The Rudolf Steiner Archive

17. The Driving Force of the German Spirit in the Light of Spiritual Science and in View of Our Fateful Times

[ 1 ] Ladies and gentlemen! In recent years, I have had the privilege of giving a lecture almost every year in this city on the subject that I have recently taken the liberty of calling “spiritual science.” Since, even in these fateful times of ours, our friends have requested that such a reflection be presented, I shall do so this evening. But you will understand that in our present time, when all our sensations, our feelings, and our thoughts are directed toward the great events—toward those events that hold so many hopes and so much confidence, toward the events that undoubtedly carry the most profound significance within them, yet also cause so much pain and suffering— you will understand that in these times, such a reflection—especially if it is to be grounded in the spiritual-scientific worldview—must also take into account the fateful nature of our era. But it cannot be my task to add yet another to the numerous reflections currently being presented in lectures on the matters that so deeply trouble our time. Rather, my task must be to say, from the perspective of spiritual science—which I have always spoken of here—what can be briefly stated about our time precisely from this perspective.

[ 2 ] It has, after all, been emphasized many times that the current struggle—this immense conflict—in which, apart from minor tribal and linguistic differences, 35 different peoples of the earth are indeed locked in battle with one another, it has often been said that this immense struggle is caused above all by current commercial, economic, social, and political conflicts, and that what matters most is to look clearly and energetically at reality and the relevant values, and not to cloud these observations with metaphysical considerations and speculations. From the standpoint of spiritual science, one can only agree with—and never oppose—such a view.

[ 3 ] But the humanities, too, seek to stand on the ground of reality. This is the one aspect in which tonight’s discussion will differ somewhat from those so often held: namely, that while the realistic concerns of our contemporaries are certainly taken into account, we also bear in mind that this immense struggle is, after all, part of the entire course of human development, in which, above all, great impulses—accessible only through spiritual contemplation—are at work. One could also say: Back then, when the Germanic tribes, setting out from Central Europe, were poised to threaten the southern empires—the Roman Empire at the beginning of the Middle Ages—it was only the Roman spheres of influence, with their social and political intentions, that stood in opposition to what was to emanate from Central Europe. Certainly, from the perspective of the present at that time, one could rightly speak in such terms. But if we were to survey the situation today and then assess it from a higher vantage point—as is necessary today, for the world has, after all, progressed— we would see that, had these struggles not taken place back then—the reshaping of Europe through these struggles, which were of course initially brought about by the Roman spheres of influence, unfolded in a specific way—then the entire course of Western development up to our own time would have taken on a different character. That is one point.

[ 4 ] The other point, however, is that precisely the person who follows the spiritual development of peoples—the spiritual development throughout history—must truly, without indulging in any flights of fancy, without speculating, must come to the conclusion that what is now being fought out among thirty-five nations of the earth is, in essence, certainly the most significant event conceivable for the present. What is to be fought out there will certainly not be fought out by words, nor by thoughts, nor by human worldviews; it will be fought out by the bravery of the armies. But behind all this, one can discern another struggle—a struggle of spiritual forces, a struggle of worldviews. And without wishing to dwell on what has often been said, I may perhaps emphasize that history will one day regard it as the most absurd claim that the immediate cause of this world war somehow originated in Central Europe. It will become increasingly clear, especially when one takes a broader perspective, that Central Europe—and the German people in particular—are embroiled in a purely defensive struggle. But precisely when one considers this defensive struggle, one can see, from a certain perspective, how this struggle is part of a great, formidable defensive battle that German intellectual life—through its intellectual impulses—has already had to fight in part, and will increasingly have to fight against that which constitutes a kind of intellectual encirclement of Central European intellectual life. To illustrate what I mean, I would like to point to a symptom that may not seem very significant to you. But one could cite many examples, and one would always find the same thing.

[ 5 ] What we consider, in many respects, to be the greatest and most significant contribution to the spiritual life of modern times is often referred to as the “idea of evolution” or the “evolutionary worldview.” And one never tires of emphasizing how significant it is for the entire development of humanity’s spiritual life that we have come to understand how the individual entities of the living world do not simply exist side by side, but have developed from one another; how one can trace a series of development from the lowest beings all the way up to human beings.

[ 6 ] The one who, drawing from the deepest impulses of the fundamental forces of the German spirit, spoke of such a development in a profoundly inner sense is none other than Goethe. And one may say that, since Goethe, German culture has possessed a wonderful—to use a phrase in the spirit of Goethe—theory of development in keeping with the spirit. This theory of development in keeping with the spirit has not been incorporated into the general worldview, nor into the European worldview. In contrast, it was not until five or six decades later that the theory of development entered the general consciousness of modern civilized humanity—but in what form?—in the form of Darwinism.

[ 7 ] When something like this is said, it still seems to many today to have a chauvinistic undertone. Future generations, however, will recognize it in all its inherent power. Darwinism has imbued the idea of evolution with a materialistic [utilitarian] slant; and in this slant—imposed upon the concept of evolution by a thoroughly English thinker—the idea of evolution has entered into modern cultural thought. And the deeper German concept of evolution is certainly faced with the necessity of defending itself. In the future, the world will come to realize that it is not necessary to say that Darwinism is something false or incorrect, but that it will be necessary to draw upon the deeper foundations and the more vigorous insights from the sources of German spiritual life for the concept of evolution as well. In other words: It will be necessary to forge weapons capable of defending the intellectual heritage of Central Europe against the attacks being waged—as in the field just mentioned, and in countless other fields—against this Central European intellectual life. And just as it does not matter whether one stirs up, so to speak, hatred or sympathy among individual peoples with these or those words when one is caught up in such a struggle among nations as we are today—but rather, as it is far more natural to take the stance that one must defend what one recognizes as one’s homeland, just as one defends one’s family, without disparaging anything else— so, in the realm of spiritual struggles—which, as all indications suggest, will confront us on a massive scale in the near future—what matters is that one become thoroughly imbued, completely imbued with the strengths of this Central European, and primarily German, spiritual life. In these strengths lie the weapons that will be needed in the future. I cannot elaborate further, but I would like to suggest that the current struggle with external weapons will be only the beginning of what is to come in terms of intellectual struggles—the beginning of which is already being revealed to us by the ill-intentioned, malicious, and slanderous views hurled at German culture from all sides.

[ 8 ] If one wishes to discuss all these matters from the perspective of spiritual science, it naturally falls to one to at least briefly characterize this perspective of spiritual science. Although I cannot, of course, go into the details of this spiritual science today—as I have done in other lectures I have already given in this city—which is to emerge as something new in the development of the times and the world, and although I will not be in a position to offer any conclusive proof in favor of spiritual science, I would nevertheless like to indicate, in a few words and from a few perspectives, what spiritual science aims to achieve.

[ 9 ] Spiritual science aims to be a true science of the spirit. Above all, it seeks to show how human inner life—that which we call our innermost human being—is connected to the real and true spirit that surges through and interweaves with nature and humanity. And just as the natural sciences renewed humanity’s worldview several centuries ago, so too does spiritual science today seek, in a very similar way—albeit from a different perspective—to contribute to the spiritual development of humanity.

