After the spectacular start to her career as an author with the biographically inspired Goethe's Correspondence with a Child in 1835, Bettina Brentano-von ArnimFootnote 1 (1785–1859) continues to explore the realm of biography in her subsequent works Die Günderode (1840) and the Spring Wreath [Frühlingskranz] (1844).Footnote 2 As she gains influence on the Prussian court, she also widens her perspective to the pressing social questions of her time (Dieses Buch gehört dem König [Königsbuch] (1843) Armenbuch (1844/45, not published), Gespräche mit Dämonen [Dämonenbuch] (1852)), earning the admiration of the Young Germans and the Young Hegelians alike—and, ultimately, the scorn of the king himself. She pairs a social conscience with playful innocence and ingenuity, challenging the common categories of serious philosophy and classical literature. For her, philosophizing should engage the whole human being who understands and accepts her rational as well as sensible side, who is situated in a society, and engages in dialogue with others. Accordingly, her work is a late example of the practice of symphilosophy modelled on the Early German Romantics.Footnote 3 Particularly in her first three books—the so-called ‘letter-books’Footnote 4—she develops her conception of the power of love and friendship, the creative and unifying force of nature, and her personal ‘levitating religion’,Footnote 5 all of which serve as key requirements for her notion of a self that is independent yet immersed in a life shared with others. As I argue in the first part of my paper, Brentano-von Arnim develops her main philosophical ideas through a multi-layered form of dialogue that unveils its main topics indirectly. In the spirit of Romanticism, these ideas cannot just be pinned down by logical analysis, but have to be delivered through a performance.
Brentano-von Arnim also uses biographical writing as a platform for the formation and presentation of herself as an author and agent. Her narrational strategies blur the lines between ‘male’ reasoning and ‘female’ emotionality—so the then-typical distinction—and showcase a concept of agency that is open to both genders. For this form of self-formation, resulting in a strong, original, yet also ambivalent character, Brentano-von Arnim has to create a sphere in which such a personality becomes decipherable.Footnote 6
In the second part of this paper, I seek to explain how she integrated her self-assigned role as a political advisor into this framework. In her political works, such as the Königsbuch and the Dämonenbuch, Brentano-von Arnim does not aim to abolish, but to reform the monarchy as a Volkskönigtum, in which the king is a powerful force, limited and guided by the will and genius of the people. She hence envisages the monarch as a strong individual that can only adequately be himself through dialogue with others. Thus, I argue that we need to understand her notion of leadership through this concept of mutual dependence: the king is indebted to his people in the same way as he is the enabling condition of life for them. Ultimately, perfect rule can only be developed by communication between the king and his people. The author on her side must serve as a mouthpiece for both; however, Brentano-von Arnim mainly aims to formulate the concerns of the people who are too dispersed to present their ideas clearly and audibly.
I. A different style of emancipatory writing
Brentano-von Arnim proudly published her work under her own name—a rare occurrence by a woman writer in the German literary market of her time. She skirts the verdict of impropriety by playing various roles that were acceptable models for female writers, such as, famously, the child, a role that she transforms from naïve dependence to ingenious promise.Footnote 7 Under the guise of female care (the doting sister in the Spring Wreath, the mother concerned for the ‘children’ of the state in her Königsbuch, but also the friend in Günderode) she exerts power—her attention and support are guidance and challenge at the same time. Accordingly, with her letter-books, Brentano-von Arnim decisively steps out into the public and demands her views on nature and self, on politics, and on art (poetry, novel, and music) to be recognized and discussed.Footnote 8
Echoing the early Romantics, Brentano-von Arnim employs a fascinating version of ‘progressive universal poetry’:Footnote 9 we can of course name the topics of her discussion, but their development does not come about by mere argument nor logical sequence. Her view unfolds in a less straightforwardly comprehensible way. In their open structure, associative relations, and their general opaqueness to common categories of argumentation, her arguments develop in a dialogical, imaginative and lively manner. Her writing is ‘progressive’, as each reading adds different layers and makes new connections visible. Philosophizing is not tantamount to erecting a final system (as the Romantics understood the Idealists such as Fichte and Hegel), but has to remain a work-in-progress (see Stone Reference Stone2021: 5).
