German Ideals of to-Day

ONE of the most interesting publications which we owe to Professor Suphan, the indefatigable director of the GoetheSchiller Museum at Weimar, is the recent facsimile edition of a Hymn to Germany which occupied Schiller’s mind during the last years of his life. This Hymn never passed the stage of sketches, partly in verse, partly in prose; but even these sketches give us an idea of the noble conception of the whole. Apparently, Schiller wanted to proclaim the greatness of Germany in the midst of her national disasters; he wanted to tell his people, threatened in its very existence by the Napoleonic invasion, that there was still a hope left for it; he wanted to contrast the brute force of military prowess with the eternal achievements of literature and art. “May Germany,” — thus runs the beginning of this sketch,— “may Germany, at a moment when she issues without glory from a terrible war, when two arrogant nations (France and Russia) have set their feet upon her neck, when the victor rules her fate,— may she feel herself? May the German take pride in his name? May he lift his head, and with firm step appear in the company of nations? Yes, he may. He has been unsuccessful in the fight; but that which makes his worth he has not lost. German Empire and German people are two different things. Bereft of political power, the German has found his worth in another sphere, a sphere of his own; and even if the Empire were to crumble to pieces, German greatness would remain unimpaired.

To him, the German, the highest destiny has been set. He has been chosen by the World-Spirit, in the midst of temporary struggles, to devote his work to the eternal structure of human culture, to give endurance to what the fleeting moment brings. Therefore he has assimilated and made his own what other nations have produced. Whatever came to life in other ages and countries, and disappeared again, he has stored up; the treasures of centuries are his. Every people has its day; the day of the German is the harvest of all time.”

How strangely out of date do these words, born from a patriot’s grief over the political humiliation of his people, appear at a time when “German nation” and “ German Empire” are happily not any longer contradictory terms; when through extraordinary military achievements, as well as through a wise and far-seeing statesmanship, the political power of Germany has been more firmly established than ever before; when German commerce and industry are competing for the front rank among nations in every quarter of the globe. The question which confronts us of to-day is precisely the opposite of the one which confronted Schiller and his contemporaries. Then the question was: Will the high state of intellectual refinement, of literary and artistic culture, reached by the educated few react upon the masses and bring about a new era of popular energy ? Will the striving of the German mind for universally human and eternal values, for enlightenment, for spirituality, for cosmopolitanism, result in a heightening of national power also, and in a revival of public activity for material ends ? Now the question is: Will the new era of popular prosperity and national self-assertion result in a reawakening of spiritual strivings also? Will it give a new impetus to the longing for eternal possessions ? Will it lead to a nobler conception of humanity, to a deeper faith in the Infinite, to a more exalted view of the meaning of life and the mission of art ? Will it, in short, bring about a new era of idealism?

The following observations, gathered during a recent visit in the land of my birth, may perhaps serve as an attempt to analyze the physiognomy of contemporary German life from this point of view.

Even a first impression of the external conditions of the Germany of to-day must convince the unprejudiced that German progress of the last thirty years has not been confined to industrial and commercial development. Not since the days of the Renaissance and the Reformation has there been a time when the outward aspect of the country bespoke such ardent life, such intense activity in every domain of national aspirations, as now. Even the most casual observer cannot fail to be impressed with the picture of healthfulness, power, orderliness, and enlightened citizenship, which meets the eye of the traveler on every hand, on every square mile of German soil, north and south, east and west. These flourishing, well-kept farms and estates, these thriving villages, these beautiful, carefully replenished forests, these bustling cities teeming with a wellfed and well-behaved population, these proud city halls, stately court houses, theatres, and museums rising everywhere, these admirable means of communication, these model arrangements for healthy recreation and amusement, — how plainly all testify to a remarkably high state of public consciousness! This magnificent army, with its manly discipline and its high standard of professional honor (occasional excesses of youthful Hotspurs notwithstanding), these universities and technical schools, with their joyousness of student life, and their earnestness and freedom of scientific investigation, this orderly management of political meetings and demonstrations, this sober determination and effective organization of the laboring classes in their fight for social betterment, this respectful and attentive attitude, even of the masses, toward all forms of art, — what unmistakable proofs of a wonderfully organized collective will, of an instinctive reaching out toward higher forms of national existence!

It has been said, and not without some reason, that the distinguishing quality of American patriotism, as compared with Old-World sentiment, consisted in this, that it was preëminently directed toward the future. The absence of a long historical tradition, as well as the gigantic tasks pressing in upon a people still in the making, undoubtedly accentuate this forward-leaning of American patriotic sentiment. But it would be a mistake to think that German patriotism of to-day was preëminently looking backward, that it was chiefly concerned with the maintenance of the traditions of the past, that it lacked the outlook into an ideal future. Germany, too, is a young nation; here too, a new order of things, new tasks, new ideals, are forcing themselves upon the national consciousness;here,too, the substance of patriotism, if not its form, is concerned with the working out of the problems of to-morrow.

Let us consider some of the ideals which consciously or unconsciously dominate the intellectual and moral world of the German of to-day, shaping his conception of what the Germany of the future is to be.

