The Story of My Life
GA 28
Chapter XXIV
[ 1 ] So this question became a part of my experience: “Must one remain speechless?”
[ 2 ] With this shaping of my mental life I then faced the necessity of introducing into my outer activity an entirely new note. No longer could the forces which determined my outward destiny remain in such unity with those inner directive tendencies which came from my experience of the spiritual world, as had till now been true.
[ 3 ] For a long time previously I had thought of bringing to bear upon my age through a journal those spiritual impulses which I believed ought to be brought before the public of that time. I would not be “speechless,” but would say as much as it was possible to say.
[ 4 ] To found a newspaper myself was something not to be thought of at that time. The necessary funds and the connections essential to the founding of such a paper were utterly lacking to me.
[ 5] So I seized the opportunity which came to me to secure the editorship of the Magazin fur Literatur.
[ 6 ] This was an old weekly. It was founded in the year of Goethe's death (1832), at first as the Magazin für Literatur des Auslandes.1Magazine for Foreign Literature. It carried translations of whatever foreign productions in all aspects of the intellectual life the editors thought worthy of being incorporated into the intellectual life of Germany. Later on the weekly was changed into a Magazin für die Literatur des In- und Auslandes.2Magazine for German and Foreign Literature. Now it contained poetry, character studies, criticism, from the whole expanse of the intellectual life. Within certain limits it was able to do well in this task. Its activity thus defined fell at a time when a sufficiently large number of persons in the German-speaking regions desired each week to have whatever was “forthcoming” in the intellectual sphere laid before their minds in brief, summary fashion. Then in the 'eighties and the 'nineties, when the new literary objectives of the younger generation entered into this peaceful and superior way of sharing in the intellectual, the Magazine was soon swept into this movement. Its editorship was rather suddenly changed, and it took its colour for the time being from those who in one way or another belonged to the new movements. When I succeeded in securing it in 1897, it was in close relationship with the strivings of the young literature without having placed itself in strong opposition to what lay outside these strivings. But at all events it was not in a position to maintain itself financially solely on the basis of its contents. For this reason it had become, among other things, the organ of the Freie literarische Gesellschaft.3Free Literary Society. This added a little to the otherwise no longer extensive subscription list. But, in spite of all this, the situation was such in connection with my taking over of the Magazine that one had to include all the subscribers, even the less certain ones, in order just barely to reach the minimum needed for a livelihood. I could take over the paper only in case I could include as part of my work an activity which seemed likely to increase the circle of subscribers. This was the activity of the Free Literary Society. I had so to determine the content of the paper that this Society should be adequately represented. In the Free Literary Society one expected to find those who had an interest in the productions of the younger generation. The headquarters of the Society was at Berlin, where younger Littérateurs had founded it. But it had branches also in many other German cities. Of course, it soon came about that many a “branch” led a very distinctive existence of its own. It now became my task to deliver lectures before this Society in order that the mediation of intellectual life which was to be effected by the Magazine should also be given a personal expression.
[ 7 ] I had thus a circle of readers for the Magazine into whose intellectual needs I had to find my way. In the Free Literary Society I had an organized group which expected something quite definite because something quite definite had till now been offered them. In any case they did not expect that which I should have liked to give them from my innermost being. The stamp of the Free Literary Society was determined by the fact that it wished to form a sort of opposite to the Literarische Gesellschaft4The Literary Society. to which such persons, for instance, as Spielhagen gave the predominant tone.
[ 8 ] It was now a necessity of my status within the spiritual world that I should truly share in a wholly inward fashion in this relationship into which I had entered. I made every effort to root myself in my circle of readers and in the membership of the Society in order to discover out of the spiritual nature of these men the forms into which I should have to pour what I wished in a spiritual way to give them.
[ 9 ] I cannot say that I had yielded to illusions at the beginning of this activity and that these were gradually destroyed. But the very fact of working outward from the circle of readers and hearers, as it was necessary for me to do, met with greater and greater opposition. One could count upon no strong and earnest spiritual motive on the part of the men who had been drawn about the Magazine before I took it over. The interests of these men were only in a few cases deeply rooted. And even in the case of these few there were no strong underlying forces of the spirit, but rather a general desire seeking for expression in all sorts of artistic and other intellectual forms. So the question soon arose for me whether I was justified inwardly and before the spiritual world in working within this circle. For, even though many persons who were concerned were very dear to me, although I felt bound to them by ties of friendship, yet even these belonged among those persons who caused the question to arise with respect to that which I vitally experienced within me: Must one be speechless?
[ 10 ] Then another question arose. In regard to a great many persons who had until now come into near and friendly relations with me, I was privileged to feel that, although they did not go along with me very far in our mental life, yet they assumed something in me which gave value in their eyes to whatever I did in the sphere of knowledge, and in many other sorts of life relationships. They so often shared in my way of life, without further testing of me, after we had come into relationship.
[ 11 ] Those who had till now published the Magazine had no such feeling. They said to themselves: “In spite of many traits of a practical life in Steiner, he is nevertheless an idealist.” And since the sale of the Magazine had been made under such conditions that partial payments were to be made to the former owner within the course of the year, and that this person had the chief interest in point of fact in the continuance of the weekly, therefore from his point of view he could not do otherwise than to provide for himself, and for the affair in hand, another guarantee than that consisting in my own personality, regarding which he was unable to say what effect it would have within the circle of persons who had till now rallied about the Magazine and the Free Literary Society. Therefore it was added to the terms of the purchase that Otto Erich Hartleben should be co-editor, sharing actively in the work.
[ 12 ] Now in reflection upon the orientation of my editorial work I would not have had it different. For one who stands within the spiritual world must, as I have made clear in the preceding pages, learn to know fully through experience the facts of the physical world. And this had become for me, especially by reason of my mental revolution, an obvious necessity. Not to yield to that which I clearly recognized as the forces of destiny would have been to me a sin against my experience of the spirit. I saw not only “facts” which then associated me for some years with Otto Erich Hartleben, but “facts woven by destiny” (Karma).
[ 13 ] Yet there resulted from this relationship insurmountable difficulties.
[ 14 ] Otto Erich Hartleben was a person absolutely dominated by the aesthetic. There was something appealing to me in every manifestation of his utterly aesthetic philosophy, even in his gestures, in spite of the really questionable milieus in which he often met me. Because of this attitude of mind he felt the need, every now and then, of staying for months at a time in Italy. And, when he returned, there was actually something Italian in what came to expression out of his nature. Besides, I felt a strong personal affection for him.
[ 15 ] Only it was really impossible to work jointly at what was now our common field. He did not direct his efforts in the least toward transplanting himself into the sphere of ideas and interests pertaining to the readers of the Magazine or the circle of the Free Literary Society, but wished in both cases to “impose” what his aesthetic feelings said to him. This acted upon me like something alien. Besides, he often insisted upon his right as a co-editor, but also often did this not at all for a long while. Indeed, he was often absent in Italy for a long time. In this way there came to be a certain lack of consistency in the Magazine. And, with all his “ripe aesthetic philosophy,” Otto Erich Hartleben could never overcome the “student” in himself. I mean the questionable aspect of “studentship,” not, of course, that which may be brought into later life as a beautiful force of one's existence out of one's student days.
