J.W. Goethe : Nature
GOETHE'S BOTANICAL WRITINGS
[This composition appeared first in the winter of 1782/1783, in the Tiefurter
Journal, a magazine in manuscript form which circulated among the associates of
the Weimar Court, all contributions to which were anonymous. In March, 1783,
Goethe denied its authorship in a letter to a friend. Years later, in 1828, when a
copy of the journal was found among the Duchess Amalia's papers, he had quite
understandably forgotten his earlier denial, and now stated that the content was
in accord with his views at the time of its publication.]
NATURE ( A FRAGMENT)
NATURE ! We are encompassed and embraced by her — powerless to withdraw, yet powerless to enter more deeply into her being. Uninvited and unforewarned, we are drawn into the cycle of her dance and are swept along until, exhausted, we drop from her arms.
She is creating new forms eternally. What is now, has never been; and what has been, will never be again. All is new, yet ever the same. We live within her, yet are foreign to her. Conversing with us endlessly, she never divulges her secret. We influence her continually, yet
have no power over her.
She seems to stake everything on individuality, yet sets small value on the individual. She is ever building, ever tearing down, and her workshop is inaccessible.
She lives only in her children, yet where can they find her — their mother ?
She is the supreme artist: with the simplest materials she creates the most remarkable contrasts; seemingly without effort she achieves perfection, yet her utmost precision is hidden by softness.
Each of her creations has its own being, each represents a special concept, yet together they are one.
She is putting on a spectacle, but whether she is watching it we cannot tell. But she is producing it for us who stand in the wings.
She is eternal life, eternal becoming, eternal change, yet she does not move forward. She ever transforms herself, without pausing to rest. She is constant, yet impatient with anything static, and has set her curse on stagnation. Her pace is measured, her exceptions few, her laws immutable.
She has pondered deeply and meditates incessantly — not as a human being but as Nature. By merely watching her we cannot fathom the mysterious final truth she is withholding.
Mankind exists in her and she in all mankind. She plays a friendly game with him, rejoicing all the more when he triumphs. Sometimes she carries on the game so enigmatically, before he is aware of it the game is ended.
Nature is even the unnatural. Those who cannot see her everywhere will not see her clearly anywhere. Even the crudest mediocrity is tinged with her genius.
She is enamored of herself, adoring herself with countless eyes and hearts. For self-enjoyment she dissects herself. Never weary of flaunting herself, she creates new beings to admire her. She delights in illusion. As the harshest tyrant she will punish whoever destroys it in himself or in others, but whoever follows her trustingly she will press to her heart as her child.
The number of her children is infinite. With none is she miserly, but she has favorites to whom she is generous, for whom she will sacrifice much. She bestows her protection on greatness.
She pours her creations forth from the void, telling them neither whence they have come nor whither they are bound. Each must simply run his course, she alone knows the way.
Her mainsprings are few but they are never run down; they are ever efficient, ever diverse.
Since she is always creating new spectators, her spectacle is forever new. Life is her finest invention, and her device for producing an abundance of life is her masterstroke — death.
She shrouds man in darkness, yet drives him eternally on toward the light. She keeps him earthbound, lazy, and leaden, yet continually prods him awake from his torpor.
Because she loves forward movement, she endows man with longing, miraculously gaining much with so little! Longing becomes a blessing, quickly satisfied, quickly awakened again. Further longing becomes but a new source of pleasure. But balance is soon restored.
She continually sets out upon some distant goal and is continually arriving at her destination.
She is vanity itself, yet to us is of utmost importance. She permits any child to experiment with her, any fool to judge her, and allows thousands to pass her by, apathetic and unseeing. Yet she draws pleasure and profit from all.
By resisting her laws we obey them. When we are intent upon working against her we are most in harmony with her.
All her gifts become benefits, since she has already made them necessities.
She tarries that we may know longing; she hastens that we may not become surfeited.
She has neither language nor voice, but creates tongues and hearts through which she may speak.
Love is her crown. Through love may we know her. She has separated her creations by cleavages, yet in them is the urge to draw close. She has put them apart that she may draw them together. As reward for a lifetime of labor she grants them a few draughts from the goblet of love.
She is the All-in-One. She metes out her own reward and punishment.
She rejoices in herself and tortures herself. She is at once harsh and gentle, revolting and beguiling, helpless and all-powerful. Within her all things exist forever. She knows neither past nor future. The present is her eternity.
She is gracious and I praise her work. She is wise and serene. We wrest no secrets from her, extort no gifts, receiving only those which she yields of her own free will. She is deceitful, but to a good end, and it is wise to ignore her cunning.
She is complete, yet ever unfinished. Her way of working can continue forever.
To each of us she appears in a different form. Disguised by thousands of names and definitions, she is still the same.
She has brought me here and will escort me hence. I entrust myself to her care; she may do with me as she pleases, for I know she will not despise me — her handiwork. Even now it is not I who am speaking of her. No. These are her words — both the true and the false. And hers is the blame and the glory for all.