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show for it either spiritually or emotionally? What entitles the temple priest to the widow’s last farthing? Jesus never asked for money, and he never thought much of those who did. The sun is behind me. Warm and quiet. A single misty gem suspended in a brilliant blue sky. The ground is strewn with palms and psalms resound. There is no way out. Hosanna!

      July 12

      When I think of the evil things people have said to me and I realize how scarred I have been by them, I understand how important it is to refrain from negative judgment—all judgment if possible, but especially to keep one’s condemnation to oneself. My master is so kind to me and yet so insulting to his peers—even those who praise and support his work, those who would learn from him. There are those who find him perverse.

      I am not well this evening. Perhaps it is the heat, or the topic, or something I ate. I need to drink more water to keep up with what I have lost—and the headache, since yesterday afternoon.

      July 13

      I come to the last page of this journal. The destruction of the Bastille was fifty-eight years ago tomorrow: a lifetime ago. How much has changed? Very little, I think, which is why another much larger wave now threatens. Is Christianity—never mind Christianity—is Christ on the side of those who foment rebellion against the established order? Does he favor Jeremiah, who scorned the preaching of peace where there was none? Does he reject the gospel of submission? For the German mind (and this may include the Danes, broadly speaking), there is no love without order, though certainly there can be order without love. And not merely the Northern Europeans, but the Medievals—Dante represents this so well, this impulse to order in every facet of human and divine love and retribution. I hesitate to call what Dante gives us in his Inferno divine justice, for it is one very brilliant man’s bitter response to exile—justifiable in human terms, but not altogether just.

      Matt 21:18–22. Jesus curses the fig tree and it withers on the spot. Only leaves of trees or paper, but no fruit—an offense to our Lord. True faith picks up mountains—mountains of poetry, or theology, or human structures of any kind, and heaves them into the sea. “And everything that you ask for in prayer, if you believe, you will receive.”

      Faust and Mephistopheles in the street. Faust eagerly awaits this evening’s arranged meeting with Margarete in her neighbor’s garden. Mephistopheles questions the sincerity of Faust’s feeling for Margarete. Faust cannot find the right word for it—he burns, he glows—is this passion purely instinct, or something eternal?