But moments will come when we who are remote from people will
experience
moments ofgrace that are remote from people.
Musil - Man Without Qualities - v2
''When confronted with a case of pneumonia, you don't ask whether you can help a good person go on living!
Your only task now is to prevent yourself from becoming accessory to a murder!
"
Friedenthal sadly threw up his hands. ''You're crazy! " he said rudely and dejectedly.
"One has to have the courage to be crazy if the world is to be set right again! From time to time there have to be people who refuse to go along with the lies! " Clarisse asserted.
He took this to be a witty joke, which in the rush he had not quite understood. From the start this little person had made an impression on him, especially since, dazzled by General von Stumm, he overestimated her social position; and in any case, many young people these days give a rather confused impression. He found her to be something special, and felt himself restlessly stirred by her spontaneous eagerness as if by something relentlessly, even nobly, radiant. To be sure, he perhaps ought to have seen this radiance as diamondlike, for it also had some- thing of the quality of an overheated stove: something distinctly unpleas- ant that made one hot and icy. He unobtrusively assessed his visitor: stigmata of a heightened nervousness were doubtless to be perceived in her. But who today did not have such stigmata! Friedenthal's response was no different from the usual one-for when there are hazy notions of what is really meaningful, what is confused always has the same chance to excel that the con artist has in a hazily defined society-and although he was a pretty good observer, he had always managed to regain his composure no matter what Clarisse said. In the last analysis, one can always regard any person as a small-scale swatch of mental illness; that's the job of theory, how one looks at a person at one time psychologically and at another chemically; and since after Clarisse's last words a chasm of silence yawned, Friedenthal again sought "contact" and at the same
I642 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
time sought once more to divert her from her insistent demands. "Did you really like the women we saw? " he asked.
"Oh, enormously! " Clarisse exclaimed. She stood quietly before him, and the hardness was suddenly gone from her face. "I don't know what to tell you," she added softly. "That ward is like a monstrous magnifying glass held over a woman's triumph and suffering! "
Friedenthal smiled with satisfaction. ''Well, so now you see," he said. "Now you'll have to concede that the attraction that illness exercises is not alien to me either. But I must observe limits, I have to keep things in their places. Then I wanted to ask you whether you have ever considered that love, too, is a disturbance of the mind. There is hardly anyone who does not conceal something in his most private and proper love life that he reveals only to his guilty partner, some craziness or weakness: why not simply call it perversity and madness? In public you have to take measures against it, but in your inner life you can't always arm yourself against such things with the same rigor. And psychiatrists-psychiatry is ultimately an art too-will celebrate their greatest success when they have a certain sympathy and rapport with the medium in which they are working. " He had seized his visitor's hand, and Clarisse ceded to him its outermost fingertips, which she felt lying between his fingers as softly and helplessly as if they had fallen from her like the petals a flower drops. Suddenly she was completely a woman, full of that tender capri- ciousness in the face of a man's beseeching, and what she had experi- enced in the morning was forgotten. A soundless sigh parted her lips. It seemed to her that she had never felt this way, or not for the longest time, and evidently at this moment something from the magic of his realm rubbed off on Friedenthal, whom she by no means especially liked. But she pulled herself together and asked sternly: ''What have you made up your mind to do? "
"I have to make my rounds now," the doctor replied, "but I would like to see you again. But not here. Can't we meet somewhere else? "
"Perhaps," Clarisse responded. ''When you have carried out my re- quest! "
Her lips narrowed, the blood drained from her skin, and this made her cheeks look like two small leather balls; there was too much pressure in her eyes. Friedenthal suddenly felt exploited. It is extraordinary, but when a person sees another as merely a means to an end, it is much easier for him to take on that impenetrable look ofsomeone who is men- tally ill, the more natural it seems to him that consideration ought to be shown him. "Every hour here we see souls suffer, but we have to stay within our bounds," he countered. He became circumspect.
Clarisse said: "Good, you don't want to. Let me make you another
From the Posthurrwus Papers · 1643
proposition. " She stood before him, small, legs apart, hands behind her back, and looked at him with a bashfully sarcastic, urgent smile: "I'll join the clinic as a nurse! "
The doctor stood up and asked her to talk it over with her brother, who would make clear to her how many necessary prerequisites for such a position she was lacking. As he spoke, the sarcasm that was squeezed into her eyes drained out of them and they filled with tears. "Then I want," she said, almost voiceless from excitement, "to be accepted as a patient! I have a mission! " Because she was afraid of spoiling her chances if she looked directly at the doctor, she looked to one side and up a little, and perhaps her eyes even wandered around. A shudder heated her skin, which swelled up red. Now she looked lovely and in need of tenderness, but it was too late; irritation at her importunity had sobered the doctor and made him reserved. He did not even ask her any more questions, for it seemed politic not to know too much about her out of consideration for the General and Ulrich, who had brought her here, and also in view of the almost forbidden favors he had granted her. And it was only out of old medical habit that from this point on his speech became still gentler and more emphatic as he expressed to Cla- risse his regret that there was no way he could meet her second request, and he advised her to confide this wish to her brother too. He even in- formed her that before that happened he could not allow her to con- tinue her visits to the clinic, much as this would be a loss to him personally.
Clarisse offered no real resistance to what he said. She had already imputed worse to Friedenthal. "He's an impeccable medical bureau- crat," she told herself. That eased her departure: she casually extended her hand to the physician, and her eyes laughed cunningly. She was not at all depressed, and even as she went down the steps was thinking about other possibilities.
FISCHEL I GERDA I HANS SEPP I ULRICH
LATE 19. 20S
It was Ulrich's bad conscience that drove him to Gerda; since the melan- choly scene between them, he had not heard anything from her and did not know how she had come to terms with herself. To his swprise, he found Papa Leo at the Fischels' house; Mama Clementine had gone out with Gerda. Leo Fischel would not let Ulrich go; he had rushed out to the hall himselfwhen he recognized his voice. Ulrich had the impression of changes. Director Fischel seemed to have changed his tailor; his in- come must have increased and his convictions diminished. Then too, he had usually stayed later at the bank; he had never worked at home after the air there had become so irksome. But today he seemed to have been sitting at his desk, although this "roaring loom of time" had not been used for years; a packet ofletters lay on the baize cloth, and the chrome- plated telephone, otherwise used only by the ladies, was standing askew, as if it had just been in use. After Ulrich had sat down, Fischel turned toward him in his desk chair and polished his pince-nez with a handker- chief that he drew from his breast pocket, although earlier he would cer- tainly have objected to such a foppish action, saying that it had been sufficient for a Goethe, a Schiller, and a Beethoven to cany their hand- kerchiefs in their trouser pocket-whether that was the case or not.
-It's been a long time, said Director Fischel. -Y es, Ulrich said.
- D i d you inherit a great deal? Fischel asked. -Oh, Ulrich said. -Enough.
- Y e s , there are problems.
- B u t you look splendid. You somehow seem to have got younger. -Oh, thanks; professionally there have never been any problems.
But look- He pointed in a melancholyway to a pile ofletters that lay on the desk. You do know Hans Sepp?
- O f course. You took me into your confidence- -Right! Fischel said.
From the Posthumous Papers · 1645
- A r e those love letters?
