Theosophy - The Religion of Goethe - by Dr. F.Otto Schrader - Adyar Pamphlets No. 38
Adyar Pamphlets
No.38
THE
RELIGION OF GOETHE
by
Dr. F.Otto Schrâder
Theosophical
Publishing House, Adyar. Chennai (Madras). India
February 1914
FROM
AN INDIAN POINT OF VIEW
[Page
1] THE idea of dealing with
Goethe's religious and philosophical views from an Indian standpoint — with
the double object of bringing the greatest German nearer to the East
and showing him from an unknown side — will
very likely be found highly objectionable by most western literati.
Goethe, the strong one, the apostle of action, the realist, the individualist,
the ideal of perfect humanity — how can one dare to compare him with
the dreamers of the Ganges ? But the writer of these lines has reached the
conviction that the science of Indian religions — which is, in his
opinion, the most complete religious measuring scale of the world [The
same view is held by Prof. Harnack with regard to the science of Christianity,
but his works show that he is wrong] — whenever applied (with
necessary caution of course) to the profound thinkers of the West, will bring
to light facts not to be found by any other method; and he indulges in the
hope that the [Page
2] following
essay [Which is an elaboration of a lecture or lectures I gave on various
occasions. My sources are the materials I have collected, in the course
of years, from Goethe’s works and letters, Eckermann’s
Dialogues and the Goethe literature, and lastly two recent and particularly
useful books, viz. Goethes Selbstzeugnisse über seine Stellung zur
Religion und zu religiöskirchlichen Fragen. In zeitlicher Folge
zusammengestellt von D. Dr. Theodor Vogel. Dritte Auflage. Leipzig 1903,
and Meine Religion. Mein politscher Glaube. Vertrauliche Reden von J.W.
V Goethe, zusammengestellt von Dr. Wilhelm Bode. Zweite Auflage. Berlin
1901. There is also a third edition (1903) of the second book, but in
it certain sayings on reincarnation, etc, have disappeared, apparently
because the compiler has meanwhile adopted the standpoint of the first
book, according to which all such sayings have to be ignored as mere
caprices of Goethe]. will prove at least that, even by this seemingly
inappropriate way of treatment, less violence is done to our poet-philosopher
than, for instance, by pressing his ideas, as is the custom, into the Procrustean
bed of Spinozaism. Goethe worshipped Spinoza, but no Spinoza could have sufficed
him.
A
few words of introduction, for Indian readers, on the import of Goethe's
personality. He is very likely the most comprehensive genius ever heard of
in the West. His writings are to many an educated German what, to an
Indian, Kãlidãsa, Upanishads and Bhagavad-gîtã may
be together: the
highest possible satisfaction of artistic, religious, and philosophical need,
and more than that, for Goethe was also a man of science. He studied
chemistry, physics, anatomy, zoology, botany. He took a keen interest in
history, geography, the development of commerce, technical sciences,
education; nay, there is almost no branch of human knowledge on which
something important has [Page
3] not
been said by Goethe in the course of his literary activity which, indeed,
extends, apart from the attempts of his boyhood, over a period of sixty-five
years (1767—1832).
He was a sage and a poet in one person: a kavi in the Vedic sense. His
mind belongs to those extremely rare ones in which science is in complete
and unobjectionable harmony with art, religion, and philosophy. Of this
his Farbenlehre, Theory
of Colors his Wahlvenwandschaften, Electric Affinities,
and his Metamorphose der Pflanzen, Metamorphosis of Plants, are instances .
Now to the subject
itself. I am perfectly aware how risky a thing it is to bring into a system
the religious ideas of a great man who has himself never cared for systematizing
his creed. Yet the attempt is surely justifiable, and the danger we may practically
avoid by confining ourselves to the general features for which there is sufficient
material, and giving the reader every possible chance of judging for himself.
Accordingly, I shall not so much speak about Goethe as make Goethe speak
for himself, and I shall, with one or two exceptions, give a prose translation
only, even in the case of metrical quotations, though this implies, of course,
the loss of a great deal of the beauty of the original. He who wants to enjoy
the latter has anyhow to learn German.
The young Goethe did
not attend any school, but, together with his sister, received a very careful
and comprehensive private education in the house of his [Page
4] parents, and, the latter being
Protestants, he had also to pursue a continual and progressive religious
instruction. This, however, was not at all congenial to him. He wrote about
it, later on, as follows:
The ecclesiastical
Protestantism handed down to us was, indeed, not much more than a kind of
dry morality: there was no attempt at an original exposition, and the teaching
could please neither heart nor mind.
Thus the idea arose
in the mind of young Goethe that he had to approach the Deity on his own
account, and he did this in his own particular way. Already at that time
his idea of nature and God was a pantheistic rather than a theistic one;
he understood the world to be a self-manifestation of God, and so he decided
to address himself to the greatest visible symbol of the Deity, to the sun.
After much pondering, he found that he had to perform a fire-sacrifice;
that he had to get the fire for it from the sun itself; and that the appropriate
fuel would be neither wood nor coal, but incense-sticks, because — his
own words — " this gentle burning and evaporating
seemed much better to express what is happening in the mind, than an
open flame". So he took a small table, fastened on it some incense-sticks,
and kindled these by means of a burning glass, as soon as the sun (which
had already risen a considerable time) appeared over the roofs of the
neighbouring houses. Now the devotion of the boy was perfect, and, at the
repetition of the ceremony, his absorption was so deep that he noticed [Page
5] too late the damage done by
the burnt-down incense-sticks to the fine flowers painted on the table.
To this Sandhyã-vandana Goethe
came, as I said, quite spontaneously. He did not know anything about India
or Persia at that time. Yet I believe that already then, as later on, he
liked to compare the energy of the soul with that of the sun, and that something
was in the mind of the boy like that idea which is the esoteric key to the Sandhyã-vandana of
the twice-born, the idea expressed, e.g., in the Ânanda-Vallî of:
the Taîttirîya-Upanishad: Sa
yac cãyam purushe yac cãsãv ãditye sa
ekah, "This one who dwells here
in man, and that one who dwells in the sun, they are one." And here is also
the place for a splendid saying of old Goethe, spoken a few days before
his death to Eckermann, his Secretary:
If
you ask me whether it suits my nature to pay to Him (the Christ) adoring
awe, I say:
By all means ! I bow to Him as to the divine manifestation of
the highest principle of morality. If you ask me whether it is in my nature
to worship the sun, I again say: By all means ! For he is likewise a
manifestation of the Highest, and that the most powerful one which we
children of the earth are allowed to perceive. I worship in him (the sun)
the light and the generating power of God, by which alone we live and
breathe and are, and all plants and animals with us. If, however, you
ask me, whether I am inclined to stoop to the thumb-bones of Saint Peter
or Paul, I say: "Spare me, and keep at a distance with your absurdities! "
We are told by Goethe
that his doubt of the Christian God had already begun when he was hardly
seven years old, namely in consequence of the earthquake [Page
6] of Lisbon. The report of that
fearful catastrophe in which the angry God, without a visible cause, not
only killed sixty thousand human beings, good and bad, but even destroyed
His own temples, produced a very strong impression on the young mind, and
his distrust was still more confirmed by a most violent hail-storm breaking
out soon after, which desolated the corn-fields and even broke the windows
of his parents' house.
