Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Goethe's relationship with history contained elements that could not be simply defined.
Some answered this question negatively, claiming that Goethe had lacked historical consciousness.
And they could cite various instances from the statements Goethe had made about history on various occasions as evidence.
In this context, what was widely recognized was Goethe’s dialogue with Luden.
He had faced this young historian and openly stated his distrust and even contempt for history.
He did not believe that we could receive the true form of things from historical legacies.
Such skepticism would not have been without reason.
History had to stand upon legacies—that is, what were called historical materials.
Yet nearly all historical materials were impure—they were always partisan, always artificial, always distorted either through zeal or through blind hatred or love, and thus unconsciously warped by self-interest.
Not only that, but they were consciously fabricated through deliberate lies and conscienceless deception, for the purpose of distortion and slander.
Even if that had not been the case, historians always arrived too late.
When they began, the judgment had already been formed and completed; even when attempting to refute it, they—unwittingly made to harbor preconceptions by this judgment—still struggled to free themselves from its constraints.
Moreover, people would not have provided us with realistic records of events.
Many records were first created only after the vivid memories had already vanished.
Moreover, these records did not necessarily always convey the main events.
That the historical materials forming the foundation of history were neither pure nor complete could not be disputed in this manner.
However, modern historiography had endeavored to overcome the impurity and incompleteness of historical materials by establishing and developing the method of historical criticism.
Today, we know how splendid successes have been achieved through the ardent, patient, and methodical work of historical criticism.
Needless to say, criticism as such inevitably contains a destructive aspect.
Now, Goethe despised Niebuhr-style historical criticism precisely because it was destructive.

He asked what would happen if a great legendary fact were denied by criticism.
"If the ancients were great enough to create such things," he argued, "then we ought to be great enough to believe in them."
In this manner he expressed distrust toward history—particularly toward historiography that strove to be critical and thereby precisely scientific.
"All history is uncertain and ambiguous," he declared.
"But if someone privately informs you that something is doubtful," he added on another occasion, "you should dismiss that person immediately."
On the grounds that the materials upon which history stood were uncertain, he did not believe in history.
And when historical criticism attempted to establish certain facts, he scorned historiography as destructive.
In this way Goethe appeared to stand in complete opposition to history.

However, if we now view it from another perspective, the problem takes on a completely different form.

Ranke once said, “Goethe could also have become a great historian.” “However, Schiller did not possess the talent to be a historian.” Should we not place our trust in this testimony by the great historian Ranke? On the contrary, Ranke’s words did not remain mere assumptions. Goethe left behind several superb historical-biographical works—*Winkelmann*, and above all *Poetry and Truth*—which can be regarded as first-class biographies.“Already on account of these achievements,” Gundolf stated,“even if Goethe originally lacked a historical sensibility, he should be counted among Germany’s great historians.” Goethe also wrote a *History of Color Theory*. This has been evaluated as “the finest model of a true intellectual history worthy of the name.” In this historical section of the color theory, he fragmentarily yet fundamentally accomplished that which Dilthey would later consciously recognize as intellectual history’s goal and attempt to reach as a historian himself.If valuing his historical works in this manner proves valid，Goethe’s relationship with history must be actively reconstructed—not externally，but through understanding his spirit’s essential nature and activities.The demand arises from achievements rather than theory.Moreover，from both his works’ intrinsic value and their influence，we discern something internally active in Goethe’s historical engagement.He educated admirers and scholars，shaping them into excellent historians.This holds true for Victor Hehn，Dilthey，and Gundolf.Figures like Spengler and Chizalts similarly expounded connections between their historical methods and Goethe’s principles.Viewed through achievements and influence，Goethe’s spiritual essence reveals both affinity for history and proactive vitality.

If we were to further deepen the inquiry and attempt to situate Goethe’s relationship with history within the interconnectedness of his entire spirit and worldview, it now appeared that the estrangement inherent in this relationship emerged all the more essentially and inwardly.
Was it not that the fundamental concept in Goethe’s worldview was precisely nature rather than history?
Gundolf called him—alongside Spinoza—a natural pantheist, contrasting them with Herder, who had been a historical pantheist.
Goethe experienced the *Sturm und Drang* movement.
The emphasis on individuality had been an important element of this movement.
He had been influenced by Herder.
Herder was the first person in Germany to possess historical consciousness through his grand concept of becoming.
Even so, was it not that Goethe’s fundamental concept remained ultimately and entirely rooted in nature?
The young Goethe called his *Götz* “dramatized history.”
Yet it could be seen that this work’s background derived from Rousseauian natural thought—a concept tied to the political consciousness of the emerging bourgeois class, though needless to say, it remained a non-historical notion.
As Goethe matured into a classical human being, his estrangement from history appeared to grow increasingly pronounced.
According to Gundolf, Goethe’s Italian journey had brought him two negative consequences: a decisive estrangement from history on one hand, and from politics on the other.
This aversion had originally existed within Goethe’s inherent nature but became consciously recognized and firmly grounded through his Italian journey.
This view might admittedly be said to have been too one-sided.
In its second part, Faust emerged unmistakably as a man of social action, and one could hardly fail to discern socio-political ideas within *Wilhelm Meister*.

However, is it not that the classical is inherently opposed to the historical?
Even though their methods differed greatly from Gundolf’s, Strich similarly argued for the divergence between the classical and the historical.
Strich discerned a clear point of opposition between the Romantic and the Classical within their conflicting relationships to history.
While Romanticism had been sympathetic toward history, Classicism adopted a truly hostile attitude toward it; whereas the former had been permeated by a particular sense of time, the latter sought timeless continuity—Goethe pursuing archetypes and Schiller seeking laws—he argued.
However, even as classical human beings, there must have been an essential difference between Goethe’s spirit and Schiller’s.
More than anyone else, Schiller himself had been conscious of this and eloquently discussed it in his famous letter to Goethe dated August 23, 1794.
And was it not that this difference, exactly as Ranke stated, formed the very foundation for the opposing relationship between their two spirits toward history?
Had Goethe’s classicism failed to encompass romanticism in some way?
Generally speaking, even as a form of classicism, German Classicism contained considerable romantic elements; works such as Goethe’s *Wilhelm Meister* were not merely classical but even thoroughly romantic.
That being said, we were not permitted to consider that the fundamental concept in Goethe’s worldview had ever shifted from nature to history.
In those unparalleled romantic elements, what had been fondly depicted was—to borrow Hehn’s words—above all "the natural forms of human life."
If nature and history were two fundamentally opposed concepts, then Goethe’s development had been an evolution within his concept of nature itself, not a shift or transformation from the concept of nature to that of history.
The classical, too, was founded upon the concept of nature in its own meaning, and this could be clearly understood by contrasting Greek thought with Christian thought.
However, if Goethe was a pantheist, then pantheism—precisely as pantheism—could not allow nature and history to stand in sharp opposition on its foundational level; rather, the two could only be conceived of as continuous and fused. Therefore, even if he were what was termed a natural pantheist, he would still have been able to maintain some form of connection to history.
Just as Herder, referred to as a historical pantheist, had particularly emphasized natural elements in history and contributed to the development of modern human geography, it was not without interest that Goethe, called a natural pantheist, today exerted a distinctive and remarkable influence on historiography rather than on the natural sciences.
Goethe’s concept of nature had developed from the Rousseauan natural concept of his youth, through the classical natural concept, to the most profound natural concept of his late years.
Especially in his later years, he had engaged in the study of nature with profound passion.
And the new methodological elements that historiography owed to Goethe today were particularly contained within his natural philosophical research from this period.
If that was the case, then there must have been something within his late-period concept of nature that intrinsically interacted with history.
We had to perceive the particular relationship it bore to history within the distinctiveness of this natural concept.

