Demian
mythology. In connection with this I seem to remember that he was
suspected of living with his mother as with a mistress. Presumably
the facts were that he had been, up to that time, brought up without
any denominational creed, and that it was now thought that this might
be disadvantageous for his future career. In any case, his mother now
decided after all to allow him to be prepared for confirmation, two
years later than the boys of his own age. Hence it came about that for
months he was my classmate in the confirmation class.
For a time I kept out of his way, I did not want to have anything to do
with him; too many mysterious rumors had become attached to his name.
But above all things I was worried by a sense of obligation, implanted
in me since my affair with Kromer. And just at that time I had enough
to do with my own secrets. For the confirmation class coincided with
the period when I was definitively enlightened on matters of sex, and
in spite of my good will, my interest in the pious instruction was on
that account greatly diminished. The things of which the clergyman
spoke lay far from me in a still, sacred unreality; they may have been
quite beautiful and valuable, but in no way real and stirring, as were
in the highest degree, these other things.
The more indifferent I became, under these conditions, to our spiritual
instruction, the more was my interest drawn towards Max Demian again.
Something or other seemed to unite us. As nearly as I remember it began
in class early one morning, while the light was still burning in the
schoolroom. The clergyman taking the confirmation class happened to be
talking about Cain and Abel. I hardly paid any attention, I was sleepy
and scarcely listened. Then with raised voice the clergyman began to
speak fervently of Cain’s sign. At this moment I felt a sort of contact
or exhortation and looking up I saw Demian’s face turned toward me from
a row of desks in front, with a bright speaking look, which could have
expressed scorn as much as seriousness. He looked at me for a moment
only, and suddenly I was listening intently to the clergyman’s words.
I heard him speak of Cain and the mark on his forehead, and suddenly I
felt deep within me the knowledge that the story could have a different
signification, that it could be looked at from another view, that it
was possible to be critical.
From that instant the bond of communication between Demian and myself
was again established. And oddly enough, scarcely had this sense of
a certain solidarity between us presented itself to my mind, than I
saw it transferred as if by magic from the ideal world to the world of
space. I did not know whether he had been able to arrange it himself,
or whether it was pure chance--at that time I believed firmly in
chance--but a few days after I noticed Demian had suddenly changed his
place and was now sitting directly in front of me. (I recollect still
how pleasant it was, in the midst of the miserable workhouse atmosphere
of the overcrowded schoolroom, to sense the delicate, fresh aroma of
soap from his neck in the morning.) A few days later he had changed
again, and now sat next to me. And there he stayed, occupying the same
place through the whole of that winter and spring.
Morning lessons had quite changed. They were no longer sleepy and
boring. I looked forward to them. Sometimes we both listened to the
clergyman with the greatest attention. A glance from my neighbor would
suffice, calling my attention to a strange story or a peculiar text.
And another glance from him, a very decided one, acted on me as an
admonition, arousing criticism and doubt.
But very often we were bad pupils and heard nothing of the lesson.
Demian was always courteous towards masters and schoolfellows. I never
saw him commit a schoolboy prank, never heard him laugh out loud or
talk in class; he never drew on himself the master’s blame. But
noiselessly, rather by signs and glances than by whispered words, he
knew how to let me share in his own occupations. These were, in part,
of a peculiar nature.
For instance, he told me which of the fellows interested him; and in
what manner he studied them. He judged many of them with accuracy.
He used to say to me before the lesson: “When I signal to you with
my thumb, so and so will look round at us, or will scratch his neck,
etc.” Then during the lesson, when I scarcely gave a thought to what
he had told me, Max would attract my attention by suddenly bending
his thumb. I would look up quickly at the boy already designated, and
every time, as if attached to a wire, the fellow would make the gesture
required of him. I bothered Max to try this on the master, but he did
not want to do it. But once, when I came into class and told him I
had not done my preparation, and that I hoped the clergyman would not
question me that day, he helped me. The master looked round for a boy
to recite a portion of the catechism, and his roving eye rested on me.
He approached me slowly, stretched out his finger in my direction, and
already had my name on his lips--when suddenly he became absent-minded
or uneasy, put his hand to his collar, stepped up to Demian who looked
fixedly into his face. He seemed to want to ask him something but he
turned away, to our surprise, coughed a little, and put his question to
another boy.
These jokes amused me very much, but only gradually did I notice that
my friend frequently played the same game with me. It would happen
that on my way home from school I had suddenly the feeling Demian was
a little way behind me, and when I turned round, there he was, sure
enough.
“Can you really make another person think what you want him to?” I
asked him.
He gave me information on the subject readily enough, quietly and
pertinently, in his grown-up manner.
