The Rudolf Steiner Archive

1. Goethe’s Spirit in Our Days of Adversity and German Culture

[ 1 ] Year after year, I have had the privilege in recent times of speaking here, from this very place, on topics related to spiritual science. It seems right to me to continue the lectures, which have always begun around this time of year, this winter as well. For how could there not be a need, especially in these fateful times, to delve deeply into matters of the spiritual life! Above all, however, it seemed necessary to me to take as the immediate starting point for the two introductory lectures—to be held today and in eight days’ time—that which is now so close to all our hearts. For it seems impossible to me to speak of anything in our time without bearing in mind that the words spoken today must stand the test before those who, out there in the West and in the East, are giving their all for what the times demand. Who could say otherwise than that words worthy of being spoken today must be addressed in spirit to those who are bleeding to death for our cause? And how could we not proceed from the immediate impressions of the times, since we have experienced the great and mighty fact that, in a sense, the world of souls, the world of hearts, can reveal a new face in just a few days! An infinite sum of selflessness, devotion, and willingness to make sacrifices—we have seen it blossom in the first days of August, and we are all under the spell of the grandeur of the times.

[ 2 ] But if I wish to focus in particular on the genius who is so intimately intertwined with all that he has given to his people and to humanity, who is so intimately intertwined with the entire development of Central Europe; if I wish to take Goethe as my starting point, it is above all because I believe that, over the years—strange as it may sound—I have not uttered a single word from this place that could not stand up to Goethe’s judgment—even if what spiritual science has to say cannot always be substantiated word for word by what we know of Goethe. His spirit reigns over us. And whatever can be justified in the light of Goethe’s spirit is what I mean by spiritual science in our time.

[ 3 ] It touches us deeply—as is evident today—not only through what comes from our lungs, what comes from our hearts; it touches us deeply to hear how the facts speak with such power. Many must sacrifice their lives today. Those who are dear to us return wounded, from the West and from the East. These days, the facts speak of the spiritual world. And I know they speak in the hearts of those who, out there on the battlefields, must leave their physical lives behind. There, what connects us to the enduring, to the eternal—what connects us here on this earth—becomes an immediate spiritual reality, with which, above all, those who must physically leave this reality behind know themselves to be connected. National character, the national soul—these become very real concepts; one can hear this today from those who are returning, or who are sending reports home from the battlefields. — Those among the esteemed audience who have heard the lectures here in recent years will know that I touch on personal matters only in the rarest of cases. Today, however, I will be permitted to begin with something personal, since, after all, we are all—in the depths of our souls and in the innermost recesses of our hearts—personally connected to what is happening and to what shines before us as the fruits of our hopes arising from what is unfolding.

[ 4 ] In a sense, I experienced what has now become a major event years ago in Austria. And when these events are discussed today—for all eyes are turned toward Austria, from which, as it were, originated what seems to us, in these fateful days, to be something both momentous and painful—I may, since the personal is intertwined here with the universal human experience of these days, begin with this—I would say—Austrian experience.

[ 5 ] In the 1970s and 1980s, I was part of a group of people in Austria who saw as their guiding ideal something that has, in a sense, come to pass in Central Europe in recent days. Although all those—including myself at that time in Austria—may have had a very different conception of the uniting of Austria’s peoples with the German people, the ideal of the Austrian peoples joining with the German people lived on in many hearts back then. And when I—who, even as a child, had absorbed through the sounds of the German language all the resentment toward Prussia that existed among the Austrian Germans in the 1860s, particularly regarding the year 1866, and everything connected with it—when I attended the University of Vienna in the 1870s and 1880s, the first words to reach my ears were those of an Austrian German professor, words that stood at the very center of Austria’s intellectual aspirations at that time, and which provided me and others, as it were, with the rallying cry for the unity of Central Europe’s intellectual life. And I would like to read to you the words that were spoken at that time by a German from Austria to his students:

[ 6 ] “The year 1870 brought the development of the German people to a close.

[ 7 ] The hope that the remaining thirty years of our century will spur the seeds of intellectual life in Germany toward rapid development—even if poetry takes a back seat for the time being—must compel us to come to terms with the recent past so that we may face the immediate present, as it were, without any backlog of unresolved issues.

[ 8 ] We in Austria find ourselves in a peculiar situation, particularly at this significant turning point.

[ 9 ] Now that the free flow of our public life has swept away the barrier that until recently separated us from Germany, and now that the Elementary School Act and the new educational institutions have provided us with the means to work our way toward a shared cultural life with the rest of the Germans, this very situation has now arisen,” — please note: this was written immediately in the aftermath of the events of 1870! —

[ 10 ] “that we should not participate in a major undertaking of our people. The North has assumed leadership in Germany and formed a state from which we are excluded. This could not create a dividing wall in German intellectual life. Its roots are not political, but rather of a cultural-historical nature. We wish to keep in mind this unbreakable unity of German intellectual life, in which not only Western Austria, but even the Germans of Hungary and Transylvania, play a decisive role. May mutual love prevail in this intellectual realm on both sides. We in Austria wish to go hand in hand with intellectual life in the German Empire and to acknowledge and strive for, without prejudice, those areas where they are ahead of us; but in the German Empire, may they appreciate and honor our difficult cultural task and not hold against us what belongs to the past—which is our fate, not our fault.”

[ 11 ] The man who spoke these words, Karl Julius Schröer—who has long since passed away—and who repeated them time and again to his Austrian students: what was it that inspired him in his innermost being? He himself was a German, born in Hungary. What bound him to the entire German intellectual life? What bound him to it can be summed up in a single word—the word: Goethe. For this man was completely imbued with Goethe’s spirit. And Goethe’s spirit acted as a living bond, but also as a fire that spread from the Germans of Germany to the Germans of Austria, the Germans of Hungary, and to all Germans throughout Europe.