Thereby we can recognize that Goethe did not remain a mere Spinozist. In contrast to Spinoza—a representative natural pantheist who had no relation to history—a pathway to history had opened for Goethe. However, considering that Goethe's fundamental concept nevertheless remained nature rather than history, there must also have existed certain restrictions and limitations here.

Thus, it could be inferred that Goethe stood in a dual relationship with history—on one hand amicably, on the other antagonistically.
The problem of Goethe and history could no longer simply be a matter of history within Goethe; rather, it had to be a problem of “nature and history” within Goethe.
And our research would have roughly the following significance.
1. Through this, we could demonstrate that practical historical consciousness possessed a dialectical structure containing two contradictory moments.
In one sense, Goethe had possessed a sufficiently rich historical consciousness.
But precisely because of this, in another sense he was non-historical.
To clarify historicity in one sense within him was to clarify his non-historicity in another sense, and to clarify his non-historicity in another sense was to clarify historicity in one sense within him.
Discussions on Goethe and history had seldom wandered in the void due to the essence of historical consciousness not being clearly grasped and defined.
2. While nature and history were fundamentally opposing concepts, the concept of real history had to contain a particular concept of nature as its dialectical element—not merely externally but also internally.
What constitutes the intrinsically natural element within such history could be clearly demonstrated through Goethe.
However, thirdly, our research would likely contain a critical implication toward certain tendencies in modern historiography that felt an affinity with Goethe and sought to inherit his tradition.
Goethe presented the most exemplary and abundant case of considering history through the concept of nature.
However appealing his explicit statements or what he had made explicit might be to historiography, as long as it remained grounded in nature—and thus as long as history and nature stood in opposition—it could not constitute an inherent concept of history.
Alternatively, by fundamentally elucidating in Goethe the foundational concepts underlying certain tendencies in modern historiography and demonstrating that they were ultimately grounded in nature, we might be able to critique them.

2

Goethe was a man of intuition, a visual being.
Clear, formed, bounded, and embodied intuition constituted his measure of reality.
Only what was intuitive held true existence.
His distrust of history arose precisely because history—insofar as it must depend on transmitted materials—failed to address his eyes directly, instead demanding engagement with his intellect.
These transmissions concerned events yet often not events themselves, but rather things transmitted; history founded on such basis could never offer that immediate embodied intuition found in nature's forms or artistic creations.
This absence of intuition defined Goethe's estranged relationship with history.
Conversely, in realms shaped from lived experience and intuition—specifically his own life—he became a historian of first rank, unshackled from reliance on indirect and suspect materials requiring detours through historical criticism.
*From My Life: Poetry and Truth* stands testament to this.

Yet, is it not that Goethe being a man of intuition conversely rendered him compatible with history?
The historian Burckhardt once wrote: "All my historical research, like my landscape sketching and my art studies, arose from a profound thirst for intuition."
However many fragmented and insipid historical materials one must delve through, what historians ultimately seek is surely the intuition of historical events themselves, is it not?
It is said that while natural science progresses from particulars to establishing universal laws, history remains with particulars given through experience; indeed some theorists regard history as a form of art.
In his aforementioned famous letter, Schiller defined Goethe’s spirit as intuitive rather than speculative—stating that whereas speculative spirits depart from unity, intuitive spirits set forth from multiplicity.
What is historical must by nature not be mere particularity but something permeated by universality.
Had this been achieved, Goethe’s spirit should have been able to connect intrinsically with history.
"To illuminate individual things," Schiller wrote to him, "you survey all nature; within the totality of its manifold phenomena you seek explanatory grounds for particulars."
"The intuitive spirit being genius," Schiller continued, "when it discerns necessity’s character within empirical things, naturally creates individuals imbued with species-character."
Such genius in Goethe—as Ranke observed—would have formed the makings of a great historian.
This might at least have made him a Ranke (who rejected Hegel as speculative) or a Burckhardtian historian viewing history as art.
Just as Goethe intuited universality through meticulous observation of natural particulars, so Ranke elevated himself to universal intuition through rigorous interrogation of historical particulars and processes.
"When observing phenomena," Goethe asserted, "one must scrupulously examine all conditions under which they manifest and strive to apprehend them completely."
"For phenomena ultimately interconnect—nay, are compelled to intertwine."
"And within the researcher’s intuition must emerge an organization revealing their inner totality."
This conviction seized Goethe during his scientific inquiries.
Yet this very principle could equally have served as Ranke’s motto for world-historical conception.

Goethe’s intuition did not grasp individual things merely as individual things; he saw the universal within the particular simultaneously.
In the preface to *Theory of Colors*, he wrote:
“Merely glancing at things is of no use to us.
Every glance transitions into observation, every observation into contemplation, every contemplation into synthesis—thus it may be said that in every instance where we gaze attentively into the world, we are already theorizing.”
Moreover, he stated on another occasion: “To understand that all that is factual is already theory—this would be the highest attainment.
The blue of the sky reveals to us the fundamental laws of color theory.
One must never seek anything behind phenomena—the phenomenon itself is the theory.”
The universal had already manifested itself within the particular.
One need not seek it beyond phenomena, behind phenomena, or apart from phenomena.
Nature declared: “What it does not reveal to the spirit, you cannot forcibly extract with levers and screws.” The living universal could not be grasped through mere measurement.
The true universal was contained within the particular and intuited in the particular.
The concept of *Typus*, which holds significant meaning in historiography today, originally referred to such a universal.
The perspective viewing history as *Typologie* had to find its teacher in Goethe.
Or rather, it was only upon the foundation of Goethean intuition, experience, and worldview that Typology could first be established in its inherent meaning.
The *typus* had to be equivalent in meaning to Goethe’s *Gestalt* or primal phenomenon (*Urphänomen*).
What then did such an *Urphänomen* mean?
“What we recognize within experience is, in many cases, only instances that can be brought under general empirical propositions with some attention.
This empirical general proposition is further subordinated under scientific propositions, and it anticipates something higher.
And in that case, some of the indispensable conditions of phenomena come to be known to us in greater detail.
Thus everything is gradually subordinated to higher rules and laws; however, these rules and laws are not disclosed to the intellect through words or hypotheses but rather manifested to intuition through phenomena, so to speak.”