The telephone rang. Fischel put on his pince-nez, which he had taken off to listen, extracted a paper with notes from his coat, and said: - B u y ! Then the inaudible voice at the other end spoke to him for quite a while. From time to time Fischel looked over his spectacles at Ulrich, and once he even said: -Excuse me! Then he said into the instrument: -No, thank you, I don't like the second business! Talk about it? Yes, of course we can talk about it again-and with a short, satisfied pause for reflec- tion, he hung up.
-You see, Fischel said. -That was someone in Amsterdam; much too expensive! Three weeks ago the thing wasn't worth half as much, and in three weeks it won't be worth half what it costs now. But in between there's a deal to be made. A great risk!
- B u t you didn't want to, Ulrich said.
- O h , that's not really settled. But a great risk . . . ! But still, let me tell you, that's building in marble, stone on stone! Can you build on the mind, the love, the ideals of a person? He was thinking of his wife and of Gerda. How different it had been at the beginning! The telephone rang again, but this time it was a wrong number.
-You used to put more worth on solid moral values than on a solid purse, Ulrich said. -How often you held it against me that I couldn't follow you in that!
-Oh-he responded-ideals are like air that changes, you don't know how, with closed windows! Twenty-five years ago, who had any notion of anti-Semitism? No, then there were the great perspectives of Humanity! You're too young. But I still managed to hear some of the great parliamentary debates. The last ones! The only thing that's de- pendable is what you can say with numbers. Believe me, the world would be a lot more reasonable if it were simply left to the free play of supply and demand, instead of being equipped with armored ships, bayonets, diplomats who know nothing about economics, and so-called national ideals.
Ulrich interrupted with the objection that it was precisely heavy in- dustry and the banks whose demands were urging peoples on to arma- ment.
- W e l l , shouldn't they? Fischel replied. - I f the world is the way it is, and runs around in fool's outfits in broad daylight, they shouldn't take account of that? When the military just happens to be convenient for customs dealings, or against strikers? Money, you know, has its own ra- tionale, and it's not to be trifled with. By the way, apropos, have you heard anything new about Arnheim's ore deposits? Again the phone rang; but with his hand on the instrument, Fischel waited for Ulrich's
1646 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
answer. The conversation was brief, and Fischel did not lose the thread of their conversation; since Ulrich lmew nothing new about Amheim, he repeated that money had its own rationale. - P a y attention, he added. - I f I were to offer Hans Sepp five hundred marks to move to one of the universities of his revered-above-all Germania (Germany), he would re- ject them indignantly. If I offered him a thousand, ditto. But if I were to offer him ten thousand-though I never in my life would, even if I had so much money! It almost seemed as ifFischel, horrified at such an idea, had lost the connection, but he was only reflecting, and went on: - O n e just can't do that, because money has its own rationale. For a man who spends insane amounts, the money won't stick; it will fly from him, make him a spendthrift. That the ten thousand marks refuse to be offered to Hans Sepp proves that this Hans Sepp is not real, is of no value, but an awful, swindling scourge with which God is chastising me.
Again Fischel was interrupted. This time by longer communications. That he was conducting such transactions at home instead of at the of- fice struck Ulrich. Fischel gave three orders to buy and one to sell. In between he had time to think about his wife. - I f I were to offer her money so she would divorce me-he asked himself-would Clementine do it? An inner certainty answered: No. Leo Fischel mentally doubled the amount. Ridiculous! said the inner voice. Fischel quadrupled. No, on principle, occurred to him. Then in one swoop he breathlessly in- creased the sum beyond any human resistance or capability, and angrily stopped. He speedily had to switch his mind to smaller fortunes, which literally shrank in his mind the way the pupils narrow with a sudden change of light; but he did not forget his affairs for an instant, and made no mistakes.
- B u t now tell me, finally-Ulrich asked, having already become im- patient-what kind of letters these are that you wanted to show me. They appear to be love letters. Did you intercept Gerda's love letters?
- I wanted to show you these letters. You should read them. I would just like to lmow now what you would say about them. Fischel handed Ulrich the whole packet and sat back, preoccupied meanwhile with other thoughts, gazing into the air through his pince-nez.
Ulrich glanced at the letters; then he took one out and slowly read it through. Director Fischel asked: -Tell me, Herr Doktor, you used to lmow this singer Leontine, or Leona, who looks like the late Empress Elizabeth; may God punish me, this woman really has the appetite of a lion!
Ulrich looked up, frowning; he liked the letter, and the interruption bothered him.
-W ell, you don't have to answer, Fischel placated him. - I was just
From the Posthumous Papers · z64 7
asking. You needn't be ashamed. She's no royalty. I met her a little while ago through an acquaintance; we found out that you and she were friends. She eats a lot. Let her eat! Who doesn't like to eat? Fischel laughed.
Ulrich dropped his gaze to the letter again, without responding. Fischel again gazed dreamily into the firmament of the room.
The letter began: -Beloved person! Human goddess! We are con- demned to live in an extinguished century. No one has the courage to believe in the reality of myth. You must realize that this applies to you too. You do not have the courage ofyour nature as goddess. Fear ofpeo- ple holds you back. You are right to consider ordinary human lust as vulgar; indeed, worse than that, as a ridiculous regression from the life of us people ofthe future into mere atavism! And you are right again when you say that love for a person, animal, or thing is already the beginning of taking possession of it! And we don't even need to mention that possess- ing is the beginning of despiritualization! But still you have to distin- guish: being felt, perhaps also being sensed, is called being mine. I only feel what is mine; I don't hear what is not meant for me! Were this not so, we would be intellectualists. It's perhaps an inescapable tragedy that when we love we are forced to possess with eyes, ears, breath, and thoughts! But consider: I feel that I am not, so long as I am only I myself, I-self. It's only in the things outside me that I first discover myself. That, too, is a truth. I love a flower, a person, because without them I would be nothing. The grand thing about the experience of"mine" is feeling one- self melt away entirely, like a pile of snow under the rays of the sun, drifting upward like a gentle dissipating vapor! The most beautiful thing about "mine" is the ultimate extirpation of the possession of my self! That's the pure sense of "mine," that I possess nothing but am possessed by the entire world. All brooks flow from the heights to the valleys, and you too, 0 my soul, will not be mine before you have become a drop in the ocean of the world, totally a link in the world brotherhood and world community! This mystery no longer has anything in common with the insipid exaggeration that individual love experiences. In spite of the lust of this age one must have the courage for ardor, for inner fire! Virtue makes action virtuous; actions don't make virtue! Try it! The Beyond reveals itself in fits and starts, and we will not be transported in one jump into the regions of untrammeled life.
But moments will come when we who are remote from people will experience moments ofgrace that are remote from people. Don't throw sensuality and suprasensuality into a pot of what has been! Have the courage to be a goddess! That's Germani . . .
-W ell? Fischel asked.
1648 • THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
Ulrich's face had turned red He found this letter ridiculous but mov- ing. Did these young people have no inhibitions at all about what was exaggerated, impossible, about the word that will not let itself be re- deemed? Words constantly hitched up with new words, and a kernel of truth hazed over with their peculiar web. - S o that's what Gerda's like now, he thought. But within this thought he thought a second, un- spoken, shaming one; it went something like: - A r e n ' t you insufficiently exaggerated and impossible?
-Well? Fischel repeated.