The growth of the seed
of unbelief, however, was retarded during all the years he was at home, by
the Christian milieu in which he had to live, and
the many edifying stories of the Old Testament he became acquainted
with.
All the more complete
was the self-emancipation of Goethe during his University career, when he
developed into an unmistakable atheist (an-îcvara-vãdin),
in the sense in which the word is understood in the Christian Church. Once
for all he freed himself from the religious and social prejudices he had been
so far subject to, and in the proud consciousness — thus he tells us
in his autobiography, in the kârmic
consciousness, I should like to say — of his having to thank nobody but
himself for whatever he was and would become, he wrote that grand poem
with which we have now to acquaint ourselves — the Prometheus.
There
is hardly anything like it in Indian literature. We might think of certain
hymns of the Rg-Veda (ii,
12; ix, 112; x, 119), full of a secret scorn [Page
7]
about the King of the Gods (Indra),
or of the fine speech of Draupadî in the
Vanaparvan of the Mahãbhãrata (Adhy. 30), where that
brave lady reproaches the Îcvara with arbitrariness and ill-natures: Na
mãtr-pitr-vad
rãjan dhãtã bhûtesu vartate; roshãd
iva pravrtto'yam yathãyam
itaro janah.
"Not like a mother or father, 0 king, the Creator behaves towards the
beings; but he is carried along by his passions like an ordinary man."
But all this is feeble,
when compared with the Prometheus. Judge for
yourselves !
Prometheus belongs
to Greek mythology. He was a Titan, a sort of Asura who rebelled against
Zeus, the King of the Gods. He formed the first men from earth-slime, and
stole fire from heaven for them. He is imagined by the poet as sitting before
his hut and watching the rise of a thunderstorm sent by his deadly hated
enemy.
Cover
thy sky with the vapour of clouds, 0 Zeus ! and, like a boy who pleases
himself in decapitating thistles with his stick, practise at oaks and
mountain-tops; yet you must leave to me my earth and my hut which thou
hast not built, and my fire-place, the glow of which thou enviest me.
I do not know anything
poorer under the sun than you gods ! You miserably feed your majesty by sacrificial
imposts and whiffs of prayer, and would have to starve, were not children
and beggars hopeful fools.
And now, on a sudden,
the poet acts out of character, the following verse being fit for his childhood
but not for that of the former denizen of Heaven.[Page
8]
When I was a child, not
knowing where to turn, I lifted my wandering eye to the sun, as if beyond
there were an ear to hear my complaint, a heart like mine, to have compassion
for the distressed
Who helped me against
the haughtiness of the Titans ? Who saved me from death, from slavery ? Hast
not thou done everything thyself, thou sacred-glowing heart ? And thou, glowing
in youth and goodness, deceived, gavest thanks for deliverance to that sleeping
one above ?
I pay homage to thee
? For what ? Hast thou ever soothed the pains of the afflicted ? Hast thou
ever dried the tears of the anguished ? Have not almighty time and eternal
fate, my masters and yours, forged me a man ?
Didst thou fancy perhaps,
I should hate life, flee into the deserts, because not all my flower-dreams
have ripened ?
Here I am sitting,
forming men after my image, a race which shall be like myself, to suffer,
to weep, to enjoy, to rejoice and to despise you, as I do !
So far the Prometheus.
Now let us compare another poem entitled The
Limits of Mankind (Grenzen den Menschheit), which originated only a
short time after Prometheus and yet seems as opposite to it as possible;
in reality, however, it does not at all mean a change of opinion, but is only
the expression of another religious feeling which, alternately with
the first, dominated our poet's mind, until the idea of the pantheistic One
and All definitely conciliated the two; it is the feeling of dependence,
the idea of a necessary dependence of mankind on higher beings or powers, of
a dependence on what people like to call fate. Goethe alludes to it already
in
Prometheus, but it is eclipsed there by the gospel of freedom from the
Gods. Every one of us has this feeling, and everyone [Page
9] has the other
one also. Whenever we look inside, we find ourselves independent and
free; we feel the presence of a something within ourselves which will last
from eternity to eternity, indestructible, not liable to the least loss.
That is the Prometheus feeling. But on the other hand: when we look outside,
when we see how helpless we are against old age, sickness and death,
when we behold the sun and moon and stars moving aloft according to iron
laws, and see the irresistible change of the seasons; when we consider
that infinity surrounds us everywhere, then we feel how small and
dependent we are; then we understand the limits of mankind .
The condition at the
beginning of the poem, is the same as in Prometheus: a thunderstorm ; but
in the place of the challenging Titan we find a deeply devoted worshipper
of the Gods. [Observe the quiet, majestic metre of the German original]
When the holy, ancient
father with gentle hand from rolling clouds is sowing blessed lightnings
over the earth, I kiss the last border of his garment, with childlike awe
in my faithful heart.
For with the gods no
man should dare to compare himself. When he rises upwards and touches the
stars with his crown, nowhere then his unsteady feet are clinging, and with
him clouds and winds are playing.
When with firm, pithy
bones on the well-established lasting earth he is standing, he cannot dare
to compare himself even with the oak or the vine.
What is the difference
between men and gods ? Before them, many waves are rolling, an eternal stream:
we [Page
10] are lifted by the wave,
devoured by the wave, and down we sink.
A small ring limits
our life, and many generations are perpetually being added to the infinite
chain of their existence.
So we see that Goethe
was at the same time a bold atheist and a humble theist: the first, in that
he firmly declined the idea of a God who governs the world from outside,
whom you may bribe by prayers, who, whenever he likes, may disregard the
laws of nature; the second, because he was thoroughly convinced of the existence
of superhuman powers to the influence of which man is subject.
To a more definite Weltanschauung (darsana)
Goethe evidently did not attain during his student's time, and it is just
this vacillating between the two extremes which seems to me to characterize
the student Goethe, as far as religion is concerned, and, indeed, in other
respects too.
We therefore take leave
here of young Goethe, and, overleaping the intermediate links of the next
decennia (a description of which is excluded by our plan), we turn to the
last quarter of our poet's life, with but occasional references to earlier
years.
Once more we must remember
here that Goethe was all his lifetime not an abstract thinker but a poet,
full of life, whose thinking always followed his feeling, rather than vice
versa. His confession concerning his study
of the history of philosophy, viz "in the most ancient men and schools I liked
best that poetry, [Page
10] religion,
and philosophy wholly blended into one" (Aus
meinem Leben, II) may, indeed, be claimed not only for
his youth but for all his life.
Such being the case,
it is only to be expected that the two great philosophical view-points known
in India as Advaita and Visistãdvaita, and
in the West as Idealism and Pantheism, have both been felt as
true by a man like Goethe, so that it is sometimes the one, sometimes the other,
view which predominates in his mind, as I have now to show.
Idealism (Advaita)
is the knowledge that "I am God" (aham brahmãsmi),
or, as the German mystic Angelus Silesius has put it: "without me God
could not subsist for one moment" (Ohn' mich könnnt' Gott nicht
einen Nu
bestehen); i.e., the knowledge that, although as an individual I am
a part of the world, yet there is a something in me which is beyond space,
time, and plurality, and therefore identical with the essence of all beings.