We name these primal phenomena.
That is to say, primal phenomena are something universal.
But they are not abstract or intellectual; in this sense, they are an Idea or eidos (form) rather than a law, and moreover, in this case, the Idea is not divorced from experience but can be intuited in accordance with experience.
As something ideal, it was connected in Goethe with feelings of safety or purposiveness.
"The highest thing humans can attain is astonishment," he stated, "and he should be satisfied when primal phenomena astonish him.
It cannot grant him anything higher, nor should he seek anything prior behind it.
Here lies the boundary."
If *Typus* carries the meaning of such primal phenomena, then it is evident that it cannot signify mere type or archetype.
*Typus* should rather be interpreted as a living universal—the formative principle (*Bildungsgesetz*).
Do we not often observe that when this concept loses its Goethean meaning as *Urphänomen* and becomes an abstract, formal type or category, it turns into something external to history and thus ceases to be productive?
Today, people are striving to rescue the concept of Typus from such degradation and reveal it as an inner form of history.
The concept of form was also introduced into the realm of history through works such as Friedemann’s *Plato, His Form* (1914) and Spengler’s *The Decline of the West* (Volume 1: "Form and Reality," 1918).

However, we must note that such intuition was precisely what caused Goethe to turn away from history.
The universal observed in the particular and diversity meant something necessary—and therefore something recurring—to Goethe.
Even if such things could be found in nature, did not history present what was free, arbitrary, singular, strange, and ever new?
It was precisely for this reason that Romanticists were seduced by history.
“The poet ardently loves chance,” Novalis said.
Goethe, conversely, turned his eyes away from history on account of its lack of necessity.
History appeared to him as “a mixture of error and violence.”
His intuition could not find in historical matters an object desirable and suitable to itself.
This thing already contained too much material and too little form.
History could attract his interest only insofar as it manifested universal and enduring things.
One time he said to Eckermann:
“English history is splendid for poetic depiction because it is something noble, sound, and therefore universal that recurs.”
“French history, by contrast, is not suited for poetry because it represents a living period that will not return.”
Thus, this mind that sought constant elements and recurring patterns in history would not be entirely unrelated to certain types of historians.
As mentioned above, Burckhardt, who attempted to satisfy the thirst for intuition in history, writes:
“Historians of philosophy observe the past as an antithesis and preliminary stage to our developed present—we observe what recurs, what endures, what is *Typus*-like as something that resonates within us and can be comprehended.”
However, are not constant things, recurring things, by their very nature not historical but rather natural?
It was indeed the concept of nature that formed the foundation of Goethe’s worldview, and historical phenomena as products of nature also captured his interest.
Historical and human phenomena attracted his interest only insofar as he could conceptualize them as natural phenomena.
Therefore, when we speak of typology in Goethe, it must carry a special meaning.

One could understand this by comparing Goethe’s *Wilhelm Meister* with Hegel’s *Phenomenology of Spirit*. If we regard the former as a biography, then the latter too is a biography—none other than that of the World Spirit. Hegel’s phenomenology was also a typology in the highest sense. What it described were various forms of consciousness (*Gestalten des Bewusstseins*)—that is to say, diverse typological stages in consciousness’s development. In Hegel’s framework, these were historical forms of consciousness whose material was largely drawn from intellectual history.

Yet what Goethe took pleasure in depicting were the “natural forms of human life” and the “enduring natural forms of our species.” To borrow Heine’s elegant phrasing: “These forms are simple and direct, cheerful yet earnest, neither comedic nor tragic; they unite the most distant antiquity with the nearest modernity, indeed sharing common ground between the higher animal world and humanity itself. All particularities observed in this manner and upon this foundation dissolve unreservedly into the universal, ceaselessly drawn back by it through repetition.”

“The demands of custom and social order appear merely as natural life processes; their governance goes unjudged and unfelt, enveloping all things with perfect serenity—as inevitable realities where resistance proves meaningless.”

This very attitude left Novalis dissatisfied with *Wilhelm Meister*. “There was nothing miraculous here,” he thought; “it was mere prose—nothing but a ‘bourgeois domestic tale.’” Because Goethe’s mind sought the universal, constant, and natural aspects of human nature even within history’s domain, he showed scant interest in so-called historical or political events. These contained elements of artifice and spectacle that struck him as “a mixture of error and violence.”

“I’m not yet old enough to bother with world history—it’s fundamentally most unreasonable,” declared the aged Goethe to von Müller. “Whether this man or that perishes, whether this nation or that meets ruin—it’s all one to me. To care about such things would mark me a fool.”

What he grasped was humans more as spatial beings than as temporal beings. Compared to Goethe, even Hegel could be seen as a philosopher of time. "The form of his intuition and method itself is merely exclusive time and not simultaneously inclusive space. His system knows only subordination and succession and nothing of juxtaposition and coexistence," Feuerbach remarked, contrasting Hegel’s thought with Schelling’s identity philosophy. In this sense, Goethe stood closer to Schelling than to Hegel.

Space and time constituted the most fundamental characteristics distinguishing nature from history.

Therefore, let us examine the problem of time in Goethe.

III

In his widely known short essay *Nature*, Goethe stated: “Nature knows neither past nor future. The present is its eternity.” In this way, time for Goethe was the present—and the present meant eternity. As a man of intuition, he saw only the present; only the present held inherent reality for him within time’s endless passage. Thus he harbored no tangible sentiment toward time’s ceaseless “flow.” Goethe rejected the emotion born directly from time’s current—what we call reminiscence. He once told Müller: “I acknowledge no form of reminiscence in your sense. The great, beautiful, and significant things we encounter must not first be recollected anew from without—hunted down, as it were. Rather, from the very beginning they must be interwoven within us, become one with our being, and thus persist and create within us while being perpetually formed.” He also wrote to others: “Only what is eternal remains present for us in every moment—thus we do not agonize over past time.” For him, the past caused no pain; the future sowed no seeds of anxiety. Or perhaps he sought—as he himself put it—to create eternity within himself by engaging with things’ enduring relationships. Yet regardless of interpretation, eternity remains timeless or supratemporal. And if historical phenomena are temporal by nature, one might conclude Goethe fundamentally lacked historical consciousness.