I

The average American, if asked to define his political creed, would probably without much hesitancy sum up his answer in the one word, Liberty. The German would find it less easy to give a generally acceptable answer to this question. His answer would vary according to the variety of fundamental political demands contained in the programme of the party with which he might be affiliated. The Conservative would maintain that a strong monarchy was the only power to whose guidance the ship of state might safely be committed; and the principal safeguard of a strong monarchy he would see in the army. He would further declare a close alliance between throne and altar, between the State and the Church, to be absolutely necessary for the maintenance of public morals, and, as to governmental maxims, he would have no hesitation in giving preference to the methods of paternalism and state regulation. The Liberal would probably point to the English Constitution as his ideal of government; he would speak of the necessity of parliamentary government, he would deplore the impotence of the present parties, he would deride militarism, clericalism, and protectionism, and he would declaim on the beauties of free thought and free trade. The Centrist would above all inveigh against the principle of state omnipotence, he would speak of “a free Church in a free State,” he would exalt the work done by the Catholic Church for the moral and economic improvement of the working classes, and he would demand the admission of Catholic thought and scholarship on equal terms with Protestant science in the higher schools and universities. The Socialist, finally, — not to speak of a number of other ephemeral parties and fractions of parties, such as the PanGermans, the Anti-Semites, and so on, — the Socialist would squarely come out for a republic as the ideal form of government; he would condemn the whole existing order of things as utterly corrupt and untenable; he would wish to replace the standing army by a militia system, abolish the established Church, nationalize the great industries, and what not. In short, it would seem from such an inquiry as though there were a great chaos of political opinions furiously at war with one another; as though an agreement on some few fundamental tenets, irrespective of disagreement in matters of practical expediency, were an impossibility in German politics.

Closer questioning, however, would reveal the fact that the picture of the future hovering before these representatives of the various German parties was, after all, not so radically different as it first appeared.

In the first place, the headlines in the various party catechisms — in Germany as well as elsewhere—are for the most part not much more than hypnotic formulae designed to catch the eye and to delude the party-follower into a comfortable state of sleepy assurance that he believes these things. In reality, no sane Conservative would deny that, if the monarchy had no other justification for its existence than that founded upon bayonets and guns, it would not be worth while for the people to maintain so costly an institution; and as to the reëstablishment of patriarchical methods of government without popular control, that is a pious wish which may swell the breast of a few fanatics, such as the notorious Count Pückler, but the practical execution of such wishes would involve the perpetrator in serious conflicts with the courts, or land him in an asylum. On the other hand, the record of the Liberal party — which, by the way, for the moment has almost been effaced in national as well as in state politics — has been such that one may well doubt the sincerity of its professed enthusiasm for self-government and independence of thought; for no party has been less willing to acknowledge the rights of its opponents, none has been more ready to resort to coercive measures against powerful minorities, than this very party. As to the Centrist party, its motto, “a free Church in a free State,” is in reality only a euphemism for “the State controlled by the Church,” and would disappear from its programme the moment the State showed the slightest intention of carrying it out, that is, of disestablishing the Church. And lastly, the Socialist talk about a German republic is so manifestly a mere catchword, or at best so shadowy a dream of immature brains, that it need not be seriously considered.

While, then, a good many of the apparent differences and contradictory principles of the various parties turn out to be, as a matter of fact, mere surface ebullition and froth, it will be found that all German parties have one essential thing in common: a strong confidence in government supervision. This confidence is well founded, historically. By whatever ill-sounding name one may call it, — bureaucracy, officialdom, governmental caste, or what not, —the fact remains that the government service, both civil and military, has during the last two hundred years been the chief taskmaster of the German people in its evolution to national greatness, the strongest force in the gradual working out of an enlighlened public opinion. It may be doubted whether the government service of any other country, except, possibly that of Japan, has been so unremittingly and steadfastly committed to the principle of public welfare as the only law of conduct for a public servant, as that of Prussia and those German states which have taken the keynote of their administration from Prussia. The idea that a public office is a public trust, and that efficiency and trustworthiness are the only indispensable prerequisites for holding office, has come to be something so self-evident to the German mind that it needs no place in any party platform. It is tacitly admitted by all parties, and, although it would be too much to say that in point of fact the German administration of today is strictly non-partisan, it certainly must be said that this is the principle to which it tries to live up.

The recent conflict of the Prussian Ministry of Education with a large part of the Prussian student body, as well as with not a few governing bodies of the universities and technical schools, is a good illustration of this fact. During the last decades, Catholic clubs have had a great ascendency in the German universities. These clubs admit as members only young men who regularly perform their religious duties, and are in every respect faithful sons of the Church. They are affiliated with the Centrist party, and make no secret of their desire to make a propaganda for its policy. Naturally, they have brought upon themselves the hatred and contempt of the larger part of the student body, which is still dominated by free thought and decidedly anti-clerical feelings. When, some months ago, the Catholic Club of the Polytechnic at Hanover demanded an official representation in the General Students’ Committee, this demand was refused by the other student organizations, on the specious plea that the Catholic clubs were essentially opposed to the principle of academic freedom, and disdained fellowship with the rest of the student body. Strangely enough, the Faculty also took this view, and other polytechnics and universities followed suit. The Ministry of Education, however, applying the principle of non-partisan administration, sided with the Catholic clubs, and refused to sanction their exclusion from the General Students’ Committee. Thereupon a storm of indignation throughout the Prussian universities, a flood of high-sounding talk about freedom of science, about the defense of modern civilization against Romanism and Mediævalism, mass meeting after mass meeting filled with denunciations against the “reactionary” government. But the outcome undoubtedly will be a triumph of the non-partisan view of the government; and the only pity is that it does not seem at present likely that the same view will be maintained by the government to guard the rights of other student bodies, less acceptable to the powers that be, — for instance, Socialist societies.