[ 16 ] At the time when I had to bind myself to him, an added circle of admirers had become his on account of his drama Die Erziehung zur Ehe.5Education for Matrimony. This production had not come into existence at all from the graceful aesthetic which was so charming in one's association with him; it was the product of that “exuberance” and “unrestraint” which caused everything that came from him, both by way of intellectual productions, and also in his decisions regarding the Magazine, to issue, not from the depths of his nature, but from a certain superficiality – the Hartleben known to very few of his personal associates.
[ 17 ] It came about, as a matter of course, that, after I removed to Berlin, where I had to edit the Magazine, I associated with the circle formed about Otto Erich Hartleben. For this was the one that rendered it possible for me to supervise what pertained to the weekly and to the Free Literary Society in the manner necessary.
[ 18 ] This caused me, on the one hand, much suffering; for I was thus hindered from seeking out those men, and getting close to them, with whom delightful relationships had existed in Weimar. And how I should also have enjoyed calling frequently on Eduard von Hartmann!
[ 19 ] Nothing of this sort happened. The other side claimed me wholly. And so at one stroke much was taken from me of a valuable human element which I would gladly have retained. But I recognized this as a dispensation of destiny (Karma). It has always been perfectly possible for me, by reason of the substratum of the soul which I have here described, to apply my mind with complete interest to two such utterly different human groups as those associated with Weimar and those existing round the Magazine. Only neither of these groups would have found any permanent satisfaction in a person who associated by turns with those belonging in soul and mind to polarically opposed world spheres. Besides, I should have been forced in such an intercourse to explain continually why I was devoting my labour exclusively to that service to which I was obliged to devote it by reason of what the Magazine was.
[ 20 ] More and more it became clear to me that I could no longer place myself in such a relationship to men as I have described in connection with Vienna and Weimar. Littérateurs assembled and learned in literary fashion to know one another as little littérateurs. Even with the best, even in the case of the most clearly marked characters, this element of the writer (or painter or sculptor) was so deeply embedded in the soul that the purely human retired wholly into the background.
[ 21 ] Such was the impression I received when I sat among these persons, much as I valued them. All the deeper for this reason was the impression which I myself received of the human soul background. Once after I had given a lecture, and O. J. Bierbaum a reading, in the Free Literary Society in Leipzig, I sat amid a group in which was also Frank Wedekind. I could not take my eyes from this truly rare figure of a man. I use the term “figure” here in a purely physical sense. Such hands! – as if from a previous earthly life in which they had achieved things such as only those men can achieve who cause their spirits to stream into the most delicate branching of the fingers. This may have given an impression of brutality, because energy had been used up in work, yet the deepest interest was attracted to what streamed forth from those hands. And that expressive head – altogether like a gift of that which came from the unusual note of will in the hands. He had something in his glance and the play of his features which gave itself so arbitrarily to the world, but which especially could withdraw itself again, like the gestures of the arms expressing what the hands felt. A spirit alien to the present time spoke from that head. A spirit that really set itself apart from the human impulses of the present. Only a spirit that could not inwardly attain to clear consciousness as to which world of the past was that to which he belonged As a writer – I express now only what I perceived in him, and not a literary judgment – Frank Wedekind was like a chemist who utterly rejects contemporary views in chemistry and practises alchemy, even this without sharing inwardly in it but with cynicism. One could learn much about the working of the spirit on the form if one received into the vision of the soul the outer appearance of Frank Wedekind. In this, however, one must not employ the look of that sort of “psychologist” who “proposes to observe man,” but the look which shows the purely human against the background of the spiritual world through an inner dispensation of destiny, which one does not seek, but which simply comes.
[ 22 ] A person who notices that he is being observed by a “psychologist” may justly be indignant; but the passing over from the purely human relationship to “perceiving the spiritual background” is also purely human, somewhat like passing from a casual to an intimate friendship.
[ 23 ] One of the most unusual personalities of Hartleben's Berlin circle was Paul Scheerbarth. He had written poems which at first appeared to the reader arbitrary combinations of words and sentences. They are so grotesque that one for this reason feels oneself drawn on to get beyond the first impression. Then one finds that a fantastic sense for all sorts of generally unobserved meanings in words strives to bring to expression a spiritual content derived from a fantasy of soul, not only without foundation, but not in the least seeking for a foundation. In Paul Scheerbarth there was a vital inner cult of the fantastic, but one that moved in the sought-out forms of the grotesque. It is my opinion that he had the feeling that the man of wit should set forth whatever he does set forth only in grotesque forms, because others tease everything into humdrum form. But this feeling of his will not develop even the grotesque into rounded artistic form, but in a lordly, purposely senseless mood of soul. And what was revealed in these grotesque forms must spring from the inner realm of the grotesque. There was a basic quality of soul in Paul Scheerbarth of not seeking for clarity in reference to the spiritual. What comes out of common sense does not go over into the region of spirit – so said this “fantast.” Therefore one does not need to be sensible in order to express spirit. But Scheerbarth made not one step from the fantastic to fantasy. And so he wrote out of a spirit that was interesting but remained fixed in the wild fantastic, a spirit in which whole worlds of the cosmos gleam and glisten as framework for stories caricaturing the realm of spirit and yet containing elevated human experiences. Such is the case in Tarub, Bagdad's berühmte Köchin.6Tarub, Bagdad's Famous Cook.
[ 24 ] One did not see the man in this light when one came to know him personally. A bureaucrat, somewhat lifted up into the spiritual. The “outer appearance,” which was so interesting in Wedekind, was in him quite ordinary, commonplace. And this impression was still further strengthened if one entered into conversation with him in the early stages of one's acquaintance. He bore within him the most burning hatred of the Philistines, but had the gestures of a Philistine, their manner of speech, and behaved as if the hatred came out of the fact that he had taken on too much from Philistine circles in his own appearance and was conscious of this and yet had the feeling that he could not overcome it. One read at the bottom of his soul a sort of recognition: “I should like to annihilate the Philistines because they have made me one of themselves.”
[ 25 ] But if one passed from this outer appearance to the inner nature of Paul Scheerbarth independent of this, there was revealed an altogether fine spirit-man, only fixed in the grotesque-fantastic, and remaining incomplete. Then one realized in his “luminous” head, in his “golden” heart, the manner in which he stood in the spiritual world. One had to say to oneself what a strong personality, penetrating in vision into the realm of spirit, might there have come into the world if that incomplete had been at least in some measure completed. One saw at the same time that the “devotion to the fantastic” was already so strong that even a future completion during this earthly life was no longer within the realm of the possible.
[ 26 ] In Frank Wedekind and Paul Scheerbarth there stood before me personalities who, in their whole being, afforded the most significant experience to one who knew the truth of the repeated earthly lives of men. They were, indeed, riddles in the present earthly life. One perceived in them what they had brought with them into this earthly life, and an unlimited enrichment of their whole personalities stood forth. But one understood also their incompletenesses as the result of earlier earthly lives which could not in the present spiritual environment reach complete unfolding. And one saw how that which might come out of these incompletenesses needed future earthly lives.
[ 27 ] Thus did many personalities of this group stand before me. I recognized that meeting them was for me a dispensation of destiny (Karma).