- A r e all the letters like that? Ulrich asked, giving them back to him. - H o w do I know which ones you've read! Fischel answered.
-They're all like that!
- T h e n they are quite beautiful, Ulrich said.
- I thought as much! Fischel exploded. - O f course that's why I
showed them to you! My wife found them. But no one expects me to have any clever advice in such questions ofthe soul. So fine! Tell that to my wife!
I would rather talk to Gerda herselfabout it; there's a lot in the letter that is, of course, quite misguided-
-Misguided? To say the least! But talk to her! And tell Gerda that I can't understand a single word of this jargon, but that I'm ready to pay five thousand marks-no! Better not to say anything! Tell her only that I love her anyway and am ready to forgive her!
The telephone again called Fischel to business. He, who all his life had been only a solid clerk, had begun some time ago to operate on the stock exchange on his own: -from time to time and with only small amounts, the scanty savings he possessed and a few stocks belonging to his spouse, Clementine. He could not talk to her about it, but he could be quite satisfied at his success; it was a real recreation from the depress- ing circumstances at home.
Ulrich is driven to see Gerda. He hadn't spoken to her since the hys- terical scene. Conscience impels him. But he finds Gerda very much taken up with Hans Sepp.
Ulrich seeks to be conciliatory with Gerda and to be kind. She pays him back with her involvement with Hans Sepp, which Ulrich perceives as intellectual felony.
Arnheim has become the ideal, the messiah, the savior. The spiritual man of intellect for our time.
From the Posthumous Papers · 1649
Effect of the nabob.
Leo Fischel's belief in progress is part of the problem of culture. Hans Sepp stimulated by the conflict of the national minorities. "German-ness" as a vague reaction to the cultural situation.
Ulrich receives a Stella shock [Goethe's play-TRANs. ] (letters! ) for
Agathe.
Gerda is "beyond" love. Also against religious mysticism. In future:
conflict indicated in letter.
Double orientation: Mysticism Antidemocracy
Soon after his visit to the Fischels', Ulrich was again driven to see Gerda. He had not seen her since the sad scene that had taken place between them, and felt the desire to speak kindly and reasonably to her. He wanted to suggest that she leave her parents' house for a year or two and undertake something that would give her pleasure, with the aim of forgetting him and Hans Sepp and taking advantage ofher youth. But he found her in the company of Hans Sepp. She turned pale when she saw him come in; the thoughts flew out of her head, and even though she looked composed, there was really nothing at all in her that she could compose; she suddenly felt nothing but an emptiness surrounded by the stiff, disciplined, automatic motions of her limbs.
- I don't want to ask your pardon, Gerda-Ulrich began-because that isn't important-
She interrupted him right there. -I behaved ludicrously-she said-I know that; but believe me, it's all over.
-I'll only believe that everything's fine when I know what you're up to and what your plans are.
Hans Sepp was listening with the jealous eyes of one who does not understand.
- W h a t makes you think that Friiulein Fischel has plans? he asked.
Ulrich remembered the letters that Leo Fischel had shown him. Since then he had had a lot of sympathy for this young person in whom mystic feelings raged. But at the same time, seeing him reminded him, God knows why, of a skinny dog that wants to mount a bitch much too
1650 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
big for him. He collected himself and, ignoring his question, asked Hans to explain to him what he wanted. - T h a t is to say, he added, he would like to know what he had in mind to turn his ideas into reality when he was not talking about "human being," "soul," "mystery," "ardor," "con- templation," and the like, but about the future Dr. Hans Sepp, who would be compelled to live in the world.
Ulrich really wanted to know, that was sincerely to be heard in his question; and in addition he had managed to invest it with a Masonic choice of words that astonished Hans, and Gerda's glance rested on Hans with a challenging reproach. Hans scratched his head, because he did not want to be rude and felt embarrassed. -Those aren't my ideas-he finally said-but those of German youth. Ulrich repeated his request to show him how they could be made reality. Hans thought he knew what Ulrich was getting at: whenever Hans courted Gerda with such ideas, the words were like the texture of an orchestra through which, as voice, the sight of Gerda hovered; could one tear that apart and separate it? -Y ou're asking me to make a political treatise out of a piece of music! he said.
Ulrich added: - A n d the language of politics, of trade, of arithmetic, is the language ofthe fallen angels, whose wings have long since become as vestigial as, say, our caudal vertebra. It can hardly be articulated in such a language-is that what you mean? But that's exactly why I would like to know what you're thinking of doing. Hans gave him the simplest answer to this: - I don't know! But I'm not alone. And if several thou- sand people want something that they can't picture, then one day they'll get it, as long as they remain true to themselves!
- D o you believe that too, Gerda? Ulrich asked.
Gerdawavered. -I'm convincedtoo-shesaid-thatourculturewill perish i f something isn't done.
Ulrich jumped up. -My dear children! What concern is that of yours? Tell me what you're proposing to do with each other!
Hanssetaboutdefendinghisview. -Don'ttalkdowntous! It'squite certain that this hugger-mugger called culture will perish, and every- thing else along with it-and nothing will prevail against it but the New Man!
-But Hans overestimates the significance of love between people, Gerda added. - T h e New will also leave that behind.
Hans was really a melancholy person. An emerging impurity on his skin could put him in a bad mood for days, and that was no rare occur- rence, for in his petit-bourgeois family care of the skin did not rank very high. As in many Austrian families, it had stopped at the state it had reached before the middle of the nineteenth century: that is, every Sat-
From the Posthumous Papers · 1 6 5 1
urday the bathtub or a wash trough would be filled with hot water, and this setved for the cleaning of the body that was forgone on all the other days. There were just as few other luxuries in Hans Sepp's family home. His father was a minor government functionary with a small salary and the prospect of an even scantier pension, which in view of his age was imminent, and the principles as well as the conduct of life in his parents' house were distinguished from those at the Fischels' about the way that a cardboard box carefully tied together with knotted bits of string, in which the common people pack their belongings for a journey, differs from a magnificent valise. I f he looked around, all that Hans Sepp could claim as a distinction was his German name, and it had taken him a long time before he learned to regard it as more than a gift of fate, on the day that he became acquainted with the view that being German meant being aristocratic. From that day forward he bore a noble name, and it is not necessary to waste words about how nice it is to know that one is personally distinguished; one should rather write a whole book about how one ought to want not to be distinguished but to distinguish oneself; but that would tum into a book that would be absolutely and completely unsocial.
The titles Count and Prince pale in comparison with the title Hans Sepp. No one today values belonging to a secret clan whose signs are an ox's head or three stars. On the other hand, to have a German name when one had German sentiments was, among lower-class youth in Austria, a rarity. The friends through whom Hans had been introduced into the movement were named Vybiral and Bartolini. It had about it something of a symbolic cover, the miracle of the manifestation of the Holy Spirit, when one was named Hans and in addition had the family name of Sepp.
Hans Sepp felt himself one of the elect, and in the absence of a bath- room he acquired the ideal of racial purity. But within this ideal there is enclosed the ideal of purity of principles. In this way, even in his early years, Hans Sepp came to fight for all the commandments of morality, which is otherwise the privilege of the incapacity for sinning, and is a position in which one has no desire for any further changes. It is a quite remarkable thing when young people become enthusiastic about virtue: a union of fire and stubbornness.