But to return to our main question, the question whether there is one political ideal uniting the great diversity of German parties in a common aim. The traditional non-partisan methods of German administration, we saw, have brought it about that all German parties rely much more readily than is the case in most other countries on government action. This widespread trust in government action, on its part, has brought it about that the government is looked upon, much more generally than in England or America, as the great harmonizer and arbitrator between conflicting interests. And this view of the function of government, in its turn, has forced into the very centre of political life a demand which in other countries is more commonly based on moral and economic grounds, — the demand for social justice. I believe I am not mistaken if I designate the idea of social justice as the peculiarly German ideal of political life.

That the Socialist party should have been the first to proclaim this ideal is in the nature of things; for it represents the cause of the masses to whom social justice is so largely denied, the disinherited and the downtrodden. But it is by no means an ideal of the downtrodden only, it is an ideal inspiring the best minds of every party and class; it is part and parcel of the very make-up of the people. The Conservative is bound to it by the certainty that only in rallying the masses about the Imperial standard can the monarchy in the long run be saved. The Centrist cannot escape the conviction that social justice is one of the foremost tenets of Christian teachings. The Liberal is forced to acknowledge that without this principle there is no really enlightened civilization. And the common man throughout the land feels instinctively that Germany, of all countries, is the one where this idea is destined to play the leading part in shaping the future of the nation.

How threadbare and antiquated most of the other ideals have come to be that held their sway during the last one hundred years! How few of those that swelled the breasts of Schiller and his contemporaries are a living force to-day!

The brotherhood of nations ? Germany has had every reason during the last two or three generations to doubt the sincerity of those who make it a business to declaim about humanity and the peace of the world. Every step which she has made toward national unity and consolidation has been contested by her good friends and neighbors: the Empire had to be welded together in a bloody war brought about by the jealousy of France; and now the beginnings of German sea power are grudgingly watched, denounced, and, as much as possible, thwarted, by the cousins across the Channel. No, the brotherhood of nations has no particular charms for the German of the twentieth century. Enlightenment ? The time has long passed when this word beyond any other thrilled the élite of the nation. We have come to see that, priceless a possession as intellectual enlightenment is, it is after all not without its dangers, and easily leads the masses to materialism and moral indifference. Freedom ? To be sure, the mission of freedom is endless, and there is plenty of work left for her in contemporary Germany, as everywhere, particularly in religious matters; but it would be absurd to deny that the German constitution of to-day allows to the individual an amount of political freedom undreamed of a hundred years ago, and larger than the great majority of individuals are capable of carrying. Even to the Socialist, freedom is not any longer the one magic formula to conjure with; what he demands is not freedom, but justice. Nationality? To the great mass of Germans this word would appeal more than either human brotherhood or enlightenment or freedom. And yet even this word does not any longer express a widespread, elemental longing; it expresses rather satisfaction at the fulfillment of national aspirations, pride at national achievements; it has ceased to be an ideal. The question : “Was ist des Deutschen Vaterland ?” does not any longer make the German heart beat faster. Industrial progress and supremacy ? Certainly, this is a thing for which thousands and thousands of heads and hands are ceaselessly at work, a goal of ambition hovering before the keenest and best trained minds of the country. But how could one forget that this very progress is, often enough, a fetich to which thousands of living beings are sacrificed, a cancerous growth preying upon the nation’s health? How could industrial progress ever acquire the dignity of a national ideal ?