[ 12 ] Now, when speaking of Goethe, one might easily object: To how many souls, to how many hearts does Goethe still speak in a truly living language among the German people today? Are there not many who are sacrificing their lives for the German spirit out there and who know little of Goethe?

[ 13 ] That is not what matters when speaking of the guiding geniuses of a people and of humanity. For here, more than in any other field, the saying seems to me to be true: “By their fruits you shall know them!” Central European cultural life, German culture—it must be recognized by its fruits—and by its ripest fruit, by Goethe. And Goethe’s influence extended so far that many Austrians perceived the German spirit as their own. Austria’s most German poet, Robert Hamerling, spoke a phrase that can, in a sense, serve as a kind of “motto”—a meaningful motto—for those I have just spoken of; for it spoke from the very heart of many, many people during the era I have described. “Austria is my fatherland,” says Robert Hamerling, “but Germany is my motherland!” And all such words—but above all such sentiments—were expressed under the influence of what Goethe brought to bear on the national essence of German culture. Thus, I may also take the personal here as a starting point for what is universally human.

[ 14 ] Goethe became, for me personally, a kind of guiding genius. More and more, he appeared to me as the genius of Central Europe who embodies not only what one can learn from Goethe’s works, but also what one can learn from the abundant accounts we have of Goethe’s life; indeed, Goethe did not even seem to me to be fully captured in what he himself presented to us as a living being—that of his *Faust*. Rather, Goethe always appeared to me as if, in everything we can know about him from his writings, from his works, and from what continues to live on in the culture of Central Europe, indeed, in the entire culture of humanity—as if there were still something hidden within all of this that is far more comprehensive, far more universal—something that, in intimate moments of life, when we truly engage with Goethe, emerges before us as if from a Magic Mountain. Just as the old Barbarossa himself appears in renewed form with the genius of Central Europe—so in Goethe a being confronts us, intimately connected with that which, emanating from the German spirit, is to be incorporated into the culture of humanity. And the words at the end of *Faust* seem to have a depth beyond what we can yet comprehend today:

All that is fleeting
Is but a parable;
What is inadequate,
Here becomes an achievement;
What is indescribable,
Here it is accomplished.

[ 15 ] Faust, after a life that so truly embodies the ceaseless striving of Central Europe, ends with his soul ascending into the spiritual world. Goethe’s spirit seemed to me to suggest that the connection between human beings and the spiritual world must arise from the Faustian striving with which human beings identify. And it can still appear to us in the following way. One can devote oneself to Goethe, to all the magnificent and sublime things he has said; one can take in the immense worldly wisdom of *Faust* with a devoted heart. But one can also delve more intimately into the way Goethe strove, into the way the mysteries of humanity and the world worked, lived, and stirred within his soul. One can resolve to strive alongside him. Then the soul—as I believe—is transported, directed toward those worlds represented by the spiritual science referred to here. — In my latest book, *The Riddles of Philosophy*, the second edition of my *Worldviews and Views on Life in the Nineteenth Century*, I attempted to demonstrate how the crowning achievement of Western philosophy can be derived from Goethe’s spirit. Today I can only briefly hint at what I have so often spoken about here from this very spot. Let us delve into Goethe’s spirit. We find him—and if we immerse ourselves sufficiently in his way of thinking, this is not a one-sided view—we find him, above all, striving to descend deeply into those spheres of nature where the springs flow, where nature and human beings are one. Goethe’s spirit is such that the natural sciences immediately become for him a religious life, a religious essence. Goethe did not immerse himself in nature with intellect and reason alone; rather, his whole heart, his whole soul plunged deeply into the mysteries of nature, so that what was a mystery of nature to him was at the same time a love of the earth. What has always been sought in the West—to rediscover the connection between the human soul and nature, as it existed in Greece and as it has been lost to modern humanity—can be regained through Goethe’s way of thinking. All of Goethe’s powers strive toward this one goal. His comprehensive imagination guides the intellect and reason along those paths through which the human soul penetrates to the sources of existence—where one can find not only external, mechanical knowledge of nature, but also those universal laws that appear to us as the very thoughts of the Divine. With his whole soul, Goethe plunges into the depths of being, where science simultaneously becomes religion—into those depths of which Schiller says:

Welcome the Deity into your will,
And She descends from Her throne of the worlds.

[ 16 ] This is why Goethe was not merely a poet or an artist in one sense only, but became a researcher and a natural scientist—because he wanted to pursue, as a whole, that which the human soul strives for. And so we see the most comprehensive, the most mature conception of nature ever created by a human being: the nature of Faust, springing from Goethe’s soul—that nature of Faust which stands before external reality with words that have almost become trivial today, but toward which one must adopt the perspective from which Goethe experienced them. Thus Goethe was able to create that figure in *Faust* who stands before external reality with the words:

Alas! I have now studied philosophy,
law, and medicine,
and, alas, theology as well
with the utmost diligence.
So here I stand, poor fool that I am,
and I am just as wise as before!

[ 17 ] But what do we see in this Faust? — We see that the soul, which has fallen into doubt about the entire external world, builds up from within itself the elements that lead it into universal existence—scientifically, artistically, universally. And then we recognize that within this Faustian nature lives the spirit of Central Europe, above all the spirit of the German people, and we recognize this spirit of the German people especially when we hear Faust speak these words:

Sublime Spirit, you gave me, gave me everything
I asked for. You did not in vain
Your face to me in the fire.
You gave me the magnificent natural world as my kingdom,
The power to feel it, to enjoy it. You do not
Merely permit me to be a cold, marveling visitor,

[ 18 ] and then those powerful words that pierce deep into the soul:

Grant me a glimpse into her deep bosom
As if looking into the bosom of a friend.
You lead the procession of the living
Past me, and teach me to recognize my brothers
In the silent thicket, in the air and water.
And when the storm roars and creaks in the forest,
The giant spruce, toppling, strikes down neighboring branches
And crushes neighboring trunks as it crashes down,
And the hill thunders with a dull, hollow roar at its fall,
Then you lead me to the safe cave, show
Me to myself, and within my own breast
Secret, profound wonders open up.

