H. Adler - Panorama

The entire world is a world that is guilty before grace. Guilt and oppression counter salvation and freedom, though guilt cannot be reversed by any redemptive act, for guilt contradicts it. If one doesn’t wish to believe this, he has only blinded himself and isolates himself within his guilt, even if he tries to remain free of personal sin. The burden of his own lack of freedom is already the punishment, which is also felt in the blindness and deafness brought on by his audacity. Thus collective guilt is the same as one’s own guilt, even if one refuses to accept it, or if one doesn’t want to acknowledge it and foolishly chooses to ignore his part in the guilt of the society in which he lives. But it is also guilt when one believes that he is graced and has nothing to do with collective guilt. For even if one can indeed believe that collective guilt cannot be shared, one still cannot separate oneself from the world, or lower the amount of guilt, but instead only point to it, while perhaps gaining a small reward through this action alone, though there is nonetheless no redemption and no forgiveness of the sins against the slaughtered Lamb of God. On the contrary, all beings must accept collective guilt, as well as their own guilt, and do what is possible so that guilt is dissipated and new guilt is avoided, whereby freedom will stand in opposition to human guilt, so that the grace of the undivided community can occur as a collective grace. In the preparation for such an occurrence in the world, Josef sees the possible start of a way to an undivided salvation.

It’s good that Josef sleeps, it’s good that he’s alone, for now he wants to talk to someone else, but he should keep quiet, he should wait and know that his clever words are only the helpless attempts of one who has been abandoned and wishes to overcome his loneliness, as he doesn’t always want to remain an onlooker, though he should indeed realize that he will always be only a viewer. He sits before the glass panes of the panorama, he being allowed to decide as he gazes deeply into the viewing booth whether what he sees will be just a view of the streets and houses of Launceston below or of the walls across the way where George Fox sat imprisoned, or a view of the entire ruins, or of the solitary visitors who come and go, or a view across the countryside that is bathed in soft light, or of the Church of the Penitent, the gates of the town, The Red Bull, or of the corrugated huts that have been abandoned since the prisoners of war and their bundles were sent back to Germany, or perhaps a view of nothing immediately here, but a view inward to see if it appears to be turning outward, views of the countries that Josef once saw, a view of his own family and of Bubi and also of Wenzel sitting in the garden, the view from the meadow above Umlowitz down onto Praxel’s hut, or of Herr Neumann’s property, or of the home of the dental technician Bilina, or of Thomasberg, or a view of the classrooms of The Box, or of the courtyard where The Bull screams and Inspector Faber stands in charge, or through the peepholes in the toilets, in the auditorium, where “Now for the Last Time” will be sung, or up at Professor Felger’s garden, where the broken pump lies, or of the train station in Adamsfreiheit, in the catacombs of the cloister, or up at Landstein Castle, or of the ranger’s house in torchlight, through the woods and on the ground, where cool berries and moist mushrooms grow, or the view of the night streets of the city, the rushing people and the police, or in the tower room of Johannes, or of the eternal light and the gong, or a view of the Frau Director’s villa, or of Lutz’s butterfly book, or out into the garden, or the view into the ticket booth and old Frau Lawetzer, into the main office and Professor Rumpler with his bust of Goethe, or the view of the railroad site, of the wooden barracks, of Sláma’s work site, then of the tower on Pfefferberg, and across at the poplars and into the lush density of the woods, and many views of the camp of the lost ones, of the electrified wire, of the yard where the lost ones collapse in exhaustion, or the view of horrible red smoke as Mordechai speaks of the blessing of the prayer shawl, or the view of the singing rails and the underground halls everywhere where the Conqueror continues to forge his weapons.

All of them are temporal views, all of them limited, none of it enough for Josef anymore, for he’s had enough of them and doesn’t know where he should look, though he still sees them all, it not mattering if he closes his eyes, for he sees, and he can leave them open and he still sees, he hears the little bell, the view changes, it all repeats again, the order in which they do having been lost, no one watching any longer to make sure that the show runs smoothly, the views all mixing together, no, they are not views, for Josef is at peace, he controls the order and selection of views neither through his will nor through his fantasy, as they breed their own confusion, a continual interchange, everything mixing with everything else and shaken together in kaleidoscopic fashion. Josef is happy to be lying down, for if he were standing he would not be able to keep his feet still, as everything is dissolving together, he no longer knows which way is which, the times also spliced together, though it all gives rise to a feeling of happiness, the experiences of the past years appear to be compressed, Josef now able to preserve what he once experienced. Now he can look on and realize the tables have turned, he is the embodiment of all that has happened to him.

Most likely a person exists only by virtue of the world that is mirrored within him. Josef is an object of the world, so any hope of engaging with it is an idle thought. Yet this engagement happens nonetheless, for it is a chain of unconscious phenomena that are nonetheless expressed in people’s actions. This does not amount to simple acceptance, or inaction, but is instead a chosen acquiesence so that the world can be, and no one resist that. Instead, one should simply fulfill it and be prepared to respond to any impetus in a vigorous manner. For it is also not an involuntary process, nor is it a soulless mechanism, nor fatalism, though indeed it does involve the destruction of the illusion of an independent and arbitrary agency. It involves immersion in the general run of things that appears to be brought about by the actions of all people in the world. The idea of a world soul that contains the individual soul makes sense. Thus conquering empty isolation is possible, the challenges faced by the individual demanding that he discover the link between all events and grace, and through that manifest his own approach to life. Through this Josef’s childhood dreams should have been fulfilled, for he had always thought that all individuals shared some path together on which salvation could be found in their lives, but it had always been apparent how much selfish and rampant resistance stood against it, the existence of the common questioned by the individual or even denied, which then leads to the destruction of all order. As a result, those who have a vision and those who do not both suffer, nor is the recognition of a common path shared enough by individuals, since that does not cohere with the ways of the world. Also, when individuals wish to unite and become the many, it does not happen as long as the formulation of such a common path does not lead to a recognizable commonality. Such a formulation is hardly ever sought, so it can’t help but fail. And thus those with no vision become the masters of the world, the conquerors arising from within their ranks as well as — often just as dangerous — the nattering fools who preach penance and meditation. Those without a vision lend the Conqueror and the fools an ear and a following, and soon evil grows, again and again resulting in destruction. So Josef thought, though now these thoughts dissolve inside him.