[ 28 ] A purely human, heartfelt relationship I could never win even with that so entirely lovable Paul Scheerbarth. It was always the case that in our intercourse the littérateur in Paul Scheerbarth, as in the others, invariably intervened. So my feelings for him, affectionate to be sure, were finally restricted to the attention and interest which I was impelled to feel for his personality, in such high measure noteworthy.
[ 29 ] There was, indeed, one personality in the group whose living presence was not that of a littérateur but in the fullest sense human – W. Harlan. But he talked little, always really sitting as a silent observer. When he spoke, however, his talk was always either in the best sense brilliant or else genuinely witty. He really wrote a great deal, but not exactly as a littérateur; rather as a man who must speak out what he had in his mind. It was just at that time that the Dichterbörse7Poets' Exchange had come from his pen, a representation of life full of excellent humour. I was always glad when I came somewhat early to our meetings and found Harlan, as the first arrival, sitting there all alone. One then got close to him. I exclude him, therefore, when I say that in this group I found only littérateurs and no “persons.” And I think he understood that I had to view the group in this light. Utterly different paths of life soon bore us far apart.
[ 30 ] The men associated with the Magazine and the Free Literary Society were evidently woven into my destiny. But I was in no manner whatever woven into theirs. They saw me appear in Berlin, became aware that I would edit the Magazine and work for the Free Literary Society, but did not understand why I should do this. For the way in which, as regards the eyes of their minds, I went about among them, offered them no inducement to go more deeply into me. Although there did not cling to me a single trace of theory, yet my spiritual activity appeared to their theoretical dogmatizing as something theoretical. This was something in which they, as “artistic natures,” thought they need take no interest.
[ 31 ] But I learned in direct perception to know an artistic current in its representatives. This was no longer so radical as that appearing in Berlin at the end of the 'eighties and in the early years of the 'nineties. It was also no longer such that it represented absolute naturalism as the salvation of art – as in the theatrical transformation under Otto Brahms. They were without any such comprehensive artistic conviction. They relied more upon that which streamed together out of the wills and the gifts of individual personalities, which was, however, utterly without any unified endeavour toward style.
[ 32 ] My place within this group became mentally unendurable because of the feeling that I knew why I was there but the others knew not.
Chapter XXIV
[ 1 ] Und die Frage wurde Erlebnis: muß man verstummen?
[ 2 ] Mit dieser Gestaltung meines Seelenlebens stand ich damals vor der Notwendigkeit, in meine äußere Wirksamkeit eine ganz neue Note hineinzubringen. Die Kräfte, die mein äußeres Schicksal bestimmten, konnten weiterhin nicht eine solche Einheit sein mit den inneren Richtlinien, die sich aus meinem Erleben der Geistwelt ergaben, wie bisher.
[ 3 ] Ich hatte schon seit längerer Zeit daran gedacht, in einer Zeitschrift die geistigen Impulse an die Zeitgenossenschaft heranzubringen, von denen ich meinte, daß sie in die damalige Öffentlichkeit getragen werden sollten. Ich wollte nicht «verstummen», sondern so viel sagen, als zu sagen möglich war.
[ 4 ] Selbst eine Zeitschrift zu gründen, was damals etwas, woran ich nicht denken konnte. Die Geldmittel und die zu einer solchen Gründung notwendigen Verbindungen fehlten mir vollständig.
[ 5 ] So ergriff ich denn die Gelegenheit, die sich mir ergab, die Herausgeberschaft des «Magazin für Literatur zu erwerben.
[ 6 ] Das war eine alte Wochenschrift. Im Todesjahr Goethes (1832) ist sie gegründet worden. Zunächst als «Magazin für Literatur des Auslandes». Sie brachte Übersetzungen dessen, was die Redaktion an ausländischen Geistesschöpfungen auf allen Gebieten für wertvoll hielt, um dem deutschen Geistesleben einverleibt zu werden. - Später verwandelte man die Wochenschrift in ein «Magazin für die Literatur des In- und Auslandes». Jetzt brachte sie Dichterisches, Charakterisierendes, Kritisches aus dem Gesamtgebiet des Geisteslebens. Innerhalb gewisser Grenzen konnte sie sich mit dieser Aufgabe gut halten. Ihre so geartete Wirksamkeit fiel in eine Zeit, in der im deutschen Sprachgebiete eine genügend große Anzahl von Persönlichkeiten vorhanden war, die jede Woche in kurz überschaulicher Weise das vor die Seele gerückt haben wollten, was auf geistigem Gebiete «vorging». - Als dann in den achtziger und neunziger Jahren in diese ruhig-gediegene Art, das Geistige mitzumachen, die neuen literarischen Zielsetzungen der jungen Generation traten, wurde das «Magazin» wohl bald in diese Bewegung mithineingerissen. Es wechselte ziemlich rasch seine Redakteure und bekam von diesen, die in den neuen Bewegungen in der einen oder der andern Art drinnen standen, seine jeweilige Färbung. - Als ich es 1897 erwerben konnte, stand es den Bestrebungen der jungen Literatur nahe, ohne sich in einen stärkeren Gegensatz zu versetzen gegen das, was außerhalb dieser Bestrebungen lag. - Aber jedenfalls war es nicht mehr in der Lage, sich allein durch das finanziell zu halten, was es inhaltlich war. So war es unter anderm das Organ der «Freien literarischen Gesellschaft» geworden. Das ergab zu der sonst nicht mehr ausreichenden Abonnentenzahl Einiges hinzu. Aber trotz alledem lag bei meiner Übernahme des «Magazin» die Sache so, daß man alle, auch die unsichern Abonnenten zusammennehmen mußte, um gerade knapp noch einen Stand herauszubekommen, bei dem man sich halten konnte. Ich konnte die Zeitschrift nur übernehmen, wenn ich mir zugleich eine Tätigkeit auferlegte, die geeignet erschien, den Abonnentenkreis zu erhöhen. - Das war die Tätigkeit in der «Freien literarischen Gesellschaft». Ich mußte den Inhalt der Zeitschrift so einrichten, daß diese Gesellschaft zu ihrem Rechte kam. Man suchte in der «Freien literarischen Gesellschaft» nach Menschen, die ein Interesse hatten für die Schöpfungen der jüngeren Generation. Der Hauptsitz dieser Gesellschaft war in Berlin, wo jüngere Literaten sie gegründet hatten. Sie hatte aber Zweige in vielen deutschen Städten. Allerdings stellte sich bald heraus daß manche dieser «Zweige» ein recht bescheidenes Dasein führten Mir oblag nun in dieser Gesellschaft Vortrage zu halten um die Ver mittlung mit dem Geistesleben die durch das «Magazin» gegeben sein sollte auch persönlich zum Ausdruck zu bringen.
[ 7 ] Ich hatte somit für das «Magazin» einen Leserkreis, in dessen geistige Bedürfnisse ich mich hineinfinden mußte. Ich hatte in der «Freien literarischen Gesellschaft» eine Mitgliederschaft, die ganz Bestimmtes erwartete, weil ihr bisher ganz Bestimmtes geboten worden war. Jedenfalls erwartete sie nicht das, was ich ihr aus dem Innersten meines Wesens heraus hätte geben mögen. Das Gepräge der «Freien literarischen Gesellschaft» war ja auch dadurch bestimmt, daß sie eine Art Gegenpol gegen die «Literarische Gesellschaft» bilden sollte, in der Persönlichkeiten wie z. B. Spielhagen tonangebend waren.