In this regard, Romanticism presented a striking contrast.
It appeared particularly historical due to its unique temporal sensibility.
It was common knowledge that modern historiography—beginning with Adam Müller—had developed from within Romanticism or under its influence.
When Novalis declared, “A sense for time, a genius for history—this is a blessing,” he captured Romanticism’s essential tone.
At their most fulfilled, the Romantics experienced time’s boundless “flow.”
They recognized no timelessly enduring present; instead, they perceived time’s infinite melody of becoming.
All distant things—of both past and future—enticed them.
Put differently, Romanticism remained perpetually bound to two temporal emotions: a reminiscence stealing into the past—beneath whose enchanting moonlight people poured out their hearts—
and a longing probing the future—where people wandered endlessly seeking the blue flower, never reaching their destination.

However, such Romantic temporal emotions would themselves have been non-historical when considered from another perspective. It was above all an emotion of reminiscence for the past and longing for the future—one that lacked any firm grasp of the present. Moreover, it was precisely the present as a temporal moment that should have constituted the most essential element of genuine historical consciousness. It was precisely then that we needed to emphatically assert this aspect of history’s presentness. From this perspective, Goethe could be said to have been more historical than the Romanticists. Romanticism was drawn to things distant, hazy, and faint. Therefore, what was observed there was a subjective tendency, and here, already at this point, there existed a divergence between historical consciousness—which fundamentally valued objectivity—and Romanticism. Goethe stood apart from such romantic tendencies of his time. Looking back on his own era, he stated, “My entire age stood apart from me, for it was wholly oriented toward subjectivity, whereas I remained isolated in my objective endeavors.” Not only that, but he also believed that in whether it was subjective or objective, one could discern signs of whether an era was regressive or progressive. “All eras in regression and disintegration were subjective; conversely, all progressive eras possessed an objective direction.” “Our entire present era is regressive because it is subjective.” We must discern here one of the most important ideas in his philosophy of history. As his internal development progressed, Goethe’s perspective grew increasingly objective. His emotions were supplemented and unified by what he himself called his objective thinking or the objectivity of his thought. “There is a gentle experience (zarte Empirie) where one makes oneself most intimately identical with the object, thereby forming genuine theory.” Such elevation of spiritual faculties, however, belonged to an age of high culture. Now, such "gentle experience" was precisely what historians needed most. From this perspective as well, it would have been appropriate to say that it was not the romantic poets but rather Goethe who had possessed something akin to the spirit of historians.

Goethe engaged with history in a deeper sense by valuing the present.
Thereby he stood not in the position to understand history but rather in the position to create history itself.
Consideration of historical issues had traditionally been conducted primarily from the standpoint of understanding; however, it was particularly important to approach them from the standpoint of action.
Faust first existed as a man of pleasure for whom the present was everything.
"I merely dashed through the world."
From moment to moment—without fretting over the future or being troubled by the past—he knew only the enjoyment of the present.
Next Faust appeared as a man of action.
"He stood firm and surveyed his surroundings here.
What need would there have been for him to wander into eternity?"
A man of action lived in the present, and for him the present held not so much the meaning of eternity as that of an intensified moment.
Those who acted in the present required no concern for the future.
People knew Goethe sought to ground the concept of immortality in that of activity.
His spirit became concentrated upon present activity.
Novalis declared: “All things become poetry through distance—
Distant mountains, distant people, distant events—
All things become romantic.”
Yet for Goethe “the moment was eternity.”
To stand beneath distance’s magic meant losing living vitality.
Naturally he considered romanticism pathological.
So long as history meant merely things past—things perished—it held no relevance for him.

For those who spoke grandiloquently about the transience of things—their historicity in that sense—he lamented, stating: “Were we not indeed born to render perishable things imperishable?”
What was emphasized was ultimately present action.
As long as interest in history remained mere longing for the past, he rejected it.
“There exists no past thing that one must look back upon with longing.”
“There exists only the eternally new thing formed from the expanded elements of the past.”
“And true longing must always be productive and create something new and better.”
As expressed by the term “productive longing,” for Goethe, the path to history opened only from the standpoint of life.
Historical elements could hold meaning for him only insofar as they acted upon present life and rendered it productive.
Therefore, insofar as Ranke’s statement—“I desire only to show how it essentially was”—represented the essence of historical consciousness—and it certainly did represent such an essential aspect—it could be said that Goethe lacked historical consciousness.
For the recognition of what originally existed was of no consequence to him in itself, insofar as it did not generally possess a promotive and productive relation to present life.
However, on the other hand, as long as awareness of history’s vitality should be an important element of genuine historical consciousness, we had to conclude that it was Goethe who indeed possessed sufficient historical consciousness.
Emphasizing the relationship between history and life, he wrote, “The best thing we possess concerning history is the enthusiasm it arouses.”

However, we must not forget that Goethe was through and through an artist—particularly a poet. Therefore, for him, action meant not so much sociohistorical practice as rather artistic intuition=formation=production—though such artistic activity undoubtedly constitutes action in a broader sense—and moreover, even original practice was primarily apprehended under such forms. We should refrain from interpreting Goethe too Fichteanly, as is often done. For him, action too remained inseparable from intuition; therefore, it was not a practice specially accentuated by the future but rather something embodied and present. And intuition in him was always of a formative and productive nature. However, if what grants genuine historical consciousness is fundamentally not contemplation but practice, then it would indeed be natural to say that Goethe lacked historical consciousness. Historical will precisely desires the singular. Thereby, historical will does not desire perishable things but rather desires eternal things. In this way, the contradictory historical will thoroughly realizes itself by being concentrated in the moment. The moment is the present, but it is not the eternal present. Rather, the moment is a present accentuated by the future. In contrast to historical consciousness grounded in practice, for which the present is a moment, for Goethe—who never abandoned the contemplative stance—the present was eternity. The path to history was open to him only from the standpoint of life, but life in this case meant that which was intuitive, present, and productive. Such things also signified truth and reality for him. Because tradition does not provide intuition—being merely of the past and unproductive—he hesitates to recognize reality and truth in it. However, since great legends appeal to intuition, act upon present life, and render it productive, he prefers not to entrust them to the destructive exposure of historical criticism. Such an attitude goes without saying for science and is insufficient even from the standpoint of practice; it can only be fully realized from the standpoint of artistic intuition and production. From such an attitude, history becomes for Goethe neither a narration of past events (*Geschichte*) nor a tale of the past (*Sage*), but rather *Mythos* in its most distinctive sense. We previously stated that history for Goethe was typology, but now it signifies *Mythologie*. For him, history is—as he titled his autobiography—*Poetry and Truth*.

