Joy – the Strongest Pen: Schiller

„Brush up your Shakespeare....!“ This musical advice was recently given by H.E. the British Ambassador in Muscat, at a school graduation ceremony. No explanation was necessary.  Everybody in this school knew about the British dramatist William Shakespeare.  He passed away 389 years ago, but was never forgotten, and had an abundant influence on British behaviour.  

Although everyone under the sun appears equal, it seems that nations develop certain features according to their particular cultural authorities. 

While the British focussed on “his” Shakespeare by music, the German Ambassador uses to ring  an iron bell, when a speech is announced at his residence. That is the moment when most of the visitors  – at least the German visitors -  might remember their literary heritage “The Song of The Bell”,  the old and long ballad of their poet Friedrich Schiller.

Schiller? That’s the genius, which is familiar to us from school-times. His 516 lined poem “The Song of the Bell” (Die Glocke) tells us about human’s destiny from birth to the end – and every line in his accurate and  outdated language had to be memorized by heart. But not only Die Glocke is part of every German school curriculum, Schiller’s wide range of poetry and his literature production, which includes dramas like Wilhelm Tell, Jungfrau von Orleans, Braut von Messina, Maria Stuart, Wallensteins Lager, Don Carlos and several tragedies, are essential cornerstones of education in Germany. Schiller’s work formed the so called classical period of German history, a time, when art was higher estimated than business or science, when art was the air to breathe.

Schiller’s principles and thoughts seem to be common – not so his extremely precise and sentimental language. It is easy to qualify him as

dusty. All his highflying words like aesthetic, liberty, rationalism – all his trust in grace, dignity and culture of mankind seems to us now as a rustling roar of words, as empty general phrases.  But, how strange!

When we consider our modern mistrust about genetic -technology, about education, the quarrel about human rights, the discussion of the whole cerebral complexity, of biosphere programmes and environment standards – we realize, that all our problems have already been entirely mentioned in Friedrich Schiller’s written work.

Amazing for us, because he could not be determined as a poet of universal interest like his famous compatriot and neighbour Johann Wolfgang Goethe, who articulated every human phenomena. Schiller’s world was more limited. But surprising, how up to date Schiller was in his agitating questions.  Does our surprise have something to do with our lack of memory, respectively with our innocent authentication by which we try to follow his ideas of integrity, of ethic honesty?  

Schiller symbolizes the watch of virtues.  For his drama Don Carlos, he invented the passionate republican in the person of the Marquis de Posa, a defender of freedom of thought, speech and human rights.  

To defend the value of independence and to recognize at the same time its hidden violence, that is what makes this genius so specific. 

Schiller is regarded as the inventor of idealism.  In many aspects he could be considered as the most German of all the poets ever. His convictions demonstrated an independence, which – according to critics - is worth to be protected  - in particular nowadays.

Friedrich Schiller was born in 10^th of November 1759 in the small town of Marburg at the river Neckar, into a family, which did not belong to the wealthy ones.

Only 46 years had been enough for him to achieve several careers: one as a medical doctor, another as a dramatist, and a lyric poet, a further as a historian. By all them he merited lots of  poet’s laurel, and also a honourable estate rank - and of course - as a classical author he acquired immortality.

He started to study law, later he switched to medicine. He practiced as a “Regimentsmedicus” in the town of Stuttgart, interested in the boundary-spheres of physiology, philosophy and psychology. Rather early Schiller became aware of the essential conflicts between sexual drive and spirit, between nature and freedom.

He started his first poetry work by  “Die Räuber”, (The Robbers) a drama of youngsters’ rage and impetus, which was first performed successfully in 1782 at Mannheim Theatre. To finance this five-hour-show the young Schiller had to take a loan. But from The Robbers onwards he became famous.  But before being prominent  he was - immediately after the robber-presentation - arrested and banned of writing.  Only some years later he got in contact with all the other big shots of intellectual Germany, as Goethe, Koerner, Herder, Wieland, Humboldt, Kant… From 1799 onwards he gained honour and wealth, through the triumphal performances of “Wilhelm Tell”, his drama of resistance movement.

All Schiller’s dramatic figures suffer from the world’s bad, but they try at the same time to raise a vision of a superior one.

Schiller’s sense of morality became a certain common value in Germany – his optimism of  a changeable world targeted directly to the heart of  the 20^th  Century. Schiller died in Mai 1805 in the town of Weimar.

This year – 2005 – is the memory year of the German genius Friedrich Schiller. 200 years of his image, his work had left some remarkable traces. Many public occasions had been organized all over Germany in honour of this man, who first formulated the definition of a cultural nation.

And frankly admitted: Could it be that we do find an echo in our dreams of his youthful inspirations? “He use to grow from a far distance to close proximity, as soon as we get involved with him”, this experience had the contemporary author from Switzerland, Friedrich Dürrenmatt. And, it seems, that in 2005 Friedrich von Schiller will come rather close to us, this human being, “our” Schiller.

Not only Die Glocke, the bell, will ring on 3^rd of October at the German residence-garden, but guests will listen to the Ode to Joy, an die Freude.  Ludwig von Beethoven’s Symphony Number Nine culminates with Schiller’s verses of the ideal human brotherhood “beggars become the brothers of princes”.  The Ode to Joy was adopted as Europe’s anthem by the Council of Europe in 1972, with an official arrangement for orchestra written by the famous conductor Herbert von Karajan.  Never a music composition had attained such a universal attraction and so many emotional feelings…from Berlin via Muscat to Delhi and Tokyo ….