Now, as already explained,
the poem Prometheus is,
in a certain, respect, the expression of a positive religious feeling,
a half-conscious "I am
Brahman". And this Prometheus feeling in Goethe reached a more
philosophical aspect in the course of time.
In the Ultimatum composed
in 1822, Goethe calls out to the materialistic men of science:
You follow a false
track; do not think we are jesting! Is not the kernel of Nature in the heart
of man ?[Page
12]
In another poem of Goethe's, The
Wise and the People (Die
Weisen und die Leute), the latter ask:
But what is infinity
?
To which one of the sages (Parmenides) answers:
Why do you torment
yourself so much! Enter into your self ! If you do not find there infinity
in spirit and mind, then there is no hope for you!
This we may parallel
with such sayings as Kãthaka
Upanishad, II, 20:
Anor
anîyãn mahato mahîyãn ãtmãsya jantor
nihito guhãyãm.
Smaller than the smallest,
bigger than the biggest: thus the Self is dwelling in the heart of this creature.
And the same idea is
thus expressed in one of the latest poems of Goethe's entitled The Legacy,
(1829):
Truth
connecting noble souls had already been found a long time ago; ancient
Truth, lay hold of it! Son of the earth, give thanks for it to the
wise one who commanded her to turn round the sun and showed the course
also to the sister (the moon). And
now, at once, turn inwards: thou wilt find
the centre there; no noble man can doubt that.
Still
more distinctly the idea of the oneness of Âtman and Brahman, soul
and God, comes out in a stanza of a somewhat earlier date (Zahme Xenien
III):
Were not the eye sun-like,
never would it behold the sun; were not in us God's own power, how could
we be charmed by the divine ?
The
consequence, however, of this teaching, playing such an eminent part in
the East — the doctrine of Mãyã or the unreality of the
world — is
almost entirely [Page
13] absent from Goethe's works.
This must, I believe, be attributed to his deep affection for nature. Yet,
at the end of that work which he himself considers his ripest production
and his very life-work, at the end of Faust we read: Everything
transient is only a simile.
Further, in the Epirrhema,
the oneness and absolute inseparability of the visible universe and its invisible
essence having been asserted, Nature is called a true illusion and
a serious play .
And in All-Life we
have the idea of Mãyã, in the contrast of two similes:
God is said there to give life's simile by the image of the gnat — i.e.,
the play or the dance of the gnats, transitory, substanceless, a mere
spectacle; and a simile of Himself by the eyes of our lover, i.e.,
by the eternally inconceivable, complete self-renunciation and self-oblivion
shining forth from the eyes of true love.
Another idealistic
(advaitic) feature in the works of Goethe is the firmness with which he emphasises
over and over again the absolute transcendentality of God, notwithstanding
his immanence.
Speaking about the
name of God, Goethe says to Eckermann:
People
treat Him as if the inconceivable, absolutely unimaginable highest
being (das unbegreifliche, gar nicht auszudenkende höchste
Wesen) were not much more than their equal. Else they would not say:
the Lord, the dear God, the good God. He becomes to them, particularly
to the clergymen who talk of Him every day, a phrase, a mere name by which,
indeed, they really do not [Page
14] think any thing at all. Were
they
penetrated by His greatness, they would grow dumb and not dare to
name Him for veneration.
Again,
in the famous dialogue on God, between Faust and Margaret, the inconceivableness
of God is most emphatically expressed; and that in a way which reminds
one very much of the Buddha's way of deciding the question concerning the
nature of the deceased Tathãgata; and, further,
the knowing one will easily discover in it the Vedãntic assertion
of the oneness of the soul and God, Âtman and Brahman:
Margaret:...." Dost
thou believe in God ?
Faust:
My darling, who dares say:
Yes, I in God believe
?
Question a priest or
sage, and they
Seem, in the answer
you receive,
To mock the questioner.
Margaret: Then
thou dost not believe !
Faust:
Sweet one ! my meaning do not misconceive !
Him who dare name
And
who proclaim:
Him I believe ?
Who that can feel,
His heart can steel,
To
say: I believe him not ?
The All-embracer,
All-sustainer,
Holds and sustains
he not
Thee, me, Himself ?
Lifts not the Heaven
its dome above ?
Doth not the firm-set
earth beneath us lie ?
And beaming tenderly
with looks of love,
Climb not the everlasting
stars on high ?
Do
I not gaze into thine eyes ?
[Is not the gaze connecting
our souls a proof
of their being one with each other and with God?]
Nature's impenetrable
agencies, [Page
15]
Are they not thronging
on thy heart and brain,
Viewless, or visible
to mortal ken,
Around thee weaving
their mysterious chain ?
Fill thence thy heart,
how large soever it be;
And in the feeling
when thou utterly art blest,
Then
call it, what thou wilt,—
Call it Bliss ! Heart !
Love ! God!
[Âtman, Brahman]
I have no name for
it !
'
'Tis feeling all;
Name
is but sound and smoke
[Cf. Chãndogya-Upanisad, vi. I, Vãcãrambhanam
vikãrah]
Shrouding
the glow of heaven. [Translation by Anna Swanwick]
Very
remarkable too, from the idealistic (advaita) point of view, is the following
stanza of Goethe's on the Self (Âtman): [With which may be
compared Goethe’s objection to Kant, quoted below, and the saying to
Kanzler Müller on the Urtypus (Vogel Selbstzeugnisse p. 60)
You try to find a name for
men, and believe you know them by their names. He who looks deeper, freely
confesses to himself that there is something
anonymous in it.
The anonymous is
the Self in the Indian sense, i.e., soul and God at once, and therefore
necessarily "beyond the realm of thought and speech"
(Upanishads).
But
the predominant view of Goethe is not the idealistic antithesis of Self
and World, as we find it in the Sãmkhya system and in the Sãnkara-Advaita;
it is, on the contrary, the standpoint of identity seemingly
opposed to the former: the pantheistic idea of the All in One.[Page
16]
God
is the world, the world is God — this point of view, with all its
uncertainties and forebodings, has best suited the poetical mind of Goethe.
He likes to look at the world as the manifestation of God, and so
to use for both the one word God-Nature.
Meditating on the skull
of Schiller he exclaims:
What more can man gain
in life, but that God-Nature manifests Herself to him, how She makes the
solid to dissolve into spirit, how She keeps solid that which is spirit-born
?
And in Faust listening
at the bosom of nature he whispers:
How all things are
weaving themselves into one whole!
How one is working
and living in the other !
How celestial powers
are rising and descending, interchanging the golden buckets !
Again, in the Epirrhema we
read:
In contemplation of
Nature thou must always look at the one as at the all; nothing is inside,
nothing is outside; for what is inside, that is outside !
And in the Prooemion our
poet says:
In the name of Him
who created Himself from eternity according to His profession of creating
.... What were a God who could only push from outside, and make the universe
revolve at his finger! Him it behoves to move the world in its interior,
foster Nature within Himself, Himself in Nature!