[ 19 ] One cannot feel these words, cannot penetrate them, without—I would say—becoming one with what is the German national soul, this national soul that, with its thoughts and feelings, with its imagination and creative power, wishes to sacrifice itself on the altar of spiritual life, in order to see rising from this altar the fire that leads upward into the spiritual worlds. And when we follow the conclusion of *Faust*, we cannot help but recall that Goethe, through him, wanted to tell us: Only the path of one who has been rejuvenated leads to this ascent into the spiritual worlds, where it can truly become clear to him that “All that is transitory is but a parable.” For Faust is presented to us as living a double life. We first see him as an old man, and then, after he has drunk the elixir of youth, as he ascends into the spiritual worlds. — In times such as these, one is tempted to see these words in a very special depth. The German people have often been compared to Hamlet. Hamlet’s phrase “To be or not to be” has often been used to characterize the essence of the German people. Oh, one hears it in the words and in the great assurances we hear from all quarters today—this “To be or not to be.” But how? One hears it not in the Hamlet sense, but in the Faust sense! In the sense of the certainty that what is as deeply rooted as the national soul—from which Faust sprang—belongs to that for which “all that is transitory is but a parable,” preserved for eternity. And so Faust truly appears to us not as a skeptic, but as a symbol. We trace the German people back to the earliest times, of which Tacitus tells us so magnificently, and find them, in a Faustian manner, constantly rejuvenating themselves—yet always knowing one thing: Can we already be “Germans”? We cannot be that yet; we will become so through eternal striving! And once again we hear Faust’s words:

Whoever strives with all their might,
We can save them;

[ 20 ] just like the others:

Only those who must win it anew every day,
just as they do with life itself,

[ 21 ] And a German cannot simply say of himself, “I am a German,” the way an Englishman says, “I am an Englishman,” a Frenchman says, “I am a Frenchman,” or an Italian says, “I am an Italian.” For the members of these nations know what they are when they say that. The German knows that what he envisions as a “German” is an ideal connected to the deepest sources of the spiritual, that one becomes a German and is always becoming one—and never ceases to be so. And so the German striving itself constantly ascends into spiritual realms—just as Faust’s striving ultimately rises within his soul, step by step, into realms that Goethe so wonderfully depicted. Even if little of Goethe’s depiction remains consciously present in many German hearts today, the power that lived in Goethe lives on in Central Europe today. And it is certainly no exaggeration to say: Goethe’s genius fights on in the souls, in the hearts, in the veins of those who stand in the West and those who stand in the East. For the scholar of the humanities, the ancient Greek fable becomes reality: that when the fate of a people is being decided, that people’s most valuable geniuses are spiritually present among their fellow fighters. For those who truly know Goethe, it is immediately clear that everything Western culture has produced—everything we can call Western culture—has become embodied in Goethe, has become a universal personality, has been reborn in Goethe, so that from now on, anyone who walks with this culture must be touched by Goethe’s genius. This gives us the conviction that, especially in our time, Goethe’s genius reigns over us.

[ 22 ] This was the case for Austrian Germans who heard the word “Goethe” in the midst of those struggles, when the Austrian peoples were not yet permitted to fight alongside their German brethren. That was what also gave rise to the pull I myself felt toward Germany. And on a personal note, I would like to mention the profound satisfaction I felt when, for six and a half years, I was privileged to contribute to the great Weimar Edition, which was intended to bring Goethe’s entire body of work to humanity. And since that time, it has been my unwavering desire to deepen my understanding of Goethe’s genius. And here I must mention a figure whom I have already spoken of from this very place—a figure who, in a sense, fully embodied Goethe’s spirit in German intellectual life during the last third or the second half of the nineteenth century: Herman Grimm. Herman Grimm’s lectures on Goethe, which he delivered at the University of Berlin in the 1870s, were a landmark event in German intellectual life. I do not mean to say that I can endorse every word in these lectures by Herman Grimm; but more significant than his words was the consciousness that lived within Herman Grimm.

[ 23 ] In his very first lecture, he spoke about Goethe’s relationship to Germany’s intellectual life as follows: |

[ 24 ] “Goethe had an impact on Germany’s intellectual life just as a mighty natural phenomenon would have had on the physical world. Our coal deposits tell of times of tropical heat when palm trees grew here. Our caves, as they are being uncovered, bear witness to ice ages when reindeer were native to this land. Over immense periods of time, momentous upheavals took place on German soil, which in its present state so strongly gives the impression of eternal immutability. The comparison can thus be drawn that Goethe influenced Germany’s intellectual atmosphere much like a telluric event that raised our average temperature by so many degrees; were something similar to occur, a different vegetation, a different agricultural system, and thus a new foundation for our entire existence would emerge.”

[ 25 ] It was only natural, then, that Herman Grimm should think in Goethe’s spirit. One might say that every word of Herman Grimm shows us how he can be seen, as it were, as Goethe’s spiritual representative in the second half of the nineteenth century. Goethe’s genius itself worked through Herman Grimm. And Herman Grimm was convinced—and this once again clearly revealed Goethe’s spirit within him—that hundreds of years would still be necessary to fully understand Goethe and to fully appreciate what he is in his spirit. Therefore, Herman Grimm himself knew that what he had to say about Goethe would have to be superseded once Goethe’s spirit were properly understood. Thus, Herman Grimm’s portrayal of Goethe also strikes us as an external description. There is something peculiar about delving into Herman Grimm’s descriptions of Goethe’s spirit and Goethe’s creative works. Spread out before Herman Grimm is the social, political, and intellectual life of Germany, and within it he sees Goethe striding powerfully forward and, through his genius, intervening deeply in the conditions of Germany in the scientific, political, and artistic spheres. But we view him in this way—“from the outside.” Herman Grimm was aware of this himself, and he felt that a time must come when one would first have to connect with Goethe’s nature from within, and that there was still an infinite amount to come from Goethe.

