Global Citizenship: Cultural Integration and Excitation
May 10, 2018
First World Problems: Issues and ideas from Catalunya and beyond
July 24, 2018
Summer vacation is well underway, and we’ve spent the last 10 days in the charming little city of Weimar, Germany. A cultural treasure chest, Weimar is certain to have more historical landmarks per capita than any other city I can think of. Despite having a population of just over 60,000, Weimar lays claim to being the home (at one time or another) to Goethe and Schiller, Franz Liszt, Friedrich Nietzsche, and countless other local legends, as well as being the birthplace of the Bauhaus architectural movement and of course the eponymous Weimar Republic.
Considering the ubiquity of important plaques, statues and museums in this city, the complete and total absence of cool souvenir t-shirts is a bit of a let down. But instead of perusing the old town’s upscale shopping district, I’ve spent most of my time here reading German literature on my kindle and contemplating some of the more esoteric themes of German romanticism. So if you were hoping for a jocose account of our latest road trip or a flippant take on Ms. Merkel’s latest political blunders, you may be in for a rather thought provoking disappointment.
The Germans have a rich and colorful history of dualistic philosophies and philosophers, pitting opposing forces against one another and cogitating their way towards some resolution or reconciliation. The quintessential and all-encompassing example comes from G. W. F. Hegel who (borrowing heavily from Fichte) famously described the dialectical process of thesis, antithesis and synthesis, which purports to explain how a popularly accepted idea is challenged by a new and revolutionary idea, leading finally to a synthesis of the two earlier ideas into a third idea, superior to the first two.
But we could cite many more examples from the annals of Teutonic literature. Friedrich Nietzsche explored the struggle between rational Apollonian and passionate Dionysian energies in his early work The Birth of Tragedy. Karl Marx gave us the unforgettable and historically inevitable showdown between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat.
Hermann Hesse presented us with many such allegories of intra-psychic drama, perhaps most memorably in Demian, but also with Narcissus and Goldmund, whose title characters typified the rivalry of the ascetic and the sensuous. Thomas Mann portrayed a similar dynamic in A Death In Venice. And who can forget the war of wits waged in his monumental Magic Mountain, between Settembrini with his rational humanism and Naphta with his radical zealotry, as each tries to win over the heart and mind of the languidly ambivalent Hans Castorp?
Hesse, in Demian, and finally Carl Jung, in much of his seminal work, especially the later and more esoteric explorations, forge their paths toward resolving the long legacy of duality, striving to demonstrate how the pairs of opposites actually spin together in a sacred dance, not unlike the Rod of Hermes or the double helix DNA molecule.
Out of this profound tradition, one the finest early examples of philosophical duality comes from Germany’s most beloved man of letters, Weimar’s very own J. W. von Goethe (1749-1832), specifically his two poems “Prometheus” and “Ganymede”. Like so many of his fellow countrymen, Goethe calls upon Greek myth and its archetypal patterns that possess our thoughts and ideas in order to clarify his own message about man’s conflicting tendencies and sensibilities. Indeed, what the ancient Greeks already understood about human nature and were able to illustrate through the drama of mythology cannot possibly be overstated.
But whereas other novelists and polemicists might explore or emphasize the dichotomy of personality traits, such as the rational and the passionate or the civilized and the primeval, this pair of poems from Goethe probes deep into man’s enigmatic relationship with and attitude towards the divine.
Prometheus personifies the spirit of defiance and mischief, stealing fire from the gods to provide mankind with a spark of creativity and ingenuity. So determined was he to share this divine power with humanity, that he was willing to suffer the wrath of Zeus, an interminable punishment, and exposure to the elements. Above all else, Prometheus prizes man for his curiosity and imagination. In Zeus, ruler of Mount Olympus, he sees little more than a spiteful and capricious god who will deny mankind the fire simply out of cruel whimsy, “like the boy who beheads thistles”.
In a world so fraught with evil and anguish, how can anyone accept the notion of divine order and a benevolent, omnipotent ruler? Man can only rely on his own perseverance, endurance and imagination, to make matters more tolerable if he can, and to attribute some meaning to his suffering if he cannot.
And so Prometheus remains undaunted, not to be discouraged by Zeus and his merciless Schadenfreude. “Do you somehow imagine I should hate life, flee to the desert, because not every flowering dream may bloom?” No, instead he presses onward, embracing life with all its sorrows and injustices, indefatigable even in the face of a pitiless master. Not only that, but Prometheus will also see to it that humankind learns to follow his example, to flout divine authority and “to mock you—as I do!”
As a counterpoint to this poetic treatise on misotheism, Goethe gives us the story of Ganymede, with whom Zeus is so smitten that the highest of gods abducts the beautiful young boy; and the boy, showered with love and adoration, succumbs willingly to Zeus’ irresistible seduction. Ganymede embodies obedience and acquiescence, happy to do as he’s told and honor the wishes of his master. In return, the compliant personality experiences life as a smooth ride, and the world a place adorned with welcome mats and doors that swing wide upon, where his gaze is met always with smiles and admiration.
For a golden boy like Ganymede, there is no hostility inherent in his surroundings. The handsome youth smiles, and the world smiles back. He is ever eager to please, and in return the world pleases him. “There calls the nightingale lovingly for me from the misty vale. I come, I come! Whither, ah whither?” What is ordained by the gods shall not be questioned. Ganymede will heed the command and trust that he will never be led towards anything other than the true and the beautiful.
Perhaps it’s his unblemished optimism, his own good attitude and radiant disposition, that produce the wonderful conditions that he continuously finds himself in. He is blessed with a positive outlook, blithe and cooperative, and the circumstances simply conform to his expectations. On the other hand, maybe it’s his unblemished good looks and magnetic charm that bring him so much good fortune, a stroke of good luck and an accident of birth, to be favored with such a charmed life.
Regardless of whether the attitude leads to the circumstances, or the other way around, Ganymede clearly brims with love for the gods and for his own destiny. The idea that any German philosopher could ever relate to Ganymede’s Panglossian optimism is utterly laughable (with the possible exception of Leibniz, who served as the real-life model for Voltaire’s Dr. Pangloss). The legacy of Prometheus, however, is undeniable, as if he were the prototypical existentialist. Like Nietzsche, the bringer of fire subscribes to a morality that goes beyond good and evil; and like Paul Tillich, he acknowledges the unfairness and absurdity of life but boldly maintains the courage to be.
For more entertaining stories from the esoteric tourist, check out the following articles.
