Soul of the Age

by Hermann Hesse

  The news about the changes at März87 reached me just as we were about to leave Colombo. I’m writing to Langen, to say I’m resigning from any further editorial responsibilities. I would find it impossible to keep doing the same type of editorial work (reading manuscripts, dealing with authors, reviews, lots of correspondence) without decent renumeration; being without independent means, I just scrape by, with my three youngsters. It wouldn’t be right for me to appear on the masthead as an editor if I’m not actually doing the work. For you and Thoma, the situation is quite different: März is an organ that allows you to express your strong political temperaments and your hopes for the future, whereas politics has always felt like alien territory to me. I’m sad to be losing the foothold in the practical world that März afforded me, and I shall have to keep an eye out later on for something similar. My departure from März—I shall, of course, remain a contributor—won’t alter our relationship one whit.

  I had to abandon lower India—in any case I had only planned to travel in the South—partly because the cost of living and traveling here is far greater than I had expected and greatly exceeds my resources, partly because my stomach, bowels, and kidneys have gone on strike. But I did get a good look at the Straits Settlements and the Malay States, and southeastern Sumatra as well, then spent my final fourteen days in the mountains of Ceylon, but I was, unfortunately, sick most of the time, and it rained a lot. On the whole, I was not all that impressed with the Indians; like the Malaysians, they’re weak and have no future. The only ones who really look strong and have a future ahead of them are the Chinese and the English, not the Dutch, etc.

  The tropical nature I saw was mostly jungle, but there were also the rivers of Sumatra, the Malaysian seas with their numerous islands, and the fabulously fertile island of Ceylon. As for cities, Singapore and Palembang were particularly interesting. I saw the following peoples: Malays and Javanese, Tamils, Singhalese, Japanese, and Chinese. Nothing but wonderful things to report about the latter: an impressive people! As for most of the others, they are in a sorry condition, the poor remnants of an ancient paradisiacal people, whom the West is corrupting and devouring; by nature these so-called primitive peoples are affectionate, good-humored, clever, and talented, but our culture is finishing them off. If the whites could withstand the climate and could raise their children here, there would be no Indians left.

  I also encountered and talked to a lot of salesmen, technicians, etc., from all over the world, and noticed a considerable amount of large-scale commerce. A lot of high-quality local products are exported, whereas the imports from Europe and America are mostly junk. The Malaysians and Indians fall for this; the Chinese don’t. The Japanese are generally disliked, even hated, especially as trading partners.

  Before my departure, as a farewell gesture to India, I climbed the highest mountain in Ceylon, and gazed down through puffs of clouds at the beautiful and fabulously vast mountain landscape extending all the way down to the sea.

  It’s a question of being patient for more than two weeks and putting up with the rocking ship, but by now I’m a bit tougher, since I have spent the greater part of the last three months on water, sailing on all kinds of ships. I hope we get to see each other soon.

  Please convey my greetings to everybody in your house, also to Thoma and the Munich people.

  TO LUDWIG THOMA

  Bern, December 17, 1912

  You haven’t heard from me for a long time, and now that I’m living in Bern,88 I can no longer keep a telescope trained on Munich. I haven’t heard a word from Haussmann for some time, and only found out through Geheeb89 that März is receiving a further period of probation. Not that Wolters with his twaddle or indeed you yourself with your long silence were any great help of late. I cannot contribute very much, since there is so little space now for stories—thanks again to Wolters. Requiescat. I think I shall continue doing reviews, for the time being.

  Won’t we ever get to see you in Bern? I would be as pleased as Punch. I’m living with my large family in an old manor house outside the city, with a view of the mountains, surrounded by old trees. I only need a few nice friends, good music, a vibrantly beautiful landscape, a sturdy old city, and a railway station, so I can get away occasionally.

  You should come over sometime for a visit. I would like to show you the garden and my three lads, who are picking up the Bern dialect; the oldest is going to school already.