Place by the side of all these ideals and objects of ambition the words “social justice,” and you will see at once that this phrase expresses better than any other the ideal content of German patriotism of today. In no other country has the State the same obligation to control the exercise of social justice, or the same capacity for maintaining this control, as in Germany. A government which strains every nerve of the people for public purposes, which takes some of the best years from the life of every citizen for military service, which at every important point of theindividual’s career impresses upon him his connection with the State and his responsibility to the State, such a government cannot possibly avoid the responsibility of acting as the great social peacemaker, as the mediator between capital and labor, as the advocate of the weak, as the support of the needy; and it is in the nature of things that in exercising this duty it will more and more be drawn into the management of the great industries on its own account, and will more and more come to be the great employer of labor. That the German government is fully aware of this solemn obligation,and is to an extraordinary degree capable of fulfilling it, is amply proven on the one hand by the gigantic undertaking of the State insurance of workingmen against accidents, invalidism, and old age, on the other by the remarkable success which has attended the passing of the German railways into government control. Now, it is perfectly clear that such an enormous social and industrial power vested in a partisan government would inevitably result in the worst form of tyranny and oppression; only a non-partisan government is capable of wielding this power for the cause of social justice. The great question, then, the great desideratum of German political life, is the further development of its historic principle of non-partisan government, the building up of a government which, while recruited from all the various parties, will, in reality as well as in declared intent, be raised above all parties, and serve still more exclusively than it does now the one great cause of the common weal. Is it too much to hope that the German government of the future will habitually unite in itself the best minds of the Conservative, the Liberal, the Centrist, and the Socialist parties, and thereby rob party life of its present bitterness and implacability ? Does not the whole trend of German political history, with its traditional aversion to the rule of parliamentary majorities, and with its traditional insistence on a stable, public-spirited, and highly trained civil service, point in this direction ? Is not this a worthy aim of patriotic aspirations? And will not this complete carrying-out of non-partisan government for the sake of social justice, the establishment of perpetual party compromises within the Executive itself, be an important and highly instructive addition to the history of political experiments, and enrich the forms of government by a new and peculiarly valuable type? Indeed, here is a task before Germany, for the successful solution of which all nations will owe her a debt of gratitude; here is a new chance for the Hohenzollern dynasty to prove to the world that its historic motto of “ Suum cuique ” is not an empty word, and to demonstrate anew its wonderful power of uniting faithfulness to inherited traditions with keenest grasp of the problems of the future.

II

If social justice may be called the political ideal of contemporary Germany, social efficiency may be called the fundamental demand of the new German education.

The times are long since passed when scholarly culture could still be considered the chief or even the only aim of higher training. The demands of practical life have become so manifold and so pressing that it has become absolutely imperative for the school to adapt itself to these variegated needs. Hence the practical tendency of what is called the School Reform, a movement initiated in theory by such men as Paulsen, Rein, and other university professors, directed into legislative channels, at the instigation of the Emperor, chiefly by the Prussian Ministry of Education under the skillful executive of Dr. Althoff. The abolition of the Latin essay in the final examination of the Gymnasium, the increased attention given to German history and literature, the introduction in certain gymnasia of French previous to Latin, the reduction of the time devoted to Greek, the admission of schools without Greek (the Realgymnasia), and even of schools without Latin (the Oberrealschulen) to the same standing with the gymnasia, the tentative establishment of girls’ gymnasia, the proposition to introduce a certain amount of election into the curricula of the secondary schools, the admission of women to the universities, and even to the doctorate, the liberal endowment of laboratories and other scientific institutions at the universities, the foundation of new polytechnic schools, the official recognition of the polytechnic schools as being of equal rank with the universities and as being entitled to confer the highest academic degree, — all this has a decidedly practical and, as scoffers would say, American aspect.

But while it is unquestionable that most of these reforms, or all of them, have been forced upon the schools and universities by economic needs, and the increased struggle in all strata of society for making a livelihood, it is equally certain that the economic motive has not been the only one in bringing about these reforms. A spiritual motive, as well as a material, is lying back of the Educational Reform, and those who oppose it — although they may imagine themselves to be the advocates of superior interests — are surely not the only supporters of ideal demands.

The increased struggle of life, the quicker pulsation of blood, the greater tension of will and intellect, all of which are characteristic features of modern society, are bringing about, in Germany as much as anywhere else to-day, a new type of man and of woman. We do not care,— this is the instinctive feeling prevalent among the younger generation of parents,— we do not care to have the life knocked out of our children by the old learning. Let those who have a special bent in that direction devote themselves to the study of the ancient world. To make an appreciation of ancient literature and art the prime standard of cultivation, to demand of all of us a thorough knowledge of Greek and Latin grammar, of Greek and Roman history, to confine the best part of schooling to studies of direct import only to the philologist or the historian, — this is intellectual tyranny. What is the colonization of Asia Minor by the Greeks, compared with the gigantic colonization of America by the Germanic and Romance nations? What is the struggle of Rome and Carthage over the supremacy in the Mediterranean, compared with the struggle for world-dominion that has been going on during the last few centuries ? What is the conflict between the Roman plebs and patriciate, compared with the huge conflict between capital and labor that is now agitating the whole civilized world? What is even Greek literature and art, compared with the wealth and variety of artistic ideals and types produced by Italy, Spain, France, Germany, the Netherlands, and England, not to speak of other nations that have enriched the artistic vision of our own age ? To set up the ancient languages as the one means of linguistic training, to magnify ancient civilization as the climax of all human development, is worshiping an idol of arbitrary fancy. Far from having a liberalizing effect upon the youthful mind, this insistence by the schoolmen upon the superiority of the ancient world either tends to narrow the range of intellectual sympathy, or, by arousing the protest consequent upon all exaggeration, leads to indifference and open hostility against the very thing which the pupil is bidden to admire. The true and essential demand of a liberal education is that we should be made intellectually at home in our own country and people, that we should know the history of our mother longue, that we should be familiar with the great epochs of our national development, — whether political, literary, or artistic, — that we should be intimately acquainted with the language and the literature of those nations that have had the greatest influence upon our own history, and with whom we have now the most intimate relations, — in the case of Germany, then, at least the English and French language and literature; and only after all these requirements have been met, should the study of the ancient world come in as an element in the education of the average man.

