IXAPOSTLESHIP
The beautiful legend of the multiplication of the loaves of bread is miraculous only in the material order to which we try to confine it. But the infinite multiplication of moral nourishment is our daily spectacle, our joy, our encouragement.
We know that the possession of material goods inclines us to exclusiveness, solitary satisfaction: if I wish to share with you this beautiful apple I hold in my hand, I must make up my mind to enjoy only half of it myself. And if there are four of us the part each one has will be proportionally reduced. Ah! blessed would be the wonder-worker who could refresh us all with a single glass of water, stay us all with a single mouthful of bread.
That miracle flashes forth every day before our eyes. All moral wealth seems to increase by being possessed in common. The more a truth is spread abroad the more its beauty, its prestige, and in a way its efficacy, grows. The veneration a hundredpeoples throw round a painting of da Vinci’s, a song of Glück’s, or a saying of Spinoza’s has not partitioned these lovely treasures but has added to their importance and their glory, has developed and opened up the whole sum of joy that lies latent in them. Great ideas have such radiant strength! They cross space and time like avalanches: they carry along with them whatever they touch. They are the only riches that one shares without ever dividing them.
This fact invites each one of us to make himself the modest and persevering apostle of his own truths, the propagator of his discoveries, the dispenser of his moral riches. Our own interest demands it imperatively, no less than the interest of others. We shall never be really happy until we have admitted and converted to our joy those whom we love; and we shall love them all the better for having brought them some joy, for being among the causes of their comfort.
The journeys we have made alone without companions leave us a memory that is melancholy and without warmth. It is because we have had no one to whom we could communicate our admiration, our wonder. Seated alone before the most majestic landscapes, we have had no one to whom we could express our enthusiasm, and deprived of this expansion it has been stunted, it has remained, we might say, poor. Sharing it would have enriched it.
We love solitude, indeed; it is the cold and silent fountain at which our soul is purified and confirmed. But what would it profit us to have amassed great riches, by the help of solitude, if we had no one to whom to offer them?
It is because he feels this anxiety that man seeks a lasting union. Among a thousand generosities, love offers him the opportunity to enjoy companionship without renouncing solitude. A happy home is the solitude of many a soul. The man who has entered into a beautiful union is sure of at least one person to whom he can give the best that he possesses.
Perhaps you will say to me: “How can I be an apostle when I have in myself only a wavering faith? I would enjoy being generous, but I am obliged to beg from the generosity of others. Such advice is for those rich souls who, precisely because they are rich, have no need of advice. It is with this kind of fortune as it is with money, it crowns those who already possess it! My soul is poor and timid; what sort of comfort would it be for other souls that are poor and timid also?”
O my friend, how deceived you are in yourself! How much like ingratitude your modesty seems! First of all, let me tell you that the heart that doubts its resources is rich without knowing it. The passionof humility weighs it down; let it free itself without becoming proud! In the realm of the intelligence, you have surely observed, it is only actual imbeciles who never doubt their faculties. The man who can admit his own insufficiency at once gives proof of a rare perspicacity. In the same way, if you think you are poor it is because you are not. The only natures that are truly arid are those who do not recognize and never will recognize their own sterility.
This morning you went out at dawn to take up your duties. In the marsh that slumbers along the edge of the road there were such delicate green and purple reflections that you were struck by them. You spoke to me about them, very subtly and sensitively, as soon as you were able to see me. You were generous with me. You shared your good fortune with me. Thank you!
Who spoke to me about Faisne’s unhappiness? Who suddenly opened my eyes and made me realize the profound misery of that soul? It was you! I am still touched by your affectionate insight, I still marvel at your fortune.
You remember that night when we were lying stretched out together in the fields, looking up at a sky that was rippling with milky light. You said nothing to me, but I understood that evening that you were possessed, to the point of intoxication,with an immense, terrible idea, that of infinity. Thanks to your silence, I shared with you that overwhelming treasure.
Who lent me that beautiful Swedish book I did not know? Who spoke to me so enthusiastically about it? It was you, you again!
Who sings to me, when I am tired, that song as poignant and serene as a breath that has come from beyond the midnight oceans? You know very well, my friend, it is you.
