The Rudolf Steiner Archive

23. Schiller's Later Plays

[ 1 ] We have seen how Schiller, in each of his later plays, repeatedly attempted to solve the problem of drama. There is something uplifting about seeing how, after every new great success—and these were extraordinary successes, recognized by the best of his time, even if there was no shortage of hostility—there is something particularly uplifting, I said, about seeing how he attempts to reach a higher level with each new drama.

[ 2 ] All of his later plays—“Tell,” “The Bride of Messina,” “The Maid of Orleans,” and “Demetrius”—are nothing but attempts to tackle the problem of the dramatic and the tragic in a new form. He would never have been satisfied with the belief that he had exhausted the subject of psychology. In Mary Stuart, we saw him address the problem of fate, creating a perfect situation in which the characters simply play out their roles. In The Maid of Orleans, he delved even deeper into the human soul. He knew how to delve deeply into human psychology, grounding the problem in the manner Hebbel described when he said that the tragic must relate to something that is, in a certain sense, irrational. Thus, in The Maid of Orleans, we see the interplay of dark spiritual forces: she is a kind of somnambulist, under the influence of what might be called the demonic, and is carried along by it. She is meant to stand high above the human realm; it is only because she is a virgin that she has the right to walk through the ranks of the enemy like an angel of death, in the service of her fatherland. In The Bride of Messina, Schiller attempts to elevate the drama by drawing upon the primal drama. He drew upon that primordial drama that preceded even Aeschylus—a drama that was not merely art but an integral part of the truth encompassing religion, science, and art: that Dionysian drama which brought the suffering, dying, and resurrected god onto the stage as the representative of all humanity. The plot there did not bear the character of what we today call poetry. The drama of the world was to be presented—the truth in a beautiful, artistic form. It was meant to bring exaltation and religious edification to humanity. Thus, for the audience, the mystery drama contained within itself what later developed separately as religion, art, and philosophy.

[ 3 ] This line of thought, which Friedrich Nietzsche develops in his work The Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music—in which he presents the primal drama as the higher form—was already present in Schiller. Schiller’s idea of elevating the beautiful to higher spheres by reintroducing the musical element was taken up on a grand scale by Wagner and found monumental expression in the music drama. Wagner turned to myth and chose music in order to express what is significant not in everyday language but in a more elevated one. The direction that art took in Wagner’s circle was intended by Schiller. In his brief introduction to The Bride of Messina, he finds an expression for this that is as vivid as it is concise: true art is to provide freedom of the spirit through the lively interplay of all its powers. From this we recognize what lived within Schiller. We have seen how Schiller’s spirit ascended toward Goethe’s. He himself called Goethe’s spirit “intuitive” and his own “symbolic.” This is a significant statement.

[ 4 ] Schiller essentially always conceived of human beings as representatives of the human race; he conceived of them as part of a kind of symphony. We see drama emerging from a musical mood in his work: this gives rise to this symphony of human characters—characters who act and who suffer. This meant that he had to transform individual traits into symbols of great human experience. In this way, Schiller became the poet of idealism: through experience, he brought ideals down to earth in order to shape them into characters. At the center of his work was the problem of the human self—the question: How does a person act within their environment?

[ 5 ] In The Bride of Messina, he sought to present the Greek tragedy of fate in a new form. There must be something in the human soul that prevents people from carrying out their decisions in a rational manner—otherwise they would act more wisely—; something dark must dwell within them, akin to Socrates’ demon. This must be influencing them from the spiritual world. Schiller weaves this element—which cannot be grasped by reason—into the tragedy. In the way he does this, Schiller reveals himself to be a thoroughly modern figure. The plot springs from two dreams: The Prince of Messina dreams of a flame consuming two laurel trees. An Arab astrologer interprets this dream to mean that the daughter born to him would bring misfortune to his sons, and he orders her to be killed. At the same time, however, the Princess has dreamed of a child with whom an eagle and a lion nestle peacefully. Her dream is also interpreted: a Christian monk promises her that the daughter will unite the two quarreling brothers in love. So she saves the child.

[ 6 ] Thus, the dark and indeterminate is embedded in the starting point of the plot. It is a very subtle touch that the first dream is interpreted by an Arab, the second by a Christian; Schiller, however, sides with neither. If one strips away everything that is mystical and dreamlike, only the struggle between the brothers remains, and this rational plot still retains its dramatic power. What is profound and particularly artistic is that each element is a complete whole; even without the mystical elements, the plot remains a complete whole. With subtlety and artistry, Schiller has woven something into this drama that transcends human consciousness. In this way, he had arrived at an even higher answer to his question.

[ 7 ] He explores this same psychology of humanity in Tell. I do not intend to analyze the drama, but merely to show what Schiller meant to the 19th century and what he will still mean to us. It is not without reason that Schiller singles out Tell from the rest of the drama’s structure:

But whatever you do, leave me out of your counsel.
I don’t want to deliberate or choose for long!
If you need me for a specific task,
then call on Tell—I won’t let you down.

[ 8 ] He does not act, like the others, under the influence of the idea of freedom, but out of a purely personal feeling—that of a father whose pride has been wounded. Schiller brings two storylines together: one that concerns Tell alone, and the other that reflects the sentiments of the Swiss people.