Is it not an intolerable condition of things that the majority of our educated men should have struggled through the best part of their boyhood with Greek moods and tenses, and not be able to read our own Nibelungenlied or Walther von der Vogelweide in the original ? Is it not an absurdity that they should have been initiated into the details of archæological discussions concerning excavations in Olympia or Pergamon, and at the same time have been left practically ignorant of the treasures of plastic art stored in the cathedrals of Bamberg or Naumburg or Strassburg ? Is it not preposterous that they should have been made to worry through Platonic dialogues and Ciceronian orations, without for the most part being led to grasp their true significance and beauty, and at the same time hardly know more than the names of such men as Milton or Voltaire or Rousseau, — men who, both on account of their language and because of the subjects treated by them, are very much nearer to the understanding of the youth of to-day? If we demand a complete reversal of method in the study of the humanities, we make this demand not from mercenary motives, but in the name of liberal education. We are convinced that, if the emphasis of the instruction in all schools were laid upon the modern world,— modern languages, modern history, modern art and literature and thought, — education would acquire a new meaning. It would cease to be a matter of the school alone, it would come to be a part of public life. It would be a kind of self-scrutiny of the national mind as to the foundations of its own strength. It would lose all the harshness and artificiality inseparable from the old system. It would stimulate the independent activity of the pupil, and his desire to find his own bearings. It would, in the best sense of the word, be delivery, — delivery from self-deception and self-conceit. It would be a most active power in preventing, or at least allaying, international misunderstandings and animosities. For how could a man who felt truly at home in the intellectual world, at least of France, Germany, and England,fail to recognize the close interdependence of the great modern nations; how could he but be filled with the desire to contribute on his part toward their mutual understanding and friendly devotion to a common task ?

If, then, the tendency toward modern subjects, so characteristic of contemporary German instruction in the humanities, is actuated to a very large extent, by ideal motives, the same must be said of the two other most conspicuous features of German education of to-day: the emphasis laid upon natural science, and the constantly increasing interest taken by women in university studies. As to natural science, the conviction is steadily gaining ground that, quite apart from its importance as an economic factor, it should form part of the liberal training of an educated man. As little as a man can be called truly educated who is not intellectually at home in the great problems and conflicts that have shaped the history of his own country, so little can he be called educated who is not intellectually at home in the physical world that surrounds us. And what age has brought this selfevident truth clearer into view than ours, which puts its best energy into the service of physical observation, and which year by year reveals new forces in the cosmic order hidden heretofore? It is this truth to which Germany has risen with astonishing rapidity. As to the influx of women into the universities, there can be no question that the desire for economic independence or the necessity of self-support has not been the most cogent cause of this remarkable phenomenon. Most of the German women do not pursue bread and butter studies in the university; what they crave is intellectual stimulus. The German woman has, late perhaps, but on that very account with particular ardor, taken up the struggle for emancipation; she has come to the full consciousness of her spiritual dignity. She does not want any longer to confine herself to the narrow sphere of the house, she does not want any longer to be a mere piece of decoration, she does not want any longer an education which fits her only for society babble. She is resolved to get on her own feet intellectually; to grapple herself with the problems of modern life; to become a comrade, an equal of man; to reach out into the wide realm of liberal study. The result has been that to-day there is hardly a German family of the higher classes in which some feminine member is not taking up some serious life work, and that the state of things of a generation ago, when the lieutenant was the ordinary ideal of the typical German Backfisch, is fast becoming obsolete. The remarkable activity which German women have of late displayed in literature, especially in lyrics and in the novel, is only one phase, although a highly significant one, of this widespread, ardent, and earnest striving of womanhood for higher activity. The woman question is as much alive, and as momentous and on as high a plane, in Germany as in any other country.

It will perhaps be clear now in what sense I called social efficiency the fundamental demand of the new German education. Not in the sense that only that has social value in education which is of immediate application to some specific public or private need; but rather in the sense that only that knowledge is socially valuable which has been self-acquired, which has become part and parcel of the individual’s own make-up, which adds to the individual’s originality, which increases his or her power of adjustment to given conditions, which leads to a fuller insight into the great problems pressing in upon us from all sides, which stimulates active participation in public work of any kind, which heightens the joy of life. It will also have become clear that the nickname “American,” which has been attached to the new education, is in reality not a term of derision, but a name of honor and of deep significance. For it brings out the fact that the two great nations which have perhaps more to give to each other than any other two nations of to-day stand shoulder to shoulder in this fight, for a rational, modern education. Indeed, there can hardly be any question that it is in America and in Germany that this cause will first achieve its final and lasting triumph. In no other country, with the possible exception of Scandinavia, is public opinion so overwhelmingly on the side of the new ideal; in no other country is the work of reconstruction taken up in so earnest, methodical, and comprehensive a manner; in no other country has the reform found such sagacious, uncompromising, and fearless leaders. It is more than a mere coincidence that at the present moment the two most influential men in educational matters in America and Germany should be men so strikingly alike in intellectual temper as President Eliot and Dr. Althoff.