[ 1 ] Es lag nun an meinem Drinnenstehen in der geistigen Welt, daß ich diese Verhältnisse, in die ich da eintrat, wirklich ganz innerlich mitmachte. Ich versuchte ganz, mich in meinen Leserkreis und in den Mitgliederkreis der «Gesellschaft» zu versetzen, um aus der Geistesart dieser Menschen die Formen zu finden, in die ich zu gießen hatte, was ich geistig geben wollte.
[ 8 ] Ich kann nicht sagen, daß ich mich beim Beginn dieser Wirksamkeit Illusionen hingegeben hätte, die mir nach und nach zerstört worden wären. Aber gerade das Wirken aus Leser- und Zuhörerkreis heraus, das mir angemessen war, stieß auf immer größere Widerstände. Es war mit keinem ernsten, durchgreifenden Geistes-Zug bei dem Menschenkreis zu rechnen, den das «Magazin» um sich gesammelt hatte, bevor ich es übernommen hatte. Die Interessen dieses Kreises waren nur bei Wenigen tiefgreifend. Und auch bei den Wenigen lagen nicht starke Kräfte des Geistes zugrunde, sondern mehr ein allgemeines Wollen, das in allerlei künstlerischen und sonstigen geistigen Formen sich ausleben wollte.
[ 9 ] Und so trat denn an mich bald die Frage heran, ob ich es vor meinem Innern und vor der geistigen Welt verantworten konnte, in diesem Kreise zu wirken. Denn wenn mir auch viele Persönlichkeiten, die da in Betracht kamen, sehr lieb waren, wenn ich auch freundschaftlich mich ihnen verbunden fühlte, so gehörten auch sie dem, was in mir lebte, gegenüber doch zu denen, die zu der Frage führten: «Muß man verstummen?»
[ 10 ] Dazu kam ein Anderes. Von einer großen Anzahl von Menschen, die mir bisher freundschaftlich nahe standen, durfte ich, nach ihrem Verhalten zu mir, die Empfindung haben, sie gehen zwar in ihrem eigenen Seelenleben nicht sehr weit mit dem meinigen mit; aber sie setzen etwas in mir voraus, das mein Tun auf dem Erkenntnisgebiet und in mancherlei Lebensverhältnissen ihnen wertvoll erscheinen ließ. Sie stellten sich so oft ungeprüft, nach ihren Erlebnissen mit mir, zu meinem Dasein.
[ 11 ] Die bisherige Herausgeberschaft des «Magazin» empfand nicht so. Sie sagte sich, trotz mancher Züge von Lebenspraxis in ihm ist der Steiner doch eben «Idealist». Und da der Verkauf des «Magazin» so bewirkt wurde, daß im Laufe der Jahre Raten an den bisherigen Besitzer zu zahlen waren, daß dieser auch die stärksten sachlichen Interessen an dem Fortbestand der Wochenschrift hatte, so konnte er, von seinem Gesichtspunkte aus, gar nicht anders, als sich und der Sache noch eine andere Garantie schaffen, als diejenige, die in meiner Person lag, von der er nicht sagen konnte, wie sie innerhalb des Menschenkreises wirken werde, der um «Magazin» und «Freie literarische Gesellschaft» sich bisher zusammengefunden hatte. Daher wurde mit zur Bedingung des Kaufes gemacht, daß Otto Erich Hartleben als Mitherausgeber zeichnen und tätig sein solle.
[ 12 ] Nun möchte ich in der Rückschau auf diese Tatsachen heute nicht, daß bei der Einrichtung meiner Herausgeberschaft irgend etwas anders gekommen wäre. Denn der in der Geisteswelt Stehende muß, wie ich in dem Vorangehenden beschrieben habe, die Tatsachen der physischen Welt voll durch Erleben kennen lernen. Und mir war das insbesondere durch meinen Seelenumschwung zu einer selbstverständlichen Notwendigkeit geworden. Nicht hinzunehmen, was ich als die Kräfte des Schicksals deutlich erkannte, wäre mir eine Versündigung gegen mein Geist Erleben gewesen. Ich sah nicht nur «Tatsachen», die mich damals für einige Zeit mit Otto Erich Hartleben zusammenstellten, sondern «schicksal(karma-) gewobene Tatsachen».
[ 13 ] Aber es ergaben sich doch aus diesem Verhältnisse nicht zu bewältigende Schwierigkeiten.
[ 14 ] Otto Erich Hartleben war ein durch und durch von Ästhetik beherrschter Mensch. Als graziös empfand ich alles, was sich aus seiner restlos ästhetischen Weltauffassung bei ihm, bis in seine Gesten hinein, offenbarte, trotz des oft recht fragwürdigen «Milieus», in dem er mir entgegentrat. Er hatte aus dieser Haltung seiner Seele heraus das Bedürfnis, immer wieder monatelang sich in Italien aufzuhalten. Und wenn er von da zurückkam, da lag in dem, was von seinem Wesen in die Erscheinung trat, selbst ein Stück Italien. - Dazu hatte ich eine persönliche starke Liebe zu ihm.
[ 15 ] Allein ein Zusammenarbeiten auf dem uns nun gemeinsamen Felde war eigentlich unmöglich. Er war gar nicht daraufhin orientiert, sich in Ideen- und Interessengebiete des Magazinleserkreises oder des Kreises der «Freien literarischen Gesellschaft» «hineinzuversetzen», sondern er wollte eben an beiden Orten «durchsetzen», was ihm seine ästhetische Empfindung sagte. Das wirkte auf mich wie ein mir fremdes Element. Dabei machte er sein Recht, mitzuarbeiten, oftmals geltend, aber oftmals ganz lange Zeit hindurch auch nicht Er war ja auch oft lange in Italien abwesend. So kam etwas ganz Uneinheitliches in den Inhalt des «Magazin» - Und bei all seiner «reifen ästhetischen Weltanschauung» konnte Otto Erich Hartleben den «Studenten» in sich nicht überwinden. Ich meine die fragwürdigen Seiten der «Studentenschaft», natürlich nicht das, was als schöne Daseinskraft aus der Studentenzeit in das spätere Leben hinübergetragen werden kann.
[ 16 ] Als ich mit ihm mich zusammenzuschließen hatte, war ihm ein weiterer Verehrerkreis wegen seines Dramas: «Die Erziehung zur Ehe» zugefallen. Das Werk war durchaus nicht aus dem Graziös-Ästhetischen hervorgegangen, das im Umgange mit ihm so reizvoll wirkte; es war gerade aus der «Ausgelassenheit» und «Ungebundenheit» hervorgegangen, die alles, was als geistige Produktion und auch als Entscheidungen gegenüber dem «Magazin» von ihm kam, doch nicht aus der Tiefe seines Wesens, sondern aus einer gewissen Oberflächlichkeit kommen ließen. Den Hartleben des persönlichen Umganges kannten nur Wenige.