I could tell you of a thousand instances of your generosity, a thousand apostolic words that have issued from your lips.
Ah! my friend, can you disavow such riches? Can you show at the same time such bitterness and such prodigality?
Every day you discover a means of transforming into happiness the elements that others possess and neglect. Do not hesitate, therefore: show them the fruitful use they ought to make of their blessings.
And do not ask any other recompense than the pleasure of having been the giver, the initiator.
The total amount of joy that prevails on the face of our world is of great importance to you and to me. One must always labor to augment it, whoever the direct beneficiaries may be. There is no one who, in the end, will not catch its echo, who will not receive his own personal profit from it.
And that is also why, in the present immense misery of the world, the selfish pleasure-seekers feel themselves ill at ease, even when their untimely pleasures are seen by nobody.
If you will, we can begin with the resolution never to undeceive anyone who thinks he possesses anything.
There are some who make it their care and pride to deprive their neighbors of those illusions that Ibsen calls “the vital illusions.” The characteristic of these illusions is that they cannot be replaced. To tear them away leaves a man mutilated, without any possible reparation.
Young people, assuredly, have a very exuberant sap and all sorts of encumbering shoots. Skillful and careful shears may well cut off, here and there, these over-greedy branches—and the tree will bear heavier and more fragrant fruit.
But can you without guilt take away his wealth from that old man whose illusion is his only pleasure? Beware of cutting off all its leaves from that old trunk that will never bring forth again and has nothing but its foliage with which to subsist and feel the sun.
Distrust those men who have what is like a false passion for truth. They are swollen with presumptuousvanity. They do not know that real truth exists only where there is faith, even faith without an object. Of what importance is the object? It is in faith itself that our grandeur lies.
In my childhood, I often used to stop in to see a certain humble, white-haired shopkeeper. She vegetated in a dark little shop and was always sitting behind her window, where the dust lay thick over the toys and trinkets. Her business was very poor, but she loved to say at night: “The passers-by were very good today. They looked in the window a great deal.”
I noticed, in fact, that nearly all who went by turned toward the dark shop a long, dreamy look, full of unusual interest, that sometimes caused them to stop short.
One day, as I was myself passing before the poor little display, I suddenly understood what it was the passers-by looked at so kindly: it was their own faces reflected in the dark window-pane.
I was still very young, but I realized vaguely that it would never do to disclose this disastrous discovery to my old friend.
But this passive good will is not enough. It is not enough not to harm things. Marcus Aurelius, I believe, has said; “One is often as unjust in doingnothing as in doing what one does.” You must understand, therefore, that not to share your inner fortune is, in some sort, to rob those who surround you.
We must first declare our blessings: we must try to do this without shame and without arrogance. Those who enjoy an intense and efficacious inner life draw from it a great deal of pride; they would gladly communicate it if they did not know that these treasures seem ridiculous to the common men; it is really shame, therefore, that prevents them from being proud.
In spite of the cry of Hamlet, it is through words that one discovers and possesses the world.
The rhetoricians have done their work so well that at times words seem dry, empty of pulp, empty of juice. They are no longer nourishing food, they are discordant sounds.
It needs only a little confidence and generosity to restore their meaning and their weight. Then they become precious and faithful. We call them, like devoted persons, to our aid; they come at once out of the shadow and show themselves docile to our wishes.
Marcus Aurelius, of whom we have just spoken, has said this also: “I wish always to define or describe the object that presents itself to my thoughts, so as to see, distinctly and in its nakedness, what itis in its substance, considered as a whole, and separately in all its parts, so as to be able to tell myself its true name as well as the true names of the parts of which it is composed and into which it can be resolved. For nothing is so suited to elevate the soul as to analyze as much as possible, with method and justice, everything that one meets with in life, and always to examine each object so as to be able to recognize at once to what order of things it belongs, of what, use it is, and what is its importance in the universe and, relatively, to man.”
It is with words that this task is accomplished.
I have noted another beautiful expression on this subject; it is from M. Anatole France. “Words,” he says, “are ideas.... I think the highest race in the world is that which has the best syntax. It often happens that men cut each other’s throats over words they do not understand. If they understood each other they would embrace each other.”