Just as Bertram referred to his book *Nietzsche* (1922) as “an attempt at *Mythologie*,” *Mythologie* indeed represented a way of relating to history.
What did *Mythologie* mean?
According to Schelling, who developed the philosophy of *Mythologie*, “True *Mythologie* is the *Symbolik* of the multiplicity of Ideas.”
What did *Symbol* mean?
*Symbol* was “as concrete as an image—equal only to itself—and yet as general as a concept, brimming with meaning.”
The term *Symbol* literally expressed the meaning-image *Sinnbild*.
Therefore, *Symbol* occupied an unshakable position in *Mythologie*.
For Schelling stated: “The narration of the absolute—through the absolute nondifferentiation of the universal and the particular within the particular—is possible only symbolically.”
Goethe wrote: “All that is ephemeral is but a metaphor.”
All that belonged to time was but a reflection of the eternally present.
In history as in all natural productions, Goethe sought the archetypal and the typological.
The Urphänomen was none other than such things.
the famous “Mothers” in Part Two of *Faust*
The concept of the Mothers could be regarded as a symbolic expression of the timeless realm of such Urphänomen.
Truly, the term “Mothers” was most fitting to express Goethe’s fundamental thought.
The Mothers were the eternally present multitude of Ideas.
Ideas were expressed as the Mothers—not as conceptual entities but as intuitive ones.
It was not Logos, but Mythos.
Ideas were not abstract or formal constructs for him.
“Like Ideas, abundant and productive,” Goethe stated.

The Mothers symbolize conception, birth, and productivity.
However, while the Mothers particularly represent the natural forms of human life rather than its historical forms, one could consider women to be more natural than men.
Needless to say, this dualistic framework does not belong to Goethe.
The Urphänomen develops naturally within time without leaps.
Ideas are not located behind experience but rather given within experience itself.
"In tinted images we hold life."
Ideas do not first attain concretion through what can be historically touched or seen as inner and purely spiritual entities; rather, they inherently contain natural and sensory elements, making them intuitive and concretized within themselves.
These concretized Ideas—what might be termed the natural form of Ideas—are none other than Mythos.
We recognize how significantly the concept of Mythos already figured in Plato's philosophy.
Moreover, it bears profound significance that throughout intellectual history, Mythos has nearly always carried this weighty meaning precisely in relation to issues of becoming—and consequently history.
Thus, to grasp the distinctive nature of Goethe's concept of history as Mythologie, we must thoroughly examine his notions of becoming and development.

IV

The ideas of becoming and movement had long been present within Goethe.
"What exists within Nature is eternal life, becoming, and movement.
Nature eternally transforms, and within it there is no stillness in any moment," wrote Goethe already at twenty-two years old.
This idea was ultimately brought to completion in *The Metamorphosis of Plants* and his other natural studies from his late years.
Yet at this foundation there always existed the concepts of form, type, or Urphänomen.
In the case of plants, it was what he called the "Urpflanze" (archetypal plant).
In this way, the idea of development became the idea of morphology by being linked with the idea of form or typology.
The ideas of *morphology* and *typology* were inherently inseparable.
Spengler explained that the Urphänomen (archetypal phenomenon) was that in which the Idea of becoming lay purely before one’s eyes.
What modern historians sought to draw from Goethe was particularly this morphological thought.
Spengler titled his work *Morphology of World History*.
Because Goethe’s thought on metamorphosis was grounded in a particular typology, it could be said to stand closer to Leibniz’s *Monadologie* than to Darwinian evolutionary theory in its relational context.
Morphology in him was monadological.
In these respects, we must impose at least significant limitations on the so-called Spinozism in Goethe.
Goethe himself used the terms *monas* or *monad*.
It developed into what he favored calling *entelechy* following Aristotle and was meant to represent the essence of an individual or person.
"The greatest thing we have received from God or Nature is life—in other words, the motion of the monad ceaselessly revolving around itself, knowing neither rest nor stillness."
"The impulse to nourish and cultivate life is innately present in each being, indestructibly so—yet its specificity remains forever a secret to us and others." —"The problem of animal instinct can be resolved only through the concepts of *monad* and *entelechy*.
"Each monad is an entelechy that manifests in phenomena under certain conditions."
In this way, for Goethe as well, the *monad* signified an indestructible individual unity—a unity that was active and developmental.

However, such an individual was always of typological significance to him.
"The particular is the universal manifested under various conditions."
The development of an individual is none other than it becoming typological.

Thus, Goethe’s nature was distinguished from Spinoza’s through its inclusion of a developmental history.
Even when calling Goethe a natural pantheist alongside Spinoza, his pantheism—to borrow Dilthey’s term—constituted a developmental pantheism.
Next, Goethe perceived within nature’s becoming what might be called an impulse toward individuation at work.
He posited that the distinction between animals and plants lay in how organic formative forces—constituting their dynamic centers—acted toward individuation more completely in the former.
The development of monads as individual unities could attain supreme completion, with infinite gradations of difference existing among them according to their entelechy’s magnitude.
Humanity manifested the highest monad, with personhood representing “the supreme happiness of the earth’s children.”

“Nothing exists; nothing has come to be; all is perpetually becoming. Within change’s eternal flow lies no stillness.”
A human becomes other with each moment’s passing, yet wondrously remains self-identical and unchanging amid transformation.
“This constitutes higher existence’s virtue.”
Existence grows more perfected according to its capacity for unceasing action and metamorphosis while sustaining itself therein.
Humanity stands as nature’s supreme actualization of individuation.

However, the difference between humanity and other natural beings was ultimately a matter of degree, with an unbroken continuity persisting throughout.
Even if humanity represented nature's pinnacle, it remained part of nature itself.
In the aforementioned letter, Schiller had written to Goethe: "You ascend step by step from simple structures to ever more complex ones, until finally reaching the most intricate structure of all—humankind—which you developmentally construct from nature's entire architectural materials."
Goethe perceived an intrinsic analogy between humans and nature, through which he conceived historical and societal structures.
"The same law would likely apply to all other living things," Goethe wrote from Naples to Herder while conveying his self-discovery.