  I’m going skiing on the Gotthard over the New Year, and am looking forward tremendously to that.

  If only I could drop by your hunter’s den some evenings and spend time with you, chatting and smoking a pipe. We’re too far apart, and letters are not much use. That window seat of yours under the arched window by the wall is beautiful. We have to get along here without such winter comforts; our old shack is nice enough, but it was only built for summer use and is really run-down. Come out here sometime in the summer; we have good wine, beautiful farmsteads, and there are also other things reminiscent of the late Pastor Gotthelf.90

  TO ALFRED SCHLENKER91

  Bern, November 12, 1913

  [ … ] You’re wrong about my attitude toward Cohen;92 philosophy is not nearly as important to me as it is to you, and I only need that kind of intense intellectual stimulation every couple of years or so. Yes, I would indeed like to “get well,” insofar as that seems feasible and necessary, but even the cleverest book isn’t much help in that respect, and in spite of my admiration for Cohen, I have absolutely no intention of transforming him again into a minor deity. I have always liked putting gunpowder under the pedestals of the gods [ … ]

  Hesse in Gaienhofen around 1909

  (Above) Hesse in the garden of the house in Bern, with his wife and his second son, Heiner

  (Below) On Hesse’s right, his friend and traveling companion, the painter Hans Sturzenegger

  TO VOLKMAR ANDREÄ93

  Bern, December 29, 1913

  [ … ] It’s quite a boon having you as a friend. I have always sensed that we are polar opposites by nature (whereas I feel I share some highly unfortunate affinities with Brunt). Your most edifying qualities, aside from the warmth and strength of your personality, are your sparkle and competence, and I can fortunately admire them without any tinge of jealousy.

  By the way, I have outgrown my pessimistic philosophy of life; the practical consequences have become obvious during the last few, rather hellish months. I’m not a stable person, and often I encounter great difficulties in life, which often seems quite unbearable. There’s nothing I can do about that. But I love the world and life itself, and, even when in pain, I still have the pleasure of feeling part of a cosmic movement. I cannot express all of this philosophically, nor have I any great need to do so. But that may be my task as a poet (am only gradually realizing this myself): the vindication and transfiguration of life by somebody who finds life very difficult, but as a result loves it all the more passionately. During the last few years, I often felt humor was the best solution. A bad stretch recently has induced me to become sentimental and lyrical again. But I’m beginning to get a sense of the general meaning of my existence, and my writing—some novellas, etc., had become excessively playful—may well take me in entirely new directions.

  In any case, the only melancholia I acknowledge is that of Dürer, and I’m extremely conscious of belonging to a guild of artists—a guild that takes seriously all forms of art which stem from genuine experience and endeavors to construct a reality of a higher order.

  That in itself is a bond between us. I often visited you in Zurich looking for consolation and an opportunity to hear music again and to see somebody who responds positively and appreciates my better traits; my visits were never in vain. I find this sort of friendship invaluable, and not only feel cheerful and stimulated for hours, even days afterward, but also far more clearheaded and eager when I return to my work. And I don’t convey hopelessness or pessimism in my verse for its own sake, I have to pass through that stage; I sense some
where in those dark stirrings a force akin to life itself. My letter is probably not all that clear, but it’s not really a matter of spelling everything out. The better things usually get left out. I shake your hand fondly

  TO JOHANNES HESSE

  Bern, September 9, 1914

  [ … ] So all three youngsters are back home now, and it’s fun and invigorating, although Mia has her hands full, since we have only one maid. Butzi and Martinli are quite well again, and we hope they will remain in good health for the winter. I’m teaching Butzi writing and arithmetic for an hour each day until September 19, when he goes back to school. We also work together in the garden, collecting wood, harvesting apples, etc.

  The only sign of war here is a chronic shortage of cash. Although there is no hope of my earning anything in the immediate future, that wouldn’t be an insuperable problem because I do have some savings. However, the banks are hardly allowing any withdrawals, so we keep saving and worrying. Admittedly, those are trifling concerns compared with the large issues on the agenda.