This self that Brentano-von Arnim presents is not engaged in some solitary exercise of self-discovery but necessarily engages with others. This dialogue serves to highlight her actions and thoughts from different angles. But it also stresses the moment of interaction: be it that the protagonists report to each other about their impressions of an event, or that they comment on each other's work (in particular in Die Günderode and the Spring Wreath): everything is presented for the other. The process of exchange is often thematized:Footnote 10 there are various and endearing salutations (‘Lieb Günderödchen’, Günderode 341, ‘Lieber Widerhall’, ibid., 624); the process of writing (‘… I fell asleep two times while I wrote this letter’, ibid., 481), and the ‘process of letter transfer’ (the waiting for a letter, the reception, hiding it before reading it to extend the sweet moment of expectation, ibid., 365–66) are mentioned: all serve to highlight the dialogical nature. We feel as if we got a glimpse into an authentic exchange, albeit this is, of course, Brentano-von Arnim's perspective, split between a subjective, but somewhat auctorial character (Bettine) and her respective counterparts. Overall, her character Bettine turns the objects of her admiration (Goethe, Karoline von Günderrode, Clemens Brentano) into reflections on different aspects of herself; she portrays her growth and her actions through her admiration for these people, instead of just catering to their expectations.Footnote 11
The necessary moment of interaction, of a clash of opinions that proves to enhance rather than hinder their mutual understanding, is a central part of Brentano-von Arnim's version of symphilosophy: more poetic than intellectual, non-systematic, and non-academic.Footnote 12 It mainly thrives on an openness towards the reader, who is called upon to connect the timeframes of the events these dialogues relay, as well as the moment that the author chose to write this memory down (the time span between these two moments is considerable, as the letter-books look back to a time some thirty years in the past). Through the liveliness of and one's own immersion in the dialogue, the reader might also feel called on to connect these events, and in particular the emotion they transport, to their own time, thus creating a multi-layered form of memory. In the Lyceum-Fragment 112 (1797; see KA 2: 161), Friedrich Schlegel envisages the reader ‘not inert and dead, but living and coming-forth [entgegenwirkend]’.Footnote 13 The reader should witness the thoughts and events as they unfold, and enliven them. The author should not intend to make a certain impression, but let the reader develop this on their own. Schlegel calls this ‘the holy relationship of the most intimate symphilosophy or sympoesy’ (KA 2: 161). Brentano-von Arnim develops her letter-books in the same vein.Footnote 14 But as a woman she has more convincing to do, as her audience was quite critical towards the aspirations of such a female free spirit.Footnote 15 In order to make this free spirit more digestible, she developsFootnote 16 this new persona throughout the letter-books: in the Goethebuch, she presents herself as a child, but also as a mature lover. See on the latter in particular the third part, the ‘Diary of Love’, in which she develops a philosophy of love as a ‘religion’: she reads love as a process of understanding the other as a reflection of the grand plan of nature, ultimately pointing towards a ‘heavenly spirit’ (see for instance Goethebuch 433–36, 446–50, in particular 447). In Die Günderode, Brentano-von Arnim is the younger friend, but also, at least at the beginning, Caroline'sFootnote 17 student (see Günderode, 331–32). Gradually, she morphs into the role of a teacher, or at least of an exemplar (ibid., 436 and 727)Footnote 18, as her way of writing becomes a model for Caroline—the older woman even, almost enviously, exclaims that she wishes to be able to reach Bettine's state of recklessness and intuitive immediacy in her own writing. In the Spring Wreath, Bettine is the doting sister but also the independent woman, a curious mixture of a lover, a critic, and a fellow student, or an equal. In the last letter-book, Ilius Pamphilius and the Ambrosia (1848), she is the mentor, the mother-like figure. In both the Königsbuch and in particular in the Dämonenbuch, Brentano-von Arnim is barely present as a character, but she lets Frau Rat, the daemon, the spirit of the people, the proletarians, and representatives from various ethnic groups do most of the talking. Her overall role here is the king's advisor in form of an inner voice—no small feat for a woman in the middle of the 19th century.
