The fact of being able to occupy himself with the future is then an indication of man's nobility; the conflict with it is most ennobling. He who strives with the present strives with a single thing against which he can use his entire strength. If therefore a man had nothing else to strive against, it would be possible for him to go victori- ously through life without learning to know himself or his own strength. He who fights with the future has a more dangerous enemy, he can never remain ignorant about himself; for he fights with himself. The future is not; it borrows its strength from the man himself, and when it has tricked him out of this, then it appears out- side of him as the enemy he must meet. Let a man then be as strong as he will, no man is stronger than himself.
THE EXPECTATION OF FAITH Therefore we frequently see those who in life conquered in every battle; when it was a future enemy they had to deal with, they became powerless, their arms paralyzed. While they were perhaps accustomed to challenge the whole world to battle, they had now met an enemy, a vague figure, who was able to terrify them. Therefore, perhaps frequently the men whom God called to be tested in battle went from a worse fight into that battle which to men seemed so terrible; perhaps they sometimes smiled in the heat of conflict when they considered the invisible fight which had taken place before. They were admired in the world, because people thought they had conquered in the most dangerous fight, and yet that fight seemed to them like a childish game in comparison with the fight which had gone before, which no man saw. It would naturally be true that he who is stronger than others conquers in the conflict with these; but it is also natural that no man is stronger than himself. When a man strives with the future, then he learns that however strong he is compared with the rest, there is one enemy who is stronger, that is himself; one enemy he cannot conquer by himself, that is himself.
Yet why describe this conflict with the future as so dan- gerous? "Whether old or young, we have all of us had some experience, the future is not entirely new; for there is nothing new under the sun; the future is the past. Old or young, we have all had experience, we will put it on, we will follow the trail of conjecture and the guidance of the supposition; by the power of the conclusion will we overcome it, and thus armed go confidently forth to meet the future." And it is indeed well that a man be armed when he goes into a conflict; still better that he be armed according to the nature of the conflict. If a i6 i6 man who would compete on the running-track were to put on heavy armor, he would indeed be armed, but his armor would scarcely be advantageous to him. Is not the case the same in the matter of equipment for one who would strive with the future? For experience as a friend has a double tongue which says now one thing, now another; and guessing is a deceitful guide who deserts one when one needs him most, and the supposition is a vague glance which does not look very far, and the con- clusion is a sling wherein a man more often catches him- self than the other. In addition, those weapons are difficult to use; for with guessing goes fear, with conjecture appre- hension, with the conclusion disquiet, since the questing soul does not remain unmoved by the experience. So we might be well-armed when we had put on experience, but not for the kind of conflict we go to meet, the conflict with the future; we sought to transform this into some- thing present, something individual; but the future is not an individual part but the whole.
How should we then go to meet the future? When the sailor is out upon the sea, when everything is changing about him, when the waves are constantly born and die, then he does not stare down into the depths of these, for they change. He looks up at the stars: and why? Because they are faithful; as they stand now, they stood for the patriarchs, and will stand for the coming generations. By what means does he then conquer the changing con- ditions? Through the eternal. Through the eternal can one conquer the future, because the eternal is the founda- tion of the future; therefore through this one can under- stand that. What then is the eternal power in man? It is faith. What is the expectation of faith? Victory, or as the Scriptures have so earnestly and so movingly taught us, THE EXPECTATION OF FAITH 17 it is that all things must work together for good to those that love God. But an expectation of the future which expects victory has indeed conquered the future. The believer is therefore done with the future before he be- gins on the present; for what one has conquered no longer has power to disturb one, and this victory can only make one more powerful for the present.
Then the expectation of faith is victory! The glad heart which had not yet tasted of life's adversities, which was not educated in the school of sorrow, which was not shaped by the dubious wisdom of experience, assists this expecta- tion with all its might; for it expects victory in everything, in every conflict and exertion, or rather, it expects to conquer without conflict. We would not choose to be the austere figure which would halt the young on his way; we would rather be considered as a consolation to him when he has learned that this expectation, however beautiful it was, was still not the expectation of faith; we would rather be the one who should call him to the conflict when he feels himself powerless; rather be the one who will let victory beckon to him when he believes every- thing lost. On the other hand, the troubled one, who has scarcely dried his tears over the present loss, pictures the future differently, and that future is indeed light and ephemeral, more flexible than any sickle; so everyone fashions it according to the way he himself is fashioned. The troubled one does not expect victory, he has felt his loss too keenly; and even if it happened in the past, he still keeps it with him; he expects that the future will at least grant him peace for the quiet occupation with his pain.