III

Thus far we have paid little or no attention to the spiritual ideals dominating contemporary German life. In considering this side of our subject, we are at once struck with a remarkable difference between conditions in Germany and the state of things in other countries, particularly America and England. In America and England questions of the higher life are still very largely bound up with the Church; it is hardly conceivable that spiritual problems should arise in either of these countries without the Church trying to meet them. In Germany, the Church has ceased to be a moral leader ; it has sunk back to the position of a defender of creeds. The inner life has been secularized in Germany; the men who shape spiritual ideals are philosophers, poets, artists.

In a large measure this stale of affairs is due to the after-effect of that great epoch of German humanism signalized by the names of Goethe and Kant, Schiller and Fichte. The very substance of the life work of these men and their compeers consisted in this, that they replaced the ecclesiastical doctrine of atonement by the belief in the saving quality of restless striving. Never in the whole history of the world has there been held up to man an ideal of life more exalted, more inspiring, freer from unworthy or belittling motives, than in their teachings. They trusted in the essential goodness of all life; they conceived of the universe as a great spiritual being, engaged in constant self-revelation and in a constant struggle toward higher forms of existence. They believed that man, as a part of this spiritual universe, was in immediate and instinctive communication with its innermost essence; and they saw the great office of man in helping the spirit toward its fullest self-realization. They did not close their eyes to the fact that there is evil in the world. But they saw in evil merely abortive attempts toward good,— failures, as it. were, of the world spirit in its reaching out for completeness of selfmanifestation; and the remedy for evil, the atonement for guilt, they found not in contrition or self-inflicted suffering, but in renewed effort, in heightened activity, in unremitting work. That the practical demands growing out of this new faith, the fullest development of all human faculties, the freest play of all human aspirations, and the redemption of man from sin by his own strength, are absolutely incompatible with the traditional church doctrine of the radical perversity of human nature and the impossibility of salvation except through divine intercession, is undeniable. But it is equally clear that they are in full accord with the whole drift, with the strongest tendencies, of modern life. And there can be no question that literature and art, in so far as they are expressions of what is most distinctly modern in contemporary life, cannot help drawing their best inspiration from such views as these.

During the decades following the death of Goethe, the problems of political reconstruction and national unity so largely absorbed public attention that the higher demands of the human heart, the longing for spiritual perfection, for oneness of the individual with the all, for the harmonious rounding out of personal life, had, as it wrere, to be hushed. Hence the lameness. the half-heartedness, the prevailing mediocrity, of German literature and art about the middle of the nineteenth century. With the foundation of the new Empire in 1870, the most urgent national need was at last put out of the way; a basis for a secure political development had been established. From now on, questions of the inner life pressed to the foreground once more, and in course of time there followed a revival of that moral enthusiasm, that intense striving for a free human personality, that fearless and comprehensive view of the world as a great living organism, which had brought about the great epoch of German culture at the end of the eighteenth century. Today we are in the midst of a literary and artistic movement which is in every way a worthy counterpart to that great era of moral delivery; to-day literature and art have again assumed the rôle of leadership in the national striving for spiritual possessions.

If we were to express in one word the keynote of this new German art, so as to indicate what it has added and is adding to the moral consciousness of the German people, we probably could not choose a better word than sympathy with life, — Lebensbcjahung, as Nietzsche, its most impassioned, though by no means noblest, champion would say. Of course no art could be imagined which was entirely devoid of this sympathy with life; the principal difference between the various epochs of artistic development consists in the greater or smaller degree, the larger or narrower range, of thissympathy. The distinguishing feature of contemporary German, as indeed of all modern, art is the intense ardor, the well-nigh universal comprehensiveness of this feeling. Humanity,— this is the general impression left by the most characteristic productions of this new art, — humanity is once more throbbing with the desire to comprehend all, to sympathize with all, to feel at one with all. Dumb nature and animal life, the lot of the common people, the drudgery of everyday existence, the suffering of the downtrodden and the degraded, the whole gamut of human instincts, passions, ambitions, and aspirations,— it is all worthy of loving consideration and interest, all is part of one great living whole, in it all there is felt the breath of the infinite spirit, the restless striving of the universal life for completeness of existence.