[ 17 ] Es ergab sich als etwas Selbstverständliches, daß ich nach meiner Übersiedelung nach Berlin, von wo aus ich das «Magazin» redigieren mußte, in dem Kreise verkehrte, der mit Otto Erich Hartleben zusammenhing. Denn es war derjenige, der mir die Möglichkeit gab, was zur Wochenschrift und zur «Freien literarischen Gesellschaft» gehörte, so zu überschauen, wie es notwendig war.
[ 18 ] Das brachte mir auf der einen Seite einen großen Schmerz. Denn dadurch wurde ich verhindert, die Menschen aufzusuchen und ihnen näher zu kommen, mit denen von Weimar her schöne Verhältnisse bestanden. Wie lieb wäre es mir auch gewesen, Eduard v. Hartmann öfters zu besuchen.
[ 19 ] All das ging nicht. Die andere Seite nahm mich voll in Anspruch. Und so wurde von einem mir werten Menschlichen mit einem Schlage manches von mir genommen, was ich gerne behalten hätte. Aber ich erkannte das als eine Schicksals- (karmische) Fügung. Mir wäre es aus Seelenuntergründen heraus, die ich hier charakterisiert habe, durchaus möglich gewesen, zwei so grundverschiedenen Menschenkreisen wie dem mit Weimar zusammenhängenden und dem um das «Magazin» bestehenden, meine Seele mit vollem Interesse zuzuwenden. Allein keiner der Kreise hätte auf die Dauer an einer Persönlichkeit irgendwelche Freude gehabt, die abwechselnd mit Menschen verkehrte, die in bezug auf Seele und Geist polarisch entgegengesetzten Weltgebieten angehörten. Auch wäre es ja unvermeidlich geworden, bei solchem Verkehr fortwährend zu rechtfertigen, warum ich mein Wirken ausschließlich in den Dienst stelle, in den ich es, wegen dessen, was das «Magazin» war, stellen mußte.
[ 20 ] Immer mehr trat mir vor die Seele: solche Art, Menschen gegenüberzustehen, wie ich sie für Wien, für Weimar hier beschreiben durfte, war nun unmöglich geworden. Literaten kamen zusammen, und literarisch lernten sich Literaten kennen. Selbst bei den Besten, auch bei den ausgeprägtesten Charakteren grub sich dies Literarische (oder auch Malerische, Bildhauerische) so tief in das Wesen der Seele, daß das rein Menschliche ganz in den Hintergrund trat.
[ 21 ] Solchen Eindruck bekam ich, wenn ich zwischen diesen - von mir doch geschätzten - Persönlichkeiten saß. Auf mich selbst machten dafür die menschlichen Seelen-Hintergründe einen um so tieferen Eindruck. In der «Freien literarischen Gesellschaft» in Leipzig saß ich einmal nach einem Vortrage von mir und einer Vorlesung O. J. Bierbaums mit einem Kreise zusammen, in dem auch Frank Wedekind war. Mein Schauen war wie gefesselt von dieser wahrhaft seltenen Menschen-Gestalt. Ich meine hier «Gestalt» ganz im physischen Sinne. Diese Hände! Wie aus einem vorigen Erdenleben, in denen sie Dinge verrichtet haben, die nur von Menschen verrichtet werden können, welche ihren Geist bis in die feinsten Fingerverzweigungen strömen lassen. Mag das dann, weil Energie verarbeitet worden ist, den Eindruck von Brutalität gegeben haben; das höchste Interesse wurde angezogen von dem, was diese Hände ausstrahlten. Und dieser ausdrucksvolle Kopf - ganz wie eine Gabe dessen, was aus den besonderen Willensnoten der Hände kam. Er hatte in Blick und Mienenspiel etwas, das sich so willkürlich der Welt geben, aber namentlich auch von ihr sich zurückziehen konnte, wie die Gesten der Arme durch die Empfindung der Hände. Ein der Gegenwart fremder Geist sprach aus diesem Kopfe. Ein Geist, der sich eigentlich außer das Menschentreiben dieser Gegenwart stellt. Der nur nicht innerlich zum Bewußtsein darüber kommen konnte, welcher Welt der Vergangenheit er angehört. Als Literat war - ich meine jetzt nur das, was ich an ihm schaute, kein literarisches Urteil - Frank Wedekind wie ein Chemiker, der die gegenwärtigen Ansichten der Chemie ganz von sich geworfen, und der Alchemie, aber auch diese nicht mit innerem Anteil, sondern mit Zynismus treibt. Man konnte viel von der Wirkung des Geistes in der Form kennen lernen, wenn man die äußere Erscheinung Frank Wedekinds in die Seelenanschauung hereinbekam. Dabei darf man allerdings nicht mit dem Blicke desjenigen «Psychologen» vorgehen, der «Menschen beobachten will», sondern mit dem, der das rein Menschliche auf dem Hintergrunde der Geistwelt durch innere geistige Schicksaisfügung zeigt, die man nicht sucht, sondern die herankommt.
[ 22 ] Ein Mensch, der bemerkt, er werde von einem «Psychologen» beobachtet, der darf ärgerlich werden; der Übergang aber von dem rein menschlichen Verhältnis zu dem «auf geistigem Hintergrunde schauen» ist auch rein menschlich, etwa wie der von einer flüchtigen zu einer intimeren Freundschaft.
[ 23 ] Eine der eigenartigsten Persönlichkeiten des Hartleben'schen Berliner Kreises war Paul Scheerbarth. Er hat «Gedichte» geschrieben, die dem Leser zunächst wie willkürliche Wort- und Satzzusammenstellungen vorkommen. Sie sind so grotesk, daß man deswegen sich angezogen fühlt, über den ersten Eindruck hinauszugehen. Dann findet man, daß ein phantastischer Sinn allerlei sonst unbeachtete Bedeutungen in den Worten sucht, um einen geistigen Inhalt zum Ausdruck zu bringen, der nicht minder aus einer bedenlosen, aber einen Boden überhaupt gar nicht suchenden Seelen-Phantastik heraus stammt. In Paul &heerbarth lebte ein innerer Kultus des Phantastischen; aber der bewegte sich in den Formen des gesucht Grotesken. Er hatte, nach meiner Auffassung, das Gefühl, der geistvolle Mensch dürfe, was er darstellt, nur in grotesken Formen darstellen, weil andere alles ins Philiströse zerren. Aber dies Gefühl will auch das Groteske nicht in gerundeter künstlerischer Form entwickeln, sondern in souveräner, gesucht unbesonnener Seelenverfassung. Und was sich in diesen grotesken Formen offenbart, das muß dem Gebiet der inneren Phantastik entspringen. Ein nicht nach Klarheit suchender Seelenzug nach dem Geistigen lag bei Paul Scheerbarth zugrunde. Was aus der Besonnenheit kommt, das geht nicht auf geistige Regionen, so sagte sich dieser «Phantast». Deshalb darf man, um Geist auszudrücken, nicht besonnen sein. Aber Scheerbarth tat auch keinen Schritt von der Phantastik zur Phantasie. Und so schrieb er aus einem in der interessanten, aber wüsten Phantastik steckengebliebenen Geist heraus, in dem ganze kosmische Welten als Rahmenerzählungen flimmern, schillern, das Geistgebiet karikieren und ebenso gehaltene Menschenerlebnisse umschließen. So in «Tarub, Bagdads berühmte Köchin».