[ 26 ] In these fateful times, we should recall the thoughts of Herman Grimm when we speak of Goethe’s spirit. Right at the beginning of my lecture, I referred to Karl Julius Schröer. I will never forget a remark made by this man—one that, back when Schröer was speaking about Goethe in Vienna, struck my soul like a fiery spark. He began a lecture in which he explored the distinctive nature of the German spirit, explaining how German art and German imagination—Goethean art and Goethean imagination—are founded on the deepest truth of being; and one might say: illuminating a vast field in a flash, the Goethean Karl Julius Schröer declared: “The German has an aesthetic conscience!” Many questions, arising from the German’s Faustian nature, become questions of conscience for him. And so even the greatest events he faces—those events of which Goethe says they are connected to the “great, gigantic fate that elevates man when it crushes him”—become, above all, questions before his conscience. Herman Grimm strove to incorporate this conscience into his soul. That is why he said many things that one might be tempted to refute in these days, when—faced with voices from all over the world, faced with everything that is now being shouted at us from every direction—we want to ask nothing else above all else but precisely this question of conscience: Can we stand the test of it?

[ 27 ] From the perspective of Goethe’s way of thinking, what does the German conscience reveal in Herman Grimm?

[ 28 ] I believe the words he speaks are meaningful—words that can take on special significance, especially in our times:

[ 29 ] “The solidarity of all people’s moral convictions is today the church that unites us all. We are searching more passionately than ever for a visible expression of this community. All truly serious aspirations of the masses have only this one goal. The division among nations no longer exists here. We feel that no national distinction prevails when it comes to the ethical worldview.”

[ 30 ] This could be said in 1895 from Goethe’s perspective, from the spirit of Goethe, who, like no other, had the ability to lovingly immerse himself in all things human, including all things national.

[ 31 ] “We would all sacrifice ourselves for our homeland,” and these are words full of meaning:

[ 32 ] “But we are far from longing for or bringing about the moment when this could be achieved through war. The assurance that maintaining peace is our most sacred desire is no lie. ‘Peace on earth and goodwill toward men’ permeates our very being.”

[ 33 ] Anyone familiar with the essence of Central Europe knows that these are true words—words that can stand up to what was just called the “German conscience”! And as a prelude to what Goethe—the living Goethe—can still mean to us, here are the following words by Herman Grimm:

[ 34 ] “... Human beings, as a totality, recognize themselves as subject to an invisible court of justice enthroned as if in the clouds; they regard it as a misfortune not to be permitted to stand before it, and they seek to align their internal conflicts with its judicial proceedings. With anxious endeavor, they seek justice here.”

[ 35 ] How universal, how lovingly attentive to what is universally human—this is how Herman Grimm spoke from Goethe’s spirit in 1895:

[ 36 ] “How hard today’s French are trying to portray the war against Germany they are planning as a moral imperative, the recognition of which they demand from other nations—indeed, from the Germans themselves.”

[ 37 ] Do we not hear in these words the assurance, held in Central Europe, that it could never have brought about war on its own, for its own sake? But do we not also hear in them the awareness of facing an ironclad necessity? “We would all sacrifice ourselves for our fatherland; but we are far from longing for or bringing about the moment when this might happen through war.” We know that this is true! And that is why we know that the cause and the “blame” for today’s events cannot be found among the people in whom these sentiments lived. But the Goetheans were not struck by blindness. They knew that war would come after all. “How hard the French of today strive to portray the war against Germany that they are planning as a moral imperative, the recognition of which they demand from other nations—yes, even from the Germans themselves!”

[ 38 ] Even in Goethe’s own time, people spoke of his concrete sensibility—of his loving way of immersing himself in people, but also in things, and of connecting his own soul with everything. Heinroth, a prominent psychologist of his time, used the term “concrete mode of thinking and perception” to describe Goethe. This concreteness leads precisely to the worldview that can be described as the “Goethian worldview”—one that no one who wishes to absorb the culture of modern times can ignore. Basically, people were actually not far from recognizing such things. Goethe’s mindset—has it really remained so unknown? I would like to point to words that have been spoken and that can show us how Goethe’s mindset has not actually remained so unknown—words such as the following:

[ 39 ] “Woods’s (the Englishman’s) essay was the precursor to Wolf’s even more epoch-making research on Homer; and the Greek ideals of art and life became, for Goethe and Schiller in Weimar—just as, in Herder’s case, the ideals of primeval song did—the instruments upon which the German spirit soared to a music that was new and yet, at its very core, its own. ”

[ 40 ] Some curious remarks, by the way, regarding the French and the English:

[ 41 ] “The spirit of science was undoubtedly familiar to the privileged elite among Descartes’ and Newton’s compatriots; but the passionate drive for knowledge was taught to modern Europe—if at all—primarily by thousands of German researchers...”

[ 42 ] “... Imagination, feeling, and will asserted their right to be heard alongside reason or even beyond it, and under their transformative pressure, the universe became deeper, vaster, and more wondrous. The irrational was recognized as a source of enlightenment; wisdom was drawn from children and flowers; science, philosophy, and poetry drew closer together. Here in England, this revival of the imagination gave rise to noble poetry, but left the sciences and philosophy almost untouched.

