III
The difference between this “new life,” as Dante already called it, and the earlier seems not to be very great at first, and particularly not so great as fantasy, which always flies higher than reality, and enthusiasm, which must accompany every great resolve, had expected. Indeed, it is possible that there will still be moments in which the soul, freed from the slavery of selfishness, is seized with a certain backward-glancing desire for the “flesh-pots of Egypt”; for, in truth, the old “enjoyment of life” fades away only by slow degrees.
But there is one essential difference that is always noticeable: first of all, in the taking away of the feeling of fear and anxiety before an uncertain future, and of the continual fluctuation between exultation and dejection, which never let the feeling of security prevail. But now there is a fixed point where there is always rest. From this there follows, of itself, more patience with oneself and others, and less dependence upon them, besides a juster discernment for the essential in all things, and therewith the true wisdom of life that springs therefrom. Finally (and this is the chief matter), there is an absence of the continuous sense of sin because it can always be at once abolished, and there is a certainty of the right road, of steady advance, and of a good outcome at the end of life: “the path of the righteous is as the shining light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.”
The first period of this division of life is usually filled up with the continuous strengthening and confirmation of these principles through tests of many kinds. These can not fail to appear very soon, for faith, in spite of what has been said above, is nothing traditional that persists once for all, but something that must be engendered anew daily and hourly. A faith that is not always living and present could not be capable of successfully withstanding the attacks of Apollyon, who desires surely to reclaim his rebellious subject.
The power of this “Spirit of the World” is very great; happily, one experiences this only gradually in life; otherwise, perhaps, no one would have the courage to take up the battle with it. But there is one power that is still greater, and that is the power of God, which is made alive in a man through true Christianity. The chief matter in this (for most) the longest period of life is, therefore, steadfastness and courage. “Hold fast that which thou hast, that no one take thy crown;” and look not back, when thou hast once laid hand to plough.
Perhaps the most remarkable thing in this period of life is the union in man of divine control with freedom. Whatever God wills, he carries out in the man—easily, if he gives up his will, with difficulty and sorrow, if he resists or desires to go another way, and no power in the world can any longer prevent it. But there are, nevertheless, long portions of time at this stage of life when all principles or doctrines of belief refuse their service, and everything transcendental persists in appearing again as a mere dream and sport of fantasy. Those are the dangerous times in which the soul must keep itself quite still and beware of all decisive activity. But if it is obliged to act, then let it say with the Spanish poet, “And be my life or truth or dream, right must my actions be.”
There must especially rise to full certainty in the soul the conviction that an eternal divine order exists, against which all the might of men who still have freedom of action contends quite vainly, and that all real success and all true happiness consists only in the free harmony of the free human will with this order, and that punishment does not follow every violation of this harmony, but resides within it, and can only be set aside through God’s mercy. Then, as the Berlenburg Bible says, “the commands of God acquire a pleasant aspect, and we become their good friends and look upon them as true helps and preservers, by whose means God wishes to set to one side whatever hinders us from companionship and union with Him.”
Only when this conviction has become established within us, can we have a guiding principle for fruitful activity outward; before, it is too early, and so in most cases without result. Salvation is not a doctrine in which one can remain quite the same, can say Lord, Lord, and yet be far from him, but it is some actual thing that really happens to us if we give up our will to it.
But in order that this may be able to happen to us, we must first be free from self-love, from self-concern in all its forms; that is the difficult work that is wrought within us slowly, with many a halting-place and with much cross-bearing. For we must be quite empty of ourselves before we can receive everything that we need for our understanding and feeling, but it must come in daily rations like the manna of the Old Testament, not all at once as the crafty “old man” would much rather have it, so as to be as independent as possible of God’s daily grace; that is the “last error, that is worse than the first.” To train us thereto, so that we may receive the right gifts in their fulness, is the meaning of our life-guidance up to this point; only then, and not before, will our activity be full of blessing. In this connection the “social question” comes in, not only for the men of our time, but of every time; it has always existed, and always will exist, so long as there are human beings; it will never find its solution either through Church or through State, but only through the ethical power and the personal love of infinitely many individuals, each one of whom must, in the sphere of work indicated to him, do that which is specially laid upon him, and neither bury nor exchange his talent. That is his outward task in life, which he may neither evade nor be unfaithful to, and only when and in so far as he is just to this shall he teach it to others also, and help, during his lifetime, to maintain this teaching of love upon the earth. When once money, ambition, and pleasure no longer play any considerable rôle with a man, then he finds so much leisure time upon his hands that he must really look about him for some activity to fill it up, else he runs the risk of falling back, through tedium, to where he was before.
This period is, therefore, essentially made up of work and struggle, but if all goes rightly, the work is more and more joyous, done with greater and greater gladness, and without any feeling of distress, and the struggle against everything undivine in oneself or in others is more and more victorious, more and more quiet; and in this period there is finally “a rest that remaineth for the people of God.” God will give them the end they are waiting for, and an end that is not sad, like that of so many noble men who had a different aim in life.
Schiller’s picture is not the right one when he says, “Quietly, with vessel barely saved, the old man returns to the harbor from which, in youth, he set out with a thousand masts.” No; thankful for all he has done and suffered, content with what he has become through God’s mercy, and with the confident prospect of a yet greater and better field of action, he already, without waiting for his death-bed, lays his life-accounts to one side, and looks with simple quietness upon the (for him) unimportant transition into a new sphere of life.