The experienced man disapproves of both modes of conduct. When one has almost every good one could i8 desire, then one ought to be prepared to have the troubles of life also visit the home of the fortunate; when one has lost everything, then one ought to consider that time conceals much precious healing power for the sick soul; that the future, like a loving mother, also conceals good gifts. In success a man ought, to a certain degree, to be prepared for failure; in failure, to a certain degree, for success. And the counsel of the man of experience is not in vain; for both the one who was happy, if he was not thoughtless, and the troubled man, if he was not in despair, will readily heed his words; both will willingly arrange their lives according to his advice. The successful man inspects the goods he possesses. Some of them he thinks he could lose without pain; others are such that he could easily recover from the pain of their loss. Only one single good he can not lose without losing his glad- ness, he cannot lose it to a certain degree without losing it absolutely, and with it his joy. He will then be prepared to lose his goods, and in this way he is, according to the advice of the man of experience, prepared for a certain degree of misfortune. Still the experienced man said: to a certain degree. This word might also apply to that one good he could not lose without losing his happiness; not lose to a certain degree without losing it entirely. The man of experience will not interpret his words, he repeats them unchanged, unshakable; he leaves the explanation and the application to the one whom they would guide. So then the successful man, no less than the troubled one, becomes bewildered. This expression: to a certain degree, which should set them free, becomes the binding power which ensnares them, and the word continues to sound, shows no sympathy, is not concerned about their strenu- ous efforts to understand it, pays no attention to their THE EXPECTATION OF FAITH 19 prayers for an explanation. The experience which should guide them, gives birth to doubt; the experienced man's advice was questionable advice.
On the contrary, the believer says: "I expect victory." Nor is this a vain speech. For both the fortunate man who was not thoughtless and the troubled man who was not in despair will readily listen to his words. Gladness returns again to the glad heart, victory is its expectation, victory in every conflict, in every temptation; for experience taught that there might be talk about a conflict. Still by the help of faith it expects victory in everything; only for a moment does it pause: "It is too much," it says, "it is impossible, life cannot be so glorious; however rich youth was in its extreme happiness, this is even more than the most joyous hope of youth." Aye, it is certainly more than the gladdest hope of youth, and yet it is so, even if not quite as you think. You speak about many victories, but faith expects only one, or rather, it expects victory. If there was a man who had heard of a belief which was able to give everyone the thing he needed, and he were to say: "That is impossible— all the necessities for a man, as now for me, all the much which I need"; then would the one who referred him to the Holy Scriptures, rightly dare to testify about them, that he would find in them the thing needed, but the seeker would find that it did not turn out quite as he had expected. The Scriptures say: "One thing is needful." So too with faith; when you speak about many victories you are like one who talks about many things being needed. Only one thing is need- ful, and faith expects victory.
But it expects victory, and therefore it is glad and confident, and why should it not be since it expects victory! Still I am sensible of a voice which you also 20 know well, my hearer. It says: "This is good to listen to, these are great words and agreeable modes of speech, but truly the earnestness of life teaches something differ- ent." What then did life's earnestness teach you, you who speak in this way? Is it not true that it taught you that your wishes would not be fulfilled, your yearnings not sated, your cravings not heeded, your desires not satisfied? It taught you this, all this, of which we do not speak at all; and in addition it taught you with deceitful lips to come to men's assistance, to suck faith and confidence out of their hearts, to do this in the sacred name of earnest- ness. Why did it teach you this? Could it not have taught you something else?
When two men learn different things from life, it may be because they experienced it differently; but it can also arise from the fact that they themselves were different. If two children were brought up together and shared everything in common, so that if one was singled out for commendation, the other was also; if one was rebuked, the other was likewise; if one was punished, the other was also; still it would be true that they might learn absolutely different things. For the one might learn, whenever it was commended, not to become proud; every time it was re- buked to humble itself under the admonition; every time it was punished to profit by the suffering. The other might learn, when it was commended, to become arro- gant; when it was rebuked, to harbor resentment; when- ever it was punished to store up secret anger. So also with you. If you had loved men, then perhaps life's earnestness had taught you not to be vociferous, but to be silent, and when you were in distress like one at sea, and saw no land, then at least not to drag others into your distress. Perhaps it taught you to smile, at least as long THE EXPECTATION OF FAITH 2I as you believed that someone sought an explanation, a testimony in your appearance. Life might then perhaps have afforded you the melancholy gladness of seeing others succeed where you had not succeeded; the consola- tion that you had gained through stifling the shriek of anguish in your heart, so that it might not be disturbing to others. Why did you not learn this?