[ 10 ] I would like to draw attention to the following: If you were to say to someone who knows absolutely nothing about chemistry—someone who, having never heard a thing about chemistry, knows only water—of course, we can only imagine such a person hypothetically—if you were to say to this person: “Yes, in this water, which is a liquid and extinguishes fire, there is a gas inside that can be separated; that is hydrogen. This hydrogen burns; it is not a liquid but a gas”—then someone who has never heard of chemistry might consider this a highly fantastical notion. Science has made this a completely ordinary—and today even trivial—concept. There was certainly a time when those who asserted such things were considered fantasists.

[ 11 ] Today, once again, anyone who knows nothing of spiritual science is regarded as a fantasist—one who says: When we have the human body with its soul before us, it presents itself in such a way that we cannot recognize within it the essence of that which is directly connected to it, as long as this essence remains within the body itself. One must separate the spiritual-soul aspect from the physical-bodily aspect using the method of spiritual science, just as one separates hydrogen from water using chemical methods when one wishes to recognize it. This method of spiritual science does not take place in an external laboratory, but in the innermost processes of the human soul itself.

[ 12 ] But there are such spiritual-scientific methods through which a person can truly become a spiritual scientist, through which he can come to separate his spiritual-soul aspect from the physical-bodily aspect in such a way that it is outside it, just as hydrogen is outside water. But then the spiritual researcher lives within this spiritual-soul aspect. He learns to recognize in its reality the qualities and the essence of this spiritual-soul aspect—that which passes through birth and death in the human being, which enters a spiritual world through the gate of death, and which must then live on in a spiritual world after death with a higher consciousness—a consciousness that the spiritual researcher learns to recognize when he applies the spiritual-scientific method to his own soul, just as the chemist comes to know the properties of water when he applies chemical methods. A time will come when people will speak of these things just as they speak today of the Copernican worldview, which was once also regarded as fantasy, or of similar things.

[ 13 ] Just as the spiritual researcher must present to humanity today the truth that within us there is a spiritual-soul core that passes through the gate of death to return to a repeated earthly life—to ever-repeated earthly lives—so will this one day be a truth, just as the evolutionary concept of external natural science is regarded as true today. While today what the spiritual researcher has to say is quite naturally regarded by many as mere daydreaming or fantasy, those who have familiarized themselves with these matters may point out how, at a certain time, Copernicanism—which is now generally accepted—was viewed in such a way that people said it contradicted the five healthy senses. Similarly, it is claimed today that what spiritual science has to say about repeated earthly lives, the independence of the soul, and so on, contradicts the five healthy senses. And from a materialistic standpoint, one says: The life of the soul is confined between birth and death.

[ 14 ] One must compare this view with another view that was still held in the Middle Ages: that the blue firmament arches over us, forming a boundary—a spatial boundary. Modern science shows us that this boundary is created solely by our sense of sight, that space extends into an infinite world, and that we on Earth are embedded within infinite space. Back when modern science was just dawning, the blue firmament was breached; it came to be recognized as something brought about by human vision. Through spiritual science, it will be recognized that the boundaries that seek to enclose life between birth and death are boundaries akin to the blue firmament in relation to space. Through spiritual science, people will learn to look beyond this temporal firmament, established by birth and death, and they will find human life embedded in a line of development from which it emerges again and again.

[ 15 ] Between earthly lives lie realms of development of a purely spiritual nature. And as the spiritual researcher learns to experience this for himself—and as he is called upon to proclaim in spiritual science: In the spiritual-soul realm, the human being feels—not through philosophical speculation, but through experience—connected to the real spiritual world that surrounds the physical body, from which the spiritual-soul realm becomes free—spiritual science speaks of an experience of the spiritual world, a spiritual world in which spiritual beings exist, just as physical beings exist around us here.

[ 16 ] Today, it may still be somewhat unpopular, in a certain sense, to be compelled to present these fundamental concepts of the humanities in this way. But we are living in an age in which humanity is undergoing a transformation of all thought. Just as humanity had to face a Copernicus and a Galileo at the dawn of modern natural science, so too can one see in the science of the spirit something that, in a sense, lies at the very heart of our time.

[ 17 ] If one now follows German intellectual life and truly immerses oneself in it, then—precisely from the perspective of this spiritual science—one will inevitably gain a very specific view of this German intellectual life, of that which has continually revealed itself within it. I cannot go into details here either, only regarding the recent period of German intellectual life. Thus, I said, the distinctive feature of spiritual science is that the spiritual researcher, through his special spiritual-scientific method, learns to experience himself in the spiritual-soul aspect that has been freed from the physical-bodily realm—an aspect that now knows itself to exist not in time, but in eternity.

[ 18 ] Let us see, by holding this spiritual-scientific perspective before our souls, how that which constitutes Johann Gottlieb Fichte’s belief in immortality and the soul found its fullest expression in him—the philosopher whom I would call the most quintessentially German of all. Like his contemporaries, Fichte had not yet been able to develop a true spiritual science. However, his speeches—which he delivered to his people during one of Germany’s most difficult periods—show how he drew from spiritual life and understood this life in connection with the life of his national spirit. But that is not what I wish to discuss today; rather, I want to speak about how Fichte, for example, expressed himself when he sought to provide a philosophical “Guide to a Blessed Life” based on his teachings on immortality and the soul. There he says:

I cannot accept the idea that one seeks the essence of immortal human life only after death. What matters most to me is that, in this earthly life, we already become aware within ourselves of that which passes through the gate of death, which then enters a spiritual world and lives on there. [For] this invisible reality living within us alone, I wish to live out this earthly life.

[ 19 ] This is not yet a human science, but it is the seed of a human science. And we find this seed of a human science everywhere we observe the fruits of German spiritual life. Everywhere we find the urge, the longing, not to be satisfied by the abstractions of thought, by the external spirit of science from which sensory science or the combination of the sensory arises. The German does not seek concepts and ideas alone, but rather their connection to the living spirit. The German’s heart is moved when he can realize that science is not merely an external absorption of knowledge, but rather the true life of knowledge to which he aspires—a life in which the soul engages in an inner dialogue with the spirit that surges and sweeps through the world. In the real connection with that which spiritually surges and sweeps through the world, the German wishes to see the ideal of his knowledge—that he does not merely wish to absorb ideas or concepts, a science that is like a reflection of something external. He wishes to have something in his soul that flows within him like spiritual lifeblood, like God Himself, who lives within him. And this is expressed nowhere more intensely and powerfully than in a creation that no other people in the world possesses; which may not stand at the pinnacle of world creation in an artistic sense, but in the way it expresses how the German strives not for a merely outward, contemplative connection with the spirit, but for a face-to-face encounter—spirit’s eye to spirit’s eye—with the spirit. You know that by this creation I mean Goethe’s “Faust.”