Be very sure then that the words of which we make use are deserving of all our care, all our respect. They are the witnesses of our thoughts. They will betray us if we degrade them to base uses.
Choose them with great tenderness; that is a quality as enviable as precision. And by means of these choice words, loyally express your fortune.
Tell what you have discovered, what you know. In affirming your possession you render it sure,positive. You labor for others and for yourself. You give form to your treasure and yield it, as if perfected, to those who truly wish to avail themselves of it.
Yes, in acting in this way, you are also working for your own profit. Do not let us leave this burning subject too quickly.
If I were not afraid of giving a conviction the form of a whim, I should say: “You do your work and it does good to you.”
Among the ideas that are dear to you and that you are glad to express are not only certainties, verified results, the testimony of experience. There are many wishes, many longings, too. By virtue of being enunciated, these end by reacting upon you, by gently imprisoning you. When you speak of virtue, or happiness, or the spirit of adventure or courage, you further certain things that are indeed your own; you further also many other things that you passionately wish to have become your own, your unique and recognized quality. By virtue of expressing them, it comes to pass that they in turn react upon you; a moment arrives when you are morally constrained to become the product of your opinions. In this sense your work does for you the good that you have done for it.
Admit, therefore, that if it pleases you to see and to paint your life in generous, harmonious colors, it is inevitable that harmony and generosity should little by little imprint their stamp on your serious thoughts and on your acts.
Therefore speak, speak of your dream. Every time someone tells you: “You do not live up to what you say,” think, with a smile: “Not yet, undoubtedly; but I feel sure that one day my words, that is to say, my thoughts, will prove to be truer than my vagaries.”
When you have tried and proved this method, you will attempt to bestow it upon others.
To that end strive to win a reputation among uncertain, hesitating people. Be prudent: this is the time when it is of great importance to choose the right ideas and words. But if you see one of your companions torn between two opposing reputations, imprison him in the better of the two.
I once knew a man who had done many good acts and a considerable number of reprehensible ones. One day, when I saw him hesitating between these two different tendencies, I began to address certain phrases to him that opened somewhat like this: “You who are so good.... You who have done such and such fine things.” ... And the result was that that man became really good, in order not to betray the reputation he had gained.
I foresee that you are about to pronounce the word vanity. Stop a moment! It is not a base stratagem that causes a barren soul to bring forth a fine harvest. If I had called the attention of that man to what was mean and sordid in his character, he would have perhaps become a villain altogether, and that would have been a shame for him, for me, and for everybody.
We have discovered together, you will recall, that the world is offered to all men that it may be possessed by each with the help of all. You see, then, that in your modest rôle of apostle there is a means of making others rich while securing their help for your own undertakings.
Estimate your wealth according to the importance of what you give. Dispossess yourself boldly. Everything will be returned to you at the right time and a hundredfold.
If the great apostles were able to bring the good news, it was because they had faith; but nothing could have exalted their faith more than to bring the good news.
If you have been interested in something you have read, in a walk, if you have been astonished at some spectacle, invite all those whom you know to read what you have read, to take that walk, to contemplatethat spectacle. Show some discernment in your invitations. Distrust the sceptics a little, the ironical, cruel, or contradictory spirits. Distrust them, but do not abandon them: they are the strayed sheep whose return ought to rejoice your heart supremely. When you have made them admit: “Yes, there’s something really fine! Yes, there’s something interesting, there’s something worth the pain of living!” you may fall asleep with a smile; your day will not have been lost.
At times, you will make a discovery so rare, so delicate that, by some secret warning, you will know it cannot be communicated, that it is strictly individual, that it ought to remain as a private relation between the world and your soul. In that case, keep your own counsel. Perhaps a day will come when your thought will have gained in precision through being amplified; on that day you will be mysteriously informed that your treasure has lost its private character, that it has become suitable for sustaining your communion with others. When that day comes, speak forth. Until that day, however, be patient; do not fall into the error of those spirits who are called obscure because they offer us impressions that have been insufficiently ripened and experienced, impressions that are not for all humanity.