Since you did not learn it, we cannot pay attention to what you say. We are not judging you because you doubt; for doubt is a cunning passion, and it may well be very difficult to free one's self from its snares. What we do demand of the doubter is that he shall be silent. He certainly realized that doubt did not make him happy; why then confide to others what will make them equally unhappy? And what does he gain by telling them? He loses himself, and makes others unhappy. He loses him- self, whereas by keeping silent he might perhaps have found peace, had he preferred quietly to bear his pain in solitude rather than to become noisily important in the sight of men by coveting the honor and distinction so many desire— of doubting, or at least of having doubted. Doubt is a profound and cunning passion, but he whose soul it did not grip so intensely that he became speech- less, only falsely imputes this passion to himself; what he says, therefore, is not only untrue in itself, but especially so on his lips. Consequently, we pay no attention to him.
The expectation of faith, then, is victory. The doubt which comes from without does not disturb it; for it dis- honors itself by speaking. Still doubt is crafty. In its secret way it sneaks about a man, and when faith expects victory, then it whispers that this expectation is a delusion. "An expectation whose time and place are not determined, is only an illusion; thus one can always continue to ex- 22 pect; such an expectation is an enchanted circle from which the soul cannot escape." Certainly the soul, in the expectation of faith, is prevented from falling out of itself into the manifold; it remains in itself; but it would be the greatest evil which could befall a man if he escaped from this circle. From this it by no means follows that the expectation of faith is a delusion. It is true that he who expects something in particular, may be disappointed; but this does not happen to the believer. When the world begins its sharp testing, when the storms of life snap the vigorous expectation of youth, when existence, which seems so loving and so gentle, transforms itself into a merciless proprietor who demands everything back, everything which he gave so that he could take it back, then the believer looks with sadness and pain at himself and at life, but he still says: ''There is an expectation which all the world can not take from me; it is the expectation of faith, and this is victory. I am not deceived; for what the world seemed to promise me, that promise I still did not believe that it would keep; my expectation was not in the world, but in God. This expectation is not deceived; even in this moment I feel its victory more gloriously and more joyfully than all the pain of loss. If I lost this expectation, then would everything be lost. Now I have still conquered, conquered through my ex- pectation, and my expectation is victory."
Was it not so in life? If there was a man to whom you felt yourself so strongly attracted that you dared say: I trust him, is it not true that when everything went in accordance with your wish, or if not entirely so, yet so that you could easily bring it into agreement with your ideas, then you trusted him, as others also trusted him; but when the inexplicable happened, the incomprehen- THE EXPECTATION OF FAITH 23 sible, then the others fell away, or rather (not to confuse the language) they showed that they never had trusted him? Not so with you. You felt that it was not on the fact that you could explain what happened, that you had based your faith; for then it would have been based on your insight, and far from being resignation, it would rather have been self-confidence. It seemed to you that it would be a disgrace to give it up; for as you had believed that these words from your mouth: I trust him, had signified something different from their meaning^ when others said them, so you felt it impossible that the change could bring you to act as did the others, unless your faith originally had not signified more than theirs. You continued to trust. Perhaps you did wrong in doing so; not in trusting, not in trusting in this way, but in trusting a man in this way. Perhaps the inexplicable was easily explained; perhaps there was a distressing certainty that witnessed so strongly that your belief became only a beautiful conceit that you ought rather to give up. We do not know. Still we do know this, that if in this faith you forgot that there was a higher faith, then it was, in spite of its beauty, only a means of perdition to you.
If, on the other hand, you put your faith in God, how could your faith then ever be changed into a beautiful conceit which you ought rather to relinquish? Could He be changed with whom there is no variableness, neither shadow of turning? Should He not be faithful, through whom every man who is so is faithful? Should not He be without deceit in whom you yourself had faith? Could there ever be an explanation which could explain any- thing other than that He is truthful and keeps His prom- ises? And yet we see that men forget this.