Because the message of joy and of global brotherhood is actually driven badly to absurdity, Beethoven’s Symphony - together with Schiller’s words – sounds to us of great urgency, of enormous priority. 

None of Schiller’s dramas and poems – next to the “Glocke”  - had such a wide spread and prominent effect.

“Freude, schöner Götterfunken,

Tochter aus Elysium,

wir betreten feuertrunken,

Himmlische, dein Heiligtum.

Deine Zauber binden wieder,

was die Mode streng geteilt,

alle Menschen werden Brüder,

wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.

Seid umschlungen Millionen!

Diesen Kuss der ganzen Welt.

Brüder überm Sternenzelt

muss ein lieber Vater wohnen....

Freude heisst die starke Feder

in der ewigen Natur,

Freude, Freude treibt die Räder

in der grossen Weltenuhr...“

Oman through Foreign Eyes: An Austere Appearance

First encounters with unknown countries result always in the same mystical experience: Hardly the asphalt of strange streets under our soles, we know if there will be - or there will not  be  – an inner dialogue between the new country and ourselves. From that moment on, when this emphatic relationship succeeds, we will feel the bodily atmosphere of the foreign place: we foresee if we could cooperate with this place in good and bad times. 

Although I have changed countries like a homeless gipsy, my first encounter used to be always emotional. In advance of this first encounter I did inform myself from old German travel books. Those explorers described the Sultanate of Oman as the hottest spot of the world: “The heat of Muscat was so  intense that my bone-marrow seemed to burn, the sword  in the scabbard melted and its gemstones were converted into coal”.

My first meeting with Oman was under far more privileged and cooler circumstances at air-conditioned Seeb Airport, an airport  which luckily does not look like a shimmering, showy glass-palace, but like an authentic Omani Fortress. My first sympathy developed here:

While waiting for the long procedure of passport-boarder-formalities suddenly two men, kind of princes, appeared in long white traditional outfits. They graciously offered sweet dates on a silver tray and coffee in tiny cups poured from a slim silver container with an oversized spout. Illustrations from “Thousands and one nights” legends came to my mind. Where did I disembark? For sure, not at a normal spot of our globe, but in the middle of a fairy tale, which is clothed in its history and houses, in its streets and scents?

Scented with intense perfume and fog of frankincense are the entrances of all  modern malls, but at the germ cell of Oman, the old Souq of  Mutrah, fragrances are the most intense in town.

It is my favourite place. As soon as I have time, I rummage around the small shops, the dukans. At that time all my senses: eyes, ears, nose, are open: I see  shop-holders sitting  in between their piled up  merchandise, knees under their bottom. If they feel tired, they sleep, if they feel thirsty, they drink coffee, if the voice of the Imam echoes through the Souq lanes, they go to pray. I hear the melodic Arab language and I can smell all the sweet bouquet of aromas.  In this surrounding I always get the tranquil impression of privacy, of a mystery-mongering and of  Omans particular aura. This aura should have developed in times, when the country  was the commercial turn-table between Africa, India and the Middle-East and when Oman came in focus of colonial and imperial interests.

Looking around, it seems to me that more than 50 % of the Omani population is under 20. A nation as young as Oman should be qualified for an effortless and radiant happiness. But these youngsters are different. I gained the impression of reserved, silent and hard studying persons, aware of their moderate nation building. Are  they  permanently preparing exams?

In 1980 His Majesty Sultan Quaboos bin Said promised to this youth a national university. Six years later  first boys and girls matriculated. Currently 12.000 students attend SQU and the campus continues to expand. In concordance to the distinct and ascetic architecture most students are dressed traditionally in black and white, which presents - - an austere appearance, mixed up with a certain inner silence of dignity and peace.  

Black and white, the two extremes of the colour spectre evoke strong contrasts. But the beloved colour of  H.M. must be blue, there is no doubt. Blue is the facade of his palace and blue-golden the columns, which look like giant high heels. Blue is the new Mosque next to his palace. Finally blue the sky and the ocean, almost every single day the year round.

Blue is - ahead of  all  - also the favourite colour of the normal sun hungry tourists. But fascinating for me as a pale  foreigner are the different sunburnt and lined faces of Oman. More than by these faces I am impressed by  the different nations living here side by side. I consider Oman as cosmopolitan. Omanis from Arabia und others from East-Africa, Indians, Pakistanis, Beluchis, Europeans, Filipinos, they all seem to live in one country, but always in their own faith and culture: Men from Oman wear their dishdasha, their wives the black abaya, Pakistanis are wearing trousers covered by a very long shirt, those men from India wear wide trousers, a normal shirt, while their ladies are recognized  by their saris with naked arms, shoulder and belly,  and none of the deeply veiled Omanis  seems to be disturbed.

Still after two years in Oman, I find myself in the reality of my own illusion of an oriental country. Famous German author Johann W. Goethe was filled with enthusiasm about Arabian countries, which resulted in his work: “West-East Divan”.  The magic from the Orient stimulated the Occident in travelling and writing. I feel part of this miraculous exchange. My certain inner dialogue did succeed. I started by a warm anticipation and was until now not disillusioned.

And once in future-times, if I have to leave, I will always  remember the austerity of the dark rocks, the straightforward architecture, decorated by broad bougainvillea bushes, tamarisk- and acacia trees, I will remember Omans great variety of significant faces  and  its temperate and dedicated youth.