The Buried Spirit of Central European Literature

Anyone who delves into Central European literature from the mid-nineteenth century can make a remarkable discovery. However, they will only do so if they do not limit themselves to what remained popular in the following period and what is usually reprinted and widely read as valuable in the present day. For there is something like a layer of Central European views, buried by the way of thinking of later times, which today seems quite alien in tone, attitude and interest in certain circles of ideas.

By reading the works of this buried layer, one can conjure up images of personalities with a way of thinking that is completely foreign to the present day. Incidentally, I had the good fortune to be in lively intellectual contact with my old teacher and friend Karl Julius Schröer in the 1880s, a personality who, in terms of his state of mind, was rooted entirely in the life of the mid-nineteenth century. An idealizing magic emanated from this personality. When Karl Julius Schröer spoke of Goethe, something of the buried layer came to life.

I have an image from my association with Karl Julius Schröer before me. I visited him a few hours after the Austrian Crown Prince perished in the tragedy of Meyerling. Karl Julius Schröer stood as if frozen by what could happen in an age that he felt had become so unlike his own. His eyes looked as if they were gazing out at a foreign world, and he said, “It is as if the age of Nero had returned.”

Schröer himself attributed his dissimilarity to the younger generation to personal disposition. He once told me - without, however, admitting that he was a follower of phrenology: a phrenologist had examined him a long time ago and found a peculiarity in his head when he pronounced the word “theosophy”. (I leave the content of this remark to those who want to come to the conclusion that my anthroposophical view is a revival of a “provincial” part of my soul life, explainable to a psychoanalyst, which was cultivated in the 1880s by Karl Julius Schröer).

In this submerged stratum there lived an understanding for objective ideas. It was believed that such objective ideas held sway in the life of the individual and in the life of nations. But there was also a sense of intellectual sorrow at the dwindling sense for this objective idealism in European civilization. Thus one felt confronted with the reality of a spiritual world; one adhered to it. The outer world was taken as a kind of reflection of a spiritual reality. By delving into this older time, one can see personalities emerging who, from their spiritual perspective, describe the fate of the subsequent period as in a remarkable spiritual vision.

One such personality is Ernst von Lasaulx, who lived and worked in Munich around the middle of the nineteenth century. One should read his book: “New Attempt at an Ancient Philosophy of History Founded on the Truth of Facts” (Munich 1856). This book is imbued throughout with a spiritual way of looking at things. Sensory and historical reality is judged everywhere from the point of view of the spiritual. The rise and decline of nations are illuminated with the light gained from spiritual knowledge. And one reads what Lasaulx writes about the future based on his assessment of the present. “There is no doubt that the languages of almost all European nations, with the exception of those of the Slavic tongue, are fully developed and in some cases already noticeably depleted; nor is there any doubt that the religious consciousness of the past, valued on the whole, is no longer growing but dying: as it is an obvious fact that far beyond the borders of Europe, the inner progressive development in all still existing world-historical religions of the people, in Mosaicism, in Buddhism, in Mohammedanism, has long since passed its peak, and that in all three not merely a return to the past, but an undeniable decline has occurred. And what about Christianity, in its inner theoretical development and in its outer practical exercise in Europe?"

After raising such questions and visualizing the state of Europe, Lasaulx comes to the following gloomy conclusion. He reflects on the fate of southern, western and central Europe and continues: “... and that finally the Nordic colossus, too, seems to rest on feet of clay and, in the upper layers of lies and inner rottenness, is badly corroded before it matures: anyone who seriously considers this and the like will hardly be able to ward off the dark foreboding that always precedes the onset of great catastrophes.

But Lasaulx is situated in a perspective of intellectual knowledge. And in this perspective, he does not merely speak pessimistically; but surprisingly prophetically at the end of his other book, “The Decline of Hellenism”: “And when the threatening fate of the future is fulfilled and the fateful hour of a last great struggle between nations in Europe comes, there can be no reasonable doubt that here too final victory will only be where the greater power of faith prevails.”

Is there not more understanding of the present in such a personality of the buried layers than in many an influential spirit of this present time? More understanding for what is decaying, more for what is needed for ascent. And Lasaulx is only one representative; one could point out many in his way.

The question arises before the soul: why has this way of thinking been buried?

It was never a popular way of thinking; it remained that of an exquisite minority. It was rooted in the mind, but only in the general feeling. It knew only how to express itself in an intellectualistic way. It got stuck in abstract concepts that cannot warm the heart of man. It spoke of the spirit, but it did not arrive at views of the spirit. She did not grasp the whole, full human being; she only grasped the education of the head. The world therefore rejected this way of thinking and adhered to the sensory-apparent and the historical-external. And so it came about that the prophecies of the personalities from the buried layer were so remarkably true, their popular sphere of influence so small, that they could be forgotten.

But anthroposophy can remind us of them. It wants to assert the spiritual world as the firm foundation of all civilization, not in abstraction, but through the mediation of living insights; it wants to speak not only to the head man, but to the whole, full humanity. It does not want to convey intellectualistic insights, but real spiritual ones that can stand in reality with vital strength.

There are many reasons why anthroposophy is misunderstood; one of them is the fact that we are buried under layers of misconceptions. We must begin by working through the materialistic conceptions that are so strong because they have developed in opposition to a way of thinking that was spiritual but one-sidedly intellectual. People believe themselves justified in dismissing all spirituality with this one-sidedness.