  I was recently mustered for the militia at the consulate, then I volunteered to serve, but they don’t want me.94 I won’t come up again for a while, and by then I may be in Germany so I can help out and be close at hand. Intellectual work, etc., is out of the question; literary activities, like so much else, have come to a halt. Most of my friends in Bern, Basel, and Zurich have reported for duty with the Swiss Army; some are officers. Many of my best friends in Germany are on the battlefield; I also have friends who are Austrian officers. As for our poor Gaienhofeners, most of them fell at Mühlhausen.95

  If one could only foresee the course of this war and its outcome! The alliances and vested interests are so entangled that nothing seems certain; all of Europe will have to suffer the consequences, except perhaps for England, which is watching closely in the hope of making a profit. Although I love many English people dearly and respect others highly, I think that, morally speaking, they’re in a downright miserable predicament as a people. But it’s consoling to see so many well-intentioned Englishmen speaking out against those despicable policies. In the meantime, half of Germany is bleeding to death, and France is being ruined; the English certainly won’t pay any damages. Since things are so desperate, one can only hope for news of a rebellion breaking out in India, or some terrible misfortune befalling the English fleet. If that were to happen, and if Austria can somehow keep on going, then Germany could play the leading role at the peace negotiations, and in that case there would still be some hope for life and culture in the immediate future. Otherwise, England would end up on top, and Europe would then be in the hands of those moneybags and the illiterate Russians, and if we wanted to safeguard our most cherished values, we would have to initiate a kind of secret cult. But, personally, I have a lot of faith in Germany, and even if the other dreams never come true, this enormous moral upheaval will eventually prove beneficial for us, in spite of the victims. A stronger Russia and a seriously weakened France would be terrible news for everybody. It is awful to think that this big war will probably victimize those who least deserve that fate. I like both the Russians and the English, and feel close to them as people, but have political and cultural reasons for hoping they don’t grow more powerful.

  Adele wrote to tell me that Heinrich Gundert96 has been wounded; I found a Hopfauer listed among those missing in action, no other acquaintances.

  People here talk sensibly about the war and have a lot of sympathy for Germany; they say French-speaking Switzerland identifies totally with France. This division could be dangerous if Switzerland were dragged into the conflict (perhaps through Italian involvement). At the moment the situation here is peaceful and quiet, although there have been serious repercussions for trade and commerce, and the country is having difficulty absorbing the costs of the mobilization. It’s not safe anywhere now, except perhaps in America! I think a lot about Tsingtao and often try to imagine the predicament of the Germans who were in India, Singapore, etc., when the war broke out. England is always bragging about shipping colored troops to Europe, but I don’t think that would make much difference. The Japanese will not get all that deeply involved, their ground forces would certainly take a beating, and the Indian and Australian troops would not be able to withstand a European winter. Moreover, the elite English troops in Belgium failed to show their mettle.

  We are fearful about the Russian offensive in Galicia97 and the outcome of what is probably the final German battle against the half-encircled French Army.98 If the Germans finally emerge from that as victors, they will have to have a go at Paris, and if France remains loyal to its allies, there will be a lot of bloodshed in Paris. That would really be terrible, and France would probably never recover completely from the shock. Such a shame that the growing cultural ties between Germany and France didn’t affect their political relations!

  Please send me a card to let me know how you’re doing, etc. The little mail I receive from Germany generally takes quite a while to get here. The main thing in the mail now is the newspaper. We get Der Bund;99 I don’t normally see eye to eye with it, but its coverage of the war is very good, and now I find it useful.[ … ]

  TO ALFRED SCHLENKER

  Bern, November 10, 1914

  My dear friend,

  Your good letter was really delightful. I had been meaning to write to you for ages, but felt a little inhibited because of that silly quarrel of ours in Constance. What upset me was not so much the incident itself as what it made me realize: Since I’m a high-strung, rather defenseless person, I have always expected individuals who are healthier than me to treat me very considerately, whereas I should have shown more consideration when my friends were suffering from equally frayed nerves. Well, let’s leave it at that.