Characteristic is Eckermann's
little tale:
People
had lately brought me a nest of young hedge-sparrows together with
one of the parents. Now I had to admire how the bird not only continued
feeding its young ones in the room, but even, if let out through the [Page
17] window, came back again
to them. A love like this, overcoming danger and captivity deeply moved
my heart, and today I expressed to Goethe my astonishment at it. Foolish
fellow,
he answered with a significant smile, "if you believed in God, you would
not wonder!......Did not God animate the bird with this almighty impulse
towards its little ones, and if the same did not take place with all
living beings of the whole creation, then the world could not exist!
Thus, however, divine force is spread everywhere and the eternal love
is effective everywhere."
The most magnificent
expression of Goethe's pantheism is Ganymedes, a poem, of about the
time of the Limits of Mankind. Ganymedes, the favourite
of the Gods, was taken away to heaven by Zeus in the form of an eagle:
with this idea in the background, the poem is meant to represent the poet's
ardent longing for liberation (moksa) in the sense of a union with God-Nature.
The poem begins with
an address to spring:
How,
in the splendour of morning, thou art glowing on me from every side, 0
Spring, beloved one; with thousandfold delight of love is thronging on
my heart the holy feeling, the infinite beauty of thy eternal warmth! oh
that I might keep thee within these arms of mine !
Ay, at thy bosom I
lie, languishing, and thy flowers, thy grass are pressing upon my heart.
Thou coolest the burning thirst of my bosom, lovely morning wind, when the
nightingale is calling out its love-cry to me from out the misty valley.
I am coming, I am coming! Whither ? Ah, whither ?
Upwards ! upwards it
is striving. The clouds are hovering downwards, the clouds are coming to
meet the yearning love. To me! To me! Upwards in your lap! Embracing, embraced
! Upwards to thy bosom, all-loving father! [Page
18]
It is, I believe, a most
interesting fact that, although Goethe was not acquainted with the Indian version
of the myth of Ganymedes,[This myth is probably of indo-European
origin, though the similarity of the names
Kãnva mêdhãtithi and Ganymêdês is
apparently but accidental. Otherwise the Greek story must be secondary, for
the Indian name is all right but the Greek one is problematical] his
poem has a more intimate relation to it than to the Greek one. The latter
is purely aesthetical and sensual; Zeus kidnaps Ganymedes because he wants
the beautiful youth as his cup-bearer. Goethe turns the story into the mystical:
he sees only the wonderful idea of the unio mystica, the
melting away of man into God, And the Indian version [Preserved in
the Bãskalamantra-Upanisad (published
with a Vrtti in the Descriptive Catalogue of the Sanskrit Manuscripts
in the Adyar Library, Vol I, Appendix) and in certain traces in the Samhitã and
Brãhmana literature] makes God (Indra) carry off the young
bard because of his fervent devotion, and makes Himself known to him during
the flight to heaven in a dialogue which must be reckoned among the most
beautiful productions of Indian literature. [For a German translation
of which (made from the Latin translation of the Persian translation and
consequently not altogether satisfactory) see Deussen, Sechzig Upanishads
des Veda, page
838 fil]
With regard to Indian
thought, then, Goethe's theological standpoint may be briefly characterized
as follows:
Theism (Dvaita), i.e.,
the assertion that God is both transcendent and personal, was early abandoned
by him [Page
19] and so much abhorred later
on as unworthy of God that he would prefer even the polytheist to the
theist. [Cf. the poem Grosse ist die Diana der Epheser, etc]
Pantheism (Vis'istãdvaita)
which denies that God-Nature (to use a term of Goethe himself) has an inside
and outside, or — especially when accused of
materialism or atheism — designates the world as a self-expression,
the visibleness, or body, as it were, of God, [Cf. Goethe’s
saying (Vogel
Selbstzeugnisse, p 35) “To speak of God and Nature as of different
things, is as difficult and dangerous as if we think separately of the body
and the soul. Neither can we have a knowledge of the soul without the mediation
of the body, nor of God unless we understand nature. Therefore it seems to
me absurd to accuse those of absurdity who by a highly philosophical
argumentation unite God with the world.’ ] was the view to which
Goethe felt most attracted, owing to his joy of action and attachment to " this
beautiful world”. [Letter to Lavater (Vogel, loc. cit. p 81)]
Idealism
(Advaita), where the reality of the many is renounced for the absoluteness
of the One, is in Goethe's writings like a beautiful star which alternately
appears to our sight and disappears, sometimes invisible for a long time,
sometimes hardly visible, sometimes visible in all its brilliancy.
Goethe's
idealism was confined to his feeling, to momentary flashes rather than
to any logical insight, whereas he was a pantheist both in feeling and
thinking. Sometimes he felt inclined to attack idealism, confounding it
with theism. This insecurity of attitude becomes intelligible if we realize
that idealism is at one with pantheism in asserting that there is nothing [Page
20] but God, and with theism
in the thesis that God is not the world but above nature, i.e., transcendent. [The
mutual relation of the three Darsanas is easily understood if we bear in
mind that God is (1) transcendent and personal in theism; (2) immanent and
impersonal in pantheism; (3) transcendent and impersonal in idealism. This
explains also why Christian theologians are, as a rule, more inclined to
tolerate or even accept idealism than pantheism. The personality of God in
Rãmãnuja’s
system is an inconsistency] The former idea was welcome to Goethe,
the latter he struggled against in vain.
This conflict, in Goethe,
between pantheism and idealism, of which he was, as a rule, not conscious,
finds an interesting expression in his relation to his old friend F. Jacobi,
one of the most eminent philosophers of the age of Kant. Jacobi had, under
the influence of Kant, attained to a standpoint which is commonly spoken
of as theism by historians of philosophy, but is essentially idealism. Jacobi's
God is pretermundane and without any
causal relation to the world, though the latter has no existence independent
of God. The theological theories of creation and miracles and the " natural
history of the Absolute" (of Schelling, etc.), are therefore equally wrong
to him because they involve God in time and cause and effect, thus making
Him relative and limited. According to Jacobi, God is so incomprehensible
that we can merely say that but never what He is. He reveals
Himself within us through immediate intuition, but not at all in the outer
world.[Page
21]
No wonder, then, that Goethe,
whose favourite idea it was that God reveals himself in the whole world,
outer and inner, did not feel quite comfortable when Jacobi began to expound
his views. When Jacobi's book
On Divine Things and Their Revelation had appeared,
which was mainly intended as a protest against the System of Identity,
of God and the world [Not to be confounded with the Indian Advaita which
means also identity (a-dvaita=non-two-ness)
but refers to the oneness, in the highest sense, of the Self and God] — i.e.,
pantheism — Goethe
wrote in his diary:
Jacobi,
' On divine things ' did not suit me well. How could the book of this
dearly beloved friend be welcome to me where I had to see the thesis
established: ' Nature hides God ' !... However, I did not indulge in
any painful indignation, but rather took refuge in my old asylum and
found my daily entertainment, for several weeks, in the Ethics of Spinoza.
For several weeks!
Surely, the impression of Jacobi's book cannot well have been a weak one.
