d to it because, in
its nature, it is not concerned with making use of things. In every way
we betray the fact that we cannot listen humbly, because we do not
believe there is anything to listen to. For a few of the devout God
spoke long ago, but He is not speaking now. "The kings of modern thought
are dumb," said Matthew Arnold; but that is because everything outside
the mind of man is dumb; all must be dumb to those who will not listen.
If we assume that there, is no intelligence anywhere but in ourselves,
we shall find none anywhere else. There will be no meaning for us in
anything but our own actions; and they will become more and more
meaningless to us as they become more and more wilful, until at last we
shall be to ourselves like squirrels in a cage, or prisoners on a
universal treadmill. Years ago the war must have seemed a meaningless
treadmill to the Germans, but they cannot escape from its consequences;
they have done and they must suffer. But will they learn from their
sufferings, shall we all learn, that doing is not everything? Are we
humbled enough to listen to the wisdom of the ages, which tells us that
we can be wise only if we listen for a wisdom that is not ours?

"The Magic Flute"

When _The Magic Flute_ was produced by the already dying Mozart it had
little success. At the first performance, it is said, when the applause
was faint, the leader of the orchestra stole up to Mozart, who was
conducting, and kissed his hand; and Mozart stroked him on the head. We
may guess that the leader knew what the music meant and that Mozart knew
that he knew. Neither could put it into words and it is not put into
words in the libretto. But the libretto need not be an obstruction to
the meaning of the music if only the audience will not ask themselves
what the libretto means. After Mozart's death the opera was successful,
no doubt because the audience had given up asking what the libretto
meant and had learnt something of the meaning of the music.

There are worse librettos--librettos which have some clear unmusical
meaning of their own beyond which the audience cannot penetrate to the
meaning of the music, if it has any. This libretto, apart from the
music, is so nearly meaningless, it has so little coherence, that one
can easily pass through it to the music. The author, Schickaneder, was
Mozart's friend, and he had wit enough to understand the mood of Mozart.
That mood does expr