The Hard and the Soft of It
By Arthur J. Diers,
Presented to the
My father was a gentle man with sharp edges and so is
He was a strict German, too. But it was tempered. He did not
use the rod. He spanked with a razor strap. The razor strap was not frequently
used, but its threat was terrifying. His gait was slightly ponderous and
steady; his voice authoritative--common phrases spoken in the manner of
pronouncements. “Pass the butter,” -- sounded momentous, somewhat lapidary. I frequently
felt his sharp displeasure especially at night when my restlessness would
awaken him. I was often restless and he was often irritated. It was the most
reassuring thing he ever said to me when he told me as an adult. “We didn’t
know what to do with you.” Actually, I can’t remember an intimate conversation
with him, but there was an unspoken bond because his gentle side was strong,
with touching tender care for his wife and daughters and the parishioners. He
would take asthmatic Anna, my sister, out for a ride in the middle of the night
to relieve her. He assisted our neighbor to find a mail-order bride. I loved
the smell of pipe tobacco as he schmoozed with his colleagues in his study, the
warmth of sitting on the front porch swing with him in the evening listening to
his memories, or riding with him in the car when he made his rounds of pastoral
visits. He would soothe a psychotic woman between stays in what was then called
the insane asylum, rescue a reclusive backwoods farmer from his isolation, hang around with an expert wood craftsman appreciating his
skill. He was exuberant with praise for the beauty of
It was not altogether safe to be a German in
I learned that the harshness was there from the beginning. My
father’s name was Hermann, named after the mythic hero, Hermann, a warrior, who
defeated the Romans in 9 AD in the
After the death of Charlemagne in 911, whom the Germans claimed
as Karl der Grosse, there was a split between the French west and the German
east. In the east hundreds of little fiefdoms emerged, the castles of which
stand to this day, towers fitted with armor, spears and shields, such as those
we see in the Art Institute.
Goetz is a legendary hero, a little like our John Wayne or
Davy Crockett, an iconic hero—buried somewhere deep in a cultural psyche. He is
an old knight defending the chivalrous manners of the feudal nobility valuing personal
valor above all and supreme loyalty to the feudal lord. He is called “Goetz the
Iron-handed” because he lost his right hand in the wars, and had one made for
him with springs with which he dexterously manages his lance. He is renowned
for his courage. He fights daily, lives in the midst of battles, sleeps in his
armor, is continually on horseback, only rests when besieged, saves all his
energy for war, thinks of nothing else. He
must have been a candidate for PTSD. It was a time when aristocratic submissive
women were cherished, and justice was arbitrary. At the end he dies with gloomy courage, the
noblest of knights, a good German, giving unquestioned obedience to authority—as
did my father with respect to his district president, and Michael Reu, his
mentor, and Lutheran doctrine. There is an awesome iron rigidity to this strict
compliance with authority. But it is understandable. Obedience to authority is
a source of security in a land rife with warlike conflicts among the fiefdoms,
later between nations on German soil, and among insecure Iowa German immigrants.
I have learned that an excessive need for established order also stems from
deep personal deprivation. Only the meeting of unmet needs can alter this iron
fist.
Goethe’s play was very popular in
In those dark ages the Church was there to save guilty suffering
souls bent by this burden. But Renaissance vibes began to filter in from the
South, and the Church preserved libraries for the clergy, opening a break from
this rigid mentality.
Martin Luther was in the forefront of that break. My father,
as a Lutheran, of course, thought of himself as an heir to Martin Luther, who
was born in 1483. Father and I both
liked Martin Luther’s spirit. Hans Luder, Martin’s father, was a farm boy who took
up mining—the most superstitious of cultures.
There the devil would attract men to false glitter, and lead them to
take catastrophic risks with only the magic of St. Ann, the Mother of the
Mother of God to protect them. Hans’ ambition led to management of the mines
and civic leadership. He was ambitious for his family too, especially for his precocious
eldest, Martin, who in his mind was without question to become a lawyer. Hans
was ill-tempered subject to alcoholic rages, was said to have committed murder
in his youth. Now he reserved his physical violence for his immediate family,
caning his son until Martin retreated feeling ugly and then backing off,
letting Martin’s genuine affection for his father return. Martin’s mother was
said to be a hard working woman from middling means, from trading stock, a
woman with some music in her, but also harsh, once beating Martin bloody for
having stolen a nut. Martin was not an angry child. He was a sad child. I know
how he felt.