[ 20 ] Do we not see in Faust how his consciousness is turning away from all that constitutes external knowledge—that which is merely a derivation from something external? Do we not see how he strives toward the source of life, the manifestation of the spirit; how he strives to stand face to face with this spirit? How he turns away from the external and strives toward the experience of supersensory worlds? The German can never be satisfied with anything he has attained as a body of knowledge. This is best seen when we consider the following: The beginning of Goethe’s *Faust* has almost become trivial. It reflects Goethe’s state of mind in the 1870s. There we see how Faust wants to break free from a kind of knowledge that has no connection to the living spiritual world. Grasped in its full depth, it must be deeply moving when Faust utters the words:

Alas! I have now studied philosophy,
law, and medicine,
and, unfortunately, theology as well
with great effort.
So here I stand, poor fool that I am,
and I am just as wise as before!

[ 21 ] Now let us see how this German spiritual life unfolds; let us see how Goethe stands there in the 1770s, yearning for the manifestation of the Earth Spirit, for the sources of spiritual life, and for a higher self-knowledge—which is attained when the soul immerses itself in the living spirituality of the supersensible world.

[ 22 ] Let us then consider how tirelessly the German philosophers have strived toward this aspect of German philosophy. We see that, in the period following Goethe’s writing of *Faust*, German thought, German poetry, and German music all sought to draw from the deepest sources. We see minds such as Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel emerge; we see them enter into dialogue with Goethe; we see how they create something based on a form of knowledge that is meant to be more original than any that came before, a knowledge that is also meant to spring forth from the immediate innermost depths of the human soul; we see them creating a philosophy; and when we consider that Hegel established a “natural law,” that Schelling published a medical journal, that all these thinkers sought a renewal of science—despairing over *Faust*! They also sought a renewal of theology, for they all aspired to be theologians. We see how all this mighty work—which has not yet been duly appreciated—wells up from the sustaining forces of the German spirit, and we might perhaps say: Goethe could have stood there, after seeing all this pass before his eyes, and said: What I once felt as despair back in the 1770s, the German spirit has brilliantly brought forth from the springs of life! And let us suppose that Goethe had lived to be even older than he did; let us suppose—and I believe no one will dispute this hypothesis— if Goethe had begun in 1840 [or let us suppose he had still been young] to write *Faust* once more, in light of everything that had taken place in the meantime in German intellectual life, we can believe that the opening of *Faust* around 1840 would have read as follows:

Thank God, I have now studied philosophy,
law, and medicine—under Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel
and, thank God, theology as well
with great dedication and effort,
So here I stand, a wise man,
And I am as wise as one can be.

[ 23 ] Do you think the beginning of *Faust* would have read like that? Certainly not. It would have read exactly as it did in 1772. Exactly the same!

[ 24 ] But what does this tell us? It tells us that it lies in the very essence of this quintessentially German, Goethean idea of Faust, not to regard all that has already been achieved as something that can satisfy the individual, but that a striving is rooted in this German spiritual life—where it manifests itself precisely in its representatives—that every individual must in turn go through, in every age, the experience of being eternally in the process of becoming, never fully completed. This is the case because this German spiritual life can only describe the grasping of the spiritual as genuine if the spirit is experienced. But it can never be experienced if one seeks to grasp it in a pre-established form. Experiencing the spirit always involves a renewed drawing near to the spirit. This, however, is a quintessentially German trait, and at the same time what one might call the “supporting force of the German spirit.”

[ 25 ] It is not concepts, not ideas, not something acquired through reason that the German strives for, but rather that which can always be grasped anew in its original power. It is not the spirit encased in a coffin, but the ever-living spirit that is sought. So that we may say: Although we do not view the original German striving of earlier times in the same way that we view spiritual science today, we do see the seeds of it; in what lives within the best of people, we see the same striving for the direct experience of connection with the spirit. This is constantly being reborn. That is to say: it presupposes a genuine life of the spirit in which the individual is immersed. That is to say: the sustaining power of the spirit lives within him in such a way that a secret dialogue takes place, that he is touched by what the German spirit desires of him. And we see the aftereffects of this even where German spiritual life has been pushed back precisely by attacks from the left and right, from above and below; we see the aftereffects of that quintessentially German way in which the individual is carried by the real Spirit. From the wealth of examples that could be cited from the second half of the nineteenth century, I would like to mention just one.

[ 26 ] One of the most significant figures of German intellectual life in the second half of the nineteenth century—who is still not fully recognized today—is Herman Grimm, the son of one and nephew of the other of the Grimm brothers, the great scholars of myths and legends, and the researchers of the German language. Herman Grimm is primarily known as a German cultural historian and art historian. But when one delves deeper into Herman Grimm’s art history, one encounters something peculiar. There is nothing in Herman Grimm’s writings that could be called pedantic erudition or external systematization; rather, there is something that springs originally from the spiritual realm. The most important thing one gains from Herman Grimm’s works in particular must be read between the lines; it must be sensed from what is said. Why? Because the sustaining force of the German spirit lives within Herman Grimm, brought to life by the inspiration that, in each individual case, whispers to him what he has to say about an artistic manifestation. Thus, one must sense the kinship between the writer and the one who inspires him; one feels as if there were a living dialogue between the German national spirit and the one who speaks to us through his books in the context of art history. This Herman Grimm prepared himself for his career in art history in a unique way. In his youth, he wrote short stories and also a significant novel. Recognizing these works is also part of the vitality of German intellectual heritage. For they have not been forgotten because of German identity itself, but because attacks on German intellectual heritage have been waged from outside sources.

[ 27 ] I would like to briefly outline one of Herman Grimm’s short stories. We will soon see for what purpose. The story is titled “The Singer.” We are presented with a very beautiful portrayal of a woman. We see a man in the woman’s circle. The man is deeply in love with the woman; while the woman presents herself as an elegant, coquettish figure. He suffers terribly. With this short story, Herman Grimm wrote what is known as a first-person narrative. What he writes is as if told by a person living alongside the two of them who witnesses the entire event. And then, of course, the author—or, in the story, the friend—describes to us what actually happened. The singer’s coquetry finally repels the lover completely. He distances himself from her. He cannot bear the situation. Later, the friend meets him again and finds him utterly broken. He takes him into his home and sees that this man has been driven to the brink of the grave by his love. He sees that he is on the verge of suicide at any moment. So he takes him into his home. But he realizes it is necessary to bring the singer there. He fetches her. And lo and behold, as he approaches the house with the singer—who is, as it were, meant to be the unfortunate man’s last hope—they hear a gunshot. The unfortunate lover has shot himself; he is dead. The content of the novella is wonderfully beautiful in its characterizations; but that is not what matters to me now. Rather, what matters to me is what happens to the singer now that she finds only her dead, self-murdered lover. The singer stays for some time in her friend’s house. She explains to her friend that she cannot remain in this house, that she has experienced terrible things there. The friend, to whom she recounts her experiences, does not believe her, of course; he is a rationalist. He thinks as contemporary rationalists do. So she asks him to keep watch with her one night. And then he sees for himself what is happening to this woman as a result of her lover’s death. He sees with his own eyes how the woman sits up. He sees a figure entering through the door; that is to say, he recognizes it only from her words—he does not see the figure—but through what the woman perceives, he becomes convinced that this is indeed a subjective but true experience, that the woman is truly in contact with the dead man, that this is the unfolding of a destiny whose rays shine even beyond death.

