The Growth of a Soul

by August Strindberg

In autumn occurred the death of Charles XV. With the mourning, which was fairly sincere and widespread, there mingled gloomy anxieties for the future. One of the young painters who belonged to John's circle of friends had just received a royal stipend and gone to Norway. He had now to return quite destitute and without any prospects for the future. John was accustomed to go with him into the Zoological Gardens in order to paint, and occupy his mind while he was waiting for an answer from the theatrical manager to whom he had sent his drama.

There is indeed no occupation which so absorbs all the thoughts and emotions so much as painting. John watched and enjoyed the delicate harmonies of the lines in the branch-formation of the trees, in the wave-like curves of the ground, but his paint-brush was too coarse to reproduce the contours as he wished. Then he took his pen and made a drawing in detail. But when he tried to transfer it to his canvas and paint it, the whole appeared but a smudge.

Pelle, on the other hand, was an impressionist and look no notice of details. He took up the landscape at a stroke, so to speak, and gave the colours their due value, but the various objects melted into uncertain silhouettes. John thought Pelle's landscapes more beautiful than the reality, although he cherished great reverence for the works of the Creator. After he had wiled away about a month in painting, he went one evening into the Café La Croix. The first person he met was his former editor, who said, "I have just heard from X." (a young author) "that the Theatre Royal has refused The Apostate."

"I know nothing about it," answered John. He did not feel well and left the company as soon as possible. The next day he went to his former instructor to find how the matter stood. The latter began first to praise, and then to criticise it, which is the right method. He said that the characters of Olaus Petri and Gustav Wasa had been brought down from their proper level and distorted. John, on the other hand, held that he had given a realistic representation of them as they probably were, before their figures had been idealised by patriotic considerations. His friend replied that that was no good; the public would never accept a new reading of their characters till critical inquiry had done its preliminary work.

That was true, but the blow was a heavy one, although dealt with as much consideration as possible, and the author was invited to remodel his drama. He had again been premature in his attempt. There was nothing left for him but to wait and wile away the time. To think of remodelling it now was not possible for him, for he saw, when he read it through again, that it was all cast in one piece and that the details could not be altered. He could not change it, unless he changed his thoughts, and therefore he must wait.

Now he took to reading again. Chance brought into his hand two of "the best books which one can read." They were De Tocqueville's Democracy in America and Prévost-Paradol's The New France. The former increased his doubts as to the possibility of democracy in an uncultivated community. Written with sincere admiration for the political institutions of America, which the author holds up as a pattern for Europe, this work points out so sincerely the dangers of democracy, as to make even a born hater of the aristocracy pause.

John's theories received terrible blows, but this time his good sense triumphed over his prejudices. His loss of faith in his own powers, however, had a demoralising effect upon him, and he was soon ripe for absolute scepticism. Sentences such as the following admitted at that time of no contradiction: "The moral power of the majority is based partly upon the conviction that a number of men have more understanding, intelligence and wisdom than an individual, and a great number of lawgivers more than a selection of them. That is the principle of equality applied to intellectual gifts. This doctrine attacks the pride of humanity in its innermost citadel."

An individualist like John did not perceive that this pride can and must be overcome. Nor did he see that wisdom and intelligence can be spread by means of good schools among the masses.

"When a man or a party in the United States suffers injustice, to whom shall he turn? To public opinion? That is the opinion of the majority. To the legislative officials? They are nominated by the majority and obey it blindly. To the executive power? That is chosen by the majority and serves it as a passive instrument. To the military forces of the State? They are simply the majority under arms. To juries? They are formed by a majority which possesses the right to judge." De Tocqueville goes on to say that the happiness of the majority which consists in maintaining its rights deserves recognition, and that it is better for a minority to suffer from pressure than a majority, but the sufferings which an intelligent minority suffer from an unintelligent majority are much greater than those which an intelligent minority inflict upon a majority. On the other hand, the minority understands much better than the majority what conduces to their own and the general happiness, and therefore the tyranny of the minority is not to be compared with that of the majority.

"Yes, but," thought John, "did not the European peoples generally suffer from the tyranny of a minority?" The mere fact that there were upper classes lay like a heavy cloud on the life of the masses. Nowadays the question may be raised, "Why should a different class-education result in an intelligent minority and an unintelligent majority?" But such questions were not raised then. Moreover had such a state really ever been seen in which an intelligent minority had the power to "oppress"? No, for sovereigns, ministers and parliaments had usually the due modicum of intelligence.