“No,” he said, “that can’t be done. That is to say, one hasn’t a free
will, even if the person acts that way. Neither can the other person
think as he will, nor can I make him think what I want him to. But you
can observe someone well, and then you can say fairly exactly what he
thinks or feels; in this way you can generally predict what he will do
the moment after. It’s quite simple, but people merely do not know it.
Naturally it requires practice. To take an example from the butterfly
world, there is a certain species of moth, of which the female is much
rarer than the male. The moths reproduce like other animals, the male
impregnates the female, who then lays the egg. Suppose you have in your
possession a female of this type of moth--naturalists have often made
the experiment--then the male moths fly in the night to this female,
they even make a flight of several hours’ duration! Think of it! For
many miles around all the males are conscious of the whereabouts of the
only female moth in the district. People have tried to explain that,
but it is not easy. Moths must have a sense of smell, or something like
it, which allows them to pick up and follow an almost imperceptible
scent, like a good hound. You understand? There are such things, nature
is full of them, and no one can explain them. Now I draw the conclusion
that if among this class of moths the females were as abundant as
the males, then these latter would not have such a refined sense of
smell! They have it simply because they have been trained like that.
If an animal or a man concentrates his whole attention and his whole
will-power on a certain thing then he attains it. That’s all. And it is
just the same with what you have asked me. Observe a man sufficiently
well, and you will know more about him than he does himself.”
It lay on the tip of my tongue to mention the word “mind-reading,” and
so to remind him of the scene with Kromer, now relegated to such a
distant past. But the odd thing between us both was that neither he nor
I ever made the slightest reference to the fact that several years ago
he had intervened so decisively in my life. It was as if formerly there
had been nothing between us, or as if each of us reckoned that the
other had forgotten the affair. It even happened once or twice when we
were together that we met Frank Kromer in the street, but we exchanged
no look, neither did we speak of him.
“But what has that got to do with will-power?” I asked. “You said there
was no such thing as free will. And then you said one only had to
concentrate one’s will on something to be able to attain one’s ends.
That doesn’t agree! If I am not master of my will, then I can’t direct
it here or there as I wish.”
“A good question!” he said, laughing. “You should always ask questions,
you must always doubt. But the explanation is very simple. If a moth
for instance wants to concentrate his will-power on a star or something
like that, he can’t do it. Only--he doesn’t try. He seeks only what
has sense and value for him, satisfies his needs, he gets what he
absolutely must have. And it is just there that the unbelievable
succeeds--he develops a marvelous sixth sense, that no other animal
besides him has! People in our position have more elbow-room,
certainly, and more interests than an animal. But even we are confined
to a comparatively small space, beyond which we cannot go. To be sure,
I can imagine this or that, or make myself believe that I absolutely
want to get to the North Pole or somewhere, but I can only carry that
out and wish it strongly enough when the desire lies right in myself,
when my whole being is really filled with it. As soon as that is the
case, as soon as you try to carry out an inward command, then you
succeed, then you can harness your will as you would a good nag. If
for instance I resolved that our good Mr. Parson shall not wear his
spectacles for the future, then that wouldn’t work. That is merely
play. But when last autumn I had the fixed intention of getting myself
moved to another desk, I succeeded. Someone suddenly arrived who came
before me in the alphabet and who up to then had been ill. Because
someone had to make room for him, it was naturally I who did it,
because my willing it had made me ready to seize the opportunity.”
“Yes,” I said, “that seemed to me very strange at the time. From the
moment we began to get interested in one another, you managed to get
nearer and nearer to me. But how was that? You did not immediately take
a place next to me; for a few lessons at first you were sitting in the
row of desks in front of me, weren’t you? How did that come about?”
“It was like this. I wasn’t quite certain where I wanted to go when
I wished to move from my first place. I only knew that I wanted to
sit further back. It was my wish to move towards you, but I was not
conscious of this at the time. Simultaneously your own will was working
with mine and helped me. It was only when I sat in front of you that I
realized my wish was only half fulfilled--I noticed that really I had
desired nothing else than to sit next to you.”
“But on that occasion no newcomer arrived.”
“No, but then I simply did what I wished, and sat next to you without
hesitation. The boy with whom I changed places was simply surprised,
and let me do it without further say. And the parson indeed noticed
once that a change had taken place--in fact, whenever he looks at me
something worries him secretly. That is to say, he knows my name is
Demian, and that something must be wrong that I, whose initial is D,
am sitting back there among the S’s! But that does not penetrate his
consciousness because my will is against it, because I prevent him
again and again from becoming conscious of it. He notices now and
then that something is wrong. He looks at me and begins to study the
question, the good fellow. But I have a simple means at my disposal.
I look at him very, very fixedly in the eyes. Hardly anyone can bear