[ 28 ] Not because I wish to cite a work of fiction as evidence for the humanities, but because the scholar of the humanities must say: Herman Grimm describes things like a specialist in the humanities; Herman Grimm seeks to show that a person’s destiny is not confined solely to the period between birth and death. This novella is wonderfully moving, deeply moving, because it depicts a person’s life beyond death.

[ 29 ] Now, this is not a passing phenomenon in literature. In his great cultural-historical novel, Herman Grimm once again portrays a female character who must also witness the death of her beloved. There he describes how death truly occurs, how the hero’s death occurs, and how the spiritual form emerges from the physical form. Herman Grimm then describes—in a fitting manner—how this form enters the spiritual world and how a connection between the dead man and that which emerges from the heroine’s physical body remains. I describe these things for the simple reason that they show how, in German literature—where one truly encounters representatives of the German spirit—the sustaining power of the German spirit works in such a way that even the short-story writer and the novelist, when they wish to rise into the world of true, supersensory reality, are able to do so. There we are shown how the finest minds do not stop at outwardly visible reality, but rather follow the human soul into the spiritual world. These representatives of the German spirit did not yet possess spiritual science, but their souls were so attuned that they sensed the sustaining force of the German spirit, which seeks to lead the German spirit toward the experience of the spiritual. Therefore, one can have the strongest confidence in the development of spiritual science when one looks at what exists as the seed for this spiritual science in German idealism—in the German longing, not for the abstract, the merely ideal, intellectual-scientific, but for the living spirit that dwells in the supersensible world, just as the mineral world, the plant world, the animal world—all of which exist in the sensory world around us. This testifies to us that to be German means: to be connected, as an individual human being, in a very specific way to a totality of spiritual life. And on this point, the German experience is not only easily misunderstood, but is actually attacked and will continue to be attacked time and again. Since the German experience is the deeper one in contrast to everything else developing around it, it is not easy to find the weapons with which German spiritual life—which has been wedged in—will have to defend itself over the course of millennia against what comes from all sides as hostile forces through the conditions of life.

[ 30 ] What, then, springs from these primordial German spiritual impulses? That which can perhaps best be characterized by referring to an earlier era. This German spiritual life did not first emerge with this character in modern times, but already in the Middle Ages. If we go back to the mystic Angelus Silesius, he left behind many sayings. One significant saying is where he states: “It is not I, as a human soul, who experiences death; in the deepest part of my human soul, God rests, and God experiences death within me.” The depth of such a saying cannot be grasped immediately. It attests to the quintessentially German way of thinking, feeling, and perceiving—an experience of oneness with the world spirit that surges through and weaves through everything. Let us only think of Faust’s words:

[Sublime Spirit, you gave me, gave me everything,
That I asked for. You did not in vain
Turn your face toward 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
Do you merely permit me to be a cold, marveling visitor,
But grant me to gaze into her deep bosom,
As into the bosom of a friend.
You lead the procession of the living
Past me, and teach me to know my brothers
In the silent thicket, in air and water.
And when the storm roars and creaks in the forest,
The giant spruce, crashing down,
Crushing neighboring branches and trunks as it sweeps downward,
And the hill thunders hollowly 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.)

[ 31 ] This is what the German has always sought in his finest representatives. This is what he has sought: to truly find within his soul, to find deep within himself the living spirit, and to live in harmony with this living spirit. Thus, even in all his peculiarity, Angelus Silesius sets forth great ideas of immortality when he speaks in this way about the experience of death. For God can only be perceived as living. But whoever experiences God in this way within himself knows that he is immortal. For God must be immortal; therefore, death can only be an illusion. From this feeling of the German soul arises, in fact, the very grasping of immortal life for this German soul. But this is precisely what has given this German soul its certainty, its firm footing in its development. This is what has always brought this German soul, more than any other national soul, closest to what we today call spiritual science. I would like to bring precisely this to your souls from a certain perspective.

[ 32 ] Let us compare this German intellectual life with Eastern intellectual life—not in its lower realms, but by ascending to the highest realms of Russian intellectual life. Let us try to picture one of Russia’s most outstanding minds: Soloviev. Soloviev, who truly absorbed everything that existed in Russian intellectual life into his soul and reproduced it as a worldview—not merely as what is called a “philosophical worldview,” but in such a way that one can feel Russian life pulsating—has given us something that lived within this profound soul. I can only refer here to his works, only a small portion of which have been translated; I cannot go into all of them. But I would like to point out that this philosopher, who maintained his faith throughout his entire life—a faith that lives on in many Russians—believed that Western European life, and indeed Central European life, is a dying way of life, whose renewal can come only from Russia. He lived according to this error. Yet it is this very error that gives his philosophy its distinctive character. And time and again, in stirring speeches, Soloviev assured his people of the creative, sustaining forces inherent within them. Then came the end of his life. Soloviev concluded his life by becoming increasingly meager in his worldview—a state I wish to characterize by comparing it to what exists in a similar realm within the German worldview.

[ 33 ] Let us see what lives in the German worldview: it is the certainty that the human soul can coexist with the spirit of the world, that it can engage in dialogue with the spirit of the world. We have seen this in the representative figure of Faust. Soloviev does not speak of the certainty of spiritual experience in the way a human soul of the German type does. Rather, he speaks thus: Yes, the Russian people have a great mission, but they fulfill it through a divine power from otherworldly heights that, by grace, seizes the Russian people and gives them their mission. God must work within the Russian people. And the Russian awaits the miracle—the moment when a God, a kind of luminous manifestation of Christ, will appear to call the Russian people to their task.

[ 34 ] In Central European intellectual culture, people know that they can experience their soul; they can experience God within their soul. Soloviev waits for that which stirs, drives, and urges him from without; he waits for the miracle. But now, in the year of Soloviev’s death, the remarkable thing is that Soloviev stepped before the St. Petersburg audience with a speech that must have been wonderfully moving, for something deeply heartfelt spoke from his words, which so convinced the listeners that this power of persuasion passed on to the people like a magical breath. He said: Everything that has ever been believed about humanity’s ability to find within itself something that would redeem it, that would lead it to the Divine, is nothing but vanity and deception. It is all deception to believe that humanity will ever find the strength within itself to experience the Divine through what it is now. — No, Soloviev emphasizes, all the powers humanity currently possesses, all that it has of seemingly highest cultural achievement, must perish. “The whole world is in ruins”—so are his words—for there is nothing within humanity as it currently exists that could lead it to a spiritual goal. Only when everything has perished will God, who redeems souls, step forth from outside to face the disintegrated earth, the perished earth. We can find nothing in our souls that points us toward something we might seek for ourselves.

[ 35 ] And he also describes in detail, in concrete terms, what he expects. As if in a powerful vision, he sees the Asian peoples approaching; he sees them waging war against Europe, he sees how, in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, Christianity will have declined to such an extent that only one-tenth of those on earth will still be Christians, while the whole world will be flooded with a crude, materialistic worldview that pours over the world, for: “The whole world is in a sorry state.” Anyone who has listened to what the greatest philosophical mind of the Russian people spoke—out of a deep faith—shortly before his death, just weeks before his death, might ask: What could have inspired the one who has passed on to say these words: “Through its own power, my soul has lost all of eternity.”