[ 24 ] Man sah den Mann nicht so, wenn man ihn persönlich kennen lernte. Ein Bureaukrat, etwas ins Geistige gehoben. Die «äußere Erscheinung», die bei Wedekind so interessant war, bei ihm alltäglich, philiströs. Und dieser Eindruck erhöhte sich noch, wenn man in der ersten Zeit der Bekanntschaft mit ihm ins Gespräch kam. Er hatte in sich den glühendsten Haß auf die Philister, hatte aber die Gesten der Philister, deren Sprechweise, zeigte sich so, als ob der Haß davon käme, daß er aus Philisterkreisen zuviel in die eigene Erscheinung aufgenommen hatte und das spürte; aber zugleich das Gefühl hatte, er könne es nicht bekämpfen. Man las auf dem Grunde seiner Seele eine Art Bekenntnis: Ich möchte die Philister vernichten, weil sie mich zum Philister gemacht haben.
[ 25 ] Ging man aber von dieser äußeren Erscheinung zu dem von ihr unabhängigen inneren Wesen Paul Scheerbarths, so enthüllte sich ein ganz feiner, nur eben im Grotesk-Phantastischen steckengebliebener, geistig unvollendeter Geistmensch. Dann erlebte man mit seinem «hellen» Kopf, mit seinem «goldenen» Herzen die Art mit, wie er in der Geist-Welt stand. Man mußte sich sagen, welch eine starke, in die Geistwelt schauend dringende Persönlichkeit hätte da in die Welt treten können, wenn das Unvollendete wenigstens bis zu einem gewissen Grade vollendet worden wäre. Man sah zugleich, daß das «Bekenntnis zur Phantastik» schon so stark war, daß auch eine Vollendung in der Zukunft dieses Erdenlebens nicht mehr im Bereich der Möglichkeit lag.
[ 26 ] In Frank Wedekind und Paul Scheerbarth standen Persönlichkeiten vor mir, die in ihrem ganzen Wesen dem, der die Tatsache der wiederholten Erdenleben des Menschen kannte, höchst bedeutsame Erlebnisse gaben. Sie waren ja Rätsel in dem gegenwärtigen Erdenleben. Man sah bei ihnen auf das, was sie sich in dieses Erdenleben mitgebracht hatten. Und eine unbegrenzte Bereicherung ihrer ganzen Persönlichkeit trat auf. Man verstand aber auch ihre Unvollkommenheiten als Ergebnisse früherer Erdenleben, die in der gegenwärtigen geistigen Umgebung nicht voll zur Entfaltung kommen konnten. Und man sah, wie das, was aus diesen Unvollkommenheiten werden konnte, künftige Erdenleben brauchte.
[ 27 ] So stand noch manche Persönlichkeit dieses Kreises vor mir. Ich erkannte, daß, ihr zu begegnen, für mich Schicksalsfügung (Karma) war.
[ 28 ] Ein rein menschliches, herzliches Verhältnis konnte ich auch zu dem so durch und durch liebenswürdigen Paul Scheerbarth nicht gewinnen. Es war doch so, daß im Verkehr der Literat in Paul Scheerbarth, wie in den andern auch, immer durchschlug. So waren meine allerdings liebevollen Empfindungen für ihn doch durch die Aufmerksamkeit und das Interesse zuletzt bestimmt, die ich an seiner in so hohem Grade merkwürdigen Persönlichkeit nehmen mußte.
[ 29 ] Eine Persönlichkeit war allerdings in dem Kreise da, die sich nicht als Literat, sondern im vollsten Sinne als Mensch darlebte, W. Harlan. Aber der sprach wenig, und saß eigentlich immer wie ein stiller Beobachter da. Wenn er aber sprach, so war es immer entweder im besten Sinne geistreich, oder echt witzig. Er schrieb eigentlich viel, aber eben nicht als Literat, sondern als ein Mensch, der aussprechen mußte, was er auf der Seele hatte. Damals war von ihm gerade die «Dichterbörse» erschienen, eine Lebensdarstellung voll köstlichen Humors. Ich harte es immer gern, wenn ich etwas früher in das Versammlungslokal des Kreises kam und erst Harlan ganz allein dasaß. Man kam sich dann nahe. Ihn nehme ich also aus, wenn ich davon spreche, daß ich in diesem Kreise nur Literaten und keine «Menschen» gefunden habe. Und ich glaube, er verstand, daß ich den Kreis so ansehen mußte. Die ganz verschiedenen Lebenswege haben uns bald weit auseinandergeführt.
[ 30 ] Es waren die Menschen um «Magazin» und «Freie literarische Gesellschaft» deutlich in mein Schicksal verwoben. Ich aber war nicht auf irgend eine Art in das ihrige verwoben. Sie sahen mich in Berlin, in ihrem Kreise auftauchen, erfuhren, daß ich das «Magazin» redigieren und für die «Freie literarische Gesellschaft» arbeiten wolle; aber verstanden nicht, warum gerade ich dies tun solle. Denn so, wie ich für ihre Seelenaugen unter ihnen herumging, hatte es für sie nichts Verlockendes, auf mich tiefer einzugehen. Obwohl in mir keine Spur Theorie steckte, kam ihrem theoretischen Dogmatisieren mein geistiges Wirken wie etwas Theoretisches vor. Das war etwas, wofür sie als «künstlerische Naturen» glaubten, kein Interesse haben zu dürfen.
[ 31 ] Ich lernte aber durch unmittelbare Anschauung eine künstlerische Strömung in ihren Repräsentanten kennen. Sie war nicht mehr so radikal wie die Ende der achtziger und in den ersten neunziger Jahren in Berlin auftretenden. Sie war auch nicht mehr so, daß sie wie die Theater-Umwandlung Otto Brahms einen Voll-Naturalismus als die Rettung der Kunst hinstellte. Sie war ohne eine solche zusammenfassende Kunstüberzeugung. Sie beruhte mehr auf dem, was aus dem Willen und den Begabungen der einzelnen Persönlichkeiten zusammenströmte, das aber auch ein einheitliches Stilstreben ganz entbehrte.
[ 32 ] Meine Lage innerhalb dieses Kreises wurde seelisch unbehaglich wegen des Gefühls, daß ich wußte, warum ich da war, die andern nicht.
Chapter XXIV
[ 1 ] And the question became an experience: must one fall silent?
[ 2 ] With this shaping of my soul life, I was then faced with the necessity of introducing a completely new note into my external effectiveness. The forces that determined my outer destiny could no longer be as unified as before with the inner guidelines that resulted from my experience of the spirit world.
[ 3 ] I had been thinking for some time of bringing the spiritual impulses to the contemporary community in a magazine, which I felt should be brought to the attention of the public at the time. I didn't want to "fall silent", but to say as much as was possible to say.
[ 4 ] Founding a magazine myself was something I couldn't think of at the time. I completely lacked the funds and the connections necessary for such a foundation.
[ 5 ] So I seized the opportunity that came my way to acquire the editorship of the "Magazin für Literatur.