All this necessitates a cautious hermeneutical strategy to unearth what we may call Brentano-von Arnim's philosophy. The complex net of locations, times, and persons hinders a linear understanding of the narrative. Neither does the self-development of the protagonists proceed in a clear (nor clearly upwards) line. Rather, character formation becomes a function of a dynamic exchange,Footnote 19 of reversals and revisions, and of a multi-layered approach towards the central topics such as character, nature, love, and art.Footnote 20 We do not get a clear-cut ‘result’ that we might present as a fixed philosophy, but an impressive array of thoughts and impressions by strong and assertive characters. Brentano-von Arnim presents her fictional self as an affirmative, lively persona—but her version of strength allows for mistakes, ambiguities, and flaws. As a character, Bettine shows vulnerability, albeit a vulnerability that is presented as something she can overcome.
Example: the almost-rape
In the Günderode, Brentano-von Arnim lets Bettine report a rather disconcerting event. She observes a red-faced chamberlain during a social gathering in the countryside, who suddenly appears in the hallway next to her rooms and—very much against etiquette—demands to make her acquaintance. His red-facedness implies nervousness, but also a good portion of lasciviousness, so that the reader has a clear impression of a rather sinister character. Brentano-von Arnim lets this interaction play out three times—the most intense version right at the beginning, when the deep-red chamberlain not only slinks into the hallway but tries to gain access to Bettine's room by force (even after the first explicit rebuke, see Günderode 330). Bettine admits that this is one of the few times she is truly terrified. But this does not hinder her from explicitly rejecting the man two more times—in public, no less. Her self-assertive behaviour is wonderfully contrasted with her companion Tonie's pliant and timid attitude (which would have been quite ineffective towards such advances). It is always Bettine bracing against the stranger, or even directly attacking him, fighting back, asserting her rejection. Brentano-von Arnim mentions Bettine's fear, but at the same time she portrays ‘herself’ as the one who conquers said fear: a clear invitation to others to follow in her wake.
Her works create a bulwark against negative or dangerous experiences, and against those events that inhibit dialogue in that they negate her as a friend or an agent. One prominent instance of the latter is, of course, Karoline von Günderrode's rejection of her friendship and later suicide. As such, death is a persistent topic in Günderode. We feel Brentano-von Arnim's pain when she lets her character exclaim how much she misses her friend.Footnote 21 Rather than discussing the separation explicitly, Brentano-von Arnim allows it to seep into the letters, to shine through the cracks and become an omnipresent source—both of pain, but also of hope, turning into a way of holding onto her friend. The real Karoline might have revoked their friendship and committed suicide—but the fictional Caroline is still present to offer solace and advice. This way, their connection is salvaged, at least in the fictional realm of (public) memory. In the Goethebuch, Bettine makes the connection between death and overcoming even stronger. She describes the impact of Karoline's death in a grand conclusion to her letters to Frau Rat that make up the first part of the book (Goethebuch 62–84). While she acknowledges the depths of her feelings and of her pain, she also claims to have overcome their negative impact: ‘… and there the decision was made that I will boldly swing beyond all misery, since it seemed unworthy to me to express any such misery I would not be able to command in the future’ (ibid. 84).