Hans moved the family, following his own ambition, always
sending Martin to the best schools with the most severe discipline. He eventually
received a masters degree from the
On
Martin dedicated himself to monastic life—he suffered,
fasted, prayed for hours each day, confessed continually, indulged in excessive
introspection, was most miserable, in spiritual despair. Finally, after some
months of this his wise superior, Johann von Staupitz, ordered him out of
himself to graduate school where he studied, among others, Aristotle and
William of Ockham. He came to agree with Ockham, that the only necessary entity
is God, all else is transitory, and that only faith can connect with the
certainty of God’s reality. Martin needed certainty. Through intense study of the
Scriptures he was struck to his core by God’s unconditional love absolving him
from all sins. He was turned around entirely by this incredible acceptance. He
had felt like a criminal all his life, but God’s love let him off the hook
entirely. Without it he was doomed. He was an all or nothing kind of guy. Just
like the Mercedes ad: The best or nothing. He continued feeling like a criminal
all his life, but the edge was off. Father was at his most eloquent preaching
the Good news of God’s love and the relief it offers to miserable sinners. Of course,
he meant to include all of us.
When Martin was a young professor the Pope started a
development campaign to rebuild St Peter’s Basilica. John Tetzel was in charge of the campaign in
This hit a sore spot in Martin. He had relinquished his
career aims, lived the ascetic life, suffered the agonies of despair and could
not get anywhere near salvation. How could this fellow say that it could be
bought with a few coins? He wrote an extensive memo to his boss, Albrecht,
Archbishop of Mainz and
It caught on like wildfire. Learning was becoming more
widespread, the economy was improving, and princes were becoming stronger
politically. People were restive with papal domination. The world was ripe for
Luther’s voice. After many years of learning never to talk back he found himself
among the biggest back talkers in history. Kierkegaard describes his style—“he
wrote like a man with a lightning bolt behind him.” Sometimes we are delighted
to hear a paper with such force in the literary club.
The pope eventually
excommunicated him. It was a crime for anyone to give him food or shelter.
Anyone could kill him without legal consequence. It was like the fatwa against Salman
Rushdie.
His Elector decided to protect him, kept him hidden in
Much to his surprise,
he fell in love in his late thirties with Kathryn, an ex-nun, and became a
happy family man, enjoying his sensuality—challenging the celibate clergy. All
this was a boost to the modern age—every man and woman could have direct
contact with the ultimate creative spirit, and have this creativity unleashed
without limit.
Martin Luther had the hardest of the hard and the softest of
the soft. God’s judgment could not be harsher, and His mercy and unconditional
love in Christ could not be softer. Our family among many German families stood
balanced between this judgment and that love. It’s a confusing place to be.
This emboldened man was present in my life. Every member of
my family graduated from a college called Wartburg. I memorized Martin Luther’s
Small Catechism when I was twelve, and was examined about its contents. My
mother could still recite it from memory at the age of 103. Luther’s “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” was one of many
of the hymns sung each Sunday with my father leading the singing with a
fervent, loud, authoritative unpolished voice. This image of him boldly leading
the processional song as he moved toward the altar in his simple black robe is
impressed in my memory. I felt most proud of him then, the sturdy leadership he
offered with his powerful voice—ringing with that judgment and that love. I was
not so pleased with his interminable sermons.
Many unintended consequences evolved from Luther’s reforms.
There were different takes on what the Scriptures mean. Luther’s take was
codified in the Book of Concord, Calvin in his Institutes. Anabaptists, Wesleyans,
humanists, the Roman Catholic Church, all had their loyalties to ultimate
meanings. Since each confession of faith was regarded as the ultimate truth
worth fighting to the death for wars pervaded the next century and a half.
Finally, in the middle of the Seventeenth Century at the Peace of Westphalia
all were exhausted after millions of deaths. Some mutual respect was grudgingly
agreed on. We wish we could all get that tired of war in our time.