[ 36 ] Let us consider, in this regard, the testament of a German. Even today, there are people who mock Lessing’s significant testament, *The Education of the Human Race*, in which he describes how evolution unfolds throughout the ages and how souls return again and again. For Lessing was the first to incorporate the doctrine of repeated earthly lives into German intellectual life. People often say: Well, yes, Lessing was a great man, but when he wrote *The Education of the Human Race*, he was already an old man. Well, people always interpret what they wish to acknowledge in whatever way they please. But Lessing had not grown weak; rather, he had risen to a higher level, even to a deep grasp of this immediate communion, this dialogue between the human soul and the living Spirit, which pours out its sustaining power over the soul of the individual, so that the individual soul may live with it in the sustaining power of the German Spirit. In the closing words of his will, Lessing said something like the following: Is it not clear to my soul, through what it experiences within itself, that it must return again and again to a new earthly life in order to learn ever new things, to develop ever higher? That would take a long time—well then, is not eternity mine? — Lessing draws this insight from the depths of the human soul itself, and he records it in his will. This is a spiritual culture that expresses itself in different terms than the one that says: “We will never find the strength within the human soul itself.”

[ 37 ] From such a comparison of the different mentalities, one comes to understand that in the East, the Russian intellectual mindset prevails—one that is hostile, out of a lack of understanding, to what is taking place in Central Europe, and that fails to grasp the vibrant spiritual life unfolding there, instead constantly speaking of the West’s culture in decline. Thus, among the so-called intellectuals, spiritual considerations are used to justify what they have always intended to take up against the West, including politically. The terrible war in which we find ourselves was brought about just as much by the sentiments of the East as by external interests. But these sentiments will not disappear with this war. [In order] to bring German intellectual life to the fore, it will be necessary to forge weapons from the spirit—the very spirit from which the greatest minds of Central Europe have drawn their weapons—for this confrontation with the spirit must be constantly renewed.

[ 38 ] And just as this German intellectual life must, quite naturally, be encircled by its enemies—we can see this if we take a look at how German intellectual life is understood, the German intellectual life that I have been able to sketch, as it were, in charcoal, and about which much could be said. [In defense of and to help us understand this German intellectual life] I would like to invoke a spirit for you, a Western spirit who truly ranks among the best [Western spirits] of the nineteenth century, an American who wrote in English: Emerson. He is certainly not someone one would invoke when, out of prejudice, one wishes to portray the West’s opposition to German intellectual life. Emerson describes the English people as the first people of the world; strangely enough, however, he places the Germans higher. Nevertheless, even though Emerson speaks of the English as the first people of the world, he says:

The English do not appreciate the depth of German intellectual life.
Germans think for Europe.

[ 39 ] But now I would like to point out something else that is very characteristic, from the perspective I have taken as the basis for today’s discussion. Emerson wrote two wonderful essays, one on Shakespeare and one on Goethe. Unfortunately, people today read only half-heartedly; it might be interesting if a number of people were to truly accomplish what I am about to suggest. It would be interesting if people were willing to engage with the essays Emerson wrote, titled “Representatives of the Human Race”—the two essays, one on “Shakespeare, or the Poet,” the other on “Goethe, or the Writer.” You won’t believe that I am so brutal—or, one might also say, so “barbaric” as to want to denigrate Shakespeare in any way, or that I do not revere him to the highest degree as one of humanity’s greatest poets. He is just that—even for Emerson. And Emerson notes that if one wishes to characterize the poet, one must name Shakespeare as the representative poet. By comparison, one must name Goethe as the representative writer. Now, one shouldn’t simply read the text at face value; rather, one should sense in the words what ran through the very soul of the speaker as he offered these characterizations. Emerson attempts to present Shakespeare—based on the characterization of the English national soul—as the quintessential poet, and Goethe as the quintessential writer. And Emerson seeks to draw out the traits that one must consider if one wishes to truly characterize Shakespeare from within. And with Emerson, it is indeed the case that when he confronts a phenomenon, he characterizes that single phenomenon with all the power of the word, as if nothing else existed; he immerses himself so deeply in the individual phenomenon. In Shakespeare, when he discusses Shakespeare; in Goethe, when he discusses Goethe. [This is a special gift.] And what does he seek to convey when he considers Shakespeare—Shakespeare the poet—[whom he regards as the most exquisite of poets, and this poet as the most exquisite of the English, and the English as the most exquisite of nations]? He feels compelled to say, in characterizing Shakespeare: An original spirit is not one who, as is commonly believed, creates everything from within himself, but one who, like Shakespeare, goes everywhere and draws on intellectual resources wherever he can find them. And now he illustrates how virtually all of England thought just as Shakespeare did, how he was merely the echo of his people. On the other hand, he seeks to show how Shakespeare drew on French and Italian sources, how he gathered everything together to become Shakespeare, and how he became a great man precisely by synthesizing the great intellectual treasures from other worlds and other peoples. This is how Emerson arrives at Shakespeare. And I would like to read to you a few characteristic passages:

Great men are distinguished more by their comprehensive intellect [and] by the height of the vantage point from which they look down than by originality. If we demand the kind of originality that, like a spider, spins its own web from its own innards, that finds the clay itself, shapes stones from it, and erects the house, then great men are by no means original. The essence of true and valuable originality does not lie in dissimilarity to others.

[ 40 ] Emerson, then, characterizes Shakespeare in such a way as to demonstrate: I must show why Shakespeare is so unoriginal. “The essence of truly valuable originality does not lie in dissimilarity to others.”

[ 41 ] And one statement that deserves special attention in Emerson’s characterization of Shakespeare is the following—which is not my own, but rather what Emerson says about Shakespeare:

It has become a sort of unwritten rule among writers that whoever has once proven capable of creating original works may henceforth also discreetly plagiarize the works of others.

[ 42 ] Emerson, then, needs nothing less than to characterize Shakespeare—one of the greatest minds in the world order—by excusing him for the idea that one can be original even by stealing from others and recasting what has been stolen. One must look a little deeper into the driving forces of human development when standing at a turning point in world history as significant as the one we face today.

[ 43 ] And then we turn the page, especially to the beautiful translation by Herman Grimm of Emerson’s essays on Shakespeare and Goethe. Let us now turn to Goethe. Here, once again, Emerson immerses himself in Goethe, becoming completely absorbed in Goethe’s essence, as if nothing else existed. And what comes to Emerson’s mind now to characterize Goethe as the representative of the literary world? What comes to mind is what he characterizes with the following words: All of nature, every stone, everything that is and will be, strives to be expressed. The whole world strives for expression. And privileged human souls—whom other souls cannot emulate, and who thus stand alone—find the words to express, as they wrestle with the spirit of the world, that very thing which is wrestling with the spirit of the world.

[ 44 ] In his discussion of Shakespeare, Emerson describes how he [draws on sources everywhere].

[ 45 ] In his discussion of Goethe, he describes how Goethe himself is connected to the World Spirit, which is at work in the various realms of nature. Compare one with the other. Emerson says of Goethe:

In my view, the writer is a man whose role was intended to be part of the creation of the world.