[ 43 ] One of the keys to understanding the entire period is the fact that, while in England and France the poetic, philosophical, and scientific movements largely flowed along separate channels, in Germany they intersected and became completely intertwined. Wordsworth sang and Bentham calculated; Hegel, however, captured the genius of poetry in the net of his logic; and the thought that discovers and explains, and the imagination that brings forth something new—these worked together in fruitful harmony in the genius of Goethe.”

[ 44 ] “In Faust, at the end of his eventful life, we see a foreshadowing of today’s Germany—the Germany of restless, bold ambition and action—and we can all the better understand why this great cosmopolitan, in whose eyes the state and national identity were subordinate and sometimes harmful ideals, nevertheless maintains his unassailable position as the greatest poet of the German Empire alongside Bismarck, his creator.”

[ 45 ] These are words that clearly reveal a sense of Goethe’s spirit. They were spoken in 1912—but where? Were they uttered somewhere in Germany for the sake of fame? No! They were spoken in Manchester by Herford, the Englishman, who was thereby pointing to German intellectual life. And they were spoken, as the preface to the book in which they appeared tells us—a book well worth reading in these fateful times!—to teach newspaper people something that might lead to a better understanding of what German genius is. I leave it to everyone to judge, in light of recent events, how much these journalists have learned from it. But there is something else in these lectures. It appears right after the discussion of Goethe, in a meaningful sentence:

[ 46 ] “No German words are more deeply imbued with the spirit of national ethics than those that denote these things: true, thorough, faithful.”

[ 47 ] As spoken in Manchester in 1912. We may claim to have some understanding of what is “true and faithful”; and we may say—especially in light of the context in which these words appear—that we have learned something from Goethe! — A preface is printed at the beginning of the book, from which I would also like to share a few words with you. Lord Haldane—perhaps you are familiar with this name from the discussions of the past few days—says there:

[ 48 ] “The source of the flow of its (Germany’s) intellectual and political life lies in the Reformation. At the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century, however, a movement unique in world history began to flow in a manner that has been as uninterrupted as it has been characteristic ever since. Since the days of ancient Greece, the world has not witnessed such a spectacle of the closest fusion of the life of the statesman with that of the thinker. The spirit of present-day Germany is, to a high degree, concrete and practical.”

[ 49 ] Why does Lord Haldane write these words? He addresses this point as well, saying:

[ 50 ] “Only the influence of true knowledge can dispel the clouds of mistrust and free us from the burden of having to arm ourselves against attacks that, in reality, none of us intends to launch.”

[ 51 ] Well then! I have nothing to add to the light shed on our fateful days from this perspective. But, in a sense, the international character of the German spirit gives us the right to hold fast to Goethe, to find comfort and hope in him, and to find support in him during these fateful days. Above all—and I could point to many, many things today—we find a word in Goethe. Oh, how often I have had to think of this saying by Goethe in recent days and weeks! That shots had been fired at the Cathedral of Reims—so the news spread throughout the world. I do not believe that I am in any way inferior to anyone else in my reverence for the unique, marvelous Cathedral of Reims. I saw it in 1906; I admired it. But I have also seen how this cathedral has become fragile, and it cut deep into my heart when I had to admit to myself: Not even thirty more years, and it will no longer be able to stand as it stands now. But we heard that shots were allegedly fired at this cathedral—I do not wish to investigate the facts at all—and there was much talk about it. That’s when I was reminded of a Goethean idea, a Goethean sentiment. It is from Goethe’s spirit that the words were spoken that can make such a deep impression: What would the countless stars be, what would all the heavens be, if they did not ultimately shine into a human eye, if they were not reflected in a human soul and perceived by a human heart? Anyone who understands Goethe’s way of thinking knows that there is a work of art higher than all cathedrals, that there is a work of art higher than all works of art created by human beings, no matter how much one may admire them; he knows that there is the divine work of art that is humanity itself! And then, though it may sound paradoxical, the following may be said to a deluded humanity: If war is a necessity and must exist, and if shots are fired at the greatest work of art—one that is greater than all cathedrals—then one perceives it—in the Goethean sense—as hypocrisy when people lament that bullets might also fall on cathedrals!

[ 52 ] Once again, since this relates to current events, let me turn my attention to the country that is the subject of so much discussion today: Austria. First, however, I would like to raise a question; for in many respects, whether one receives correct and apt answers depends on asking the right questions.

[ 53 ] There is much talk of “blame” for the current war; there is much talk of how the current war was sparked here or there. But one question, I believe, can be decisive, and it must take center stage—the question: Who could have prevented this war? Whether it was bound to happen someday is another matter. I am speaking now only of its immediate onset in our time, and there is no other answer to this question than this: Only the Russian government could have prevented it! That is certain. Based on everything that is very easy to ascertain, people today can arrive at this conclusion on their own.

[ 54 ] But now, let us return to the “local” starting point. To that group of people—about whom I mentioned earlier that the unification of the Germans of Austria with those of the German Empire shone before them like an ideal—a phrase spoken by Bismarck kept resounding in the years leading up to what has now come to pass: a phrase spoken with superior humor, but—I would say—one that holds a certain fate within it. Bismarck called “autumn crocuses” a number of people who, at the time, did not wish to go along with the mission entrusted to the Austrian state in Bosnia and Herzegovina by the Congress of Berlin in 1878. Autumn crocuses—why? At that time, we had a parliament in Austria whose leader was a great, a significant man. His name was Herbst. Like many others, he saw the highest ideal of political effectiveness in the parliamentary system of England. A great deal could be derived from this parliamentary system. Among other things, the Herbstians derived a principle that they advocated with great virtuosity: that one should not lay claim to Bosnia and Herzegovina. Bismarck called these people “Herbstzeitlose” (autumn crocuses), alluding to their leader, because he saw the task of the times as linked to what Austria was to carry out in Bosnia and Herzegovina at that time.

[ 55 ] How did that come about?