[ 6 ] This was an old weekly magazine. It was founded in the year of Goethe's death (1832). Initially as a "magazine for literature from abroad". It brought translations of what the editors considered to be valuable foreign intellectual creations in all fields in order to be incorporated into German intellectual life. - Later, the weekly was transformed into a "magazine for literature at home and abroad". Now it brought poetry, characterization and criticism from the entire field of intellectual life. Within certain limits, it was able to hold its own with this task. Her activity of this kind came at a time when there was a sufficiently large number of personalities in the German-speaking world who wanted to have what was "going on" in the intellectual field brought to their attention in a concise manner every week. - When, in the eighties and nineties, the new literary aims of the younger generation entered into this calm and dignified way of participating in the spiritual, the "Magazin" was soon swept up in this movement. It changed its editors quite quickly and received its respective coloring from those who were involved in the new movements in one way or another. - When I was able to acquire it in 1897, it was close to the aspirations of the young literature, without being more strongly opposed to what lay outside these aspirations. - But in any case, it was no longer able to sustain itself financially through its content alone. Among other things, it had become the organ of the "Freie literarische Gesellschaft". This added a lot to the otherwise insufficient number of subscribers. But despite all this, when I took over the "Magazin", the situation was such that I had to gather together all the subscribers, including the uncertain ones, in order to just barely manage to maintain a level at which I could hold on. I could only take over the magazine if I also took on an activity that seemed suitable to increase the number of subscribers. - That was the activity in the "Freie literarische Gesellschaft". I had to organize the content of the journal in such a way that this society would come into its own. The "Freie literarische Gesellschaft" was looking for people who had an interest in the creations of the younger generation. The headquarters of this society was in Berlin, where younger writers had founded it. However, it had branches in many German cities. However, it soon turned out that some of these "branches" led a rather modest existence It was now up to me to give lectures in this society in order to personally express the connection with intellectual life that was to be provided by the "magazine".
[ 7 ] I thus had a circle of readers for the "Magazin" whose intellectual needs I had to find my way into. In the "Freie literarische Gesellschaft" I had a membership that expected very specific things because it had been offered very specific things up to that point. In any case, they did not expect what I could have given them from the very core of my being. The character of the "Freie literarische Gesellschaft" was also determined by the fact that it was to form a kind of antithesis to the "Literarische Gesellschaft", in which personalities such as Spielhagen set the tone.
[ 1 ] It was now up to my inner state in the spiritual world to really participate in the circumstances I was entering. I tried to put myself completely in my circle of readers and members of the "Society" in order to find the forms from the spiritual nature of these people into which I had to pour what I wanted to give spiritually.
[ 8 ] I cannot say that when I began this work I indulged in illusions that were gradually destroyed. But it was precisely the work among readers and listeners, which was appropriate for me, that met with ever greater resistance. The circle of people that the "Magazin" had gathered around itself before I took it over could not be expected to show any serious, penetrating spirit. The interests of this circle were only profound among a few. And even those few were not driven by strong spiritual forces, but rather by a general desire that wanted to express itself in all kinds of artistic and other spiritual forms.
[ 9 ] And so I was soon faced with the question of whether I could justify to my inner self and to the spiritual world that I was working in this circle. For even if many of the personalities who came into consideration were very dear to me, even if I felt a friendly bond with them, they were also among those who led to the question: "Must one remain silent?"
[ 10 ] Then there was another. From a large number of people who had previously been close to me as friends, I could have the feeling, judging by their behavior towards me, that they did not go very far with me in their own mental life; but they presupposed something in me that made my actions in the field of knowledge and in some life circumstances appear valuable to them. They often took an unexamined view of my existence after their experiences with me.
[ 11 ] The previous editors of "Magazin" did not feel this way. They said to themselves that, despite some traits of practical life in him, Steiner was an "idealist". And since the sale of the "Magazin" was effected in such a way that over the years installments had to be paid to the previous owner, that he also had the strongest material interests in the continued existence of the weekly, he could not, from his point of view, do anything other than create another guarantee for himself and the cause than that which lay in my person, of which he could not say how it would work within the circle of people who had come together around "Magazin" and "Freie literarische Gesellschaft" so far. It was therefore made a condition of the purchase that Otto Erich Hartleben should sign and work as co-editor.
[ 12 ] Now, looking back on these facts today, I would not like anything to have turned out differently in the establishment of my editorship. For, as I have described in the foregoing, those who stand in the spiritual world must become fully acquainted with the facts of the physical world through experience. And for me this had become a self-evident necessity, especially through my change of soul. Not to accept what I clearly recognized as the forces of destiny would have been a sin against my spiritual experience. I did not see only "facts" that put me together with Otto Erich Hartleben for some time at that time, but "facts woven by fate (karma)".
[ 13 ] But there were difficulties arising from this relationship that could not be overcome.
[ 14 ] Otto Erich Hartleben was a man dominated by aesthetics through and through. I found everything that emerged from his completely aesthetic view of the world, right down to his gestures, to be graceful, despite the often quite questionable "milieu" in which he met me. This attitude of his soul made him want to spend months at a time in Italy. And when he came back from there, there was a piece of Italy in the way he appeared. - I also had a strong personal love for him.
[ 15 ] Working together in the field we now shared was actually impossible. He was not at all interested in "putting himself in the shoes" of the ideas and interests of the magazine readers' circle or the circle of the "Freie literarische Gesellschaft", but wanted to "impose" what his aesthetic sensibilities told him in both places. That struck me as a foreign element. He often asserted his right to collaborate, but he often didn't for a very long time. He was often absent from Italy for long periods. This meant that the content of the "Magazin" was very inconsistent - and for all his "mature aesthetic world view", Otto Erich Hartleben was unable to overcome the "student" within him. I mean the questionable aspects of "studenthood", of course, not what can be carried over from student days into later life as a beautiful force of existence.
[ 16 ] When I had to join forces with him, another circle of admirers had fallen to him because of his drama: "The Education for Marriage". The work had by no means emerged from the graceful aesthetic that was so appealing in his dealings with him; it had emerged precisely from the "exuberance" and "unattachedness" that made everything that came from him as intellectual production and also as decisions vis-à-vis the "magazine" come not from the depths of his being, but from a certain superficiality. Only a few knew the Hartleben of personal interaction.
[ 17 ] It was a matter of course that after I moved to Berlin, from where I had to edit the "Magazin", I moved in the circle associated with Otto Erich Hartleben. For it was he who gave me the opportunity to oversee what belonged to the weekly magazine and the "Freie literarische Gesellschaft" in the way that was necessary.
[ 18 ] On the one hand, this caused me great pain. Because it prevented me from visiting the people with whom I had enjoyed good relations in Weimar and getting closer to them. How I would have loved to visit Eduard v. Hartmann more often.
[ 19 ] None of that was possible. The other side took up all my time. And so, in one fell swoop, some of the things I would have liked to keep were taken away from me by someone I valued. But I recognized this as a destiny (karmic) coincidence. It would have been entirely possible for me, based on the soul background that I have characterized here, to devote my soul with full interest to two such fundamentally different circles of people as the one connected with Weimar and the one around the "Magazin". However, neither circle would have had any pleasure in the long run in a personality who alternated with people who belonged to polar opposites in terms of soul and spirit. It would also have become unavoidable to continually justify in such intercourse why I place my work exclusively in the service into which I had to place it because of what the "magazine" was.