This union is facilitated if there is the possibility of combining the af- firmation with a powerful negation. But in order to arrive at the real significance of such a negation, one must leave aside what is accidental, in this case the racial aspect, which is the form in which it expresses itself though not its sense.
But that was just the smaller and less serious advantage. Far greater is
1652 · THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
the advantage that a young person who adopts a negative view of the world makes the world into a comfortable nest. It is well-nigh impossible to demonstrate something as notorious as the meager intellectual con- tent of one of those novels that among the German public pass for pro- found; it is much easier to make this credible by saying that these novels aren't German, or at least it penetrates reality more easily. One should not (on the whole) underestimate the advantage of saying no to every- thing that is considered great and beautiful. For, first, one almost always hits upon something true, and second, determining it more precisely, and the process of proving it, are in all circumstances extremely difficult and, in terms ofhaving any effect, futile. In Germany there was once the ideal: "Test everything and keep the best"; this ideal ended in filth and scorn; it was the ideal of the dignified life and the cult of the home, which, in a time of obligatory specialization deprived of the aid of inter- connections, had the same inner consequence as the purposefulness of a snail: I'll hitch a ride on anything. One must never forget this impotence into which we have put ourselves if one wishes to understand the ideal- ism of maliciousness and evil. When the change of worldview to which every new outfitting ofhumanity is called stalls and becomes impossible, almost nothing remains but to say no to everything; the lowest point is always a point of rest and balance.
Closing one's eyes and gently touching one's leg is the simplest pic- ture of the world one can have.
So there are two main kinds of pessimism. One is the pessimism of weltschmerz, which despairs of everything; the other is the contempo- rary kind, which exempts one's own person from the process. It is quite understandable that when one is young one would rather consider other
people bad than oneself. This was the service that the German world- view performed for Hans Sepp. He did not so soon experience the futil- ity of ordering his ideas, he could free himself from everything that oppresses us by calling it "un-German," and he could appear ideal to himself without having to restrain himself from besmirching I scorning the ideals of everyone else.
However, the most remarkable aspect of Hans Sepp was still a third
From the Posthumous Papers · 1 6 5 3
thing. But one should not be deceived by this manner of presentation, taking one thing after another; in reality these reasons were not layers swimming atop one another; any two of them were always dissolved in a third. And what needs to be added to the two reasons named above can perhaps be called, in a correspondingly broad sense, "religious. " If one were to have asked Hans Sepp whether, in school, he had believed in the teaching of his catechist, he would have answered indignantly that the German must cut himself loose from Rome and its Jew religion, but it would also not have been possible to win him over to Luther, whom he would have characterized as a pusillanimous compromiser with the Spirit of the World. Hans Sepp's religion did not fit any of the three great European religions; it was a plant of unintelligible ancestry run to seed.
This wild religious nature of nationalism is very peculiar.
Break off This would be the place to develop the possibility of the Other Condition as something like the component freed by the weather- ing of religion as well as of liberal heroism.
Perhaps as a supplement to Lindner religious development. But in contrast to Professor August Lindner, God had never once appeared to Hans Sepp. In spite ofthat, or indeed perhaps just because ofit, because he could not bring his vague feelings of faith and love into the solid framework of religion, they were in him especially wild.
One cannot say whether it is a remnant of bisexuality, the remnant of another primitive stage, or the lost natural tenderness of life, this need to make a community out of people. To feel every action inwardly, that is, a symbol . . .
Of this kind his love for Gerda, which is really less for the woman than for the person.
His misunderstanding of Ulrich, whom he considers a rationalist be- cause he does not understand the difficulty ofwhat Ulrich has an intima- tion of, and because he makes things easy for himself through community, insolent youthful hordes, etc.
(Definition after Unger: Symbol. View sees in those events we can not incorporate in any order (e. g. , those of the Pentateuch) images to repre-
1654 · THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
sent the higher world that our consciousness cannot grasp in any other
way. )
Excitement also in the air as the guests left Diotima's house! Gusts of wind ran behind waves of darkness; the streetlamps reeled in their light on one side and let it flow out widely on the other; the leaves in the canopies of the trees pulled and tugged at their thin stems, or suddenly became quite still, as if on command; the clouds played high above the rooftops with the pale fire of the moon like dogs playing with a brown cat; pushed it, jumped over it, and when they retreated, it cowered with arched back, motionless in their midst. Ulrich had fallen in with Gerda and Hans Sepp; all three were surprised that it had already got dark.
Feuermaul had had an effect on Gerda. It seemed to her horribly ruthless that one is an "I," calmly mirrored in the eyes of a "you. " She applied it to the whole nation. To universal love. It was a new emotion; how was it to be understood? One is no longer linked with just one other person. That's basically always horrible; one can't stir on account of the other; in spite of love one must feel a lot of resentment. It's also quite unnatural; the only natural thing is getting together to raise a brood, but not for one's whole life, and not because of oneself, or love. Individual love seemed to her like a snowman, hard, cold; on the other hand, ifthe same thing is spread like a blanket over the whole field . . . she imagined life beneath the pure soft snow cover that hovered before her, warm and protecting every seed. -Strange-Gerda thought-that I happened to think of a snowman! But then she still felt only the other, distant, soft, melting-even ifthat was not quite the case! -Loving many, many peo- ple! she said to herself softly. And it was like: Sleeping with everyone; but with no one so brutally to the very end, but only as in a dream that is never quite clear. Kissing everybody, but the way a child lets itself be stroked. To say something nice to everyone, but not giving anyone the right to forbid her saying it to his enemy as well . . . She felt happy and anxious as she portrayed this to herself, like a tender being that has to slip through rough hands until the hands, fumbling beside it, also learn to be tender.
"A happy-anxious soul": that had been in one of Feuermaul's poems, as if the poet had uttered this expression for no one else but her, the unla10wn girl. From far away word was dispatched to her, a man who lmew nothing about her had sent out this word and still had no idea that the word had already found her; but she lmew it, for she bore his word in
From the Posthumous Papers · 1 655
her breast, which he would never see: That seemed to her like a mar- riage through magic. Gerda thought over whether she really had a hap- pily anxious soul. She had one that constantly hovered between happiness and fear, without quite making contact with either. Was that the same thing? She was not certain of it, but she felt herself really hov- ering like a moonbeam in the roaring night, filled with love and free of all misfortune, which rarely happened to her. She squinted over at Ul- rich, who was walking mutely beside her; he frightened her and only occasionally gave her a little happiness. Ulrich noticed that she was look- ing at him; he was angry with h e r . -The first time some blockhead bab- bles at you in verses you overflow! he said, smiling; but there was really some pain in this smile. -Didn't you notice that this person is the most vain and selfish creature in the world?
Gerda answered quite seriously. -You're right, he's weak; Stefan George is greater. She named her favorite poet-she knew that Ulrich had an aversion to him as well. She was a little drunk with happiness and felt: - I can love two people who hate each other. At this moment she was all love.
But at this moment Hans Sepp pushed forward from the other side; jealous restlessness impelled him, for Gerda and Ulrich had been speak- ing softly, and he only half understood; he did not want to be left out.
-Feuermaul is a prattler! he exclaimed angrily.
- O h , why! Ulrich said.
-Because!