In a similar manner, the real Goethe's coolness and ultimate rejection are somewhat palpable throughout the Goethebuch, as Goethe's letters are, even with all the embellishments by Brentano-von Arnim, never as long, as warm, or as enthusiastic as Bettine's.Footnote 22 To view Bettine's pining as a merely naïve and somewhat verbose infatuation is a misconception (and might be more telling about the times of this interpretation than about the intention of the author herself). Her position is more adequately reconstructed as a slow and subversive overtaking of the conversation,Footnote 23 as her musings at the beginning of the third part, the ‘diary of love’, indicate.Footnote 24 Bettine here reflects on her relationship with Goethe, constantly elevating it onto a higher plane. She tries out the idea of a transformation of emotion into symbol into thought (see Goethebuch 508–10), parallel to her relationship from physical attraction to spiritual friendship and higher union (her having access to Goethe's inner nature ‘which nobody knows, nobody even suspects’, ibid. 440). All in all, in this third part of the book, a monologue, she continues the exchange on her own, broaching topics of her interest and including others in the conversation about dealing with the death of her ‘lover’. Love remains the main topic, yet it is not the submission to male expectations, but the colourful and rich take on all of love's aspects as reflected in nature, music and art, which Bettine as a dominant character brings into the picture. Instead of nullifying herself in the presence of the great poet, she stylizes life to be the way she wants it: the character we get to know here is romantic idealization personified. The ‘child’ is very much in power of her own image, as she also holds decisive power on Goethe's memory. She does not actually fixate on the real person, who is rather the mere opportunity for her emotional involvement; the actual person becomes an opportunity. Goodman calls this ‘radical autobiography’: ‘Bettine von Arnim's character emerges with and in contrast to others; it defines itself and evolves because of their influence and in opposition to them.’Footnote 25 The imagined self is indeed part of the ‘true’ self—since: what is a true self, anyway, if not seen in relation to others and including one of its finest features, that of imagination? And thus, Brentano-von Arnim has no qualms in admitting to the fictional nature of her infatuation: ‘I was not even that much in love with Goethe; but I needed somebody to whom I could address my thoughts etc.’Footnote 26 Against this backdrop, she can present herself as the lover while staying free to be herself. She is creative and productive, but not in the biological sense: she does not bear a child.Footnote 27 It is rather that she creates (or gives birth to) herself—not just as a lover, but also as an author who gains contour as she presents her image of Goethe to the reader and to posterity. ‘Love is knowledge, beauty is the secret of this knowledge. And this secret is so deep that it reveals itself to no one but the lover. Believe me! Nobody owns the secret of you as I own it, which means: nobody loves you as I do’ (Goethebuch 531). This grasp on love Brentano-von Arnim portrays as her salvation, in that in enables her to free herself from any external claims on her. She ends the Günderode with a poem by her dead friend, whose last two lines sum up their relationship—as Brentano-von Arnim sets herself freeFootnote 28: ‘How happy for me! I have found you and myself. / Love wrenched itself from chaos’ (Günderode 746).
In Günderode Brentano-von Arnim focuses accordingly more on friendship as the social connection between equals. One indicator of this are the many ‘mirror-motifs’.Footnote 29 Interestingly and in contrast to the Goethebuch, this time these mirrors seem to reflect both ways, stressing the friends’ mutual reference as ‘echoes’, and as such the reciprocity of their dialogue, their reliance on one another, but also their attempts to fashion the other according to her own image, respectively. While Caroline admonishes her friend to take philosophy and history a bit more seriously, Bettine asks Caroline to allow herself the joys of nature and sensibility,Footnote 30 to be more reckless and intuitive, rather than controlled and artificial (Günderode 465, 468).
Brentano-von Arnim also ensures with her book that the real Karoline von Günderrode re-enters the public spotlight as an author (not a merely ill-fated lover), for the book features many of her poems and short plays. Thus, Brentano-von Arnim's method of retelling becomes a statement on memory: stages in life do not come with a meaning attached to them but gain their meaning and worth for us in the way we choose to acknowledge them. Some of these stages we might not even experience fully consciously, but their importance and meaning becomes clearer when we remember them. ‘There are unexpected experiences that we have forgotten, as if we never had them, and only once they come back from the well of memory do they gain a meaning. It is as if you first need experience of life to learn how to sense the difference: there are other experiences that you looked forward to giddily, but which only pass you by as indifferently as flowing water.’ (Goethebuch 506) Her writing thus becomes an exercise in the phenomenology of personal importance. ‘All knowledge should elevate itself into art, it should imitate reality as innocently as art does, and thus become a mirror of truth; an image in which we recognize it.’ (Ibid., 510) Even traumatic experiences can become acceptable if they are assigned a place in a narrative or are given a quasi-mythical function.
