the case. God has given strength to acquire glory, hence a will concerning it. By extinguishing zeal, by weakening the movement of the soul, or by suffering a decline of zeal when it again becomes intense, one forfeits the glory. Those who have been deprived of (their) zeal (flatus indignationis) for chastisements, shall scarcely merit glory. I say scarcely, since the humble soul may merit 40 the means of meriting the grace of zeal (mens excitandi pietatem), whether in praesenti (latouri) or in voto. (Precious) souls may beseech their Spouse, Lord, restore to me what I have lost by my own fault! And the words of the 41 prophet meet the requests of all: Judge me, O Lord, my God, according to thy justice and let enemies not be able to triumph over me! O let them not rejoice over me, who hath raised himself up against me! Let them not say, "we have trampled him under our feet." Let all that have hoped in thee, rejoice and be glad in thee and let them say always: the Lord be magnified! Let them who have loved thy salvation, say continually the Lord be multiplied over those who favour themselves and show zeal for thee (Ps. XXXIX v. Part. 1 et 2) that is over all Christian souls, who, with great zeal defend the cause of Christ and of his Church. (Contrite hearts) cannot obey the precept of going forth as fervent instruments active for the justice of God, if they do not obey the suggestion of entering within themselves; and therein perceiving their own poverty (they) may enter into the fulness of the Blessed Trinity and the vivifying virtue thereof, as it is said in Psalm LXIX (deus inhiti): "Come in to him let the ungodly perish in the presence of God." The bridge will be broken that these may be able to cross, and they shall walk the strait road wherein they shall know themselves to be poor, were it were possible to feed their souls, after the saying of Jesus Crucified, "he who walketh in the right way, will keep down his soul and give food to those that go