They were just passing beneath a streetlamp. Hans wanted to stop,
because his mouth was full ofwords. But Ulrich did not stop. Hans was dragged on like a screaining child and emptied his words into the dark- ness.
Friedenthal sadly threw up his hands. ''You're crazy! " he said rudely and dejectedly.
"One has to have the courage to be crazy if the world is to be set right again! From time to time there have to be people who refuse to go along with the lies! " Clarisse asserted.
He took this to be a witty joke, which in the rush he had not quite understood. From the start this little person had made an impression on him, especially since, dazzled by General von Stumm, he overestimated her social position; and in any case, many young people these days give a rather confused impression. He found her to be something special, and felt himself restlessly stirred by her spontaneous eagerness as if by something relentlessly, even nobly, radiant. To be sure, he perhaps ought to have seen this radiance as diamondlike, for it also had some- thing of the quality of an overheated stove: something distinctly unpleas- ant that made one hot and icy. He unobtrusively assessed his visitor: stigmata of a heightened nervousness were doubtless to be perceived in her. But who today did not have such stigmata! Friedenthal's response was no different from the usual one-for when there are hazy notions of what is really meaningful, what is confused always has the same chance to excel that the con artist has in a hazily defined society-and although he was a pretty good observer, he had always managed to regain his composure no matter what Clarisse said. In the last analysis, one can always regard any person as a small-scale swatch of mental illness; that's the job of theory, how one looks at a person at one time psychologically and at another chemically; and since after Clarisse's last words a chasm of silence yawned, Friedenthal again sought "contact" and at the same
I642 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
time sought once more to divert her from her insistent demands. "Did you really like the women we saw? " he asked.
"Oh, enormously! " Clarisse exclaimed. She stood quietly before him, and the hardness was suddenly gone from her face. "I don't know what to tell you," she added softly. "That ward is like a monstrous magnifying glass held over a woman's triumph and suffering! "
Friedenthal smiled with satisfaction. ''Well, so now you see," he said. "Now you'll have to concede that the attraction that illness exercises is not alien to me either. But I must observe limits, I have to keep things in their places. Then I wanted to ask you whether you have ever considered that love, too, is a disturbance of the mind. There is hardly anyone who does not conceal something in his most private and proper love life that he reveals only to his guilty partner, some craziness or weakness: why not simply call it perversity and madness? In public you have to take measures against it, but in your inner life you can't always arm yourself against such things with the same rigor. And psychiatrists-psychiatry is ultimately an art too-will celebrate their greatest success when they have a certain sympathy and rapport with the medium in which they are working. " He had seized his visitor's hand, and Clarisse ceded to him its outermost fingertips, which she felt lying between his fingers as softly and helplessly as if they had fallen from her like the petals a flower drops. Suddenly she was completely a woman, full of that tender capri- ciousness in the face of a man's beseeching, and what she had experi- enced in the morning was forgotten. A soundless sigh parted her lips. It seemed to her that she had never felt this way, or not for the longest time, and evidently at this moment something from the magic of his realm rubbed off on Friedenthal, whom she by no means especially liked. But she pulled herself together and asked sternly: ''What have you made up your mind to do? "
"I have to make my rounds now," the doctor replied, "but I would like to see you again. But not here. Can't we meet somewhere else? "
"Perhaps," Clarisse responded. ''When you have carried out my re- quest! "
Her lips narrowed, the blood drained from her skin, and this made her cheeks look like two small leather balls; there was too much pressure in her eyes. Friedenthal suddenly felt exploited. It is extraordinary, but when a person sees another as merely a means to an end, it is much easier for him to take on that impenetrable look ofsomeone who is men- tally ill, the more natural it seems to him that consideration ought to be shown him. "Every hour here we see souls suffer, but we have to stay within our bounds," he countered. He became circumspect.
Clarisse said: "Good, you don't want to. Let me make you another
From the Posthurrwus Papers · 1643
proposition. " She stood before him, small, legs apart, hands behind her back, and looked at him with a bashfully sarcastic, urgent smile: "I'll join the clinic as a nurse! "
The doctor stood up and asked her to talk it over with her brother, who would make clear to her how many necessary prerequisites for such a position she was lacking. As he spoke, the sarcasm that was squeezed into her eyes drained out of them and they filled with tears. "Then I want," she said, almost voiceless from excitement, "to be accepted as a patient! I have a mission! " Because she was afraid of spoiling her chances if she looked directly at the doctor, she looked to one side and up a little, and perhaps her eyes even wandered around. A shudder heated her skin, which swelled up red. Now she looked lovely and in need of tenderness, but it was too late; irritation at her importunity had sobered the doctor and made him reserved. He did not even ask her any more questions, for it seemed politic not to know too much about her out of consideration for the General and Ulrich, who had brought her here, and also in view of the almost forbidden favors he had granted her. And it was only out of old medical habit that from this point on his speech became still gentler and more emphatic as he expressed to Cla- risse his regret that there was no way he could meet her second request, and he advised her to confide this wish to her brother too. He even in- formed her that before that happened he could not allow her to con- tinue her visits to the clinic, much as this would be a loss to him personally.
Clarisse offered no real resistance to what he said. She had already imputed worse to Friedenthal. "He's an impeccable medical bureau- crat," she told herself. That eased her departure: she casually extended her hand to the physician, and her eyes laughed cunningly. She was not at all depressed, and even as she went down the steps was thinking about other possibilities.
FISCHEL I GERDA I HANS SEPP I ULRICH
LATE 19. 20S
It was Ulrich's bad conscience that drove him to Gerda; since the melan- choly scene between them, he had not heard anything from her and did not know how she had come to terms with herself. To his swprise, he found Papa Leo at the Fischels' house; Mama Clementine had gone out with Gerda. Leo Fischel would not let Ulrich go; he had rushed out to the hall himselfwhen he recognized his voice. Ulrich had the impression of changes. Director Fischel seemed to have changed his tailor; his in- come must have increased and his convictions diminished. Then too, he had usually stayed later at the bank; he had never worked at home after the air there had become so irksome. But today he seemed to have been sitting at his desk, although this "roaring loom of time" had not been used for years; a packet ofletters lay on the baize cloth, and the chrome- plated telephone, otherwise used only by the ladies, was standing askew, as if it had just been in use. After Ulrich had sat down, Fischel turned toward him in his desk chair and polished his pince-nez with a handker- chief that he drew from his breast pocket, although earlier he would cer- tainly have objected to such a foppish action, saying that it had been sufficient for a Goethe, a Schiller, and a Beethoven to cany their hand- kerchiefs in their trouser pocket-whether that was the case or not.
-It's been a long time, said Director Fischel. -Y es, Ulrich said.
- D i d you inherit a great deal? Fischel asked. -Oh, Ulrich said. -Enough.
- Y e s , there are problems.
- B u t you look splendid. You somehow seem to have got younger. -Oh, thanks; professionally there have never been any problems.
But look- He pointed in a melancholyway to a pile ofletters that lay on the desk. You do know Hans Sepp?
- O f course. You took me into your confidence- -Right! Fischel said.
From the Posthumous Papers · 1645
- A r e those love letters?
The telephone rang. Fischel put on his pince-nez, which he had taken off to listen, extracted a paper with notes from his coat, and said: - B u y ! Then the inaudible voice at the other end spoke to him for quite a while. From time to time Fischel looked over his spectacles at Ulrich, and once he even said: -Excuse me! Then he said into the instrument: -No, thank you, I don't like the second business! Talk about it? Yes, of course we can talk about it again-and with a short, satisfied pause for reflec- tion, he hung up.