And the cure, by means of Spinoza, did not after all prove radical. Over
and over again idealism looks forth from the writings of the old poet, though
he could never resolve to give up his pantheistic stronghold. And possibly
his attitude was not so far wrong. For it is a great question whether we
should try to transcend the knowledge that there is nothing but God, and
should not rather conclude from its contradictory nature that we have reached
with it the borders of our understanding, which cannot be transcended except
by mysticism. Goethe's objection to Kant is:
We
should not speak of things-in-themselves but
of the One-in-itself.........But to speak of this One — who is capable
to do so ? [Dialogue with Riemer, Vogel, loc. cit. p 45]
To
the intimate
contact with nature Goethe had actually reached, he
himself bears testimony in a letter to Frau von Stein:
How readable the
book of nature becomes to me, I cannot express to you.
And this is borne out
by many an incident of his life, one of which at least may be related here
in concluding our account of Goethe's idea of God-Nature.
One night Goethe was
found lying in his iron truckle-bed, which he had rolled to the window in
order to watch the sky. He said that somewhere a big earthquake was going
on, and he persisted in his opinion, though the others were unable to perceive
anything. Several weeks later the news came that on that very night a part
of Messina had been destroyed by an earthquake.
From the contemplation
of God we have now to turn to that of the
individual. What is the meaning of life to Goethe ? Did he share the
Christian idea of the world as a moral institution, and of men as mere
probationers for eternal beatitude or damnation ? Or had he a deeper and
more comprehensive conception of life's course and end ?
The very simple answer
to these questions is: through reincarnation.[Page
23]
This may, indeed, be unknown
and surprising to many people, even to professional Goethe expounders,
but it can none the less be proved unanswerably. [According to L Deinhard, Das
Mysterium des Menschen,
p 210 Goethe’s idea of reincarnation has been treated by Prof Max Seiling
in his book Goethe und der Materialismus (Leipzig 1904) p 61 et seq.
This book I have not seen so far, but I trust that it will not make superfluous
what I am going to say]
That
the materialistic idea of the soul as a product of the body was not approved
by Goethe, need hardly be said. But probably it is less well known that
he had an original proof for the existence of the soul [Sit venia
verbo. It is undesirable, in papers like this, to dispense with such
words, vague though they be] as a separate entity. It is given in the
following words to Eckermann:
The tenaciousness (Hartnackigkeit)
of the individual, and the shaking off by man of what is not suitable to
him, is to me a proof that such a thing (a separate soul) exists. — Leibniz
has had similar ideas on such independent beings, using the term Monad
for that which we designate by Entelechie.
[This term Goethe borrowed from Aristotle, according to whom every
product of nature (being the oneness of form and matter) develops
from a stage of latency through a stage of unfolding to a stage of complete
expression or realisation (entelecheia). It seems that Goethe
chose the term with regard to the tenacious being which, though
existing from the beginning, is fully manifest only in the stage of manhood,
as it were, the stage of sthiti or stability, to use an Indian term]
Dying,
therefore, far from being the end of the soul, is rather an escaping, a
growing pale of the soul-light abandoning matter. [Dialogue with
Riemer; Vogel, Selbstzeugnisse, page 134] [Page
24]
And not to any eternal
heaven or eternal hell does the soul go, but from birth it passes to birth
until it reaches liberation.
So far as I can see,
Goethe came to the belief in reincarnation from at least six sides.
(1) He found it impossible
to imagine originating. Speaking on the
foundations of natural science he says:
The
conception of originating (der Begriff von Entstehen) is altogether
unthinkable for us; hence, when we see something becoming, we think
that it existed already.
And in a stanza:
[The place of which I cannot find at present]
Whence, then, should
come a something, had it not existed long since ?
(2) He found it
equally impossible to imagine a cessation of existence.
To
Kanzler Müller he said [In a saying the exact wording of
which is not preserved to us; Vogel page 137] that it was altogether
impossible to a thinking being to imagine non-being, a ceasing of thought and
life. In this regard everybody was carrying within himself and quite involuntarily
the proof of his immortality.
And to Eckermann:
I
have the firm conviction that our spirit is a being of wholly indestructible
nature; it continues producing its effects from eternity to eternity;
it resembles the sun which seems to set but to our earthly eyes, which,
however, properly speaking, sets not at all, but continues shining [Page
25]
without end ..... Every Entelechie
is a piece of eternity, and the few years it is connected with the earthly
body do not make it old.
And to Falk:
There can be
no idea of annihilation. (An eine Vernichtung ist gar
nicht zu denken.)
(3) He had rightly
recognized that the law of the conservation of force needs to be understood
not only cosmically but also individually, if development in the wider sense
(Darwin) is thinkable at all. He consequently combined it with the law
of economy he had not failed to
discover in nature, so closely watched by him.
Referring to Wieland's
death he said to Falk:
Never and under no
circumstances can we speak of an annihilation in nature of such high soul-forces;
she never disposes so extravagantly of her capital. Wieland's soul is by
nature a treasure, a real jewel, to which we must add, that his long life
has not diminished but augmented these spiritually beautiful talents.
And to Eckermann he
confessed:
I do not doubt our
continuance, for nature cannot miss the Entelechie.
And the same idea
is implied in the beautiful aphorism [Die Natur;
loc cit page 130]
She [Nature] has introduced
me, she will lead me out. I entrust myself to her. She may dispose of me; she
will not hate her work.
(4) Closely connected
with this argument is a fourth one which appears to have been practically
the strongest of all to Goethe. He said to Eckermann: [Page
26]
The conviction of our continuance
is proved to me by the
conception of activity; for, if I work restlessly up to my end, it
is the duty of nature to assign me another form of existence, when the present
one is not able any longer to endure my mind.
(5) He believed
in what the Indian calls pûrva-janma-sambandha, a
continuation of pre-natal connections. Of this we shall speak presently.
(6) Goethe was
influenced by Leibniz' monadology, of which
reincarnation is nothing but a logical consequence. This influence is
especially clear in the following sayings to Falk [Vogel loc cit page 134]
Some of these monads .
. . . are so small, so insignificant, that they qualify themselves at best
for a subordinate service and existence. Others, however, are very strong
and powerful. The latter, therefore, are wont to draw everything approaching
them into their circle. Only the latter I would call souls, properly
speaking. Death is the setting free of the subordinate monads by the higher
one and the separation from each other of the single ones. There is no question
of annihilation; but to be stopped on the way by a powerful and at the same
time vile monad and to be subordinated to it, this danger has no doubt something
inimical in it and the fear thereof I, for my part, could not quite remove
by the way of a mere contemplation of nature.
Taking all this together,
it is quite unmistakable that Goethe had no
possibility of avoiding the theory of repeated births; and, that he
actually embraced it to the fullest extent, I shall now show by some remarkable
instances.
We have already seen,
in the second example to the second argument above, how Goethe compared [Page
27] death
and birth with the setting and rising of the sun. [The same idea
in the dialogue with Riemer; Vogel loc cit page 134] In an analogous
way in the little poem, " Song of the Spirits over
the Waters", the coming and going of the Entelechie is compared with the
falling down of the water as rain and its consequent ascending again to
the sky in the form of vapour, followed again by the downfall, etc.