[ 46 ] He links Goethe directly to the beginning of the world. He feels he must defend Shakespeare. And he goes on to say of Goethe:

He owes nothing to the position he held; rather, he entered the world from the moment of his birth as a free, [watchful] genius.

[ 47 ] He says the following about Shakespeare:

It is easy to see that everything that has ever been best written and done in the world was not the work of a single man, but came about through far-reaching, collaborative effort, in which a thousand people, as one, all driven by a single impulse, lent a hand.

[ 48 ] Shakespeare is explained entirely in terms of his surroundings, in terms of the world around him. Regarding Goethe, Emerson says:

He is all eyes and instinctively turns toward where the truth lies. Say something, and he will know immediately whether it is true or false. He detests repeating old wives’ tales—even if they have enjoyed humanity’s good faith for a thousand years—and being made a fool of by them. No one else needs to strain their eyes on his behalf to show him whether something is true or a lie.

[ 49 ] I believe, ladies and gentlemen, that one can sense something profound and significant by comparing an essay on Shakespeare by a man of such worldly wisdom as Emerson with his essay on Goethe; throughout, one will feel that this American had a certain justification in saying: “The English [do not fathom the depth of German intellectual life. The German thinks for Europe.”] He tried to fathom it, but in doing so, he sensed something of what I wished to characterize today as the living forces of the German spirit, which work their way into every single soul; not that force which flows together from the commonality of human beings, but from the direct communion of the individual soul with the spirit. And one can sense how Emerson is imbued with this sustaining force of the German spirit when, at the end of his reflection on Goethe, he speaks words that, in turn, must be taken in such a way that they are received with feeling, not merely with the intellect. At the end of his reflection on Shakespeare, Emerson says:

It must be admitted that these were only imperfect visions of imperfect men. The world is still waiting for the poet-priest, the reconciler, who does not act, like Shakespeare, nor search in graves, like the mournful Swedenborg, but who will see, speak, and act with equal enthusiasm. For knowledge will give radiance to the sunshine; justice is more beautiful than secret affection, and love is compatible with all-encompassing wisdom.

[ 50 ] What feelings does Shakespeare evoke in Emerson? The feeling that one must wait for someone who is to come, who is to bring reconciliation.

[ 51 ] What does Goethe's reflection inspire in him? At the end of the reflection, he says:

The secret of genius is not to tolerate a lie remaining for us, but to turn everything of which we are aware into a truth; to inspire faith, certainty, and trust in the sophistication of modern life, in art and science, in [the] books and in people; and from the beginning to the end, along the way, and for [endless] times, to honor every truth not only by recognizing it, but by making it a guiding principle for our actions.

[ 52 ] Emerson, then, is inspired by Goethe—as well as by Shakespeare—not to wait for anyone. And the words I just read are preceded by these others:

We, too, must write sacred texts to reunite heaven and earth.

[ 53 ] Today we would say: We must delve into the humanities to discover what human scholarship can be. But Emerson knows how this depth of German intellectual life is not grasped, and how thoroughly hostile to this intellectual life are those who cannot grasp it.

[ 54 ] But this is precisely why German intellectual life will remain in a sort of defensive posture for a long time to come. For even with those who are said to be striving to penetrate this German intellectual life, strange things are happening. I would like to give you a small example of this.

[ 55 ] It may have come as a surprise to those who are reasonably familiar with the intellectual life of the recent past that such high hopes were placed—even in some German minds, before this war taught people better—on someone like Romain Rolland, so to speak. The people who admired him represent, in a sense, a break with the intellectual life of the present. Those who admired him could not quite understand how he could have spoken such scornful words about the Germans after the outbreak of the war. One has, of course, been able to read some strange articles in Germany about Romain Rolland. I want to focus on just one work by Romain Rolland: *Jean-Christophe*. In this novel, Romain Rolland portrays a German, but you will soon see how. Even regarding this characterization he gives of Jean-Christophe, it must be said: it comes from a person who has never been touched by the real inner strength of intellectual life. What, then, is Jean-Christophe in this two-volume novel? He is a German musician as he develops within German culture. That is what Romain Rolland seeks to portray. And he truly portrays—yes, one cannot put it any other way—a chaotic mixture of the fates of various Germans such as Beethoven, Richard Strauss, Wagner, Gustav Mahler, and so on. All of this is jumbled together in the most implausible way, and this gives rise to the utterly implausible character of Jean-Christophe, who has been so greatly admired, but who reveals himself to be nothing more than the result of an artist’s inability to confront reality—a reality that does not merely copy external nature but penetrates into the depths of existence, and there can see the impossibility of stirring up such chaos.

[ 56 ] I am well aware that there may be many people who will interpret what I am about to say about Romain Rolland as “barbaric.” But I believe that, given what these people defend from their apparent aesthetic high ground, I could hold my own against them in assessing the particular aesthetic sensibility and artistry of people like Romain Rolland. [It has nothing to do with what Schiller said to Goethe: “People say there is something immoral in *Wilhelm Meister*. No, the characters are exactly as they must be.”] For with Romain Rolland, one never knows what the author is saying and what his characters are saying. Therefore, one can regard what his characters say as simultaneously reflecting Romain Rolland’s own views. This attitude confronts us everywhere he speaks of German culture. There, for example, he describes Jean-Christoph’s father.

[ 57 ] I will now mention only a few significant points about which we may say: This is a recent French assessment of the German character. And I want to present evidence, because there were people who said: This novel is, since 1870, the first great act that will bring about reconciliation between Germans and French. No political act is as important for this reconciliation as Romain Rolland’s novel, so these people said. Well, anyone who reads the novel will agree with me when I say I disagree. One must not say: “Romain Rolland did not mean to express his own views through what he has his characters say; one must view it solely from an artistic standpoint.” For precisely what we hear here from this Romain Rolland—this “peacemaker between German and French culture”—has recently been countered from the West in the most slanderous manner as German “barbarism.” So it is said of the father:

He was a smooth talker, well-built, though a bit stocky, and the very embodiment of what is considered classical beauty in Germany: a broad, expressionless forehead, strong, regular features, and a curly beard—a Jupiter from the banks of the Rhine.

[ 58 ] He then describes a number of chamber musicians whom he considers representative of German chamber music in the following way:

They played neither very accurately nor very in time; but they never went off track and faithfully followed the indicated expression marks. They possessed that musical lightness that is content with little, and that perfection in mediocrity that is abundantly present in the race that is called the most musical in the world.

[ 59 ] Romain Rolland describes Uncle Theodor, the stepson of Jean-Christophe's grandfather, as follows:

He was a partner in a large trading firm that maintained business ties with Africa and the Far East. He epitomized the very type of “new-style” German who takes delight in mockingly spurning the old idealism of their race and, intoxicated by victory, vigorously and successfully promotes a cult that proves they are not accustomed to living under that banner. But since it is impossible to suddenly change the centuries-old nature of a people, the repressed idealism kept resurfacing in their language, their behavior, their moral views, and in the Goethe quotations they offered on the occasion of even the most trivial domestic events; and so, through the bizarre effort to reconcile the honorable principles of the old German bourgeoisie with the cynicism of these new shop-front condottieri, a strange mixture of conscientiousness and self-interest arose—a mixture that carries with it a rather repulsive stench of hypocrisy, which amounts to fashioning, out of German strength, greed for money, and pursuit of self-interest, the symbol of all that is right, all justice, and all truth.