-You see, Fischel said. -That was someone in Amsterdam; much too expensive! Three weeks ago the thing wasn't worth half as much, and in three weeks it won't be worth half what it costs now. But in between there's a deal to be made. A great risk!
- B u t you didn't want to, Ulrich said.
- O h , that's not really settled. But a great risk . . . ! But still, let me tell you, that's building in marble, stone on stone! Can you build on the mind, the love, the ideals of a person? He was thinking of his wife and of Gerda. How different it had been at the beginning! The telephone rang again, but this time it was a wrong number.
-You used to put more worth on solid moral values than on a solid purse, Ulrich said. -How often you held it against me that I couldn't follow you in that!
-Oh-he responded-ideals are like air that changes, you don't know how, with closed windows! Twenty-five years ago, who had any notion of anti-Semitism? No, then there were the great perspectives of Humanity! You're too young. But I still managed to hear some of the great parliamentary debates. The last ones! The only thing that's de- pendable is what you can say with numbers. Believe me, the world would be a lot more reasonable if it were simply left to the free play of supply and demand, instead of being equipped with armored ships, bayonets, diplomats who know nothing about economics, and so-called national ideals.
Ulrich interrupted with the objection that it was precisely heavy in- dustry and the banks whose demands were urging peoples on to arma- ment.
- W e l l , shouldn't they? Fischel replied. - I f the world is the way it is, and runs around in fool's outfits in broad daylight, they shouldn't take account of that? When the military just happens to be convenient for customs dealings, or against strikers? Money, you know, has its own ra- tionale, and it's not to be trifled with. By the way, apropos, have you heard anything new about Arnheim's ore deposits? Again the phone rang; but with his hand on the instrument, Fischel waited for Ulrich's
1646 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
answer. The conversation was brief, and Fischel did not lose the thread of their conversation; since Ulrich lmew nothing new about Amheim, he repeated that money had its own rationale. - P a y attention, he added. - I f I were to offer Hans Sepp five hundred marks to move to one of the universities of his revered-above-all Germania (Germany), he would re- ject them indignantly. If I offered him a thousand, ditto. But if I were to offer him ten thousand-though I never in my life would, even if I had so much money! It almost seemed as ifFischel, horrified at such an idea, had lost the connection, but he was only reflecting, and went on: - O n e just can't do that, because money has its own rationale. For a man who spends insane amounts, the money won't stick; it will fly from him, make him a spendthrift. That the ten thousand marks refuse to be offered to Hans Sepp proves that this Hans Sepp is not real, is of no value, but an awful, swindling scourge with which God is chastising me.
Again Fischel was interrupted. This time by longer communications. That he was conducting such transactions at home instead of at the of- fice struck Ulrich. Fischel gave three orders to buy and one to sell. In between he had time to think about his wife. - I f I were to offer her money so she would divorce me-he asked himself-would Clementine do it? An inner certainty answered: No. Leo Fischel mentally doubled the amount. Ridiculous! said the inner voice. Fischel quadrupled. No, on principle, occurred to him. Then in one swoop he breathlessly in- creased the sum beyond any human resistance or capability, and angrily stopped. He speedily had to switch his mind to smaller fortunes, which literally shrank in his mind the way the pupils narrow with a sudden change of light; but he did not forget his affairs for an instant, and made no mistakes.
- B u t now tell me, finally-Ulrich asked, having already become im- patient-what kind of letters these are that you wanted to show me. They appear to be love letters. Did you intercept Gerda's love letters?
- I wanted to show you these letters. You should read them. I would just like to lmow now what you would say about them. Fischel handed Ulrich the whole packet and sat back, preoccupied meanwhile with other thoughts, gazing into the air through his pince-nez.
Ulrich glanced at the letters; then he took one out and slowly read it through. Director Fischel asked: -Tell me, Herr Doktor, you used to lmow this singer Leontine, or Leona, who looks like the late Empress Elizabeth; may God punish me, this woman really has the appetite of a lion!
Ulrich looked up, frowning; he liked the letter, and the interruption bothered him.
-W ell, you don't have to answer, Fischel placated him. - I was just
From the Posthumous Papers · z64 7
asking. You needn't be ashamed. She's no royalty. I met her a little while ago through an acquaintance; we found out that you and she were friends. She eats a lot. Let her eat! Who doesn't like to eat? Fischel laughed.
Ulrich dropped his gaze to the letter again, without responding. Fischel again gazed dreamily into the firmament of the room.
The letter began: -Beloved person! Human goddess! We are con- demned to live in an extinguished century. No one has the courage to believe in the reality of myth. You must realize that this applies to you too. You do not have the courage ofyour nature as goddess. Fear ofpeo- ple holds you back. You are right to consider ordinary human lust as vulgar; indeed, worse than that, as a ridiculous regression from the life of us people ofthe future into mere atavism! And you are right again when you say that love for a person, animal, or thing is already the beginning of taking possession of it! And we don't even need to mention that possess- ing is the beginning of despiritualization! But still you have to distin- guish: being felt, perhaps also being sensed, is called being mine. I only feel what is mine; I don't hear what is not meant for me! Were this not so, we would be intellectualists. It's perhaps an inescapable tragedy that when we love we are forced to possess with eyes, ears, breath, and thoughts! But consider: I feel that I am not, so long as I am only I myself, I-self. It's only in the things outside me that I first discover myself. That, too, is a truth. I love a flower, a person, because without them I would be nothing. The grand thing about the experience of"mine" is feeling one- self melt away entirely, like a pile of snow under the rays of the sun, drifting upward like a gentle dissipating vapor! The most beautiful thing about "mine" is the ultimate extirpation of the possession of my self! That's the pure sense of "mine," that I possess nothing but am possessed by the entire world. All brooks flow from the heights to the valleys, and you too, 0 my soul, will not be mine before you have become a drop in the ocean of the world, totally a link in the world brotherhood and world community! This mystery no longer has anything in common with the insipid exaggeration that individual love experiences. In spite of the lust of this age one must have the courage for ardor, for inner fire! Virtue makes action virtuous; actions don't make virtue! Try it! The Beyond reveals itself in fits and starts, and we will not be transported in one jump into the regions of untrammeled life.
But moments will come when we who are remote from people will experience moments ofgrace that are remote from people. Don't throw sensuality and suprasensuality into a pot of what has been! Have the courage to be a goddess! That's Germani . . .
-W ell? Fischel asked.
1648 • THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
Ulrich's face had turned red He found this letter ridiculous but mov- ing. Did these young people have no inhibitions at all about what was exaggerated, impossible, about the word that will not let itself be re- deemed? Words constantly hitched up with new words, and a kernel of truth hazed over with their peculiar web. - S o that's what Gerda's like now, he thought. But within this thought he thought a second, un- spoken, shaming one; it went something like: - A r e n ' t you insufficiently exaggerated and impossible?
-Well? Fischel repeated.
- A r e all the letters like that? Ulrich asked, giving them back to him. - H o w do I know which ones you've read! Fischel answered.
-They're all like that!
- T h e n they are quite beautiful, Ulrich said.