[ 56 ] At that time, Russia had continued its efforts to expand its sphere of influence over the Balkan countries. France and England were, of course, the main opponents of these efforts. Today we must remember this, because only the context of the facts can instill a true sense in our hearts: who was it who, at the Congress of Berlin, entrusted Austria with the mission regarding Bosnia and Herzegovina in opposition to Russia? England and its representative at the Congress of Berlin, Lord Salisbury! England regarded it at the time as a necessity of the modern age that Austria extend its sphere of influence over Bosnia and Herzegovina. And those who were not “autumn crocuses,” but who claimed at the time to hear in the language of England the language of the modern age—the language of people of the times, not of the “autumn crocuses”—could not go along with the “autumn people” in Austria; rather, they had to submit to the modern demand: to extend Austria’s sphere of influence to Bosnia and Herzegovina. Thus, what happened later is a consequence of what took place back then, and it took root in those people who, one might say, wanted to unite the Austrian spirit with the modern spirit.

[ 57 ] Well, another beautiful quote from Goethe is the one he uttered when he once spoke about one of the oldest rocks on Earth—granite. He said that nature, with all its consistency, drew him to it again and again because it led him beyond the inconsistency of human beings and their actions. — This characterizes Goethe’s entire mindset: inner consistency. And paying attention to this inner consistency in Goethe’s style gives the soul security and provides it with genuine, true goals. One must first gradually work one’s way up to this consistency if it is to become the guiding principle in human actions.

[ 58 ] If one now applies Goethe’s way of thinking to those who formed their German ideal in Austria: what are they to make of the consistency—or rather, the inconsistency—of these people when they learn that Austria, in its struggle for survival—the continuation of what British policy had intended at the Congress of Berlin in 1878—is meeting resistance from the South Slavic elements, thereby provoking Russia—and finding England on Russia’s side? What, then, should actually have happened to satisfy British policy? What it wanted in 1878—or something else? In history, facts are intimately interconnected; they follow one another consistently. And surely the one who is able to align his actions with this consistency must be in the right! Might the Austrian German now perhaps turn to the architects of his mission concerning the South Slavs, and, taking up Bismarck’s words, expand upon the expression “autumn crocus” somewhat? This, too, seems to be the spirit of Goethe in our day: the sequence of events to which we are bound in our own time.

[ 59 ] If we turn once more to Goethe and to what he was deep within his soul, we find that he fundamentally sought this inner connection between the human soul and the sources of all being unceasingly, and that is why he portrayed it so vividly, and so captivatingly in his *Faust*—because he knew that something heavenly, something spiritual-divine, shines into the human soul, and that this heavenly, this spiritual-divine, is greater than what humans can comprehend with their intellect, with their feeble reason. That is precisely the Faust problem: to sense God within the soul—the creative God, the active God, the God who speaks through history. — What constitutes Goethe’s spirit need not always be associated with Goethe’s name; but “by their fruits you shall know them.” I said that this applies to the culture of the German people, and the ripest, the most magnificent, the most enduring fruit of this culture is Goethe’s spirit. But what can be seen at the root of this culture, what can be sensed at the root of this culture—we see this wherever German spirit and German identity confront us in their immediacy.

[ 60 ] Once again, we question this “German-ness”—which is also characteristic of Goethe—in light of something else that keeps cropping up: “Germany has violated Belgium’s neutrality,” we hear said over and over again. It is not my task here to discuss military necessities; for anyone familiar with the circumstances knows what military necessities are at stake at this moment. But something else comes into play. From across the Channel, we hear: “Yes, because you violated Belgium’s neutrality, we were compelled, for moral reasons, to go to war with you!”

[ 61 ] First: I certainly do not wish to be among those who rightly cause concern with the phrase so often uttered—namely, that when this or that event occurs here or there, such people are usually the wise ones in hindsight and say that this should have been known long ago. But it must be said that those who were involved in public affairs in this instance knew full well that this war would eventually come, and that England would then be found among Germany’s enemies. However things might have turned out, they were such that they were bound to turn out this way. For this reason, one cannot place much stock in England’s current moral indignation—although I do not wish to speak about the violation of Belgium’s neutrality. But I do wish to speak about this moral indignation from the perspective of Goethe’s mindset.

[ 62 ] Goethe pointed out that when the human soul finds itself at the sources of the eternal, it then also sees the eternal necessities shining within itself. And Schiller, as so often, coined a phrase inspired by Goethe’s mindset: “World history is the Last Judgment.” Let us assume that an injustice was committed with the violation of Belgium’s neutrality. Who would be the judge? One who thinks in the manner of Goethe and Schiller would answer: “Well, world history!” German history will have to submit to its judgment. But Schiller would never have said, in the spirit of Goethe: “English politics is the Last Judgment!” — Herman Grimm has spoken of how close Bismarck was to Goethe. Therefore, in connection with what has just been said, it is worth recalling a statement by Bismarck; for one may say that it is related to the ideas of “world history” and “Last Judgment.”

[ 63 ] It was in 1866 when Bismarck was urged by high-ranking officials to punish Austria, because it was the sole culprit in the rivalry with Germany. And Bismarck is said to have uttered the following words: “It is not our role to act as judges, but to conduct German politics; Austria’s rivalry with us is no more reprehensible than ours with Austria.”

[ 64 ] I wanted to preface these words because I believe they can serve as a basis when the outcry of England’s moral indignation over Germany’s violation of Belgium’s neutrality is heard. In the spirit of Goethe, we would say to such voices: You are not here to act as judges, but to pursue your own politics! And be that as it may: for political reasons and out of political necessity, Germany did in Belgium what had to be done. But if you wish to defend Belgium’s neutrality, you do so not out of morality, but for political reasons. And just as Germany, for political reasons, had to deal with Belgium’s neutrality as it saw fit, so you, for political reasons, had to deal with that neutrality in your own way!

