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When the war finally came to an end for me too, in the spring of 1919, I withdrew into a remoter corner of Switzerland and became a hermit. Because all my life I had been much occupied with Indian and Chinese wisdom (this was an inheritance from my parents and grandparents), and also because I gave my new experiences expression in part in the picture language of the East, I was often called a 'Buddhist'. At this I could only laugh, for at bottom I knew of no religion from which I was further removed. And yet there was something accurate, a grain of truth hidden in this, which I first recognised somewhat later. If it were in any way thinkable that a person should choose a religion for himself, then I should certainly out of inner longing have joined a conservative religion: Confucianism, Brahmanism, or the Roman Church. I should have done this, however, out of longing for my polar opposite, not from innate affinity, for it was not by accident alone that I was horn the son of pious Protestants; I am a Protestant by temperament and nature as well (to which my deep antipathy to the present Protestant denominations is no contradiction whatever). For the true Protestant is in opposition to his own church just as he is to every other, since his nature constrains him to affirm becoming above being. And in this sense Buddha, too, was certainly a Protestant.