The two men who have given the most perfect artistic expression to this new pantheism, Richard Wagner and Arnold Rocklin, are no longer among the living, but their works arc as active a force in creating the ideal atmosphere of cultivated Germany as ever before. The thousands upon thousands who year after year listen to the soul-stirring strains of Wagner’s music, who enter into the world of elemental longings, passions, and strivings contained in such heroic figures as Tannhauser, Tristan, Siegfried, or Parsifal, cannot help undergoing thereby a process of moral revolution. They cannot help being made to feel, — blindly, perhaps, in most cases, but on that account no less forcibly,— that here there are types of a life raised above the ordinary conceptions of good and evil, beings that have in them something of the primeval power of nature herself, superior both to happiness and to distress, finding their only law and their only joy in living out what is in them. Even where their names suggest ecclesiastical tradition and lore, these heroic figures are themselves as unecclesiastical as possible; no matter whether they succumb to a tragic fate or whether they press on to victory, they are sufficient unto themselves, they remain unbroken, they have no need of changing themselves into something which is contrary to their natural instincts; what inspires, moves, and maintains them, is their indestructible faith in life, their instinctive assurance that they themselves, are indestructible parts of that great, mysterious One and All which through countless transformations and cataclysms maintains itself in unimpaired splendor and strength. And similar is the effect of Bocklin’s paintings. Here also there is a life, exultant, ecstatic almost, with the feeling of the oneness of man with the powers that surround him. Here the line dividing man and nature has been effaced entirely. Whether we see the surf dashing against the rocks, tossing about in its mighty whirl a fantastic host of half-human, half-animal forms, or the fights of centaurs on lonely mountain heights, encompassed by rolling clouds; whether the wonders of the. forest open before us in the shy, half-crazed glance of the unicorn stepping noiselessly through its gruesome dusk; whether the holy grove receives us in common with the solemn company gathered about the altar and bending in mute adoration before the sacred flame; whether we lose ourselves in gentle meditation with the venerable old hermit playing the violin before the image of the Virgin, or whether we follow the daring fancy of the knighterrant riding with head erect and lordly mien over the sandy, desolate beach; whether the sun sparkles in the brook and the meadows teem with flowers and sporting children, or whether the Island of the Dead, with its sombre cypresses and its austere rocks, looms up from the glassy sea, — everywhere there seems to look at us that same magic, all-embracing, all-enfolding, inexhaustible being, of which man, beast, plant, and all the elements are partial, but closely kindred, manifestations; everywhere our sense of life is heightened, our sympathy is enlarged, our passions are stirred, our longing for a complete rounding out of all our faculties is intensified. Of Böcklin it may in truth be said that he has forced the present generation of Germans to see in a new way, more intensely, and at wider range; that the skv seems bluer, the meadow greener, the light of the sun more dazzling, the shadow of the poplar and the cypress deeper, than before he opened our eyes to these sights: that he, as no one before him, has revealed nature as one gigantic, irresistible striving for beauty, for color, for light, for variety of forms, for perfection of types. That a man of such astounding creative power, and of such an extraordinary wealth of ideas as he, should during his lifetime have had to struggle against all sorts of prejudices and animosities, and that even now he should hardly have begun to exert an influence beyond the confines of German-speaking countries, is a fresh proof of how hard it is for the truly great to dispossess fat mediocrity.

Perhaps none of the sculptors, painters, musicians, and authors of the younger generation can be compared in range and sweep of conception with the two masters whose works will probably stand to posterity as calmly resplendent symbols of all the brooding, longing, striving, all the passion, exultation, and restless activity that vibrated in German hearts at the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth. That, however, even the most modern German art and literature is committed to these same ideals, that it is permeated with this same zeal of grappling with the fundamental problems of existence, that it is impelled by the same desire to express the innermost cravings of life in all their wealth and variety, the mere enumeration of such names as Richard Strauss, Max Klinger, Gerhard Hauptmann, Joseph Widmann, Wilhelm von Polenz, Ricarda Huch, Helene Böhlau,and Clara Viebig, is sufficient proof. And it should be added that recent years have given us not a few productions which, for their artistic perfection as well as their spiritual significance, may well be ranked among the great.

Think of such creations as Strauss’s Tod und Verklärung, Klinger’s Beethoven, Hauptmann’s Der Arme Heinrich, Widmann’s Maikäfer-Komoedie, — has the contemporary art of other nations anything to offer, deeper in feeling or more irresistible in expression ? Does not Strauss’s ravishing composition lead us into the very centre of the elemental struggles and catastrophes of life; does it not spread before us the vision of an infinite, all-embracing activity ? Has not Klinger’s chisel transformed the features of Beethoven into a symbol of the concentrated energy of modern intellectual striving; has it not made the marble proclaim the indomitable determination of modern man to conquer matter ? Is not Hauptmann’s dramatization of the mediaeval legend of “Poor Henry” a wonderful embodiment of the modern longing for firmness of faith, for spiritual resurrection, — a song of redemption by inner transformation ? And does not Widmann’s fantastic poem of the joys, the desires, and the tragedy of insect life open up our heart to everything that lives and draws breath; does it not make us see our own life in a new light, increasing our capacity for enjoyment and strengthening our readiness to endure? Indeed, here there are ideal creations that have sprung from the very midst of the spirit ual problems that surround us; here there are hymns of modern belief; here art appears in her noblest form, as priestess of humanity, as healer, uplifter, exhorter, and redeemer.