The soul of man is
like the water: from the sky it comes, to the sky it ascends, and down again
to earth it is forced, eternally changing.
Exactly
the same idea appears as follows in "God, Mind, and World":
And thus it comes down
to the earth again, that to which earth gave origin. Just like that we are
also bred; now consolidated, then evaporated.
And in a letter to
Mrs. Yon Stein, Goethe says:
I
have a strong longing to get away from here. The spirits of the old times
do not allow me here a single happy hour. . . . How good it is that man dies
precisely to extinguish the expressions and comes back bathed. '
[Referring to the Greek idea of Lethe, Oblivion, the river in
which the dead bathe] Also the continuance
on other planets is a matter of serious consideration
to him.
Some
years before his death (1825) he wrote to the chancellor Müller:
Besides, I should
not know what to do with eternal beatitude, unless it would offer me new
tasks and [Page
28] difficulties to be conquered.
But these will be provided. We need only look at the planets and the sun:
there we shall also have nuts enough to crack.
Probably in this sense
also his saying to Countess Stolberg [Vogel loc cit page 137] must
be understood:
In our father's empire
there are many provinces.
Again, in Wanderjahre III,
we have the striking sentence (cf. the Bodhisattva renouncing Nirvâna):
We hope that such an
Entelechie will not altogether leave our solar system, but having arrived
at its borders, will long to come back again, to enter once more terrestrial
life and beneficence, in favour of our great-grandsons.
One of the most interesting
instances of Goethe's belief in reincarnation is his metric letter to Mrs.
Von Stein of the 14th of April of 1776. Here we have the Indian and likewise
Platonic idea that two persons who perfectly understand and love each other
must have lived in some intimate union already before this life. The philosophical
exposition of this idea of
prenatal connection is the subject of the poem Wiederfinden,
(" Meeting
again, Re-discovery ") which we shall deal with later on in connection
with the problem of evolution.
The
letter is the practical application of this ancient belief. Goethe was
connected by a deep friendship with Mrs. Von Stein, the wife of a Prussian
minister. It seemed to our poet as well as to her that she was just the
only existent complement to his own mind, and consequently both had to
suffer a good deal from [Page 29] the
impossibility of being constantly united. "How
are we to explain this painful state of ours" the poet asks in the letter:
Say: what is fate
going to prepare for us ?
Say: how did it bind
us so purely, so exactly ?
And the answer follows:
Ah, in
times past thou used’st to my sister or my wife; used’st to
know every feature of my character and to watch how the purest nerve was
sounding ; and with one look thou wert able to read me, who am so hard
to be penetrated by mortal eye. Thou would'st pour moderation on the hot
blood, directing its wild, erring course, and in thy angelic arms the torn
heart would respire again......And of all that a remembrance only is
hovering about the uncertain heart: it never ceases feeling the old truth,
and the new state becomes pain to it.
If it be objected that
all this is mere poetry, that Goethe never seriously believed in these things,
we may refer the doubter to a letter of Goethe's to Wieland containing the
following prose saying on the very same
point:
I cannot explain to
myself the significance of the power which this woman has over me, unless
by metempsychosis. Yes, we were once man and wife.
And
this he often repeated later on, and he also spoke of the Roman Emperor
Hadrian as his grand-uncle, and of his friend Boisserée as having
lived on the Nether-Rhine in the fifteenth century. [Bode, Meine Religion,
etc., 2nd edition, page18 fll. This idea of meeting again is not, after
all, so fanciful as it appears to be. For, granting the reality, in this life,
of psychical forces tending to unite and re-unite certain persons, and granting
the
tenaciousness of the individual and its pre-natal and post-mortem
existence, — why should not these forces go on exercising their influence
also beyond the grave ?[Page
30]
Even the act of Reincarnation has
been described by Goethe in a poem, the most wonderful poem, perhaps, existing
in the West, and, it need hardly be added, one of the most misunderstood.
[The honour of having first recognized the real meaning of the poem,
must, I believe, be ascribed to Dr. Hûbbe-Schleiden]
In this poem, which
evidently shows that Goethe thought of reincarnation as taking place in the
way of the chemical attractions, the sensual pleasure of the parents is compared
with a flame, and the reincarnating soul with a
butterfly attracted by the flame and burnt in it — a really grand
image partly evoked, as it seems, by the soul-butterfly of Greek art and of
Celtic and other folklore. The poem is entitled Selige Sehnsucht, Blessed
Longing,
that means: "The Longing of the deceased", namely, for reincarnation;
but the original title was Vollendung (Perfection) referring
to the poet's view of life as an evolution, as is also evident from the third
verse calling the act of reincarnation a "higher copulation".
Even the beginning
of the poem is characteristic. As many an Upanishad
ends with the emphatic exhortation not to impart its secret teaching
to anybody who is not one's son or disciple (nãputrãya nãsisyãya),
so Goethe begins his Upanishad with the words:
Tell
it to nobody, only to the wise ones — for the multitude will but scoff
at it — the ever-living I will praise, how it is longing for death in
the flame !
The poet now addresses
the soul-butterfly:
In the delight of the
nights of love which generated thee [i.e., in former births], and in which
thou generatest [Page
31] [as a father or mother],
a strange feeling is overcoming thee [the attraction of the parental aura],
when the quiet candle is glowing.
No longer
thou stayest shrouded within the shadow of darkness [i.e., the post-mortem state],
and a new longing is carrying thee away to a higher copulation.
No distance is a hindrance
to thee, thou comest flying, under the ban [i.e., the aforesaid attraction],
and, at last, greedy for light, thou, 0 butterfly, art burnt.
The last verse is for
the public:
And
as long as you have not obtained this 'Die and be born !'
so long you are but a dull guest on the dark earth.
The
most convenient title to this incomparable poem would perhaps have been
a saying of Heraclitus the Dark, referring likewise to the act of reincarnation: "It
is a pleasure to the souls to become wet [and fall into birth]", or another
saying of the same: "For it is death to the souls to become water", to
which may, for explanation, be added a third one: "Hades and Dionysos [i.e.,
death and birth] are the same".
Looking back again
and surveying once more the materials collected as testimonials of Goethe's
belief in reincarnation, we are necessarily struck by the fact that most
of them are not from the works proper, but from the letters and private conversations
of our poet. And here, then, we have the answer to the question why Goethe's
belief in reincarnation has up to the present day remained an unknown thing,
not only to the great public but even to the majority of Goethe [Page
32] enthusiasts. To a man so
full of the joy of action as was Goethe, the certainty of a continued activity
of the individual in ever new lives must have been a precious possession;
it was his holy secret of which he spoke plainly only to his intimate
friends, on which he avoided publicity as one avoids informing the public
of one's love affairs. In his publications he was intentionally dark wherever
he touched that belief, and how perfectly he succeeded, every one can easily
convince himself by taking into his hand H. Düntzer's famous commentary
on Goethe's poems.
Intimately connected
with the belief in metempsychosis is, in India, the belief in Karman, — an
ethical law of causation. Had Goethe any idea like it?