Example: The second kiss
One such event is Bettine's ‘second kiss’. Unannounced and unbeknownst to the young girl, Herder shows up at her grandmother's doorstep. The dark figure with ‘heated eyes’ enters the house and immediately kisses Bettine without introduction or permission. Her reaction is instinctual and priceless: she slaps him (see Goethebuch 511–12). Instead of scolding, he blesses her, lauding her independence and wishing that she may be able to use this gift so that ‘all will comply with her daring will, and no one will try to break it’ (ibid. 512). Herder kisses her a second time shortly thereafter. She is in the garden, wearing a dress with a huge sash whose ends resemble wings. Herder tugs them, suggestively stating ‘These give you freedom; but someone might also catch you by them’. Even though she allows this kiss slightly more graciously, she ‘had the feeling as if I had given something against my will’ (ibid., 513). She is torn between feeling used and being somewhat proud that the famous man insisted on her kiss. What makes her more accepting of the event is that Herder gave her a new name. This ‘curious name, Psyche, whose meaning I did not understand at the time, this name reconciled me with him [Herder]. As so many inconspicuous things that brush by randomly suddenly touch us deeply and gain a lasting meaning for us, so did this word, Psyche, without me even understanding it, lead me to a world previously hidden, a world in which I thought of myself as being recognized under this name.’ (Ibid. 513)
In Shafi's reading, Brentano-von Arnim can only come to terms with this event when Herder calls her ‘Psyche’, thus digesting trauma through mythical projection.Footnote 31 It is a name given to her by an intruding stranger, a name meant as excuse and encouragement, which Brentano-von Arnim adopts to characterize herself in her relationship with Goethe: she portrays herself as Psyche in her design for Goethe's monument.Footnote 32 I take this a step further to argue that all the roles she takes up in her letter books maintain the same function: they give the self that Brentano-von Arnim aims to develop a name and a shape.
Apart from the playful tension between past, present, and future presented in the Psyche example, Brentano-von Arnim creates another tension between originality and mimesis in self-formation. On the one hand, she rejects gender models; she mocks ‘typically female’ occupations and habits, and makes it clear in almost every description of daily events that she does not intend to follow female etiquette. On the other hand, she eagerly identifies with a name that she does not even fully understand in its implications, glad to have found a mould that helps her navigate the situation. It seems to me that Brentano-von Arnim tries to solve this tension between inner freedom and the desire for a name (or: external acceptance) by adopting a strong notion of agency: she cannot become what others see in her (most prominently: her brother), but she must realize ‘the dictates of my inner voice’Footnote 33 instead and become herself through literary expression. The development from the Goethebuch to Günderode to Spring Wreath would then be that of a progressively more assertive presentation of herself as an agent.
Clemens Brentano's Spring Wreath, the Frühlingskranz, is thus unabashedly her picture of her brother, while she also uses it to portray herself and the way in which she found her own voice. Again, it is also a portrayal of memory, here the memory of the Early Romantic period during which most of the relayed events took place. Brentano-von Arnim also immortalizes this memory in the typical spaces of the salon, house, garden, and open nature. It is not mere nostalgia, though, but true to its title, Spring Wreath, it preserves the overflowing youth of its protagonists in memory and transports this youthful force into her own development as an agent alongside with—all the while being increasingly critical of—her brother. The Bettine of the Spring Wreath should also be read in the context of the Königsbuch (which she published a year prior): Brentano-von Arnim presents her alter ego as someone worth listening to in political matters. As she is able and capable of discussing the French Revolution with her brother, so it is her place to discuss the revolution of the Silesian Weavers with Friedrich Wilhelm IV. It might be true that this way of presenting herself still falls short of advocating for actual equalityFootnote 34 because she still confines herself in the Spring Wreath to the sisterly confidante of Clemens instead of showing herself as a public person. Still, she portrays this liberating experience in a book for all to read.