But quite apart from such works as these, works appealing to aspirations universally human and removed in subject matter from the actual conditions of to-day, what a wealth of idealism and joyous vitality has come to light of late in the literature dealing directly with contemporary subjects and situations. The German novel, in particular, has during the last ten or fifteen years undergone a complete transformation. Not in vain has it gone to school with the masters of realism in Russia and France; it has learned directness of expression, precision of delineation, perspicuity of grouping, simplicity and truthfulness of characterization . As mere specimens of artistic composition, such novels as Polenz’s Der Büttnerbauer, Ricarda Huch’s Rudolf Ursleu, Clara Viebig’s Das Weiberdorf or Das Schlafende Heer, Helene Böhlau’s Der Rangierbafmhof or Das Recht der Mutter are equal to anything which the contemporary novelists of Europe or America have produced. What, however, gives their peculiar significance to these and similar German novels of today is the noble, generous humanity pervading them, the sympathy with human suffering and struggling, the charitable view taken even of the degenerate and the criminal, the openness and hospitality for any kind of strong and genuine feeling, the belief in the sacredness of life, the earnest desire to do justice to all of its types, the eagerness to approach all questions of private conduct or public morality without prejudice or malice, the trust in the saving quality of honest endeavor and courageous grappling with circumstance. These novelists are moral leaders, even though they do not know it, and most effectively so when they do not intend to be. They are helping toward a wider and fuller conception of humanity, a more truthful foundation of morals, a freer development of personality, a society based on justice and reason. They are enriching the moral consciousness of the German people; they are adding to its storehouse of spiritual ideals.

I have already alluded to the fact that the Church, the great organized power for the maintenance and propagation of spirituality, has remained entirely foreign to this body of spiritual ideals which, sprung from the great epoch of German Classicism and Romanticism, have formed the German lay religion ever since, and have during the last few decades found renewed expression in literature and art. Unfortunately, this statement is not quite strong enough. The Church, both Protestant and Catholic, has not only main tamed an attitude of indifference toward these ideals; it has over and over again declared its open hostility to them, it has condemned them as unchristian and atheistic, it has designated them as the root of all evil in modern society.

Here there lies the fundamental antagonism, the cardinal paradox, of contemporary German life. Nowhere is there a greater chance, a wider opportunity,for the Church to become a spiritual leader, to receive into its own stream all the higher aspirations of the nation, than in Germany. No people is at heart more deeply religious than the German; nowhere is there more individual reaching out after the infinite. No view of life seems more clearly destined to become the common creed of modern humanity than the noble optimism, the joyous trust in the universe, the belief in the affinity of all things, the sympathy with all existence, the faith in work, in continual endeavor as the royal road to redemption, which are the living legacy of our classic literature and philosophy. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, in these convictions which I he Church might not assimilate. By placing herself on the same intellectual level with our thinkers, poets, and artists; by relinquishing the unworthy notion of an extramundane deity residing somewhere in a corner of the universe; by abandoning the childish conception of a single revelation of this deity in times past through the mouths of a few men and to a few chosen people; by resolutely casting aside the incongruous idea of the salvation of mankind through one vicarious sacrifice; by openly adopting a religion which is in harmony with the modern view of the universe, which is broad enough to include the demands of every human instinct, and which listens without fear to every message of Nature and all her interpreters, — the Church would at once rally around herself all the longing, striving, aspiring minds of the nation, and a new era of popular religious life would be at hand. Germany, the home of free thought, would become the home of a new, free religion, also.

Instead of that, what do we see ? We see that the Church, of all the public forces in German life of to-day, is the only one which has remained absolutely stationary; that she obstinately clings to a set of beliefs which are in direct contradiction to the most primitive knowledge acquired in the common schools; that she forces these beliefs upon the religious instruction in the schools, nay, even upon the theological faculties of the universities, the seats of the “Higher Criticism;” that she applies her obsolete and unenlightened views with such consistency and energy that she has, for instance, succeeded in having cremation forbidden by law in Prussia, on the ground of this process of interment being prejudicial to the resurrection of the body; we see, in other words, that the Church is doing her best to make religious life, to the great majority of the people, appear as one prodigious lie or mockery. No wonder that, in the Protestant parts of Germany, at least, the religious instruction forced upon school children leads in most cases with growing maturity only to contempt for everything connected with church life; that sermons as a rule are preached to empty benches; that the materialistic vagaries of Haeckel and the unmeasured anti clericalism of Nietzsche find a ready ear with the masses, and incite them to hatred of religion herself.

Such a state of things cannot last. Either the Church persists in her present defiance of everything that makes life interesting and precious to thinking men. In that case the disaffection and the revolt against the Church will, of course, steadily grow, and ultimately reach such dimensions that the whole ecclesiastical system goes to ruin. Or, the Church rises at last to her opportunity, fills herself with the modern faith in life, casts to the winds dogmatic squabbles, and preaches that God whom Christ and his disciples preached, the infinite spirit in whom we live and move and have our being. In that case there will be a religious reawakening such as Germany has not seen since Luther. Let us hope that this is what the future has in store for us.

A few words in conclusion. We have seen that contemporary Germany is by no means lacking in ideal impulses. Social justice as the controlling force in the development of political institutions, social efficiency as the goal of education, universal sympathy with life as the guiding principle of literature and art, — this is a triad of uplifting motives which cannot help stimulating every constructive energy, every power for good, contained in the nation. All that Germany needs is an undisturbed condition of public affairs, absence of foreign complications, and mutual forbearance and good-will in domestic controversies. With this prospect assured, the new ideals briefly analyzed on the preceding pages will more and more completely dominate the national consciousness, and the way will be free toward a golden age of German achievements in every domain of higher aspiration.