- I thought as much! Fischel exploded. - O f course that's why I
showed them to you! My wife found them. But no one expects me to have any clever advice in such questions ofthe soul. So fine! Tell that to my wife!
I would rather talk to Gerda herselfabout it; there's a lot in the letter that is, of course, quite misguided-
-Misguided? To say the least! But talk to her! And tell Gerda that I can't understand a single word of this jargon, but that I'm ready to pay five thousand marks-no! Better not to say anything! Tell her only that I love her anyway and am ready to forgive her!
The telephone again called Fischel to business. He, who all his life had been only a solid clerk, had begun some time ago to operate on the stock exchange on his own: -from time to time and with only small amounts, the scanty savings he possessed and a few stocks belonging to his spouse, Clementine. He could not talk to her about it, but he could be quite satisfied at his success; it was a real recreation from the depress- ing circumstances at home.
Ulrich is driven to see Gerda. He hadn't spoken to her since the hys- terical scene. Conscience impels him. But he finds Gerda very much taken up with Hans Sepp.
Ulrich seeks to be conciliatory with Gerda and to be kind. She pays him back with her involvement with Hans Sepp, which Ulrich perceives as intellectual felony.
Arnheim has become the ideal, the messiah, the savior. The spiritual man of intellect for our time.
From the Posthumous Papers · 1649
Effect of the nabob.
Leo Fischel's belief in progress is part of the problem of culture. Hans Sepp stimulated by the conflict of the national minorities. "German-ness" as a vague reaction to the cultural situation.
Ulrich receives a Stella shock [Goethe's play-TRANs. ] (letters! ) for
Agathe.
Gerda is "beyond" love. Also against religious mysticism. In future:
conflict indicated in letter.
Double orientation: Mysticism Antidemocracy
Soon after his visit to the Fischels', Ulrich was again driven to see Gerda. He had not seen her since the sad scene that had taken place between them, and felt the desire to speak kindly and reasonably to her. He wanted to suggest that she leave her parents' house for a year or two and undertake something that would give her pleasure, with the aim of forgetting him and Hans Sepp and taking advantage ofher youth. But he found her in the company of Hans Sepp. She turned pale when she saw him come in; the thoughts flew out of her head, and even though she looked composed, there was really nothing at all in her that she could compose; she suddenly felt nothing but an emptiness surrounded by the stiff, disciplined, automatic motions of her limbs.
- I don't want to ask your pardon, Gerda-Ulrich began-because that isn't important-
She interrupted him right there. -I behaved ludicrously-she said-I know that; but believe me, it's all over.
-I'll only believe that everything's fine when I know what you're up to and what your plans are.
Hans Sepp was listening with the jealous eyes of one who does not understand.
- W h a t makes you think that Friiulein Fischel has plans? he asked.
Ulrich remembered the letters that Leo Fischel had shown him. Since then he had had a lot of sympathy for this young person in whom mystic feelings raged. But at the same time, seeing him reminded him, God knows why, of a skinny dog that wants to mount a bitch much too
1650 · THE MAN WITH0UT QUALITIES
big for him. He collected himself and, ignoring his question, asked Hans to explain to him what he wanted. - T h a t is to say, he added, he would like to know what he had in mind to turn his ideas into reality when he was not talking about "human being," "soul," "mystery," "ardor," "con- templation," and the like, but about the future Dr. Hans Sepp, who would be compelled to live in the world.
Ulrich really wanted to know, that was sincerely to be heard in his question; and in addition he had managed to invest it with a Masonic choice of words that astonished Hans, and Gerda's glance rested on Hans with a challenging reproach. Hans scratched his head, because he did not want to be rude and felt embarrassed. -Those aren't my ideas-he finally said-but those of German youth. Ulrich repeated his request to show him how they could be made reality. Hans thought he knew what Ulrich was getting at: whenever Hans courted Gerda with such ideas, the words were like the texture of an orchestra through which, as voice, the sight of Gerda hovered; could one tear that apart and separate it? -Y ou're asking me to make a political treatise out of a piece of music! he said.
Ulrich added: - A n d the language of politics, of trade, of arithmetic, is the language ofthe fallen angels, whose wings have long since become as vestigial as, say, our caudal vertebra. It can hardly be articulated in such a language-is that what you mean? But that's exactly why I would like to know what you're thinking of doing. Hans gave him the simplest answer to this: - I don't know! But I'm not alone. And if several thou- sand people want something that they can't picture, then one day they'll get it, as long as they remain true to themselves!
- D o you believe that too, Gerda? Ulrich asked.
Gerdawavered. -I'm convincedtoo-shesaid-thatourculturewill perish i f something isn't done.
Ulrich jumped up. -My dear children! What concern is that of yours? Tell me what you're proposing to do with each other!
Hanssetaboutdefendinghisview. -Don'ttalkdowntous! It'squite certain that this hugger-mugger called culture will perish, and every- thing else along with it-and nothing will prevail against it but the New Man!
-But Hans overestimates the significance of love between people, Gerda added. - T h e New will also leave that behind.
Hans was really a melancholy person. An emerging impurity on his skin could put him in a bad mood for days, and that was no rare occur- rence, for in his petit-bourgeois family care of the skin did not rank very high. As in many Austrian families, it had stopped at the state it had reached before the middle of the nineteenth century: that is, every Sat-
From the Posthumous Papers · 1 6 5 1
urday the bathtub or a wash trough would be filled with hot water, and this setved for the cleaning of the body that was forgone on all the other days. There were just as few other luxuries in Hans Sepp's family home. His father was a minor government functionary with a small salary and the prospect of an even scantier pension, which in view of his age was imminent, and the principles as well as the conduct of life in his parents' house were distinguished from those at the Fischels' about the way that a cardboard box carefully tied together with knotted bits of string, in which the common people pack their belongings for a journey, differs from a magnificent valise. I f he looked around, all that Hans Sepp could claim as a distinction was his German name, and it had taken him a long time before he learned to regard it as more than a gift of fate, on the day that he became acquainted with the view that being German meant being aristocratic. From that day forward he bore a noble name, and it is not necessary to waste words about how nice it is to know that one is personally distinguished; one should rather write a whole book about how one ought to want not to be distinguished but to distinguish oneself; but that would tum into a book that would be absolutely and completely unsocial.
The titles Count and Prince pale in comparison with the title Hans Sepp. No one today values belonging to a secret clan whose signs are an ox's head or three stars. On the other hand, to have a German name when one had German sentiments was, among lower-class youth in Austria, a rarity. The friends through whom Hans had been introduced into the movement were named Vybiral and Bartolini. It had about it something of a symbolic cover, the miracle of the manifestation of the Holy Spirit, when one was named Hans and in addition had the family name of Sepp.
Hans Sepp felt himself one of the elect, and in the absence of a bath- room he acquired the ideal of racial purity. But within this ideal there is enclosed the ideal of purity of principles. In this way, even in his early years, Hans Sepp came to fight for all the commandments of morality, which is otherwise the privilege of the incapacity for sinning, and is a position in which one has no desire for any further changes. It is a quite remarkable thing when young people become enthusiastic about virtue: a union of fire and stubbornness.
This union is facilitated if there is the possibility of combining the af- firmation with a powerful negation. But in order to arrive at the real significance of such a negation, one must leave aside what is accidental, in this case the racial aspect, which is the form in which it expresses itself though not its sense.