The king’s son was educated on the sly with the help of
Jacques Duhan through whom he procured a secret library of poetry, Greek and
Roman classics, and French philosophy. He tried to run away to
When he became king in 1740, he united the disconnected lands
of
He fostered tolerance, encouraging talent wherever it was to
be found—whether among Jews, Jesuits or Muslims. I met Moses Mendelssohn in
Berlin at the splendid jagged Jewish Museum where he is designated the third
great Moses, the German Socrates, the friend of Lessing, the great intellectual
who brought Jewish intellectual life into the mainstream which led to the
contribution of Jewish scholars and
scientists to the modern world. Friedrich made Moses an honored citizen of
He was very tough and
very tender and beloved of his people. He was the last German leader for quite
some time who kept the proper balance. He created a simple palace, Sanssouci,
which means free of all cares, his favorite place, built to meet his every
simple need. When Napoleon visited his tomb there he said, “If this man were
still alive, I would not be here.” Sanssouci moved me. It was an expression of Frederick
himself, with a large well-lighted library study where he worked, a slightly
larger room for meeting with staff or visitors, a moderate sized dining room
where he would dine mostly by himself, adjoining a music room with instruments
where he would listen to invited artists or make his own music, and three guest
rooms for stimulating visitors like Voltaire.
That was it, simply what he needed. From this modest home Frederick set the
political course for Germany toward power and unity.
The man who set the cultural course for
von Goethe who lived between 1749 and
1832. I don’t recall discussing Goethe with my father ever, but I know that his
nickname at school was Schiller because his best friend was Gaede. It was one
of those silly plays on words that Germans go for. Goethe’s friendship with
Schiller is regarded by Germans as the ideal friendship between men. I’m sure that
my father read Goethe and Schiller in his late adolescence as avidly as I and
my friends read Camus and Kierkegaard. He had so much respect for him that he
named his first two children Herman and Dorothea—after Goethe’s essay which
describes so well the joys of middle class life. Father had Goethe’s love of
life and charm, and sense for the flow of life as he cared for each family,
including his own, from birth to death. He took on the task of building a life
echoing Goethe’s “Wilhelm Meister”.
Goethe was the kind of
intellectual Germans idealize—a man who seemed to easily learn everything about
everything—everything from what is deepest in the heart written most lyrically to
the rigors of scientific research. Goethe was simply himself evolving who he
was, writing of life realistically and affectionately. He enjoyed the company
of men and women in all walks of life, including politicians and clergymen. But
he was averse to philosophical, religious and political ideology. Rigid views
hurt too many people. In contrast, Goethe simply followed the flow and rhythm
of life appreciatively, and had great respect for whatever form of government
enabled its citizens to live a good life. The best way to treat life is to
absorb its disparate parts and not try too hard to impose too much unity on it.
As a child he didn’t get along in school so he was home
tutored, mainly by his stern and loving father
His mother was named Catharina. Her father, Johann Textor was
no aristocrat. She had to marry into money and
This always cheerful mother loved to tell him stories, some
for fun, some with lessons, always stories which were to be continued. Then
Wolfgang would speculate about what would happen next, and the stories would
continue with a blend of what the two of them wished—fairy stories about
nature, morality and life. This is how
Wolfgang wrote from his heart at whatever turn his heart would take. He would
write from his passions to the passions of the listener, to share, to imagine
together, and slyly instruct.
He and his sister would explore
To quote him: “I get my build, and my serious side, from my
father; I’ve got dear mama’s happy ways—and just like her I love to invent
stories. My grandfather (on my father’s side) was always a favorite with women;
well, that goes for me; my grandmother was pretty stylish and loved a bit of
display—that’s in the blood too. These qualities are fused in me: there’s
nothing that’s actually new.”
When he was sixteen his father sent
him off to law school in
As he got better he
wrote a comic play and loved fooling around. His father was infuriated by this
silliness, kicked him out of the house to go back to law school this time in Strasburg
where he buckled down barely enough to get through.