  I’m delighted that the book of verse100 has found such an appreciative reader. It’s never possible to make that kind of book seem entirely unobjectionable, but I think it’s good; at least it represents what I find best in poetry. There are only a very few instances of less than profound tones, which I included out of a sense of fairness.

  The war has put me in a somewhat awkward position. Although I feel that I’m on Germany’s side and can understand the all-consuming nationalistic fervor that has taken hold there, I’m not a completely enthusiastic participant in this development. I live abroad, and thus at some remove from the origins of the acute psychosis; I cannot quite get over what happened to Belgium;101 my family origins have shaped my outlook, and my own experience has become so cosmopolitan that I would seem somewhat suspect in the eyes of a pure patriot. My father was a Russian of German origin, a Balt, and my grandmother came from Neuchâtel; ever since childhood, I have regarded Switzerland as my second homeland, although only the German part. I also feel like traveling and getting to know the literatures of foreign countries. Germany now sees little point in behaving decently and exercising restraint; war calls for a severe state of psychosis or even mania. I fail to see anything delightful or splendid in this war, and don’t anticipate a rosy future afterward. As soon as the war is over, we shall have to become better friends with England and France than we were in prewar days; I feel that will prove indispensable in the future, and would have come about more easily without the war. Now we shall have to pay for the miserable policies of France, the envy of the English, and our own political mistakes; Austria, Belgium, and France are also bleeding. There is no point trying to identify the “guilty” party; each side needs to believe that it is in the right. So the whole thing is just a pathetic scrap about values that are far from clear-cut. The war has created a wonderful spirit of unity and self-sacrifice in Germany, but the same applies to the enemy. It’s easy enough for those of us who have stayed at home to say that a war which has created that sort of atmosphere is worthwhile. But those who are rotting in the woods, those whose cities, villages, fields, and aspirations have been ravaged and destroyed do not agree, and I cannot think about the war without hearing those voices.

  We’re havi
ng our first symphony concert this evening, a splendid program, just Beethoven, beginning with Coriolanus and ending with the Eroica. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have enjoyed that very much; now I can again enjoy music or a good book, and allow myself to get carried away. Otherwise things are the same as ever; I would love to work a lot, but usually cannot, since my eyes are always sore.

  There are moments when I too sense the harmony of the universe. Since I cannot find any real corroboration for these intuitions in my physical and instinctual life, I try to detect it in the intellectual sphere. And to be consistent, a person has to rely entirely on the intellect, the only organ of ours that identifies strongly with the natural order and defends it to the hilt, even where there is a conflict with our instinctual urges. But much remains unexplained, since the rational intellect doesn’t control phenomena such as war, the life of nations, and also the most valuable forms of art.

  I have just noticed that it’s high time to get dressed for the concert, and since I shan’t get around to writing any more tomorrow, I shall end here and try to dig up a fresh collar.

  TO VOLKMAR ANDREÄ

  Bern, December 26, 1914

  My dear friend Andreä,

  [ … ] I know what you’re going through—the awful depression that you evaded or lessened by serving as an officer in the early days of the war. The rest of us have more or less come to terms with it. I have so many friends in the various armies, have lost so many too, that I am still deeply concerned. I haven’t been able to do any real work of my own since August, and have taken refuge instead in projects of a historical-mechanical sort. It is still quite possible that I may have to enlist in the German militia—I don’t relish the prospect at all. As a result of universal conscription, we seem to be witnessing one of those historic crises in modern statecraft in the course of which meaningful statements degenerate rapidly into murderous gibberish. Even though I feel very German, I have always considered nationalism an elementary form of education, an introductory course in ideal humanity. I have never relished the thought of nationalism as a goal in itself.