Of course, we must
not expect to find with Goethe anything like the anthropocentric popular
belief in Karman as a law of retribution for gods, men, and philosophizing
animals. The unreasonableness of any such view has been well elucidated by
Mrs. Besant, in one of her lectures, by the short sentence : “There
is no connection between money and virtue".
But we may very well
ask whether Goethe believed, in another and deeper sense, in the teaching
expressed in the sentence: " Whatsoever a man soweth, that also shall he
reap".
The answer to this
is contained in the significant words Goethe spoke to Eckermann on the first
of September, 1829: [Page
33]
We are not all immortal in the same way, and, in order to manifest one's
self in future a« a great Entelechie, one must also be one.
Which means: Man is reborn as what he has made himself;
if he has worked at his character, he will have a satisfactory rebirth; if he
has neglected himself, has become weak and subjected to vices, the circumstances
of his rebirth will naturally be unfavorable.
Nothing can be clearer
than this. But still a second question waits also to be answered, and it
is this: Are we totally our own work, or only on the whole or partially
?
This question leads
us once more to a striking agreement between Goethe and India.
The long and passionate
dispute in India on Karman, free-will and necessity, (on the history
of which a big book will be written some day), had, generally speaking, produced
the knowledge that at least two factors have to be recognised as making man
and his life, namely, purusa-kara, human activity and daiva, "the
divine, the fatally ordained". This distinction is up to the present day
maintained with the Jains, whereas with the Hindus the difference is obscured
by the word Karman being applied (with what right, is another question)
to both of these factors.
Quite an analogous
conclusion was arrived at by Goethe, nay, he even used to call the second
factor by a word which might appear to be a translation of [Page
34] the Samskrt daiva,
namely, das Dämonische, the demoniac .
Goethe was perfectly
aware that every Entelechie is inevitably unfree to a certain extent,
namely, in that it is only a limb of a higher whole and consequently, besides
going its own way, is used as an instrument by that higher unit. In
accordance with this he distinguished between those actions and events of
ours the causation of which we see, as it were, with our eyes, and those
other ones for which we cannot find any karmic explanation, and which appear
to us as the work of some unintelligible higher power ( providence ).
The latter Goethe calls the demoniac, or, occasionally, the dear
thing, "the dear thing they call God, or however it's called", " the
dear invisible thing that leads and trains me", and the like; and he has
uttered quite a number of important sayings on it, some of which are the
following:
Although that demoniac may manifest
itself in everything corporeal and incorporeal, nay, expresses itself in
a most remarkable way with the animals, it is most wonderfully connected
especially with man, and it forms a power though not opposed to the moral
order of things, yet thwarting it. [Aus meinem Leben, iv]
.....the demoniac which usually accompanies every passion and finds its proper
element in the love between man and wife.
As a checking, retarding
power, the demoniac often shows itself also in the history of the world.
Every extraordinary
man has a certain mission which he is called to execute. After he has accomplished
it, he [Page 35] is
no longer wanted on earth in this form, and providence employs him again
for something else.
Every productivity
of the highest kind, every important aperçu, every invention, every
great thought bringing fruits and having consequences, is in nobody's power
and beyond all terrestrial might...... In such cases man is often to be
regarded as an instrument of a higher government of the world, as a receptacle
found worthy for receiving a divine influence.
The
higher a man, the more is he under the influence of the demons.[All
these sayings are from Eckermann’s Dialogues with Goethe.]
We are coming now to
the problem of evolution. What is the course of the migrating soul, what
its beginning and what its end, provided there be beginning and end ?
The general answer
to this question is given by the already mentioned poem, Wiederfinden (Meeting
again). It shows that in this respect also Goethe stands on classical
ground, namely, on the ground of Empedoklean-Platonic philosophy. The process
of the world consists of two periods: a period of increasing diminution or
differentiation, and a period of increasing growth or unification. In the
first period Neikos or egotism becomes stronger and stronger; in the second
period it is conquered more and more, and, at last, is completely overcome
by Philotes or altruism. In the first period the One becomes many, in the
second the many become One again. So in the first period separation is the
ruling principle, in the second period union. And this union is not a [Page
36] vague one: it is fancied
by our poet, in a mystical way, to be a re-union of those who had
been separated in the period of differentiation. Thus the problem of love
is solved to him, and thus he begins his cosmogonic poem with a passionate
salutation to his love, looked for unconsciously by him for millenniums and
now found at last:
Is
it possible, star of stars, do I press thee to my heart again
? Ah, what an abyss and pain is the night of farness ! Yes, thou
art it, the sweet, dear partner of my pleasures ! Mindful of
past sufferings, I shudder, thinking of the present.
And now the poet proceeds
to explain the night of farness by describing, first, the creation
of the world, i.e., the process of differentiation, and then, the retro-creation,
so to say, — the process of re-integration, or unification up to his
present Wiederfinden.
While
the world was lying in the deepest depth on the eternal breast
of God, He, with august desire of creating, fixed the first hour.
And he spoke the word: "Let there be !" Then a painful Alas was
heard, when the All, with a gesture of power, broke out into
reality.
This corresponds to
the death of God in Empedokles’ poem: Mighty hatred,
it is said there, i.e., mighty egotism, "mighty hatred was gradually destroying
the limbs of God ". Goethe continues:
Light appeared and thus Darkness shyly parted from it; and all at
once the elements, separating, fled asunder. Rapidly, in wild, vague dreams
each was striving for farness, with tenacity in unmeasured voids, without longing, [Without
Love, the uniting factor] without harmony.[Page
37]
And thus, at last, the state of complete dissolution
is reached, the Chaos so beautifully described in the poem of Empedokles by the
words: "There the glorious frame of the sun does not welcome us, nor the hairy
body of the earth, nor the sea; for the All was hateful and loveless and uncondensed".
And now, hardly perceptible at first but constantly growing, the adversary of
egoism appears: the Moryenröte, dawn, as Goethe calls it
— the striving for oneness: love.
Silent was everything, still and desert,
lonesome was God for the first time ! Then He created dawn: she had compassion
on the torture: she developed for the afflicted a sounding play of colours,
and what first fell asunder now could love again.
And with hasty
endeavour those who belong together are looking for each other; and to unmeasured
life, feeling and look are turned. Whether it be a seizing, whether
a snatching: if they do but take and keep each other ! Allah need no
longer create [There is a bit of irony in this, the theistic idea
being here voiced by Goethe not as his own but as that of the people.
For his anti-theism, see above, page 19 etc..] we create
his world.
In the poem Soul
of the World (Weltseele), this theory of cosmic expansion and
contraction, of the exhaling and inhaling of Brahman, is likewise alluded
to. But we can hardly learn from it anything essentially new. There are,
however, some other passages which complete, as we shall see, in a remarkable
way the picture of the soul returning to God.
If we ask for the end of
the process, the answer given by the poem Wiederfinden seems to be, that [Page
38] it is the complete ceasing
of individuality, the absorption into God. So it would result that the great
question of liberation (moksa) was decided by Goethe in favour of the
highest of the four states taught by Brahmin philosophy: the sãyujya or complete
union of pure Advaita. And this is so. Although it doubtless suited better
the heart of the poet longing for activity to believe in an eternal development,
and, indeed, he sometimes expressed himself to that effect, yet he was not
able to resist the knowledge, proclaimed by Buddha and Sankara and other
deep thinkers, that every individual separate existence, even the
highest imaginable, is necessarily imperfect, and that, consequently, all life is pain, in the deepest sense, and therefore redemption from life, absorption
into God, is logically the highest goal of man.