However, it was not that Goethe’s monad lacked windows; rather, its windows stood wide open to the world. He considered that the essence of things could only be recognized through their total functioning. “It proves futile when we attempt to articulate the essence of a thing,” he wrote; “what meets our eye is its function—and the complete history of these functions ultimately encompasses that thing’s essence.” Equally futile becomes our striving to depict the character of a single human being: “Rather let us compile their manifold actions and deeds; thus shall the image of their character reveal itself to us.” These words appear in the preface to his *Theory of Colors*. What constitutes a human becomes evident only through their entire history. Humans can form and develop their essence solely through engagement with their environment, society, and past and present history. “Wherever we may position ourselves according to desire,” Goethe asserted, “we remain fundamentally collective beings.” How scant indeed becomes that which we possess and are—that which might be called our property in purest terms! “We must all receive and learn from those who preceded us and those who walk beside us.” Even the greatest genius “would never have attained such heights had he sought to bear all within himself alone.” Life is this ability to nurture relations with one’s surroundings. Of himself Goethe noted how his works had drawn sustenance from multitudes—how he had reaped where others sowed seed. He too, in his own phraseology, was a “genius of harvest.” “Character forms solely within the world’s current.” “In isolation humans shall never reach their ends.” For “whatever humans grasp or create—the solitary individual suffices not; society remains ever the paramount necessity for excellence.” “All capable humans must stand in mutual relation.” Such was his conviction: that humans must shape and develop themselves within history and society.

"My inheritance—how magnificent, far and wide!"
"Time is my possession; time is my field."

He embodied such ideas especially in *Wilhelm Meister*.
In *The Journeyman Years*, it states: "Time is the supreme gift of God and Nature."
As long as all these ideas constitute the soundest historical perspective, one could not simplistically conclude that Goethe lacked historical volition.
He did not comprehend respecting history merely as history.
He sought to "combine the productive with the historical."
We must not parasitize the past.
The past must be revitalized through the present and newly claimed from its standpoint.
"Acquire through your own power what you inherited from your ancestors to make it your possession." Naturally, humans must not lose their essence and singularity through engagement with history and society.
"Living beings adapt themselves to the most diverse conditions of external influences while retaining an innate capacity to preserve certain acquired, decisive independence."
Thus did the concept of *Bildung* come to stand at the core of Goethe's worldview.
This process involves cultivating and enriching oneself through contact with all things, during which the self neither dissipates nor dissolves, but rather develops and manifests its essential nature.
Through this, humans may become typological beings—so-called complete persons.
Such a process of *Bildung* was not confined to human cultivation; rather, Goethe perceived it as nature's fundamental process throughout its entirety.

According to Goethe, development occurs through the relationship of polarity (Polarität).

“Faithful observers of Nature,” Goethe asserted, “no matter how differently they may think in other respects, would agree on the following point.” He continued: “All that manifests—everything that encounters us as phenomena—either suggests they are fundamentally divided yet capable of uniting, or fundamentally unified yet capable of dividing, thereby revealing themselves in such a manner. To divide what has been unified and to unify what has been divided—that is the life of Nature.” With poetic emphasis, he concluded: “That is the eternal contraction and expansion of the heart of the world we inhabit, the eternal integration and disintegration, exhalation and inhalation.”

In parallel fashion, Goethe observed polarity and opposition among various impulses within human nature—the idea of “two souls” in *Faust* being particularly famous—and from this foundation developed his theory of human developmental stages and societal forms. Entities differentiated into opposing poles inherently possessed a tendency to approach a third unifying element. This dynamic process he termed *Steigerung* (intensification). Development fundamentally meant intensification through polarization. *Steigerung*, Goethe maintained, constituted the essential impulse underlying all existence.

Wohin?Ach, wohin?

Hinauf!Hinauf strebt's

Aufwärts!

Goethe saw in the legend of Ganymede humanity’s impulse to strive ever upward.
Yet this impulse was already inherent in nature as one “directed toward the pure sun” and “directed toward the colored earth.”
It was contained as an impulse.
Polarity (Polarität) and intensification (Steigerung) were the two great driving forces of nature.
“The former pertains to matter when considered materially; the latter belongs to spirit when approached spiritually.”
The former was ceaseless traction and repulsion; the latter was an ever-striving climb.

The ceaselessly intensifying and unending impulse harbored by Nature meant, to Goethe, an endless impulse toward spirituality.

Development was the gradual unfolding of what lay within.
It was not revolutionary but evolutionary.
“Nature does not make leaps.” This was his motto.
It would have been mistaken to regard Goethe as a mere conservative.
When someone called him an “ally of existing things,” he protested:
“But that is a highly ambiguous term that displeases me.”
“If all existing things were wonderfully good and right，I would have no opposition to them.”
“Yet since many bad，unjust，and imperfect things exist alongside the good，to be an ally of existing things often amounts to being an ally of the old and the bad.”
“The era remains in perpetual progress.”
“Human affairs change their form every fifty years.”
“Thus，a system perfect in 1800 would likely become defective by 1850.”
He viewed society through its development.
However，he perceived there a gradual，continuous，natural development；he rejected revolution as containing violent，destructive，unnatural elements，and did not believe such sudden development was possible.
On one occasion he remarked，“It truly astonishes me how easily people are misunderstood in public opinion.”
“I recall committing no crime against the people.”
“Yet now I am said to be no ally of them at all.”
“Certainly I am no ally of revolutionaries who plot looting，murder，and arson—those cloaking basest selfish aims under pretense of public safety.”
“I am neither ally to such people nor to Louis XV.”
“I detest all violent revolutions，for they acquire much good yet wreak equal destruction.”
“I detest both revolution’s executors and its motivators.”

“But does that mean I am not an ally of the people?”
“Would anyone with proper sentiments think differently from this?”
“You are aware that I am greatly pleased by any improvement that gives us hope for the future.”
“But as I have already said, anything violent or sudden does not suit my nature, as it is unnatural.”
Instead, he placed his trust in “a natural developmental process that inherently contains within itself the means of its own salvation,” and he hoped that it would also be applied to social life.
Thus, Goethe emphatically and fundamentally asserted that each nation can, should, and indeed must live only by following its own nature and its naturally constrained demands.
“For a nation, only that which arises from its own core and its own demands—without imitating other nations—is good.”
For what may serve as beneficial nourishment for one nation at a certain stage of development could well become poison for another.
“Therefore, all attempts to transplant some foreign reform are foolish when the demand for it does not take root in the deeper core of one’s own nation.”