Without clear storyline,Footnote 35 the Spring Wreath focusses on the notion of Bildung as a dynamic development towards a ‘freedom of the heart’. It captures the development of the relationship between the siblings Bettine and Clemens; from a dialogue between two ‘souls’Footnote 36 it ends with Brentano-von Arnim acknowledging that her brother is indeed unwilling and unable to really listen to her, nor allows her to speak for herself.
From the beginning, she insists on dismissing conventions, not only in dress and demeanour, but also in more socially pungent acts such as her sweeping the doorstep of the Jewish family (Spring Wreath 20, 25)—an act that Clemens warns her against, but she insists on continuing: the ‘single little thread’ of change that she started to spin must not be snapped by mere convention. She does not share Clemens’ view on ‘female duties’ (he asks her to knit socks for him, no less, see Spring Wreath 152). Rather than enjoying the freedom in the countryside, Clemens suggests that she learn to become more sociableFootnote 37 in the city, so that she masters the intricacies of social discourse, in particular concerning womanly duties and behaviour. Bettine will have none of that, as she makes perfectly clear.Footnote 38
Brentano-von Arnim has a good feeling for her freedom. Even though Clemens tried to force an erotically tinged relationship onto her when she was just fifteen, she instead aims for a relationship among equals. The very title of the Spring Wreath claims ownership of their shared memories of their earlier years (around 1800–03) in which their relationship had been particularly strong.Footnote 39 But she never loses sight of herself: ‘I shall become my own, this is the will of my ‘I’, for otherwise I would be for naught. This one thing that makes me unique in the entire creation, this is the nobility of free will in me.’ (Spring Wreath 114) But it is not ‘just’ freedom that she wants. She feels like she ought to do something greater with her life: ‘To be yourself is to be a hero; that's what I want to be. Whoever is authentic must move the world; that is what I want.’Footnote 40
All in all, Brentano-von Arnim clearly instrumentalizes others in her quest for self-formation,Footnote 41 but she does not reduce them to mere puppets. The other is thus more than a mere echo-chamber, or, as Pückler-MuskauFootnote 42 has it, a ‘nebulous image’ (Nebelbild).Footnote 43 What is vexing, though, is that all of her dialogues end in failure, as the respective partners in dialogue either shut themselves out or, in Clemens’ case, are shunned by Bettine. On the one hand, this seems further proof for Stone's claim that Brentano-von Arnim portrays the transient nature of true symphilosophy (Stone Reference Stone2021: 18) that will not result in stability, but change. On the other hand, this could also be a sign of a ‘fundamental lack of a “resonance”’Footnote 44 that Brentano-von Arnim experienced in real life. The kind of free exchange that she sought was always compromised from the outset. Everyone approached her with expectations. In the early years, they sought to impress their views onto her. After her success with the Goethebuch, they expected her to live up to the image they had of her. Freedom as self-determination becomes a tricky thing when the labels others have of you become too strong.
II. Brentano-von Arnim's innovative version of political agency
Brentano-von Arnim's political engagement must be seen in the context of her letter-books. Their style is quite similar, and in all of them she plays a role that is also an integral part of her public persona. Both in the Königsbuch and the Dämonenbuch, she mostly plays the role of a guiding voice, but prefers to use a spokesperson: Goethe's Mother, ‘Frau Rat/Madam Advisor’Footnote 45 in the Königsbuch, or the more mythical ‘daemon’ in its sequel. It is clear that this role of a mentor greatly irked the addressee, who was none other than king Friedrich Wilhelm IV (and his official advisors). Brentano-von Arnim scandalously uses her public voice to introduce her monarch to the principles of human rights, as she lets the ‘spirit of the people’ elaborate (Dämonenbuch 385).Footnote 46 In her eyes, this was far from an insurrection, but rather a strengthening of the monarchy to better respond to social instability.