[ 60 ] So this is the characterization Romain Rolland offers of certain Germans. We have now heard it again from Romain Rolland. But then Jean-Christophe himself says:

He lacked that complacent Germanic idealism that refuses to see—and indeed does not see—what would be embarrassing to discover, for fear of destroying the comfortable peace of their judgments and the comfort of their lives.

[ 61 ] Romain Rolland, of course, recognizes German Idealism, but he wants to present it in the light that, in his view, is the true light. He wants to characterize this German idealism in some way, and here he says specifically about this German idealism—since Romain Rolland is a good musician, and his friends claim that he understands German music particularly well, he is entitled to refer to it—; Romain Rolland seeks to characterize German idealism as what the Germans imagine to be a blue haze, which the Germans are afraid to see and which they therefore idealize. He sees in it something with which the Germans mask all sorts of things so as not to see reality. Then he says:

Germans are not idealists because they feign emotions

[ 62 ] — he says, and I ask you to listen to this, he speaks as if he were describing the character of Schumann and Wagner —, what is deceptive in music is not that idealism distorts emotions, but that the emotions themselves are false; this is evident in Schumann. The German already feels falsely. These are Romain Rolland’s own words:

But it was precisely his example that led Christof to the realization that the worst falsehood in German art lay not in artists’ attempts to express feelings they did not feel, but rather in their expression of feelings they did feel—feelings that were, however, inherently false. Music is a relentless mirror of the soul; the more naive and trusting a German musician is, the more he reveals the weaknesses of the German soul—its uncertain foundation, its [soft] sentimentality, its lack of candor, its somewhat devious idealism, and its inability to see itself or dare to look itself in the face.

[ 63 ] He wants to strike at the very heart of this German idealism. That is why he refers to Madame de Staël, who once characterized the Germans, as Romain Rolland recounts. She said:

They respond neatly. They draw on philosophical reasoning to explain the most unphilosophical thing in the world: respect for power and the habituation to fear, which transforms respect into admiration.

[ 64 ] Romain Rolland cites these words of Mrs. von Sta@].

Christof found this feeling reflected in both the greatest and the smallest [in Germany]

[ 65 ] — he says. And then, to say something quite characteristic of Germans, he adds:

from Wilhelm Tell, the cautious, petty-bourgeois man with the muscles of a porter, who, as the free Jew Börne says: “To reconcile honor and fear, he walks past the stake of ‘dear Lord’ Gessler with his eyes downcast, so that he may claim that he who did not see the hat is not disobedient” , all the way up to the despicable seventy-year-old Professor Weiße, one of the city’s most respected scholars, who, whenever a lieutenant passed him, hastily yielded the sidewalk to him and stepped down onto the roadway.

[He hated the brutal militarism he felt weighing upon him—all those sabers clanging on the pavement, those pyramids of rifles, and the cannons set up in front of the barracks, their muzzles pointed at the city and ready to fire.]

[ 66 ] We’re hearing all of this again now, after all. The novel already contains the very same words we’re hearing once more, with the only difference being that the French later realized that the cannons weren’t just aimed at their own German cities, but sensed that they could also be aimed elsewhere.

[ 67 ] But one cannot say that Romain Rolland is entirely unfair to the Germans he characterizes in this way. He does, however, believe that these Germans possess none of the qualities of a true aesthete. In music, he does attribute certain qualities to them. He describes their thinking as “clear, but dull,” and so on. But the Germans do not have much of a sense of beauty, according to this Frenchman, who is regarded today as one of France’s greatest minds. He describes a German girl: “Her nose [gap in the text] points up on one side and down on the other.” According to him, this is the typical German girl. I would also ask you to consider the following words:

Germans are remarkably tolerant when it comes to physical imperfections: they manage not to notice them; they can even go so far as to embellish them with benevolent imagination, discovering unexpected connections between the [face] they wish to see and the most magnificent examples of human beauty.

[ 68 ] This refers to the face with the nose I just described. It would not have taken much persuasion to get old Euler to admit that [his] granddaughter had the nose of Juno Ludovisi.

[ 69 ] But one cannot say that Romain Rolland is—or wants to be—entirely unfair. He also offers praise where he wishes to, and acknowledges in the German character those qualities he believes he can recognize. For example, after he has shown how Jean-Christophe—who is such a gifted young man that he cannot endure German life, that he longs to break free because such a genius cannot flourish in Germany—after showing this, he ultimately has Jean-Christophe invited to the home of a professor whom he intends to portray as a typical German. And in what unfolds at this German professor’s home, Romain Rolland does indeed praise the Germans; there he finds something praiseworthy in them. The professor, you see, makes every effort to have his housekeeper cook the very best meal possible. And she is so convinced that she has mastered a great art that she leaves the door slightly ajar to see how the gentlemen are enjoying their meal.

It was a showcase of unforgettable, honest, authentic German cuisine—with its aromas of all kinds of herbs, its thick sauces, its hearty soups, its exemplary meat dishes, its monumental carp, its sauerkraut, its geese, its homemade cakes, and its anise and caraway breads.

[ 70 ] As you can see, he does give the Germans some credit! And he especially takes credit for himself here, where this meal is now being eaten, and a “real German”—a singing German—is to be portrayed. He describes him in such a way that you can see: he’s actually surprised that this particular individual can sing—and sing well, at that. He says that Germans actually have no idea how to sing:

They are gripped by the power of song, and the song works through them as if through an instrument. The spirit of the songs has taken hold of them, and they obey it. For the German soul must do so. This soul obeys the song as a soldier obeys his commander.

[ 71 ] So-called German militarism has taken deep root in the souls of those who speak of it today with smug expressions. He now describes a real singer, saying: He was a heavyset man who always sweated when walking, but especially when he sang. — He describes his nature, his appearance. Then he says: He looked like a Bavarian, a particular subtype of Germans. — Of these Bavarians, he says that there are many such people among them, for these Bavarians are said to “preserve the secret of this human race, which has come about through a system of overfeeding similar to that used for fattening poultry.”

[ 72 ] He wants to find out what the people look like who are truly capable of practicing this German art of singing, which he himself also admires.

[ 73 ] Well, it’s no wonder that this “mixtum compositum” of Beethoven, Strauss, Wagner, and Mahler—which has the singular peculiarity of not carrying a single spark of any of the four in its soul—that this artificial construct cannot survive in Germany. It must break free from German culture! It is said—even though he did not know it—that German confusion drives him toward “Golden Paris.”

Instinctively, however, his eyes turned toward the Latin South. And first and foremost toward France. Toward France, the eternal [refuge] from German turmoil.

[ 74 ] Here, then, is a description of how the person who must leave German culture behind must find his way in Latin culture. There, he then becomes a great mystic. I trust you will excuse me from tracing the subsequent paths. But there we would find many characteristic features of what must be called a misunderstanding—one that separates and alienates the individual German from the sustaining power of the living spirit with which the German essence feels connected.