Furthermore, Goethe believed that national life inherently follows a natural course of development, and that it is politicians and governments who commit unnatural or violent acts toward it, or provide motives for doing so.
In short, Goethe was not a revolutionist but a reformist, not a radical but a gradualist.
Even regarding society and history, "it is unnatural" was for him the fundamental criterion underlying all criticism and evaluation.
All kinds of leaps appeared unnatural to him.
In all circumstances, he particularly delighted in striving to fill any perceived gaps or leaps exhibited by some thing or process and to discover transitions that would connect them.

The foundation of the aforementioned ideas was clearly Organologie.
We encounter in Goethe the paradigmatic instance of organic developmental thought.
History and society were seen by him as a single organic nature.
The final word of his social philosophy was that all humans become organically united through work and activity.
Society and nature were grasped as continuous; society was considered a higher-order organism.
The following statement makes this abundantly clear:
"A plant grows from node to node, finally blooming and bearing fruit."
This holds no difference in the animal kingdom.
In creatures like larvae and tapeworms, they evolve segment by segment until forming a single head.
In higher animals and humans, vertebrae gradually combine until forming a head where force concentrates.
What occurs in groups generally shows no difference from individual cases.
The series of interconnected individual bees produces something constituting a final form as a whole—the queen bee should thus be regarded as the head of the entire body.
Why this occurs remains mysterious and difficult to state definitively.
However, I may say I hold my own thoughts regarding this.
In this manner, nations produce heroic figures who stand at the forefront like demigods, becoming guardians and bringers of peace.
Thus France's poetic capacity became concentrated in Voltaire.
Such a national head remained great within its active generation.
Many endure long afterward, but most become replaced by other heads and forgotten from subsequent eras onward.
Goethe's social vision—which might be termed patriarchal socialism—would align with this mode of thought.
Now such thinking may be regarded as Analogistik, constituting one characteristic feature of organic theory.

Or rather, it should be considered that Analogistik possesses its full meaning and depth only when grounded in the foundation of the organic theory. In Goethe’s view, just as humans and society were seen as nature, nature was also regarded as something human, cultural, and spiritual. Goethe had long felt a strong aversion to the view of nature found in French materialism, such as that seen in *The System of Nature*. Nature was not a mechanical thing but a living being. The natural formative process was also seen as a type of humanistic formative process—that is, education or cultivation. It was only natural that the study of human nature in him was always directed, so to speak, by an educational viewpoint. However, the process of human cultivation was also grasped as a natural formative process, and thus fundamentally in terms of the relationship between polarity and Steigerung. No—generally speaking, the idea of *Bildung* can only attain its inherent and full meaning when grounded in the foundation of an organic theory-based worldview. “As soon as a person perceives objects around them,” he wrote, “he relates them to himself.” “And that is only natural,” said Goethe, who also noted: “Does not the core of nature lie within the human heart?” and “Feeling is everything.” In his intuition and artistic-creative imagination, nature and the humanities were unified and manifested as continuous. However, we must not regard him as a mere subjectivist. Goethe himself was nature and acted as nature itself did. He observed art as if it were nature. He cultivated his own eyes through nature and sought to perceive everything with them. “Had I not studied natural science,” he said, “I would not have come to understand human beings as they are.” “Nature does not understand jokes at all; it is always truthful, always earnest, always rigorous.” Therefore, nature must be the touchstone for our way of viewing things. However, just because of that, Goethe was not merely an objectivist either. Rather, the following words he once spoke about Hegel aptly express his own position.

“Life exists where objectivity and subjectivity meet.”
“If Hegel would position himself midway between objectivity and subjectivity through his identity philosophy and maintain this stance without deviation, we would be inclined to praise him.”
People referred to such a position as the middle position *mittlerer Standpunkt*.
For Goethe, this median position became viable and was substantiated through his intuitive perspective.
In a June 30, 1798 letter to Schiller, Goethe discussed natural philosophy descending from above and natural scientists ascending from below, writing: “I find my equilibrium solely in intuition that stands at least midway between them.”
He defined himself as an observer of nature vis-à-vis natural philosophers and scientific researchers.

The nature that appeared to Goethe’s eyes as a contemplator of nature in this sense was one of organic development and not dialectical. Dialectics would have been perceived by him as something speculative—even sophistical. According to Eckermann’s records, when Hegel said to Goethe, “Dialectics is fundamentally nothing other than the spirit of contradiction that has been systematically organized and methodically trained—a spirit inherent in every human being, whose capability demonstrates greatness in distinguishing truth from falsehood,” Goethe expressed doubt: “I only hope such mental dexterity and talent will not frequently be misused to make falsehood seem true and truth seem false.” When Hegel replied, “Such things do occur, but only among those who are spiritually diseased,” Goethe then spoke as follows: “I consider myself fortunate that my study of Nature has spared me from such maladies. For in the study of Nature, one deals with that which is infinitely and eternally true—a pursuit that mercilessly rejects as incompetent anyone who approaches its observation and handling without absolute purity and honesty.” “And I believe that many of those afflicted by dialectical maladies would find effective treatment in the study of Nature.” For Goethe’s organic worldview, Nature remained the invariable foundation throughout. In contrast, for the dialectician Hegel, history was his element. The idea of leaps or discontinuities—which constitute an indispensable element of dialectics—must have been unbearable to Goethe. He respected Hegel’s philosophy to the extent he could interpret it organically—indeed, it contained many aspects that could be interpreted in this way—.

Thus, we explored the concept of history in Goethe and characterized it through Typologie, Morphologie, Monadologie, Organologie, Mythologie, and others. These concepts were interconnected and interpenetrated within him. Their foundation was none other than Nature itself, while also being intrinsically tied to humanity's contemplative attitude. The philosophical characteristic of this natural concept—as I clarified in my philosophy of history—was that within it, "existence" and "fact" were perceived as merely immanently continuous, yet simultaneously failed to be grasped as transcendentally discontinuous. In other words, the relationship between existence and fact there was not dialectically apprehended. This was why his historical consciousness remained one-sided insofar as it existed within him. Rather, Goethe's nature in this context would coincide with Spinozistic nature. Nature "differentiates and unfolds itself to enjoy itself." The infinite essence of God enjoys itself solely through the ceaseless flow of becoming, while nature becomes an open book where we can read such unfolding through characters—that is, symbolically—accessible to human cognition. "And all commotion, all strife becomes eternal peace in the Lord God."

V

Indeed, according to our belief, the concept of real history cannot be without a certain element of Nature.
Moreover, it is not only in the sense of external Nature.
Real history, according to our terminology, not only interacts with Nature’s "existence" but also contains natural elements as "fact."
We have generally expressed such natural elements as "fact" through the concept of destiny.
The question, then, is whether the concepts of the natural and the fateful in this sense can be found within Goethe.
We intend to answer this question affirmatively and demonstrate that the concept of *das Dämonische* corresponds precisely to such elements.
*The demonic* generally meant the natural elements within history.
Goethe discussed this concept not in his works on natural philosophy, but rather always in relation to history.
This term appears here and there, but it is particularly explained in detail within Goethe’s autobiography *Poetry and Truth*.