When everything succeeds for them, when they see 24 good days, when in a wonderful manner they feel them selves in harmony with everything about them, then they believe; in their gladness they do not always forget to thank God; for every man will readily be thankful for the good he receives, but every man's heart is also weak enough to wish to determine for itself what the good is. When everything changes, when sorrow replaces glad- ness, then they fall away, they lose their faith, or rather, for let us not confuse the language, they show that they never had it. Do not behave in this way, my hearer. When you caught yourself being changed by everything chang- ing about you, then you said: "I confess that now I see that what I called my faith was only a delusion. That the highest one man can do in his relation to another is to believe him; that what is even higher, more beautiful and more blessed than language can describe— to believe God— that I have presumptuously imagined myself to have done; to all the rest of my gladness I have also added this; and yet my faith, as I now see, was only a fleeting emotion, a reflection of my earthly happiness. But I will not edify myself by presumptuous, meaningless speech; I will not say that I have lost faith, will not lay the blame upon the world, nor upon men, nor even accuse God." In this way, my hearer, you sought to halt yourself when you would go astray in sorrow; you did not harden your heart; you were not foolish enough to wish to imagine that if particular things had not happened, then you would have preserved your faith, nor wretched enough to wish to seek fellowship with this wisdom. Lo, therefore you won, even if slowly, again to the expectation of faith. Then when you failed in everything, when what you had slowly built up was blown away in a moment, and you must toilsomely begin again from the beginning; when THE EXPECTATION OF FAITH 25 your arm was weak, your step wavering, then you still held fast to your expectation of faith, which is victory. You did not even reveal it to others lest they mock you, because in all your wretchedness you still expected victory, in your inmost heart you still hid your expecta- tion. "The joyful days are indeed able to embellish my faith," you said. "I adorn it with the garlands of gladness, but prove it I cannot; the gloomy times can indeed bring tears to the eyes and sorrow to the heart, but they still cannot deprive me of my faith." And even if the adversity continued, your soul became gentle. "It is still beautiful," you said, "that God will not thus appear to me in the visible things; we were separated in order to meet again; I still could not wish always to be a child, who every day requires proofs, signs, and wonderful deeds. If I continued to be a child, then I could not love with all my might and with all my soul. Now we are separated, we do not meet daily, only secretly we meet in the triumphant moment of believing expectation."
The expectation of faith is then victory, and this ex- pectation cannot be disappointed unless a man disap- points himself by depriving himself of expectation; like the one who foolishly supposed that he had lost faith, or foolishly supposed that some individual had taken it from him; or like the one who sought to delude himself with the idea that there was some special power which could deprive a man of his faith; who found satisfaction in the vain thought that this was precisely what had hap- pened to him, found joy in frightening others with the assurance that some such power did exist that made sport of the noblest in a man, and empowered the one who was thus tested to ridicule others.
Yet perhaps one or another says: "This speech is in- 26 deed coherent and consistent; but through it one gets no farther, and insofar it is a foolish and meaningless speech." One gets no farther. Could a man then wish to get farther than to conquer? Then he must also lose the victory. Would it be so foolish and insignificant a thing for a man really to become conscious of whether he had faith or not? But when I say: I believe, then it can only too often be very obscure to me what I really mean by that. Perhaps I am mistaken, perhaps I am only creating a conception about the future; perhaps I am wishing, hoping, perhaps longing for something, desiring, covet- ing; perhaps I am certain about the future, and when I am, it seems to me that I believe, although I really do not. On the other hand if I confront myself with the question: Do you expect victory? then every obscurity becomes more difficult. Then I perceive that not only does he not believe who expects absolutely nothing, but also he who expects some special thing, or he who bases his expecta- tion on something special. And should this not be of importance, since not until a man is finished with the future can he be entirely and undividedly in the present? But only by conquering it, is one finished with the future, and faith does exactly this, for its expectation is victory. Every time then that I catch my soul not expecting vic- tory, I know that I do not believe; when I know that, then I know too what I have to do; for it is by no means an easy matter to believe. The first condition for my coming to believe, is that I become conscious of whether I do believe or not. For that reason we so often fall into error because we look for an assurance of our expectation, instead of an assurance of faith that we believe. The be- liever demands no proof for his expectation; "for," he savs, "if I could assume something to be a proof, then,