He desperately yearned to simply live life as a genius but
finally realized, as young men do, he had to get a job. He reluctantly took one
at the Imperial Court of Appeal located in Wetzler, thirty-two miles north of
Out of this experience at the age of twenty-four he wrote “The Sorrows of Young
Werther”, the story of a young man so enthralled in unrequited love that life
must stop. He borrowed a pistol from his dear love’s fiancé and killed himself
on the day before Christmas. It was the most popular book Goethe ever wrote, it
spoke to the private unacknowledged misery of many, the misery of the
broken-hearted from which so much violence can come. He did not make any money
from it. I think you would find it a fascinating read.
In May of 1775, Duke Karl August, the eighteen year old Duke
of Weimar, having read the Werther book, invited Goethe to visit him in
He had been brought up to follow in both grandfather’s
footsteps to become the political boss of Frankfurt, so when he became the
confidante of Duke Karl August he found
it natural to become deeply involved in public responsibility. Karl was
immature, but was willing to learn. He valued Goethe as a friend, as an asset
to his dukedom, paid him a fine salary and gave him a small garden home just
outside the city. At first, Goethe would
accompany the duke on his wild hunting trips including heavy drinking and
womanizing, (the Duke took any attractive peasant woman he pleased). Of course
it was not proper for Goethe even to eat with the duke. As time went on he developed
a silver mine to solve some of the duke’s economic
problems. He did it well but there wasn’t enough silver there. He was put in
charge of roads, then the army (which he reduced considerably in size), and
eventually finances. During this time he wrote a play, Tasso, which was working
out how the life of a poet and that of an administrator can be integrated in a
creative way with all the tensions involved, issues with which many of us are
familiar.
A woman became his mentor during this time—Charlotte von Stein,
a good humored, educated, elegant married woman. She was devoted to him, helping him to know
himself, the ways of the court, the aristocracy and he learned how to become
more statesmanlike. He likes being on
the inside of power, but gets restless with its drudgery—intractable problems,
muddy journeys, stupid, stubborn colleagues, endless management rather than
real improvement, chronic lack of funds. Many of us are familiar with those
frustrations. He balanced his life with mountain climbing, and writing Edgmont,
on the uses of power.
When the duke set off to join Frederick’s army, he arranged a
sabbatical in Italy, left Charlotte
without saying goodbye, shortly after she declared her love for him, then spent
a few days in Venice reveling in Palladio’s genius, He identified with Palladio
since he was imbued with the spirit of the ancients. Then he steeped himself in
classical art in
Soon after he returned to
Goethe became chancellor of
His friendship with
Schiller met a deep need in both of them. They conversed daily, stimulating
each other to write better every day. Schiller wrote meditations on the meaning
of Goethe, how he shaped the western educated vision of what it means to be a
human being. The ideal is that we should live our own lives and become whole and
balanced versions of ourselves, being devoted to what we love, seeing all
realistically with love—centered and calm, vital but poised. They now stand Goethe’s hand on Schiller’s
arm outside the present-day German National Theatre in
The greatest thing about him is that because he was such an emotionally healthy
genius he could look more squarely at
After Goethe’s death
When I visited Berliner Dom, the great Lutheran cathedral in
Since that early decade, of course, there were dark things to
come.
The same shame that I have felt about appalling German horrors
has motivated the Germans mightily. They now have a small army. They have become
one of the greenest countries in the world.
The subways, and buses, the light rail, the generous bike paths make
automobile traffic in rush hour almost easy. They are industrious and claim to lead
the largest economy in the world. Their Hauptbahnhof, a huge modern railroad
station, is set to be the hub of speed rail, the center, with spokes to
On the softer side, the Germans have opened Goethe societies
throughout the world to teach the German language, and celebrate German
culture. There is one here in
It is a beautiful thing to express parts of ourselves that
have not yet found
voice. It lends balance to life and is a
generous gift to the rest of us. Deep friendships come of it, and many rich
rewards—along with fine food and drink in elegant settings.
So here’s to father, Herman. Here’s to Goetz the valiant
knight, the hard roots from which many of us come. Here’s to Luther and all
those who have broken open the modern age. Here’s to Goethe who expresses the
hard and the soft of life—all with affection. Here’s to the members of the
Chicago Literary Club who share each other’s lives and literary dreams. May we
enjoy our companionship through the hard and the soft of it, and may our
numbers grow.