[ 9 ] Schiller wanted to show that not everything in human life unfolds in such a straightforward manner. We can find the same idea in Hebbel’s Judich, where the plight of the fatherland coincides with a woman’s wounded feelings; the poet needs something that springs directly from the human heart. Schiller does not seek merely the moral or merely the sensual; rather, the moral must descend and become personal passion. Human beings become free only when they are able to express their individuality in a way that coincides with the universal. Thus Schiller worked, piece by piece, on the development of his psychology; thus we see his idealism in a process of continual clarification. This is the magic that lives in Schiller’s dramas. It was not in vain that he wrote his profound, aesthetic treatises, nor was it in vain that he immersed himself in these problems.

[ 10 ] Everything written about aesthetics in the 19th century by Vischer, Hartmann, Fechner, and so on—as significant and apt as much of it may be—shows that they all locate beauty outside of human beings. Schiller, however, always studied what goes on in the human soul and how beauty affects the human soul. That is why what he says touches us so intimately, so familiarly; that is why Schiller’s prose works can be read with delight time and again. It would be a fitting tribute to Schiller if these writings were widely disseminated and read; they could contribute significantly to the deepening of the human spirit in both artistic and moral terms. Educational benefits should be drawn from Schiller’s aesthetic letters; this would bring a new dimension to our entire educational system.

[ 11 ] Anyone who wishes to understand Schiller’s plays must draw upon the refined intellectual atmosphere of his aesthetic writings. Anyone who studies the unfortunately unfinished Demetrius will see how Schiller sought to delve into ever deeper recesses of the human heart. “Demetrius” could have become a drama as harrowing and powerful as any by Shakespeare. Many attempts have been made to complete Demetrius, but no one was up to the magnitude of the task. The thoroughly tragic conflict, set against a rich backdrop of events—such as the Polish Diet—is—and this is the significant point—entirely transposed into the self. We cannot say that our thoughts, perceptions, and feelings constitute our self. We are what we are because the thoughts and feelings of the world around us penetrate us. This Demetrius has grown up in such a way that he himself does not know what his “I” is. In the course of a momentous act for which he is to be executed, a treasure is revealed within him. It seems to turn out that he is entitled to the succession to the tsar’s throne. Everything comes together; he cannot help but believe that he is the true heir to the Russian throne. Thus he is driven into a specific configuration of his “I.” Threads spun from outside propel him forward. The movement is victorious; Demetrius, however, develops into the character of a tsar. Now that his self is in harmony with the world around him, he learns that he was mistaken: he is not the true heir to the throne. He is no longer the person he had come to see himself as. He stands before his mother: she reveres him, but the voice of nature is so strong within her that she cannot acknowledge him as her son. He, however, has become exactly what he imagined himself to be. He can no longer cast it off, but the preconditions of this “I” fall away from him. This is an infinitely tragic conflict—one we can believe. Everything is brought to the extreme in his personality, a personality drawn with infinite artistry, one we believe “does not wish to rule over slaves.”

[ 12 ] Even the external elements were crafted with all the artistry of which only Schiller was capable. Thus, in Sapieha, Demetrius’s opponent, the character of Demetrius is foreshadowed. Here, too, the symmetry achieved in Wallenstein is sought. The drama was never completed; death intervened. Thus, Schiller’s death takes on a tragic quality; all the hopes that had been placed in Schiller were expressed in the letters and remarks of his contemporaries. Deeply shaken by the loss of one from whom so much was still expected, this sentiment resonates with us from the letters of his closest friends, as in the words of Wilhelm von Humboldt:

[ 13 ] “He was snatched from the world at the very height of his intellectual powers, and could have accomplished infinitely more. His goal was set in such a way that he could never reach an endpoint, and the ever-progressing activity of his mind would have prevented any stagnation; for a very long time yet, he could have continued to enjoy the joy, the delight—indeed, as he so inimitably describes it in a letter on the occasion of his plan for an idyll—the bliss of poetic creation.”

[ 14 ] It is this tone that elevates Schiller’s death to the realm of the tragic, for in the ordinary course of events, death does not possess that irrational quality. Inspired by this mood, Goethe found the words for his deceased friend in the “Epilogue to Schiller’s Bell”:

And behind him, in a formless glow
Lay that which subdues us all: the common.

[ 15 ] We can see this great idealistic movement flowing through the 19th century. People came to realize that Schiller’s spirit was uplifting, and that from then on it would serve as a source of comfort and an example to his people in all their struggles.

[ 16 ] K. Gutzkow expressed the enduring influence of Schiller’s idealism on the German intellectual tradition in his speech at the Schiller celebration held at the Harmonie in Dresden on November 10, 1859, in these apt words:

[ 17 ] “That is the secret of our love for Schiller: the uplifting of our hearts! The courage to act! The faithful support that the nation finds in its favorite son in all its circumstances! What reminds us of Schiller awakens courage and joy. As lovely, as rich, as deeply comforting as Goethe seems to us—with what in his works recalls German character and custom—it is like ivy that clings mournfully and dreamily to the past. But with Schiller, everything is future—waving flags or laurel wreaths. That is why, that is why we celebrate the centennial commemoration of his name as resoundingly and far-reaching as the striking of a bronze shield. Long live the poet of action, a bastion of the German fatherland.”