[ 20 ] I realized more and more: the kind of people I was allowed to describe here for Vienna and Weimar had now become impossible. Literary people came together, and literary people got to know each other. Even with the best, even with the most distinctive characters, this literary (or painterly, sculptural) aspect dug itself so deeply into the essence of the soul that the purely human faded completely into the background.
[ 21 ] This was the impression I got when I sat between these personalities, whom I nevertheless appreciated. The human soul backgrounds made an even deeper impression on me. In the "Freie literarische Gesellschaft" in Leipzig, after a lecture by me and a lecture by O. J. Bierbaum, I once sat together with a group that included Frank Wedekind. My gaze was captivated by this truly rare human figure. I mean "figure" here in the physical sense. These hands! As if from a previous life on earth, in which they did things that can only be done by people who let their spirit flow into the finest branches of their fingers. This may have given the impression of brutality because energy had been processed; the highest interest was attracted by what these hands radiated. And this expressive head - quite like a gift of what came from the special will notes of the hands. There was something in his gaze and facial expression that could give itself to the world as arbitrarily as the gestures of the arms could withdraw from it through the sensation of the hands. A spirit alien to the present spoke from this head. A spirit that actually places itself outside the human activity of this present. A spirit that could not come to an inner awareness of the world of the past to which it belonged. As a man of letters - I mean now only what I saw in him, not a literary judgment - Frank Wedekind was like a chemist who completely threw away the present views of chemistry, and of alchemy, but also pursued these not with inner sympathy, but with cynicism. One could get to know much of the effect of the spirit in the form if one were to bring Frank Wedekind's outward appearance into one's view of the soul. However, one must not proceed with the gaze of that "psychologist" who wants to "observe people", but with that which shows the purely human on the background of the spiritual world through inner spiritual destiny, which one does not seek, but which approaches.
[ 22 ] A person who notices that he is being observed by a "psychologist" may become angry; but the transition from the purely human relationship to "looking at the spiritual background" is also purely human, like that from a fleeting to a more intimate friendship.
[ 23 ] One of the most peculiar personalities of Hartleben's Berlin circle was Paul Scheerbarth. He wrote "poems" that initially appear to the reader to be arbitrary combinations of words and sentences. They are so grotesque that one feels drawn to go beyond the first impression. Then one finds that a fantastic sense searches for all kinds of otherwise unnoticed meanings in the words in order to express a spiritual content that originates no less from an unthinking soul-fantasy that does not seek a ground at all. In Paul &heerbarth lived an inner cult of the fantastic; but it moved in the forms of the sought-after grotesque. In my opinion, he had the feeling that the spiritual man may only depict what he depicts in grotesque forms, because others drag everything into the philistine. But this feeling does not want to develop the grotesque in a rounded artistic form, but in a sovereign, sought-after, reckless state of mind. And what is revealed in these grotesque forms must spring from the realm of inner fantasy. Paul Scheerbarth's work was based on a soul trait for the spiritual that did not seek clarity. What comes from prudence does not go to spiritual regions, this "fantasist" said to himself. Therefore, in order to express spirit, one must not be prudent. But Scheerbarth did not take a step from fantasy to imagination either. And so he wrote from a mind stuck in interesting but wild fantasy, in which entire cosmic worlds flicker and shimmer as frame narratives, caricaturing the realm of the mind and enclosing equally held human experiences. Thus in "Tarub, Baghdad's famous cook".
[ 24 ] You didn't see the man that way when you got to know him personally. A bureaucrat, somewhat elevated into the spiritual. The "outward appearance" that was so interesting in Wedekind was commonplace, philistine in his case. And this impression was heightened when we first got to know him. He had in him the most ardent hatred of the Philistines, but he had the gestures of the Philistines, their way of speaking, and he showed himself as if the hatred came from the fact that he had absorbed too much from Philistine circles into his own appearance and felt it; but at the same time he had the feeling that he could not fight it. You could read a kind of confession at the bottom of his soul: I want to destroy the Philistines because they have made me a Philistine.
[ 25 ] But if one went from this outer appearance to Paul Scheerbarth's inner being, which was independent of it, a very fine, spiritually unfinished man of the mind was revealed, who was only just stuck in the grotesque and fantastic. Then, with his "bright" head, with his "golden" heart, one experienced the way he stood in the spiritual world. One had to say to oneself what a strong personality, penetrating into the spirit world, could have entered the world if the unfinished had been completed at least to a certain degree. At the same time, one could see that the "commitment to the fantastic" was already so strong that even a completion in the future of this earthly life was no longer within the realm of possibility.
[ 26 ] In Frank Wedekind and Paul Scheerbarth, personalities stood before me who, in their whole being, gave highly significant experiences to those who knew the fact of man's repeated lives on earth. They were enigmas in the present life on earth. One looked at what they had brought with them into this earthly life. And an unlimited enrichment of their whole personality occurred. But their imperfections were also understood to be the results of earlier earthly lives which could not fully unfold in the present spiritual environment. And they saw how what could become of these imperfections needed future earth lives.
[ 27 ] So many a personality of this circle stood before me. I realized that meeting them was destiny (karma) for me.
[ 28 ] I was also unable to establish a purely human, cordial relationship with the thoroughly amiable Paul Scheerbarth. It was the case that in my dealings with Paul Scheerbarth, as with others, the literary man always shone through. Thus my affectionate feelings for him were ultimately determined by the attention and interest I had to take in his highly remarkable personality.
[ 29 ] There was, however, one personality in the circle who did not present himself as a man of letters, but in the fullest sense as a human being, W. Harlan. But he spoke little, and actually always sat there like a silent observer. But when he did speak, it was always either witty in the best sense of the word or genuinely funny. He actually wrote a lot, but not as a man of letters, but as a person who had to express what was on his mind. At that time he had just published "Dichterbörse", a biography full of delicious humor. I always liked it when I arrived at the circle's meeting room a little early and Harlan was sitting there all alone. Then we became close. So I exclude him when I say that I only found literary figures in this circle and no "people". And I think he understood that I had to look at the circle that way. Our very different paths in life soon led us far apart.
[ 30 ] The people around "Magazin" and "Freie literarische Gesellschaft" were clearly interwoven into my fate. But I was not in any way interwoven into their fate. They saw me appear in Berlin, in their circle, learned that I wanted to edit the "Magazin" and work for the "Freie literarische Gesellschaft"; but did not understand why I should do this. Because the way I walked around among them to their souls' eyes, there was nothing tempting for them to go deeper into me. Although there was no trace of theory in me, to their theoretical dogmatizing my spiritual work seemed like something theoretical. That was something that they, as "artistic natures", believed they should have no interest in.
[ 31 ] But I got to know an artistic movement in its representatives through direct observation. It was no longer as radical as those that appeared in Berlin at the end of the eighties and in the early nineties. Nor was it as radical as Otto Brahms' theatrical transformation, which presented full naturalism as the salvation of art. It was without such a summarizing conviction of art. It was based more on what flowed together from the will and talents of the individual personalities, but which also completely lacked a unified stylistic striving.
[ 32 ] My position within this circle became emotionally uncomfortable because of the feeling that I knew why I was there and the others did not.