According to what was recorded in Chapter 20 of *Poetry and Truth*, *the demonic* moves and manifests itself only through contradiction and thus cannot be captured under any concept or by any words.
“It was not divine,” he wrote, “for it appeared non-rational.”
“It was not human.”
“For it lacked intellect.”
“It was not demonic.”
“For it was merciful.”
“It was not angelic.”
“For it often seemed to take pleasure in others’ misfortunes.”
“It resembled chance.”
“For it demonstrated no consequences.”
“It resembled providence.”
“For it suggested connection.”
“All that seemed to restrict us could also be penetrated through by it.”
“It appeared to handle the necessary elements of our existence capriciously.”
“It contracted time and extended time.”
“It thrived only in the impossible and appeared to scornfully reject the possible.”
“Such a demonic force ‘primarily holds the most mysterious relationship with humanity and forms a power that intersects—if not outright opposes—the moral world order.’”
According to Goethe’s view thus presented here，*the demonic* was not something ideal but rather something natural—contingent yet at once necessary.
He also considered it a kind of totality，stating when explaining architectural effects： “The overall effect is always something *demonic* to which we submit.”
Furthermore，he noted that *the demonic* invariably accompanies all *Leidenschaften*（passions）.
While certainly retaining certain negative connotations，it was by no means merely destructively negative；rather，it “manifests itself entirely within positive vital force.”
Therefore，Mephistopheles cannot be considered *demonic*.
Now，might these very definitions serve best to delineate what we mean by true fatality？

According to Goethe, *the demonic* first manifested in connection with individuals.
However, not all individual or characteristic things were *demonic*; rather, it was always encountered in historically significant contexts.
It "preferentially attached itself to important individuals, particularly when they occupied high positions."
"The higher a person stood," he wrote, "the more profoundly he found himself under the influence of *the demonic*."
Goethe referred to certain individuals as *demonic*—for example, Frederick the Great, Peter the Great, Napoleon, Karl August, Byron, and Mirabeau.
*The demonic* manifested itself in this manner particularly within so-called world-historical individuals.
However, it was experienced not only in individual humans but also in events.
Goethe considered his encounter with Schiller as such.
"In this way, a certain *demonic* element thoroughly dominated my acquaintance with Schiller.
We could have met much earlier, or much later.
Yet the fact that this occurred precisely when I had concluded my Italian journey and Schiller had begun to weary of philosophical speculation was of great significance and held the most profound effect for both of us."
Not only that, but *the demonic* was also experienced as a social phenomenon.
That is, regarding those Wars of Liberation, Goethe stated: "General distress and general feelings of humiliation seized the nation as a kind of *demonic* force."
What we call 'fact' as natural elements was not merely personal but also social.
And we could perhaps distinguish that—on a personal level—it accompanied *Leidenschaften* (passions), and on a social level—*Pathos*.

In this way，*the demonic* was particularly connected to history.
Even if one were to call it natural，it referred to that natural element within history—the fateful—without which the concept of history could not be realistically constituted.
Even if one were to call it natural，it did not belong to the external world but was rather grasped as internal nature.
The external world was also a fateful element for us in a certain sense，and Goethe considered it as such.
However，it was not called Daimon but was referred to by him as Tyche.
This was not true destiny but rather inauthentic destiny；true destiny was *the demonic*.
Although *the demonic* was in a sense contingent，it was not Tyche—that is，external contingency.
The external world was by no means mere chance for us；rather，it contained necessity and compulsion.
Goethe expressed such external necessity or compulsion through the term *Ananke*.
Although *the demonic* was in a sense a form of necessity，it was not Ananke—that is，external necessity.
*Ananke* was certainly one form of destiny；however，it was an inauthentic form of destiny，not the authentic form of destiny—that is，the form of *the demonic*.

Even if we could acquire the concept of *the demonic* as an indispensable element of a realistic historical concept, it would clearly contain elements irreconcilable with Goethe’s fundamental ideas as outlined above.
Therefore, for Goethe, this concept naturally required philosophical deepening—harmonization and unification with his core principles.
We may understand his poem *Urworte. Orphic* as that which most fully expresses such unity.
Goethe originally employed five Greek terms: δαίμων, τύχη, ἔρως, ἀνάγκη, ἐλπίς.
As previously discussed, Tyche and Ananke here represented fateful aspects of the so-called “world”—the former denoting chance-bound phenomena, the latter necessity-bound.
Yet the perspective of *Daimon* presented here as the first primordial word did not directly equate to the concept of *the demonic*; rather, through Goethe’s foundational stance, the latter found deepened interpretation within the former.
*Daimon* was understood here too as destiny—specifically inner, essential destiny.
However, it simultaneously became directly linked to the notion of the *entelechial monad*.
“*Daimon*,” Goethe explained, “in this context necessarily signifies—directly expressed at birth—the individual’s delimited individuality and characteristic qualities through which one remains distinct from all others despite profound similarities.”
“It operates ‘from within’—”
“—developing limitlessly while constituting a ‘strict delimitation’.”

Und keine Zeitund keine Macht zerstückelt,

Geprägte Form, die lebend sich entwickelt.

The famous, frequently quoted line—“Und keine Zeit und keine Macht zerstückelt / Geprägte Form, die lebend sich entwickelt”—indeed stands within this demon’s stanza as an interpretation of such a Daimon.
It signifies the internal necessity of the internal development of the entelechial monad.
Daimon at this point no longer contains any trace of the contingency that the demonic had borne.
It is not Daimon that holds the meaning of contingency, but rather the external world that opposes the internal Daimon.
“The structure of this world is composed of necessity and contingency.”
Therein lie Tyche and Ananke.
However, for Goethe, this opposition between the external world—or external destiny—and the internal world—or internal destiny—does not signify a dialectical contradiction.
Instead, what governed the relationship between the two was the third primordial word—Eros (love).
However, the path is difficult.
As long as the world’s destiny remains contingent, the power of love would be free.
When it manifests its power as necessity, love too must be bound by necessity.
Here, love too becomes a form of destiny.
To be liberated from such total destiny, Eros must be connected to Elpis (Hope).
"Through hope, existence can attain completion," Goethe believed.

Eng ist das Leben fuhrwahr,

“but hope is vast.”

(*Goethe Studies*, Iwanami Shoten, Showa 7)