[ 65 ] When people speak this way, one senses something that echoes an English observation I have already shared: “No German words are more deeply imbued with the essence of national ethics than those that denote these things: true, thorough, faithful.” — It is true that states represent their policies in war, not morality. It is thorough to draw the consequences in 1914 of what was initiated in 1878. Whether it is loyal to take action against someone who, in 1914, continues what was entrusted to him in 1878—let those who speak of the “morality” of their politics answer for that.

[ 66 ] I did not wish to go into matters that, in a sense, touch on day-to-day politics; for, especially in these fateful times, we must faithfully hold fast to what Bismarck said: that those who must remain at home should, in a certain sense, keep quiet when events out on the battlefield are speaking for themselves. Nor did I wish to speak about this or that aspect of Goethe. But I did want to say what, emanating from Goethe, can resonate in our hearts and souls when, faced with such fateful events in the physical world as those of today, we feel the need to hold fast to the truth that all that is transitory is but a parable, that what is inadequate—becomes a reality only in the spiritual realm, and that it is there alone that the indescribable is accomplished. I know that, especially in these days, for those standing out in the field, the perspective on the spiritual worlds was precisely what they needed, what they thirsted for. And I have heard the assurances that came from those on whom it truly depends today—the assurances that war speaks a clear language, but a language about spiritual life, about the reality of spiritual life. These days one can study those feelings: “Wherever I shed my blood, wherever I take my last breath, I know this: my soul is safe in spiritual life, and reality is what remains!” And not only for those who stand out there in the East and the West, but also for those for whom fate has decreed something else, “spiritual comprehension of the world” is a weighty phrase. Shouldn’t one actually be ashamed not to be out there on the battlefield when one feels the difference within oneself: “You are certain that your blood will not be shed; only the others are exposed to that heavy, harsh fate?” Shouldn’t one be ashamed to belong to the former group, if one were not allowed to know that the spirit and spiritual bonds are common to all, that those who are bleeding to death are with us? Even if not everyone out there on the battlefield can explicitly articulate how that which has borne its ripest fruit in German identity lives within them—it lives within them, at least in their subconscious. And it is true—let it be said once more: our comrades-in-arms are not only those who stand out on the battlefields, but also the geniuses who have emerged from the people as ripe fruits. And Goethe is such a ripe fruit that the culture of modern times must not overlook; yet certain people still find it difficult not to overlook this culture. And in conclusion, allow me to point out these difficulties that exist, as well as what is connected to them in these fateful days.

[ 67 ] We turn our gaze to the East—and there, too, we may say: By their fruits you shall know them. Let us highlight one of the most significant Russian intellectuals, who grappled particularly with the intellectual life of the nineteenth century: Alexander Herzen. How is he connected to the intellectual struggles of his time? Let us consider the soul of Herzen, the Russian intellectual. We pose a question: Was he influenced by Goethe’s spirit? Whoever is touched by it believes in eternal things, in the future of humanity and human worth, in the grounding of the human in the divine; and when he triumphs, he still believes, along with Goethe’s Faust, in the rejuvenation of the human being—and out of all doubt and all distress over the misery of existence, hope still flows to him—Faustian hope. Herzen familiarized himself with the intellectual life of Western Europe. To him, John Stuart Mill seemed to be one of the most enlightened minds of Western culture. Let us hear what he says about Mill:

[ 68 ] “He was by no means exaggerating when he spoke of the narrowing of the mind and of energy, of the blunting of personalities, of the constant trivialization of life, of the constant exclusion of universal human interests from life, and of the reduction of life itself to the interests of the commercial counter and bourgeois prosperity. Mill speaks bluntly of how, in this way, England will become like China—and we would add: and not only England.”

[ 69 ] And Herzen goes on to say:

[ 70 ] “Perhaps, however, a crisis will save us from this Chinese decline. But where it will come from, and how—I do not know, and neither does Mill.”

[ 71 ] And now, let your hearts cry out:

[ 72 ] “Where is that powerful thought, that passionate faith, that fervent hope that hardens the body and drives the soul into that convulsive ecstasy that feels neither pain nor deprivation and strides resolutely toward the execution stake and the pyre? Look around you! What is capable of inspiring the people?”

[ 73 ] These are the questions the Russian intellectual poses to European culture. What conclusion can be drawn? Well, the answer that our time provides is one that those who believed in Goethe have already given themselves in their souls. That is why, with this soul—the soul of the heart—they are so deeply connected to the great events of our time. And even if those who are Goethianists had never been able to raise the question: “Where is that powerful thought, that passionate faith, that fervent hope that toughens the body and drives the soul into that ‘convulsive ecstasy’ that feels neither pain nor deprivation and strides resolutely toward the execution stake and the pyre?” Even if they could not have asked in this way—they sensed this: what springs from the sources from which Goethe drew is, in a certain sense, dying for the culture of modern times! And the answer resounds to us from our fateful events: “Look around you! What is capable of uplifting the peoples?”

[ 74 ] Mereschkowski, another contemporary Russian intellectual, says the following in his book, in which he also discusses Herzen:

[ 75 ] “Herzen’s final vision of death is—Russia as the ‘land of free life’ and the Russian peasant community as the savior of the world. He mistook his old love for a new faith, but realized, it seems, in his final hour, that even this last faith was an illusion. Yet even if his faith deceived him, love did not; in his love for Russia lay a certain true insight: not the peasant community, but the Christian community may in truth become the faith that the young barbarians are destined to bring to ancient Rome.

[ 76 ] “For now, however, he dies—without any faith!”