On the other hand, when someone offers you one of these obscure impressions, do not reject it, do notlaugh with disdain. Force yourself to feel what has been pictured for you in this faulty fashion. You will do your partner a service in visualizing his discovery, and you will perhaps be able to increase your own stock. Perhaps there will be something worth seizing and understanding at the bottom of it.
Always seek communion. It is the most precious thing men possess. In this respect, the symbol of the religions is indeed full of majesty. Where there is communion there is something that is more than human, there is surely something divine.
When you deem that you have grasped a truth do not forget, in communicating it to others, that there are two conditions of truth. Any truth one receives is but a small fortune in comparison with the value of that which one experiences. Therefore persuade those you love into the experiencing of truths, into the religious, courageous, persistent experiencing of the well-beloved truth.
One dreams of a life in which everyone would be the apostle of what he possesses and where all would be the disciples of each.
If you wish to be an apostle, begin by never mislaying any of your wealth.
I once had a friend who said to me almost every day: “This morning I had a beautiful thought; butI can’t find it again, I’ve forgotten it, I’ve lost it.”
You have a purse to contain your money; condescend to have a scrap of paper on which you can put your thoughts, where you can set them in order. It is a slight means to what will eventually be a great end. Be economical of your treasures so that you may be lavish of them at the opportune moment. Do not lose what you wish to give away.
You are like the seeker after gold, on your knees by the bank of a river that rolls with sand and with nuggets.
The rushing flood of your soul flows by, and you watch it with fear and delight. Every sort of thing is in it: mud, grass, gold, flowers, formless and nameless debris. Gather to one side what you deem worthy to be preserved, do not let it escape in the torrent.
This mass of thoughts that crowd and elbow one another, this storm that tumbles its way over you, this unending dream that you have when you are awake, when your soul abandons itself to its natural, spontaneous impulses, there, indeed, is matter to terrify you! So many things appear and are swallowed up again that scandalize or horrify you; so many contradictions bewilder you, so many jewels shine furtively forth, that you are by turns filled with consternation, stupefied, dazzled.
You must choose among all these things. Youmust draw out of the current what you recognize as of value to you, and let the rest sink.
I beg you, keep the reckoning of your own soul. Keep a little book in your pocket that is carefully brought up to date. And do not trust your memory; it is a net full of holes; the most beautiful prizes slip through it.
You must not have too much fear of not being up to your task when you are approaching great problems and great works.
That is something worth meditating for him who sets himself to obtaining possession of the world, who wishes to invite his companions to do the same.
Though it may have all the appearance of naïveté, confidence is less to be feared than the terror of ridicule that paralyzes so many souls at the beginning of the most beautiful adventures.
The fear of enthusiasm does as much harm as obvious wickedness.
It is better to pass for a simpleton and become the laughing-stock of the disillusioned than to miss the opportunity to serve as the apostle of one’s beloved verities. It is better to squander one’s fortune than to run the risk of being the only one to profit from it. There will always be a farthing to fall into eager hands.
The main thing is to be, above everything else, a man of good will.
The true enemy, if there is any such, is the pharisee, the man of outward observance, he who adopts every religion as a matter of fashion, who speaks frequently and passionately of his soul in the same way in which he speaks of his necktie.
If you are only two against a thousand in leading this beautiful, pure life, rejoice that there are at least two of you and do not despair of your course of action.
Is it not Renan who has uttered this profound saying: “The great things in any race are usually accomplished by the minority”?
Do not rejoice because there are slaves. Let their example be a fearful warning to you; let it fill you with an overmastering desire to free them from servitude.
To the apostle Paul is ascribed that disquieting utterance of the conquering soldier: “Oportet hæreses esse.”
Yes, undoubtedly, whoever wishes to fight needs an enemy.
The dazzling chance of such conquests is not, alas, the thing you will be most likely to miss. But every conquest is vain that does not tend toward peace.
One thinks with ecstasy of the joy of a universalcommunion, from which no one would be left out, in which no one would be the victim.
Must there be heretics? Yes! To convince them, but not to vanquish them, and still less to put them to the stake.