Compare the following
sayings:
0 that I might at last be filled out by thee, Eternal One ! Alas,
this long, long torment on earth, how lasting it is!
I am longing for
home;
I have no more business in the world (Letter to Herder).
All of
us suffer from life.
Alas, at the breast of earth we are born for sorrow
!
Ah, I am tired of the world !
For what all that pain and pleasure ?
Sweet
peace,
Come, ah, come into
my heart!
Observe that the peace
Goethe is yearning for, is a deliverance from pain and pleasure, sukha-duhkhavimoksa,
i.e., Nirvãna.[Page
39]
This idea of Nirvãna
is most conspicuous in the first verse of the poem "One and All":
To find itself absorbed in the Absolute the individual would willingly
disappear. There all satiety dissolves; instead of hot wishing, wild willing,
instead of tiresome demanding, and the strict you must — to give
up one's self, is a bliss.
And another saying:
Man
would not be the most noble creature on earth, if he
were not too noble for it.
When, then,
will moksa be reached, and under what conditions ?
Thales in Faust speaks
of the development of individuality "through thousands and thousands of forms,
and till thou reachest mankind thou hast time", to which is added a few
lines later:
For,
no sooner hast thou become man, than it is all over
with thee.
And at the end of Faust we
read that the earthly life of both Margaret and Faust directly terminates
with liberation.
This clearly shows
that Goethe shared the Indian view, so much emphasized particularly in Buddhism,
that human existence is precisely the only condition of life where
the redeeming knowledge, i.e., the knowledge of the unreality of the ego
(anattã), can be reached and must be reached in the course
of time. And it seems further to show that Goethe, like Schopenhauer, concluded
from this that with the highest form of mankind the line of development [Page
40] comes to an end, and that
therefore we need not admit the existence of superhuman beings.
But this is not so.
For it can be proved by many instances that Goethe believed in the existence
of superhuman beings.
In the poem, Das Göttliche (The
Divine ), he exclaims:
Hail
to the unknown higher beings whom our hearts divine
!
And in another poem,
( One and All ), we read:
Good
spirits, highest masters, gently leading, guide with
sympathy to Him who was and is creating everything.
And the whole of Faust is
pervaded by this belief.
Thus, if we want to
unite this belief with the above-mentioned ideas of our poet on liberation,
then there is only one way left open to us: we must assume that Goethe believed
in something like the krama-mukti or "
gradual liberation " of the Vedãnta, i.e., that, in his belief, not
directly extinction [This term is unsatisfactory because it expresses
but negative side of the event. But since the positive side cannot be expressed
by words and since the other Brahmanic terms, apavarga, moksa, etc, either
means the same as Nirvãna or are too wide, it is best to use the Buddhist
term] (nirvãna), but first only sãmîpya "nearness" (sc.,
of God) can be reached. So the superhuman beings asserted by Goethe would correspond
to the muktas or redeemed ones in the latter sense — the unseen
helpers of God . And this is, indeed, the teaching of the whole last
scene of Faust (II) with its " angels, fathers, mothers,and penitents".
They enjoy the nearness of [Page
41] God — the forerunner
of absolute moksa. They have overcome all conspicuous earthly deficiencies,
but their work of self-perfection is not yet completely finished. This is shown
by the facts: (1) that they are individuals; (2) that also Margaret and Faust,
though liberated, continue as separate beings; (3) that there are younger angels
and more perfect Angels; and, finally, that even the latter directly
confess that they have still to bear '' some remnant of earthly existence" (einen
Erdenrest), which, although seemingly an excellence, is not cleanly.
There are further two
separate poems which evidently evince this belief of Goethe's in a gradual
liberation with the extinction at the end. The one points already
by its title to the two states in question: the nearness and oneness, sãmîpya and sãyujga.
For it is entitled, "The higher and the highest " (Hoheres und Hochstes),
and its description of Heaven concludes as follows:
And
now I am more easily passing everywhere through the
eternal spheres which are permeated by the pure essence
of the word of God.
No
check to the longing impulse, no end is to be found
there, until in the contemplation of eternal
love we pass away, [Ver-schweben. cf Nirvãna] we
disappear.
The other little poem,
called Cirrus, has its name from the technical designation of the
highest clouds: it describes the passing away of the soul from sãmîpya to
sãyujya, by comparing it with a dissolving cirrus or feather-cloud.[Page
42]
And always higher the noble impulse is ascending. Liberation is a
heavenly light restraint. A heaped up mass, it dissolves into small
flakes, tripping like lambkins, lightly combed, in a crowd. Thus at last that
which easily originated below, quietly floats within the reach and hand of
the father above.
And so I also believe that likewise the last stanza
of Faust, the words of the chorus Mysticus, refers to the end of sãmîpya,
i.e., to nirvana or final liberation, and not, as in all the previous
verses, to sãmîpya. For even the most perfect angels belong
to the transient, to that which is called here a mere symbol,
and which is said to be replaced, in this final Nirvãna, by something
absolutely unimaginable.
Everything transient is only a symbol; here, the inadequate becomes
an event.
These words, are they
not a striking counterpart of the last words of the dying Buddha ?
Vaya-dhammã sankhãrã; appamãdena sampãdetha!
All things existent
are subject to decay; strive for perfection with incessant care !
And the way to perfection ? Already as a
student Goethe found the answer to this question, viz., in the works of Spinoza. "That
which particularly attracted me to him", he says, "was the boundless disinterestedness shining
forth from every sentence. That strange word: ' Who loves God in the right way,
must not desire that God love him again 'with all the premises on which it is
based, with all the consequences springing from it, was filling all my mind.
To be disinterested in everything, most disinterested [Page
43] in love and friendship, was my
highest wish, my maxim, my practice, so that that bold later word: ' When I love
you, what's that to you ? ' is just as if spoken from my heart".
And in another passage
he says: "Our physical as well as social life, customs, manners, art of life,
philosophy, religion, nay, even many an accident, all are crying out to us that
we shall renounce."
[Italics in the original Aus meinem Leven, xvi]
And this is also the
key to the last part of Faust, as Goethe himself tells us. Faust is
taking up an altruistic activity, and in the same degree the contract with
the devil, Mephistopheles (Mãra), ceases to be binding, until
at last he cannot hinder Faust from being redeemed by the " eternal love
coming to his assistance from above."
Saved is this noble soul from ill,
Our spirit-peer. Whoever
Strikes forward with unswerving will —
Him can we aye deliver;
And if with him celestial love
Hath taken part — to meet him,
Come down the angels from above;
With cordial hail
they greet him. [Anna Swanwick]
So we have the satisfaction, at the end of our
enquiry, of stating that the practical philosophy of Goethe is in exact harmony
with that of the Bhagavad-Gîta: liberation by means of an unwavering altruistic
activity, and, finally, of an irrational factor besides, divine love.
|