[ 77 ] This is what he says from the heart

[ 78 ] “Farewell, corrupt Rome! ... Farewell, my homeland.” Why this sense of rootlessness among the finest intellectuals when we look to the East? One might say: from a vulnerability that Mereschkowski reveals in his latest book, *The Advance of the Mob*, one can see what is still lacking in the East. On page 25 of this book, he says:

[ 79 ] “When Goethe speaks of the French Revolution, he suddenly bends down to the ground, just as a giant might be crushed by an evil spell and shrivel into a dwarf; from a Hellenic demigod, he becomes a German citizen and—may the shadow of the Olympian be merciful to me—a German philistine, ‘Mr. von Goethe,’ Privy Councilor to the Duke of Weimar, and the respectable son of a respectable Frankfurt shopkeeper.”

[ 80 ] We see his vulnerability; we see the intellectual who could not measure up to Goethe, who asks himself, “What did Goethe say about the French Revolution?” and answers: “From a Hellenic demigod, he becomes a German citizen and—may the shadow of the Olympian be merciful to me—a German philistine, ‘Mr. von Goethe,’ Privy Councilor to the Duke of Weimar, and the respectable son of a respectable Frankfurt shopkeeper.” Yet this very Goethe became the one who, in his *Faust*, conjured up the greatest revolution humanity has ever experienced: the revolution of the human soul on its path toward the divine. And the proper appreciation of this conjured reality is what modern culture must understand if it is to kindle in people not unbelief—that “Farewell, my homeland”—but rather confidence and faith in the divine life within humanity. What do the intellectuals of the East see in Western culture? Well, they overlook, in the manner described, precisely what has brought about the West’s flourishing! But just as truly as ancient Greek and Roman culture lives in our veins, just as truly as the Christianity of the first centuries has penetrated our veins, so truly will the people of the East one day carry within their veins that cultural realm which, through Goethe’s spirit, has attained the light of the sun. Yet people resist most fiercely that to which they must ultimately succumb; for they hate what must inevitably come upon them. What is destined for the Russian soul in the future of humanity is not what it has gained so far from Byzantinism or what it has received in terms of external culture from the West, but rather what has become the lifeblood of the greatest peoples of Central Europe—the legacy of Greek, Roman, and early Christian culture. But nothing can be bypassed! In Goethe, what lives on in the culture of Central Europe—Greek, Roman, and early Christian elements—has been reborn. And in what comes over from the East, we still see a childlike resistance, a lack of understanding toward what must be absorbed by the soul. And we are beginning to understand—this is also Goethe’s way of thinking—and thus to look toward the future with knowing confidence and trust when we are asked: Why are we being attacked from the East?—Mereschkowski also provides us with an answer to this when he speaks of Chekhov:

[ 81 ] “No eras, no peoples—as if, in the midst of eternity, there were only the end of the nineteenth century, and in the world, only Russia. Infinitely sharp-eyed and keen-eared when it comes to all things Russian and contemporary, he is almost blind and deaf to what is foreign and past. He saw Russia more clearly than anyone else, but overlooked Europe, overlooked the world”—and we add: The Russian intellectual Merezhkovsky—he overlooked Goetheanism, Goethe’s spirit!

[ 82 ] But what a source of renewal, what a source of hope Goethe is—even in difficult times—becomes perfectly clear when one realizes that the West was inevitably bound to go through an era of materialism. Those who are capable of seeing only materialism may despair; but in the midst of materialism, a spirituality arises that can be summed up in Goethe’s spirit! Truly, the German has proven it: he embraces the Russian spirit with love and devotion. But he must also show understanding for that which the Russian spirit is not yet. Strange words—which Gorky says are cruel but true—are what show us that they were spoken by a Russian intellectual who has not been touched by Goethe’s spirit. Gorky says:

[ 83 ] “Yes, what is he to you, this man? Do you understand? He’ll grab you by the collar and crush you under his thumb like a flea! Then you might even feel sorry for him! Yes, indeed! Then you might even reveal all your stupidity to him. He’ll subject you to seven tortures for your mercy; he’ll wrap your entrails around his hand and tear every vein from your body, an inch at a time. Oh, you... Mercy! Pray to God that they’ll just beat you senseless without any mercy at all, and be done with it! ... Mercy! Ugh!”

[ 84 ] “Cruel, but true,” says Gorky. “So speaks one who has yet to discover what Goethe's spirit has to say to him.”

[ 85 ] This spirit of Goethe’s contains within itself something that, in contrast to the transitory nature of life, is eternal—something indescribable in any age, because it is ever-growing and constantly giving rise to new hopes. And when one speaks these days of what reigns over Central Europe as a benevolent genius—that which grounds the trust so firmly rooted in the souls of the people of Central Europe—one may say of it in Central Europe that it has become, in Goethe, the universal lifeblood of humanity. And when one looks at what lives within the struggling Central Europeans—what lives with them in soul and spirit, what also lives there in their very blood—then one may say: It is a spirit born of Goethe’s spirit, and it will endure as long as Goethe’s spirit endures! Then one also feels, in these days of heavy fate, a sense of hope and comfort in that phrase which Schleiermacher, drawing from Goethe’s spirit as well, coined. For it is a truth: Schleiermacher coined it out of Goethe’s spirit because he knew that Goethe’s mindset is linked to the knowledge and perception of the spiritual world, and that what lives within the German people is itself an eternal spiritual reality. Thus, in the spirit of Schleiermacher, we can say with comfort and confident hope: “It blows like a breath of the Central European spirit, the spirit of Goethe, upon the ranks of those upon whom the spirits are looking today, because the destiny of humanity is grounded in them.” Thus it is whispered in these fateful days that we may utter it with heightened strength and heightened confidence, because we know: It lives also in countless hearts that are bleeding out there—that fateful word, that Schleiermacherian word, which is also a Goethian word, because it is shaped in his spirit:

[ 86 ] “Germany is still here, and its invisible power remains undiminished”—and we would add: indestructible!