Brentano-von Arnim understands her political involvement as being a spokesperson who ensures to optimize the possibility of agency for others. Her political writings are a public reminder for the king of his duties towards his people.Footnote 47 The people, including those from the margins of society, should through the king's very own assistance become involved in the formation of a better society, in which not everything is rationally calculated and centred on productivity, but humaneness:Footnote 48 ‘[F]or it is bright day(time) in my innermost self, whereas the world, which you believe to be in light, seems quite dark to me. Its only light is the one the Philistines allow; a nasty, ugly tallow light of use only to idlers, to whose advantage life is always calculated.—Thus, I do belong to a different community which includes: children, heroes, old men, figures of spring, lovers, spirits.’ (Spring Wreath 213; my translation) She wants to converse with all beings that inhabit the world in her time.Footnote 49 She addresses their pride in their honest work and in themselves (see Dämonenbuch 315)Footnote 50 to encourage them all to play a larger role in a future society. Hence, she does not just advise the king, but also considers possible courses of action for the people—or at least the necessary preconditions for such agency. Hence, she promotes freedom of speech, independence from the church, religious freedom (including emancipation of the Jews), and an encompassing education for all people.Footnote 51
In the ‘Sokratie der Frau Rat’ at the centre of the Königsbuch, Brentano-von Arnim tests whether her readers are willing to think critically. The arguments for capital punishment as a means to keep the state in order are brought forward by the two officials (minister and major, representing the old institutions). The arguments (as well as their advocates) are abstract, stiff, and lifeless, but they read like a perfect philosophical textbook of the time. While the readers might thus still find them convincing, they will be stunned by Frau Rat's rejection which, at first glance, seems illogical: she argues that the perpetrators must not be held accountable for their crimes as they are not responsible for it. However, her argument turns out to be quite straightforward. The state must not judge and condemn its citizens for their actions—as it is simply not true that anyone was born evil or would commit these crimes willingly for what they are. Quite the contrary, those people committed them only because they lacked alternative courses of action. Instead, they were forced into their respective position by the state and hence cannot be blamed by the very same state for following through.Footnote 52 State action in the name of ‘justice’, when it comes from an unjust state, thus does not correct anything, but sets in motion a vicious circle. We cannot stop this circle by targeting the people, who are the victims, but we (or better: the king) must address the perpetrator, i.e., the (lack of) social support and the legal system of the state.
Brentano-von Arnim aims to achieve a reversal of common political practice: to open people's (and the institutions’) eyes to the struggle around them by engaging them in an open discussion that even the uneducated can follow. Accordingly, in her Dämonenbuch she lets the daemon exclaim: ‘Dogma and clerical law are schools of sophism’ (330). Instead, she approaches the topics literally from the margin: She dedicates the book to the ‘spirit of Islam’—mainly to push the argumentation on a seemingly foreign, but ultimately more universal plane, but also to include unheard voices. In a first part, dated on her twenty-third birthday (4 April 1808) Brentano-von Arnim once more conjures the spirit of Goethe so that nature might inspire her spirit—a reference to the underlying folk-spirit, in unity with nature, that should guide her voice and vouchsafe the truth of her ideas. The following, more important and much longer part is dated on Goethe's fifty-ninth birthday (28 August 1808),Footnote 53 and here she offers her thoughts on equal rights for the Jews.Footnote 54 The book culminates in a truly awe-inspiring whirlwind of poetic genres,Footnote 55 with which Brentano-von Arnim lays out arguments and ideas for the foundation of an enlightened monarchic rule. The dialogue sets out from a conversation between a ‘daemon’ and the ‘sleeping king’,Footnote 56 to end up in a plethora of voices from all over Europe, but also from personifications of the principles of justice that all convene to convince the (still sleeping) king of the need for unity. In closing, the spirit of Islam offers a valediction for the king, to wake up cleansed of all the bad and—finally—act according to the advice given to him.