But that was just the smaller and less serious advantage. Far greater is
1652 · THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
the advantage that a young person who adopts a negative view of the world makes the world into a comfortable nest. It is well-nigh impossible to demonstrate something as notorious as the meager intellectual con- tent of one of those novels that among the German public pass for pro- found; it is much easier to make this credible by saying that these novels aren't German, or at least it penetrates reality more easily. One should not (on the whole) underestimate the advantage of saying no to every- thing that is considered great and beautiful. For, first, one almost always hits upon something true, and second, determining it more precisely, and the process of proving it, are in all circumstances extremely difficult and, in terms ofhaving any effect, futile. In Germany there was once the ideal: "Test everything and keep the best"; this ideal ended in filth and scorn; it was the ideal of the dignified life and the cult of the home, which, in a time of obligatory specialization deprived of the aid of inter- connections, had the same inner consequence as the purposefulness of a snail: I'll hitch a ride on anything. One must never forget this impotence into which we have put ourselves if one wishes to understand the ideal- ism of maliciousness and evil. When the change of worldview to which every new outfitting ofhumanity is called stalls and becomes impossible, almost nothing remains but to say no to everything; the lowest point is always a point of rest and balance.
Closing one's eyes and gently touching one's leg is the simplest pic- ture of the world one can have.
So there are two main kinds of pessimism. One is the pessimism of weltschmerz, which despairs of everything; the other is the contempo- rary kind, which exempts one's own person from the process. It is quite understandable that when one is young one would rather consider other
people bad than oneself. This was the service that the German world- view performed for Hans Sepp. He did not so soon experience the futil- ity of ordering his ideas, he could free himself from everything that oppresses us by calling it "un-German," and he could appear ideal to himself without having to restrain himself from besmirching I scorning the ideals of everyone else.
However, the most remarkable aspect of Hans Sepp was still a third
From the Posthumous Papers · 1 6 5 3
thing. But one should not be deceived by this manner of presentation, taking one thing after another; in reality these reasons were not layers swimming atop one another; any two of them were always dissolved in a third. And what needs to be added to the two reasons named above can perhaps be called, in a correspondingly broad sense, "religious. " If one were to have asked Hans Sepp whether, in school, he had believed in the teaching of his catechist, he would have answered indignantly that the German must cut himself loose from Rome and its Jew religion, but it would also not have been possible to win him over to Luther, whom he would have characterized as a pusillanimous compromiser with the Spirit of the World. Hans Sepp's religion did not fit any of the three great European religions; it was a plant of unintelligible ancestry run to seed.
This wild religious nature of nationalism is very peculiar.
Break off This would be the place to develop the possibility of the Other Condition as something like the component freed by the weather- ing of religion as well as of liberal heroism.
Perhaps as a supplement to Lindner religious development. But in contrast to Professor August Lindner, God had never once appeared to Hans Sepp. In spite ofthat, or indeed perhaps just because ofit, because he could not bring his vague feelings of faith and love into the solid framework of religion, they were in him especially wild.
One cannot say whether it is a remnant of bisexuality, the remnant of another primitive stage, or the lost natural tenderness of life, this need to make a community out of people. To feel every action inwardly, that is, a symbol . . .
Of this kind his love for Gerda, which is really less for the woman than for the person.
His misunderstanding of Ulrich, whom he considers a rationalist be- cause he does not understand the difficulty ofwhat Ulrich has an intima- tion of, and because he makes things easy for himself through community, insolent youthful hordes, etc.
(Definition after Unger: Symbol. View sees in those events we can not incorporate in any order (e. g. , those of the Pentateuch) images to repre-
1654 · THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES
sent the higher world that our consciousness cannot grasp in any other
way. )
Excitement also in the air as the guests left Diotima's house! Gusts of wind ran behind waves of darkness; the streetlamps reeled in their light on one side and let it flow out widely on the other; the leaves in the canopies of the trees pulled and tugged at their thin stems, or suddenly became quite still, as if on command; the clouds played high above the rooftops with the pale fire of the moon like dogs playing with a brown cat; pushed it, jumped over it, and when they retreated, it cowered with arched back, motionless in their midst. Ulrich had fallen in with Gerda and Hans Sepp; all three were surprised that it had already got dark.
Feuermaul had had an effect on Gerda. It seemed to her horribly ruthless that one is an "I," calmly mirrored in the eyes of a "you. " She applied it to the whole nation. To universal love. It was a new emotion; how was it to be understood? One is no longer linked with just one other person. That's basically always horrible; one can't stir on account of the other; in spite of love one must feel a lot of resentment. It's also quite unnatural; the only natural thing is getting together to raise a brood, but not for one's whole life, and not because of oneself, or love. Individual love seemed to her like a snowman, hard, cold; on the other hand, ifthe same thing is spread like a blanket over the whole field . . . she imagined life beneath the pure soft snow cover that hovered before her, warm and protecting every seed. -Strange-Gerda thought-that I happened to think of a snowman! But then she still felt only the other, distant, soft, melting-even ifthat was not quite the case! -Loving many, many peo- ple! she said to herself softly. And it was like: Sleeping with everyone; but with no one so brutally to the very end, but only as in a dream that is never quite clear. Kissing everybody, but the way a child lets itself be stroked. To say something nice to everyone, but not giving anyone the right to forbid her saying it to his enemy as well . . . She felt happy and anxious as she portrayed this to herself, like a tender being that has to slip through rough hands until the hands, fumbling beside it, also learn to be tender.
"A happy-anxious soul": that had been in one of Feuermaul's poems, as if the poet had uttered this expression for no one else but her, the unla10wn girl. From far away word was dispatched to her, a man who lmew nothing about her had sent out this word and still had no idea that the word had already found her; but she lmew it, for she bore his word in
From the Posthumous Papers · 1 655
her breast, which he would never see: That seemed to her like a mar- riage through magic. Gerda thought over whether she really had a hap- pily anxious soul. She had one that constantly hovered between happiness and fear, without quite making contact with either. Was that the same thing? She was not certain of it, but she felt herself really hov- ering like a moonbeam in the roaring night, filled with love and free of all misfortune, which rarely happened to her. She squinted over at Ul- rich, who was walking mutely beside her; he frightened her and only occasionally gave her a little happiness. Ulrich noticed that she was look- ing at him; he was angry with h e r . -The first time some blockhead bab- bles at you in verses you overflow! he said, smiling; but there was really some pain in this smile. -Didn't you notice that this person is the most vain and selfish creature in the world?
Gerda answered quite seriously. -You're right, he's weak; Stefan George is greater. She named her favorite poet-she knew that Ulrich had an aversion to him as well. She was a little drunk with happiness and felt: - I can love two people who hate each other. At this moment she was all love.
But at this moment Hans Sepp pushed forward from the other side; jealous restlessness impelled him, for Gerda and Ulrich had been speak- ing softly, and he only half understood; he did not want to be left out.
-Feuermaul is a prattler! he exclaimed angrily.
- O h , why! Ulrich said.
-Because!
They were just passing beneath a streetlamp. Hans wanted to stop,
because his mouth was full ofwords. But Ulrich did not stop. Hans was dragged on like a screaining child and emptied his words into the dark- ness.