[ 75 ] Therefore, it can be said: To all those who believe that humanity’s future lies in the strong, vigorous representation of spiritual life through a world culture—to all of them it must be clear that the German spirit has not yet fulfilled its mission in the world, but rather that this German spirit has sown the seeds from which it is evident that they must continue to flourish further and further into blossoms and fruits.

[ 76 ] And this, precisely, seems to us to be the driving force of the German spirit—that we know: We can only hope for the blossoms and fruits from the future. We stand confidently within what constitutes the living experience of the German spirit. This must also give us the strength for the necessary defense—including the defense of German spiritual life, which, as perhaps few today yet suspect, is embroiled in a profound struggle, just as much as the external life of the immediate present.

[ 77 ] It would be out of place to present a reflection intended merely as a form of consolation. Who would need feeble consolation, or words of encouragement, or the like, when it has been shown that a people knows how to defend its possessions with such strength and has persevered for nearly a year with strength, courage, and a willingness to make sacrifices?

[ 78 ] But one must be aware that the German spirit must be on guard just as German life in the external world had to be on guard. And it is precisely when one looks more deeply into this spiritual life of the German people that one finds something of which one can say: This is the core and the root of Germanness—its longing for the living spirit, its coexistence with the living spirit.

[ 79 ] To those who revile the Germans today, saying, “We do not mean this German spirit when we revile them,” one must say: You strike us as someone who says, “I know full well there is a man with strong hands, but when he uses those hands, we do not like him!”

[ 80 ] The French philosopher Bergson said in a Christmas speech that the German spirit today shows that it can no longer grasp what is alive; it can only grasp what is mechanistic. Today, only cannons stand in the way of the French; all one sees coming from Germany are mechanisms and armies.

[ 81 ] There isn’t much logic in what he’s saying—just as logic is generally lacking today when people engage in such “beautiful” discussions about the state of the world. One would have to ask this philosopher Bergson whether he expected French soldiers to be met with recitations of Schiller’s poems or with Novalis’s works?

[ 82 ] But a glimpse—which I could only hint at with feeble words—a glimpse into the essence and life, into the very roots of the German spirit, shows us that, when we look upon this spirit, we may say:

[ 83 ] Not only has he not reached completion; he is, in fact, demonstrating that he is embarking on his upward path toward a fully flourishing and fruitful spiritual life. And whoever can trust in inner strength can have the utmost confidence in what the German spirit seeks to accomplish. And whoever has such insight into the inner power of the German spirit also knows what great and mighty things must be defended today with outward weapons; such a person knows that the soul of the German people still carries much, much more within its bosom.

[ 84 ] Therefore, let me take what I wanted to express to you today in a few words—and what I ask you to to take more to heart the sentiments and feelings underlying my words—let me finally condense and summarize this in a few words that reflect those sentiments, words meant to be a source of confidence for the soul, drawn from what we can know about the sustaining power of the German spirit, both in the past and looking toward the future. I would like to say this: If you follow through in your thoughts what I have been able to sketch only with a few strokes of charcoal, you will increasingly come to the feeling that I would like to express at the end with the words:

The German spirit has not yet fulfilled
What it is meant to bring to the world.
It lives in hopeful concern for the future,
It hopes for future deeds full of life; —
In the depths of its being, it feels powerfully
Something hidden that must still ripen and take effect. —
How can the desire for its end stir within the enemy’s power, devoid of understanding

As long as life reveals itself to it,
which sustains it creatively in the roots of its being?

[ 85 ] Handwritten table of contents for the censorship authority

[ 86 ] During the war, public events were subject to oversight by the censorship authorities. Rudoif Steiner compiled the following outline of his lecture, scheduled for June 16, 1915, in Düsseldorf, for these authorities (NZ 1564–1566).

[ 87 ] Outline of the lecture to be given by Dr. Rudolf Steiner in Düsseldorf. The lecture has already been given in Berlin, Leipzig, and, in a similar form, in Munich.

[ 88 ] The lecture begins by describing how, during fateful times in the development of German culture, certain figures emerged who presented the security, the confidence, and the true invincibility of the German spirit to the soul of the people by evoking the deep permeation of that soul with the active power of the reigning spirit. For them, this “Spirit” was not a “concept” or an “idea,” as it is to the naturalistic mind; for them, the Spirit was a real being with whom the soul communes in its deepest innermost being, from which it draws spiritual vitality, just as the body draws physical vitality from the air through the lungs.

[ 89 ] Thus Fichte stood among his people as they, in the midst of the gravest adversity and relying solely on their own strength, had to work their way up to a state of freedom; he demonstrated how the German people, unlike the Romance peoples, prove through their language alone that their entire being is connected to the innermost roots of the vital impulse of spiritual existence. The German does not perceive spiritual life as something that is recognized only within the individual human soul, but rather as something that reigns above this individual soul as an independent entity and that sustains the individual soul.

[ 90 ] From this awareness emerged a work within German culture that is possible only among the German people: Goethe’s *Faust*. Faust strives, moving beyond dead knowledge, toward an inner, living engagement with the essence of the spirit. The most ancient German awareness of nature and the world is revived in *Faust* in a new way. One need not underestimate the great significance of Shakespeare; but one must nevertheless say that in *Faust*, everything human rises to a nobler height than in *Hamlet*. Consider how the latter, when confronted with the truly spiritual, can only succumb to doubt and uncertainty, to the desolate question: “To be or not to be?” Whereas Faust, in the face of the power of evil and the material world, asserts the inner certainty of victory that comes from his union with the spirit: “In your nothingness, I hope to find the whole.”

[ 91 ] Perceiving this essence in the development of German culture, members of those nations who today cannot bring themselves to revile German deeds enough—in times when they displayed greater discernment than they do now, even in times when the might of German arms was felt within those very nations—must have arrived at views such as those expressed by Ernest Renan in 1870, Germany has added something of “depth and breadth” to the development of humanity, so that “for those who have lived through it, the difference is akin to that between someone who knows only elementary mathematics and someone who is well-versed in differential calculus.”

[ 92 ] This connection between the German soul and the sustaining power of the spirit that governs the world gave rise, in minds such as Herder’s, to an awareness of the globally significant mission of German culture—namely, that this culture must contribute to the overall education of the human race, insofar as it is guided by the sublime goal of working “until everything has been accomplished, until the genius of the Enlightenment has permeated the earth.”

[ 93 ] This awareness warmed Lessing’s soul as he wrote his incomparable testament, *The Education of the Human Race*, which elevated all contemplation of history to a shared experience of the eternal spiritual activity of the world through the human soul.

[ 94 ] And this awareness lives on to the present day in the most distinguished minds of the German people. We will now show how this fundamental force of the German spirit led to a profound worldview and outlook on life in individual figures of the nineteenth century. Herman Grimm’s authentically German character will be described; lesser-known figures will also be mentioned to illustrate what constitutes the distinctive German way of thinking, feeling, and experiencing.

[ 95 ] In conclusion, it is pointed out how, in the present day, the consciousness that springs from the sources—in which the German essence is intimately connected with the power of the spirit—may live within the German soul, and how this consciousness may trust in its own strength within a world of enemies, against whom it must assert itself in these fateful days.