Brentano-von Arnim uses the voice of a ‘daemon’ in the platonic tradition: a part (or tendency) of the soul, but also a messenger from the gods. Over the course of the dialogue, ‘her’ daemon morphs from a moralizing principle into a multitude of voices, also representing the multitude of opinions and principles that all need to have a say in a good state. They are all united by their function to bring the king back to a good conscience. The call for ‘human rights’ is made explicitly by the ‘spirit of the people’.Footnote 57 This is, as I mentioned before, an integral aspect of Brentano-von Arnim's main ‘argument’ for the utterly pressing issue of improving the current state not through revolution, but reasonable reform:Footnote 58 the king always needs to be reminded of his responsibility.
Brentano-von Arnim argues that the king cannot justify himself by reference to a ‘God-given’ rule, but must justify himself in the court of reason, here represented not by abstract principles, but by representations of the people.Footnote 59 A king must be held accountable for his actions, and he must give his people space to make their own decisions. More concretely, in the Dämonenbuch at least, the daemon argues against a king who only appeases the nobility at the cost of the citizens (see 293–94, 308–9). Rather, the king should accept the superiority of a ‘World Religion’Footnote 60 that undercuts any attempts to exclude any group of people from state action. Brentano-von Arnim's idea is not formulated in a concrete political programme, but expressed as a general hope for an inclusion of the people in the king's reign: ‘all people must be the organ of the law, all acts must safeguard the law, realize the law, interpret the law’. (Dämonenbuch 310) The morality (Sittlichkeit) of the people can ultimately guarantee the welfare of the state. It may be that right now the people are too much drawn into the passions of revolution (both daemon and king seem to agree that the actions of the people in 1848 are motivated by helplessness and passion, and by being too uneducated, impatient, and restless to think about alternatives to revolution). But in the end, once the people are allowed to educate themselves, feed themselves, and can make a living from their own work, their actions will be in harmony with the state. ‘A king who carries the equality of all people in himself shall be invincible.’ (Dämonenbuch 335) Or, in the words of the ‘proletarian’: ‘We shall put ourselves in a sovereign place within the unity of the people. You will be able, with a strong and calm hand, to […] guide us wherever you want us to, if you enable us to feel ourselves as yours.’ (Ibid. 387) The greatness of any king rests on this relation to his subjects; without mutual respect, but also without the freedom to pursue just opportunity, such a relation, in Brentano-von Arnim's books, is impossible. But, on the other hand, the dependency remains mutual: without a king, a people loses its spirit, its fire, and can find neither unity nor agency.
Conclusion
Bettina Brentano-von Arnim offers a marvellous alternative to socially constructed character formation, but it is a rather challenging one. It requires the audacity to be herself fully, the ability to become aware of who this ‘self' might be. And it requires the creativity to tell the stories that she wants to have lived, and the audacity to offer these to the world. For Brentano-von Arnim, philosophy should not appeal to reason alone, but is inherently lively, involves our emotions, and connects us to others in dialogue. Telling stories, amassing impressions, leading a dialogue, and offering brief reflections are thus key ingredients to become one's own person, which in turn is the precondition for effective political action—in particular if said action is supposed to avoid the mistakes of a revolution that only leads to a newly shaped oppression of the people. In her political works, which also include, to a degree, the Spring Wreath and Ilius Pamphilius, Brentano-von Arnim fuses the engaging presentation of her personal development as a unique character with her political agenda to foster a feeling of responsibility within the king, to shed light on the actual situation of the poor in the state, but also to allow these people to experience the satisfaction of being heard, of their voice and interest being formulated by a friend, or at least a genuine spokesperson.
As Gjesdal/Nassar have it, Brentano-von Arnim wanted ‘to grasp the essentially poetic character of human life’,Footnote 61 a life thus spilling over into philosophy, literature, and politics, guiding and enriching them all.Footnote 62
